#there is a positive correlation between my level of looking nice and the level of coverage and structure in the garment

[ssoupcup]

a different flavour of soup with no context. circa 1947

[cabeswaterdrowned]

For the ship game: Aria/Alison and Aria/Alex Drake

Aria x Alison

Whether I ship it or not: I obviously do a lot! They’re one of my favorite pll pairings/dynamics. I’d say they’re my favorite Aria ship rn (sometimes Sparia ties with it depending on my mood) and in my top 2 Alison ships (with Monison).

Why I ship it or not: They’re just a very intriguing relationship, I love anytime pll creates a sort of homoerotic mirroring effect between the girls so things like Aria wearing the red coat, parallels between their home lives (their being groomed by Ezra, their home lives where one of their parents was unfaithful but even though that was Byron for the Montgomery’s and Jessica for the Dilaurentis’ the gendered dynamics in the marriage are similar imo, and both girls are kind of regarded as More Adult (the correlation between that and them being groomed Spencer is also a comparison there rather than Hanna and Emily who have comparatively more stable/supportive guardians but this isn’t about Sparia or Spalison I just had to mention it), and being kind of the vortex of controversy and attention (although those aren’t really positive) while their brothers are kind of sidelined. So in terms of that theirs a lot going on to dig into, and then Alison’s treatment of Aria in the flashbacks is very interesting because she treats her so much more like an equal than the other girls, I mean she does see Spencer as an equal in a way but that’s based on their rivalry and with an understanding that Alison wants the upper hand. With Aria she just seems like she wants her to be there in a way that’s .. simpler isn’t the right word. But I think Alison likes being reflected in Aria vs her conflicted feelings about being reflected in Spencer or Hanna and that’s interesting to me. I also think I enjoy when Aria’s forgiving nature and open mindedness is brought out in her dynamics with morally ambiguous women which I think is why aside from Spencer most of my ships I feel strongly about for her are with more morally duplicitous female chars, Alison Mona Jenna Alex in descending order tbh. (I also find Aria’s sharp edge / parts of her char that conflict with her “sweet/nice” image very interesting and those are also emphasized in these and by her finding Alison so compelling by). And all the liars visions of Alison are very interesting and more than a little gay, but Aria’s “you know why I picked you right” scene is especially ripe for analysis imo.

My opinion on their canon potential (chemistry, canon interactions, etc): Oh I think there’s quite a lot of canon basis for especially Alison’s side of it between the photographs she secretly took while Aria was sleeping, which when we think Jason took them were meant to assume is out of a warped sense of romance and then his words about Alison’s tendencies to hide things really sound like they’re about internalized biphobia and being in the closet, the cosplaying as an Aria look alike and then taking on aspects of an Aria persona with Ezra, a lot of her treatment of Aria being a lot more.. seeing her as an equal rather than a subject or rival. On Ali’s side it’s very easy to make the argument imo. On Aria’s side the relationship is super intriguing and I can read stuff romantically but in the way you can kind of read all the liars as at least a bit in love with Alison / they all kind of talk about her and imagine her in hallucinations in that way. In terms of chemistry I think theirs is good, it’s maybe not the most chemistry in any pairing between the girls like I think if you compared Sasha’s scenes with Janel or Troian with her scenes with Lucy she probably has a higher level of chemistry with the former two (but also that’s a bit unfair because Janel and Troian just have copious amounts of chemistry with like. Everyone (except Keenan in Troian’s case)). But there are plenty of scenes especially in the flashbacks (the first secret is crazy in this regard) where I’m like. Girlfriend behavior, maybe accompanied by close face watch (the scene where they wreck Byron’s office especially + all of the first secret especially).

My opinion on fanon interpretations/fandom around it (Favorite widespread hcs, pet-peeves, etc): Mostly that it’s massively underrated? Attribute that partially to I think a lot of fans are disdainful of Aria and don’t really think of her as a char Alison would be fascinated by or give a lot of thought to that, and Alison’s really polarizing as well, plus the fact the writers didn’t do much with the dynamic after Alison came back with the exception of 7.04. But I don’t remember a take about them I thought was *wrong* I just think they’re underrated/underexplored.

Aria x Alex

Whether I ship it or not: I ship it, not majorly because Alex as a concept isn’t super developed, but the things I like most about her are related to her fixation with Aria and the choices she made regarding her in 7b.

Why I ship it or not: I enjoy Aria’s whole 7b plot a lot and Alex is a contributing factor to it, and also like I said the Aria obsession piece made Alex more interesting to me and the Sparia compare/contrast is fun.

My opinion on their canon potential (chemistry, canon interactions, etc): well they don’t interact on screen a ton but Troian essentially plays Alex like Spencer but very British and more explicitly sapphic, “I’m so evil and skanky and I think I’m kind of gay”, so yeah I think they’re good on the chemistry front. And Alex Drake’s actions really only make sense if she was into Aria because why else would she kidnap Ezra of all people? Rather than idk, Peter Hastings? Too funny

My opinion on fanon interpretations/fandom around it (Favorite widespread hcs, pet-peeves, etc): n / a I haven’t seen that much and what I did see I mostly agreed with.

thank you!

(Send me a ship and I’ll answer these questions about them)

[ishanigarcia]

This was nice, Ishani decided, letting herself sink into the ridiculous conversation about TV shows. After the hospital, she'd expected Atlas to treat her like broken glass, but instead he was diving into her conspiracy theories like they were the most normal thing ever. "Your dog has excellent taste in TV, but I stand by my cooking show obsession," she said, opening her phone to show him her pride and joy. "Look at this correlation between quinoa appearances and elimination rounds—it's statistically significant." Her spreadsheets were her safe space, a way to make sense of chaos through data, and his interest in them made her want to share more. The offer of 3 AM texts gave her hope that maybe the hospital incident would stay in the past where it belonged. "I'll trade you my judge bias flowcharts for pictures of Jazz's sleeping positions," she said, amazed at how easy this friendship stuff was turning out to be. Late night messages and dog photos sounded like the perfect distraction from her darker thoughts. "I’m warning you now, my conspiracy theory memes are next level. You might actually start believing the aliens are real."

Atlas chortled when she took Jazz’s side about Animal Planet. “My dog would undoubtedly choose you over me,” he said, thinking how his big, friendly shepherd loved everyone. Her smile made him lose his train of thought for a sec. Did she even know how gorgeous she is? The spreadsheet talk got him excited. Who else made color-coded charts about cooking shows? It was kind of perfect. “I need to see these quinoa statistics. This is next-level TV analysis.” She bought into his alien thing, so he got bolder with his outlandish theories. “The aliens are studying human desserts before they invade Earth. That’s why every show ends with sweets,” he explained. His stomach flipped when she looked so happy about his dumb theory. Trading late-night dog pics for spreadsheet proof was a genius idea. “Jazz has a whole collection of silly sleeping positions ready to go. And I’m always up for memes at 3 AM.” Getting messages from her in the middle of the night would probably become his new favorite thing. He needed to play it cool though - they were just becoming friends. But those dimples when she smiled ... yeah, he was in trouble.

[purpleyellow]

It’s not enough

NCT 24th member / Dream 8th member

Bee’s Masterlist

“The remarkable world of Mark Lee’s mind” or, Mark rethinkgs his entire history with Bee.

a/n: I finished it!! Feel free to share your thoughts with me. Requests are open!💛 this gif is peak devastation 

All Mark could think when Bee first joined the group was “Thank God for Lee Jeno”.

Noticing that while she didn’t know how to express herself in front of them, Jeno was the first to give her a sense of comfort. Mark, after getting nervous for not knowing how to be helpful, told himself that eventually, Bee would get close to him too. He had a year, after all, to become friends and grow a bond with her.

Except that a year doesn’t last that long and little girls don’t come with instructions.

He knows she cried on his last showcase with Dream. But Mark has a feeling she only did so because of the occasion. She was seeing the seven best friends she witnessed together being separated, and that’s a heartbreaking sight when you know how close they are together.

Two years later, Mark realizes that was his big mistake. It wasn’t on purpose but along the way, he isolated the girl from their original friend group, and maybe it’s what caused some sort of distance in between them.

The year following his departure was an eventful one, and the boy grew a lot, experienced a lot, and learned a lot. The best part of everything being that whenever he met with their little friend group, his spot was intact and everything was the same. Except for Bee. Mark would see how she had inevitably built her own place within the dreamies, and it had him feeling weirdly left out even though they were perfectly coexisting.

They went on being coworkers and labeling each other as friends despite the weird lack of bond, until, of course, the whole “crush” fiasco went down. Mark saw himself and the girl going from, no correlation besides being in the same friend group, to suddenly facing a crisis that revolved around her feelings and his lack of knowledge about how she works.

The image he had of her, was built on a shallow level based on how others perceived her. That’s his second mistake. Jeno, and some of his Hyungs, were almost protective over Bee. Renjun and Jaemin treated her like their personal teddy bear. Haechan, Chenle, and to some extent Jisung were not worth going over in his head, because he thought that if he joked around as they did, she would probably get offended.

So there Mark was, trying to work around, this seemingly fragile character, while finding out that she saw him as a friend more than he did to her. And that maybe all the stress he had gone through to make sure she was being “protected” was worthless and seemingly ignored. He was a bit selfish for wanting to do the right thing simply for others to notice him, but that’s how he knew things. That's how he had to build a career for himself, he needed to get recognition from others to do the things he had done. And maybe connecting everything to work was another mistake.

“What’cha thinking about?” Chenle throws his coat on top of Mark’s head after realizing the practice room wasn’t empty. Though the boy was so deep in thought he didn’t realize the idol had arrived until he announced himself.

“Just life” Mark groans while laying back on the ground, his phone left on the floor next to him. The younger boy walked to the side, taking a glance at the screen before smirking.

“And by life, do you mean someone special?” He teases and Mark's hands fly to the device, the notes app open on the words he had mindlessly typed. He knew Chenle didn’t have time to actually read everything, but the title gave away enough. “The little ballerina”

“I’m trying to see things through a different lens” The Canadian spoke looking sideways at him. Gesturing he continued “Yesterday, I tried talking to her back at the van, but to be honest I had no idea what to say. Apparently, there's no good way to approach it, but I kind of feel like there might be”

“Markie, Markie. Don’t overthink anything. What do we do when we have a schedule that we’re not particularly good at?” Chenle placed a hand behind his ear and waited for the boy to say.

“We go ahead and just do it”

“So do just that” The boy snapped, “Between you and me, Yun-hee doesn't know what she wants. At one point she's all certain about 'moving on' or whatever, yet then when you ask her for any details of what she's feeling, she completely ignores you”.

“You asked her about it?” Mark's head snaps up frowning and the boy nods. “What did she say? Does-”

“Did you not listen to what I just say? She brushed me off” Chenle rolls his eyes “But I think she still likes you if that's worth something. Maybe not the way she did back when Haechan dropped the bomb”.

“What do you mean? Like a friend?” He questions confused, decreasing the younger's patience.

“No, Mark. The same way you like her now”.

“Chenle, I already told her, and all of you, that I don't feel like that towards Bee” Mark’s tone gets more serious and the younger groans annoyed.

“You two are so slow, we literally have to put words in your mouth to get things going” Chenle speaks quicker trying to get his point across. “It's really obvious you care about Bee more than you did at the beginning of last year. And okay, let's say you don't have a little thing for her or whatever, but you do want to have some sort of relationship with her, don't you?”

“Yeah, being friends for once would be nice” Mark nods, sarcastically, and gets up from the floor. “I really just want this all to end”

Mark left the room shortly after and being honest with himself, he felt a little light-headed with everything Chenle just told him. Putting most things aside to revisit once he had a clearer mind, the boy decided to put into use the one good advice he could find in the middle of everything. When you have a particularly hard task, you just have to go ahead and do it.

So with that, his plan was built. And by plan, he means to have no prepared speech, and no questions to ask, instead figure out everything after he finally finds a way of talking to her, which has been harder than anticipated.

A couple of days later, while he went down to the sm cafe before it was time to be at the studio, Mark quite literally froze in place at the sight of a certain Stray Kids member standing near a wall.

Waving shyly at him and Renjun, Seungmin waited awkwardly to see if they would come near him.

"Bee shouldn't take much longer" Renjun caught Mark by surprise, as he approached the boy calmly "Her recording session is almost done, but we can show you the studio if you want to wait for her there"

"No, it's fine" Seungmin smiled, though a little intimidated by Mark's frown. "I'll just sit wherever if it takes too long"

"I'm sorry, you two are going out?" The laugh followed by Mark's question was a little nervous, considering he had only seen the boy a few times yet here he was waiting for Bee to be done so they could do... something?

"No, no. Bee's going to meet Moon, I'm just the intermediate" Seungmin tries to joke but Renjun is the only one laughing. Clearing his throat, he explains further "My group was nearby and we're meeting Ateez for dinner so Moon asked if I could come to pick her up"

"Yun-hee is staying over at her dorm" Renjun adds, glaring sideways at the Canadian. "A sleepover or whatever you want to call it" The three fall silent after he's done talking and Mark runs over an explanation as to why he's feeling so frustrated over this conversation.

He and Bee hadn’t properly spoken since the award show shooting. And while forced interactions were the bare minimum, the boy felt as if the distance they kept had triplicated its length. It made him feel odd to see her act normally with everyone, including a boy she hadn’t spoken to for a year. So why couldn’t they be normal as well?

"Well, I'm going ahead and get a coffee. She should be coming anytime, though being late is kind of expected at this point" The comment from Renjun makes Seungmin chuckle and both boys nod to each other. Turning to Mark, he frowns at his wondering expression "You coming?"

"I'm heading up actually, it's my turn on studio 3" He shakes his head and waves at them. The elevator doesn't seem to take much longer to arrive, which Mark thinks might be some weird doing of fate, considering as soon as he makes it to his floor, Bee is walking along the hallway. Or was, because she changes her path the moment she spots him

Acting purely on instinct might not be the smartest thing to do, the boy thinks to himself while chasing her through the building without any idea of what he wants to say once "catching" her. Maybe Kun hiding Bee in his studio and obviously lying to him was a good thing, or at least it gave him another day to think about where he wants to stand with her.

Ironically, a couple of days after, he's in fact standing in front of a door while thinking if he should or not enter and hopefully settle everything. Mark opens the door slowly, analyzing the small room with two chairs in which she's sitting on one.

“Can we talk now?” He waits for her positive to walk inside and Bee does so by simply nodding. Her eyes looked a little tired and uninterested, but the small tremor on her hands told him how present she really was. And just like the first time they met, her nervousness contaminated him, and they just sat inside the small room without looking at each other in silence.

"I, um, have been thinking about everything since that game night" Mark clears his throat and starts speaking towards the floor "And, not that you owe me anything, but I'd just like to know what happened"

Frowning, Bee quickly glances at him "What do you mean, what happened?"

"When did you start, kind of seeing me in that way. And how did it stop, I guess. It just feels like a lot happened that I'm not aware of, and it's making me look back and reconsider some stuff, I'll explain that later, just let me know what I missed"

Bee thought of how she would put things into words and twirled the ring on her finger, taking a deep breath she tried to make herself comfortable on the chair

"It started around when you came back from the SuperM tour. Or maybe before that, I'm not sure” She sighs and picks at her nails “It seemed like that boy I met was gone after you graduated, and you became this even cooler rapper, you became more confident in yourself, literally embodied SM's favorite child. I sort of became stunned, this feels really weird to say, but I couldn't really recognize you"

Mark slowly looks at Bee while she's talking and carefully listens, he feels a little more comfortable not to look away once she raises her head again. Once she stops, he nods turning his chair a little so they're more face to face.

"You feel out of it after you find out I'm still the awkward boy from before" His jokes make her shrug as opposed to the giggle he expected to hear.

"That happened, but also, you did turn me down" Bee bites her lip regretting the word choice "Not that I'm mad, or really hoped for anything, I simply didn't want to push anything or make things too weird. That's why going back to normal was such a huge thing, but it's been a really long time since then and we still don't know how to do that, I guess"

"Maybe it's because we didn't exactly have a normal, at least not the one we're trying to do right now" Mark catches her attention and she gestures for him to keep going "Thinking back to when we first met, we never got close just the two of us. The others were always around, and even then, I can't recall us sticking together or anything. That might be why you thought I was different"

"It makes sense" The girl mumbles tilting her head and frowning. If he was true, that would mean her crush had been based on this picture of him she drew on her head. And while part of it certainly was, Bee also knows that a little percentage came from his actual responsible yet boyish and kind personality she still appreciates to this day.

"I guess it does" Mark nods reading her face "We should probably find a way to work around that. Just get closer in general, I guess. Find out what our dynamic is like without blending in with the rest of the boys and ignoring each other" He speaks hopefully, but Bee fears it might not work again.

"But, what if this is it for us. We didn't naturally become friends, so maybe accountancies it's what we should stick with" She doesn't know if she meant it, or was scared of this whole 'finding out' deal and its consequences. From what she knew, Bee could easily slip back into her feelings for him and end up breaking her face again.

Yet Mark wasn't having it. He'd spent way too much time, especially lately, noticing how she was comfortable with the others, and the nice chemistry they had. He felt left out, not as in ignored, but Bee was sweet, and a little quirky which also made her funny, but still very caring, and he never denied she was pretty. He wanted to know what it’s like to be her friend like the others are. Though this moment might be the first time he questions if a friendship will be enough for him.

"Let's put an effort this time" He shakes his head dismissing her comment "We can stick around in the practice room a little longer now that our schedules mostly match. And you know, hang out together more, no running away or ignoring each other"

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Bee bounces up her leg and thinks a little bit.

"For what it's worth, we can try. We spent a good time in here and it didn't get awkward, so there’s hope" Mark giggles and she follows him "It'll make the teamwork better if you need a greater good to support your decisions"

"Okay" Bee nods making him shyly hold out a fistbump to her. Making up a quick and weird handshake, they laugh together lighting up the mood a little.

"Just a little request" The girl stops Mark as he's getting up "Let's not rush things, you know. Make it more natural than acting like we're forcefully acting as friends"

"Yeah, sure" Mark pats her head opening the door. And to everyone, especially the dreamies’, happiness, they're a little less awkward around each other.

[yostresswritinggirl]

One of the first few girls I'll ever write in here wobdoswsn- I'm going on my base knowledge of Jean here and it's not gonna be a pretty start, mind you. I don't ship characters really but I see the dynamic in this one, honestly one of the fics that are easiest to write for me. Also I just realized how many poly asks are there aodhsosnxons—

Chivalry Isn't Dead

Poly Relationship Scenarios with You, Jean and Diluc!

Background (How It Started)

You are a knight in Ordo Favonius, the place where you met Jean and Diluc for the first time. You were there when they both started and you were also there when they ascended to be the Dandelion Knight and the Cavalry Captain.

You became close first with the captain, the first one you've met between them, because of the fact that you were under his unit. Back then he was very open and close with you, teaching you and making sure you were intact.

When Jean ascended, that's when she found out about you due to the nature of her work as one of the higher-ups. She found you so endearing with your whole-hearted desire to secure Mondstadt.

Jean knew about Diluc for a while now due to his status as one of the youngest to ascend in Captain hood and how their work was closely aligned, and they both collaborate with their silent oaths to protect you. The trio of you are VERY confused over your own feelings, wondering what exactly this entails or which one would you have to choose.

In the span of that mulling, you three had become very close due to your intervention, the glue that keeps you all together literally. You're very physical when you're dealing with people you consider very close, and the both of them always melt upon your embrace.

Between the both of them was light-hearted competition on who can make you feel safer, protect you better. And you are ever so dense over their friendly banter, and the sexual tension between them.

When Diluc left the knights, you had been under the comfort and command of Jean instead, taking your place away from the Cavalry unit to be those of the stationary knights to assist her after she became the Acting Grandmaster. You were devastated over his disappearance the most due to your closeness and Jean was the only person who could keep you sane.

The relationship starts in that period with you and Jean as the first set of couples.

When Diluc came back, his relationship with Jean became estranged and yet there was still a hint of comfort when he was under your presence. Jean was a bit devastated at their new status quo as she had come into terms of her feelings about him during his leave.

You spent most of your time then trying to get close to Diluc again and his feelings came back tenfold, making him finally confess. In front of you and Jean. the tension was thick when Jean finally caught her breath to inform Diluc of your relationship with her.

Horrified yet still adamant, Diluc stood his ground and looked at you both, millions of emotions flashing through his red irises. Jean looked at him longingly and of the old memories they shared protecting you. And you... were trying to understand why you desire them both in the same level.

Your honesty over the situation suddenly opened up the idea of polyamory and it seems that despite the tension between the two ex/knights, with you as their mediator and lover, they were willing to try or wait until you choose only one of them.

Spoilers: You chose both in the end.

How The Relationship Goes

While things go nicely between you and the other two, when it comes to them alone it was... weird. You pretty much carry the triangle here as they were both wary of displaying affection with each other, and most of it has to do with the reputation they have to uphold.

Jean protects you at day, Diluc makes sure you're safe at night. The nature of their work had you evenly split between the both of them and you three chance a fully present meet up by evening when Diluc is still on his shift and Jean has finished her work early.

Speaking of, you and Diluc fret over Jean's overworking albeit different in approach. Diluc would be brash about his opinion, calling her out while still offering materials that may help ever so subtly. While you are more adamant, sometimes dragging her off her seat and you taking over her work while she rests on the couch.

Since her work correlates with yours, you always put double the effort to help her with commissions to make sure it gets cut faster. This sometimes backfires with the both of you overworked, a disappointed Diluc pulling you both to the Winery to relax by the fireplace without the scandalous rumors sparking.

When you show physical affection Jean, she always reciprocates it the best she can, happily granting you attention and letting you cling to her during work. Your presence grounds her, relaxing her at the same time with your bouts of comfort.

When you indulge Diluc with affection, he's stoic and cross armed usually. Because of the nature of his work at the tavern, giving him some loving would need to be done while he works or not at all. The customers would find you behind the counter, clinging to his waist as Diluc serves the drinks nonchalantly, sometimes he wears glare if people were about to comment on it and that usually shuts them up.

Behind closed doors however the Ragnvindr indulges you too with his affection, still stoic but reciprocal, the rarity of it making it the more precious.

Dates RARELY happen between you three because of the fully loaded schedule all three of you have. It only ever happens when you all suddenly have free time or you cry about it.

The both of them spoil you a lot more than you'd realize. Diluc gifts you and Jean materialistically, while yours were small trinkets, Jean's are more for functionality or items that had slipped past her lips once of which Diluc remembers.

Sugar daddy Diluc for the both of you, motherly Jean in retaliation, and you're just their precious darling that will never be hurt under their supervision.

In time, Diluc and Jean would end up getting closer but still behind closed doors for safety. It was only ever you that's so shameless to pour out affection in full display and these two are too intoxicated by your love to pull you away.

During daytime on a weirdly usual occassions the people of Mond frequently spots your trio strolling hand-in-hand around the city, lively chatter about anything and everything before going back to your stuffy workspaces. Diluc would part a few feet away from the headquarters with a kiss on the head for you two. And when he turns back, you and Jean would giggle to yourselves before going to work.

Bonus: Diluc has asked for a professional painter to paint you and Jean, said canvas hanging at his office in the Winery. Jean has a Kamera photo of you three by her office too. And you have them both in a locket.

As Leverage

Your highly advantageous position to garner the heart of not only the Acting Grandmaster's but also the holder of the wine tycoon (and Darknight Hero) had made you a target for many lecherous beings.

While those with mind do not outright take you away, opting to trying to get to your good side as leverage, there are rascals like the Abyss Order who just does what they want and can.

The moment you disappear, both of them are immediately alerted due to their schedules coinciding with yours. And with your kidnapping, they too slip into the shadows, never to return for days.

It was one of the scarce moments that Diluc and Jean are in perfect sync, knowing each other's plans and next move, falling into each other's pace as they carefully concoct their plan for your retrieval.

Jean would definitely cry. As she was the one who mostly basks in your presence, there are many parts of her breakdown that comes to play: the heavy work left behind, your comforting presence that keeps her alive, and the fact that she lost you when she's supposed to keep an eye on you as per silent agreement with Diluc.

She'd cry at him, telling him she's sorry for being careless, and Diluc would comfort her in his arms without ending up as broken as her. This moment had established a bond between them that would be a solid foundation to your triangle, but also a better understanding of how important you are to them.

You disappear three days maximum with how quick and smart they are about the kidnapping.

Abyss Mages were almost forgotten with how quiet they suddenly got after that incident. That massacre.

While traumatized, you are also more than happy to see the newfound closeness between your lovers, as you melt into their tight cuddles after rescuing you.

There may or may not be talks of plans about you and Jean moving in the Winery officially.

Ugh, so cute!!! my bi ass was on full blast here-

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel

[one-boring-person]

I would love you forever if you wrote something for Iceman where the reader is Viper's daughter and also in the Navy

Of course, I hope you like this! 💛❤ (sorry if it's a bit rushed!) I actually really enjoyed writing this, so thank you for requesting it!!

We Are More Than Dead.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x reader

Warnings: implied sexual themes, inflight violence (mild)

Note: The reader's call sign is Cobra (seeing as her dad is Viper😅)

Masterlist

"Hey Cobra? Please warn me next time you wanna pull a stunt like that!" My RIO, Wasp, instructs me in resignation, her voice laced with exasperation as she tries to recover from the tight spiralling loop I just took the jet around, the pressure having been a little too strong for the average human body to deal with.

"Sorry," I apologise, laughing to myself as I check the surroundings again, before radioing our wingmen, "Are there any more bogeys around?"

It takes a few seconds, but the other pilots and their RIOs are quick to respond, their voices slightly distorted thanks to the distance between us, though they are coherent enough to understand.

"Nothing over here." Goose, Maverick's RIO, replies, cheerful voice decisive but strained, as if he is looking around.

"Likewise, sweet cheeks." Iceman teases, the pilot chuckling at my protest. Behind me, Wasp makes a noise of disgust, the RIO being the only one who knows of Iceman and my relationship, the others only hinting at it, her fist coming round to tap against my helmet, her way of telling me to keep it PG.

"Roger." I finally retort, guiding the jet into a gentle turn, the left wing tipping so it's in line with the ocean below me, giving us a clear view of the horizon.

"Hang on, I think I see something!" Wasp suddenly speaks up, hands grabbing at the clear canopy, helmet knocking against it as she cranes her head back, "Yeah, there's a bogey on our six! They're following us around."

"Great." I mutter, checking the radar and swiftly finding the correlating dot pursuing us, a plan forming in my head.

Clenching my jaw, I pull out of the turn and level off, keeping the jet as straight as possible as I cruise just above cloud level, my pulse picking up as the familiar beeping sound of the missile lock radar begins, the enemy pilot responding to my ploy. I slow the plane, keeping the bogey interested as Wasp starts to question me, only to keep quiet when I tell her I know what I'm doing, her trust in me a great relief but well earned. As the aircraft behind us nears, the high pitched beeping increases in volume and frequency, becoming one long droning sound that assaults our ears, before quickly cutting off as I sharply roll the jet into a tight barrel roll, out of range of missile lock. The other jet flies right by, the pilot turning their head in our direction in surprise, not quite realising what I'm up to.

Rolling out again, I smirk to myself as I give chase, switching on missile lock and swiftly finding my target, allowing it to focus before pressing the trigger. Seconds later, the jet ahead goes up in smoke, debris erupting into the sky with a flash of orange flames, illuminating our cockpit as I fly past, avoiding any large pieces with practiced ease.

"Last one down." I report to the others, whoops of relief and triumph following a moment or so later.

"Nice one, Cobra!" Slider congratulates, cheering through the mics much louder than the others.

A minute or so passes before the tower radios back, giving us permission to land, to which we all respond with relief, seeing as we've all been out for hours already. One at a time, we all return to the aircraft carrier, our two wingmen landing before me, giving me time to loop round the ship itself, until it's our turn. Bracing myself for the impact, I manage to land the jet pretty smoothly, only drawing a small grunt from Wasp as opposed to the usual yelp l, her helmet only tapping lightly against the back of my seat. Once we've come to a halt, I taxi the jet into a safe stationary position, carefully unclasping the canopy so that we can climb out. Unclipping myself from my seat, I heave myself out and onto the open deck, stretching as ground staff rush to check over the aircraft, ignoring me and Wasp as we start walking over to where the boys are waiting.

"Well done for catching that last bogey, Cobra. We never even saw it." Maverick congratulates me, smiling at me gratefully.

"Thank you, but I wouldn't have seen it without Wasp. It very nearly killed us." I brush off, blushing at the attention.

"It wasn't just the bogey that nearly killed us. You fly with a suicide wish, (Y/n)!" My RIO huffs, rolling her shoulders.

At this, Iceman let's out a sharp laugh, the sound making butterflies spring to life within me.

"Damn, the commander's daughter flies dangerously, who'd have thought?" The blonde pilot smirks at me, gesturing with his helmet, referring to my father, Viper.

"Shut up." I mutter, grinning bashfully at him, letting him loop a strictly friendly arm around my shoulders, pulling me subtly against his muscular body.

As a group, we walk towards the changing rooms, Wasp and I splitting off into the female ones, where we quickly get showered. As always, Wasp finishes before me, sitting on the bench in the centre as she watches me change (in a non creepy way), our attention drawn to the door as it suddenly opens, a tall figure stepping in. A smirk crosses her face as she catches sight of him, swiftly getting up and leaving the room with a suggestive wave.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" I whisper-yell at Iceman, watching as he comes closer, holding my shirt up to my chest to hide myself from view.

"What? I can't come and admire my girlfriend?" The pilot asks in mock offense, continuing to approach me, grin widening as I remain in place, eyeing him.

"Not when we can be caught! You know what the rules are, and you know what my dad is like!" I protest, my voice faltering a little as he reaches out his hands to skim up my sides, one coming up to lower my shirt, revealing my clothed chest to him.

"Relax, no one will catch us." He hums, pulling me towards him, pressing his body against mine using his toned arms, grinning as my breath hitches, my own palms coming up to rest against his chest.

"If anyone does, we're more than dead-" I go to say, only to he cut off by the sensation of Tom's lips against mine, one of his hands coming up to cup my jaw and hold me against him, though there is no need, as I hesitantly reciprocate the gesture, carding my fingers through his hair. Deepening the kiss, Tom briefly pulls away as he sits on the bench behind him, encouraging me to sit on his lap, which I do, his lips instantly returning to my skin, sucking and biting their way up the column of my neck, small gasps and moans escaping me as he reaches my sensitive points. He grins against my skin, marking my sweet spot with a deep purple hickey, despite my protest, kissing back up to my jaw, where he licks a line straight back to my lips, capturing them again. His hands move to my hips, pulling me closer to him as they smooth down over my ass, a squeak leaving me as he abruptly squeezes, the sensation unexpected, drawing a throaty chuckle from him which resonates in my ears, goosebumps rising along my skin.

A loud knock on the door interrupts us, snapping me back to reality with a horrified jolt, though it is accompanied by disappointment as Tom rests his head against my chest, clearly as frustrated as I am, but not nearly as panicked. Hastily, I scramble upright and pull on my shirt, fixing my hair and making myself look neat and presentable, thinking it to be Wasp at the door. In my hurry, I forget to cover up my neck, leaving the dark spots clearly visible to anyone who looks close enough, Iceman and I quickly going to the door. Opening it, I step out into the corridor, only to stop dead when I see who it is, Iceman bumping into me before he realise this, too.

Nervously, I swallow down the lump in my throat, cowering under his stern gaze.

"Hey, dad."

[mourntheantagonist]

I’m sorry about your exams mine are coming up soon and I’m about to shit a brick about it ngl but at the end of the dad tests can be made up or classes retaken. grades don’t define you and tbh they’re not a measure of success either. I’m sure you’re a good student who tried.

Prompt:

Meet ugly: billy likes to jog at the park but his run is cute off went this huge ass wet dog all muddy and shit cuts him off and weaves between his legs. He trips right into a muddy puddle and twists his ankle. Steve runs up to him all apologetic and billy is yelling at him about keeping his dog on a leash, but billy has no choice but to accept the guys help cuz he can’t walk on his own.

Thank you so much for the kind words and thank you so much for the prompt. I loved this idea and got a little carried away and it’s not 100% what you asked for but I still hope you enjoy it :)

read on ao3

Billy loves the rain. Living in California meant a good rainfall was few and far between. He hated to praise Hawkins, Indiana, but he loved that it rained.

Rain in Hawkins was also very much unlike the rain in California. Down in the southwest corner of the country, rainfall was less like a shower and more like a sprinkle. The rain was only ever powerful enough to form little droplets in his hair. Never enough to cause soaking wet clothes or windshield wipers past the lowest setting. It was nothing like that in Hawkins. Instead it was heavy showers. Soaking his clothes until they were dripping. Needing to drive carefully to avoid hydroplaning. But not too carefully. He had to take advantage of those curb-side puddles that were perfect for splashing pedestrians. 

If he had to say anything good about Hawkins, it would have to be the rain. But one thing that was just slightly better than when it was raining, was when it stopped. When the roads were still wet, and the sky still cloudy, but not a single drop of water falling to the earth. It was a weirdly nice feeling. The post rain smell filling his senses. It always seemed to be the perfect temperature. Not too hot. Not too cold. Refreshing was the best way to describe it.

It’s perfect jogging weather. It was always far too hot in California to actually jog the way he wanted. The heat sucking every bit of energy out of him. And trying to breathe in the California smog was just a bad idea in general. Running in the post rain bliss was something else entirely. Taking in only the freshest air. He felt rejuvenated after every run.

That’s how he turned into the guy who stared out of his window every weekend as raindrops fell upon the pane. Looking up at the grey sky waiting for the clouds to part and the rain to subside so he could go out for his run. This was another good thing about Hawkins rain. While it rained often, it didn’t rain for long. It was a perfect balance the way Billy sees it. 

This was how he got to know Hawkins a little better. He ran through surrounding neighborhoods, he ran to the high school and on days he felt really good, he ran into town. 

Weirdly enough running was a lot like surfing. Not so much in the activity itself, but for the purposes that it served. Because it was more than just exercise. It was a nice way of escaping everything. His dad, Susan, hell even Hawkins. Because just like surfing he was able to put himself into a different zone. Enter a separate reality from the one he was stuck in. He could put on his Walkman and run like he had no destination. 

But sometimes he got into the zone a little too much. If the town hadn’t already known him as the bad boy from sunny California, they surely knew him as the punk kid with no respect that was constantly bumping into them on the street. Jaywalking in front of their cars. Splashing carelessly into puddles of fresh rain water. It’s not like he planned to stay in a small town in Indiana. Billy was not the small town type. Some nice rain wasn’t going to suddenly change him into that type of person. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t find rain elsewhere. The Pacific Northwest has both heavy rain and beaches. Maybe he’ll go there instead of going back to California. But the point is, he doesn’t care about what his reputation is. It doesn’t matter. So he pisses off the locals without hesitation and just tries to make the best of it while he’s trapped here.

But maybe Billy should have paid a little more attention. While some humans have the common sense to move out of the way, some animals are lacking in that area.

He’s running through this trail he found in the woods surrounding Loch Nora. In his defense he has no reason to be expecting any company while jogging through the middle of the woods. Perhaps he shouldn’t only be worrying about the company of people and rather whatever wildlife lurks in this part of the country. 

Thank fuck his only run in was with that of a disheveled golden retriever covered in mud and not some seven foot tall bear. Billy doesn’t notice the dog until it begins weaving in and out between Billy’s legs. The dog is damn lucky Billy didn’t step on her tail. She’s got a leash hanging from her collar with no owner on the other end. But Billy only knows that part because the same leash had managed to wrap around both of his ankles, bringing him to his new position of being face down in a muddy puddle with an apparent ache forming where the leash had bound him.

So there he lies. Face down, ankles wrapped, a dog licking the mud off his face, and to top it all off, the owner has finally decided to make an appearance. Something in Billy is not even surprised to find that when he rolls over onto his ass he discovers that the owner is none other than Steve fucking Harrington. Because of course it’s Steve fucking Harrington. The universe can’t allow Billy to have even one normal day. 

Billy notices Steve before Steve actually notices him. He’s about fifty feet away looking in the other direction shouting what he assumes is the mutts name. “Trixie!” Billy is trying to untangle himself from the leash, but not before Trixie makes a run for the human calling her name and yanks herself free, tugging at his right ankle before breaking loose. Billy doesn’t contain the shriek in pain as it almost dislocates the bone. Shit. Something is definitely wrong.

Steve hears him of course. Hears the girlish scream that Billy would never produce voluntarily. Billy is trying to hoist himself up to maintain some of his dignity, but to no avail. Once Steve has made the distance and is standing at his feet, and billy has succumbed to his spot in the dirt, he fires first.

“Keep your damn dog on a leash.” He spits. If he can’t be at eye level, or even stand up, he has to assert his dominance somehow.

It’s only then that it actually clicks for Steve that Billy hasn’t just parked himself there in the dirt for fun. 

“Oh shit dude! Fuck I’m sorry about that. There’s not usually anyone around here so I thought I’d let her do her business y’know? Also she’s not my dog, I’m just pet-sitting for my neighbor. What am I doing? You don’t care about that. Are you okay? She didn’t bite you or anything, right?”

Billy should be mad. Like his ankle might be broken because this idiot doesn’t know how to take care of a dog. But all that rambling and profuse apologies was kind of… cute? Nope. Nope! Billy shut that thought down immediately. 

Billy gestures down toward his feet. “Fuckin’ took me down by the ankles. You could learn a thing or two from the bitch. Seeing how you play basketball and all.” 

Steve brushes off the comment and lends a hand to help Billy up from the ground. He winces when he applies pressure. Still through the pain he slowly tries to walk away.

“Wait! Dude don’t you live on Old Cherry? That’s like a mile from here.” Billy is just comically limping away from the scene. Logically he knows he’s not getting home on his own. But the last thing he wants is to accept charity from Steve Harrington. 

“I don’t need your help Harrington. I’ll be fine. Go back to your castle.”

Steve just ignores him and throws one of Billy’s arms over his shoulder. “Look, my house is like a block away. Let me drive you home so I don’t have to hear about the news of your body being recovered from the Eno River.”

Begrudgingly, Billy accepts the support, huffing out a ‘fine’ before letting Steve guide him and the dog towards the Harrington household. 

Steve was right. It was definitely closer than his house was. He could already see between the trees the nice looking two story building. Billy had passed by it before on his drives, but only ever in the dark. It looked much different in the daylight. Somehow it looked even more abandoned. Like everything was still kept up. There weren’t vines growing along the side. It looked clean, but it gave off this strange feeling of loneliness. Like few people had ever passed through it. 

The only thing about the house that wasn’t up to code was the pool. The water was green and filled with dead bugs and fallen leaves. Looked like it hadn’t been cleaned out in months. He vaguely recalls hearing about the story of that Barbara Holland chick. Died in his pool. He figures there’s some correlation there. 

By the time they make it to the Beemer, Steve finally gets a good look at his ankle. In only the matter of a couple minutes it’s swollen dramatically and he can see a faint purple forming underneath the skin. He also sees some blood stains forming at his knees, seeping through the grey material of his sweats. And Billy is filthy. He’s got mud on his face and all over his clothes. His hands are all scraped up, most likely from the fall.

Steve’s brain is working hard. Steve has every reason to let Billy go on his own. Not even three months ago the guy was on top of him, beating him nearly to death. Why should Steve be showing him any kindness? But then he remembers back to him and Jonathan. Sure the fight wasn’t nearly as brutal. But Steve has said some fucked up shit to him and Jonathan never held it against him. Sure, Steve actually apologized, but in his own way, he thinks Billy had too. Not so much with words but with his actions. He had left Steve alone ever since that night. He was still aggressive when they were on the court, but the trash talk had dissipated. So maybe there was some remorse there. And look, it’s Steve’s fault his ankle is fucked up so the least he can do is help him get fixed up and get home.

“Okay look. I have to get the dog settled inside before I can take you home. How about you let me take a look at your ankle and then we can both go our separate ways?” 

Billy crosses his arms, balancing on one leg now that he’s no longer being supported. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Actually the deal was I’d drive you home. That hasn’t changed. Just come inside. Your ankle looks fucked up and I know a thing or two about first aid.” Steve goes back towards Billy and puts his arm back in the same position it was before. Doesn’t give Billy time to protest before he’s made it through the front door. He guides him to the kitchen table where he instructs him to sit down. Then Steve leaves him there along with Trixie. 

Billy scans the kitchen. He’s kind of surprised to see that it looks pretty typical for a kitchen. Nothing too fancy about it aside from the clearly new appliances. It’s just average. Oak cabinets. Basic granite countertops. Doesn’t match the exterior at all. 

Steve comes back without the dog and with a first aid kit in hand. 

“You don’t have to do this man, just take me home.”

Steve just ignores him and kneels down in front of him and works at the laces of his shoe. “It’s my fault you look like you were just mauled by a bear so let me fucking do this alright?” Steve pulls off his shoe frustratedly which probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Ow! What the fuck dude?!”

“Sorry.”

“Look, I’m not here to help you feel better about yourself.” 

Steve pulls his sock off anyway. This time with slightly more care. “Just shut up and let me finish this so I can get you out of here.” Billy slumps back and Steve takes a closer look at his ankle. It looks bad. Clearly broken. “I think you need to go to a hospital. This looks like more than just a sprain.”

Billy's eyes go wide and he gets a little shaky. “No hospitals” he says bluntly.

“Billy I really think you should consider-“

“Did you not fucking hear me? I’m not going to a hospital.”

“Why not?”

Billy scoffs. “Your pretty little head couldn’t handle it.”

“Try me.”

“No. We’re not doing this Harrington. Fix me up and take me home.”

Steve rolls his eyes and gets up from where he was kneeling. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“Not like there’s anywhere I can go.”

Steve comes back with a pair of sweats and a plain black t-shirt. He tosses them onto Billy’s lap. “Think you can put these on without my help?” Billy is puzzled. “Look I’m not going to let you get mud all over my car so put on the damn clothes.”

Billy is currently in grey joggers and a long sleeved navy hoodie. It’s honestly the most covered up he’s ever seen him. While Billy is dressing himself, Steve is preparing a wet washcloth and grabbing an old package of frozen peas from the freezer. Steve manages to catch a glimpse of Billy with his shirt off. It’s not even close to the first time he’s seen the guys shirtless. Hell he’s seen the guy fully naked. But this feels different. This time feels more vulnerable. This time it’s not a decision he’s making himself. This time Billy has several belt marks running across his back. The shirt is on just as soon as he makes the realization. Steve just tries to act natural.

“Okay. I’m going to wrap your ankle. You’re going to ice it while I clean up your knees. Then I’ll take you home and we never have to talk to each other again. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good,” he hands Billy the wet washcloth. “And wash the dirt off your face.”

Steve pulls up a chair so he can sit in front of him. He gently brings Billy’s right leg up to rest on his thigh and places the frozen peas so that they hug his ankle. He slowly rolls up Billy’s pant leg and inspects the damage. Luckily it’s just some minor scraping that a couple bandaids should fix. He grabs some cotton balls and antiseptic from the kit and begins dressing the wound. But he can’t stop thinking about the belt marks.

Any other kind of injury and he could brush it off as Billy going out and picking a fight with someone. But these are unmistakably not from that and Steve doesn’t like entertaining what it actually means. 

Ever since basketball season had ended Neil had been less careful with leaving marks. 

Because he’s in a t-shirt now, Billy can see as the belt marks wrap around his upper arm.

“That why you don’t want to go to the hospital?” Steve points to the markings.

“Leave it alone Harrington.”

Steve just keeps his eyes focused on Billy’s knee. “Who did that to you?”

“I said drop it.”

“Was it your dad?”

Billy quickly jerks his leg forward kicking Steve in the chest. Not a good idea considering that probably hurt him more than it did Steve.

“You proud of yourself Harrington? Finally cracked the code? Glad to finally have something to hold over my head so you can take back your precious crown?”

Steve is still recovering from the blow to his chest. Didn’t really hurt. Just knocked the wind out of him.

“I didn’t mean to-“ 

“Cut the shit alright?”

“No! You cut the shit. Fuck I don’t give a shit about some stupid fake crown.” Steve heaves a sigh. “Look I don’t understand this exactly. But I get shitty dads.”

Billy is kind of just staring at him blankly. The prior rage seems to have disappeared but he can’t exactly tell for sure. It’s like for the first time in his life he’s actually carefully constructing his next words instead of spitting out whatever comes to mind first.

“Your Dad take away your allowance?” Nope same Billy as always.

“More like he’s never around. Cheats on my mom and my mom cares more about her reputation. I haven’t seen them in weeks now and if you asked me where they are right now I couldn’t tell you.”

Billy bows his head. “Shit. Sorry.” This is a different Billy than he’s used to.

“Can I get back to fixing your ankle now?”

Billy brings his leg back up and Steve carefully situates it back on his thigh. He picks up the package of peas that had fell to the floor and continues his work.

“Can I ask you one question?” Steve asks.

“One.”

“Is Max safe?”

Billy turns his head away. “Yeah.” It comes out a little raspy, like he’s choking on air. “He won’t touch her as long as I’m there.”

Steve’s starting to actually piece it all together. The little details he’s picked up on ever since he made his first appearance at Hawkins High in his loud blue Camaro. Suddenly there’s more nuance to every action he’s taken since then. 

“He shouldn’t touch you either.”

There’s a pang in his chest as he says it. As he watches Billy actively avoid eye contact. He can feel that he doesn’t believe him. That he thinks he deserves it. Because Steve has allowed himself to believe that he was just never good enough for his father. Never understanding that his father was just incapable of showing love. 

Billy doesn’t respond to that. Steve finishes wrapping up Billy’s ankle and patching up his knees, and now he’s helping Billy out to his car. With all this new information in his head he really doesn’t want to drive him home. But they had a deal.

As soon as Steve turns the ignition, Duran Duran starts blaring over the speakers.

“Figured you’d have shitty music taste.” 

“Oh shut up. Unlike you I actually like to hear what they’re saying. Not all the noise.”

“Still. Duran Duran is a different kind of awful.” 

Steve lets himself smile. Even though he’s being berated about his ‘shit taste in music’, he likes this kind of Billy. He’s not saying it to hurt him. It’s like a friendly jab. Maybe Billy Hargrove isn’t exactly who he first thought he was.

The trip is rather short. Old Cherry isn’t too far from Loch Nora when traveling by car. Hungry Like the Wolf hadn’t even ended by the time Steve pulled up to the curb.

Billy doesn’t move to get out of the car. Steve momentarily forgets about his ankle and let’s himself think he’s staying put for another reason. Maybe it has nothing to do with his ankle. He hasn’t said anything. 

Billy wants Steve to say something. Because something weird happened back at the house. The moment Steve said ‘he shouldn’t touch you either’ felt off. He felt something and he needs to know that Steve felt it too.

Steve turns the car off and slumps back into his seat, both hands now tightly gripping the steering wheel. He’s staring past Billy at the house with a look of worry. 

“Look. If you ever need to get away, my doors always open.”

Billy goes to look back at him. Steve is still entranced by the front door. 

“We’re not friends, Harrington. You don’t have to act friendly.”

“We could be.”

“What?”

Steve is looking at Billy now.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we didn’t spend all this time hating each other and became friends? Forget crowns and keg stand records and fucking Tommy H. and just try to get along? We got two months left until we’re out of here so why not make the best of it?”

“You want to be my friend Harrington?”

Steve puts his head in his hands and groans. 

“We don’t have to be friends but we could at least be civil with each other. Just,” he takes another look at the house. “please come over when shit gets bad.”

Billy hesitates, but he nods assuringly. 

“You gonna be alright in there?”

Billy scans the exterior of the house. “He’s not home yet so I should be good.”

“And your ankle?”

“I’ll be alright.” He seems unsure, but Steve chooses not to push the issue further.

“Okay.”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt and goes around the back side of the car to the passenger side and helps Billy up out of his seat. As soon as he slams the door shut, rain starts to dump all over them.

The two are facing each other and Billy has half of his weight resting on Steve’s shoulders. Billy catches a glimpse of Steve’s eyes. Droplets forming on his eyelashes. His hair is already dripping fresh rain water onto his cheeks. It’s disorienting. 

Billy isn’t one for sappy shit but this is some freaky sign.

“I don’t want to be your friend Steve.”

Before Steve has a chance to respond his lips are pressed to Billy’s. It’s a quick exchange. Blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing. Billy has both his hands on Steve’s shoulders and is looking at him questioningly. Like he’s waiting for him to punch him or kiss him again. Steve chooses the latter.

Steve surges forward and crashes into Billy. It lasts longer this time. Still quick. But there’s enough time to appreciate the taste of each other’s mouths mixed with fresh rain drops. Steve pulls away first and is quick to offer a reassuring smile. They both look up at the rain coming down, and back to each other.

“Let’s get you inside.”

Billy has another reason to love the rain.

[crowleyellestair]

Desperate Times Call for Stealing Outfits - Jaskier

AN//// Ok, I’m obsessed with this outfit, and I know that this is worn in most of the fics I write, so, here we go

My part 3 is coming soon!

Masterlist

 The hot water was physically relaxing to the bard, but it did little to ease his mind. Even looking over to Y/n, who laid on their shared bed, couldn’t silence his thoughts. She laid face down, her cheek smooshing against the hard cot. She tried to keep her eyes open and focused on him as she had been trying to get him to calm down.

While the sight of her, naked under the small towel that lazily wrapped around her, was a great deterrent, his mind couldn’t leave Geralt. He trusted the Witcher with his life, so the fact that his capability for keeping himself safe was being questioned frustrated the bard. Jaskier knew he’d be fine- the hunt was for a low level noonwraith, where’s the difficulty in that?

If Jaskier had anyone to blame for this line of worry, it would be Y/n herself, though she is trying to talk him down. Jaskier looked to her in any situation that logic is questioned, and since she brought it up, it worried him. She had noticed that the town seemed fine- lively, even, when they first showed up. There is a certain hatred the town holds for non-conformists, so it was odd that before the trio left, they received a job. Why would someone take a week to bring up the monster plaguing their town?

This got to the bard, and so there he sat, in the tub, questioning Geralt’s safety.

“Please, Jaskier. It was just an interesting thought. Correlation is not causation-.” Her entire sentence came out as one long sigh, cut off by a yawn. His hands picked at the wood of the tub’s rim, his eyes following the small ripples in the water’s surface.

“But that isn’t always true, is it. We aren’t sharing this room just because we have a mutual, brooding, unsafe friend. It’s because we’re in love.” His eyes flicked over to her, trying to emphasize his argument with a look, but he watched as a lazy smile spread. She had closed her eyes at that point, so his gaze was futile. It took a minute for her to respond, almost as if she was hearing him in slow motion. Y/n threw her hand up, pointing at him before dropping her hand back down just as fast and replying,

“Don’t forget the number one reason: Jaskier’s gorgeous bottom.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled. He quickly fell back into thought. He pushed out of the tub, snatching up the towel that wasn’t being used. He quickly rubbed himself down before finding an undershirt and pants. He looked decent enough to go out and find Geralt. Y/n had a great knowledge on alchemy, taking over Geralt’s need for replenishing magical items.

Jaskier quietly rifled through her alchemy bag, finding the wraith dust shot towards the bottom. He tiptoed over to her, looking down at her apparent sleeping form. To not disturb her, he didn’t reach for the blanket she laid on. Instead, he reached for his dark blue doublet he had planned to wear the next day, and placed it over her top half. Just in case she shifted in her sleep, she wouldn’t be chilly. Jaskier placed a kiss on her head before heading out.

 When Y/n woke, the room was dim. The candles had burned down to nubs, and the steam the lifted from the water had long passed. Her hair was dry and little noise crept in from the recently filled tavern. Her body snapped into a sitting position, eyes flying to try and find her loving bard. He couldn’t be found, but she noticed her alchemy bag had its contents gently strewn about. Jaskier must not have wanted to make too much noise by putting things back. Y/n took quick inventory, realizing instantly that the only thing missing was a noonwraith weakness. She sighed, putting together that Jaskier must have followed Geralt after she fell asleep.

Y/n looked around, trying not to let worry seep into her mind. Jaskier could easily get lost in the woods, never finding their friend. Or maybe he could be injured, especially if she was right, and it was a trap for Geralt.

Stalking around the room, she couldn’t find clothes. Y/n had always brought in the most coin by selling elixirs and gambling with Gwent. She had no qualms with having an open purse if the boys needed some, and Jaskier must have sent their clothes to the wash. Normally, it would be fine, but Y/n had run out of extra clothes other than her nightgown. As much as she was willing to go hunt the men, and maybe a wraith, in just that, Jaskier’s worries started to gnaw at her. Maybe she was right? It was just something she noticed, and her love for pollical conspiracy sometimes mixed with normal, harmless observations, which gave birth to her thoughts. Jaskier worrying and his absence threw her into a frenzy.

The only clothes around was Jaskier’s, and she threw the dark blue trousers on hastily. While his pants were tight for him, they were way too long and somewhat baggy on her. She laced the top of them just under her breasts, and she rolled up the ends, tucking them into her boots. Y/n couldn’t find his undershirt, so she settled for his doublet. The sleeves were too long, but rolling them up seemed difficult. The red triangle patterns mixed with the yellow slits looked nice, and she stopped to appreciate it for a moment. Jaskier might not know how to fight, but he does know how to find fine clothing. Y/n knotted the coat closed, but Jaskier had fiddled with the top section of them. Damn his need to show off his chest hair- even if she did love it. The valley between her breasts were left to be shown off to any onlookers, and her collarbone quickly got cold.

She thought herself foolish, but desperate times came desperate measures. Throwing her quiver and bow over her shoulder, she made her way into the forest.

 Y/n wasn’t great with tracking, her never really having a need to giving her a good excuse. Luckily, after walking a while in the direction she thought were fresh footprints, she heard Jaskier. Geralt must have been upset for him showing up, and she took off running towards her bard’s retorts.

She pushed through a bush line, straight into the wall of Geralt. Her body bounced off his chest, but his hands shot out to steady her. Her eyes flicked between the two, trying to evaluate for injuries.

“You two are okay?” Her breath came out in heavy puffs from running and relief. Her hands left Geralt’s arms before running over Jaskier, trying to feel for anything wet. “You two are okay!” Y/n let out a hearty laugh, pointing at Jaskier. The sleeve engulfed her hand, only her pointer finger popping out. She wagged it at him before her laughter died down. “You got to me with your worrying.” Her smile fell before cuffing the side of his head. “If you ever leave without telling me that you’re blindly running into danger, I will follow you like I did today, and kill you myself. What if I was right? What the hell were you to do then? That wraith bomb won’t be very effective against a person.” What she heard next was something she hadn’t expected. Geralt’s gruff voice was full of humor as he asks,

“Why are you wearing Jaskier’s clothes.”  Y/n blushed a little as she looked down at herself. She met his gaze, popping her hip and placing her hands on them. She tried to give an intimidating aura, but the sleeves bent, and her hands couldn’t be seen. The puff of the sleeves swallowing her neck, so her illusion was ruined.

“My clothes are being washed. Would you rather I wait if you were in danger?” She watched as his gaze raked her form before a smirk appeared upon him. His gaze left hers to look at the bard.

“At least we found someone who can actually pull the outfit off.” He looked back at her, giving off what she thought was an approving hum, and continued walking back to the town. Jaskier scoffed at his remark before looking down at her.

“He, although rude,” He yelled before quieting his tone, “is right. You look…ravishing. This is doing something to me.” A finger of his hooks itself on the top knot, popping it while staring into her gaze.

“Sadly, nothing could fill these trousers out like you do.” She winked, but the blush spread, and she leaned in to steal a kiss.

“Well, we can certainly take them off.”

[emybain]

Three Times Nova and Adrian Were Caught and One Time They Weren’t

I started this last night at 1am on a weeks worth of sleep deprivation so honestly I have no clue what this is and I apologize in advance. The title pretty much sums up the fic. note: while these are technically all connected (post supernova drabbles), they have no correlation with one another and are simple drabbles that are connected through the title and the setting. enjoy

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SUPERNOVA

Masterpost of all my Renegades fics

    Nova was never one for public displays of affection, which was why she tried to avoid anything more than hand holding whenever she was somewhere with Adrian. After seeing that her bold kiss with him after her release from Cragmoor had ended up on just about every magazine cover and was the gossip of every tabloid, Nova would rather not have another repeat. The less attention on her in the months following the battle at the cathedral, the better. After all, while the former Council had tried to keep Nova’s true identity secret, someone had snitched to the press, and now the entire world knew the truth about Nightmare; not everyone was entirely fond of Nova. Still, it helped that she worked to prove she was a changed person, and her therapist was an angel by helping Nova find healthy coping methods for her trauma and anxiety and, more recently diagnosed, depression as well as just being an outlet that Nova could be completely honest with. 

    But even her therapist had advised against too much public affection with her boyfriend, worried that any backlash could hurt Nova and backtrack her on her progress to healing. Other than that, though, and the media’s affinity to finding flaws in Nova, especially her relationship with Adrian, being too romantic and affectionate in public made Nova feel awkward; she hated having a bunch of eyes on her, something she supposed she carried over from her days as an Anarchist. 

She hadn’t fully considered how private elevators were, though. 

After a morning of training together, she and Adrian decided to head upstairs to meet the rest of their team for lunch. From climbing the rock wall, to sparring, to finishing off with some laps around the track, they were both sweaty and somewhat gross. 

Adrian passed her his water bottle, as hers was empty. She accepted it gratefully, taking a short swig, and then another. 

“So,” she passed the bottle back to him, “does Oscar have a new place for us to try out, or are we just going to the cafeteria?” She secretly hoped for the first option, so as to avoid the repetitive food offered in the cafeteria and the occasional unfriendly stare by another Renegade in Nova’s direction, She usually returned those with a bright, sweet smile and a wave. 

    Adrian checked his wristband, probably for messages. “He hasn’t said yet. We can ask when we get up there.” He pushed his glasses up as they slid down his nose. Glancing at Nova, he cleared his throat. “So, speaking of food…”

    Nova’s ears perked up, her chest expanding at the thought of where he might be going. “Yeah?”

    He turned his body a bit to face her, hand snaking around her waist to rest on the bare skin beneath her ratty crop top. The skin there tingled beneath his fingers. “Since we don’t have patrol Saturday night, maybe we could go out? See a movie, grab food?”

    Yes, Nova thought, holding back a giddy smile. She could tell he was holding back his excitement as well, trying to remain cool by relaxing the arm around her. They rarely got the chance to go out on dates, and most dates were just spent at his house anyway. They were never anything special, as all Nova cared about was spending time with Adrian, but there was something about being an actual teenager and going out on an actual date with her boyfriend that was exciting. 

    Nova bit her bottom lip, inching in a little; he did the same. “I’ll have to check my schedule. Will your girlfriend be okay with us hanging out?”

    Adrian broke out into that smile that warmed Nova from head to toe. “She’s pretty amazing, so I’m sure it’s alright.” He leaned down, and Nova met him halfway, stretching up onto her toes. 

    “Then it’s a date.” She sighed as she kissed him, content. Sometimes, she felt as if she had fallen asleep somehow, and this was all a dream, that her life couldn’t have turned out this way. Sometimes, like now, she had to peek through her eyelids at Adrian to make sure that this was real. He was real. The shivers that ran down her spine from the gentle caress of his lips and tugging at her hips was enough evidence to prove this was reality and not a cruel dream.

    Neither of them felt the elevator come to a stop, nor did they hear the doors open with a ding. They did, however, hear a throat clear. 

    Nova jumped away from Adrian, cheeks already heating up as she smiled apologetically toward the stranger in front of them. Beside her, Adrian checked the floor. 

    “I believe this is our stop,” he said, voice not giving away whether or not he was as embarrassed as Nova at being caught mid kissing session in an elevator at headquarters. In fact, he acknowledged the other Renegade by name as he led a near-trembling Nova out of the small compartment. 

    When they were out of earshot of other Renegades, making their way to the lobby, Nova inhaled a shaky breath. “This is why we have our rule. Hand holding only.” 

    Adrian took the opportunity to snag her hand, lacing their fingers together. He had a teasing smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just irresistible, right?”

    Nova restrained from slapping him. “I hate you.”

__________

    What had started out as an innocent hangout, Adrian working in his sketchbook and Nova on her latest invention, eventually turned into Nova sitting in Adrian’s lap on the couch, straddling him on either side of his legs. 

    Her head tilted back to give his lips better access to her neck, holding back her heavy breathing. He kissed a trail along her jawline then down the base of her throat to her collarbone. A gasp escaped her, and she felt his wicked smile against her skin. He pressed his lips to the spot again, then dared to gently bite the area. This time, Nova moaned softly and pulled his head back up to eye level with her. 

    They blinked at each other, trembling and lips already beginning to become swollen from the activity. Adrian tucked a messy strand of hair behind Nova’s ear, then cupped her cheek. Nova leaned into his touch.

    “I love you,” he murmured, stroking her jaw with his thumb. Nova grinned, her entire being in a state of bliss. How could she have been so lucky? How and why did she deserve this? 

    “I love you, too.” Nova pressed a kiss to his hand before pushing him back until he was lying on the couch. 

    They picked up where they left off, starting slow at first, but quickly growing as heated as before. Adrian’s hand traveled down to her thigh, tracing small circles, and then resting comfortably. Nova’s insides tingled; she wasn’t sure if she could handle so much contact for long without physically imploding. Her senses were overwhelmed with Adrian. She could only think of him and every one of his kisses. 

    Nova’s hand had just started to wander up his shirt when they both heard a swear. 

    “What the...holy shit.” Nova nearly fell off the couch in an effort to get off of Adrian. She pushed her hair back from her face, eyes widening at the sight of Max, who was holding a bowl. 

    “Max!” Adrian pushed himself up into a sitting position, grabbing a pillow to hug in his lap. Nova blushed even more, redness spreading to her neck. “What do you want.” He didn’t even bother phrasing it like a question, clearly upset about being interrupted. Nova had never heard him use that tone with his brother before. 

    Max looked between the two of them, a mixture of disgust and disappointment written in his features. “Really? Right in front of my salad?” He gestured toward his bowl dramatically. “A warning would have been nice, at least.”

    “Gee, okay.” Adrian rolled his eyes, “Yeah, next time I’ll tape a sign on the door to the stairs saying ‘Do not disturb.’ That way the rest of the house knows to leave us alone. Great idea.” He glanced over at Nova, but she refused to make eye contact with either of them, burning a hole into the carpet. “What do you want, Max? We were in the middle of something.”

    Max regarded his older brother with humor in his eyes. “Yes. I can tell you were very busy.”

    “Max-”

    Max held up a hand to Adrian’s warning, grinning evilly. “Okay, okay! You said the other day I could borrow some of your comics and I’m bored, so I thought I’d come down and get some.” He coughed lightly. “But I can see you’re a little,” his eyes darted to the pillow clutched to Adrian’s chest, “preoccupied.” 

    Adrian threw the pillow at Max’s head. He yelped and barely dodged it, but his salad fork fell from the bowl. Max frowned at it for a second before shrugging and picking it up, setting it back down in the bowl. 

    “I just wanted the comics, if that’s okay.”

    Adrian looked as though he would rather not give his brother anything, but Nova was ready to be embarrassed in private. “Second to last shelf on the bookcase.”

    Max smiled at her, and unlike the one directed previously at his brother, this one was almost sympathetic. “Thank you, Nova. I’ll be fast and get out of your hair. At least one of you is dependable.” Another pillow was chucked his way, but Max saw it coming and stuck a tongue out at his brother. 

    If it weren’t for the situation, Nova would have smiled. In such a short amount of time, Max had changed and become more relaxed and carefree, like a kid his age should be. He was still serious and wise beyond his years, but it was moments like this that betrayed his true age. Nova had a feeling the Supernova was probably the best thing to ever happen to him. 

    When Max left, a pile of comics in one hand, Nova fell back on the couch and buried her head in the cushions. 

__________

    A cold front had blown through Gatlon, so upon Adrian’s suggestion, they made cookies. Nova, having never baked or cooked something a day in her life other than simple concoctions like eggs, let Adrian do most of the work, helping when he needed small things done like measuring out something and handing him the cup. She scooped the dough into little balls when they were ready to bake, at least. 

    The clean up process was fairly simple, only being interrupted by the two sneaking attacks on each other with leftover cookie dough and anything that had spilled over onto the counter. Somehow, Nova ended up with flour in her hair and cookie dough on her cheeks. She managed to get Adrian back on his nose, across his chin, and smeared over his forehead. She was about to chuck a small handful of flour at him when he wrapped his arms around her, causing a shriek to escape her lips. 

    “Put me down!” she yelped, smacking his arm. He was laughing. “I can and will knock you out, Adrian Everhart!” One of his hands reached for hers, the one full of flour. He managed to grab her, and it took all of Nova’s strength to prevent him from using her own attack against her. In the end of the struggle, she was able to run her flour covered hand through his hair, leaving his dark curls a dusty white. She laughed at his shocked expression.

    “I win,” she said smugly, unable to hide her proud smile. “For my victory, I request a kiss.” 

    Adrian’s eyes softened, and his hands went to her waist as he leaned down. Nova bit her lip, then reached up to taste the cookie dough smudged on his nose. He blinked at her when she moved away, swiping at the dough on his jaw with her finger. 

    “Mm.” She nodded, licking her fingers. “That’s good.” 

    “You’re unbelievable.” Adrian shook his head, flour raining down to his shoulders. “Is this all I am to you? A joke for your amusement?”

    Nova nodded firmly. “Amuse me, court jester.” 

    He pulled her back to him, hand cupping her cheek. “Anything for you, my queen.” If it were anyone else, Nova would have gagged from the cheesiness. She even surprised herself these days with how dorky she could be at times, something that hadn’t been present a year ago. Every day, she was learning new things about herself that were shocking. 

    Adrian’s lips tasted of sugar and chocolate, remnants of the cookie dough. Their kiss, while leaving Nova light on her feet, was short lived, as a resounding knocking on the wall drew them apart. 

    “Parent present.” Hugh narrowed his eyes at Nova, although there was a twinkle of amusement in them. He liked to interrupt her dates with his son whenever he could, sometimes even joining in when he had the chance. Quite a few movies were spent with Hugh wedged between the two of them. He always liked to make his presence known when intruding on their privacy, too, such as knocking obnoxiously on doors and walls and anything he could get his hands on. “What are you two up to?” He looked them both up and down, taking in their messy states. 

    “Making cookies.” Adrian unraveled his arms from Nova’s waist, much to her disappointment. “Should be ready in a few minutes if you want to stick around.”

    Simon entered the kitchen then, followed by Max. Adrian’s other dad glanced around the kitchen at the oven, then at the ingredients strewn across the counter. “I thought I smelled cookies. I didn’t know you could bake, Nova.” He paused. “Or cared to. It doesn’t really seem like your thing.”

    Nova leaned back against the sink, attempting to shake flour from her hair. “I’m simply the helper. Adrian made them.” 

    Max snorted. “Last time Adrian tried baking, he burned the muffins. Are we sure we can trust the two of you to make something edible?”

    “You probably shouldn’t.” Nova grinned. “But I know you won’t pass up an opportunity for free cookies.” Max had a bit of a sweet tooth, she had learned in the months following the Supernova. Sometimes, it got him into trouble, like when he had been caught eating a bowl of ice cream that was three times the serving size. 

    The timer on the oven went off then, and Nova watched as all four Everhart-Westwood boys surged forward to pull them out. She shook her head, rolling her eyes. What was she going to do with them, this new family she had been integrated into? Once enemies, they were now some of the people she held close to her heart. Sure, there were times when their pasts with one another stung, but things could be overlooked, problems could be worked out and solved; at the end of the day, Nova had a true family again, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

__________

    The silence was unsettling as Simon and Hugh stepped through the door. Max was over at the Tucker’s apartment with the twins, while Adrian had Nova over to hang out. Simon had convinced Hugh that the young couple would be fine for thirty minutes while the two of them headed to the grocery store for dinner items. After all, the only thing Adrian and Nova had been doing since she had come over a few hours before was playing some zombie video game on Adrian’s gaming console. From the sound of things downstairs, Adrian had to teach Nova how to use the controller and explain how the game worked. While he usually had the game’s volume on high, the sound of gunshots and zombie gurgles echoing throughout the house, today he had replaced it with a local band’s music that Nova had mentioned she started listening to. It was possibly done for Nova’s sake, as Simon understood she hated the sounds of warfare and fighting, despite the brave mask she always put on while on duty. After a while, Adrian’s instructing disappeared and was replaced with normal conversation between the two, something Simon tried to not eavesdrop on, and the occasional shriek or swear. The swearing mostly came from Nova, so Simon couldn’t do much about it other than shake his head. 

    When Simon returned from the grocery store with his husband, though, not even music was playing from the basement, instantly raising his and Hugh’s suspicions. Exchanging worried, knowing looks, they dropped their bags in the kitchen and headed toward the stairs leading to their son’s room. Simon hated barging in on Adrian’s privacy; Hugh liked to refer to it as simply checking up on him. Nonetheless, the two headed down the stairs. Simon could see the faint glow from the television screen. Based on a few past experiences, including his own, Hugh’s, and even Max’s, Simon braced himself for the worst. He expected to find the two wrapped up in one another, making out as teens did to deal with their raging hormones. 

    What he didn’t expect to find was the game paused and Adrian asleep on the sofa, cheek resting on the cushion in his upright position against the armrest. Nova was indeed in his arms, but cocooned in a blanket. Her head rested on his chest, face peaceful. Simon had never seen her asleep before, as she didn’t need it to function like every other person did. Upon stepping closer, Simon noticed the way Adrian had pulled her close to him, almost protectively, and how his chin tilted down to rest on top of her head. On the coffee table sat his sketchbook, open to whatever he had been working on before falling asleep. 

    Simon nudged his husband, pointing to the drawing of a beaming Nova in a landscape of flowers. It looked like a camera shot, as Nova’s smile was aimed at something beyond the page. Caught in the middle of a laugh, perhaps, not even aware that her photo had been taken. Simon bet Adrian had drawn inspiration from a photo, and that the source of her happiness could somehow be traced back to him. After all, from what Simon could tell, Nova was always happiest when she was around Adrian. 

    “Told you they’d be fine,” Simon teased, reaching for Hugh’s hand and pulling it from his crossed arms. “We can trust them.” 

    Hugh made a noise in the back of his throat, eyebrows furrowed at the scene before them. He stepped closer to the sleeping couple, reaching down. “He didn’t even take his glasses off. You would think that them breaking twice before from falling asleep would have taught him by now.” Hugh plopped them down next to the sketchbook. Simon noticed how his eyes lingered a second too long on the drawing, softening. He had the same thought as Simon: their son was deep, deep in love. 

    Nova stirred from her spot on top of Adrian. Both Simon and Hugh froze as her eyes blinked open slowly, squinting at them. Immediately, Simon began coming up with excuses as to why they were down there. Embarrassing Adrian was one thing. He was their son, and as parents, embarrassing him was their job. Nova, however was another story. 

    His excuses died in his throat as a loose, sleepy smile formed on Nova’s lips at the sight of Adrian’s dads. She sighed and wrapped her arms around Adrian’s middle, somehow cuddling him closer than before. Just as quickly as she woke, Nova was back asleep within seconds, smile fading into a relaxed, peaceful expression. 

    Together, Simon and Hugh tiptoed their way back to the stairs. 

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Doing something for fun: RPGs about broken anuses.

As promised, after the abomination that was the Sam arc, I am now going to write random posts about more positive/fun things. However, I also decided to add a little twist to them and correlate them in some way thematically to Dobson. E.g. by reviewing a game/show that does all the things Dobson hates/obsesses about/or fails at right.

 And my first entry in that regard is related to a videogame that came out a couple of years ago, based on a tv show Dobson claims to hate. South Park: The fractured but whole.

 Seeing how the game is 3+ years old at this time and there have been tons of reviews & walkthroughs showing how good and fun the game is, I do not really want to cover the plot and all the things that make it great in detail. Lets just say you can really feel that Parker and Stone were heavily involved in the writing of the game, as it is filled to the brim with references to the show and the typical satirical humor of it, that in parts manages to cross the line even further for me than the show. Right from the start you get a very dark but smart social joke and commentary out of the way, when as you set up your characters looks and the difficulty of the game, it is the tone of your skin that decides how hard the game gets. Meaning if you play as a black person, you are having a very hard time. It is not too preachy, just an acknowledgment that yes, in American society, blacks can have it harder compared to white people. Especially when living in a town like South Park, where social standing is pretty low and the police force is inherently corrupt and racist, doing something so outrageously to black people, I do not want to spoil it. Let’s just say it ends in a better Lovecraft joke than any of the shit SJWs did in light of censoring Call of Cthulhu board rpgs.

The overall plot is simple: While last time the kids played fantasy and things escalated quickly as they do in South Park, this time they play superheroes, with two fractions having formed: Coon and Friends vs the Freedom Pals and things escalating just as quickly. What starts off as the hunt for a missing cat to earn a 100$ reward Cartman wants to use to start a multi billion dollar movie franchise just like Marvel, turns soon into the player and his friends having to fight a real crime conspiracy thought up by one of South Park’s most nefarious characters, which also involves genetic mutations, time travel and eldritch horrors. Thankfully you, the “New Kid” from the last game, even after losing all your previous powers thanks to no one playing fantasy anymore, gain new superhero powers, make friends with the South Park kids again and even learn new fart techniques by none other than Morgan Freeman, that help you out along the way. All while also slowly revealing more about your backstory hinted on in the previous game and the tragedy of your dad having had intercourse with your mother.

 Being a South Park and RPG fan for years, I wanted to play this game for quite some time, but only managed to do so recently. And even if I spoiled myself massively over time with cutscenes and major battles online, this game is still fun (thanks in part also to the fact I watched the cutscenes years ago and by now forgot a lot of them).  The turn based battle system is way more interesting than last time by also depending on you positioning the characters on the field in a strategy based RPG style, there are lots of classes to choose and powers to combine (I myself going for elementalist, assassin, plantmancer and blaster currently) and you have a ton of allies in the game. The original cast of the four main boys, Jimmy and Butters has expanded significantly in this game with characters such as SUPER CRAIG, Clyde as the blood sucking MOSQUITO, Token as TUPPERWARE and Wendy as the social media huntress CALL GIRL (yes, that is her name) and they all are fun to interact and play with, with each one having their own unique sets of moves and finishers once again. Even outside of the battle, thanks to the writing, there are always great lines from them to get when interacting or taking missions from them. I especially came to love Tweek and Craig, who are not just decent fighters (Tweek in particular is a great elementalist) , but in this game are also now a couple ever since that yaoi episode from South Park. Helping them reconcile after a bad break up over the course of the game just feels surprisingly nice, mostly because unlike other LGBT celebrating media out there (Korra and She Ra  e.g.) none of the characters crosses some sort of moral line where you question why they deserve to be together (Hello, Catra), it is not heavily handed garbage fishing for brownie points and it is obvious through dialogue and actions they care for each other, even if they are at first going through a bad break up as only South Park could ridiculously portray it.

 Overall, the game is also surprisingly “inclusive” and socially relevant without being preachy about it, if you ask me. From the aforementioned skin color thing, to LGBT representation via Tweek and Craig, the police being involved in a plot that especially nowadays is sadly more relevant than ever (mind you, I do not believe that in real life all cops are bad, but in my opinion bad eggs on both sides certainly led to the current situation in the US and that is all I say) to the fact you can over the course of the game decide not just if you are playing as a boy or a girl, but even something in-between, a cis-/transgendered person and decide your race, religion as well as to whom you are sexually attracted to. Granted, I barely see how it has any bearing on the game’s plot, but I appreciate the following things: a) the inclusion of the possibility to decide on those factors itself, making creating your character even more fun (a basic right others demand for certain games nowadays in all the wrong ways) and b) that the game does not make the biggest of deals about it. See, I am under the impression that often times the most progressive and inclusive thing is to just let the story and personality of a character speak for itself, instead of the fact that it also identifies by a specific gender, sexuality, race or other allignment. In fact focusing on those things on a character only is something I consider ”positive stereotyping”, which for me is just racism in the opposite direction. And if you no think I am going off track here and need to be beaten up by someone who genuinely has some grip on pc culture, don’t worry. This game features PC Principal actually doing an ok job teaching you about microaggressions in his typical PC Principal manner, which in itself becomes a relevant move in future battles and is hilarious to watch. Speaking of the new kid, putting things like your chance to gender identify yourself with it in more detail (which you can also adjust again later on in game if you feel like it) aside, for a silent protagonist he/she/it can have a nice level of debt to it, if you look too much into it.

 Not only does it have a funny backstory explaining its fart and social media powers, there are recurring scenes of the kid’s parents being on each others throat and the kid just silently eating dinner for the night that genuinely feel sad and create sympathy in our little FartLord to the point you just want the kid to go out there, have an adventure and hopefully find a way to change its parents for good, cause it is obvious they love the kiddo, but damn do they need to cut off the substance abuse.

 Storywise you get something out of this game that is way more entertaining and hilarious than the last two seasons of the show combined (FUCK the season of 2019) and game content wise you are also rewarded with a lot of shit, just for exploring the town. Be it you finding hidden yaoi fanart that earns you money, your allies helping you solve puzzles that reward you with exp and new costumes to further customize your outfit, making new friends on Coonstagram by taking selfies with all the major and minor characters of the town, helping Big Gay Al finding his missing cats, stumbling upon Memberberries, forging new artifacts to increase your strength, finding summons… all stuff that helps you not just gain exp and become stronger, but also makes you enjoy going through South Park outside of the main story content. In fact I spend a majority of my first twelve hours in this game only wrapping up the prologue missions and first two chapter of the game, while otherwise talking with as many people in town as possible, exploring the stores and houses, doing side missions etc. just for the fun of interacting with the characters and the world they are part of.

 Now, how does all of that relate to Dobson?

Well lets see…

 Game based on something he hates that has however rightfully more success than he ever deserves, with lots of political commentary and satire for years in its humor? Check.

 Game itself having more of that commentary done right then Dobson in his own comics and story attempts? Check

 LGBT representation via Tweek and Craig as well as Big Gay Al that does not feel too stereotypical despite Al himself being extremely stereotypical in design? Check

 Some pretty decent/hilarious female characters in the game once you know them? (again, Call Girl and Classi, who fucks the L out of the A-S-S) Check.

 Being a style of game he hates for no apparent reason, but executed well (RPGs)? Check

 Thematically focused on superheroes, a trend he is obsessed about, but here both appreciating while also poking good fun at common tropes of it and the marketing of the MCU, in doing so just highlighting how much of a mindless consumer Dobson is? Check

 Being a game where you can also play as any gender and race and its not turned into a “groundbreaking” industry changing feature pandering to minorities that in the eyes of corporations are just a market to exploit, not people? Check

 Heck, if Dobson was not a biased idiot, the game would be perfect for him. It even panders to his toilet fetish in videogames.

 Kid you not: a mini game in the game itself features the possibility to go to every toilet in town and shit in it. The process of defecation itself being a rhythm game and you earning exp from it once you took enough dumps. And considering Dobson once spend hours in Skyrim looking for outhouses, that sounds right up Dobson’s back alley.

 Bottom line, this game is fun. If you like South Park, superheroes and RPGs, this game is perfect for you. And seeing how it has been a few years since it came out, I think it should be possible to get a cheap copy of it somewhere. Go on, play it. But always remember: Never fart on another dude’s balls. It is just not the polite thing to do.

[ori-flails]

Rewatching Guardian - Episode 07 Part 3/3

Episode List || Part 1 | Part 2 || Episode 08

SPOILERS for upto episode 40, SPOILERS for the novel.

Lin Jing has a point. If they’re being spied by members of the Yashou tribes it’s better to have Zhu Hong involved. And he’s speaking in codes because they’re listening in. And Zhao Yunlan got it. I didn’t notice before and just thought it was weird they seem to not realize they were being spied on. Wow. I clearly wasn’t giving the SID enough credit. :/

(Also, the house seems pretty big from the outside but once they go in, it’s tiny. Odd.)

On this note, Zhu Jiu’s voice is nice enough. The cursed wig ugh and the chuuni act...

I just can’t get over it. Zhu Jiu could’ve been pretty cool and I was sitting here trying to enjoy his character and waiting for him to grow on me as a character when in reality he irritated the living daylights out of me.

And I was trying so hard to give him a chance to become a compelling character that I didn’t even admit to myself that Zhu Jiu was plain annoying to me until Ye Zun appeared, so for half the series.

Lin Jing being serious is <3 Zhao Yunlan and Xiao Guo’s faces lmao xD

He’s right too. The first murder can’t be held against Lai Su because he didn’t know something like this was going to happen. If we really really baby him, then we can say that the man didn’t see the correlation between the murders and his work for the first couple of incidents. But even then, after that point, there isn’t really any excuse.

If it was me, I’d have been driven crazy with the knowledge that there was something I could do that would possibly stop the murders, if not for a guilty conscience, it’d be also for the fear of the authorities connecting the dots and me becoming a suspect of a damn murder case. That’s scary!

And yeah, even if he had stopped there would’ve been no guarantee of this mysterious man online would’ve stopped whatever that prompted these murders (Lai Su never knew of his abilities), but still. I’d have gone crazy with the possibilities. No amount of money and fame can compensate for the loss of peace of mind like that.

Zhao Yunlan quickly turned the situation into a good-cop-bad-cop situation lol. Using the knowledge that Lai Su pissed of Lin Jing of all people to that extent to hammer in the guilt factor and pressurise Lai Su into revealing if there was anything else to this.

Yeah, the virtual world is so vast and easy to get sucked into that actual reality becomes secondary. And in this, Lai Su, as a result, was completely desensitized to people being murdered, and he was sitting there rationalising what was happening and making excuses for himself to try and appease his conscience because his greed overruled it.

Sad.

“His ability must be to self-hypnotise with his writing”, “He and the monster he write about are the same person”

This is why the trashy CGI monster from this episode is more upsetting to me than the plastic looking Youchu. The show could’ve gotten away with it by not showing this monster at all in this instance.

Because of Zhao Yunlan’s wording, the picture I get is that Lai Su himself would commit these crimes after he ‘falls asleep’ or something and have no recollection of it becaused he hypnotised himself. This would’ve been pretty cool. But in this case, it won’t work because then the thug going mad because of the monster so horrendous won’t be explained. So perhaps instead of a clear cut explanation, it would be better to leave some aspects a little unexplained.

Like, we get to see Zhu Jiu’s cryptid message and his parting words,  then the claw coming out of the computer screen or just a close-up of Lai Su’s terrified face, and then a blood curdling scream from Lai Su’s hidden room from Da Qing and Chu Shuzhi’s POV. When they go into the room to check what’s happened, Lai Su would already be dead.

No awful cheap looking CGI monster, a sense of mystery, and still it would make sense due to Zhao Yunlan’s hypothesis in this scene. I know very little about cinema and screenplay but still, wouldn’t this have been somewhat better? And unlike the Zhang Danni impersonator case, leaving the monster to the audience’s imagination wouldn’t take away from the experience.

The key information is that Lai Su didn’t know that he had this power. If he did, the protagonists of his stories wouldn’t have been the murderer (or the victim) and Lai Su could’ve brought many good things to his life (unless it’s like his power wouldn’t have activated without Zhu Jiu’s interference). No one would willingly screw themselves over like this of their own free will.

“I would’ve never though you would say these words to me today” + the following comment about Zhao Yunlan’s growing understanding of Dixingren: o u c h

In these lines, the “you” Shen Wei is referring to is not Zhao Yunlan who is the future or past of Kunlun, but instead to Zhao Yunlan, son of Zhao Xinci, who, until recently, hadn’t shown any indication of being all that better than Zhao Xinci. Because it would not be surprising to Shen Wei if Kunlun was understanding of Dixingren; that would be expected.

Shen Wei likely knew of Zhao Yunlan before they met, and he is aware of what the SID had been upto since he took over. Whatever mental picture he had of Zhao Yunlan was probably so different from Kunlun until they met. Yet, Zhao Yunlan is not that mental picture of his, and neither is he Kunlun anymore/yet.

I feel like my brain (and heart) would become scrambled agg if I was in Shen Wei’s position, trying to align the three different ideas of Zhao Yunlan; the professional judgement of Zhao Yunlan as the new chief of the SID, the actual Zhao Yunlan he interacts with who is fun, clever and charming like a fox, and Kunlun.

In my opinion, Shen Wei’s doing good by keeping Kunlun and Zhao Yunlan as separated as he can in his mind, while trying to have a better understanding of Zhao Yunlan by having his professional image and the observations of him on a personal level merge.

Btw, when Shen Wei was saying these things, he looked like he was going to cry. And then there were unshed tears in his eyes when he smiled (the second and third to last screenshots). Q~Q

I wonder what he was thinking in that moment. Was he missing Kunlun at the very Kunlun-like thing Zhaon Yunlan just said with his very Kunlun looking face? Was it relief/gratefulness of somebody finallly seeing the same peril that he has been seeing? Was it the pressure of his responsibilities to his doomed people?

Ugh Zhu Yilong how do you do this... I will cry. The faces he makes are so freaking sad.

THAT’S ANGUISH ON HIS FACE AND I CANNOT.

Something entirely unrelated to the episode: I love how the way Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan talk are so different from the natural way Zhu Yilong and Bai Yu talk, but I never even thought that the actors were changing their speech so much but so subtly until I watched this long interview and my brain was confused out of its wits because Zhu Yilong speaking sounds so different to Shen Wei, while Bai Yu’s voice itself sounds completely different to me. They just sound so natural in their roles. As someone that loves watching good acting but cannot understand how acting even works, I am actually floored.

[jellypipemedia]

Art Industry and Equality

The Artist Industry, an industry that lets self-expression come out in a number of mediums. 

As an Artist myself, i can tell you how wonderful it has been to have a creative outlet like my multimedia. To express my ideas and watch the momentum of my work turn into something special. As many other Artists, it’s hard to find that validation and legitimacy in the industry that defines you as a professional and makes your career into more than a ‘hobby’. Some find that struggle more intense than others.

The idea that ‘All Artists have to struggle’ is a common ideology but beyond that- do all artists struggle in the same ways? Of course not. This could be combated with a number of different perspectives based off of different talent levels and different environments but commonly, artists are not given the same opportunities based off of more than just their talent. Different aspects come into play. 

The Artist Industry has been known for their inclusive atmosphere and supportive community, but is it set apart from any other industry when it comes to addressing equality issues? 

Misogyny/Trans-Misogyny , unequal opportunities based on gender, lack of recognition and the power struggle of legitimacy have all played their part in work industries all over- and the artist industry doesn’t escape that narrative.

A common theme that i find more than any other is women, queer, non-binary, and Fem artists struggle to find their power behind their art because they are usually dismissed, deemed illegitimate, or seen as ‘just a hobby’, or they could ‘make it a real job someday’. Their work isn’t given the credit it deserves or the recognition of legitimate work. Opportunities are missed quite often as work lays in favor of social stigmas and safe investments in uncomplicated people seem to flourish regularly. 

Stewing over my thoughts on this, I reached out to my social media circle looking for more perspective on the situation. I was able to connect with a couple of people, ask them their thoughts on how these aspects of the industry have affected them on a professional level and their influence on the industry . I want to keep the dialogue going about this and would love to hear more about the perspective of women, queer, fem, non-binary artists on the industry that claims to be so inclusive.  

With that being said, I had a great opportunity to talk with the Founder of ‘Siren Nation’.       *

Diving into ‘Siren Nation’ media, I came across their ‘LinkedIn’ page. Their Mission Statement spoke to me and left me wanting to dig just a bit deeper into the foundation of their cause.

“Siren Nation is a unique arts organization that showcases and creates performance and exhibition opportunities for women throughout the year. We are the only women’s collective that produces an annual festival showcasing the original work of women working in music, film, performance and visual art.

Siren Nation’s mission is to inspire and empower women of all ages to create their own art and to highlight the many achievements of women in the arts.”

When I was connected with Natalia Kay O’brien, I didn’t know much about Siren Nation or where our conversation would lead too. I had an idea of where i wanted to take this project, not having much more than a foundation and urgency to keep learning more about the perspectives of women identifying, queer and non-binary.

So, I asked if she’d be willing to help me out by telling her story and giving us an insight on her perspective of the industry.

Natalia:

I'd be super happy to help! There's an amazingly rich queer music scene in Portland and the Pacific Northwest. That is a big part of the reason I moved out here!

From 1999-2010 i produced a lot of events that centered queer folx -some from out of town, some in town.

Jay:

Awesome! I appreciate that a lot about Portland and the PNW. I've grown up in Portland most of my life.

Natalia: 

Lucky you!

Jay:

What are some of the events that you produced?

Natalia:

I started out doing house concerts for a spoken word artist out of NYC, then booking shows for/with traveling queer female artists i got connected with over time. I ended up doing the booking for mississippi pizza for a couple of years and got some more experience there producing shows--generally national folk acts--and booking artists. That helped me begin to get more familiar with the local music scene and get introduced to some amazing artists like Laura Gibson, long before they broke out. 

My experience and frustration, with the local music scene's dearth of female and queer presence and opportunities to get the kind of exposure that festivals offer, inspired me to found Siren Nation, an organization dedicated to promoting and empowering women artists.

As a queer woman I made sure that there was a strong queer presence during my tenure. We were supposed to have ‘Gossip’ headline the first festival and 3 weeks beforehand they broke their contract!

The seven years I spent with Siren Nation exposed me to new queer artists. Unfortunately, at that time, there was no such thing (in terms of identity) as nonbinary, and we didn't put enough effort into be trans inclusive. We produced, and they still do, 2 tribute nights, one for dolly parton, one for billie holiday, that have been happening annually for something going on 15 years! and then the annual festival, in november, which i produced from 2007-2010. 

Jay:

That's absolutely awesome that you contributed so much to the queer/fem community. I know how intensely hard it can be to demand that recognition and be seen as legitimate in the eyes of the world. It's no small thing. Can you give me an example of a time where you’ve experienced misogyny/trans-misogyny that directly affected your work as an artist?

Natalia:

I was tired of not seeing enough women and women-fronted acts on local festival lineups when there were SO MANY amazing female bands. My work as an artist (visual) has been almost entirely a private endeavor. however i do think there is a correlation between the fact that i considered my drawing 'doodling' and i'm a woman. I made art for years before I took on the identity and claimed it. I still squirm a little.

Jay:

I can totally understand that. I deeply feel like the accomplishments of women are often made out to be 'A nice hobby' or 'could be a job someday.'

Natalia:

Yes, exactly.

I can tell you as a booking agent for queer female artists in an industry that is heavily male, did not make for the most hospitable environment to work in. Getting club bookers to book an artist whose press kit screams 'radical feminist lesbian" let alone that she was doing spoken word which was just emerging...well, ultimately all they cared about was whether we could fill a room. There were some venues that didn't want to deal with us, in more conservative parts of the country, i.e. midwest and southeast.

I think trans-misogyny was unfortunately a little baked into Siren Nation in the sense that trans women have remained almost invisible within that space. Not enough queers involved with siren nation after I left!

So I tackled showcasing as many media as possible--music, film, visual arts and later fashion and comedy.”

Jay:

That's a powerful tool in today's world too. Being someone who is involved in a variety of media ( myself as well) is a powerful weapon to today's world of perspective. We have a lot more influence than people credit us for. Have you been affected by any people that are positive influencers in the queer community/have given inspiration to you personally?

Natalia:

The artists inspire me!! That's part of why I produced events because I truly believe in the artists and want to help them connect with a larger audience and want people to get exposed! Bands like Team Dresch, who really blazed trails for queer women punks, all around the country at a time when there was virtually no queer presence in media. Beth Ditto and Gossip, for being fearlessly brash, unashamedly fat, and a force! Women who were unafraid to be loud when it wasn't the norm yet--Sleater Kinney, Bikini Kill too!--inspired me and they were tackling issues that I cared about as a feminist in ways that I didn't see straight women doing.

I will never ever forget seeing Bikini Kill and Kathleen Hannah telling all the 'boys to go to the back'. It blew my mind having stopped moshing b/c it wasn't safe and she demanded and created that space

Jay:

I can definitely vouch for queer punk artists being a heavy influence in the queer community and causing pressure on 'social norms'! It's very empowering and the women in the scene are not a force to be reckoned with. It's still astonishing how such a positive and empowering movement got met with so much resistance.

Natalia:

Kinda like what I wanted to do with Siren Nation. Yeah, some people can't handle a strong woman especially if she is in any way not gender/hetero conforming.

Jay:

I'm sure Siren Nation impacted a lot of people to be the ferocious and powerful people they knew they were.

Natalia:

I hope so!! I know it was a space where, for example, at the tribute shows, artists got to meet and mingle backstage, and spontaneous collaborations would happen.

Jay:

That's the best part of festivals in general. Bring artists from all over and to create that opportunity for networking and creativity.

Natalia:

Right!??!

Practically every female artist who has broken out nationally performed at Siren Nation at some point and offering free workshops was an important way for us to empower and encourage women to create and make their own art.

Jay:

That's awesome! Does Siren Nation still have a website that I can reference too?

Natalia:

Yup! Sirennation.org

As an audience, I found festivals an amazing opportunity to get exposed to new artists.

Most of the language there that is about the organization, like mission statements and values, is mine.

Jay:

So why have you decided not to produce events for Siren Nation more recently? or does the organization take care of itself nowadays?

Natalia:

I left in 2010 because i was pursuing a masters degree, basically decided to pour all the hours and energy i had put into siren nation into a degree that would get me a salary for doing that kind of work. My co-founder December Carson has stayed at the helm and kept it going all these years. There are some longtime volunteers who help at events.

My dream that someday it could be a salaried job I finally realized was not going to be feasible

Jay:

That's a positive transition out of the organization tho! Did you get your master's degree?

Natalia:

Yes! It helped to know that it would carry on after I left, because it was my baby and I was very attached!  It has thrived over the years due to the dedication of the board members who make it happen. New blood comes in, and then they add fashion and comedy. It's been neat to see how it has evolved over the years and yes, I got my Masters, in Public Administration.

Jay:

That's so so so good to hear   Thank you so much for talking with me today- you have really been insightful and this is truly very inspirational to hear as a queer woman in the multimedia industry!

With ending our conversation, I felt like I made a breakthrough on what direction I wanted to take this project and found the encouragement to keep pushing through the media and highlight these amazing women, non-binary, and queer people. 

We lack recognition for being who we are while we make it in this industry. We struggle and fight back - gaining ground and getting traction. 

I’m excited to see where this project takes me and I'm glad to have you all on this journey. Stay alert for more to come!

[mr-entj]

Brain-Based Descriptions of the 8 Jungian “Types”

A piece my former professor published on MBTI, cognitive functions, and his study I participated in 10 years ago.

____________________

By Dario Nardi

This is based on the blue “Brain Basics” foldout by Radiance House. (Www.RadianceHouse.com)

In his seminal work, Psychological Types, Dr. C.G. Jung described 2 attitudes (Extraverting and Introverting) and 4 “mental functions”: Sensing, Intuiting, Thinking, and Feeling. Together, they give what he called 8 “Types”. Today, we can use more appropriate terms like functional patterns or cognitive processes. Notice the terms are verbs. His is a process model, not a trait model. Since then, people have offered many variant definitions and created assessments, most of which are peculiar to the creator, speculative, and not research based. In my own work since 2006, I have correlated the Jungian processes to biases and patterns in neocortical (brain) activity using EEG technology. Subjects complete a 1-hour protocol of 20 diverse tasks (meditating, math, memory, etc) while monitored by EEG. And of course, we do our best to confirm their best-fit personality profile using common definitions. Here is an overview of the neocortex and definitions of the 8 cognitive processes.

BRAIN BASICS

Your brain consists of many small modules linked in networks. Each module is a neural circuit that helps you do a task. Some tasks are concrete, such as recognizing faces, hearing voice tone, and moving a hand. Other tasks are abstract, such as evaluating ethics, adjusting to others’ feedback, and mentally rehearsing a future action. There are easily five-dozen modules just in the neocortex, which is the brain’s outermost, thick layer and seat of consciousness. The big figure below is a bird’s eye view of the neocortex. It highlights key modules. We each prefer some modules over others. We differ by the tasks we enjoy and how well we do them. You might take a moment to explore the big figure to identify aspects of yourself.

We enjoy different competencies. For each of us, modules activate with a different degree of stimulus, competence, motivation, and energy level. If we look at the average brain activity of two people over an hour, you may see that their favorite modules are similar, near opposites, or somewhere in between! When different, those people’s personality profile, behaviors, and self-experience differ greatly too. In fact, we can dig deeper to look at underlying brain networks (using computer-aided analysis of EEG data), and confirm the biases are longterm rather than a result of just a 1-hour protocol.

In addition to favorite brain regions and networks, there are whole-brain patterns. For example, the brain can get into a state of “flow” where all modules are in synch. Or it might show  a chaotic brainstorm. There are more patterns, and we human beings are pretty diverse. Situations may prompt everyone’s brain differently. Take a moment to reflect, when do you get into your “zone”? What is it like when you are at your most creative and productive?

To meet our needs, the brain’s elements work in concert. As an analogy, if a module is a musical instrument, then the brain is a symphony orchestra that affords complex performances. Research suggests eight ways the brain (specifically, the neocortex) works in concert. These eight are highly effective and sustainable, though we necessarily come to rely on some more than others. You will find descriptions of these 8 below.

FOUR EXECUTIVE STYLES

Before we get into details about all 8 cognitive processes, let’s break things down more simply into 4 executive styles. 

Two Processing Circuits: To start, there are 2 circuits in the brain to process incoming stimuli. One circuit is faster. It sends sensory data directly to the front of the brain, our executive centers, to quickly act on the data. This is a more extroverted style. A second circuit is slower. It sends sensory data to the back of the brain, to link with memory and information processing centers, to compare, contemplate, and collate the data before moving it on to the executives. This is a more introverted style. There are other ways extroverts and introverts different, such as high versus low gain: Given a certain environment, an extrovert may easily find it too quiet and want to “dial up” the stimuli, whereas an introvert may easily find it too noisy and want to “dial down” the stimuli. Suffice to say, everyone uses both fast and slow circuits, and Jung himself described each person has having 2 functions in awareness, one for extroverting and a second for introverting, to make a well-rounded adult.

Two Executive Centers: We have 2 main executive centers: a “goal-focused” left pre-frontal cortex and an “open-ended” right pre-frontal cortex. Different activities light up these regions. For example, when you make a decision, craft an explanation, or focus to shut out distractions, the left goal-focused executive gets active. Or, when you engage in brainstorming, monitor a process, or reflect on yourself, the right open-ended executive gets active. Very nicely, these two executives correlate well to Jung’s functions. Jung described Thinking and Feeling as “rational” or “judging” functions, which definitionally fit well with our left goal-focused executive. And Jung described Sensing and Intuiting (aka “iNtuiting”) as “a-rational” or “perceiving” functions that definitionally fit well with our right open-ended executive. In his framework, Jung viewed balanced adults as having both kinds of functions, just as all people use both their left and right pre-frontal cortex, and their left and right hands, but invariably with some bias for one over the other.

Now we can bring together Extraverting-Introverting and Left-Right pre-frontal bias to get 4 executive styles:

Expedite Decision-making: Proactively meet goals. Often look sure and confident. Organize and fix to get positive results soon. (More goal-focused, more extraverting.)

Refine Decision-making: Clarify what’s universal, true or worthwhile. Often look quietly receptive. Trust their own judgments. (More goal-focused, more introverting.)

Energize the Process: Seek out stimuli. Often look random, emergent, and enthusiastic. Attend to the here and now. (More open-ended, more extraverting.)

Monitor the Process: Reflect on data and perceptions. Often look focused and preoccupied. Attend to reference points. (More open-ended, more introverting.)

You might take a moment to consider which style is more like you, and more like a spouse, colleague, or boss. Remember these are about habitual biases, not boxes, so feel free RANK the styles 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th rather than pick one.

EIGHT COGNITIVE PROCESSES

We can get more detailed. People’s brains tend to differ in two more ways: people versus thing preference, and abstract versus concrete preference. These are not absolute, simply biases.

For example, there is a module that aids us in identifying stuff in our environment. Some people invest more in identifying lots of people’s faces and emotional expressions, whereas other people invest more in identifying makes and models of cars, computers, or other objects. Of course, everyone does both. But like handedness, where we use both hands, there is bias and have a preferred hand that plays a lead role in many activities like writing.

For as a second example, there is a module that is home to lots of “mirror neurons”. This module tends to get active when we do something concrete like observe and mimic a person’s actions, perhaps to learn a skill. It also can get active when we do get abstract and imagine if we were another creature in a galaxy far far away. Everyone can do both, but we have biases that are likely do due a combination of genetic tendency and habits from culture and physical environment.

There are many other examples. We don’t need to go into them here. Suffice to say, there is evidence to support the kinds of variations and biases that Jung observed among people. 

Without further ado, let’s look at the 8 processes. As you explore, keep in mind you likely have preferred one or two from an early age, and may now be reasonably proficient with as many as 5 or 6 as an adult, at least enough to keep up in society, in relationships, and on the job. I have numbered the processes for convenient reference. They do not actually come in any particular order! Each comes with a name like “Active Adapting” and a broad cognitive process such as “Immersing in the present context”. Finally, each comes with a code such as “Se” (meaning extroverted Sensing) that links to Jung’s framework in Psychological Types.

1. Active Adapting (“Se”): Immerse in the present context.

Act quickly and smoothly to handle whatever comes up in the moment. Excited by motion, action, and nature. Adept at physical multitasking with a video game-like mind primed for action. Often in touch with body sensations. Trust your senses and gut instincts. Bored when sitting with a mental/rote task. Good memory for relevant details. Tend to be relaxed, varying things a little and scanning the environment, until an urgent situation or exciting option pops up. Then you quickly get “in the zone” and use your whole mind to handle whatever is happening. Tend to test limits and take risks for big rewards. May be impatient to finish.

2. Cautious Protecting (“Si”): Stabilize with a predictable standard.

Review and practice to specialize and meet group needs. Constant practice “burns in” how-to knowledge and helps build your storehouse. Specialization helps you reliably fill roles and tasks. Improve when following a role-model or example. Easily track where you are in a task. Often review the past and can relive events as if you are there again. Carefully compare a situation to the customary ways you’ve come to rely. In touch with body sensations. Strong memory for kinship and details. Rely on repetition. Check what’s familiar, comforting, and useful. Tend to stabilize a situation and invest for future security. May over-rely on authority for guidance.

3. Timely Building (“Te”): Measure and construct for progress.

Make decisions objectively based on measures and the evidence before you. Focus on word content, figures, clock units, and visual data. Find that “facts speak for themselves”. Tend to check whether things are functioning properly. Can usually provide convincing, decisive explanations. Value time, and highly efficient at managing resources. Tend to utilize mental resources only when extra thinking is truly demanded. Otherwise, use what’s at hand for a “good enough” result that works. Easily compartmentalize problems. Like to apply procedures to control events and achieve goals. May display high confidence even when wrong.

4. Skillful Sleuthing (“Ti”): Gain leverage using a framework.

Study a situation from different angles and fit it to a theory, framework, or principle. This often involves reasoning multiple ways to objectively and accurately analyze problems. Rely on complex/subtle logical reasoning. Adept at deductive thinking, defining and categorizing, weighing odds and risks, and/or naming and navigating. Notice points to apply leverage and subtle influence. Value consistency of thought. Can shut out the senses and “go deep” to think, and separate body from mind to become objective when arguing or analyzing. Tend to backtrack to clarify thoughts and withhold deciding in favor of thorough examination. May quickly stop listening.

5. Friendly Hosting (“Fe”): Nurture trust in giving relationships.

Evaluate and communicate values to build trust and enhance relationships. Like to promote social / interpersonal cohesion. Attend keenly to how others judge you. Quickly adjust your behavior for social harmony. Often rely on a favorite way to reason, with an emphasis on words. Prefer to stay positive, supportive, and optimistic. Empathically respond to others’ needs and feelings, and may take on others’ needs as your own. Need respect and trust. Easily embarrassed. Like using adjectives to convey values. Enjoy hosting. May hold back the true degree of your emotional response about morals/ethics, regarding talk as more effective. May try too hard to please.

6. Quiet Crusading (“Fi”): Stay true to who you really are.

Listen with your whole self to locate and support what’s important. Often evaluate importance along a spectrum from love/like to dislike/hate. Patient and good at listening for identity, values, and what resonates, though may tune out when “done” listening. Value loyalty and belief in oneself and others. Attentive and curious for what is not said. Focus on word choice, voice tone, and facial expressions to detect intent. Check with your conscience before acting. Choose behavior congruent with what’s important, your personal identity, and beliefs. Hard to embarrass. Can respond strongly to specific, high-value words or false data. May not utilize feedback.

7. Excited Brainstorming ("Ne"): Explore the emerging patterns.

Perceive and play with ideas and relationships. Wonder about patterns of interaction across various situations. Keep up a high-energy mode that helps you notice and engage potential possibilities. Think analogically: Stimuli are springboards to generate inferences, analogies, metaphors, jokes, and more new ideas. Easily guess details. Adept at “what if?” scenarios, mirroring others, and even role-playing. Can shift a situation’s dynamics and trust what emerges. Mental activity tends to feel chaotic, with many highs and lows at once, like an ever-changing “Christmas tree” of flashing lights. Often entertain multiple meanings at once. May find it hard to stay on-task.

8. Keen Foreseeing (Ni): Transform with a meta-perspective.

Withdraw from the world and tap your whole mind to receive an insight. Can enter a brief trance to respond to a challenge, foresee the future, or answer a philosophical issue. Avoid specializing and rely instead on timely “ah-ha” moments or a holistic “zen state” to tackle novel tasks, which may look like creative expertise. Manage your own mental processes and stay aware of where you are in an open-ended task. May use an action or symbol to focus. Sensitive to the unknown. Ruminate on ways to improve. Look for synergy. Might try out a realization to transform yourself or how you think. May over-rely on the unconscious.

Further Exploration

You can read more in the following references: “Neuroscience of Personality: Brain-Savvy Insights for All Types of People”, “Our Brains in Color”, and “8 Keys to Self-Leadership”. Or if you prefer a free online 1-hour video, you can find it here:

https://vimeo.com/user40810588/review/143815719/c69a1060ef

Here is an assessment built around the Jungian functions, validated on 3000 people:

http://www.keys2cognition.com/explore.htm

You can find a complete list of references to my neuroscience of personality work here:

https://www.facebook.com/notes/dario-nardi/neuroscience-of-personality-resources/10155730683011216/

[tact-and-impulse]

At Arm’s Length Chapter 14

*dojo door slams open* Dad’s home.

Thank you for your patience! Now that this is the last installment correlating to the Kyoto arc, the next chapter will be an interlude before we hop onto the angst train. I know it took a long time for this update, and this past year has been a struggle, given I had to prepare for a major exam (which I passed, so that’s something!) and the current state of the world. The events of this chapter cover Kaoru’s childhood to the Seinan war, including several traumatic events. Content warnings for death of a parent, depictions of war, PTSD, death of a spouse, and depictions of hospitalization. Let me know what you think, and please take care of yourselves.

Chapter 14: Becoming a Father

When he emerged from Commissioner Kawaji’s office, Koshijiro let exhaustion take over. He had stayed awake two hours past midnight to finalize his evacuation plan, and the entire morning had already flown by due to the commissioner grilling him on the details. He had fended off the questions with varying degrees of success, until he was dismissed with a scowl.

He returned to his desk, settled in his chair, and closed his eyes. Just for a minute…

“Officer Kamiya, we received a message requesting backup.” Shinichi nervously interrupted his rest.

He shook off the lethargy, to see the rookie. Occasionally, the young officers were called on for assistance, and Koshijiro had to accompany them as their direct superior. “Please tell me the details on the way there. Let’s head over.”

There was a clash at the fish market, reportedly between two rival gangs. The details of the feud were unknown, but both sides were agitated and aggressive. Shouts and crashes could be heard from a block away. As Koshijiro and the others approached, the noise intensified. The scene was chaotic. Men were exchanging blows and throwing various items at each other. Bloodied faces drifted in and out among the mob, along with the uniforms of officers. The rookies immediately launched themselves into the fray, disappearing in a matter of moments.

A flash of red barreled towards Koshijiro’s right, and he instinctively caught…an octopus. His arm held the creature to his chest, and its tentacles curled around his sleeve and towards his neck. Gingerly, he set it in a nearby bucket of water, and it wriggled in relief. Now that he looked closer, some of the thrown items were raw seafood.

But not all.

A sword swung towards Koshijiro, the rusty edge aiming for his temple, and he ducked. His right hand fell to his bokken, as he analyzed his opponent. A shorter, stockier man with a gap-toothed grin and a death wish, apparently. Koshijiro drew his bokken, moving into a defensive position.

It wasn’t difficult to read his movements, and when the man attempted an overhead swing, Koshijro blocked. The force was intense, and he had to widen his stance. However, that set him up perfectly for the next move. With an inhale, he pushed back, lifting his back foot off the ground to hook around the man’s knee. The man gave a startled exclamation as his feet turned inward, and Koshijiro disengaged. His opponent threatened to fall forward and that left him open for a strike at the sensitive point behind the elbow. The man’s grip spasmed, but even if he could somehow shake off the numbness, Koshijiro was already following through with another blow to the back of the head. Koshijiro watched him go down, and the immediate handcuffing by Officer Abe, who was on standby.

“Whoa, Kamiya-san, that was awesome!”

“Well, I’m glad it worked. I’ve been thinking over this maneuver for some time.” He was rather proud of his success, and confidently, he moved on.

In total, fifty people were arrested, jailed, and scheduled for questioning. He had volunteered for the last shift of interrogation and didn’t return home until past midnight. Koshijiro prepared for bed, and every movement was abnormally loud. Once he had closed his eyes, his ears rang from the eerie silence.

How long had it been since they were gone? June was already coming to a close. Kaoru’s birthday was at the end of the week and he was in Satsuma for her last one. Their usual celebration was a nice dinner, but he felt like this one should be grander, to make amends. He would have to think of something soon…as a testament to how tired he was, he fell asleep mid-thought.

When he woke, he scrambled for the time and realized he was running late. The train would arrive soon, and he had promised to be at the station. He skipped breakfast and broke into a sprint as he drew closer, but he made it to his destination. Tokio rose from a bench, lifting her little son.

“Kamiya-san, thank you for being here. Are you alright?”

He took a moment to catch his breath. “Yes, I’m fine. I see the train’s here?” The locomotive seemed to be giving a long exhale, the turning of the wheels slowing with each cycle.

“Yes, but they must be checking the passengers before they let them out.” She adjusted her hold on Tsutomu, his sleeping face squished against her collar.

They watched the disembarking people and scanned the faces for a boy of the right description. Finally, he stepped out. He was about ten or eleven, and his hair was mussed from sleeping at an odd angle. Noticing their gazes, he cautiously approached, looking up at Tokio.

“Are you Fujita-san?”

“I am and this is my son, Tsutomu. Kamiya-san is my husband’s colleague.”

Koshijiro nodded in greeting. “It’s good to meet you. How was your journey?”

“Long. It wasn’t too bad until the train.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wanted to go on foot like Kenshin did, the train is too noisy.”

“You met Himura-san?”

“Yeah. He really helped me out in my village.” He became quiet, obviously remembering. “He did say, ‘Kamiya-dono will be in Tokyo, so there is no need to worry.’”

Koshijiro coughed to conceal his embarrassment. “I see. Well, I heard he made it to his destination, so there’s no need to worry about him either.”

Tokio knelt to meet Eiji at eye level. “My husband informed me that you lost your parents and brother. I’m so sorry.”

“Kenshin helped me.” Eiji stared at his feet. “He said the dead only want the living to be happy.”

“He wasn’t wrong.” Koshijiro quietly said. “Your family would want that for you.”

They walked out, and Tokio intended to treat Eiji to a well-deserved meal. She extended the invitation to Koshijiro but he had to decline. “Some other time. I’ll stop by now and then, to check in. If there’s anything you need, you can always visit the Kamiya dojo.”

On his way back, he passed a flower seller, hawking baskets teeming with small pink and white deutzia. They greatly resembled cherry blossoms and he remembered they were gone by August. He turned around and paid for one bouquet, mentally mapping out the detour to the cemetery.

Kyoko will surely love these flowers.

***

Everything about Kaoru was utterly charming. Her little yawns, the way she stretched her whole body when she woke, the downy hair capping her head, her plush grip gently enclosing his thumb. She was an energetic baby, working her fingers and flailing her limbs as if testing them out. She was more than Koshijiro and Kyoko could have asked for.

She grew quickly, and Koshijiro was loath to miss a moment. He couldn’t help but feel a little envious of Kyoko and Osue-san, who visited thrice a week to help out. The majority of his day was spent working, so when he returned home at Kaoru’s early bedtime, Kyoko encouraged him to rock their daughter to sleep. She reassured otherwise but he had felt awkward in the early days, too large and clumsy for his tiny girl. As he strolled through the house, Kaoru’s round eyes intently focused on his face before she slowly nodded off.

When she was a few months old, Koshijiro noticed a bright blue ribbon tied around her head. “Hm? What’s this?’ He asked Kyoko.

“I noticed she has a bald spot, so I thought to cover it with the ribbon.” Meanwhile, Kaoru didn’t seem to mind, happily rolling onto her belly and offering Koshijiro a smile.

He sat beside her and one pudgy hand touched his knee before she tried to lift her upper body. Her feet pushed against the tatami but she didn’t budge. As she struggled to move to his lap, her barely visible eyebrows drew together and she made a loud noise of frustration. Amused, he picked her up by the armpits and remarked. “It’s a little early for you to crawl, Kaoru, but it’s good that you’re eager.”

“She’ll be crawling soon.” Kyoko joined them, adjusting the blue ribbon so it was more secure. “And then, she’ll walk and run.”

“Not too fast for us, I hope.”

But for now, Kaoru was still small enough to hold. While their little home was cozy and quiet, it was not as peaceful outside. The disasters of the Ansei era had accumulated in the past two years: cholera raging through Edo, an earthquake in Hida, an assassination near the Sakurada gate. A treaty with the Americans had been signed, resulting in widespread discontent. With the ports open to trade, the markets and routes changed. Inflation drove costs up, as foreigners bought gold. The shogunate was proving to be increasingly unequipped to handle current issues.

Meanwhile, Koshijiro continued to teach kenjutsu. His students were eager to use real blades and threatened to leave if they couldn’t. He did his best to ensure everyone was safe, but he only had one pair of eyes. There were several close calls. After a particularly nasty duel between two students, he sent a doctor for their injuries and ended class early. When everyone had left, he sat on the freshly cleaned dojo floor, rubbing his forehead. The students were eager to fight and yes, they needed to know how to protect themselves, but was he enabling them? What would his predecessors think of him?

“Sorry to interrupt.”

He turned to see Kyoko, holding their baby daughter and beaming at him. “It’s Otou-san, Kaoru. Otou-san.”

Kaoru gave a delighted cry, waving her fist. How could he possibly be despondent?

Kyoko handed her off, and the baby’s soft cheek grazed his. She nuzzled, turning her face against his shoulder, and he held her tighter. Meeting his wife’s tender gaze, he smiled. “Thank you.”

Once Kaoru could toddle about, there was no stopping her, and she took obvious joy in being followed. Her wide smile over her shoulder was a precious thing to behold. When she’d fall, her tears weren’t out of pain but desire for comfort, for she quickly stopped once she was held. Soon enough, even those subsided, and she’d resume walking as if nothing happened.

After one such occurrence, Kyoko began to laugh. “Her face looks just like yours! So determined!”

“If that’s so, then she certainly takes after you too.” But he laughed as well.

It was during those blissful days that his father returned. He had sent a letter in advance, explaining he no longer had work in Kunitake’s area and would be transferring back home. Koshijiro personally suspected they had a falling-out but kept his reply succinct and inviting. Otou-san arrived with the summer heat, and Koshijiro stepped away from the dojo to greet him with a bow.

“Welcome back.”

“Koshijiro, it’s good to be home.” His father smiled. He was noticeably thinner, the lines on his face deeper. “Oh? Is that Kaoru-chan?”

He glanced towards the porch, to see his daughter staring at them, before she unsteadily ran into the house. “Oka! Oka!”

“Calling for her mother?” Otou-san’s tone was both amused and wistful.

“Her first word as well. Please, come in.” As he offered, he took his father’s satchel. It was surprisingly light. Had Otou-san sold his belongings…or was he kicked out?

Kyoko appeared, Kaoru clinging to her leg. “Welcome! Are you hungry at all? We can have lunch early.”

They settled him in, and the tension seemed to leave his frame. He was in his early sixties, Koshijiro thought, but his age had never shown until now. He moved slower, he slept heavier and longer, and he was not as boisterous as before. Worried, Koshijiro sent for one of Kyoko’s doctors. For the most part, Otou-san’s health was fair, but his heart was weak and they would have to keep an eye on him. Plenty of rest and a daily routine would help, and they did their best to make him comfortable. Otou-san dove into his art with full force, and more often than not, he could be found painting in the yard. He happily gave Kaoru any paper and ink she wanted to draw with, and allowed her to drum her fists against his back in a makeshift massage. He also got along well with Kyoko, who effortlessly charmed everyone in her orbit anyway. Most of his father’s paintings were sold, but if Kyoko expressed a liking for one, he would set it aside for safekeeping.

“Aha! I see the pattern now.” Otou-san clapped his hands together, after a brief survey of Kyoko’s choices. “You have a keen eye for the seasons. Spring, summer, autumn, winter.”

“Of course, and you depict them so well, Otou-sama. But do you have any preferences on what you paint?”

“Not particularly, though it’s better if everything I see remains still while I’m working.” He joked. “But that’s hardly ever the case. Such is life.” And to prove his point, Kaoru hurtled past him, running at full speed to escape a harried Osue, who was attempting to wash her face.

A few months later, they celebrated Kaoru turning three. The zori only lasted a few steps before she kicked them off with obvious relief and to Osue-san’s chagrin. Her pudgy hands held a long stick of chitose ame, which she eagerly crammed into her mouth.

“Yes, live a long, happy life, Kaoru.” Kyoko murmured. Her fatigue had been worse as of late, and she rested against Koshijiro’s shoulder.

When Kaoru dozed off too, worn out by the day’s activities, Koshijiro held her in his lap. Glancing about to make sure no one else was looking, he pressed a kiss on both of their cheeks, his wife’s cool one and his daughter’s slightly sticky one.

Now that she was old enough, Koshijiro had crafted a bokken to match Kaoru’s size, and she would follow along with morning stretches. Anything more would be too advanced, and she usually fussed when Kyoko had to pull her away. Eventually, Koshijiro noticed perforations in the rice paper, at about the eye level of a little girl. It then became a matter of catching her in the act. He listened carefully for a tiny pop, and after a moment, opened the door to find her staring up at him.

“Kaoru, did you do this?”

“No!” But she sucked in a breath and turned to run away. Koshijiro easily stepped around her.

“I’m going to ask again. Did you poke holes in the doors?”

She squirmed, her mouth petulantly twisting. “…it’s fun.”

“But it isn’t very nice. It worries me and your mother when we have to fix them. And we don’t like being mad at you. Can you be good and promise you’ll stop?” He extended his pinky finger towards her.

“Hmph.” She pouted but she linked her tiny finger with his and they shook on it.

“That’s a promise.”

Her voice was small and uncertain when she asked. “Do you hate me?”

“No, of course not. I never could, and Okaa-san feels the same way.” As the words left him, he suddenly remembered his own childhood voice, declaring that he would never be anything like his father. Gods, he must have caused Otou-san a great deal of pain and he’d never realized until now.

When he spoke with Kyoko, she insisted that they have a conversation. “You need to talk with him alone. There’s still time to make things right between you. As long as you’re alive, you can have another chance.”

He decided to do so, one morning. Otou-san was in his usual spot in the yard, trying to capture the autumn scenery with his paints. He shuffled towards the porch, spared a glance at Kyoko. She narrowed her eyes at his stalling, and urged him to keep moving with quick waves of her hand. Suppressing a sigh, he moved to stand by his father.

“That looks lovely.” He lamely nodded at the painting. What was he doing?

His father laughed. “Thank you. I know you’re not as passionate as I am about this, but I appreciate it. Is something on your mind?”

“I spoke to Kaoru about the holes in the door, and she reminded me of the past.” He slowly said. “I remember some of the unkind words I dealt to you when I was a child, and I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. As you said, you were a child and our situation was…unexpectedly complicated. But I never blamed you or your mother.” He set his brush down, resting it on a small ceramic dish with murky water. “I think if Miyo had been with us, like when you were younger, it might be easier to talk with each other. Maybe, she’d still be with us.”

The wind swept through, and a lull fell over them. Koshijiro cleared his throat, swallowing the sudden lump there. “Kyoko says people live on in the stories we tell.”

“She’s right.” He paused. “I never told you how I met your mother.”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Well, it wasn’t romantic. I fell asleep by the river, while sketching. I only meant to have a nap, but when I woke up, it was morning and Miyo was standing over me. Then, I kept seeing her all the time, while I was in town. Our paths crossed frequently after that. I was happy whenever I saw her, and disappointed when I didn’t. When I found that she was looking for work, I hired her. And after that, I only fell deeper. I was sure…that we could live happily together. But Otsuna and Kunitake were jealous. I knew they were, but I raised them like my own after my cousin and wife died. I did my best, trying not to choose. Miyo never told me she was pregnant with you, and when I met you, you were almost a year old. But I couldn’t let you either of you go again. You probably don’t remember much, but despite the circumstances at the time, the famine and uncertainty, those were some of the happiest days of my life.”

Something gave in his chest at his father’s words and sober expression. Otou-san was not perfect by any means, far from it, and yet…he was only human in the end. “That time is vague in my memories but I was happy too.”

“I am sorry though. I never meant for you to be hurt by your siblings, and I did speak to them multiple times. Their harassment is a failure on my part. I don’t know where I went wrong, but please believe that I never encouraged their behavior.”

“I believe you and that it’s not entirely your fault.” He assured. “There comes a point when immaturity is no longer an excuse and I doubt they ever found it. Years ago, I would have thought it difficult to uproot the resentment I have. But I can now. I do forgive you and I think I understand you a little better now. Even more so because I have Kyoko and Kaoru.”

Otou-san looked as if he was about to cry, and he was at a loss for what to do. Almost as if on cue, the door opened to signal someone was on the porch. Kaoru darted towards them, with a wide smile. “Jii-jii!” She twirled in place, her little ponytail flying. “This new ribbon is pretty, right?”

His father nodded, voice light. “Of course! It’s the same color as a rose. And you’re pretty from head to toe. And what does your Otou-san think?”

They both turned to him, and Koshijiro cleared his throat. “Yes, Kaoru, it’s very nice. Did Okaa-san buy it for you?”

“Uh-huh. We match now! Tou-san, come see.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards the house amidst his father’s laughter. Kyoko had tied her own rose-colored ribbon in her bun, and she lifted her head from her sewing with a smile when they rejoined her at the table.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

“You’re welcome. How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“Then, that’s good.” Their private conversation was interrupted by Kaoru, wondering where one of her books was.

In the evenings, Kyoko read aloud to Kaoru, who had claimed a spot to nestle between them in their futon. Koshijiro was embarrassed whenever he fell asleep to his wife’s voice, but those were rare, since Kaoru would poke his side and ask if he wanted to read next. She would try to turn the pages for him, intent on helping move their nightly story forward. She already knew a few kanji, including her name, and Koshijiro was very proud.

There was one issue that arose. One of the new books Kaoru liked was about a family, which had multiple children. The youngest was a newborn girl, and Kaoru seemed fascinated, her fingers lingering on the baby’s descriptions. Once Kyoko ended the tale, the inevitable question came.

“Kaa-san?”

“Yes?”

“Where do babies come from?”

“Hmm.” Kyoko pretended to ponder over the matter. “Well, they appear when an Okaa-san and an Otou-san wish very hard.”

“Oh. So I will wish.”

“Wish for what, Kaoru?”

“A little sister!”

“That’s such a nice wish.” Kyoko mildly replied. “Now, let’s go to sleep.”

Koshijiro fervently hoped that would be the end, but as the seasons changed, Kaoru was still loudly expressing her desire for a younger sister. It became a daily inquiry, and at last, Koshijiro decided to gently break the news to her, before going to bed.

“Perhaps, you should think of a new wish. A little sister probably isn’t on its way.”

“Why not?” She demanded.

“W-well…” He stammered, thrown off guard. “It takes two people to make that kind of a request?” Kyoko immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes shut and shoulders trembling with concealed laughter. “Two adults, like me and your mother.”

“Tou-san, then wish with Kaa-san.”

What had he done to deserve this conversation? “But when a baby comes, you can’t exchange it, even if it’s a boy.”

“A little brother would be okay too, like Hitomi-chan’s.” Kaoru conceded, referring to one of her older playmates.

Thankfully, Kyoko took over, still smiling from the aftershocks. “Kaoru, we waited a very long time for you. We wished and prayed and nearly gave up. I don’t know if we can be that lucky a second time. But if you’re feeling lonely, let’s invite Hitomi-chan and your other friends over more often. And there are other children who live nearby too. Maybe, there will be someone who would like a big sister. What do you think?”

“…alright.” Over her head, Kyoko and Koshijiro exchanged relieved glances.

***

Emperor Meiji ascended to the throne, and a power struggle with the shogunate seemed imminent. Nothing in the news was particularly uplifting, a prelude to the certain turmoil.

One wintry morning, he passed by Otou-san’s room and stopped. The door was wide open, though without signs of a struggle. In the front, his father’s shoes were missing, and a quick scan confirmed that the yard was empty. A sense of foreboding overcame him. He walked past the gate, looking down the road to find a set of shallow footprints. They led to a large tree, shielding any snow from covering Otou-san’s sitting form. As he approached, the foreboding grew stronger, and it was only confirmed when he gently placed his palm upon his father’s shoulder. There was no heat at all. Otou-san’s face was perfectly tranquil, his final moments of acceptance, and Koshijiro bowed his head.

“Thank you, and goodbye. I’ll take you to Okaa-san now.”

The funeral was surprisingly crowded, with many people offering to pay their respects. It was clear that Otou-san had been respected and loved, by not only his colleagues but also the neighborhood and his fellow artists. Noticeably, there were two figures who never showed, but Koshijiro did not mind. It was best that his wife and daughter wouldn’t meet his siblings. Preferably never at all. Otou-san’s ashes were laid to rest beside the simple grave of the woman he loved, and Koshijiro blinked back sudden tears at the sight of his parents, reunited in death.

Kyoko’s familiar hand slipped into his. “It’s alright. You can cry, if you need to.” She gently said.

“Forgive me, Kyoko. I don’t know why-” He broke off, his voice shaky. He didn’t know why his composure was crumbling at this moment, when he had handled the funeral arrangements so steadily.

“Shh. I’m here, and so is Kaoru. We’re here.” Her gaze shone with her own tears, and Kaoru clung to Koshijiro’s other side, brows drawn together. They remained in a close huddle, all the way home. The house was quieter, and sometimes, there’d be an extra bowl set out by accident, but like years ago, the grief was easier to bear with time.

That spring, he was on midnight patrol, lantern in hand. A distant clamor rerouted him, and he kept one hand on the hilt of his katana as he hurried towards the shouts. A couple of shadows were already fleeing, leaving four bodies. One emitted a weak rattling cough. He drew closer and the lantern’s glow illuminated the man’s bloody face. “Hayashi?!” He checked for a pulse on his friend’s slick neck. Rapid, but present. He stabilized Hayashi, just as his colleagues rushed over.

The story was that it had been a group of ruffians, looking for anyone to rob in this economic crisis. Hayashi did survive, though at the cost of a maimed right leg. He was despondent; such an injury meant an end to kenjutsu and his service to his lord. “I’ll be thrown away, who wants a cripple for protection?”

“Don’t say that,” Koshijiro tried to persuade him. “Focus on getting better first, before returning to work.”

“As if. Just leave me to die and go back to your own dojo.” Hayashi snarled. That only served to steel Koshijiro. He wrote to Maekawa and Kikuhara, requesting their assistance, and continued to visit with food and water.

Maekawa was there within the week, and spoke nothing of kenjutsu, just boisterously singing as he cleaned Hayashi’s row house. Kikuhara was unable to do anything in person, but he sent packages of books, paintings, and other things to pass the time with. At first, Hayashi shouted at them, to the point where he wore himself out. They took meals at his bedside if he wouldn’t move and changed his dressings, and although Maekawa was skeptical that they were helping at all, Koshijiro insisted they were. Hayashi’s strength was slow to build, given his initial resistance, but he left his bed in order for them to stop nagging, as he put it, and scowled as he ate. He no longer raised his voice or spoke of dying. Despite his perpetual bitter mood, it was progress.

Koshijiro believed they were going to finally get him out of the house, only to find that the door chained in place. Hayashi had left a folded note in one of the edges. Thank you for staying with me, but I need to find my own way in life again.

A search resulted in nothing. Maekawa expressed his characteristic confidence that Hayashi would be fine, wherever he ended up, and Koshijiro reluctantly accepted that he had to trust his friend would continue to live on.

His dojo was faring well; there were many who were eager to learn how to fight or have their sons learn. At seven, Kaoru relished helping out, and he tended to ask for her to demonstrate, especially for the newcomers. She was as old as he was, when he first started learning, and with her head start, she was very good at kenjutsu and knew it. She loved being in the dojo, and although Koshijiro was proud of her enthusiasm, she did fight with some of the boys who were prejudiced towards a female classmate and mistakenly believed she was weaker. More than once, he had to break up a tussle. Punishment was dealt equally too, he didn’t want to favor his daughter and he could handle her grumpiness afterward. If she wanted to spar those boys in a designated match, however, he never objected.

Kyoko was much more apprehensive. “I’m not saying she can’t be in the dojo. I don’t want to confine her; I want her to enjoy life.” She was very firm about that sentiment, given her upbringing. “But I’m worried she’ll be hurt. It’s different for women. Men are allowed to bear scars with pride, whereas we’re expected to hide them.”

“I understand, but she’s growing up and she knows how to pick herself up when she falls. Kaoru’s resilient, like you.”

“That’s kind of you to say, dear.” It was an evasive reply. She still wasn’t mollified and fretted over Kaoru’s bruises and scrapes. Kaoru complained about the thick ointments, that most of her injuries were accidents and in the increasingly rarer fights, the dumb boys kind of deserved it. Koshijiro silently agreed with the latter point, as he bandaged his daughter up.

The majority of his students were now outside the samurai class, and somehow, word must have spread because he had a spectator who lingered after one class.

“Are you interested in joining?” Koshijiro inquired.

“It would be an honor but no. I am here as a representative of Omura.” The man smiled. “Have you heard of him?”

“Omura Masujiro? The Choshu strategist?”

“Yes, I’m glad you recognized him. But are you are aware of the cause he fights for?”

“It seems you’ll tell me regardless.”

There was the usual talk about sonno joi, or the expulsion of foreigners. But one thing caught Koshijiro’s attention. “The samurai class has abused their power and wealth for far too long. What we want is to remind them that at their core, they are no better than anyone else. To level the field, so to speak, and put an end to the four class system. Think about it, and we’ll be in town.” He provided the name of an inn they frequented and departed.

The conversation kept surfacing in Koshijiro’s thoughts. He did not believe that foreign influence was totally beneficial. The consequences of famine, economic turmoil, and disease were too severe to be ignored. Hayashi was one of many who had suffered from the growing unrest among the people. But it was too late to close the borders again. The military was already incorporating Western technology, and Choshu was offering military training to commoners. Omura’s follower spoke of humbling the samurai. Abolishing the class structure…he could accept that idea. Takaoka was supporting Satsuma and Choshu, the leaders of the rebellion. They were gathering anyone who was willing to go to Kyoto and assist in the fight to end the shogunate. A number of samurai from Oyumi were going, including Koshijiro’s direct superior, but before he could leave, he had to speak to Kyoko and Kaoru.

Kyoko responded first. “Of course, I want you to stay and be safe. If you leave, you might never return. But…” She stared at her own hands, wrapped around her teacup. A few wisps of hair escaped from behind her ear, and he reached over to tuck them back. “You feel very strongly about this.” With an inhale, she firmly straightened and met his gaze. “Promise us you’ll survive.”

“I promise. Will you and Kaoru be alright?”

Their daughter hadn’t said anything yet, her eyes wide as she looked at them. Kyoko reached for her hands, drawing her closer.

“Kaoru and I will be fine. I’m certain we won’t be the only women left behind either. We’ll manage and welcome you home when you return.”

“We’ll be here, Otou-san, don’t worry about us.” Kaoru’s voice was subdued, but she attempted a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll be home again before you know.”

He had been very naïve.

***

His first experience with war could never be forgotten. From the march on foot to the first battle cry in earshot, it all stayed with him. Most of the early days blurred together, leaving the impression of sore feet and shoulders. But when they reached Kyoto, the adrenaline surged within him and his fingers shook as he loaded his gun.

One moment, it was quiet. The next, commands were shouted down the line, and then, there was cracking gunfire and smoke. The soldier next to him was struck by a bullet. The man in front was cut down, blood seeping through his uniform. Behind him, an enemy cannonball landed on people he couldn’t name but their screams of agony echoed forever.

It was madness. Every day was a fresh ordeal.

The first time he killed a man, it was with his sword. It had been a long day, and his opponent was too slow for one moment. That was all it took, Koshijiro’s blade sinking deeper than either of them expected. The man’s features slackened, and Koshijiro knew he was already gone. The body twitched several times, before finally falling as the sword was removed. Koshijiro’s feet were planted to the ground, which was gradually darkening in color.

I’m sorry.

The words died on his tongue, as a bullet flew past, the sound deafening and reminding him that to stay still in battle meant death. He couldn’t linger, he had to keep moving. He had promised Kyoko and Kaoru he would come home to them, and that became his anchor on the battlefield. Even if doing so meant that he had to feel hollow for all of the rest.

***

“Otou-san? Otou-san?”

Koshijiro jolted. Kaoru was standing before him. When had she approached? He hadn’t noticed.

She beamed at him. “We’re having lunch now.” The sunlit yard stretched behind her, and he gripped the edges of the porch.

He had been home for a week, yet nothing felt real. He should be happy, he was alive and not in bad shape. Many men had not returned at all. But he felt like part of him had been left behind on the battlefield, drifting aimlessly and pulling the rest of him with it until a loud noise startled him and then he was on edge. It wore him out; he was constantly tired, despite waking well after sunrise. And there were the nightmares. He didn’t feel right.

Things had changed in Chiba too. Osue had succumbed to pneumonia in his absence, and he had already paid numb respects to the faithful old woman. Kyoko was understandably melancholy, not helped at all by how her illness had taken a turn. She was on bedrest, and her medicines had increased in quantity. Neither of them were sure how well they were working.

“We met a woman who teaches kenjutsu.”

“You did?”

“Her name is Chiba-san, as in the Chiba clan. Kaoru and I were buying groceries, and she was in her uniform. She was kind enough to invite us to her afternoon lesson. Kaoru really enjoyed it, so I feel more at ease.”

“Then, you can attend her lessons more often. It would be good for Kaoru.” He hadn’t been teaching, he wasn’t ready. Kyoko understood, but Kaoru clearly missed it. Even though she liked Chiba-san’s lessons, he overheard the two of them talking, while they thought he was having a nap.

“Is Otou-san going to be okay?”

“I don’t know yet, Kaoru.”

“He doesn’t talk about the war. It must have been scary.”

“It would be better not to ask. There are some things your father can’t share with us, that he wants to shield us from.” Kyoko evenly said. “When it’s time, he’ll share.”

“And what if he never does?”

“Then, that’s alright. We’ll be here to support him, just like always. He’s still your Otou-san, no matter what.”

“Oh. I get it now.”

His sight flooded and he doubled over. Kyoko and her infinite patience! And his innocent daughter, whose feelings were hurt. Here he was, being pathetic. He didn’t step out to acknowledge them, but he resolved in his heart that he would try to return to normal.

He wrote a routine for himself, including meditation and what to think of to pull himself back to reality. He was out of bed before his wife and daughter, to clean the dojo and equipment, before reintroducing kenjutsu back into his life. But he couldn’t use a real blade anymore. Never again, not even to keep students. He couldn’t let go of the sword, but he could forge a new relationship with it, to protect who was important to him. He began drafting new kata, on defending and disarming. The work anchored him even further, kept him from falling too deeply into listlessness.

Kyoko and Kaoru were encouraging, every step of the way. His wife woke him from the worst nightmares, and she intuitively knew when to give him space and when to be near. She always made her presence known, never startling him. When he returned to work, his satchel hid little notes in her handwriting, heartfelt reminders that pushed back against his dark thoughts. Kaoru was determined to make him smile once a day. Her good cheer was infectious, as she took over in leading their daily stretches. Upon finding her mother’s notes, she added her own, complete with the signature she was practicing. One of her first sewing projects was a handkerchief for him, a fine dark green with three leaves, and she presented it with such pride, his weariness lifted.

It wasn’t always easy. Some days, he faltered, folded in on himself. It wasn’t until months later that he could think back and realize how low he had been. He wasn’t certain if he’d ever feel like that again, but he learned to recognize the triggers and cope.

Now that the Emperor had moved to the freshly renamed Tokyo and there was peace at last, properties were up for grabs. The more Koshijiro heard, the more he leaned into the possibility. There was excellent medical care in the capital, and plenty of work to be had. The influx of people also meant more potential students. It was a time for change, and when would another opportunity like this occur again?

The paperwork was quickly finalized and they packed their belongings. By year’s end, they were settled into their new home in Tokyo. Koshijiro had commissioned renovations and additions, and though the house was larger than needed for a family of three, he and Kyoko discussed accepting boarders to pay off the debt. But the bathhouse was worth it, to the delight of Kyoko and Kaoru, and he liked his dojo very much. The wood smelled fresh and fragrant, and he pivoted in the open space. The light poured in, washing over his face. This was his school, the one he had yearned for all these years. A school of swordsmanship that would use the blade to protect, never to kill. A school that would represent a vow for the present and a wish for the future.

Kamiya Kasshin. The living heart.

***

At first, he thought the Kamiya plot had moved, because there were only supposed to be three graves, for his parents and Kyoko. So the fourth had puzzled him for a moment, before he realized whose it was. Oh. Well, this was very strange, to see his own grave.

“Kenkaku Koshimichi Koki…?” He muttered. The Buddhist name he had been granted for the afterlife felt like it belonged to a different person entirely.

Fortunately, there weren’t many weeds. The ones that were present gave his right shoulder enough work. As he was finishing up, a kind couple offered to scrub down the headstones and light the incense. They made small talk, that they were newlyweds and he had married into her family. They refused any monetary payment, and with clasped hands, they were soon on their way. Alone, Koshijiro knelt.

“I’m a little early, but I thought these flowers would be nice. And sorry, that Kaoru isn’t here with me.” It would be nearly eighteen years ago, that she was born. “I’d rather celebrate her birthday when she’s home. We’ve missed out on that, the past two times.”

The wind ruffled his hair. It was getting longer, he needed a trim.

“I’ve been working on adjusting Kamiya Kasshin, for a one-handed variant. Not just for me, but for Yutaro and those in similar situations. It would also be good for anyone who’s been injured.” For that matter, injured people weren’t far from his mind. “Even though I’d like to be there, fighting with them.” He stood, brushed off his sore knees, and gave a last smile. “I’ll be back for Obon, with Kaoru and everyone else.”

***

After multiple appointments, Kyoko finally spoke the truth aloud. “I’m not going to live much longer, am I?”

Dr. Gensai slowly nodded. “Yes. I wish I could do something, anything.”

“You’ve done so much already, ever since we moved here last year.”

Kaoru worked her way under Kyoko’s arm, half-crawling into her lap. “Okaa-san.”

Koshijiro was barely listening, the world closing upon the clinic’s room. Nothing seemed real at that moment.

As the days passed, the neighborhood pitched in. His police colleagues covered extra shifts in his place, and their wives kept Kyoko company while he was working. He received plenty of groceries with a hand wave in regards to payment, which he never got used to. There was always something on the table for dinner. An acquaintance by some degrees, the apprentice of an artisan who had admired the work of Kamiya Keiichiro, offered to paint Kyoko’s picture, free of charge. The ink portrait was very somber, unlike his wife, but Kyoko appreciated the gesture. To Dr. Gensai and the rest of their visitors, she seemed accepting and strong.

However, when it was just the two of them, she was afraid of dying.

“I don’t want to go. I need to live, just a while longer, until Kaoru is a little older.” She sobbed, and it took all of Koshijiro’s willpower not to break down. He held her and didn’t speak, his throat burning.

Kaoru was on her best behavior, ensuring her mother was warm and had food. She braided both of their hair at night and chose Kyoko’s clothes in the morning. She read aloud, stumbling on a few unfamiliar words and making up for the little mistakes with her own interest in the novels.

Sometimes, his wife was too fatigued by the pain in her abdomen. Her hand shook when she drew her fingers through Kaoru’s ponytail. It was too easy for her to be out of breath. But she was focused on one task in particular, and he found her carefully writing when she was able.

“It’s our family book.” She showed him the familiar cover of the volume that told the stories of their pasts. She had been updating it over the years. “The next few pages are for Kaoru, for when she’s a young woman. I’ve already written your pages, for when you feel troubled.”

“Kyoko…”

“I only want you to be well. And I’m sorry.” She pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes and gave a short laugh. “Oh no, not again.”

“No, Kyoko, don’t apologize.” He drew her trembling form into his arms and breathed in the scent of her hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve fought a harder battle than many ever will, and even now, you handle it with grace in front of Kaoru.”

“I don’t want her to worry about me, but I think she knows anyway. She’s a good girl, our daughter. She’ll be a lovely young lady someday.” Her tone was bittersweet with longing. “My kimonos have been set aside for her?”

“Yes, for when the time is right.”

“Mm. Hopefully, they won’t be too out of fashion.”

“They’ll suit Kaoru well. I saw the blue one with the cranes, the one you wore when we met.”

“That was almost twenty years ago, right? I still remember that day, I knew you were kind and honorable. I think I loved you from the moment I told you my name. I never expected to have this, any of this. But I’ve seen the cherry blossoms each year with you, my husband who I’m very proud of. Every day with you has been wonderful.”

“I haven’t been at my best every day. Most days, perhaps even half.”

She shook her head, mouth curving upwards. “No, really. Every day.” She brought her hand to the side of his face, and he leaned in to kiss her.

By autumn, she was in the hospital again. She was deteriorating fast, yet she held onto Koshijiro’s hand as the doctors came in and out. She was too weak to leave her bed, and he held back her hair when her nausea was too powerful to keep at bay. The worst was when she didn’t seem to recognize him or Kaoru, rapidly blinking at them when they greeted her. Her confusion was frightening, and he always ushered Kaoru out, saying that Okaa-san needed her rest. But she was sharp enough to notice.

“It’s so hard to see her like this. I wish I could do something!” She exclaimed, kicking a stray pebble in the road.

“I feel the same. I’d rather it be me in her place.”

“Otou-san, you shouldn’t be in the hospital either.” Kaoru corrected, slumping. “All of us should be home.”

He couldn’t argue, and he took her hand as they departed.

The weather chilled, the leaves bright with color. Flowers were in rare abundance, but they managed to procure an armful of pink dianthus. Kaoru strode into the hospital room, petals falling in her wake.

“Okaa-san, we’re here to visit!”

“Hello.” Her voice was barely audible but her expression was warm.

Koshijiro was relieved she was lucid. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

“No, I just woke up. What time is it?”

He told her, as Kaoru arranged the bouquet by the window.

“Oh, they’re beautiful. Thank you.” Tears welled up in her gaze. “You have such a good heart, Kaoru.” She swallowed hard, intent on making her words count. “You’ve been so helpful, so sweet and strong. I’ve told you as much as I can, but if it isn’t enough, know that you’re never alone. Listen to Otou-san, and remember that he wants what’s best for you. There’s always the book, if you need it.”

“I know where the book is. I just want you.” Kaoru quietly replied.

Kyoko was too overcome to speak, cupping Kaoru’s face. Koshijiro sat at her other side, wrapping his arm around her. They huddled close, their conversation meandering; what mattered most was that they were in the present together, for as long as it could last. Eventually, Kyoko’s breathing deepened and her eyes struggled to stay open.

“We’ll be back later.” Koshijiro promised, hesitantly extricating himself.

“See you soon, Okaa-san. Love you.” Kaoru kissed her cheek, and Kyoko gave a fragile smile.

“I love you too. I love you both so much.” Those were her last words, before she fell asleep.

By the following evening, she still hadn’t woken. A number of white-clad hospital staff filled her room, exchanging words that swept over his understanding until someone explained. Kyoko was comatose. He was going to send Kaoru home, but she stamped her foot and insisted on staying. One of the doctors offered a spare office for her to sleep in, while Koshijiro remained by Kyoko’s side. It would not be long before the end, he was warned but he would not budge. He wouldn’t let her go while she was alone.

Her weak pulse fluttered under his thumb, stopping for long seconds before picking up again. His dear, persistent Kyoko. He cupped her cheek and bent his head close, uncertain if she could hear him, but he whispered into her ear. “It’s alright, Kyoko. We don’t want you to be in pain. It’s alright.”

It was ultimately a blessing that Kyoko did not linger. Before midnight, she slipped away. Koshijiro pressed his lips to hers, in one last kiss. Then, he went to Kaoru.

She stirred awake when he touched her shoulder. “Otou-san?” Her eyes were wide with apprehension.

“She’s gone.”

“Can I see her?”

He could only nod, and he led her into the room. Kaoru climbed onto the hospital bed, and stifled her sobs into Kyoko’s neck. He held her cold hand, engraving the memory of her skin into his mind. They remained there until the very last minute.

***

The funeral was accompanied by a light rain. His arms were burdened with the container of Kyoko’s ashes, and his shoulders hunched unconsciously to protect what was left of his wife from the weather. Kaoru walked beside him, quiet and matching one of his paces with two of her own. The stoic procession marched to the cemetery, and Kyoko was buried in heavy silence.

Time passed by sluggishly. The house was too quiet, and he resorted to kenjutsu, to an escape. If he kept his body occupied and moving, he would not have to think about how empty he felt.

“Otou-san?”

The timid question stopped him mid-step, and he turned to see his daughter standing in the doorway.

“Um. I tried to make lunch. Do you want to eat yet? Because you didn’t have breakfast…”

His gut reaction was to decline, he had probably lost his appetite forever. But he stared at his daughter’s round eyes, the quiver in her chin as she waited for his answer.

No. I can’t give up, I’m all Kaoru has now, and so, I must keep up my strength.

“Alright. Let’s have lunch.”

The onigiri were misshapen, lopsided triangles. There was probably a little too much salt, but to his fatigued body, the flavor wasn’t bad. The rice was definitely undercooked though, and the only sound in the room was the crunch of grains between teeth.

Then, there was a sniffle. Koshijiro lifted his head, to see Kaoru frowning and wiping away tears, even as she chewed. “Sorry.” She warbled. “It doesn’t taste good.”

“Kaoru…” He reached over the table, to awkwardly pat her head. “If anyone should apologize, it’s me. I’m your father, it’s my duty to provide for you. But I’ve been neglecting you. I’m so sorry.”

“Mm.” She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her sleeve across her face.

“Don’t worry about cooking anymore. I’ll hire a new housekeeper to take care of that. I’ll also open the rooms to boarders so we can pay off the rest of the debt. Soon, I’ll continue teaching.”

“Can I be a student again?”

“Yes. The position of head student will always be yours, until you can teach with me.”

“And then?”

“And then, you’ll be assistant instructor. After that, head instructor. The dojo will be yours, and I’ll write it down so no one can take that away from you.”

Kaoru nodded. “Otou-san?”

“Hm?”

“Can I talk about Okaa-san?”

“Your mother loved stories. I think she’d like nothing more than for you to tell stories about her.”

She slowly nodded. “Will you?”

“Perhaps not right away. But even if I don’t speak, she’s always here.” He placed his hand over his heart. “And here.” He pointed to the same spot on his daughter, and she laid her fingers upon it in understanding.

“Okay. I can talk about her for both of us.”

He didn’t respond, but he patted her head again and they continued on.

It was not easy, raising a daughter alone. As much as Kaoru looked like his dear wife, she had inherited her temper from him. They did argue, over trivial matters in hindsight, but such discussions usually ended in Kaoru slamming the door to her room and for him to thumb through his designated pages in Kyoko’s book, rereading her overarching message of love and patience. He would not repeat the mistakes of his youth, and he would knock on her door, requesting that they talk. Thankfully, her anger usually blew over quickly and he made it a point to apologize to each other.

Kamiya Kasshin was ultimately a family project. Kaoru was the first student to try the new techniques, and from observing her as well, Koshijiro made necessary changes and adjustments. His daughter was a natural at kenjutsu, and she freely challenged him.

“Wouldn’t another step work for this kata? I feel like I need to get my balance back from the last turn.”

“That’s fine, but you might run into trouble if you’re in a tight space.”

“Well, that just means it’s more important to rebalance.”

“It seems the turn’s causing the issue. What if we move it up, earlier in the sequence?”

“Yeah, that could work too!”

He did hire a housekeeper, but the middle-aged woman was far stricter than her initial interview conveyed. She heavily disapproved of Kaoru’s love for swordsmanship, insisting that she rise before dawn and sleep late, to complete extra household tasks. But Kaoru was unhappier every day, and it came to a head when the housekeeper mentioned the dreaded word of “marriage”. Kaoru was late for practice and he was searching for her, overhearing the raised voices in the kitchen.

“Why would I care about some husband I haven’t even met yet?” Kaoru exploded. “I’m me and I should be loved for who I am, not because I’m ladylike enough!”

“Your education should have started when you were much younger. Now, I fear it’s too late to salvage.” She glanced over at Koshijiro, striding towards them. “Ah, here’s your father.” If she was expecting him to defend her viewpoint, he was glad to disappoint her.

“I need her in the dojo. Don’t delay her and for that matter, we will not speak of marrying her off. Kaoru is only ten.” He firmly stated. “End of discussion.”

“You spoil her far too much. If she were my daughter, she’d be a proper girl and run the house on her own. I’m not sure what your wife did-”

“And that is where you stop, because she’s not your child, she’s mine.” He coldly dismissed her. “Pack your things and I’ll give you your pay for the week. We have no more need of your services.”

She huffed and gave them nasty looks but didn’t say another word. Before noon, the gate soundly shut behind her.

“Well…that probably went as well as it could.” He said at last.

Kaoru laughed. “I thought it was great. Thank you, Otou-san.” She hugged him and he patted her head. Then, she pouted. “Does this mean we need to find someone new?”

“We can wait a while.” Soon after, they met Sekihara Tae, whose friendship was much appreciated.

When Kaoru was twelve, they had the pleasant surprise of a visitor. Kikuhara was traveling through, and he was interested in the school Koshijiro had described in a New Year’s card. He joined the class as an observer, then to help with basic forms. He began to follow along with the students, and he caught on quickly. After a month, he held his own in sparring against Koshijiro. Kaoru called the close match in Koshijiro’s favor, but they were happy with the outcome.

Kikuhara’s objective seemed to be complete too. He opened a pocket watch and examined the inside. “It’s time for me to go. I have someone to return to now.” With a smile, he turned the watch around to show Koshijiro a photograph of a young girl, no older than five. “My daughter, Midori.”

“A daughter? You…married?”

“No.” Kikuhara paused. “I haven’t told anyone else this, but she’s the illegitimate child of my lord. I was tasked to care for her, but the moment she was placed in my arms, I knew she was as good as my own. She’s very frail though, and she isn’t interested in kenjutsu, unlike your Kaoru. But she’s kindhearted, like her real father.”

“With no offense to your lord, you are her father now and I’m sure she misses you.” Koshijiro pointed out without malice. “If you need any advice on raising her, please let me know.”

“I’ll remember, senpai.” He joked. “I will be sure to bother you about teaching as well. I like some of the kata from Kamiya Kasshin, and its message is honorable. I’m interested in sharing it in Echigo, alongside my own family’s tradition. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“And I’ll call it…Kasshin Shintoryu Kikuhara?”

“Please don’t, you can just keep your family’s name for the school.” He was embarrassed.

“No, it’s a good name, and I’ll be happy to teach under its sign.” At the end of his stay, they saw him off with waves and promises of a future reunion, when Midori was older.

Years passed. He filled a book with the knowledge of Kamiya Kasshin, leaving it in the altar alongside Kyoko’s volume. Kaoru was promoted to assistant instructor after demonstrating mastery in the last kata, and she taught the youngest students while he focused on the older ones. They made a good team. The dojo was raucous with clashing bokken and conversation, and for some time, life was uneventful.

***

That changed when Kumamoto Castle was taken by the Satsuma army. Before the week’s end, the draft letter arrived, summoning Koshijiro to the warfront once more. He was standing frozen in the front yard and numbly rereading the notice, thinking of how he could hide it before he had a proper chance to speak to Kaoru, when she called out.

“Otou-san, what’s taking you so long?” Too late, her gaze landed on the official stamp on the envelope, and she immediately blanched. “Otou-san?”

“I’m sorry, Kaoru.”

“Why are you apologizing?!” She gave a nervous laugh. “It’s not like you chose to go.”

“In a way, I did when I joined the police.”

“Otou-san, don’t say that. I know you don’t really think so.” She touched his shoulder. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’m more worried about you. You’ll be alone.”

“No, I won’t. I have the students, and Tae’s in town. And I can always bring on more boarders.” At his distasteful expression, she scowled. “Don’t say anything about protecting me, because I can defend myself. You know I can!”

“I’m only telling you to be cautious.”

“I am.” She grumbled.

He excused himself, to find two items. One was his tanto, and the other was his father’s. He handed the sheathed blades to her. “Keep one under your pillow, and the other in the secret compartment in the bathhouse.”

“Otou-san.”

“Remember to lock your room every night.”

“Otou-san, I’ll remember. But how are you coping? You’re being called back to war, you’ll have to…” Kill people again. The unspoken words hung in the air.

“I don’t look forward to it, but I will do my best to avoid a worst case scenario. With Kamiya Kasshin, I can disarm as many as I can.”

At that, she lit up. “So, we should train as much as possible. And I want to master the succession techniques before you go!”

That was a good idea. After lessons, they practice sparred, and Koshijiro pinpointed where she needed to improve. Not that there was much, but he wanted to teach her everything he could before leaving. The last afternoon eventually came; Kaoru focused solely on Hadome and Hawatari. She was on the verge of breaking through, and she recognized as much.

“I almost had it! And I knew where I went wrong too! One more time, Otou-san?”

“No, you’re tired. It’s already been over two hours, and I can tell you’re too exhausted to proceed any further today. We should stop here.”

She groaned, slumping. “But I wanted to master them before you left, so you can see.”

“Mastering these techniques shouldn’t be rushed, especially for my sake. You are close. So, not yet, but you’re getting better every time.” He wouldn’t be here to watch her progress though, after this day.

She must have thought so too, for she set her bokken aside and fiercely hugged him. He squeezed her back, hoping it could convey all of what he couldn’t say aloud.

The morning of departure was somber. Kaoru made breakfast, which he ate without complaint. He donned his uniform and hated that his daughter looked so sad when she saw him. However, she didn’t mention it, only asking if he had everything he needed. She trailed him past the front door, the frosted grass crackling under their footsteps.

“I’ll see you soon, Otou-san.” She said, decidedly using the temporary farewell.

“Yes. Protect the school while I’m gone, and go back inside, before you catch a cold. I’ll see you soon, Kaoru.” He clasped her shoulder, hoping to give some strength to her. Then, with great reluctance, he let go and walked alone. He closed the gate behind him, waited until Kaoru locked it again, and headed into town to join his regiment.

The journey to Satsuma was taxing, as they sailed towards Kyushu. He wasn’t as young as many of the other men, and when they camped on the southern island, he fell asleep once his head touched his pillow. The nightmares trickled back, becoming more convoluted every night. The return to the battlefield was dreaded by the other policemen, especially since they were only given wooden batons and swords. He couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved by the lack of a gun. He struck at shoulders, feet, anywhere that wasn’t lethal.

Months passed, as Saigo Takamori’s defeat forced him to flee and the Imperial army followed suit. The minor skirmishes with Saigo’s men culminated into a pincer attack on the Satsuma rebels. Koshijiro gritted his teeth and continued with striking through. To move forward, so this could be over as soon as possible. Suddenly, the line fell back, and he was perplexed for a moment, before the surrounding shouts alerted that there would be shelling. The order was to retreat, to gain as much distance for the explosions that would soon rock the battleground. Koshijiro didn’t even have to time to sheath his sword, the adrenaline humming under his skin, demanding to run as fast and far as he could. The men were tripping over each other and cursing, the fear and apprehension whittling their tempers.

A distant boom, then faint screams. Two steps later, it repeated, only closer. How much time did he have left? Koshijiro’s heart pounded out the tense seconds. A young soldier, barely older than Kaoru, stumbled to his right. Koshijiro switched his katana to his left hand and grabbed the boy’s collar. Using the momentum of his own body, he thrust the boy in front. “Take cover!” He bellowed.

Sound. It deafened him.

Force. His left arm, still outstretched behind him, twisted.

Heat. It seemed to split his skin open.

Pain. And that was enough for his eyes to roll back.

Forgive me, Kaoru-

***

He woke up, and he could hardly draw breath. He blinked. He had his sight. He was on his back, staring up at a white ceiling. The clamor of groaning men filled his ears. The smells of urine and blood were strong, and he didn’t dare open his dry mouth. He was in a hospital, a crowded one at that. For how long, he didn’t know.

I’m Kamiya Koshijiro, forty-five years old. I have a daughter, Kaoru, who is seventeen. We live in Tokyo. I work with the Tokyo Metropolitan police. I teach Kamiya Kasshin, the sword that protects.

There, his memory was intact. Although when he tried to remember what happened after the explosion, he couldn’t recall anything after the storm of sensation. He must have fainted. He twitched his fingers, his toes. No pain. He turned his head right. Well, his neck wasn’t broken, just stiff. Against his pillow, there was soft friction; the back of his head was bandaged. His right forearm bore the healing crust of a scrape, and he deduced he must have fallen on that side. But he could move his wrist and elbow joints, so there were no fractures. He checked the left-

Immediately, he jerked his head away. Shock kicked in. He didn’t have an arm. His left arm was gone. There was just wrapped white cloth, encasing the end of his shoulder. Then, why could he still feel it, down to the fingertips? He looked again, to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

He stared and stared and stared. He didn’t have an arm.

Distantly, he heard a nurse call out that he was awake, and footsteps approached. A doctor introduced himself before asking identifying questions. Koshijiro’s voice was raspy from disuse but he demonstrated he knew who he was. The doctor provided new details.

Koshijiro was in a hospital close to one of the harbors in Satsuma. A week had passed. The Imperial army was fighting on, with the last of the rebel forces weakened. Most of the province was back in the Emperor’s control and it would be a matter of weeks before Saigo surrendered. Reportedly, Koshijiro was found on the battlefield, alone and unconscious. When he was moved here, he had convulsed to reality and blood loss brought him under again.

Overall, he was in rough shape. The explosion had singed some of his hair off, and his skull had to be partially shaved. He had superficial burns on his back, that worsened on his left side. His right knee was swollen and abraded, and part of his big toenail was torn. His body bore minor cuts and bruises from landing. And he no longer had a left arm. The doctor actually had to remove more bone and tissue because what remained after the blast was not clean. But it was free from shrapnel and they could only do their best to prevent gangrene.

He was warned that there would be pain, that his body would not properly recognize that his left arm was gone. Multiple medicines were given to him, and his mouth gained a perpetual bitter taste. He slept in fits throughout his stay. All around him, other men were dying. He always noticed when another body was carried out.

A week passed, but he wasn’t quite healing. He forced himself to look at the dressings as they were changed, and they didn’t seem promising. He bitterly thought he couldn’t recover as well as he could in this place, but he had no say here. And then, one morning, he felt lethargic and his stomach sank in realization. A small part of him clung to hope that it would pass soon, but he forgot it as he became more and more delirious.

The hospital staff was saying he was feverish, and he groggily understood it was bad, because he felt so cold. Sleep was tempting. There was more medicine, more people hovering over him. He felt numb, it would be very easy to sleep forever. Too weak to struggle, his eyes closed.

He did not expect to dream.

He was sitting on the porch, the moon abnormally large and bright above. A quiet warm summer’s night. And he couldn’t see her, but he could feel Kyoko’s presence, as if she was standing behind him.

You’re so close.

I know. But not yet, Kyoko. I made a promise to you, didn’t I?

It was as if she was laughing, her breath warm against his neck. Then, please go home.

Yes. He couldn’t possibly disobey and he was swallowed once more by the void.

When he woke, his fever had broken. To the doctors’ surprise and awe, he had overcome the infection. He didn’t feel like it was miraculous at all; he had made promises and he intended to keep them. Once he heard his wounds were healed, he declared. “I’m leaving.” The response was dismissive, until he tried to leave his bed. He’d had enough of being in the hospital, he argued, and he’d heal more if he wasn’t restrained. That only sent him to another facility, with others in slightly better condition. From so much time on bedrest, he was frustratingly weak, and his legs shook underneath him when he attempted to walk around. But he pushed on, easily recalling a blue-clad figure with braids in her family’s yard, and conjuring a younger one, years later, who must be teaching in the dojo. Even if he no longer had one arm, he still had the other, his legs, and his head. That was good enough to get by. By the time he was discharged, the war had ended with Saigo’s suicide. His return home was overdue but winter’s approach undercut his pace. He was trying desperately not to get sick again.

The initial leg was frustratingly slow. He had no money, and any innkeeper dismissed his offer of labor. One benefit about his amputation was that it was noticeable, and kind strangers would grant him a night or two in a stable or on a fishing boat. But most people tended to avoid his gaze, so he did his best to keep moving. The new phantom pains were excruciating, his ghostly arm wrenching as it had in its final moments. Those incapacitating occasions, as well as his poor physical shape, forced him to rest often, to his chagrin.

He took one such break, on the wayside of a market street. He had managed to buy passage back to Honshu, though it meant he had to agree to a slight detour, since the port was not close to the main roads he recognized. This town was bustling with naval activity, thanks to the iron ships anchored in the dark water. The marine air was soothing, and the latest episode of pain ebbed with each deep breath.

“Ojii-san, where did your arm go?”

He startled, and in his periphery, a little boy stared at him with round eyes. There was a flood of emotion, but his most prominent thought was: I can’t tell this child it was blown off! “Well…” He searched for an appropriate thing to say. “I traded it.”

“For what?”

“So I could go home.”

A woman in her early thirties approached, holding the hand of a slightly older boy. “Sadatake! Oh, I’m so sorry.” The mother was so mortified, bowing her head multiple times. Her obi rested low, under the modest curve of her belly. “Sadatake, apologize to this uncle.”

“Sorry.”

“Please, don’t concern yourselves over it.”

She searched his face for a moment. “You look like you could use some rest and good food. Why don’t you come to our place? My husband wouldn’t mind at all.”

“I couldn’t impose.”

“No, I insist.” She pressed her palm on her rounded abdomen and smiled beatifically. The underlying message was not to upset her. “And my husband’s heading this way right now.” She directed her gaze over his shoulder, and he pivoted.

What he saw stunned him.

The man had plenty of silver in his hair, and his right leg dragged with each step, though the sleeping toddler draped over his shoulder didn’t help. Those fox eyes had regained their spark and framed by creases, they widened in recognition. “Kamiya? Kamiya Koshijiro?”

“Hayashi.” He shook his head at the incredulity of the moment, and he gestured to the site of his recent loss. “After all this time, I would certainly like to talk to you.”

The family led the way to a modest house, near Hayashi’s workplace at a naval office. The boys were young, having turned three, five, and seven, and they had just finished celebrating the milestone thrice over. Hayashi was a long way off from his former devastated self. Koshijiro felt a mixture of relief and sympathy as he watched his friend mind the little ones’ table manners at dinner.

“Sadakazu, here, move your cup away so you won’t spill it. Sadanori, wipe your mouth.” Even as he was speaking, he was already carrying out the actions, inspecting his youngest’s face one last time to ensure it was thoroughly clean. Hayashi’s wife fondly watched the spectacle, as Sadatake ate beside her.

The comfort of having a meal at a full table was a balm to Koshijiro’s weary spirit. After the dishes were cleared and the boys were sent to bed, despite their loud protests, Hayashi poured out two cups of warm sake. Koshijiro inhaled the fragrance, appreciating the liquor.

“Been saving up this bottle for a while, and I’m glad I did. I haven’t had the chance to drink in a while either.”

He took a sip. Just hot enough and very good indeed. “I didn’t know you’d become a family man.”

“I didn’t really expect to be one.” Hayashi admitted. “During the Bakumatsu, I was here, watching the troops travel past and trying not to feel useless. But Akie’s family clan sided with the Satcho alliance, and that’s how we met. There wasn’t much of a ceremony, because we married against her family’s wishes. I don’t blame them; I can still hardly believe she’d pick me. But before I could scare her off, the boys came along. Now it’s twins, so I hope at least one of them can convince the rest to be calm and kind to their old father.”

Koshijiro laughed. It was the first time in months, he realized, that he had. “You’ll miss some of it when they’re this young.”

“You have a family, don’t you? A daughter?”

“Yes, Kaoru is in Tokyo. Kyoko passed away, seven years ago.”

Hayashi’s jaw clenched. “I’m sorry. But you made her happy, anyone could see that. ”

Koshijiro chose not to reply, instead drinking from his cup.

“How old is your daughter now?”

“She’s seventeen.” He had missed her birthday. Discomfort spread through him.

“Damn, you’ll probably be marrying her off before the twins arrive.”

“Kaoru’s still young.”

“I was married to my first wife when I was younger than that.” Hayashi countered. “And it’s been months since you’ve been gone.”

Koshijiro frowned. “I need to return.”

“Ah, you haven’t changed much at all.” His friend grinned. “Maekawa’s in Tokyo too, right? Well, don’t tell him or anyone else yet that I’m here. I will, when I’m ready. Probably after Akie delivers.”

“I think they’d be glad to know you’re living well, but I understand.” The last of the alcohol was drained, and Hayashi thumped his back before urging him to retire. That night, he slept comfortably.

Before dawn broke, he intended to leave quietly, not to bother them anymore and to get a head start on his day. But he wasn’t as quiet as he hoped, for rustling noises carried over into the hallway. He tried to quicken his pace, but a door slid open.

“Gotcha.”

His sighed. “Good morning, Hayashi. And Akie-san.” The couple walked towards him with intent, Hayashi’s hand in his robe.

His friend clicked his tongue. “Good morning indeed. Were you trying to sneak away? How foolish, Kamiya. My wife’s hearing is not to be underestimated. Especially since we want to give you this.” He pushed a cloth bag into Koshijiro’s hand, the hefty weight studded with the metal ridges of the coins within.

“I can’t possibly accept. Please, keep this for your children.”

“They have plenty already. You, on the other hand, don’t have a naval secretary father, so take it.”

Akie added. “It’s a long road to Tokyo, especially when traveling alone. If you can find safety on a boat, a train, or even a cart, we’d be at ease knowing you have the means.” She then kept her voice low. “And I wanted to personally thank you. I know what you and your friends did for my husband, all those years ago, and it’s because of you that I have him. That I have my children and this life. I hope this is a fraction of what I owe you.”

His resistance crumbled. “…I promise not to squander it. In return, I hope you have a safe delivery.” He stepped out, to slip on his shoes.

Hayashi held his wife by the waist, to shield her from the morning chill, and raised his hand in farewell. “If you ever need anything else, let me know.”

“I will, and thank you. It was good to see you.” They bowed to one another, and he did not look back. His path was clear.

The days unfolded, one after another. At last, the surroundings became familiar, and every step took him towards the dojo, his school, and Kaoru.

***

In the first week of July, the Kyoto police informed them that Shishio and his followers had revealed themselves. Koshijiro was loath to miss an incoming message, and he remained at the station with the night shift, catching himself from nodding off until his sore neck forced him to trudge back to the empty house. The contingency plan was never far from his mind, even manifesting in his dreams. He was awake for good when the news came that Shishio’s ship was burning and falling to pieces off the shoreline. And then, there was another telegram within the hour.

“This one was specifically meant for you, Officer Kamiya.” The chief wryly said. “From your daughter.”

It was short but conveyed so much. WE WON. ALL SAFE.

If he was the type to dance, he could have danced all the way home. But he wasn’t, and ultimately, that meant he noticed that the lights were still on in Dr. Gensai’s clinic. When he knocked, Takani opened up, her eyes tired but offering a little smile when she recognized him. “Kamiya-san?”

“Yes, I have good news. The battle was won in Kyoto.” He showed her the telegram with pride.

“Really?” She exhaled in relief. “I’m so thankful. But it must have been difficult. I would like to see if they need care…”

“Then, let’s go. We’ll leave with the first train in the morning.”

“Just like that?” Takani laughed. “Well, I won’t argue. I’ll tell Dr. Gensai and get my supplies. See you in a few hours.”

He could hardly wait.

[thattimdrakeguy]

Yikes

I blocked the anon, because I got the feeling that they don’t wanna chat, they just wanna rant at me (I’ve dealt with anons before that’s had the same type of language used, and it never ended well before), but there’s a difference between development, and just ignoring how the character is to do what ever you want.

The early arc of Red Robin was character development.

I didn’t like how they tried to develop it, I felt they did for reasons that wasn’t benefiting the actual character in the long run after a while, I felt it only happened because the people that run DC seems to be obsessed with the edgy and wanted to change Tim more into their ideal, hence why my blog doesn’t focus on it despite being Tim and I love Tim, but that early arc is character development.

Had a reason, a spawning point, felt connect to Tim’s past, it’s character development.

Tim had to deal with a lot, he had a mental breakdown, he felt he was losing his sanity, but he was hopeful deep down on his belief that Bruce was alive and felt he could find Bruce, and got a little darker in the process because he felt that’s what he had to do to find him.

He’s been shown to act out before in times of high stress, and this is just that but amplified. 

When Bruce betrayed his trust after having to deal with a bunch of other bull, he got violent on a crook, and after an hour he was over it (mostly), but the events that made Red Robin happen was more than an hour, this was a life changing event, and he changed for it, but there was a spawning point for that type of behavior.

It was character development.

Rebooting the entirety of the DC universe and being unable to understand the basics of the character and instead doing what ever you want isn’t character development.

Tim’s original origin is being a naive, (mostly) neglected kid that was there when the Flying Grayson’s dropped, and later on seeing on the news that Robin was able to do the same exact trick Dick could do, put the pieces together. Later on after following Batman and Robin’s journey on the news and in the papers, he realized Batman got more violent after Robin disappeared, and Jason died. So he sought out Dick to hopefully convince him to become Robin again, and when that didn’t work out, he became Robin, because he felt Batman needed a Robin. A somewhat naive belief, but it is comics, where a man dressed as a Bat is enough to terrify criminals into crapping themselves and not just being strangely confused.

Tim’s New 52 origin is that of an Olympic level gifted athlete and hacker that came from a supporting family that had the desire to go beyond Olympic level athletics because it wasn’t enough for him and wanted to become Batman’s sidekick because he figured he could do it, so he hacked into Penguin’s bank accounts to get back at him, and that ended up with his parents nearly dying from his gang. Making his parents have to go into witness protection, and allowed Batman (who was paying attention to him and his athletics) to make him his new sidekick.

It’s an entirely different origin.

That’s not character development.

Tim’s behavior stemmed from being naive and having a big heart. Even when he got older and more mature, there was still that naive part of him that believed stuff he probably shouldn’t have. His naive judgement was just something he occasionally got lucky on like Bruce, and was more intense like with that and believing he could clone Conner back into existence. It was just more intense from spawning from depressed and miserable feelings.

On the flip side, new 52 Tim showed apathetic behavior on a few occasions, and seemed to believe he was always right no matter what. Making them quite different characters.

There isn’t even the excuse to add that it was a different time. Batman having to turn campy in the 50s and 60s was because it was a highly sensitive time to allow their kids to see and read such violence, hence it was calmed down. Even from all the way back in the 30s, the reason why comics began to slowly become more sophisticated art was because people’s tastes where becoming more sophisticated.

There was no reason like that for changing Tim’s personality and origin, only from lack of care or understanding, A.K.A. not character development., or even changing with the times. Just neglecting to care enough about the character to understand them and how they function. 

Which is why I make posts in a negative light about it, because it’s not a positive thing, and I personally feel that the character deserves better, and that DC needs to hire better writers, or at least use the right writers for the right jobs instead of continuing to not care as they seem to do.

and reading the anon ask back I’m not sure if this was even the point they were trying to make.

They seem to believe that because I like 90s Tim the best, that I ignore everything after and call it trash, but I don’t. I’m well aware I mostly talk about 90s Tim, and that is my blog theme, but that’s because that’s what I like the best. It’s not a statement on everything that came after.

My statements on the quality on the things after stem from the specific things I state the shortage of quality comes from.

Like New 52 Tim, Rebirth Tim, out of character moments, etc.

but I’m assuming this guy wanted to take it the wrong way enough to send me an ask to insult the character I like, and make irrelevant statements as if they sent it to the wrong guy.

and if you don’t like Tim as a character.

I genuinely do not care. I don’t think someone that’s gonna send me a snotty as that doesn’t understand the person they’re talking too’s reasoning is gonna make me really question my opinion as much as you try to gaslight me.

There’s a difference between a disagreement, and just saying buzzwords and insults stemmed from your subjective viewpoint to try and upset people that happen to disagree with you.

I just genuinely think Tim’s a great character.

There’s something about a character who’s just trying their dang best to make people that they adore happy, even when they don’t have the natural talent because they think it’s the right thing to do. To see a kid and his naive beliefs get tested as he goes on life threatening adventures, is very interesting and fun to read for me. To see how this insecure dorky kid deals with not being the best fighter in situations that require good fighting, can be fun, and to see how he deals with failure when he has so much weight that he puts on his shoulders is interesting for me.

To see them struggle to do what they want, trying to move along despite the pains their personal life can give them, all while being a relatively normal kid with school and friend groups that adds light drama on top of it, is something that I enjoy reading, because it gives me something to attach too and read forward to see more of.

He’s like Peter Parker in a lot of ways, does what they do because it’s the right thing to do in their heart, they’re geeky so they’re relatable to the audience that can either look back on their time as a kid and relate to it or are still a kid, they have their personal lives that get in the way of their hero life which causes some headache inducing problems for them, but despite the struggles they continue to try and move on as it takes more of a toll on them.

Peter Parker’s still snarkier, Tim’s more internal, Peter’s more confident as Spider-Man, Tim’s more insecure, Peter’s normally by himself with no one to look up too besides his Uncle Ben, Tim looks up to two heroes that are always looking out for him and have legacies he has to uphold.

But in the ways that made them engaging reads for people, they’re similar, and Tim back then was very successful, even if he was just a sidekick.

You just don’t seem to like that kind of character.

Or you couldn’t attach yourself to Tim the way I have.

and you know what?

That’s okay.

People have different tastes all the time. Some people like edgier characters, some people like the more cartoony ones, and other ones like the obscure versions of characters that don’t correlate with the rest of their character history.

It’s just how people are.

But don’t come into my ask box to come off like you’re acting like you’re superior for saying a couple of vague statements that are completely irrelevant to me, just to insult my favorite character in the end.

You won’t see this, I blocked you, but it’s a nice lesson to learn about how to act to people online.

You aren’t superior because you treat yourself as so.

You’re just another guy online without a face people can see.

[the-bounce-back]

BEING ‘SINGLE SINGLE’ - LESSONS LEARNED FROM FOCUSING ON MYSELF

Well, hey there. It’s been a while.

As I’m sure you all will appreciate and understand, March was an extremely hot mess in many ways, but mainly due to how COVID-19 showed up and started ruining everyone’s lives, and my motivation to write has been very limited due to stress and anxiety over how the situation is unfolding (please stay safe and at home!). However, I have finally somewhat adjusted to the situation and started to feel kind of normal again, so… I’m back like I never left. We love to see it.

I should point out that this post has been on my mind since, like, late December, and I started writing it in the middle of February after I finished the Confidence Chronicles. As the effects of Miss Rona started to become even more prominent in our everyday lives, I wanted to rewrite some of the parts so it would become more relevant to what is currently going on before publishing it… so without further ado, let’s get into it.

If you’re in my age group, I’m sure you will understand and agree that there are different ‘categories’ of being single, and all these levels are immensely different if you get political and look at the specific details of them. For the purpose of clarity and to illustrate, I (personally) would dub these categories as such:

*Single and MiNgLiNg: You’re not tied down to anyone. You’re talking to, seeing and doing whatever you want, with whoever you want, whenever you want. You’re living your best, unbothered life. Feelings are/have become an alien concept to you. I respect it. Gwarn with your bad self.

*Single (but not really): You’re technically single, but there’s someone (or someones, if you’re so inclined) that you’re into and that you’re secretly hoping things will work out with so that you can leave this ghetto that we call the gAmE. I’d say that this is the category where most situationships reside in, before eventually dying out or graduating to an actual relationship. I hate this category, because it is literally the worst: everyone has different opinions on what can and can’t run, and from what I’ve seen it usually just ends up in someone getting hurt.

*Single-ish: kind of like the previous category, but the main difference is that although there might be someone you want things to work out with, you’re grudgingly talking to other people as well in case things go sour. Either to protect your own feelings or out of sheer boredom because the person you want isn’t stepping up in the way you want them to. You probably even try to convince yourself that these other people are better options than the one(s) you actually want, but deep down you know you’re lying to yourself. Sigh. A mess.

And finally, the namesake of this post:

*Single single (aka ‘Single and not looking’): You’ve completely distanced yourself from trying to get to know someone, for whatever reason. You have no interest in changing this anytime soon. Your phone is drier than your hands during this epidemic (cream your hands after washing them… please). 

Up until very recently, I have considered myself single single. This came to pass after things not working out with the person that I wanted, after floating between the single (but not really) and single-ish categories for what felt like eons. I’m not even going to lie, it hurt - but I’m glad it happened. If it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have been able to write this post and share what I’ve learnt from taking a step back and choosing to focus on myself, and I definitely wouldn’t have elevated to this completely new level of confidence the way I have.

The choice to cut all romantic/physical ties off for a while came when I was overanalysing the situation for the trillionth time. I realised that ever since the age of 16, I have always been involved with someone in some way - whether it’s literally just talking or something more. That’s literally almost a decade of my life that I’ve let boys/men live rent-free in my head… Ew. I know, very embarrassing. As if that embarrassment isn’t enough, I soon realised that there must be a correlation between how low my self-esteem, self-confidence and perception of self-worth used to be and the men I’ve had to deal with in my short life so far. I recognised that the craving for male attention and validation that I thought I had eliminated was, in reality, still very much intact after things ended with the person I wanted. I almost got angry at myself for feeling so empty and worthless after it ended, because I genuinely thought that I was stronger than this. 

It’s all good, though - these past few months that have been spent realigning my focus in life, my personal goals and my own dreams have been so crucial to my growth as an independent woman that doesn’t need a man to feel whole. I had already come very far in this inner work (as you will tell from my previous posts), but having this time being completely alone definitely reinforced the things I already knew, but was struggling to apply to my life. I have learnt so many invaluable things about myself and what I want in a relationship in general, so let's get it.

1. I will - shock horror - not die if I don’t get attention.

This is definitely the first realisation I had after my initial decision to not talk to men anymore. As childish as it sounds, I didn’t realise how weird it would be to go from constantly being gassed by someone whose opinion I cared about a little too much… to literal radio silence.

This is how I know that this decision came at the right time of my life, because I genuinely don’t think I would’ve been able to cope without constant attention and validation a few years ago. Honestly, I was like Tinkerbell - on the verge of perishing every time I didn’t get the energy I believed (and still believe!) I deserved when I was looking nice. It’s very embarrassing and almost comical how much it used to ruin my day if I didn’t get some kind of comment about how pRetTy I am, and I’m so grateful to myself that I got out of that mindset before committing to being alone. If you’ve read my post about how to have a healthy relationship (if not, find it here), you might remember that I talked about how freeing myself from the perception that attention, affection and validation from men being something needed to survive in this life was one of the best realisations I’ve ever had. This is still entirely true, and not being involved with anyone has even made me even more of an advocate for this. 

I feel like I’ve discussed the importance of building your confidence to death during my confidence series, so I’m not going to delve too deep into it here. But if you haven’t read those posts, the most important takeaway is that confidence and a deep belief in your own sauce comes from within, and gradually breaking down your insecurities with positivity, a willingness to think about/confront your demons, taking the time to get to know yourself properly, and giving yourself the love and accolades you know you deserve. At no point whatsoever did I mention the approval of men (or whoever you’re attracted to). With this in mind, I can definitely say that this deep love and appreciation I’ve been feeling for myself lately has 100% stemmed from me truly believing in it, as opposed to partially based in forcing myself to believe it and partially based in expecting validation from whoever I’m dealing with.

Furthermore, I’ve officially gotten to the point where the compliments I give myself have started to slap harder than compliments/attention from men, and it’s made me feel extremely empowered and like I have a newfound appreciation for myself. They mean more for the following reasons:

* They’re largely focused on aspects of my personality, mindset, abilities and intelligence - as opposed to just empty comments on my physical features/body.

*The only ulterior motive I have with giving myself compliments is to improve my mental health and confidence, since I don’t need to get into my own good books first to off my own pant.

Whew. All tea/shade/offence intended!

All jokes aside - regardless of if you’re in a relationship, talking to someone or happily single, I’d definitely recommend asking yourself if you’d still feel the same way about yourself if you didn’t get attention or validation on a regular basis. If the answer is no, then I’d definitely recommend asking yourself why that is (and reading/rereading my Confidence Chronicles series). 

2. I’m really productive when I don’t have any distractions.

I’m not going to lie, I’ve missed smiling and giggling at my phone like a smiling and giggling idiot. I’ve also missed communicating solely with dark memes, as this is one of my love languages. For those reasons, not talking to anyone kind of sucked at times. 

However, much like cutting junk food out of your diet - it gets easier the longer you stick to it, and after some time you’ll realise that you’re probably better off without it. Honestly. The amount of time I’ve freed up from not constantly being on my phone to have pointless giggly conversations about absolutely nothing is actually insane, and before Corona came into the picture, I was extremely productive (not to say that I’m no longer productive… but I may or may not have been doing 48h Netflix binges every few days now that everything is closed). 

I’ve spent more time brainstorming blog ideas. My art has drastically improved. I’ve started to lose the depression weight I put on. My skin has cleared up. I’m currently learning eight new languages. I’m writing a whole BOOK. I’ve taken time to update my career plan. And last but not least - I’ve spent a lot of time healing and looking to the future as opposed to dwelling on the past and things that I am unable to change.

Having time to myself - especially while being in a better frame of mind than other times I’ve found myself alone - has reinforced the knowledge of how much I can accomplish and how good I can feel about myself outside of a relationship. This isn’t news to me, at all. But if I had realised how much of a difference being completely solo dolo would have to my productivity and motivation, I definitely would’ve chosen to cut everyone off ages ago… however, the timing in this case has been impeccable. Committing to be alone after going through over a year of inner work and self-healing has allowed me to both appreciate the confidence and resilience I’ve been rebuilding on a completely new level, as well as be able to take a step back and fully enjoy the peacefulness of not having to constantly have someone to worry/overthink about outside of myself and my own goals/projects.

3. I’m a really f*cking cool person to hang out with.

This realisation came long before I decided to not talk to men, to be honest. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been an ambivert - meaning that as much as I love spending time with friends, I highly value my alone time as well. Regardless of if I’m just Netflixing, writing, drawing or imagining fake scenarios in my head that will never happen (unless, of course, my book becomes a bestseller and I end up on Ellen), I always have a fantastic time being alone. It’s my time to recharge, dissect my thoughts and feelings, and not have to deal with anyone else for a bit.

When I first decided to be completely single, one of my main goals was to commit to being comfortable alone regardless of the situation. I’ve always been comfortable taking myself to see a movie or on a nice café date, but I really wanted to push myself to the next level of iNdEpEnDeNcE. I went to a couple gigs and a couple tourist attractions alone earlier this year when no one could/wanted to go, and I had the best time ever. Honestly, I was living the dream. Those experiences made me start planning the cute little solo holidays I was going to go on and restaurants I wanted to take myself to, and I was getting really excited. But then, of course, Corona came and ruined everything, so my plans have been put on hold indefinitely.

With that being said, I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss going out for cute little dates with someone I’m seeing/in a relationship with. Some of my favourite memories are gigs, day trips and holidays with someone else. But I think once I chose to ignore the social norms in place that dub doing things alone as “weird” - and overcome feeling “weird” as I’ve done things alone - I’ve definitely felt more excited to schedule in quality time with myself. I personally can’t wait for this Rona nonsense to be over so I can resume planning my art/architecture trip.

“But Liv! How did you overcome the feelings of awkwardness and weirdness when you went out? How did you overcome the anxiety that people were looking at/judging you?”

Excellent question. The answer is hard drugs and loads of alcohol.

I’m kidding. I don’t think the anxiety ever fully goes away, since we’ve been so hardwired to see people without a group as an outcast or even a threat. But at some point I just decided to focus on enjoying myself, as opposed to worrying about what the people I’d never see again around me felt.

(Also… alcohol definitely helps. Drink responsibly, kids.)

4. Apparently I have a massive saviour complex?

I think most people that have known me for a long time or at least taken the time to get to know me properly would agree that I am a huge empath. I have always been highly perceptive of other peoples’ feelings, emotions and moods, and I am instinctively inclined to ensure that people feel seen and heard after speaking with me about whatever they needed to vent/get advice about. This, because I’m obviously a huge advocate of normalising talking about mental health struggles, and because I genuinely enjoy sensing that they feel better after confiding in me.

Now, I wouldn’t necessarily say that being an empath is a bad thing - in fact, these traits are some of the things I like the most about myself. But taking a step back from any kind of relationship/situationship has made me suddenly and painfully aware that my high levels of empathy may not be based in a fundamental kindness as I initially thought. In fact, part of it - and I have no idea how large this part is - may be due to a severe saviour complex, and therefore based in an inherent selfishness. 

Yes, I know it’s confusing. Me too, I’m confused. Hear me out. 

Sometimes I get so carried away while writing about all the ways that I’ve healed and bettered myself after my previous relationship… so much that I forget I had issues I was going to counselling for before he ruined everything and the sessions became all about getting over him. I genuinely forget sometimes that I had a life before I even knew he even existed, which just goes to show how large of an impact it had on me. Very sad, I know. 

The stuff I was going to counselling for at the time had me in a very dark place, and looking back at it the breakup was kind of a blessing in disguise for my brain. I definitely think that refocusing my energy to heal from the relationship protected me from having to face certain aspects of myself that I wasn’t ready to deal with at the time.

Fast forward to a couple years later - I consider myself fully healed from the situation. I’ve learnt so much about myself, my mental health, relationships and love in general, and for a good year or so I was meeting new people and starting to think about a potential new relationship. I met some great people (and a couple nutcases) that things didn’t end up working out with, but I didn’t really mind that things weren’t going perfectly because I had hEaLeD™, and I had proved to myself that I could move on… so sh*t was sweet for a while. 

However, when I decided to go on this dating hiatus, something I didn’t expect at all happened:

The issues, thoughts and feelings I was initially going to counselling for - before the breakup - started to come back to my attention. And this time, there was nowhere to run and nothing/nobody to distract me.

At this point in time, being forced to face these issues genuinely doesn’t feel as hard as it used to, as I have grown and matured a lot since when I first started feeling these things at around 14/15. I can think about things without it ruining the rest of my day, and I can put words to the feelings I struggled so much to verbalise back then. But regardless of how much easier it is now, it’s still f*cking hard - and this is what brings me back to my point about having a saviour complex.

The term “saviour complex” implies a deep rooted need to save/help people by fixing their problems - often at the expense of their own needs and feelings. Some would even go as far as saying that these “saviours” go out of their way to help others so they don’t have to deal with their own thoughts and feelings, and the more I think about it the more painfully obvious it is that perhaps my inclination to help people - and especially those that I’ve been involved with in some way - comes from a place of selfishness and an immense desire to not have to think about my own troubles.

This has definitely been a scary epiphany for me, and old habits have made me focus on the negative side of constantly trying to help and empathise with people. It’s made me question my entire character, in the sense that the traits that I’ve admired the most about myself might just be a defence mechanism so I don’t have to deal with my own sh*t. However, on the other hand, I’ve been spending a lot of energy reminding myself that regardless of what the truth is - if I ever figure it out - I’ve still been able to help people that have needed someone to be there for them, so does it even really matter what the reasons are at the end of the day? Probably not. I really need to keep working on getting out of my own head sometimes.

With that being said, being alone - whether it’s being single or temporarily for this lockdown - really forces you to face yourself and accept that maybe you don’t have everything as together as you thought, and that’s okay. As long as you acknowledge/fully feel your thoughts and feelings instead of dismissing them out of discomfort, the outcome can only be emotional growth and maturity.

5. My next relationship is going to be phenomenal.

Arguably to my disadvantage, and despite experiencing how peaceful and stress-free being completely single is… I still want love in my life, as long as it is on the right terms and healthy for both of us. I guess I’m just a hopeless romantic like that, at the end of the day… or a sick masochist.

I say this, but I know that all this work I’ve put into rebuilding and elevating myself will - when the time is right - bring someone amazing into my life, that will fully love my confidence, my imperfections and everything else about me that makes me, me. I have so much faith in this that for now, I’m really just chilling and going about my life and my own goals, as well as trusting the process. I feel no stress or anxiety about it anymore whatsoever, and I never thought I’d ever get to this point of calmness. It really is a great feeling to know that the next person lucky enough to be in a relationship with me is going to be nothing short of an additional blessing in my life (and I to theirs), because I am now no longer willing to compromise on or overlook toxic/unhealthy/bad vibes in whoever I end up with. For this reason, I would once again like to reiterate how grateful I am to myself for realising that this time alone was something I needed (and actually sticking to it) - it really has made me feel invincible.

The beautiful thing about all of these realisations is that you don’t even have to be as drastic as me (in terms of cutting the person/the people you’re talking to off) to get into a better headspace when it comes to relationships. If you’re lucky enough to be in a relationship with/dealing with someone that respects, loves and encourages your individuality, allocating quality time to spend with yourself shouldn’t even need to be justified. Obviously, a lot of relationships don’t really have a choice besides giving each other space during this lockdown, but even so I don’t think that time apart should be seen as a strain or a risk to the relationship. I feel so strongly about this that I’ve realised that I can’t even be with someone who doesn’t understand the importance of being our own, separate people who choose to form a team, as opposed to two incomplete individuals who are reliant on each other to feel whole.

With that being said, my biggest realisation and takeaway from this time alone is this:

My next relationship will not “complete” me; it will simply compliment my already existing wholeness.

Read that again.

Now - I know we’re all sick and tired of being cooped up in our houses. But we literally have all the time in the world to spend quality time with ourselves, so why not do so? Now is the perfect time for reflection, g-checking yourself, positive affirmations and self-love. I promise that you’ll come out of this lockdown feeling so much better about yourself.

Stay safe (and stay home)!

Love,

Liv