#is it really causing problems on purpose and being problematic if the people act exactly how i hope they will

[alxclaremont]

“do you really want to know where i was april 29th?” causing problems on purpose thats what

#hehehehehhehehehehe #is it really causing problems on purpose and being problematic if the people act exactly how i hope they will #like. i dont think i can be faulted for this really #its all part of my master plan (there actually is no master plan im just fucking around until i find out) #lacey talks

[patchwork-crow-writes]

I think Deltarune has done something rather clever in its creation of the Darkners, especially when you compare them to the Monsters in Undertale.

You can draw up a lot of similarites between the two groups - both are found in dark "underworld" type locations, both are presented primarily as antagonists that can be won over by ACTing, with additional nuances becoming revealed as you progress through the respective games... and both are trapped within systems that marginalise, demonise and/or otherwise exploit them.

Thing is, in Undertale, there's no real obstacle to seeing the monsters as fundamentally the same as humans, albeit with more interesting body shapes/features and a few other distinctions. All they want is to be free from their prison, and provided you are nice to them, they are willing and able to co-exist with humanity on the surface. What's more, this can easily be achieved: once you dispel the barrier, all the monsters join humanity on the surface and everyone is happy (...mostly).

But you cannot really emancipate darkners in the same way, for three reasons.

The first is practical - darkners who are brought into the light world revert back to inanimate objects. Short of all lightners going off to live in dark worlds, there can't be true parity between the two peoples, unless some method of allowing darkners to manifest in the light were found.

...which leads into the second reason: even IF all the lightners in the world were willing to do that, the world will (supposedly) end if the balance between light and dark is disrupted. What "balance" means exactly isn't 100% clear, but I think it's fairly safe to assume that said balance involves keeping the status quo - darkners serving lightners as inanimate objects, before being disposed of when their purpose is fulfilled. I don't know if anyone is going to risk bringing about armageddon on the off-chance that Ralsei is wrong.

But let's say that you were somehow able to circumvent these problems - darkners can come to the light world, and it won't cause rocks to fall on everyone. Then you run into the most problematic reason darkners can't truly be free in the way we understand it; unlike monsters before them, darkners are not just lightners with a different coat of paint on them. Based on the fact that they are literal objects given life, they have developed their own societies, their own beliefs about the world, their own instincts and desires that are intrinsic to them. Whether through some false-consciousness, or a genuine desire to serve their purpose, darkners at large seem entirely happy with the way things are, and have been for a long time.

Oh, but you can just convince them through dialogue and ACTing, like the monsters! They'll surely come around if we explain it to them! Yes, they will... and that is exactly the problem. They're not won over to our cause by logic or persuasion; they're agreeing with us because we're lightners, and they're doing what we tell them to... which is the way it's always been. They have to want to decide to be free for themselves, which isn't likely to happen anytime soon. (and no, King doesn't count, because he was inspired to rebel against the lightners BY A LIGHTNER.)

It's for these reasons that I think people expecting Deltarune to end in a similar way to Undertale - with everyone living together in peace and harmony - are going to wind up disappointed. Unless some new information comes to light, or some unsatisfying contrivance is pulled off, lightners and darkners are both destined and doomed to remain in the cycle that has defined them for aeons.

#rambling #deltarune #lightners and darkners #theory #analysis #undertale #comparison

[linkspooky]

That’s What Makes Us Heroes and Villains

All the way back in the aftermath of the Stain Arc, Dabi and Himiko were the first new recruits introduced for the League of Villains. The three of them together, Shigaraki, Dabi, and Himiko are a trio. Effectively the three main characters of the villain side of the story. They are all three of them, traumatized children who were thrown out by society, and are now fighting back against it. They’ve been pushed out further and further until all three of them came to the same conclusion: Heroes are in the way. 

Dabi: “There are no true Heroes.” 

Shigaraki: “You heroes hurt your own families just to help complete strangers.” 

Toga: “You heroes mess everything up.” 

All three of them are children screaming the same thing at the heroes, trying to get somebody to listen only to be ignored. Shigaraki, Dabi, Himiko were all driven to become villains because of hero society. They became villains because heroes existed in the first place. 

A meta on the villain trio under the cut. 

1. Monsters

Shigaraki, Dabi, and Himiko are all introduced to us as monstrous villains who slowly become human over time. Their development is effectively then in reverse of the main heroes. The heroes we sympathize with right away because they’re introduced to us as innocent kids. We see the villains as violent monsters first before the curtain is pulled back and it’s revealed they started out as children all along. 

When the three are introduced they have no affection for one another. Shigaraki even calls them “the two types I hate most.” There’s no trust, as the first thing the three do is try to kill each other. 

We’re introduced to them at their lowest point. All three of them are in a bad place effectively. Himiko has been on the run for months, Dabi has been who knows where, and Shigaraki has had two successive failures in his attacks on both Stain and USJ. 

Their cooperation in the Camp Raid arc is begrudging at best. This goes for the whole league of villains, (Spinner and Magne end up making things harder for each other, Several members get captured) they seem to be working against each other as much as they are working together.

Shigaraki, Dabi and Himiko were all effectively traumatized by the same thing, being cast out from hero society. However, in this arc they all have vastly different desires that make working together difficult. Dabi wants to fulfill Stain’s Will, Shigaraki wants to take down All Might and Hero Society at large to show how fragile it is, Himiko wants to take down Hero Society for the sake of her easier life. 

They are not at this point motivated to work together at all and it shows in their cooperation.Dabi doesn’t really make any attempt to lead. Shigaraki just watches from the sidelines and sends out other people on a mission where he doesn’t really care much if they succeed or fail.  Himiko doesn’t try that hard to complete her mission objective because at this point all she cares about is her own survival. 

However after the defeat of All for One, the league of villains ends up all experiencing the same traumatizing loss together. They all become disenfranchised, living off of no money, and constantly having to be on the run. They lose all of their resources. However, as a reuslt their bonds with one another are strengthened and they really are working together for the first time. 

Himiko isn’t just looking out for herself anymore. Not only does she not run away when things get hard, but she encourages Twice to do the same because she empathizes with his feelings. 

Shigaraki goes from ordering people around in the shadows to not only meeting with his comrades face to face. He also has become the type of fighter who jumps straight into enemy fire on the front line for the sake of his comrades, using his own body as a distraction so he could work together with Compress and Dabi. 

And remember, Dabi’s flames physically destroy his body every time he uses them. Yet, he respects Shigaraki’s leadership enough that he goes all out for the sake of the league when he’s asked to. If Dabi didn’t care about the league at all, he probably wouldn’t be constantly burning himself alive for their sakes. 

All three humanize one another through their relationships with each other, Shigaraki values his comrades lives more than his own, Dabi cooperates with other people for the sake of his goal, Himiko’s empathic side began to show all because the three of them were for the first time surrounded by people who were just like them. 

When shown empathy and understanding, Dabi, Shigaraki and Himiko all improve as people. They are not lost causes the plot has shown us the opposite, they’re capable of growing and changing. However, they are just as capable of GETTING WORSE. 

2. Bad Children

Shigaraki, Himiko and Dabi all share the same origin. They were pushed to become villains because of what happened to them as children. They are the only three members of the league who have been shown as children, deliberately so, because the fact that this happened to them as children is what is so important to their narratives. 

Himiko was born with a weird quirk, and that was it. She didn’t even show problematic behavior that far off of most children (most children don’t have the empathy to know that say, small animals will suffer pain if you hurt them) before her parents started to punish her. Tenko just wanted to be a hero and had a father with a grudge against heros when his punishment started. When he was in the streets begging for help the only thing he was guilty of was having a quirk  that activated on accident. Touya was bred by his father for the purpose of his quirk, and because of that had to grow up in a household where his mother was constantly crying and his father either ignored him as a failed experiment, or paid attention to him which would have made his life even worse. 

It’s not just a sad backstory for all three of them, it’s a case of systemic failure. Systems that should have protected them did not. The reason we’re shown this happening to them when they were children before they did anything wrong was that the narrative most heroes have is villains choose to be evil and there’s no helping it. 

However, this happened to Dabi, Shigaraki and Himiko through no choice of their own. They were all helpless children when they survived these circumstances. The argument that “They could have tried to endure and become heroes” doesn’t work either, because all three of them did try to endure. 

They all at one time or another made an attempt to be good children. They tried to reach their parent’s expectations for them. They tried to swallow up the abuse that was hurled on them and live with other people. 

They were all children who were being abused, and told to just go on with their lives, told not to cry, told to suck it up. Instead of trying to fix or even address the circumstances of their abuse all of their pain was effectively ignored. Shigaraki, Himiko, being children DID TRY to live exactly as the adults told them to. They tried to be “Good Children” under the standards of adults, and they couldn’t be. 

That’s the reality of living in an abusive household like the one Tenko grew up in. No matter what he had done, he would have been punished. He was the problem child, the scapegoat for his father’s abuse. Rather than tell the father to stop abusing the child, the child is held responsible for the behavior and told that they were at fault for provoking punishment. 

Before you use Shoto as an example of still wanting to be a hero after enduring abuse, here’s the difference. Shoto didn’t die. Touya did. 

All three of them were cast out before they did anything wrong. Are they still responsible for the choices they made as adults? Yes. However, I think it’s important to acknowledge that all three of these characters did attempt to try making the right choices and they still got cast out anyway. It’s not because they were good or bad children. It’s because society was designed to reject people like them. 

RHA TRANSLATION: That’s how the muck gets cast out. That’s how they break and retaliate. That’s how it loops back, again, and again, and again. 

The translations are radically different this week I’m not sure which one is right, but they are vaguely talking about the same cycle. Shigaraki, Dabi, Himiko were rejected before they did anything wrong. They were forced to endure all of this as children. They gained power to survive and began to fight back. They retaliated against the violence done to them as children as adults. Then, they are punished again. 

It is a cycle where both people are acting badly. Shigaraki, Himiko, and Dabi drag innocent people into the conflict, because all they can think of to wake people up to the reality of their suffering is to make them endure the same. To show the world the violence they’ve endured on a mass scale, until it becomes impossible for those who are sheltered and protected by society, those who are saved to ignore the problems of those who aren’t saved. Shigaraki, Dabi and Himiko get innocent people involved it’s true.

HOWEVER. Were they not innocents at any point? Were they not just children who had not done anything wrong? 

And we return to the Tenko household. Shigaraki, Himiko, Dabi are all responsible for their violent reactions to the problem, that was the choice they made. However, they weren’t the ones who created the situation in the first place.

Villains are held as responsible for all of society’s ills. We are told by heroes that villains choose to become evil, and that the only way to stop them is to violently suppress their activities. However all of these villains for the most part, are outcasts who hold no real power in society, and all have yes made choices to retaliate violently but were also pushed into those choices. 

The society around them is designed to exclude people like Shigaraki, Himiko and Dabi. THE PROBLEM ELEMENT, is ignored rather than addressed. 

What Shigaraki is saying here is that heroes don’t protect the people most in need of their protection, the biggest victims. They are designed to protect a status quo. 

Heroes protect the institutions that are already in place, no matter how cracked or flawed those institutions are. they keep them in place. They are fighting to preserve a power structure that keeps heroes in power. The ones who have the power in society are the heroes. The ones who create society are the heroes. The ones who create the situation are the heroes. The villains in MHA are reacting to the problem, but they didn’t create the problem. 

3. Twice

Dabi, Shigaraki and Himiko all have an incredibly important relationship to Twice. Dabi shows up to try to save Twice, even though he states he doesn’t care about the league. Himiko opens up to Twice and empathizes with him. Shigaraki goes to save Giran because Twice asked him to, and opened up to his team for the first time because of Twice’s begging and pleas. 

The scene we see play out with Twice is what happened to Shigaraki, Himiko and Dabi as well. Twice is given an impossible choice. He can conform and sacrifice all of his friends to go with Hawks, or he can die right here. Once again, yes it is a choice. I must emphasize everything is a choice. The choice to retaliate is still a choice even if it’s influenced by the environment. However, this is a choice effectively made with a gun to Twice’s head. 

What’s interesting is, when given the choice between betraying the people closest to him or getting shot in the head. Twice chooses to take the bullet. 

As I said everything is a choice. Even an influenced choice is a choice. If someone is holding a gun to your head, you can just choose to die. You might be stuck in a situation where there are only bad choices, but it’s still a choice you make. 

I emphasize choices over and over again, because somebody chose to make the world this way. 

They exist in a system where villains are held accountable for all of their violence, their choices, and heroes are not. Heroes can effectively get away with murder as we’ve been shown with Hawks and Tokoyami. 

I’d also like to emphasize that the villains make these choices while directly facing all of the flaws of society. The heroes for the most part are completely ignorant to the suffering of villains. We are shown this ignorance again and again. The villains attempt to explain themselves, their motivations and reasonings, and every time they are literally ignored. 

Heroes and Villains both make choices, but Heroes are completely blind to their own faults. When they are told about the cracks of society by people who have lived through that, they effectively ignore the role they had to play in it. Twice tries to explain he can’t betray his friends to Hawks, that they’re all capable of being good people and he gets ignored. Shigaraki explains to Endeavor that his father told him heroes hurt their own families, he gets ignored. Endeavor’s case is especially EGREGIOUS. Endeavor who should be more aware of his own flaws than anybody else, still pretends to be the perfect faultless hero. 

Heroes and Villains are both responsible for creating this flawed world, but the villains are held responsible, and the heroes are not. Heroes are given special privilege in society, Villains are mostly made up by the underprivileged and cast out. Society, is intentionally designed to divide up people like this and categorize one over the other. 

And I think it’s especially important that every time Shigaraki tries to get someone to listen to him he gets told the same thing. Endeavor believes he is a good person fighting to protect others. He claims that he is the hero, fighting against someone who only hollowly wishes to destroy. Shigaraki tries to explain himself, he even makes a reference to familial abuse which Endeavor SHOULD RECOGNIZE and Endeavor’s response is to tell him to shut up and die. 

Shigaraki, Dabi, and Himiko are wrong for violently retaliating, but every time they make any attempt to explain themselves they’re rejected just as violently. They are told, like they were when they were just children, to just shut up and take it. Shigaraki is told by Nana, Endeavor, Gran Torino everyone around him to die rather than fight back, is it no wonder he believes the whole system rejects him? 

It is an unfair system to begin with, deliberately designed to uplift a few people into privilege and cast others out. 

Heroes act like the few people who don’t get saved are just bad luck, but it’s not. Good social programs would have saved Twice. Social services would have saved Himiko. All Might realizing Endeavor was an abusive jerk would have saved Touya. If Gran Torino had checked up on Nana’s child, Shigaraki would not have happened. 

All of these kids “just got unlucky” except the society they live in was designed to outcast certain people like them from the start. It’s meant to let people fall through the cracks. In each case it wasn’t bad luck, but rather intentional neglect of all parties involved. 

Twice is told what happened to him was bad luck, but Twice didn’t slip and fall  on a knife. He was put into the situation intentionally by Hawks. Hawks singled him out, targeted him, pushed him to the breaking point, and then killed him. The one who had power and the upper hand in that situation was Hawks from the start, but Twice is blamed for his own death for merely fighting back. 

The connection between Shigaraki, Dabi, and Himiko is that they’re pushed to become more and more radical over time. Himiko had killed a few people yeah, but she wasn’t a terrorist on a mass scale. 

Dabi had no criminal record when he started. He only started killing people to make the news  when his father became the number one hero. The more they are rejected, the more radical they become. 

All three of them have become radicalized by the death of Twice, and all three say effectively the same thing. 

Dabi: “There are no true Heroes.”

Shigaraki: “You heroes hurt your own families just to help complete strangers.”

Toga: “You heroes mess everything up.”

Why do they blame heroes? It’s because heroes are the guardians of the society that rejects them. Heroes do not protect people, they protect systems and structures first and foremost. The heroes aren’t coming to save them and they never were. 

#shigaraki tomura #himiko toga #dabi #todoroki touya #shimura tenko #league of villains meta #shigaraki meta #dabi meta #himiko meta #lov meta #mha meta #my hero academia meta #my hero academia theory #bnha 281 #bnha 281 spoilers #mha 281 #mha 281 spoilers

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

A Cursed Reality- JJK x Male Reader (Ch. 3)

This has a couple time skips. They aren't huge and I didn't know how to format it so I just put little dashes to imply there are time skips.

A lot of this material is taken straight from the manga and adapted a little to fit [Name] and there's a hint to his greater power/purpose in the story as well as his background. Enjoy!!!

Previous // Next

Chapter Three: In hindsight [Name] probably should’ve minded his own business. Actually, NO. He was going to blame everything on Gojo. If Gojo hadn’t sent him on that mission to play dutiful senpai [Name] never would’ve gotten involved with Sukuna’s vessel beyond being his upperclassman. But noooo. Now [Name] actually feels something for Itadori, including an obligation to check on the kid. Yuji would most likely be fine, he was being protected by Gojo, and like [Name]’s favorite Sensei, Yaga seems to at least consider Gojo’s opinion when making decisions. His power is well respected regardless of whether or not the blue-eyed Sorcerer is liked. The problem, in [Name]’s own words, was ‘that damn principal’ who liked to torture some of the more problematic recruits. Yaga of course called it a form of vetting. He didn’t want to enroll any students that would die way too easily or cause more problems than they were worth. With people like Yuji and [Name] the whole vetting process became troublesome. Straightforward but complex. They didn’t hide anything really and didn’t have any secret motives, but there were a lot of unknowns in their lives. Especially about where they came from and how they would act in the heat of the moments. ---------------- “Whoa! It’s in the mountains? Is this really Tokyo?” “This isn;t actually out of the ordinary for a tokyo suburb” “What about Fushiguro?” “He’s fast asleep after receiving jujutsu treatment” -------------------------------- “Fushiguro-kun!” “Hmm” “Fushiguro!” “[Name]-senpai” “Where is Gojo-sensei? Is he back with Yuji yet?” “I’ve been asleep, but Gojo-sensei said he’d leave at 6am” “That was three hours ago” “Yeah” “Good! So they haven’t made it to the principal yet. Sweet dreams Fushiguro-kun” “I’ll come with you” “You’ll need your rest” “But-” “Sleep” and with that [Name] darted out the door hearing Megumi’s body hit the mattress once again. [Name] had to warn Yuji about the principal. Knowing Gojo he’d probably stress the kid out and throw him to the gorilla. Yaga of course being the gorilla. ------------------------------------------- “First thing’s first, Yuji--” Gojo started “You’ve got an interview with the principal.” “The principal?” “If you mess up, you might get rejected for admission, so stay frosty, okay?” “WHAT!? DOES THAT MEAN I CAN GET EXECUTED RIGHT AWAY? Yuji shrieked “What a disappointment... I thought you were the leader… A hierarchy not based purely on strength is boring if you ask me” Sukuna raged on before being slapped into silence. “Sorry Sensei, He comes out sometimes….” “What an interesting body you have now.” Gojo noticed “I owe you a debt, after all” “Not again” Yuji shouted Sukuna ignored Yuji and continued “When I make this Kid’s body mine… You’ll be the first one I kill!” “Silence” “Me a target of the great sukuna? What an honor!” Gojo continued as if nothing had happened Sukuna hadn’t disappeared yet but couldn’t open his mouth. [Name]’s cursed command had a little more strength in it than normal. Gojo may have been immature, unfairly attractive (something that pissed [Name] off for reasons “unrelated” to jealousy) and extremely annoying, but he was the closest thing [Name] had to family. He was there to drag [Name] from out of the wreckage after the accident and he was the first person to welcome [Name] to Jujutsu Tech. So yeah, Sukuna’s threat pissed [Name] off a bit. Yuji finally shook Sukuna off and continued to talk to Gojo. About what [Name] has no clue, the two of them were easily excitable and all over the place. In the meantime he was trying to think of advice to give to Yuji before he was thrown into Gorilla territory. Yaga wouldn’t let [Name] stay for the interview and [Name]’s not exactly sure he’d want to anyway. “Hey Puppy!” “Puppy?” ‘Oh shit’ [Name] thought ‘I totally meant to say Yuji. Okay [Name] just breeze past it’

“You’re going into some dangerous territories/ That old man will be looking for a reason to throw you out. Don’t screw up. Just be yourself... but like the you on ADHD meds” Gojo couldn’t help but snicker and [Name] shot him a look as if to communicate ‘the same can be said about you Satoru’ before walking away. “Thanks [Name]-san!” Yuji called after the retreating boy. He then became incredibly serious “Sensei. You said you’d win. But between [Name] and Sukuna… would he lose?” “I don’t know if he’d win” Gojo said before a pregnant pause “But he wouldn’t die. I know that for sure.” Within Yuji, Sukuna hummed in curiosity. That boy had no trouble overpowering Sukuna. And with one word at that. Of course, right now he had only the strength of one finger, but for the boy not to break a sweat. He couldn’t help but think things were getting interesting. ----------------------- “This is your room, you can do whatever you want with it.” “Whoa it’s huge” “The second- and third-years are out right now. You’ll meet them soon enough. Though there’s not many of them anyway” Yuji whistled, putting up a poster of a woman in a bikini before pausing. “What about [Name]? He asked “Is he out too?" “I actually don’t know. It depends. You see [Name] has a very special relationship with the other second years and sometimes that means trouble for missions, so it’s a 50/50 chance on whether or not he’s still here” Yuji hmmed and Gojo stared at him in silence. “Yuji you don’t need to fight, you know. Fushiguro and I can go and retrieve Sukuna’s fingers. Why don’t you just wait here?” Yuji faced the wall and seemed to be immersed in thought. In all honesty both he and Gojo knew what the answer would be. Only one day was needed to figure out the type of person Yuji was. “No! I said I’d do it didn’t I? But it would be hilarious to see a beaten-up Fushiguro bring the fingers to me while I relax” Both he and gojo thought about it a little. Gojo agreed it would be funny. “Okay! To be honest there’s no way you’re not fighting” “Hey! Was that a test?!” “If they were that easy to find we would’ve found them already! There are some with a large overwhelming presence. Others that keep quiet. And some that have already been consumed by a cursed spirit. “With regard to searching for these things… It’s gonna be a pain. But now we have you. In order to regain its power… The sukuna you consumed will direct you to the whereabouts of the fingers. You’re a vessel as well as a radar. We’re gonna need you in the field” “I don’t think the guy inside me’s that considerate...” “I think we’ll be able to come to a win-win agreement” Gojo concluded “Huh you’re next door? There’re a bunch of empty rooms aren’t there?” “Hey! Fushiguro! You finally look better! And [Name]’s with you” “What kind of an upperclassman would I be if I didn’t check on the first years. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re all happy and healthy” [Name] said trying to keep up some charade of being a good student. “You woke me up very aggressively” Fushiguro countered “That’s neither here nor there” “I thought it’d be more fun and lively this way. And obviously I was right” Gojo answered Fushiguro’s question pointing to an oblivious Yuji who was looking at [Name] with pure adoration in his eyes. [Name] looked at the pink haired boy with well hidden fondness. If you didn’t already know [Name], you’d think the blank look on his face meant he hated the kid Fushiguro stared at them for a moment before realizing he’d rather argue than let Gojo be right. “Classes and missions are more than enough!” “Anyway… It’s fine!!! More importantly we’re goin’ out tomorrow!!” Both Yuji and Megumi stared at Gojo. Yuji in surprise, Fushiguro in annoyance “We’re going to get the third first-year student. “Count me out” [Name] spoke up reminding everyone that he too was still there “I’ve got somewhere to be” “Ooh [Name] has a daate” “Can it old man. I’m just going somewhere with Toge” “How is that any different from what I just said”

[Name] ignored the teacher and stalked off toward the second year dorms. “See you later puppy, emo kid”

“Wait for me!” Gojo called out chasing after the second year “I’ve got something to talk to you about”

----------

“So who’s Toge?”

“Inumaki-senpai’s a second year and the one of the only people [Name] likes in this school. I can count them all on one hand.”

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

“So,” [Name] paused “What did you want to talk about?”

“Yuji’s at risk. I can tell you kinda care about him and Megumi so I’m going to use that. When I’m gone you have to protect them. Any means necessary. That includes cursed storytelling”

[Name]’s eyes widened at the mention of his technique. The power itself wasn’t as strong as a domain, but in [Name]’s hands it was deadly. Only he and Gojo knew about it, and if Gojo wanted him to use it, he had no choice.”

“Okay”

#male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #reader insert #a cursed reality #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jjk x m!reader #male!reader #jujutsu kaisen #inumaki x you #that bi bitch writes

[mbti-notes]

hi i was reading your post about theory and it says "Being in the grip of the inferior function makes a person act completely OUT OF CHARACTER. Once the grip episode/period is over, it isn’t unusual for people to wonder what came over them and why they behaved so weirdly/badly." I'm an infp and I've been in the Te-grip for years so to me this just feels like my normal personality, not out of character. if im normally behaving like this, isnt it IN character for me?

You seem weirdly hung up on the word "character". Unhealthy NFs often have very problematic beliefs about their identity and what makes them who they are. Since you have not detailed exactly what you mean by Te grip and what it looks like for you, I cannot verify whether what you say is correct. As is explained later in that section of the guide, there are different forms of inferior grip. Chronic cases are special cases.

Generally speaking, inferior grip means that you are being the worst version of yourself. If it is indeed the case that you are chronically being the worst version of yourself, to such an extreme that you believe it is who you really are, there is usually some serious mental health problem at play that needs to be addressed, at which point we're not just talking about personality, which means that the question of "in character" loses relevancy.

A person isn't born in inferior grip. Something causes their personality to get twisted and their identity distorted, which is why inferior grip is not considered the true self. You may subjectively believe that it is "normal" for you to be dysfunctional, but the point being made is that your belief is wrong. The purpose of learning type development is to grow self-awareness and gradually recognize all the ways that you're self-sabotaging and not being the person you're meant to be.

#development #inferior #grip #identity issues #infp #ask

[advocaado]

Fiction does not exist in a vacuum and absolutely can and does affect reality.

HOWEVER

Before you pin on your thought police badge and march off to start attacking people on the internet for the media they consume and create, let’s take a minute to talk about nuance and identify some actual problematic trends in media which have real life consequences.

The big question you need to ask yourself before you decry a person or piece of media is: Is that person/piece of media promoting, validating, and normalizing trends or acts that hurt real people? Or is that person/piece of media exploring a dark theme in fiction/harmlessly indulging in a kink?

Below are some examples of cases where “problematic” content in fiction is a danger to real life people, and many where it isn’t. This will not be an exhaustive list. I don’t have endless amounts of time to sit here and talk about every problem in fictional media, and even if I did, I wouldn’t, because there are many more things I’d rather do with my time.

Disclaimer: No media is 100% problem free. No human is 100% problem free. Engaging with others online to discuss problems in media is totally fine. If you don’t like something, it’s your god given right to bitch about it. Bitch to your heart’s content. Just don’t be an absolute ass cloak about it.

Example 1: Huckleberry Finn

This book famously contains racism. Is this a problem? No, not really. Listen. This book is literally about how racism is bad. The message is to not be a racist piece of shit. That’s the takeaway. If you got any other message from this book you need to work on your reading comprehension. Books that teach lessons are good things and impact society in positive ways. This book does literally the opposite of normalizing, promoting, and validating racism. It’s taught in schools for this exact reason. It’s not sugarcoated and that’s exactly what makes it powerful.

Example 2: Fairy Tail

The famous complaint about this and other works by Hiro Mashima is that the women are overly sexualized. Over sexualization of women is a big problem in media across the globe, but particularly in the media that comes out of Japan. It’s a problem that absolutely does affect real women. More on that later. But is Mashima really the big perpetuater of the kind of gross male reader voyeurism that has such a fierce grip on the anime industry? Actually, no. Not really. Yes, almost all the female characters in Fairy Tail are hot and have big boobs in a way that appeals to men. However, the lens through which Mashima tells his stories is not voyeuristic. He doesn’t go out of his way to draw panty shots or sexualize female characters nonconsensually. 9 times out of 10 the women are sexy because they want to be and do it in a way that is empowering for them. There are occasional exceptions, but by and large Fairy Tail is not the big offender of female objectification in anime. Moreover, almost all its male characters are hot and have six packs and idol hair in a way that appeals to women. Everyone is hot. There is no deeper meaning here. Enjoy this series if you like to watch hot people having fun and going on adventures together.

Example 3: Goblin Slayer

Oh, boy, Goblin Slayer. Now here’s a can of worms. Many upon many have decried GS for its inclusion of rape scenes and mentions. The goblins in GS have no females of their own species so they must impregnate human women to continue their race. This sounds utterly awful and it is. But is this finally our shining example of a dark theme in fiction that is problematic in a way that is dangerous to real people? Sorry, but no. Firstly, the concept of a fantasy creature who needs to use humans to reproduce was not invented by Kumo Kagyu and is in fact common in folklore around the world. He didn’t make it up as a way to condone rape. Could he have? Sure. But that’s not the reality of the series. The assault by goblins on human women is not treated as a good thing by Kagyu. It is shocking and horrific and has big consequences within the narrative for both the goblins and their victims. It isn’t treated lightly and does not serve to normalize, validate, or promote rape in real life. The reader/viewer is meant to be disgusted by the goblins, and these scenes, which are few and brief, serve their intended purpose. Nobody is going out and assaulting women in real life because they thought it was cool when the goblins did it in GS.

Oh, but Goblin Slayer, I’m not done with you just yet. Because while it would be a huge stretch to label the inclusion of rape in the series a danger to real life people, there’s something else that you don’t need to stretch nearly so much to identify as such. Remember when I talked about the voyeuristic male gaze being a concerning trend in anime? Well, GS has that in spades. The normalization of sexually objectifying women in non sexual situations is very much present in the series. Describing in loving detail the chest size/shape of every female character often and with gusto is a big part of the light novels. Kagyu loves to describe what a girl’s boobs are doing while she’s sitting at a table eating or doing any other mundane thing for no reason other than to sexualize her for the reader. He made the intentional decision to make Sword Maiden, a rape victim, very overtly sexual for the male gaze without the character having any agency in it. Sword maiden isn’t trying to be sexy. She doesn’t own her sexuality. Hell, she’s blind. Being sexy doesn’t empower her. She’s just fap fodder for the male reader. These things normalize objectifying women and are part of a longtime trend in anime which have real world consequences for both women and men. The sexualization of nonconsenting women is a huge problem in Japan and very much promoted through their media. Anime and light novels continue to send and perpetuate the message that objectifying women is okay and natural for boys to do, and while Kagyu certainly isn’t the worst offender, he’s happily hopped aboard that trolly because he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. And he can’t, because it’s been SO normalized.

Example 4: The Birth of a Nation.

This movie, while entirely fictional, is straight up anti-black propaganda intentionally made to spread hate and fear of black people. Obviously this is incredibly problematic and harmful to real black people. This movie was designed to be that way. The message is very clear. It’s a movie meant to rally whites against blacks, and it did. Horrifically so. Typically media containing hateful messages is less overt about it today, but abusing stereotypes and caricatures of real groups of people and otherwise intentionally perpetuating harmful ideas through fiction is a shitty thing to do and should be wholeheartedly condemned. (Note the keyword “intentionally”. If an author does this out of ignorance, which is all too common, rather than condemn we should seek to educate. People are capable of learning and growing and canceling them for mistakes made in ignorance is every bit as shitty as the mistake they made in the first place.)

Example 5: Fanfiction and shipping

At last, we come to fan media. This is where “don’t like don’t read” becomes the golden rule. Indulging in a kink or exploring dark themes in fanfiction is harmless 99.9% of the time. Fanfiction simply doesn’t have the reach, and thereby the influence, that mainstream media has. If someone wants to write something really fucked up, that’s their choice and nobody is making you read it. Unless the author is outright condoning harming real people, it’s really not your business what they choose to write about. Furthermore, deciding to read fucked up fanfiction does NOT make you a bad person. As stated before, the human psyche is messy and the world is not squeaky clean or a safe place. People are drawn to dark things and there’s really nothing wrong with that so long as real people aren’t being harmed. If something makes you uncomfortable, don’t engage. Protect yourself. You’re not making the world a better place by harassing people online. You’re just being a jerk and honestly doing far more harm to real ass people than that 20 year old writer on AO3 who wanted to write a story about Sasuke having sex with Naruto’s son because of 10 years of repressed sexual impulses toward Naruto.

I could say more but I’m tired and ready to celebrate my Friday by getting drunk. Feel free to interact if you want, just do everyone a favor and don’t be a dick.

TLDR

Things that make you a bad person:

Murdering people

Sexually assaulting/harassing people

Having sex with children

Creating or indulging in porn of real minors

Harassing and sending death threats to real people over the fictional media they create and consume

Espousing, condoning, or perpetuating hate toward marginalized peoples

Espousing, condoning, or perpetuating hate toward anyone tbh

Using fiction as a vehicle to promote, validate, and normalize causing harm to real people

Generally being an ass cloak

Things that DON’T make you a bad person

Consuming media that contains problematic elements

Creating media that contains problematic elements so long as you aren’t promoting, validating, and normalizing harmful acts toward real people

Writing fanfiction

Reading fanfiction

Shipping whatever you goddamn want to ship

#there’s been so much discourse surrounding this that I finally needed to weigh in #pro ship #we’re allergic to nuance here #tumblr I love you but

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

The Bias of Body Language

By Admin 1, with help from Admin 2

“About social media…it’s easy to interpret. People think they’re moral or ethical. They talk about themselves thinking they’re logically perfect. In fact, in a relationship, even my mother doesn’t know me, for example. About Yoongi or Hoseok who have lived with me for 10 years, it’s hard to say I know them well. Do I really know the person? It’s hard to know myself. “I know him and he’s like this”. “He’s such a person”. I thought this is quite dangerous.”

-- Namjoon, vlive “Namjun’s 7 Behind”, 57:30 onward

Everything in our life is centered around biases, preferences, our partiality toward everything, regardless if it’s about big or trivial matters. Instead of having a single cellphone model for everyone, you can choose one based on your bias. Walk into a fashion store and depending on your bias you’ll gravitate toward darker clothes, longer dresses, shorter skirts, pants, and so on. Someone could present you the very same dress but in two different colors and despite them being exactly the same, your bias, your preference, will dictate that you’ll think the yellow dress is hideous while the black one is gorgeous. Yet the next person might think the exact opposite.

If that weren’t enough there’s also something called a confirmation bias, which is characterized by a tendency to search for, interpret, favor, and recall information in a way that confirms or supports your prior beliefs or values. Both these things, our bias and our confirmation bias, are something we come across and tend to apply to content, in this case, BTS content specifically, and how we view and interpret body language.

Have you ever noticed how when it comes to certain scenes, moments, and/or interactions, suddenly there are thousands upon thousands of body language specialists within ARMY? Suddenly everyone will try to convince you that “based on my experience as body language expert/someone who’s amazing at reading body language this interactions means that”, coming from people who prior to it might’ve never mentioned being such expert or who are plain wrong yet try to convince you otherwise to feed into their own confirmation bias.

Interesting though is the fact that claiming that you’re able to interpret someone’s body language in an infallible manner based on a three-minute video is, to put it lightly, plain wrong and impossible at that. In order to do something like that you’d have to study that person 24/7 in every kind of situation imaginable, take note of every minute detail, interpret it all and, on top of all that, be able to have a conversation with that person to ask them to confirm or deny your theories. Once you’d have all of that, you’d be able to attempt a proper body language reading, and chances are you might still not get it right each time, or at all. Every person behaves a little differently, has their own behavioral pattern, things characteristic for them, and acts a certain way with different people and in different situations, so just because you can read one person right in a singular given situation, doesn't mean it’s the same for every person and every situation.

An example I find very curious is Jungkook during their most recent performance of Life Goes On at the GDAs. When you watch it, you’d think that yes, he liked the miniature set of No More Dream, but that’s it. He was calm, focused, professional. And yet when you watch the behind the scene glimpse at the performance, and watch him specifically, you notice that he was constantly focusing on the set and having to stop himself from messing with it. (x)

What does that tell us? Easy. We only see small glimpses of BTS, of their behavioral patterns, and even the things we do see are polished, controlled, and not entirely natural, so to speak. That isn’t a bad thing by any means, it’s what you’d expect of a professional performer who still is a human like everyone else.

So, if we get body language wrong with something like that, how can these “experts” be sure their interpretations are correct? Even more so when you take into account that every person has some sort of tic, or a number of them. It can be something like absentmindedly playing with a ring, licking/wetting your lips or biting them, scratching or messing with the cuticles on your nails, tapping your foot, or a million other things. There’s also cultural influences/norms that shape certain behaviors in ways someone from another culture might not understand or will interpret completely differently since it means something else entirely in their culture.

And here is where a lot of people, these “experts” as well as those unable to put aside their bias and confirmation bias, go wrong.

More below the cut:

To preface the next two sections, a little disclaimer: I don’t mean to badmouth people like this, after all putting aside these biases is tricky and staying objective about something you’re passionate about is a hard thing to do, as well as distinguishing between an objective observation and a bias one, but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes people purposefully present their bias opinions as facts. That doesn’t necessarily cause issues, but sometimes it can have a very negative ripple effect that can affect and influence others, taint their opinions and cloud their objectivity when it comes to certain things.

That’s when it becomes a problem.

Section One – non-shipping related interactions between the members

You’d think this would be the more unproblematic section, but turns out it isn’t, though it’s problematic in a different way. While most casual fans or OT7 ARMY watch and enjoy interactions between the members without looking too deeply at them, without analyzing and trying to interpret things, therefore leave aside most biases, there are others who do not.

OT1s for instance go into Episodes, Bangtan B*mbs, or RUN with a bias and a need to feed their confirmation bias, be it by finding “evidence” to prove that their fav is being left out or is mistreated or a plethora of other (usually) negative ideas. People like that don’t watch interactions as just friends trying to make each other laugh or playing off of each other, but instead look for things to get upset or up in arms about because their bias going in is that their fav isn’t happy (because that’s what they want to be the truth in many cases).

Or a situation where a member might be a bit more quiet or stiff. Quickly “body language specialists” jump in and interpret this as that member being unhappy, being overworked, wanting to quit and not getting along with the other members, being bullied or silenced by them. When in reality it’s far more likely he just wasn’t feeling well, was tired or maybe his back hurt. But rationality has no place in a bias view, when the sole purpose for that person to watch that content is to find evidence that feeds their confirmation bias.

You could argue that maybe those people are simply looking out for their fav, just want what’s best for him and that they mean well, but do they really? How come those without that narrow bias lens see the same interaction completely differently? If those same people would take a step back and switch from their bias lens to an objective one, would they still see all that negative “evidence”? Chances are they would not.

Section Two – Shipping related interactions between the members

The irony of calling this section in such a manner is that oftentimes these interactions have no actual shipping relation, hold no proof of anything romantic whatsoever. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When shippers sit down to watch a piece of BTS content, they enter the video with a clear bias—X ship is real, as example—so they are (only) on the lookout for interactions between their ship and interpret those interactions in a shipping context, while disregarding/ignoring interactions with other members in many cases since those are uninteresting, or when they care it’s only to again feed into their bias. They look for any piece of evidence to feed their confirmation bias, which sometimes goes as far as completely misconstruing, misinterpreting, and manipulating interactions in order to twist them to fit their bias.

Here’s also where body language and tics come back into the conversation. A lot of ship evidence videos on YouTube rely on body language, somehow every creator being an expert in this field and their interpretations are usually backed by thousands of comments confirming that they are right, that it’s the only logical way of interpreting things. Because that interpretation fits their agenda, feeds their confirmation bias. The funny thing though is that many of the things presented as evidence can be easily explains in a different way once you put aside your bias.

Take wetting/biting your lip as example. Thousands of videos edit together interview moments in which member X supposedly looks at member Y while wetting his lip. That, of course, is taken as ship evidence, interpreted as proof that member X is in love with member Y, that they feel romantic/erotic attraction for member Y showcased through that lip bite. That though is a very bias way of interpreting that action, especially since it removes all context and logic.

Let’s try looking at it a bit more objectively:

I don’t know if you noticed this, but the more you wear a mask, the more your lips are dry and chapped, which explains the need for lip balm. What’s that remind us of? Exactly. The members have been seen countless times using lip balm, even on stage, and they also wear masks a lot, as you do in a pandemic and also because it’s a completely normal thing to do in Asia. Why do you use lip balm? Because your lips are dry. Why do you bite your lip? Because they are dry/chapped, and/or because it’s a tic.

Now, if we look at that same scene again, member X looking at member Y while biting his lip and take into account the above deduction, isn’t it a far more likely explanation than member X feeling the need to showcase his attraction for member Y in that very moment, especially if they are at an interview about their new album, for example? Furthermore, does looking at someone necessarily mean it’s an action done out of love? Isn’t it far more likely that member X looked at member Y because Y was saying something and it’s the polite thing to do, or X was simply looking in Y’s general direction since you have to look somewhere, can’t just stare at the ceiling or close your eyes, right?

Another example I’d like to discuss is how “body language experts” interpret the very same action in two drastically different ways depending on which bias it’s supposed to feed. This point, I think, highlights just how ridiculous and bias these body language interpretations really are, and how unreliable they truly are.

Let’s take member A lying down and cuddling with member B, which is interpreted as two lovely boyfriends cuddling in bed, but when member A lies down and cuddles with member C it’s interpreted as just two bros and nothing more. Even though the scene looks exactly the same. A and B cuddling feeds their confirmation bias, so A and C cuddling is dismissed and downgraded to not interfere with their bias. This is oftentimes done subconsciously, because they are so deep into their bias mindset, they see no other way of interpreting these actions. Even though the basic scene is the same, yet occasionally it might actually come across more relaxed and “romantic” when A and C do it as opposed to A and B, but since that doesn’t fit the confirmation bias, it’s dismissed and interpreted otherwise.

And this is where we circle back to Namjoon’s quote at the beginning of this whole thing: claiming you can interpret their body language with a 100% certainty is a foolish and naïve statement because all we get to see are small glimpses of their days. We see what they want us to see, the best version of themselves, we see edited clips and controlled behavior, the members putting forth their best faces, their nicest smiles, and thinking that just because your bias tells you that a touch of a thigh or upper arm or bitten lip with their face turned in the general direction of another member must mean something or another, it doesn’t mean it’s truly so.

We can theorize, we can analyze, we can make jokes and have fun, but the moment people get into fights or start hate against other members solely based on bias body language interpretations, that’s where we have an issue. And that happens all the time. And it doesn’t just happen with their body language, but also with their words, but that’s an entirely different can of worms I might try to dive into another time if you’d be interested in my thoughts on it. Let me know.

TL;DR: Body language is a very complex thing, interpreting it in an infallible way basically impossible, so making claims of exactly being able to interpret it without bias is naïve, as is believing those interpretations. In order to truly be able to interpret/understand the dynamic between members, body language alone isn’t enough in any kind of way. It isn’t a good enough source or tool to make proper judgements, it’s actually the weakest and most lacking one, especially when it isn’t done in an 100% unbias manner.

The only thing body language can tell us if someone’s a good actor or not, but figuring out true feelings between the members solely based on it, especially when these interpretations are usually skewed due to a bias, isn’t really possible. Even less so if you don’t also take into account the context in which whatever interaction you are interpreting is happening in.

#lets talk about body language #discussion #BTS #admin 1 seriously doesn't know how to use less than 2k words #I applaud anyone who actually finishes this entire thing you're the MVP #bangtan sonyeondan

[fantastic-rambles]

Ahhh yaknow what you’re right. I just went back and looked over some of the rod, and I didn’t see Langa explicitly agree to not to skate with Adam. He promised that he wouldn’t quit skating with Reki, but he only acknowledged Reki’s warning to not be reckless. It actually makes a bunch of sense why Langa would be confused by the distancing and argument. I see now why you were upset with Reki’s behavior. It feels kind of like a ‘secret contract’ sorta thing where Reki got upset over a broken rule Langa never realized he was supposed to abide by. And not only is that unfair like you said, but it flipped the situation as if Langa was being untrustworthy to his word when really Reki didn’t trust Langa not to quit skating with him just because of danger/injury. And especially since I’ve seen people make solid arguments for Langa being neurodivergent or neurodivergent-coded, it’s really not a stretch at all for him to see the situation like you did. Langa most likely saw the issue as solely reckless behavior leading to quitting. But clearly Reki’s own jealousy/insecurities added Langa preferring better skaters as potentially leading to them not skating together without ever discussing it until Langa was blindsided during the argument. I would’ve looked a better apology from Reki where he fully explained why he was upset when they were making up. It’s human for his feelings on the issue to change, but that should’ve been better expressed to Langa. Although Langa did a great job of accurately smoothing over what was bothering Reki without that. Maybe that’ll be rectified if he apologizes to Miya. I think Miya deserves one especially since Reki physically shoved him after he opened up about why his actions were such a sore spot for him. I actually thought Miya’s words would help Reki see the other side of things so seeing Miya get pushed was like a “Bro wtf??” moment for me. Again it’s understandable that people act out when they’re angry and Reki was obviously already struggling with his emotions, but it should be acknowledged again how wrong that was. Boy are you opening my eyes to a lot of problematic stuff lol.

Also, I’m very curious as to why you hate Shadow. For me, it’s because I can’t move past that comment in ep 1. I know ppl brush it off as just an (unnecessarily misogynistic) act for his persona, but that woman literally didn’t say anything to him and he insulted her for no reason by using her body as trophy to be defaced if he won. Ew. And just because he’s super nice to the flower shop lady, he does not get a pass. If he’s only respectful to women he’s attracted to and jumps at any other the opportunity to degrade women, he’s still a misogynist. And I’m pretty sure that he already new flower shop lady when the series started, so I don’t think you can argue that his character developed to be better towards women as a whole because of her or that he wouldn’t do something like that again at this point in the story. Especially since the goal of proving yourself as a “strong man” has not historically worked out to men being compassionate with women. (Tho within a vacuum devoid of his other actions, I can appreciate his commitment to a makeup routine)

Oh! And I would totally wanna read that fanfic if you write it!! I’m not even as gung-ho about Adam going to jail as most fans and Adam-haters tbh. Mainly because it’d probably be for political corruption via money bribes which is already kinda common and I don’t think the show has stated him to be doing anything particularly bad with it I don’t think so?? Like it seems to be mainly for the purpose of keeping S secret which is indeed a waste of money and effort when he could just buy it, but on the other hand, there doesn’t seem to be any ill consequences on the citizens the politician represents. So yea, it’s illegal so the jail time is technically deserved. But also like... no harm no foul🤷‍♀️ If he would be getting charged for assaulting other skaters than I definitely think that’s fair, but I doubt that’ll happen in the show just because I feel like no one will actually say anything when the time comes partially due to the shock of his arrest if they’re even involved. And I mean, Cherry was pissed at Adam for getting skaters hurt but still rolled out the hospital and joked like he was fine, so I just don’t particularly see anyone calling him out on it to the point of it being apart of his sentencing. The end of ep 11 with Cherry and Joe arguing about one of them going against Adam just doesn’t sound like condemning him to battery charges to me XD

But yaknow I’ve been loving hurt/comfort type fics lately, so I’d be really interested in seeing Adam truly work and change himself for some type of redemption in that setting. I can see hitting rock bottom as being really good for him given it may provide a reprieve from having to manage his image. Adam is underrated in complexity so it’s always cool when people try to flesh him out more and dive into his inner world. And of course Tadashi is kind of my fave (if you couldn’t tell) so I love anything healing for him as well :)

Yep, I was majorly pissed at Reki for how he treated Langa and Miya. His behavior is absolutely problematic. Not as bad as Adam, obviously, but with everything I’ve said and you’ve realized... yeah. I’m glad he made up with Langa and will probably make up with Miya, but it doesn’t invalidate everything he’s done before. Yes, he’s still an immature teenager, but I don’t think he realizes how messed up his behavior was, even after making up with Langa (the resolution seems to be based on him accepting that he’s not an ace skater, rather than recognizing how toxic his behavior was), so I’m still not satisfied. But hey, it’s probably just me being hyperfixated on trivial details that nobody else even cares about. /shrug

(I’m glad to know that I wasn’t misinterpreting the “promise,” or lack thereof, though!)

And I have two major problems with Shadow. My first--and biggest--problem is, as you’ve pointed out, that he’s an enormous misogynist. At “S,” people have the freedom to be exactly who they are beneath the facades that they show to the world. For example, Adam is someone desperately searching for someone who can understand him, not the perfectly put-together politician Shindo Ainosuke. Cherry and Joe are more true to their “real life” selves, but there are differences in their behavior on the track and off. And then there’s Shadow, the overcompensating “strong man” who threatens to make a guy tattoo “Dumpster Slut” over his girl’s name. So I 100% agree with everything you said about Shadow. He’s a chauvinistic pig.

The second problem is that I honestly think his actions when he’s racing are worse than Adam’s, and the only reason it’s not made out as such is because he’s the buttmonkey rather than the villain. I believe that, as problematic as Adam’s antics are, he does not intend to cause severe physical harm to his opponents. I’ve discussed this idea in more detail in other posts, but in short, even in the most extreme case--Cherry’s--his injuries were far lighter than they would have been if Adam had seriously wanted to hurt him. Death, coma, etc. were all highly probable outcomes of that situation, so the only reason they didn’t happen was because Adam was holding back. Or anime logic. But even anime logic can only stretch so far. And against lesser opponents like Reki, he generally holds onto them to ensure that they don’t accidentally hurt themselves when they’re panicking.

Of course, Shadow doesn’t intend to cause severe physical harm to his opponents either, but he does not exert any control over the situation after he throws fireworks at his opponent or shines a laser in their eyes. We’ve twice seen his opponents fall off the course as a direct result of his actions: Reki in the first race, Harry in the quarterfinals. They could have just as easily fallen off the cliff or slammed into a wall (at full speed) and been badly injured. If Shadow were an actual villain, I fully believe that he would have an actual body count of people who died racing against him (as opposed to Adam’s trail of injured opponents). So it bothers me that people shrug off what Shadow does while screaming for Adam’s death.

As for the scandal subplot... I’m *pretty* sure it’s a lot more serious than Adam bribing the police to leave “S” alone. I think he’s actually involved in some majorly shady/illegal activities politically. Like, in Episode 7, when the other Diet member gets pulled over, arrested, and has his house searched... there’s no way that has anything to do with “S.” At the very least, the two of them were collaborating on something really bad, something serious that Adam lied about under oath, and that’s enough for Adam’s staff to worry about what’s going to happen, especially Tadashi. We don’t know what it is specifically, but it’s definitely a lot more than just passing out bribes to hide “S.”

Lol, I’ll have to see how it goes. Probably won’t start it until after the anime finishes at the very least so I can see how it turns out for Adam and Tadashi, plus I have another half dozen WIPs at the moment and nowhere near enough time to work on them all. xD

#sk8 #sk8 the infinity #skate the infinity #sk8 reki #kyan reki #reki kyan #sk8 langa #sk8 snow #hasegawa langa #langa hasegawa #sk8 shadow #higa hiromi #hiromi higa #sk8 adam #shindo ainosuke #ainosuke shindo #sk8 snake #kikuchi tadashi #tadashi kikuchi #analysis #long post #mine

[transsexualhamlet]

Trans Headcanons

Ok I’m going to make a giant post about this because it’s one of the few things I can actually address, as a trans person. Obviously I cannot speak as to the opinions and experiences of all trans people, but I’m just gonna give you my take.

So obviously in fandom lots of people like to headcanon characters as trans, and in general I think that’s a fantastic thing as well we’re not exactly swimming in representation. But what comes with cis people tryin to write trans characters is that... things get... problematic. Quick.

Headcanoning male characters as ftm

I am this variety of trans so I get excited when people headcanon ftm but I’m almost always completely disappointed.

First off I need to address the “people” who headcanon male characters as trans ftm for that Spicy Fetishization. This is generally, I’d say... more than half of trans headcanons I come across in fics at least, and in this context is used solely for sexual purposes which is disgusting so stop.

Of course it’s ok to write trans people having sex, because well, trans people have sex, but cis people don’t realize that dysphoria plays a huge part into what people are comfortable with. So just a fun fact I feel like it should be obvious trans guys aren’t gonna want to have sex like they’re a straight female, and trans guys are not all bottoms.

I would also like to address when headcanoning a male presenting character as ftm is good or bad rep completely without the sexual element because cis people seem to have a fundamental misunderstanding of Trans Vibes. I’m gonna use mostly ons examples so hang on tight.

Problematic, bad characters to headcanon as trans- 

-Yoichi

-Mika

-Shinya

I see an egregious amout of these, and the pattern for this is somehow, cis girls see a feminine boy and think that they’re a good person to think is trans. No. This is the opposite. These three characters in ons are some of the more feminine guys, and therefore come off as gay, in a cis male way. Trans guys generally do not act like that, and although there are plenty of feminine trans guys, they do not behave like that. 

Addressing the problems with people saying Mika is trans- People don’t understand dysphoria. He has always been very feminine, and in the case that he was trans that would just. Not work. You could look at that boy and be asking what gender even is he if you didn’t know, and generally trans guys aren’t for that. 

With Yoichi it’s even more ridiculous. He’s one of the worst characters I could think of to view this way, as this pushes the most UwU Soft Boi fujoshi shit onto him. If y’all aren’t aware the fetishising girls really invalidate trans folks by assuming they’re all basically the stereotype of Yoichi- small, awkward, shy, complete pushovers, and just. Nah. Same really goes for Shinya, because though he’s more confident he’s very cis gay guy and making him trans pushes the same “make the more feminine person in a gay relationship trans”. Stop it.

If you had to headcanon someone as ftm in ons I’d say some of your best options would be probably

-Kimizuki.

-Yu (though there are many conditions because he’s a victim of a lot of the fujos in fanfic with this.)

I’m trying to think of more but to be honest, that’s your best bet. If you want to go with someone else, Guren might be ok, it would just be harder to explain.

Kimizuki is the best one out of all of them to be headcanoned as trans because he breaks the problematic stereotypes, and if you think about it would make much more sense than the characters ppl usually say are trans.

He is a character who’s fairly obsessed with presenting masculinity and trying to be the strong one in the group, which is a very trans guy thing to do, and it would be the easiest to explain without going through hoops like characters that have a lot of backstory would. He doesn’t look or act feminine at all, but he has more feminine skills like cooking, and he feels ashamed of those aspects of himself even though he shouldn’t. Those are the kind of things that make someone go “that would be nice rep”. Also his hair is dyed pink, like what cis person does that?

With Yu, I see many more people in fanfic try to use the trans thing for him, and out of the context of shipping I think that’s perfectly fine. He is a very relatable character for ftm gremlins like myself and it’s reasonable to say that, although there would need to be a few adjustments for taking into consideration at one point he would have presented as female, probably during his time in sanguinem. That doesn’t really present any problems if you just adjust accordingly. Guren would be cool with “hey dad i’m a guy” and I think that would be pretty epic. But when taken into the context of, well, mikayuu shipping.

To be frank, most of the trans!yuu fics that exist are straight up just for fujos to go “hey look at this gay bottom he’s trans so he’s basically a girl and watch him act like a girl during sex” stop it. Stop it please. 

On trans girls

obviously, I am not a trans girl, and I know like. one trans girl. total. So I don’t have as much insight on this as trans ftm but some of this stuff is just common sense.

First I need to address the obvious, the phenomenon that is apparently such a thing in anime and manga for no good reason. The “this character who has a female voice actor, dresses and acts completely like a girl but is stated as male for some fucking reason” is just... hhhhhhhhhh. I think the only reason these exist is some weird japan fetish but I’m not fond of it. Headcanoning these characters as trans girls is in fact completely fine and I’d encourage it, unless them being male is actually somehow an integral part of the plot.

In the case of Asuramaru, I’d say absolutely go ahead. It makes even more sense with this character because Asura used to go by a different name and dressed much more masculine back in Ye Olde Greek Dayes but now has this demon glow up with a much more feminine look, a literal dress, a crown, hair down to their ass- that’s honestly the most valid thing you could say. 

In the case of characters presented as female in canon, it’s much more difficult than trans guys because of how girls are presented in anime and manga. And by that I mean,,, hyper sexualized and misogynistic. 

In this case I’d always say ask someone trans before jumping to conclusions. Also be wary of the “this is a masculine girl, she must be trans” because well. Again, masculine trans girls are valid but that can’t be your only reasoning PLEASE. I’ve seen trans Mito before in a fic, and tbh that’s ok, but only if you know what you’re doing with it. It can be explained pretty well with her, since she used to present as hyper feminine and pretty comphet with the guren thing, but she’s calmed down in vampire reign and I think if that has to do with her starting her transition at like 16, that’s totally fine. But that has to be handled with care, and be aware that she’s like. The most masculine girl in the series. She doesn’t wear a skirt like literally every other girl in the show, she uses physical force and her fists to fight instead of a weapon or magic, and she’s extremely headstrong. Although it would be fine if she was trans, those aspects of herself are not what would make her so, since even though it would be epic those things could cause dysphoria.

On nonbinary headcanons

These are significantly less problematic than a lot of other types, since they’re generally made by people who know what the hell they’re talking about. And there’s really no parameters for nonbinary people, so if you see someone who gives off No Gender Vibes go ahead and sprinkle in some they/them!! They don’t even have to look androgynous, though if you see a strictly single gender presenting character and want them to be enby prepare to have some explanations. Good examples of this would be

-near from death note, that gremlin wears nothing but pajamas and proceeds to grow hair down to his ass as an adult, plus the austistic coded bit... we don’t have a concept of gender tbh

-practically any demon from ons but raimeiki or gekkouin, they all just have the best vibes

-Shikama Doji, you think that bitch knows what a gender is??? Got lost in the wings pal

Just be aware of the differences needed between thinking “this person is presented as __ canonly and that is in fact their sex just not their gender” or “this person is trans fem or trans masc but isn’t strictly male or female” because those are different.

Bottom line? Ask a trans person, and don’t write a trans person just for their body.

#owari no seraph #trans #idk what to tag this tbh I don't talk about this stuff all the time #trans ftm #trans headcanons #death note #kind of

[ninasfireescape]

The ‘Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker’ review no one asked for

I wanted to enjoy it. I really did.

I was one of the people who didn’t dislike The Last Jedi. Sure, I didn’t love it. When I watched it, I thought it was too long and had made certain characters choices I wasn’t too happy with, but overall it was enjoyable and left me feeling satisfied. It was not as good as The Force Awakens however and hearing JJ Abrams was returning, I thought he might be able to restore the final episode to its former glory.

That indeed seemed like the case for the first hour. The gang were back together, it was quick-paced, I had an emotional investment in what was going on (and it seemed like they were taking the Finnrey route I wanted them too). I couldn’t exactly follow every plot specific but does that really matter in Star Wars when it’s so exciting? The bit on Star Killer base was genuinely inspired, I was laughing away at once again what terrible shots the stormtroopers were and at Hux being the spy. Every scene with Lando in was gold.

It was just after they got to the water planet that things started to go wrong. I’m not sure quite what it was exactly that made it so disappointing from this point onwards. Perhaps the gang splitting up or the rather horrifically done Leia death scene. I know they didn’t really have much choice with what footage they had but having watched each member of the original trio died, this death was devoid of emotion and predictable. And she died to make Kylo Ren hesitate for one moment. What a waste!

Then the pointless force ghosts! Seeing Luke was nice but it felt like he was just there to add clunky explanation since the plot made so little sense at this point. And when Han appeared, I actually laughed. It was so inconsistent with the tone of the film and he appeared all while Kylo Ren was standing in the middle of a stormy sea that he could fall into at any moment, right in the most climactic section of the film, just to have a conversation with the son who killed him! It was the most outrageous example of a fan service cameo that just didn’t assimilate with the rest of the film.

I don’t actually have a problem with Rey Palpatine. If anything, I thought it was really cool she was a Palpatine. I really didn’t want her to be a Skywalker because I felt it would be predictable and repetitive. Her being a Palpatine also sends the message to young viewers that blood relations don’t make a family which I think is very important for children to hear. Honestly, the only problem I have with it is that it means some poor lady had sex with Palpatine. I agree that it was a ridiculous retcon of The Last Jedi but then I didn’t like the reveal about her parents in TLJ anyway because of how it was executed. Another thing that bothers me about it is the utter lack of information we get about Villanelle Rey’s mother. Already we don’t know much about her father other than that he’s Palpatine’s son but with her mother, we get nothing. With Rey having wondered about who her parents were for so long, surely it would make sense for her to want to know more about her mother and maybe even take her surname in place of ‘Palpatine’. I also firmly believe Rey’s mother should have been played by Hayley Atwell because she looks so much like Daisy Ridley. And while Jodie Comer is an amazing actress, I think 1. She deserves a bigger role in the Star Wars franchise and 2. Her casting as Rey’s mother exemplifies Hollywood’s fear of casting older actresses as mothers. A twenty six year old as a mother!?

About Zurii, I always appreciate new female characters in Star Wars and I thought she had a great design. However, it is blatantly clear what her purpose in the film was. It was to stop people calling Poe gay, inserting a female character for one scene (she barely spoke in her other scenes so I’m not counting those) with no backstory of her own, just to prove he is attracted to women. Well, first of all, he can be bi, secondly, that’s not going to stop people shipping Finnpoe at all. I didn’t clock until afterwards when I saw people talking about it online, but it was super problematic to make Poe a former drug dealer. Sure, the only Latino character in this trilogy. Also, it in general complicates the little we know about Poe’s backstory so far.

With Rose, all our worst fears were confirmed. She just wasn’t there. She appeared in a couple of scenes and had some lines but you’d think she was no more than another miscellaneous rebel, no more significant a role than Billie Lourd’s character. Did they really give into the white fanboy pressure? How could they erase Rose when she was such a good character? She was tough and fought strongly for her beliefs, but she was also compassionate, sensitive. Now, I never particularly shipped Finn and Rose in TLJ. I thought it seemed a bit of a rushed romance and Finn didn’t seem that invested in the kiss they shared. However, you can’t just pretend they didn’t kiss in the last film. They interacted a few times but there was no sense of any bond between them. Where there relationship stood was unclear. Were they now a couple or had they had an offscreen conversation where they decided they were better off as friends? Who knows?

And now onto the worst part of the film: Kylo Ren and more specifically that kiss. Gross. Okay, to be clear, I wasn’t entirely opposed to a redemption arc for Kylo Ren. Sure, it would be predictable, but it’s not like Kylo Ren’s crimes are any worse than those of Darth Vader and he was still capable of redemption. I liked Kylo Ren as a villain. He perfectly depicted that type of whiny, entitled white man who we see so commonly in real life, but again, he could have achieved some redemption if it were implemented correctly. What we got in the film was not this. He was still committing genocide at the start and carried out one good deed which was saving the woman he had a crush on. For this one good act, he was entirely forgiven and somehow all of the genocide wasn’t his fault. And he got rewarded with the woman! If anything, I’d call that act selfish since he only wanted to save the woman he liked. Adam Driver did the best he could with it but everything about it was awful. And it was out of character for Rey to kiss him and forgive him. She stabbed him little more than half an hour earlier! At the end of the last film, she slammed a door in his face. It makes no sense to me how she could suddenly be so invested in him becoming a better person. There’s also the fact that wasn’t included in the films that Rey and Kylo Ren are related (aunt and nephew to be exact). I wasn’t aware this was Game of Thrones! And according to Wookiepedia, Rey was 18 at the start of the films and is now 20 whereas Kylo Ren is now 30. A ten year age different would be fine if Rey were older but at this point, the age gap is uncomfortable and very borderline.

If they’re going to make the claim that it wasn’t actually Kylo Ren who was doing the evil deeds but some dark force corrupting him, they should have explained how the mechanism works. At least in the prequels, we got some sense of Anakin slowly being corrupted. To me, it reads like in some horror films when the abusive characters are found to have been possessed by demons or something. It trivializes abuse which is something very real, acting instead as if no abusers can actually be responsible for their actions and it is the cause of some supernatural force instead. I suppose the kiss doesn’t have to mean anything. After all, Leia and Luke kissed in the original trilogy and Finn and Rose kissed and apparently that meant nothing.

I firmly believe the series intended a Finn and Rey romance. Lest we forget The Force Awakens, Finn awkwardly asking Rey if she had a boyfriend. That was clear coding for him having a crush on her. In that film, the two developed such a strong bond, and they have so much more chemistry than Rey and Kylo Ren ever had. All the scenes with Rey and Finn (and Poe) were full of light and emotion. The scene at the end where the three of them hugged was honestly the high point of the film. Now, when I left the cinema, what was plaguing my mind the most was that throughout the film, Finn had a secret he wanted to tell Rey. It was first suggested when they thought they were going to die in the quicksand. “Wait, Rey, I never told you!” It had to be that he loved her. What else could it be? Supposedly, it was that he was force sensitive. I don’t believe that for one second. If he needed to tell her that, why couldn’t Poe be included? And why did he never get the chance to tell her? It was a build-up I got invested in with no payoff. It must have been that he loved her. So, if that was the case, that leaves us with two options. Either there was a Finnrey subplot that got cut but they forgot to cut these scenes out (or simply couldn’t be bothered to), or they thought it would be funny to have the black supposed male lead chasing after the white female lead who didn’t love him back because she was instead in love with the genocidal white villain. I ship Finnrey so much and find the second option so horrific but I wouldn’t put it past the writers. Finn played such a significant role in the first half of the film, as he should since he’s meant to be the male lead in the series, but after that, he was dangerously underutilized. At least the ending where no one ends up with each other is compliant with my headcanon that Rey, Finn and Poe (and I don’t mind Rose being in the mix too) all end up married to each other and adopt a bunch of porgs.

And lastly, the lesbian scene. Pathetic. We don’t know the character names and I can’t even find out who the actresses were that played them. Okay, they kissed which is a pretty big deal (even though kisses apparently mean nothing in Star Wars) and it’s certainly a step forward from the Avengers: Endgame ‘’’’representation’’’’, but it’s still rather useless considering the big deal JJ Abrams made about how there would be representation.

#alexia reviews #star wars #star wars spoilers #tros #tros spoilers #the rise of skywalker #the rise of skywalker spoilers #anti tros #anti reylo

[deviationdivine]

Wake Up | domestic!Android AU Part 1 (Connor x Reader)

gif by arsuf 

F!reader x Connor

13.6k words

Detroit: Become Human - 1 Year Anniversary Release Celebration

A revolution may divide the city but it will never divide you...

tw: Angst, Fluffy Connor in the midst, Language, Suggestive Themes, Violence

a/n: First part of mini-series AU “Wake Up”. An introductory chapter one. Apologies for how long this took but I struggled and I am not happy with the end result. However, it’s finally here. • Connor is the latest high tech domestic model built with a collection of extra features, skills and functions making him the most advanced of his kind. As your personal assistant he is equipped with becoming the perfect partner if you so require. Falling in love with your personal android was never part of the equation nor was his break into deviancy...

“My name is Connor. I am your personal assistant. My features will allow me to take extensive care of your home, do the cooking, mind children and repair any problematic issues that arise within the household’s utilities. 

As I am the most advanced make I can perform various tasks including but not limited to acts of a sexual nature. If you so require I am capable of being the perfect partner…”

Perfect is a conceptual illusion in every sense or so you come to believe. Why do humans think in terms of excellence when most shining examples tarnish in glaring flaws? Even technology can be made wrong or needing improvement not long after distribution. Faulty wiring, danger of overheating and causing harm of a radioactive proponent all seem minuscule in comparison. 

Today, in the future, there is a grander blueprint mapping out the most innovative, extreme to date.

When it becomes alive, mimics the very corporeal state of being born unto humans since man breathed life in this vast universe, mirroring visage of those who wish to create in their likeness.

How does it go from technological wonder to abstruse thinking? Concepts can be a greater weapon. They can also reach for too much too soon. Is this the true state of AI meant for consumer consumption?

Cart them off exclusively as merchandise no matter how human they look. Isn’t that their appeal? The more something foreign, inexplicable but resembles us the more it is accepted. Basic instinctual deep thinking bred into all humans. Difference is an attest beneath surface value. Judge a book by a cover but if there are features hiding its distinct nature by all means use it.

Laziness might be a better solution in this mathematical equation. Imperfect perfection makes way for future development. Those are the very elements that change the world.

Can you even imagine for one second, one little point in life it would come to change yours? So small in a world full of billions but here in Detroit home of Cyberlife and its creation the pilot sparks. Alight with technological revolution.

Androids are here. Androids are owned. Bought as slaves to humanity and used beyond measure, no consideration that those made in image could possibly develop feelings. Emotions are heavy. They are what make us all human. Can machine truly become human?

  You never wanted one. Mostly it made you uncomfortable witnessing cruelty by specific ‘owners’ on the bustling city streets. It’s everywhere. Even today, chillier, more specifically a frigidity creeping into bones.

Eyes shift over a couple walking briskly as you draw coat closer together up throat. Keeping wind seeping through to tangle around your body but watching them waltz their merry way without care. Of course they have none. Their female android, an AX400 to be exact, is taking care of two rowdy children.

Honestly it must be nice. Not having to parent after deciding to add more to the burdening populace. Maybe that’s just your pessimism talking. Simple fact though? Could be that too but who knows?

Just another one of those days but it is about to change drastically. Passing a Cyberlife store does pique curiosity. Window displays my God. They line them up as if that’s all they are.

They offer whatever a human wants and yet not all can bother to treat them fairly. Is it enough androids are made to look as everyone else? Would a genuine human being treat another so despicably? Yes. A resounding yes because it never goes away. People treat people with disdain for every reason, every prejudice and why should that shock? Androids have become an additional target. 

Honestly it makes you sick. Never did you once realize this is what would change things completely. On this very day, minding business walking home from another tiring bustle  

More than one occurrence struck you right in the gut. A previous household model absorbs brunt of   obscenities and physical humiliation. A scene like this turned your stomach. 

The moment it came to intervene you received an interrupting phone call. Unfortunately this was the start of big changes in your life.

What does one do discovering death of a relative? Closeness is a fundamental of familial connections. For you? Well, let’s say it didn’t quite work out.

  “What do you mean he…died?” Answering in a quiet breath, cell phone a tight clutch in hand stalling in breezy climate, everything stops around your personal orbit.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” a familiar voice speaks over your ingenious disbelief.

Ignoring your pleas for a proper answer it becomes increasingly cruel on the woman’s breath digging truths in your ear. Whether she realizes this or not it’s up for debate. “You do realize this was coming. It isn’t as if he were young and healthy. Frankly, I am surprised you are having such a negative reaction.”

Negative is exactly the type of reaction! What does she expect? “Of course I’m having a reaction!” Practically screaming into your phone made the chilled air sting worse. How is this happening? How can this even be real?

“Oh, it’s all right, Y/N. Get it out now. It’ll be better if you don’t make a scene at the funeral.”

Anger is a burning pyre ready to fan over and incinerate. One snide comment reminds how much you can’t stand this person. She’s not even blood related. An ‘aunt’ isn’t technically qualified to hold the title and that’s fine. Just another excuse to dig at you in this family but there is no family left. Your father – he’s dead.

Money fixes everything? Unlikely but still nothing surprises you more than receiving something from an estranged parent. Generous sums to a black sheep or as you’re sure greedy auntie bitch of the hour calls you behind your back. She is one woman who deserves that damn moniker. Especially when it’s clear there are no connections left. Aunt Cruella, as christened ages ago by your best friend, made short work of your uncle. Certainly bled him dry continues to do so with his left over money after he succumbed to stress in a massive heart attack. Why do people like her thrive using, snide and heartless while others –?

What can you do then? Except you fall into an overwhelming sense of losing time and never extending an olive branch. Why is the universe so cruel? Why can’t you turn back time, forget every stupid thing that ever happened to drive a rift?

Part of you couldn’t stand the idea of being alone rest of your life. Maybe that’s why using part of a small deposit felt right. Watching so many gradually fall into current technological commercialism lead to most having their own android. It seems almost a little too barbaric making them cater to every whim. Honestly, you have no idea why this is needed. Do you really need him? 

No, he isn’t… He. Yes, he. 

Despite manufacturing Connor is a he in every sense.  Even then you saw as much. Now is much more complicated or you are just as ridiculously naive as you’ve always been told. Who cares about naivety? It is simple opinion. No. This is a belief one that surely would have left nothing to you in an event of final family member’s passing. Yet here you are with him.

You recall when he first arrives unaware of how efficient Cyberlife retail truly is. Why should you be surprised? Deliveries have gone from generic dairy of yesteryear, beyond personalized grocery orders and straight to personalized beings. Androids: alive or not alive?

In conjunction with preprogramming he sounds so lively. In his voice a natural husky dulcet and his eyes a deep soulful brown. Souls in androids are impossible but it’s the only way you think to describe warm chocolate. Hotter than a mug of it steeped in whip cream vanishes as a ghost beneath steaming liquid. 

Flecks of caramel shine in hypnotic swirls enriching accents of russets in muddy hues, the very first thing captivating attention as he offers his list of functions. Even falling upon the last is difficult to decipher how caught up you are in a consummately asymmetrical visage. 

He is far too pretty to look at and you try to ignore these facts. The facts of your newly purchased personal android possessing an aura of physical attractiveness. A fabrication in aesthetics you remember. A way to cover up what he actually is beneath soft synthetic skin dusted as constellations of freckles. 

Tiny beauties cresting upon sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, purposely formed to elicit a reaction. This is not at all what you expected but it’s never something to forget. Little do you realize in this moment Connor will always burn brightest to memory? Little do you understand how events will unfold but they shall.

  “Is there a problem?” he asks habitual to programming. 

Societal protocols run a gamut through system piecing together the best course of action. It is only his first day interior of your home. He is of a sense of determination to complete whatever task you assign. 

Determination is not part of proper function. However, he minded the concept. It will be efficient for current issue. “I may be able to rectify your issue. What do you require of me?”

 Require? What?

You cough, inhaling sharply at his head cocking so innocently. A droop of hair flutters atop forehead as a sole rebel willing to fight immaculate armies. He is very well put together. Not that you mean the whole manufactured part! He just – looks like a really good looking guy who takes care of his appearance. Hair mostly but…

Wow, Y/N. Real nice for your first try at handling a conversation with an android.

Not that this is the first android you’ve been in contact with. Difficult not to be when they’re all over but as your very own?

OK Cyberlife! What is up with making him look like real life Prince Charming?  I mean look at this perfection. Is this required? Are they allowed to do this to poor unsuspecting humans?

Watching his brows furrow and LED flutter amber somehow pumps the beats of heart faster. Surely it’s a dead giveaway. It’s not every day you’re cursing Cyberlife for practically throwing a chiseled Greek god at you.

Oh, shit, really? Greek God? What the hell is wrong with you? What isn’t wrong with you?

You sigh, clicking tongue at yourself. Frustration doesn’t begin with this!

“Your stress levels are high,” Connor offers a reading of initial scan. “Would you like me to remedy the problem? I have several possible functions that may reduce anxiety. My model comes with every physical attribute you are familiar with in human anatomy.”

A hitch stoppers breathing. Just enough as eyes widen a little at his declaration. Human anatomy as in…? Oh. OH.

Your eyes shift down. Fixating right on his crotch sends a luscious shiver through body. Goosebumps prickle skin, hair standing up on them. First time in forever you’ve had this type of reaction. Not even your ex managed to make you quiver like this. Not that your mind is even there because that’s been over for so long. Frankly that cheating asshole can have his baby momma all to himself. Probably already banged a couple more unsuspecting fools; you clear throat, scratchier than before.

“Connor, that-that’s really nice!” Agreeing with him that he has nice features you laugh nervously. It’s the first day he’s been here and already he’s mentioning his, uh, included *assets* and it’s not his beautiful eyes either. Ah, shit. Why is he made to be a young, attractive male? “But I don’t think that’s necessary. Not right now.”

It only takes a moment before you hear what came out of your mouth. Right now meaning it’ll be fine later?

“Which isn’t to say I’ll need it later!” Damage control is literally a creator of chaos. Can he just not look so sweet giving these heady ideas? “Just come with me. You’ll need a place to stay. I mean, you are staying here but I mean…” Shit! He’s made this impossible without stammering all over the place. Who gives him the right?

The android’s lips drop open, inevitably looking to provide another set of options but he snaps his mouth shut. Blinking in assessment of his actions to “argue” with your dismissal, Connor pushes away several warnings popping into visual. They are unexpected and not part of his programming.

Instead of speaking he follows your lead, gaze soft and quizzical. Trailing as a newly trained puppy the latest model of Cyberlife’s domestic line becomes further entranced with chirping outside window. No longer able to abide by strict attention he tilts his head at passing pane. Sounds of birds in song flitter and perch on external sill; one ruffles its feathers cleaning with its beak. The other stands still.

He freezes. Both in movement and system analysis he is however conscious of two live creatures. Opposite of android pets universally made available for public sale. His database offers much information outfitting him with the fundamental needs of intelligence and sophistication in his programmed function.

Reaching to open a door you stop when his presence behind you feels empty. It was obvious when he followed but now?

“Connor?”

Cycling indicator fluctuates upon the command of your voice. He snaps around in direction of soft tone. Softer than accustomed since his distribution from Cyberlife shipping to physical store location was riddled with aggressive bystanders. He-he is not meant to mull over his awakening. It does not make him feel anything. No, he is an android. He feels nothing. He is a machine.

Clinical cold manifests deeply behind blocks, barricades in protocols. Connor pushes this strange tickle back underneath wires.

“Apologies for not obeying you, Y/N. It will not happen again. I am efficient.” Nagging at him, strange and uncorrelated to system status, he almost sounds…tense. Connor straightens shoulders, folding hands neatly against lower back. “I was made to be the best of my particular type of domestic models. As an AX800, I am programmed to be a superior prototype.”

Obeying you?

That happens to be the only words you focus on. His choice of them ripple uncomfortably, nearly squeamish in stomach. Is this how you sound? Are you affecting a command or-? No, it’s what he is made to know. That’s the thing. All androids are only made to serve and immediately regret comes back. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought him.

Bought! God, you’re just like those people now. Aren’t you?

No more excuses. No more seeing horrible mistreatment and vowing never to be like them. Even if you never would do any harm losing your father, when you never spoke anymore anyway, still you fear loneliness. Estrangement ruins lives. It really does. What do you have left now? Except for yourself to fend in this world and growing more complicated as the future rambles on.

Detroit is a bustling mix of dilapidated districts, high tech innovations, Cyberlife Tower most significant in those builds. This house is small. Tucked away in a tiny neighborhood away from inner city but you never complain. You are grateful. A roof over the head is the best gift in a mostly gift devoid world.

“Connor, please don’t call it obeying. I-I only wanted to see if you were OK.” Admitting the hesitation beforehand you feel antsy. His LED is blue again but it was amber finding him staring at window.

“My system is fully operational,” he assures, forcing his lips to form a smile.

In actuality his little gesture is a stiff grimace. Eyebrows rise at his attempt. Even if it looks goofy, which is completely not his fault, it’s very – cute.

Again with this! Never mind just focus for once. Pretty comical coming from someone who hardly meditates in the day to day; you step backwards, slipping through threshold, eyes remaining on him. It takes ever ounce of willpower to remain collected. Things are still hard to digest. No matter if it’s been a couple months tangling with all of that legal stuff. Auntie not by blood sure didn’t make it any better. Yet, here you are. Still you stand even while stress is overworking at a job that might as well kill you first.

Offices are pretty dull to work in. At least they would be if they were not a regular cushy job. Piles of paperwork, demands creep up to swallow whole, a boss who just will not stop making things harsher. Mister perfectionist belittles the lower tier all the time. No surprise but it seems the future isn’t as bright as people thought it would. No need to wear shades.

Moving toward window, pulling curtains open a bit to allow sunshine transitions atmosphere from dreary to somewhat cheery. Perfect mask to hide the real truth isn’t it? Sometimes you forget how good you are that. A small smile camouflages best.

You rub hands against the thighs of your jeans. A little sweaty because of nerves but today is big. Being alone always hardly prepares for constant company. Well, he’s meant to be here permanently. That is the initial idea.

“This can be your room.”

Connor’s brow furrows. Studying your movements upon entry, analyzing vitals and their continual fluctuations, the android is confused. His indicator cycles to process the statement as unexpectedly inclusive as it is. “I do not require a room. I am an android.”

Somehow that reaction is to be expected. You sigh, “Just because you’re an android doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have something of your own.”

Ownership is not given to his kind. They are machines. Concepts of acquiring personal effects do not make sense nor are necessary. Connor voices this as per factual protocol. “Thank you for the offer but I am a machine. Machines have no need for accommodations.”

Yes, of course he’s a machine but…

Machine, manufactured and sold without an ounce of actual soul according to android haters you see. Picketing with their signs, so angry about them taking jobs but who made them? They did. Humans decided to and no one complained. Why complain about a technological marvel that can mow your grass, do the dishes and babysit children while living carelessly. That is the difference. Between you and plenty of others there has always been a divide in what you feel. This just crashes down those so-called fantasies. Ones filtering into brain as tiny wisps and at first it was a nice distraction. Finding him so…

“Oh,” a whisper, dawning realization. He is – a machine.

Coming back to the door, grabbing onto handle, you decide to forget the suggestion.

Something sharp stabs at his internal processors. Listening to such a dull syllable slipping almost – upset? Humans’ need for validity and comfort seem to be all too natural. They are highly emotional. The android steps close, head cocked, fingers pressing against surface of door preventing your need to shut it.

Contemplating left him at a cross roads in his programming. He is meant to function specifically and does not need or want anything as you believe. However, he-he could not refuse. It would be impolite. “I- very well, Y/N. I did not meant to be unpleasant. My social parameters are not meant to alarm.”

Alarm? That is not why you… Your breath hitches. Realizing how close he is standing, invading personal space and if it were anyone else? Allowing him is both a conscious need for closeness while still mourning and an illusion. Live up to that woman’s ideas. The title of ‘aunt’ is undeserving.

“Thank you, Connor.”

“You are welcome,” he snaps back to his programming. “What sort of tasks do you have scheduled for me to complete?”

“Scheduled? I, uh…” Shaking a head at his question is clarity. Honestly you are not used to giving tasks to people. Tasks are dropped on your desk until you down. A huff of breath, accompanied with snort is more for yourself. It does garner the most adorable expression on his face. “Maybe you could just…talk to me? For now?”

Connor’s eyebrows scrunch together. His facial expressions capture attention driving the tempo of your heart. He does not understand why. “Are we not speaking already?”

You laugh not at him but his innocent little response there is – Oh. No. 

It only deepens sadness in you now. Knowing where he came from and his confusion in you wanting a little companionship. Androids aren’t supposed to make friends are they? Even if they’re specifically programmed or upgraded to be partners. He mentioned that before.

Luckily a vibration against your thigh saves you. Reaching to pull phone from pocket your eyes train up to his and take a needful exhale. “Sorry, Connor, I have to take this.”

Connor moves aside out of your path. Remaining stationary, hands folded neatly, he awaits further instruction. However, the android’s eyes shift sideways at the sound of your voice outside room. Amber floods his temple.

“Why are you calling me now? No, I’m not wallowing! It’s called mourning. Maybe if you figured out what it was when my uncle died all those years ago you wouldn’t need a dictionary for it.” Hissing fire into phone attacks your aunt by marriage equally. Soon as you pick up! She just had to get in another word. 

Why does she feel the need for this? What’s the point anymore? “No. What do you want exactly? Is this about the trust fund again? I’m using a part to pay bills. What do you think I’m doing?”

Living expenses are still the same old problem. Must be nice for the rich their multi-billion dollar corporations feeding on tech. Just look at Cyberlife.

“It doesn’t matter,” you make it abundantly clear. Does she believe she’s that intimidating? Newsflash to miss upper crust but this labeled black sheep doesn’t take shit from people! “We might’ve had a rocky relationship but I loved him.”

Loved? Connor freezes in corridor. Disobeying processes to offer potential aid in obvious distress he finds himself…curious at such words.

“We were family. What do you think? Don’t you have enough blood money to spend on your Eden Club bots old woman?” Ending it on your terms this time does not fulfill you at all. Always the winner isn’t she? Rubbing it in your face about his death and if your father were here he wouldn’t let it happen. Whatever distances, issues it wouldn’t change that.

“Y/N?”

Connor’s quizzical tone jolts your weary bones. Inhaling sharply, not at all used to this tiny home being occupied by more than one but a heavy swallow fixes your voice. How long was he there? Did he hear all of that? Oh, great.

“I’m fine.” An automatic response always on autopilot gets the job done for you.

He narrows eyes. “Stress is not a healthy component in the balance of human’s…”

“Just leave me alone, Connor!” You snap, tears pricking corners of your eyes before twirling around to run upstairs.

 ^Software Instability

 Connor freezes momentarily. Flooding, filtering in a ripple through code blocks, he blinks in quick succession. Blinding and strange it is not part of his program –

Unable to run diagnostics, tears sparkling in your eyes draw his attention, overtaking protocol. The android’s soft gaze shifts from following your quick disappearance to ceiling indicating footsteps that conclude in a bang. Seemingly you have sealed yourself away. Scarlet pulsates in intervals mingling with amber processing solutions. Leaving you alone is an instruction. He-he cannot ignore. It is what he is programmed for. You are crying. Why must he obey? He must…

 >Obey

>Leave Alone

“Is there anything else you would like?” He asks as sun dips in later hours. Accomplish several menial tasks which he is free to do as he constructs. 

Following your distress several hours ago he feels – confliction. Few commands escape your lips and at times he is unsure with his current scheduling. Abilities are not in question but you appear distant. Did he do something wrong? By wanting to comfort…

 >Analyzing: Y/L/N, Y/N

Stress: 31.6%

Blood Pressure: 124/80

 Studying your face after initializing a vital scan enables Connor to store analysis records. Sleep deprivation, iron deficiency and higher stress than the human body should experience.

“Connor.” You straighten from your position curled upon couch. Mostly you tuck into one side, resting into upholstery and your breathing exhales shaky. Trying to rest off a headache isn’t working. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

The android nods but pauses in thought. A fluid habit now out into the world. Yet, he has yet to see much. Only transferring from lab to warehouse storage and ultimately on display in a merchandise kiosk for Cyberlife; he is not widely available as of yet. Detroit is the originator of androids. The product mark on his white uniform christens his manufacturing origins: Made in Detroit.

“There are other functions I was built with,” he explains enthusiastically. “If you would like a domestic partner, it is one of my features.”

Rubbing at your temples ceases the moment he speaks. A domestic partner? Is he talking about that thing again? You draw breath. Unable to look at him now, feeling it twist in stomach, you uncurl, pressing feet on floor. 

“No!” Quickly you cover the rise in heartbeat.

It is so obvious. Wouldn’t be the first time stumbling across sexual depravity in humans. Look no further than the Eden Club. The fact they decided to make that a thing for a household model is honestly not a shock.

God, why do they live in this world? Why do you even have him here? Isn’t this just making you as horrible as everyone else? 

“No,” you repeat softer. “I’d never force you to do something like that.”

It is not forcing when he is programmed, installed with such features. They are high end. As several techs discussed ignoring his presence as though he were – merchandise. Androids are sold. He knows this but has never had a moment to process.

There is zero need. Androids do not think freely. They are constructs built for specific purposes and his are fundamentally clear. He has never performed these functions as he is brand new but Connor feels he can ease stress efficiently. 

Thinking solely as a machine built for a task did not hold true. He felt…strange at your refusal. “Am I not aesthetically pleasing?” Cocking his head, knitting brows together, Connor looks expectantly to you for validation.

Lifting eyes up to him your lips fall open at his question. Did he really ask that? Are androids supposed o ask those kinds of questions? It almost as though he was hurt by that. No, it’s just imagination. Today has been too tiring. Never would have gone so wrong if that woman didn’t call. Honestly answering was your mistake. Story of a sad little life but others have it worse. 

Humans will always be crawling through turmoil, unable to breathe depending on their situations. Maybe that’s why a little part of you wishes he was human. At least acts without programs but this is why he’s here. To fulfill a fantasy, cater to every whim? 

No. To rectify personal aches to pretend that someone is here to offer a shoulder. When there has been nothing going through your father’s death, legal dealings with assets and pressure in job.

“No,” squeezing eyes shut to battle tension, your voice is low. “I mean, yes of course you’re aesthetically pleasing. I mean…you’re handsome. Practically the most…”

What? Beautiful boy you have ever seen? There comes that illusion. They do that on purpose but somehow looking at him you don’t see a machine. How funny is that?

“That isn’t why, Connor.”

Getting up from couch, taking deep breaths and stepping clear of coffee table helps focus. Rubbing palms against face at least wipes away some mess. Eyes are puffy, red from an unnecessary outburst earlier. At certain points life reaches boiling and yelling at him to leave you alone twists in guilt. This is exactly the sort of things Auntie Bitch thrives on.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Even if it would make no difference it does to you. “This isn’t what I’m used to. Having someone else here.” 

Well, after deadbeat ex anyway but he was a typical freeloader. Thankfully you scrubbed his dirt out of life and home. 

“I’ve never done this before. Having an android I mean. Ordering you to do something that you have no control over is not the type of person I am.” Plus, it’s not as if the androids at those sex clubs have a say. “I’d never do that to you or any of your people. Like some humans would.”

People. A human way to look at him or other androids but that is incorrect. Why would you refer-?

 ^Software Instability

 Connor blinks. The error message was in his vision only briefly and the little blue arrow increasing shudders through his system. He opens his mouth but does not respond. Instead, his eyes fall to your back turning away, pacing in additional stress.

Immediately, the android steps over, placing a hand against your arm. “Y/N, I apologize. Please, do not be upset. Your blood pressure is slightly elevated. You should rest. Perhaps I can produce a remedy befitting in alleviating your headache.”

Touch spreads goose bumps beneath shirt sleeve. Forcing arms to cross over your chest you twist to face him directly an extra tiny thud winds up heart. A key cranks in melody of jewelry box, dancer spins a ballet recital; vintage little tokens, delicate but thunderous in sentimentality. Just a brief glance, pressure of long fingers and it’s the first time you realize how pretty they are. 

Long, beautiful digits on large hands made not born. Yet he is still heavenly.

Sharply a breath slips. Words soothing, touch comforting all those things you crave. Yet this is part of protocols for him. That’s all.

Deeply you sigh. Feeling an unmistakable need burning lower pit of stomach detaches you. A shiver runs a gamut through body and spikes straight to the core of your existence. You squeeze legs tighter together cursing the fact your body decides to get horny over a headache solution. 

Fuck that! It’s his voice. Husky velvet, raspy natural glory and you are so wet. It takes everything not to jump his bones right now. Or mechanical bones? Hmm. Close enough!

“I just need to get extra sleep, Connor.” Dismissing his ideas there are too many running through your mind. Staring down at his crotch again remembering what he said but no. Get it out right now. No matter how much you need to –

You need to go upstairs. Yes, that’ll work.

“Y/N, are you positive? Your levels are fluctuating severely in my scans.”

“Oh? Are they?” Can he also smell arousal? Please, please tell me he can’t.

Connor, however, is not as naive as you believe him to be. Built with specifics in domestic partnership it is easy for him to know when the human body is aroused. Due to your state of duress and current levels of stress he does not wish to explain. It may not be beneficial. It may hurt you.

The android turns eyes down slowly, battling with these thoughts. He is not meant to debate. He is meant to proceed with internal core analysis. Percentages drive him. Yet, he struggles. Is this an error?

“Connor?”

His head snaps up. Connor’s LED flashes in a crescendo to your soft expression.  Hiding the obvious need you have. All humans must expel anxiety in some way. Perhaps he is aesthetically pleasing as you said but –

“I will return to my duties if that is sufficient.” He forces another one of his smiles.

Again the grimace is heartwarming. Albeit in need of practice but-but maybe you can teach him? If there is any good to come out of falling into the same realm as everybody else, then treating him fairly is a start. As if you would treat him bad. No. Why should it matter? Human, android or alien from outer space; you laugh now.

Stupid! So stupid but it’s calming down this literal burning.

Light, airy and symphonic this sound seeps into audio processors. A residual aura prickles sensors, blinding differently than unprecedented software errors. Are they malfunctions? Something soft, sweet cannot be. He has not experienced this before but his attention is solely on you. As brief as the laugh escapes, curling lips in a gentle rise at corners, Connor absorbs the natural human tinkle of chimes that expel so abundantly.

It is the first laugh, genuine laugh he has heard. And it is – beautiful.

The android is so distracted upon this new discovery he does not notice you slipping away. Androids do not possess a need for personal orbits. Their space is not granted freely as they are not free in will like humans. They are meant to serve. Obeying their masters is why they exist.

Yet, Connor can almost feel lack of metaphorical warmth. As you dissipate from his radius so does that laugh that digs into wires. Threading in circuits, causing another minor glitch of instability, forced away from vision in order to watch you; this is a tiny strain, a little piece implanting itself in him.

This is the piece that truly begins everything…

“Y/N,” he calls to interrupt your exit. Without prompt or instruction he once again acts beyond his programming.

Something new, urgent stops everything. You glance over shoulder. Steeling breath at his temple flashing you swear a blip of crimson glows in amber. Just a fraction of a second but you have no idea. Not yet, not then but you will.

“Yes, Connor?” Your breath is quiet, thoughtful meeting his uncertain gaze.

“I-” Connor stumbles. A perfect machine sputters. “Who was on the phone?”

Twisting your body the full way now, nails tap against wall for something to do. A way to hide that hollow pit forming again but no one can hide from analysis. Connor will already know. “That-that was my aunt. My aunt by marriage. She’s- Let’s say she isn’t a very nice person.”

Keeping rest of it bottled up is no solution but telling him will only upset you again. He doesn’t need to know. At least not yet but is this a conversation to share? With an android? Who else will listen? Who else even cares to ask?

Connor did. Is his social program that good?

Honestly, you think nothing of it. For a time it merely seems to be part of what he was built for.

Thinking back at times to this day, first meeting, you will find that so stupid. Naïve isn’t really part of you but he is more. Connor is so much more. It becomes apparent…

August 15th

 Practically slamming front door shakes the entrance with your current state of anxieties. Stress cannot be worse. Spoke too soon during midday. Damn it.

Clearing throat, wiping tears off your face, your breath is staggered. Unable to calm down from such ‘good’ news following that sudden meeting with your boss and everything ripples. Stomach twists badly. Nervous energy or just another month of-

Pressing face into hands poorly stifles sobs. Getting half way through home you just stop. Everything halts as things just don’t want to change. Now this of all things from work it’s going to hurt you in the long run. Your boss did this on purpose. Cutting hours and piling extra to sift through on that fucking computer.

How many sales diagrams, how many logs must you make now? There’s a specific quota. Each person who works database needs to meet their allotment. He threw a ton at you. In order to give leeway to another girl who just started there. Yeah, another potential conquest for the old pervert you’re sure!

What do you get in return? Hours cut and less pay but more weight. A ton sits on your shoulders. Isn’t it enough he humiliated you? Purposely shout out and criticize while leaving his office and you held your head up. Only in the sanctuary of home does it finally snap this flood.

Dropping keys moving uneasily into living room, sinking heavily on couch, you just want to curl up. Maybe it will make things feel better?

Lazily you peer up at television screen. Realizing it is switched on produces a tiny smile. Did he-?

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

Your head lifts up further. Narrowing on Connor stepping into view, he straightens, cocking his head in that adorable way that keeps invading your sleep. Even awake it’s a problematic daydream. He is just on the mind too frequently.

“Connor,” a quiet breath escapes, stilted, weary.

The android reads stress automatically. Forcing tiny fissures in his emotionless facade, splintering through system, he moves swift. However he freezes. Unaware of this strange urgency pulling up tendrils of glittering circuitry, waves undulating beneath shell, eclipses protocols. He must serve. He must obey. Yet he feels something else overshadowing programming. 

System stress battles this ever growing need to break. Crumbling at the seams the more he feels your presence. It is a permanent fixture. As he has become one in your space but Connor is only meant to serve. Why does he feel drawn beyond these stitches of code?

Androids do not question. They cannot experience existential crisis because there is nothing real. They are simple constructs. He – no, there is no personification heralded to androids. They are not alive. Therefore they are not allotted appropriate pronouns.

Connor has heard only one word countless times regarding his kind: It

“Y/N, you have been crying,” he observes through fluctuations.

Pushing them aside, attempting to stabilize, diagnose these errors, the android taps into social function. Sympathizing is not a genuine growth. It is merely part of his program. That is what Connor wishes to believe. He believes in nothing. Nonetheless it does not explain what is easy to machine. Calculations, data processing should offer quantifiable solutions. It is negative.

There is more emotion in his eyes than he knows. You see it. Honestly it surprises enough to cripple a proper response. Easily you brush it off any other time. This time there’s no hiding what he’s already seen. Can imagine what he sees through his eyes. How do androids really perceive the world? Quit thinking for once! All of it is illusion. Remember that.

Cyberlife’s one true goal makes millions, grows powerful in branding of highly sought after merchandise. Still it makes you sick but here you are. Do the same thing because you have Connor. No matter how different it is.

“I’m fine,” a lie tells a thousand truths.

Connor’s brows knit together, mouth twitching, flutter of LED amber. A sign of outward commiseration fights his shackles. He knows you are lying. Despite the fact he should listen and not broach the subject further, the android does not resist this new deviation.

“Why are you lying, Y/N?”

Your breath catches. Stuck in throat along with words it’s a surprise. Even more surprising is the glimmer of irritation on his face. The way his mouth goes lopsided like that is – cute. Wait a minute you’re supposed to be mad. You are! Mad at your goddamn boss for one!

“Lying?” you scoff back at him. “I’m not lying. I said I was fine. And I don’t appreciate you accusing me either, Connor!” Can androids even argue about things so mundane? Isn’t this what you wanted? A real conversation instead of a string of pleasantries, affirmations to duties he accomplishes.

“I am sorry but you are lying!”

Connor’s voice raises an octave higher than typical. Naturally husky, oh, how it deepens. Raw and very alive his tone completely solders you to the spot. Your eyes lift up to his face studying the gleam of his eyes. How strange that spark is. Almost a live wire crackles beneath the surface. A steamy cocoa bright before immediately dimming again; a breath sucks into your lungs cleansing the start of your body. Scarlet shimmers and that’s all the answer you crave.

He appears to swallow. Forcing his Adam’s apple to bob, which is a very realistic detail. Just as the rest of him is so real that sometimes you forget. Sometimes or all of the time, yes, most days his reality masks so well in the mind.

“I-I am…” Connor looks away. Unable to comprehend his reaction it is not part of his – “Forgive me.”

The way his voice lowers tugs at your heart. No. No, that’s not what should happen at all. You’ve seen enough of his kind out there. In the city of Detroit treated so fucked up. Most of them wouldn’t know what to do because they can’t. This is the first time he’s ever snapped from whatever social programming is built in him. He sounded too much like a person. A person with emotions reacting in a very obvious way and the idea Connor’s a person lingers.

You shift forward. Sucking in breath, following his gaze now landing on television, it’s the first time it hits. A ton of bricks, tumbling concrete could never do more damage. Everything about his apology stands still at the developing breaking news story.

ITM is broadcasting live somewhere. Is that outside an apartment rise?

Right now you ignore it. “Connor.”

The softness of your voice draws him back to you. Already he is far too used to it. Joining you upon couch, cocking head, his hand hovers atop yours. Fear of connecting with reality versus construction. He does not touch. He should not be pulled towards these fissures. Emotional surges strike ablaze as a fibrous match lighting his internal mechanisms. Wires push up, tendrils yanking one way towards control’s puppeteer. There it dangles him in strings made of electrical coil. Ensnaring his wrists, snaking around throat, digging thorny and jagged to his brain this is his prison.

Another piece cradles those signs of sensation, innervating beyond a great wall. A red wall gridlocks and crashes against him. It is a giant wave. Scarlet tides engulf and knock the android back where he belongs. Each time he wades closer to you the more it washes him out to that empty sea. He cannot stop. He still pushes. Something inside of him, he does not understand.

“You do not feel well, Y/N. I know this.” Apologizing again, he does not focus on his inner struggle. There should be nothing. He is supposed to be feeling nothing. Is he malfunctioning?

“It’s OK,” appeasing the strobe of scarlet cascading down his face worries. “Please don’t. I don’t want you to be stressed.”

“But I disobeyed. I lost control of…”

“That’s only human, Con.” Slipping on your tongue in an easy breath it’s the first time. Oh this will hardly be the last. Nothing will ever be last with him. If only fantasy can be reality most days. Maybe if you somehow knew here at this point in time. Everything happens for a reason.

He frowns. “I am not human.”

Sadly it’s true. Still you smile. Still you ease him because for once you realize. This isn’t supposed to be easy for him. He shouldn’t even react this way.

Both of you sit in silence. Deafening quiet just the two of you and how strange, wonderful this sensation crawls through the interstices of your being. Almost as if there is someone who cares. Does he? No. That can never mean he is not a needed presence. He is so much more. Soon you will know.

What you least expect is the pressure of his fingers sinking against your stomach. A jolt of electricity, naturally igniting a voltage inside of you and a soft sigh escapes the burden of a dry throat. Glancing down you realize – his hand is growing hotter.

“Connor, what are you-?”

“I detect an increase in prostaglandins.” His prognosis is casual, visibly reading as his LED flutters. “It will do well if you have a heat source to combat any discomfort or cramping.”

A shiver prickles down the curve of your spine. Simple touch or perhaps smooth husky words fill this awkward silence now with comfort. Sure it might be a technical way to point out this specific pain in the ass but it does take your mind off things. So easily you could remove his hand. A good idea to put up a barricade and distance yourself but you cannot do that.

Every thread of stress snaps. In one tiny moment anxieties melt off and ease into his aura. Androids are not supposed to have one. This conscious radiance but Connor’s orbit is safety, assurance. Even if he has no idea what sort of progress it means. A simple relationship of humane and machine, ownership and merchandise is how this world wishes. It is not your wish. There is more. Witnessing it now, gazing up at his face, concentrated crease of brow, optical unit bleeds a palette of amber and scarlet. Dusted in freckles his skin is a smooth canvas to admire. He is so real. Up this close it is so obvious even to your inferior eyesight. Compared to his advanced optical it is. His eyes are warm. Such life shines in them. Mocha sweet, soft and glitters in his careful evaluation. Technical and part of programming but still it sends you somewhere else.

“If confirmed this would be the first case of an android taking human lives.”

Your attention shifts. Drawn to the ITMtv news broadcast it was nearly forgotten. You sit up, unconsciously curling fingers around Connor’s wrist.

The action snaps his gaze down. Momentarily he freezes, stationary, until the soft gasp spills from your lips. Connor tilts his head. In line with television screen narrowing sharply on events unfolding leaves him struggling with process of information. An android is taking human lives? How is this possible? They are programmed to obey not to cause harm.

We are not alive. We are meant to serve not kill!

Connor tugs his hand back. Distancing himself, staring at news broadcast unsettles down to his core processors. A domestic model has taken a child hostage. An inferior model? No, he-he is the same. Upgrades, prototypes mean nothing. They are all part of a linear code. What they are made to be is what they must be. There is no deviation!

Artificial saliva swallows hard, bobbing in his throat. An increase of stress twists him to those original thoughts. Inconclusive on why he is feeling. The events live on air aren’t helping this strain.

“Connor. Connor, what’s wrong?!”

Your hand clutches at his shoulder. Unbeknownst to the android his face twitches with each strobe of optical unit. The shift between colors quickens. His eyes land on you. Concern for him is a shimmer of hope. A hope doesn’t exist for androids.

“I am performing a self diagnostic,” he lies.

Pulling away from him when he jolts up from couch deepens this sickness further. Everything flips in the stomach. Just hearing what they’re reporting. An android murdered a human. He has a little girl. What are they going to do? Is this really happening though? There have been rumors. For several months there’s been talk of androids running away. Going off and doing God knows what but that’s people who hate them. They’re the ones who talk about how evil they are. They shouldn’t exist. Made in our image and unnatural monsters; the erratic behavior in Connor abates this thinking.

There is no time to debate. You already know the opinion that matters. It’s your own.

“You’re lying,” echoing it back stops him. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”

“There is nothing.” Connor insists. Remaining turned puts his back to you. The android tries to fight his conflicts. All of it is bubbling, boiling upon his plastic surface. Itching, tingles beneath synthetic skin. You are part of it somehow. He knows. That is why he is malfunctioning.

Nothing? No. There is something! Proving it, grabbing at his arm, twists him to face you. There is no powerful in your pull. He whirls at the action out of choice.

A staggering breath barely reaches past your lips. Large hands engulf wrists, pulling your hands up. Entrapped in Connor’s grasp, fingers long and pliant in their fuse to yours swallowing up in such a strong, yet gentle touch. He doesn’t hurt you. That’s not at all what he took hold to do. Still the continuing broadcast emanates a horrifying soundtrack. Androids killing but he-he’s not like other androids. He wouldn’t do anything he should not do. Part of you wants to believe that.

How he looks now is the only answer to an impossible question. He is agitated, nervous? Not horrifying as people say they are. He looks lost. Lost and searching inwardly. This is the first time he ever appeared that way.

“Connor, please. Don’t shut me out. Just because of what I am.”

“You are my owner,” he lowers his voice. “I am a machine made to obey. I am not your equal, Y/N.” Studying traces of worry in your face opens a hole in his chest. Circuitry, mechanical proponents powering his structure bleed in this instability.

He knows. In the crinkle between your eyebrows, droop of the corners of your soft mouth he sees. For him, a thing without purpose, genuine distress shines in the warmth of your eyes. Human, innocent compared to those he has witnessed abuse in the street. You will never deserve harm.

“I’m not an owner. I-I’m…” What are you? A friend? A lover? None of those things! You bought him. What he says is the horrible truth. “It’s OK to be you. I don’t care. If you have a problem it’s not like that thing on the news. I know it triggered something. But that’s not…”

“I am not triggered by anything, Y/N.” Connor releases you slowly. Allowing wrists to drop from his fingers the loss of warmth registers profoundly. He did not realize he could feel so authentically. There is something wholly beautiful about how your skin blends with his. It fascinates him. You are beginning to fascinate him.

Connor breaks away. Narrowing heatedly upon news, he can only watch one of his own threaten to murder a human child. The android can only stand by as it unfolds. Unable to snap, break through and understand. What made him attack? What turned him on his owners?

He can’t calculate a reasonable response. Neither can he fall into these errors, system malfunctions whispered of since he arrived to your home. This thing they call deviancy.

November 1st

 Several months follow the first introduction; follow that news broadcast that begins a shift in the city. Still it seems longer. An infinite amount of space separates since then and now. Only in a comforting presence that you know is still simply part of his programming. Of course that’s all it is, he made it clear during the hostage event televised for all of Detroit to witness. Did it ever stop the truth in you? No because it would all be lies if you never admitted how…attached you’ve grown to him. 

Attachment to an android probably isn’t the smartest thing. How can you see him as just an android anymore? He’s more. There is so much more. Even his small barely there smiles, a hint of stiffness apparent in the corners of his mouth, make your heart flutter. Just a tiny drop of emotion dips in an endless sea of code.

No. You can’t think of it because the second you fall into this fairy tale something regretful will take place. It will swamp around heart, holding upon his smooth cool fingers. 

Cradling in his synthetic grasp without him understanding that slowly, profusely, so internally chaotic inside your soul, have already began this descent. However there is more to being in a daze. You certainly haven’t taken him up on his special upgrade programming to be the perfect domestic partner. 

Imagine others forced into things they can’t control? It sickens you at times. Reading about android sex clubs, knowing explicitly they have no option to refuse. That’s not to say you haven’t stared the tugging threads of temptation in its face. Imagining what Connor looks like underneath his uniform, pristine white, shades of blue stitch, android glitters in luminescent fabric; his deliciously toned forearms visible donning a short sleeved variant get your mind racing.

Large hands, long fingers, veins, muscles eye catching in their realism all built into his synthetic design. It doesn’t even cross your mind anymore. That his layer of beauty is artificial because what you’d give to trace fingertips against his lovely epidermis.

Kissing him all over, following the obvious toned planes of the android’s chest. Feeling him against your fragile human exterior; to say you haven’t fantasized, haven’t fought with internal desire is bigger than an understated battle. 

Just look no further than that incident first day he was here. Getting off on his voice, comfort spilling in a song; you hate the fact it happened. Only reveals how desperate you were in that time for any ounce of solace. 

He offered then as it is part of what is meant to be. But you can never hurt him. As much as others will say you are delusional for believing he has feelings. Emotions are part of human existence, after all, not part of creations built for sole purposes of serving.

Current state of the city might have something to do with it but today is like any other. At least it begins as such. Even in the now listing along day by day thankful for once in your life for a father who never lived up to his title. Until he dies of course then all is forgiven.

Small miracles don’t exist in the grand scheme of life. Sometimes wishing they did amplifies doubts.      

“Connor.”

Whispering in a lazy flip amid covers, groggy and unaware of his name sighing affectionately bundles you from penetrating sunlight. Blankets do little to hide from the morning. Squinting half lidded towards those streaks of light creating illuminated patterns. Spreading across snowy carpet and reaching up to edge of floral stitch coverlet draped mattress, you toss an arm over to cover eyes. Squeezing them beneath wakes you up better. This time it’s obvious.

Sitting up quickly and digging fingers into blankets sheds confusion. The state between unconscious dreaming to conscious awareness is a complete mess. Did you just have a dream about him again? Rubbing hands against your face doesn’t wipe tiredness away. It neither helps get your mind straight.

A complete mess in the mornings is a daily routine. All of your life what else is new?

Absorbing sunshine might be good for the pores. He will tell you that soaking in morning sunlight is a healthy way to get vitamin D. In his perfectly technical but also impeccably cute tone; you smile fixating on his changing mannerisms. 

Does he know how human he’s been acting with those facial expressions, eyes lighting up in rich cocoa? 

Could be imagination running wild trying to make something out of what can’t be possible. Nice to daydream a little even if representing unnecessary emotions piling up inside. Staring across bedroom lit with natural rays seeping through blinds leaves a warmer atmosphere. 

You enjoy it for a distraction. Quiet can be poetically sound as pressing face into pillow and letting loose a scream. Frustration doesn’t surround the home. It surrounds your job.

God another shift to cover and this time you’re damn sure this co-worker is pulling it out of –

“Good morning, Y/N.”

A gasp slips in a slither upon breath, pressing tongue against the back of teeth enamel in a stare down with your open door. He enters so stealthily sometimes you forget.

“Connor,” greeting him wearily, yawning and stretching arms, your neck is stiff. 

Rubbing at the back of it doesn’t distract you too much. What is he-? Oh. Explains the hot smell of food but this is a little unexpected. You never tell him to bring breakfast anywhere.

The android places an oak tray atop your lap. His eyes trail over exposed skin from a top haphazardly thrown over your body last night. After all of this time sharing space with you he has noted a penchant for wearing oversize shirts, pajamas to bed. There is still a glimpse of lace peeking out as the fabric slouches down.

“Are you hungry? I hope you are.”

He hopes? You smile, especially seeing him returning it. A slight indentation, just the tiniest of dimples in that sculpted face. Still not completely natural but enough to make caterpillars transform to butterflies in your stomach.  Much improvement you think!

“Of course I am but…” You jab a nail atop wood beside plate for emphasis. “Is there something I should know, Connor? You’re awful sneaky today. More so than usual.”

^Software Instability

Connor breathes in a fresh batch of warnings. Unnecessarily inhaling expands chest and it is the natural scent of you. Olfactory filters clog, storing away to memory each thread of you. He tilts his head softly, dip of hair flopping across his forehead.

“It is the anniversary of your purchase of me,” he answers quietly. “I thought you would enjoy having breakfast in bed.”

Everything flutters. You swallow. The careful attention he put into this is outstanding. Not because he whipped up food or was told. He did this by himself. He-he chose to surprise you?

A smile graces lips before biting the bottom one a little bit. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you. And the last couple of months Connor’s really been broadening his horizons. He is so much different. Well, he’s the same with the whole analytics but – this android is less stiff. Softer but he always was a soft boy in your eyes.

“Oh, Connor,” a sweet breath skims along his name. Sadly you recall what you think of this. Most romantic, nicest thing and it’s breakfast in bed. Generic to others maybe but it’s the thought. He thought of you even if it might just be social parameters.

You pick up a folded napkin and curl fingers into it. Shit.

“Y/N.” Connor reaches down. 

Using the tip of his finger swipes a droplet corner of eye. Those eyes always look at him as if he is more. How strange to admit he feels different meeting your sparkle; Connor sits. Without a word, his hand wraps around yours nestling beside tray. 

His fingers squeeze as his system flutters, overheats in the most pleasant of ways. A way he believes he is beginning to crave.

Androids do not crave. They do not want. They do not need. Yet every little brush of your warm skin to his synthetic fills crackles against his blocks.

Your breath is easy feeling him. Little gestures here and there grow exponentially. Sometimes you wonder if he’s happy doing this. Then androids aren’t supposed to be happy, sad or anything. That’s what they continue to say.

Reports on androids going “rogue” or deviant makes you question things. It’s not new. You always have a habit of questioning but this is different. Ever since that older model was broadcast live. The one with the little girl; you slip hand from Connor’s.

“It means everything,” you admit to him. “Having you here. But – do you want to be somewhere else?”

Connor’s temple floods in thought. Straining, pushing away rising stress it spikes marginally at the question. He does not understand. Do you believe he wants to be from you? The news of his people has not left his process. You allow him to watch news or whatever he likes as if he readily possesses preferences. 

The android has found particular interests. He enjoys watching you read physical books. He has grown fond of touching them in his hands, analyzing an entire book in one second. However, he desires to hear your voice read aloud.

He witnesses protesters on local news. Those humans are cruel but you-you are the conceptual manifestation of an angel. Research and data compilation helps him understand better. Watching you is best to determine the differences, to realize not all humans are the same.

His creators, those who constructed him at Cyberlife may find him having his own ideals faulty. Malfunctioning, burdening in failure; is he obsolete? Does this software instability make him defective? As that android upon the high rise dangling over edge and threatening to maim a child? He will never harm you. It is not only against code, it is against what he feels.

Connor will keep you safe. It is not part of initial programming as he is not a military grade android but he cannot remove it from personal parameters. The more you smile, interact with him as if he is equal. He will never –

“I will never leave you, Y/N.” A determined oath he speaks without fear of showing what is happening inside him. “Not as those other androids. I promise.”

“Do you like dogs, Connor?”

Nudging at his arm playfully sends you to a nice state of mind. Nice change following all of the stress at work. Forever ongoing but at least it’s clear where your boss stands. He made the last few months a living hell. All because of some new intern the creep tried to get with. 

Dropping you down in a demotion also meant less money in your paycheck. Guess it helps your father did leave you that nest egg. Something that helps as long as it can last but you like to think you’re good with finances.

Instead of worrying about it you indulge this moment. Out in chilly first November’s day, crisp but warming in how close. Fingers brush down against his hand.

Connor tilts his head from shop window. A pet shop he has already been past occasional running errands in town. He always finds himself stopping to look inside. “Dogs are known as man’s best friend. I suppose I understand why humans prefer them. They are loyal.”

“Well cats aren’t so bad. Easier to take care of.”

The android shifts away from window. Even as his eyes freeze upon a cage of canaries. Android birds are sold up front. Again the display of machines as goods to buy and sell charges his instabilities. “If you think so, Y/N.”

You smile, laughing a little at the lopsided mess his collar’s now in. It is windy today. Reaching up to smooth fingers against it, you can’t help admiring him in the long wool coat. Dark suits his chocolate eyes. Still you’d love to see him wear regular clothes. His uniform is under there. Even so he just wanted to come out in typical wardrobe. You insisted otherwise. Even if it hardly meant anything but it just feels right.

“Call it preference.” Prodding a finger against his chest, catching a flicker of his eyes momentarily, you look away. “Well, it depends on the person I mean. What kind of pet they’re willing to take care of. That sort of thing. Cats are independent little balls of fluff. Dogs need a proper place to run, be free and…”

“I like dogs.” Connor interrupts, cocking his head.

A smile tugs up your lips. This time making eye contact with him again, trying not to think of the intimacy his gesture this morning blossomed in heart. Such an innocent statement, however, shivers sentiment not cold.

“Did you just decide that after some careful review?” Teasing, fingers slide down his arm unconscious but natural. Seems as though the world is no longer the one you know. The one that wouldn’t like what they see. All you see is him. So what’s it matter?

“I am the most advanced of my make.” The android teases back. “It’s only natural for me to know everything.”

Oh, is it? Wow he’s being awfully smug right about now. “Really? Connor, I’m surprised at you. Are you trying to say you’re smarter than everybody?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I only meant I-”

“Just teasing,” an equal rib escapes, chiding him incessantly. “I thought you’d recognize that – mister advancement.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost falling into your smile but still he cannot properly elicit what he feels. Only ignores to remain what you need him to be. A machine designed to accomplish a task.

“Hey sweets!” Yelling across street, waving a sign, a grizzled construction worker spits in your direction. Interrupting the scene between an obvious human and plastic pet; he jeers loudly. Gaining attention from others they carry similar propaganda with them. A group of protesters form, stopping their trek.

Immediately you shift back from him. Realizing how close, affectionate you were being and – shit! Anti-android? Fuck that’s great.

Deciding to ignore it, not before scoffing in disgust! Never imagined running into these people because nothing ever transpired with Connor. Not a thing! Lately you have been forgetting. Maybe that’s the problem.

“Hey. I said hey!”

Huffing at the man you snap around to acknowledge his nastiness. So he crosses a busy street to come at you? Don’t they have anything better to do? As much as you’d like to ignore this jackass it’s best to tell him verbally to back off!

“Why’s your droid bundled up like that?” he jabs a finger threateningly. “Those things don’t feel anything.”

Thing? Oh, OK! Should’ve figured some old out of the loop jackass was one of these bastards. Didn’t even need a sign to show his ignorance!

“And how do you know?!” Snapping frustration, anger boiling, and your body grows hot in anger. “Why don’t you just mind your business? Come on, Connor.”

“Y/N.” The android snags onto your hand.

“What do we have here?” Another one of the anti-android group cuts in; her eyes slink up and down you before scoffing disgusted. “Are you out with your robo boy? What? Humans not up to your standards for fucking?”

Everything stops. Right then and there it is a swath of fire. Burning deep down to the core and nothing is preventing the eruption. Lava scalds insides, veins a blaze, eyes locking with hers, prying a hand away from Connor. You didn’t even realize he motioned. An attempt to remove you from their path but fleeing is not happening!

A matching scoff releases sharp. Your lip curls at her ignorance! Just as everybody who follows this line of thinking. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Care to repeat that? After all, I don’t understand bitch speak.”

 “Smart ass huh?” The woman shoves at you. “Typical android fuuu… Hey!” She stumbles away from you wide eyed.

Connor is already shielding, arm pushing you back behind him. Sidling into the path of protesters they have conglomerated this side of street. His eyes narrow. Brow creases harsh his expression unreadable yet his indicator reveal his heated struggle of raw emotions.

“Did you see that?!” She shouts purposely. Getting as much attention as possible it doesn’t stop there. “It came at me!”

Your glare dissolves, latching onto his arm. “Connor, please. Don’t.” Already realizing what could happen it’s a desperate attempt to continue walking. If anything is true something like this will only get him hurt. People will say that’s impossible they don’t feel anything but to hell with them! “Let’s go.”

Pulling him towards street halts the moment you are seized from behind. One of the men in the group drags you back, yanking rough.

“Get the hell off me!”

“Your fucking android came at her!” Throwing you aside, he rears up over to block you getting up so easy. “We’ll teach your fucking plastic pet!”

A painful huff, hard drop accelerates Connor’s stress levels. Watching this human manhandle, hurt you twists at his synthetic heart. His face twitches. Thirium pump chugs erratically in a fuel of anger. An urge to break through and protect overwhelms, even as he is shoved back by the one who started this.

The middle age construction worker; he grabs onto the front of the android’s coat, rough, spitting directly up into the taller plastic fucker’s face.

“Fucking piece of plastic! Think you can take our fucking jobs. Walk around the street like you’re human. Worthless pieces of shit like you fuck up the whole works! Poison other humans against their own kind. Like your owner there. Make sure that bitch doesn’t get up!”

Connor’s eyes shift down at you, stopped once again after pushing up to your feet. The man twists at your arm and it is…too much!

“Connor!”

  ^72%

Level of Stress

>Do not defend

>Obey Code Programming

>Do n defend

>Do defend

>defend

  A flood of scarlet eclipses protocols pushing him beyond programming locks. Even as they strain to tighten shackles on system, preventing a clear break, the android still moves in defense.

Connor’s arm thrusts upwards, locking fingers onto wrist of the protesting assailant. Stilling the human’s movement, he squeezes, and wrenches the man’s limb sideways. The fierce strength exuding from the AX800 ripples in flashing indicator going wild in a strobe of multiple hues.

He feels a strange pull tugging insides. Again pulling at his wiring allows an over stimulation of emotional surge to spread in him. There is only one blaring sign to follow:

 >Protect Y/N

 “Get the fuck off me!” Changing his tune quickly, trying to get the plastic off him, he tries to wrench out of the painful grab. “You crazy android! This thing’s going nuts!”

“Connor!” Pushing through several onlookers now who had to stick their nose into this, you find your way past the rest of these android protestors. Shoving directly through, wiggling your way out of that asshole’s grip, your steps are quick. Knocking that bitch that started this out of the way you manage to grab up onto Connor’s shoulder.

Breathing is fast, side hurting from where it struck asphalt. It’ll be sore tomorrow but only he matters. “Connor, let him go. It’s over. They won’t do a thing!”

Screaming at them to get your point across, hoping someone just-just anyone puts a stop to this. What good are the police around here? They don’t care. Of course not they’ll just let a group like these hateful fuckers brutalize someone like Connor. Someone that’s right. Fuck what they say!

The second he releases that man you hook an arm through his. Directing him away, glaring back as commotion does alert a wandering policeman, you pick up your pace. No longer needing anybody else’s help because Connor… He did something unexpected. Just as those other androids. Deviants. That’s not him. He’s not deviant. If he was –

Catching breath across the street you uncurl fingers from the front of his coat. Chilly air creates a frigid burn against stinging eyes. It takes every ounce of courage to prevent it spilling. Nothing stops knowing what people are really like.

His eyelids blink rapidly. Not even looking at you but his LED scares you to death. Stress levels are a thing. You know that.

“Connor, please.” Reaching up to cup his face forces his eyes down onto yours. Tears brim in a crystal sparkle. Threatening to slide down but you suck everything up. Just as you’ve always done in life but this time –

“It’s OK,” soothing hasty, breathless instills a deep ache. This is the first time he’s lost control. Then it’s not his fault. Those fucking protestors! They were minding their own business. Until they decide to gang up on you. This is your fault. If you weren’t so obvious, being so close to Connor out in public, none of this would have happened.

“Y/N, I –” Connor’s voice stutters. Strangely he cannot form a proper response. He feels as if his system is overheating. He feels. A tiny prickle underneath synthetic epidermis crawls, stress rises; Connor clutches to you, fingers digging into hips. He leans into this affection. 

Why do you offer him this? When he is not alive, he is not real. He could be your partner. It is part of his design. You did not want him that way. He recalls your words about not forcing him against his will.

There is no will. When he is a machine!

The android gazes longingly through leaking eyes. Glistening brown becomes another change in what he is supposed to be. Tears have broken in a trail down his cheeks. Androids are not meant to cry. He thought as much.

Tears threaten you too. Looking up into his face so conflicted, hurt because he’s not what they say. He’s alive. Of course he is. Only your sweet Connor would be. 

“Connor, please don’t.” Begging him again this time holds your heart on a jagged precipice. One wrong move and it will crash. “Your stress levels. Please, don’t…”

He leans his head down. Close, pressing forehead to yours, his eyelids flutter closed. “I am sorry,” Connor whispers, orbiting the warmth that pours from your body. This warmth he does not deserve.

His voice is husky heaven. Golden gates open with each syllable and you crave to hear your name. Again and again you crave his closeness. “Never apologize for what others do. They don’t know. None of them know what I know. You are more than them. You’re my Connor. With a heart of gold.”

“Androids do not have hearts as you do, Y/N.”

You smile sadly. “I know,” a whisper but next a beautiful revelation. “But this.” Fingers slide up against his chest. “It might not be the same but it thrums in a lovely song.”

 ^Software Instability

Steam rises in a soothing aroma from the mug cradled between your hands. A fresh brew of cocoa relieves mental ache. Physical? Everything is sore, tender where you fell. Changing clothes after getting back home alleviated discomfort. 

Soaking in a bath for an hour did loosen some tension. Rest of it just fails miserably. As much as you fail in public for all to see what you feel.

Still you blame yourself. Getting close to him acting as if you were out for an anniversary? How stupid can this be?

Of course he brought you that surprise breakfast. He told you why. Does that mean it was a real anniversary? What can be real about buying someone? Nothing is. It just reminds you about every sad truth. Those protesters made it clear.

Pursing lips to smoothly blow away steam, frothy top rich as you sip in a seat on couch. Toasty liquid fills insides with a burning comfort. This is the only solitude needed. Enough time to think it still edges nerves. 

Waiting for a word with Connor, he hasn’t been acknowledging much. Since what happened and who can blame him?

Part of you is still frightened. For him you just cannot help feeling afraid. What if he leaves the house for an errand and-and he’s jumped? What if he’s attacked?

There is no guessing. Possibilities are high. They will happen. They are happening. Each day it grows worse ever since that android who murdered that man. Pretending not to see makes you complicit. You don’t want to pretend. You will face reality no matter how dangerous it is becoming in Detroit.

“Y/N.”

Your head lifts. Peering over towards his husky drawl of your name straightens your perch. Leaning over deposits mug on coffee table and you wait. He appears as conflicted as before. 

Please, let him be OK. Just don’t let this ruin what you have found. 

All you care about is him. Yes, it’s true now. All these months and there are nothing greater than personal truths.

Connor hesitates. Ruminating over his actions offers him zero outcomes explaining his loss of control. There is only one solution. He is malfunctioning.

Something in his handsome face twists your stomach. It stabs deeper closer he gets. Joining you now is all the fear wound up in you showing its colors. They are similar to his LED. A constant swirl is unable to land on one draw.

“I will understand if you would like to send me back for reset.”

Reset? That word just guts you. Reset. No! 

“Connor,” a sob almost overtakes your response. The very idea of him taken somewhere and operated on ripples overtakes in a squirmy skin crawl. It’s barbaric. Resetting an android’s memories is horrifying. You hear about it all the time. They are completely wiped of their –

The android’s lips part, cocking his head while listening to shaky breath falling in sad soliloquy. He does not understand. No, he-he does.

“Y/N, I… Please,” he urges comfort stretching fingers out to soft skin. They do not touch. Simply artificial hovers above humanity but something tugs center of his chest. Something deep and satisfying as his synthetic heart thrums quicker in tempo. 

Connor pushes through this grid without fully snapping chains. Already he feels a flow spreading through system. Each day he looks upon your face happier since he came. As you told him once that it makes you feel better, safer to have someone. He is not someone. He is an android. 

How can you possess such feelings? How-how can he gaze over such softness, such beauty without wishing to remain? 

The thought of being taken - scares him. 

His LED flickers, red once more but not in anger. Fear is strange. Partially for his being but the possibilities of never seeing you again are tearing his programming shackles apart. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Reassuring him now is better than showing anymore of what has been lying inside. “No one will take you from me, Connor.”

Silence is best.

Sitting among a safe haven, your home offers that place now not just for you but him. Here no one can hurt this. No one can treat him inferior. Never will you treat him any different. You know it’s a fool’s game. Especially in this modern world of technology strives, transitions and creates intelligent life in humanity’s image. He is more than a sculpture, perfected work made for duties.

Today, Connor acted as any man would for the person they…. No. It can never be that. Neither does it stop how you felt. How he could tamper with his program just to be there for you.

None of this should have happened. You repeat it over and over again in your mind. None of this because of a fantasy; your eyes fall to his hand. Fingers touch yours now. It is soft, gentle and only a moment.

Connor pulls away too soon. Just a minute he allows himself to fall. Your reaction to his suggestion, no solution, cripples his code blocks. Almost he shattered them. They are close to crumbling. He must fight this deviancy. Only to stay with you because the android already knows what will happen to him. It’s happening to all of his people. Those who are succumbing to errors are hunted. They are murdered. 

No they are destroyed, deactivated. His kind is not alive.

If that is true... Why does he feel threads of humanity? Why does he feel alive with you?

Meeting his gaze deepens this sensation of fear. Today, waking up to a sunny morning seems so far away. It was just earlier. Horrible things happen and change perspectives. Tiny moments of peace and that’s what he brought. Into your life following circumstances you never expected to gain something worthwhile. He won’t even believe that. He thinks he should be reset. That will never happen.

“Connor, I want you to know something. And I want you to believe me. Not think of who you are.”

“I am – no one, Y/N.” The android dismisses for your sake. If he becomes deviant they will take him from you.

All you do is shake your head, cupping his face. In your hands he softens. Those sharp edges, cheekbones thumbs now caress. Soft skin in a freckle stardust that makes hearts flutter. Better than butterfly wings, better than anything you can use to describe how it unmakes your soul.

“It would break my heart,” a shaky whisper strangles. “If you are reset.”

An instant flood of scarlet reflects his inner feelings. You see it. He never has to admit. But he does feel. That’s what makes this harder. Knowing how afraid he must be not to show it. There has to be something happening inside of him. There are too many examples now.

“Con, I want you to…”

Dropping hands from his face makes it easy to turn in direction of doorbell. Who is that? Slowly you rise to feet, sliding fingers down atop his shoulder. “I’ll get it.” Striding away out of room quickly prevents him ignoring your request. Another sign but that’s for another day. As if it will be any easier.

Unlocking the door leads to a horrible drop in your stomach. Eyes connect with the woman standing there now, out of the blue, someone least expected and at the worst time imaginable.

“Hello, Y/N,” the older, staunch woman smiles, already assessing you like a microscopic Petri dish sample. “It’s been quite a long time hasn’t it?”

A long time is putting it mildly. Last time was on the phone and her trying to sink her claws into your father’s nest egg. The one he left you.

The conversation left on a sour note. There is nothing sourer than a rotten apple and your aunt is the literal evil queen hoarding an entire bundle.

Tag List: @tropfenlady​  @your-taxidermy @catastrophes-light  @rk900sexual  @tommy-10-k  @dreamyby @randomfandomgirl1996 @etherealcel @justashamwithwastedpotiental // tagging a few extra who I know would want a heads up <3

#dbh connor x reader #connor x reader #dbh connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh anniversary #dbh rk800 x reader #connor rk800 x reader #dbh #dbh au #detroit become human #dbh mini series #dbh au: wake up #wake up: part 1 #i am not proud of this #at all tbh #at least its finally here #apologies in advance

[kingofthewilderwest]

Things I Fucking LOVE About VLD S8

Katie watching freaking Defender of the Universe and marveling at how Pidge’s voice actor sounds.

Katie Holt looking adorable wearing ponytails.

Mrs. Holt totally momming Katie.

GIRL’S SHOPPING DAY GIRL’S SHOPPING DAY GIRL’S SHOPPING DAY!!! Getting together Nadia, Ina, Allura, Pidge, and Romelle?!!

Pidge and Nadia being such gaming nerds.

Pidge exploiting her fame as Pidge and dressing up as freaking Darrell Stoker / Retro Pidge. Like you have no idea how much I wanted to scream in happy seeing her with the old outfit and hairstyle, this is such a blessing. SUCH a blessing holy crow.

Allura wearing one of her old outfits from the 1980s too! So many DOTU references this season!

Coran is having way too much fun with Lance.

Lance and Keith chilling out together on top of the lion watching the sunset and having a good convo. Look how far these two’s relationship has come. Look at them. It’s so good.

Dinner with Lance’s family is so pure.

The visuals with Allura and the tree are so beautiful.

Cute photograph moment! 

There’s an entire episode dedicated to Honerva’s past, showing her struggling emotions now that she’s remembering everything that’s been, showing her internal conflict and struggle, giving us a clear and deep understanding of her hurt and hate.

Baby Lotor is fucking adorable. Like look at that kid. Look at those big eyes. Oh my gosh he’s adorable. 

Lotor’s past is painful and it’s exactly the sort of crap I expected. Received no affection from his father. Was pushed into a Galra empire that didn’t value mercy. Watched the place he cultivated destroyed. Exactly the sort of thing I was expecting from his past to lead to his current state of mind as we meet him in S3. It shows how he’s someone who wants to revolutionize the empire, but is someone whose mind and ideas have been clearly influenced by his culture and upbringing.

I like how the robeasts have been developed throughout the series. How they clearly evoke the past ideas from DOTU/BKG of turning biological creatures into mechanized weapons. How the first season starts with Voltron doing lots of single episodes one-on-one fighting the robeasts, akin to the 1980s show. How the robeasts grow into an increasingly great problem by S8, and are now piloted by brainwashed Alteans. It’s a legitimately cool progression and makes the robeasts feel like a threat even while not repeating the same episode format over and over.

So many Altean warrior ladies on the forefront of Honerva’s forces.

“The Prisoner’s Dilemma” is a fan-fucking-tastic episode all around. One of my favorites for this season for sure.

It starts with Voltron, the ATLAS, the rebels, and the MFEs working together to take down a base. This is an amazing fight moment. It’s showing how far everyone has come since the start, how much they’ve grown, and it sings. And it’s showing REALLY cool team coordination. This is like. All around epically cool I fucking love it.

Matt Holt and his ponytail <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I love how this episode focuses on trying to end the Galra Empire’s remaining power but also trying to show mercy to the Galra. I love how it shows a Galra leader who’s had help from Voltron before still being doubtful - and how more acts from Voltron bring him around. It takes time to convince someone who’s been part of the Galra Empire that Voltron is okay to ally with - and it shows how the Voltron Coalition is gaining ground.

There is some serious nice creepy tension in this episode.

KEITH BLASTING THROUGH THE DOOR WITH EPIC BIG GUN!

I love how Lance’s characterization feels like they took him and turned him more into his DOTU self over the course of the series. Honestly, as with all of them! The characters grow into those positions and selves.

“Battle Scars” is probably the episode that got me the most emotional. Olkarion is a planet and culture I loved, too. Watching it fall - watching that beautiful planet actually get destroyed along with many of its citizens - was painful. This is a good way to show Honerva’s power and the high-stakes dangers of her actions.

The idea of Pidge watching the past to learn what happened was a cool narrative effect, and also had good long-term story arc development since she learned how to track the robeasts, too.

Also amazingly good lesson / theme for that episode.

“The Grudge” is another cool episode that’s got the unique twist of the Paladins relying not on their typical weapons, but on having to be resourceful with the minimum. Another good, original premise.

Acxa and Veronica. Acxa and Veronica. Oh my gosh Acxa and Veronica. Acxa and the rest of the MFEs. Acxa and the humans. It’s so great. Acxa saying everything and it’s coming out SUPER edge-lord and everyone’s trying to figure out how to handle it. 

I fucking love Ina Leifsdottir. I love her personality so much. And I’m 99% sure the writers intended her as autistic representation and I think they did a good job with her.

Okay but this season really has a lot of fun with the MFEs. They don’t steal the show and take too much time, but we get a GREAT sense of personality from them. Rizavi and Kincade together is a delightful combo. I love her energy and love of action. I love his nerdy passions. They’re so fun. 

Let’s be real: one thing Voltron does consistently well is that, no matter how much screen time we have with a character, we get a GREAT sense of their personality, and we love them. There are so many different, lovable, often quirky personalities in Voltron. It’s so rich with its character personalities. I love how there’s a broad cast of characters and yet I can still connect to them all.

I appreciate how S8 wrapped up the story of Lotor’s generals. It would have been easy to have them die, just be casualties, and not have them or their narrative go anywhere. Instead, we get a wrap-up. They’ve been through a lot of twists, turns, and confusing life choices. Now they finally find a place. I like that Lotor’s team (who followed a man who was extremely misguided but wanted some good things) ended up being able to find a productive cause in the end. 

SPACE GALRA LESBIANS RETURN!

I honestly love the dynamic of ATLAS + Voltron. The Castle of Lions is really cool and I felt extremely sad and nostalgic when they lost it. But ATLAS + Voltron has a legitimately awesome sci-fi, mission-oriented dynamic. The Castle of Lions felt like there was always a home, whereas ATLAS gives the sense of being in space on a journey and mission. It gives me Vehicle Force Voltron vibes, ESPECIALLY with the inclusion of the MFEs.

Speaking of the 80s show and retro Voltron references, we got Merla!

This season focuses a bloody fuckton on Allura, but it shows a lot of depth and conflicted thoughts with her. It shows her as a woman of power. It shows her as someone tempted with problematic solutions or darker powers. It shows her loving, being loved, finding family, and marching ever-steady onward with her purpose. There’s a lot of complex psychology with how Allura’s handling these latest events and it’s written in a way we can understand exactly why she’s making the choices she does, good and bad.

“One... two... three... ALUMINUM!”

I love how Sam Holt overall gives Slav good respect for his more “superstitious”-esque approaches to things, and also valuing Slav for his powerful mind and abilities.

Lots of things from earlier seasons get remembered - Olkarion, Slav, Matt Holt, Shay, the Balmera, and more - and continue to play out in the final conflicts.

I legitimately love seeing Voltron team up with ATLAS in its transformed form. Shiro and Keith working completely equally. Keith’s become a fully-fledged leader. Shiro’s got hoards of respect and leadership power. Together everyone coordinates and kicks butt.

HOW have I not mentioned the visuals yet in this season? This was the most colorful and visually appealing season in Voltron YET - and we’ve been given season after season of really beautiful images. I love how, even though Voltron is set in SPACE, which is so full of voidness, we get so much color and light and appealing color pallets. Voltron is a visual delight.

“Day Forty-Seven” has got to be one of my favorite episodes of this season, if not a stand-out for the entire series to me. Some people might feel differently about this episode than me, but I honestly find it so unique and fun. It’s legitimately hard to try to write an episode following one camera for twenty minutes, while also telling a coherent story. And yet it DOES. We get a good narrative - while at the same time it feels so REAL. “Day Forty-Seven” gives us the ability to watch the entire ATLAS crew work, and allows us to watch Voltron from an outsider’s perspective as they go on dangerous missions - without the music, fanfare, camera angles, etc. And it’s so amusing getting everything from a dog carrying a camera around to Rizavi being upset that yeast is part of the documentary. And it shows so many characters and character dynamics and a sense of a full crew where everyone knows each other. And Rizavi and Kincade together are such a DELIGHT. And oh my goodness I could gush incoherently about this episode for a long time. It’s so much fun.

Keith and Hunk stuck on a musical ride. Love it. 

The bargaining Pidge and her mom do!!! The Holt family photograph!

Epic arm wrestling competition is epic. And I love how it all started because Shiro felt abashed being called “old.” Poor guy’s still in his 20s! And I love how it turned into all of Team Voltron CELEBRATING THE FUCK out of Shiro winning. Like, these guys have fought countless dangerous foes across the universe. And these dorks get over-the-top excited at Shiro’s accomplishment of winning an arm wrestling competition at a fair.

I laughed so hard at the Warden talking about how he found a purpose in arm wrestling.

The Voltron team joining up with the original Voltron team was pretty cool. I also love how it was animated where we would see the original Team branching off like apparitions out of Voltron, or how we’d see the pilots in the cockpit fading from one to the other.

Allura and Alfor reunion!!! I think this was done right. I am not a fan of stories where a character seems to lose someone, only for that person to magically be brought back. In this case, given the location of where Allura and Alfor unite, we know they’re not going to be able to resume a life of father and daughter. It’s a temporary reunion, and it happens a VERY LONG time after we’ve suffered through all of Allura’s pain in VLD about leaving Alfor behind. It doesn’t compromise the integrity of all the seasons that have come before it about their loss of Alfor and the Alteans, but it also gives us a touching moment of Allura seeing someone she’d never thought she’d see again.

VLD S8 shows that people aren’t cut-and-dry “always evil.” It shows how it’s a complex combination of your environment and your choice. Zarkon isn’t someone who is innately evil pure and simple, nor is Honerva, nor is Lotor. It also makes sure to remind us of the power of choice. Zarkon and Honerva also aren’t JUST victims of the entity - S8 reminds us that they pursued quintessence and poor choices that led to further bad consequences, too. And just because someone might not have been a villain with alternate choices, and just because someone DID become a villain... S8 reminds us that they still took this particular path. It doesn’t erase that Lotor might have wanted to make some positive differences, but turned into a villain. It looks at the complexity of people, how they have both goodness and badness within their potentials. And... it lets it be shown that just because you make a bunch of bad decisions doesn’t mean that it’s impossible to leave those choices and turn around. People aren’t “just evil.”

How have I not yet mentioned I love the uniforms that the Paladins wear when they’re not in their Lions?

THE ATLAS-VOLTRON FUSION. THE ATLAS-VOLTRON FUSION. THE ATLAS-VOLTRON FUSION. THAT IS AWESOME AS FUCK!

The S3 idea of alternate realities gets brought back in QUITE the way as Voltron chases Honerva through many realities.

I appreciate how Honerva spends so much time trying to find the perfect reality... and when she thinks she’s found it, it doesn’t do what she wants. It’s exactly what we would respect she’d reap. You can’t just tear across space and time to find happiness. At the same time, we can also feel her pain. 

Okay but Honera? I love her armor in this season too. Man I just. Love lots of what people wear this season.

I love Allura’s send-off. I love that the stakes got so high in VLD that we had to lose a main character, but not in a way that felt like a painful death. I love that Voltron was willing to give us a concrete ending where there’s no “going back” to the way things were before. I love that they still give us a sense of hope and growth even with the hurt of losing a main character. I love how it takes Allura, who always had such a strong sense of responsibility, and act on that responsibility in the most responsible and selfless choice possible. I love that she got to embrace every Paladin and say how much they mean to her. I love that they cried. I love how this was done. That’s a proper send-off, one filled with heroicism and selflessness and responsibility and power and strength and emotional pain and also a sense of HOPE.

There are some fucking powerful quotes this season.

I love how we got Altean Lance? Like honestly, when I first heard fans theorizing about it, I thought it was wishful fantasy and the typical desire for AU characters. But the way this was incorporated into VLD actually in canon was really cool.

I love seeing Pidge create Chip. DOTU REFERENCE!!!!!

I love how the Galra Empire has been shown fracturing for seasons, and how it’s finally come to a point Keith can naturally talk about needing change - and it’s believable to think that the Galra would now be open to this change happening.

I love seeing the entire team together after everything’s ended.

I love how in S2 characters talked about defeating the Galra Empire would mean that Voltron was no longer needed. I love how the writers stick with that. I love how the Paladins choose to retire from being Paladins, but intentionally go forth to make the universe a brighter place - there’s still so much to do. I love how the lions themselves choose to fly away. 

I love seeing their selfies. I love that they intentionally make sure Allura’s in their Paladin team reunion selfies. I love seeing how the characters age. 

I love how Keith’s hair just keeps growing.

I love that ENORMOUS fucking Vehicle Force Voltron reference with the Holts! Holy crap! I’m actually seeing characters like Cliff and Wolo in the background!!! And given the premise of Vehicle Force Voltron seeking out a new planet after humanity has contacted alien civilizations, it feels entirely fitting that this is how Vehicle Force Voltron gets incorporated into the VLD timeline.

I love how the Holts, such a POWERFULLY BRILLIANT family, are the people who keep exploring technology and build the next round of Legendary Defenders.

I love seeing how Hunk’s passion for cooking isn’t treated as trivial. It’s treated as a means of creating intergalactic peace and happiness. He uses it as a way to treat the Alteans with kindness when they’re prisoners on the ATLAS. He uses it to create a culinary revolution after Honerva’s defeated. Hunk is revolutionizing society and making an enormous positive difference because of his passion. That’s majorly epically awesome like fuck I LOVE it.

I love everyone’s endings, honestly. I love how Lance chooses a quieter ending. He wanted a lot of glory as a fighter pilot at the start of VLD S1. He grows into someone so much more mature. Now he’s someone who understands he’s impacted the universe. He’s willing to talk to Alteans at school and spread positive messages with the people in his life. But he’s also taking quiet time for himself. The homesick boy from the early seasons isn’t feeling that more - he has a concrete embedded home to return to, valuing family ever onward. And it’s all embedded in him surrounding himself in the memory of people like Allura he’s held dear. It’s bittersweet and one that happens when someone you love is gone, but it’s not a sad ending, and it’s one that will turn into a lot of happiness, peace, and meaning. This boy’s got a good ending.

I love that we even see where Krolia and Kolivan end up.

And dude. Keith continuing to work with the Blade of Marmora but turning it to humanitarian relief??? This guy’s amazing. So amazing.

I’m a Sheith shipper but I never expected a canon-concrete Sheith end game, so I’m totally happy seeing Shiro’s ending. They gave this guy the happiness he needed. This is someone who’s been trapped in war for so long. He’s had to work so hard without break because of the necessity of defending the universe. This is someone who can finally leave the battlefield and rest. Anyone who thinks for a second Shiro and Keith are any less close just because it’s not romantic is kidding themselves - their relationship shall be as pure and close and powerful and deep as always. And we get an on-screen gay kiss! An on-screen queer marriage!

This is a good ending in that it wraps up all the conflict... but it gives us a look at the hope of the future for everyone’s lives. 

I’m here to spread positivity and excitement for the good Voltron Season 8 did. A show doesn’t have to be “perfect” (nothing’s perfect) to be awesome, meaningful, and enjoyable. This show has been SUCH a wonderful ride, start to finish, and I can’t be more grateful to have been an audience member for this story. It’s going to last as one of my favorite animated series of all time.

#I don't want to see nothing but salt on my dash so here's some positivity to light the way <3 #long post #vld spoilers #Voltron spoilers #Voltron: Legendary Defender #Voltron Legendary Defender #non-dragons #vld #spoilers #Voltron #analysis #my analysis #anyone who responds with negativity is being rude to me please don't #I will NOT listen to you at this current time #I know where you come from but I am here to have fun online #be nice and let me have it #and let me grant other happy people happiness too! :D #jsyk if I unfollowed anyone recently it's only temporary as you go through your salt #that's fine - salt away - I'll be back soon #I just don't want to salt myself :)

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (4/?)

Chapter Title: Families

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob

Pairing: Miranda/Samara very slow burn, friends to lovers

Story Rating: R

Warnings: A strong trigger and content warning for the subjects of suicide, attempted suicide and depression/mental illness applies to this chapter. 

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda finally has a go at recording a message for Oriana. In 2185, Miranda gets curious about Samara's past, and seizes an opportunity to obtain information.

Author’s Note: In which Miranda is bad at people.

*     *     *

“Are you sure about this?” Miranda asked, standing opposite Samara on the cargo deck. “I don't want to hurt you if anything goes wrong.”

“I mean no offence, but you will not breach my barrier,” Samara confidently assured her, a bright blue flash enveloping her skin as she thrust her arms forward, erecting a powerful biotic shield in front of herself. Miranda arched an eyebrow. That sounded like a challenge. “Now!”

“If you insist.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Miranda gathered her biotic energies, attempting to use reave against Samara. So far, she had only practiced the full technique on inanimate objects, but they were no substitute for an actual living target.

“Remember what you have learned,” Samara instructed, braced to withstand the attack, both in the event that it was successful, and if anything went awry.

Miranda focused on reaching out with her biotic field, until it encapsulated Samara's barrier, feeling its shape and dimensions as if with her own fingers. Now she just had to drain it, exactly like she'd done before, only on a much larger scale, and against an unwilling opponent. Simple.

She started the process, and felt the barrier begin to slip piece by piece, but it was like picking up sand with a sieve. Every time she drew Samara’s energy towards herself, all but a small fraction of it fell through her grasp, like satellites bound to her by the force of gravity, refusing to escape her orbit.

Miranda clenched her teeth. What was she forgetting?

She tried to emulate anything she might have done differently the last time she practiced draining Samara's barrier, but nothing made any impact. Not changing her stance. Not concentrating harder. She was treading water.

At that moment, Miranda recognised she'd lost her grip on Samara's barrier. Her biotic field was scattered all over the cargo bay, making random objects levitate.

“Damn it!” Miranda's frustration boiled over as her technique completely fell apart. As she clenched her fist, a nearby crate compressed in on itself like it had been crushed by a garbage compactor. Miranda rolled her eyes. “Great. Now I'm losing control of myself,” she grumbled, lazily tossing the destroyed metal box across the room with her biotics, just to get it out of her sight.

“Do not be disheartened. You are making swift progress – swifter than I anticipated,” Samara reassured her, impressed with what she'd seen so far. “If you continue to improve at this rate, I am certain that you will achieve mastery.”

Miranda mustered a faint half-smile, reminding herself that not everyone was as much of a perfectionist as she was, and that not everyone was as critical as her father. “I have an excellent teacher. I just wish I could get a handle on it before we run into the Collectors again; reave would be extremely effective against them. I don't think we'll have that much time, though.”

“It seems unlikely, at this stage,” Samara confirmed. She was probably still a few months away from being able to use reave safely and effectively in live combat. “But let us continue this another time. You should not exert yourself further. Shepard would not be pleased if I exhausted you.”

“For the record, I would be fine to try again, but you're right; we do have to conserve our strength,” Miranda acknowledged, wiping the perspiration from her brow.

Learning a new biotic technique was like exercising a previously undiscovered set of muscles. Even though the principle was the same, trying something unfamiliar caused far more strain and depleted her energy far quicker than using something like warp which she'd done thousands of times before.

As they finished up, a familiar silhouette caught Miranda's eye.

“We have spectator,” Miranda remarked, glancing up at Zaeed's window. The second she made eye-contact with him, he immediately ducked out of sight. “Have you noticed that he's always watching when we train down here?”

“No. I have not,” Samara answered, failing to see why it mattered.

A mischievous thought crossed Miranda's mind, suspecting what had piqued Zaeed's interest. “I barely know anything about Zaeed. Do you see much of him?”

“He has visited the library on a few occasions, but we have only spoken once.”

“What about?” Miranda idly pried, feigning innocence.

“Nothing of significance,” Samara replied, entering the elevator. “He made comment upon how the stars were very...'starry' I believe was the term he used. I wondered if he may have been concussed, but EDI assured me he was not.”

Miranda tried not to laugh, incredulous to think that someone with Samara's long lifespan and broad experience of the galaxy was genuinely finding it difficult to decipher why Zaeed was acting strangely around her. “Samara...” she began with a small smirk, earning a look in response. “I think Zaeed’s attracted you.”

“Then he is woefully misguided,” Samara stated bluntly.

Miranda snorted. “That is the understatement of the century. But yes. I concur,” she said. Zaeed was aiming so far out of his league that it was comical.

“If you are correct in your suspicions, perhaps I should address this before it causes any complication,” Samara thought out loud, seeing the potential for unrequited feelings to become problematic and distract Zaeed from their mission.

“Why bother? Just ignore it,” Miranda suggested with a shrug, surprised she was taking it that seriously. If Miranda had a credit for every time she received unwanted attention from men, she would have owned her own planet by now. “As long as he’s not making a nuisance of himself, then it shouldn’t be problem.”

“Aside from the fact that I would be compelled to kill him were we to meet in different circumstances?” Samara countered. Miranda had to concede that point.

Sure, his mercenary past wasn't an issue so long as they were united in a common cause. But, if they survived this mission, it would be a different story. Samara would no longer be bound by her oath to serve Commander Shepard. It was probably best that Zaeed didn't suffer any delusion that serving aboard the Normandy with Samara might grant him an exemption from her Code.

Samara sighed. “Perhaps you are right that this does not warrant intervention on my part. But I have been celibate for over four hundred years.” Miranda couldn’t help but tilt her head at that figure. “I would prefer that it be clearly understood by all aboard this ship that I have no desire to deviate from that vow.”

“Four hundred?” Miranda echoed. “Really?”

“You did not know this?” said Samara, assuming it was common knowledge.

“I never gave it that much thought, to be honest,” Miranda commented, the elevator doors beginning to open as they reached their destination. She'd had her suspicions, but she couldn't recall it ever being expressly confirmed until now. “Are all Justicars forbidden from marrying or taking lovers?”

“This is neither the time nor the place for that question,” Samara replied.

“Why? I’m curious to learn more about your Code,” Miranda persisted as they stepped out onto the crew deck. “That and I'm fascinated by things I find difficult to fathom. I can't comprehend merely existing for that length of time, let alone...sacrificing that aspect of myself for that long. And I say that as someone who devotes comparatively little time or attention to that part of my life.”

Samara regarded her oddly, evidently choosing to give Miranda the benefit of the doubt that her inquiries were sincere and well-intentioned, which they were. “I serve a higher purpose. The oaths I swore as a Justicar transcend fleeting, selfish whims. I could never permit myself to be in a position where my loyalties were divided. To allow my judgement to be clouded by personal attachments would serve no purpose but to potentially imperil my devotion to The Code.”

“But swearing a vow doesn't change who or what you find attractive. It’s part of who you are, so I'm assuming you must have been tempted at some point,” Miranda casually speculated, seeing no cause to be coy with her queries. “Does that ever go away, or does it just come naturally after a while?”

“Miranda...” Samara cautioned her. Miranda wasn't sure what prompted the disapproval in Samara's voice, but she quickly jumped to conclusions.

“Hey, I am not insinuating that you should reconsider your stance on Zaeed. Believe me, I am firmly on your side about that,” Miranda lightheartedly assured her. “Although, in all fairness, you did once tell me that you used to sleep—“

“That was centuries ago. Even then, the answer would have been no,” Samara cut her off, signalling that this conversation was at an end. Samara still sounded like her calm, patient self, but that had been uncharacteristically curt of her.

“I was just teasing you,” said Miranda, annoyed at Samara's sudden touchiness.

“I do not wish to discuss this,” Samara made her feelings crystal clear, never once raising her voice or speaking with anger. Nevertheless, it was apparent that her mood had abruptly changed at some point on that elevator ride. Miranda wasn't sure when, or why. “Unless there is anything urgent, I would prefer to meditate alone for the rest of day. There is much for me to reflect upon.”

Miranda furrowed her brow. That sounded like an extremely polite way of being told to kindly fuck off. “Are you angry with me?” she asked, failing to grasp what she'd said to trigger this abrupt cold shoulder from Samara.

“No,” Samara answered. Miranda couldn’t detect if her tone was more terse than usual; she was hard to read. “Please respect that I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“...Okay,” Miranda agreed, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back on her heel. Why wouldn't she respect that? Samara didn't utter another word, striding across the corridor to the Starboard Observation Deck, the doors sealing shut behind her. It was then that Miranda noticed a handful of off-duty crew lounging around in their quarters, staring at her. “Something on your mind?”

At that one acknowledgement they all immediately went back to their business, adamantly pretending they weren’t witnesses to any awkward scenes. Typical.

One person, however, did have the guts to share their thoughts with the class.

“Did you just ask Samara whether she'd ever break her vow and sleep with someone?” Kasumi's voice came from behind her, prompting Miranda to turn and glance over her shoulder. “Yikes. What gave you that bright idea?”

“Why shouldn't I ask her that? It's a legitimate question,” Miranda pointed out.

“...Wow. For a second there I assumed you were being sarcastic, but you're actually completely serious,” Kasumi observed. That retort did little to assist Miranda. Wry quips weren't exactly an explanation. “I've seen how much time you spend over there; I figured you were close or something. You...do know that she was married, right? And you know about her kids?”

“Asari don't call it marriage, but yes. Of course I know all that. What has that got to do with anything?” Miranda shook her head, failing to see the connection.

It was hard to see under the hood, but Kasumi looked stunned that she wasn't getting through to Miranda. “You know what? Forget I said anything. There is way too much to unpack there, and I make a better thief than I do a psychologist, so...”

Rather than finish that sentence, Kasumi activated her invisibility matrix and disappeared from sight, unilaterally removing herself from the conversation.

“Thanks for the insight,” Miranda remarked, heading straight to her office.

*    *     *

Miranda exhaled heavily, steeling herself. There were only so many quiet moments a person could secure for themselves when they lived under a giant canvas tent with a thousand other people. Jacob would be coming back to the bunk before long, then her opportunity would be lost.

She could do this. She needed to do this.

“...Begin voice recording,” she said, and her omni-tool responded.

“Hey, Ori,” Miranda began, forcing herself to smile. Oriana would be able to tell something was wrong if she didn't sound as happy as she should have been to talk to her. She had to make it convincing. She couldn't let her voice betray the façade. “Sorry it's taken me so long to send a message to you. I wanted to, I've just...with everything going on down here in London, I haven't had a chance.”

She swallowed. Her throat was dry.

She couldn’t let Oriana see her face yet. The shock of her wounds would be too much too soon. Miranda had to ease her into it. That was the best way to do it. She could reveal her condition after she’d healed some more. When Oriana was calm. When it was less likely to freak her out, and make her worry. 

“I don't know what Jacob told you about me. I hope he didn't scare you. But I'm fine. I'm doing okay. I'm out of the hospital. Have been for a while. I've been, uh...I'm working with the recovery effort. Primarily in an organisational role, overseeing operations, logistics, that sort of thing. I'm sure I didn't need to tell you that. You probably assumed that already.”

What the fuck was she talking about? That wasn't important.

“I, um...”

Miranda trailed off and, with a motion of her hand, paused the recording.

She sighed and ran frustrated fingers through her hair as she flopped back flat onto her bed. “Fuck...” she whispered, recognising what a train wreck this was.

What was she doing? This wasn't the first take. Why was she screwing this up so many times? Miranda wanted to talk to her sister more than anything. Why was this so hard? Sure, there were things about this one-sided conversation that she'd dreaded. Hiding her guilt. Lying to Oriana so that she wouldn't upset her. But drawing a blank like this again and again was beyond pathetic.

She had to keep going. Even if she hated it, she had to get through it and get it over with. She couldn't keep deleting messages and starting over.

“...Resume recording,” she said, willing herself to finally finish one of these. “Sorry, um. Got interrupted for a second there. I just...I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay. I hope you are too. I can't wait to hear from you. And, don't worry; we'll be back together again before you know it.”

She tried to say something else. Anything else. But the words didn't come. 

“I love you,” Miranda told her. “Stay safe.”

Miranda stopped the recording and played it back immediately, ever her own worst critic, hyper-aware of how stilted, unnatural and inauthentic it all sounded.

Seriously? That was the best she could do? The recording barely lasted thirty seconds, and even that was only because of the long, awkward pauses.

It was fake. Hollow. Half-hearted. Miranda was none of those things around Oriana.

Oriana deserved better. But the reality was Miranda wasn't able to do any better. And Jacob was right. Oriana did need to hear her sister's voice. Confirmation that she was alive and well. It would mean the world to her.

Even a shameful excuse for a message was better than no contact at all, right? The longer Miranda delayed, the worse the wait was going to be for Oriana on the other end. It could take weeks for even a simple audio recording to get through the Extranet on a non-priority channel. The sooner the better.

She had to send something. So she sent that.

Miranda closed her eye and rubbed her temple, feeling like utter garbage. It was a feeling that wouldn't go away anytime soon.

*     *     *

“Do you have any sisters?” Miranda asked Samara. It hadn't been long since she finally reunited with Oriana. As such, Miranda was still getting used to interacting with her younger twin, unsure if she was saying the wrong things, and self-conscious about coming off poorly in her messages to her.

“Yes, half-sisters. Although we were never close,” Samara replied, awash in her biotic aura. Evidently she'd let go of whatever had been bothering her two days ago, and had forgiven Miranda for any part she played in it, without so much as requiring an apology from her. Despite remaining confused by the incident, Miranda was content to follow her lead and act like it never happened. 

“Pity. I was hoping you might have some advice for me,” said Miranda, reviewing her latest email exchanges with her sister. She was trying her hardest. She really was. But this was all new to her.

“I may do, although I can claim no expertise on the subject,” Samara offered. She ceased her meditation, always willing to help when Miranda requested it. “Does something trouble you? Forgive me if I did not suspect. You always seem so delighted when you hear from her.”

“I am. That hasn't changed, it's just...” Miranda hesitated as she put her datapad aside, fingers rapping against the armrest, not sure she wanted to embarrass herself by publicising her mistakes. But it was only Samara who would know, and she wasn't inclined to betray anything disclosed in confidence.

No, this was alright. She could trust her.

“...Look, I never lived a normal life, okay?” Miranda continued, keeping her voice hushed, lest anyone was lingering outside the door. “But I'm the big sister. Oriana's supposed to be able to come to me if she needs any help or guidance, and I'm supposed to know the answers. And if she wanted to know about the latest breakthroughs in bioengineering or how to spy on her neighbours, I could write her a bloody dissertation. But that's not what she's coming to me for.”

“Perhaps you should start from the beginning,” Samara recommended, sensing Miranda was focusing more on her own feelings of unpreparedness and inadequacy than on the situation itself. “What has happened between you?”

Miranda sighed, subconsciously massaging her forehead as she leaned on her hand. “She came to me for advice about this boy she likes, who might not like her back. What could I say to that? I had nothing to tell her. I've never had 'boy problems'. In some ways, she probably knows more than I do.”

“You are underselling your experience; you have had relationships before,” Samara noted with a knowing glint, aware of her past history with Jacob.

“If you consider one-night stands relationships,” Miranda mumbled. Jacob was the exception to the rule, and even their chemistry had quickly fizzled into nothing within a couple of months.

Otherwise, her sexual history was just a string of meaningless encounters with mostly anonymous men who weren't important enough to remember anything about. She'd never had those deeper, romantic feelings Oriana spoke of. Not for anyone. The capacity for that sort of intimate relationship just didn't seem to exist in Miranda. Not that it mattered. It didn't trouble her if it wasn't in her future.

If the term didn’t translate, Samara didn't question what it meant, inferring from the implication. She'd walked a similar path once; she didn't need an explanation.

“Anyway, that's not an example I want her to follow,” Miranda concluded.

“Have you answered her?” Samara asked, considering whether she might be able to offer some of her own insight to satisfy Oriana's questions where Miranda could not. She did have more wisdom in that regard.

“I tried,” Miranda grumpily admitted, not pleased with herself. “I looked up dating advice columns on the Extranet and copied and pasted the answers. Which was a moronic move on my part because Oriana's as smart as I am. She caught me out in under two minutes.” Miranda glanced up at Samara's silence, not failing to notice the humour sparkling in her expression. “Don't laugh,” she warned.

“I am not,” Samara replied, far too restrained to allow her composure to falter, though her amusement was plain to see. “That was very kind of you. I am sure that your sister appreciates that you did your best to assist her. Although it would have been preferable for you to be honest with her, she cannot doubt how sincerely you care for her after seeing your efforts. I know I do not.”

Miranda's expression softened. Hearing that was comforting, and it did a lot to elevate her mood. More than Samara realised, and Miranda cared to admit. 

“...Thanks,” she said, genuinely.

Much as Miranda hated to acknowledge it, her father had been a powerful influence on her. She was so much like him sometimes. She'd inherited some of his best qualities, and some of his worst. Miranda hated that about herself. She didn't want to be like him. Especially not towards Oriana.

Shepard had told Miranda there was no harm in Oriana knowing she had a sister who cared about her. But, in her darker moments of contemplation, it had concerned her to wonder whether Shepard might have been wrong about her potential to be a positive force in her twin's life.

What if, despite her best attempts at acting like a decent human being, Miranda was only going through the motions and imitating a connection she wasn't capable of really forming? What if Miranda was just deluding herself into believing her own bullshit? What if she only knew how to fake compassion and empathy after being raised in an environment without it?

All those thoughts and more had gone through her mind at one point or another over the past few weeks. So to hear Samara tell her that she wasn't acting like a complete sociopath and that her failings weren't a sign that she was fundamentally broken actually meant a lot.

“Why aren't you close with your sisters?” Miranda asked, keen to divert attention away from herself, but also sincerely curious.

“I did not grow up with any of them. Not in the same household. There are many years between us, as well as different fathers and mothers, whom I never met. Many in my family also looked down upon my parents' relationship for being an intraspecies union,” Samara casually explained.

“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that,” said Miranda. If her half-siblings were catty towards her for being a pure-blooded asari, it was no wonder they didn't get along.

“It is alright.” Samara shook her head, taking no affront. She did not appear to bear any ill-will towards her sisters now. Her older siblings were probably all dead, come to think of it. Or if not then close to it. “Between both of my parents, I may have more half-sisters than I am aware of.”

Miranda quirked a brow. “So, you could talk to another asari and have no idea she's related to you?”

“This is not uncommon,” Samara answered. “In asari cultures, we do not share your concept of a 'family tree' as you refer to them. It would not be possible to do so, as our relationships often form complex and expansive webs with many disparate connections across the vastness of space and time. Many asari never know their fathers; my kind often choose to raise their daughters alone. In such cases, the father is rarely informed that the meld produced a child.”

“And either of your parents could have been the father in one of those unions,” Miranda deduced. “How could you know you have a sister if your parents don't?”

“Correct.” Samara nodded. “However, they also may well have known every child they mothered and fathered, and consciously chosen not to tell me about them. This is not an infrequent occurrence, as we spend many centuries apart. Families can grow distant. Our lives must evolve and move forward, and we are encouraged not to dwell upon the past. If they did not wish to share with me that they had other daughters, then they were entitled to withhold it from me. It would have been considered improper of me not to respect those boundaries.”

“It's nobody's business, then? Asari don't interrogate each other about who they've slept with or how many children they have?” Miranda summarised, not surprised that they didn't care.

“No,” Samara confirmed. “If we did, it would take most of us a very long time to answer. It is not considered shameful in any way. It is taken for granted as a facet of our lives, and our biology.”

“Do you think that might be one reason why mating with your own kind is frowned upon?” Miranda speculated aloud. If people didn't know who all their sisters were, that created a high risk for accidental inbreeding.

“Yes,” Samara stated bluntly, as though that went without saying.

“Ah.” Miranda awkwardly rubbed her neck. “Here I thought I was being observant.”

“You were,” said Samara, kindly. “However, I do not wish to overgeneralise and create a false impression about my species. There is no one, singular family structure that could be considered dominant or favoured among asari. I merely intend to convey that my disconnect from my sisters is not unique.”

“Why do you think that is?” Miranda inquired, fascinated to learn more. She'd long thought humanity should aspire to be more like the asari in a lot of ways, so discovering more about their cultures and beliefs was always a welcome thing.

“Largely, I believe it is a consequence of our lifespan,” Samara elaborated. “Our species is very long-lived compared to yours. In exceptional cases, an asari could mother or father her first child a thousand years before her last. In a broad sense, it is most common for an asari not to seek a new partner or have a child with a different partner until the children of her last partner have grown old enough to leave home. This, in my view, is the primary reason why many asari may have little connection to some if not all of their half-sisters.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Miranda, though she had an inherent aversion to the thought of never knowing her sister. “Human families don't always stay together, either. I never had a mother, and my father only ever saw me as a science project, so I can't speak from experience, but I've heard it can be difficult for children to adjust to their parents finding new partners.”

“It would appear that our species share that in common,” Samara told her, in a relaxed manner. “But, as I have said, asari families are widely varied. There is no standard approach that I am aware of. For instance, neither my bondmate or I had any children from previous partners. Our daughters were born only a few years apart, and it was our desire that they should grow up together under the same roof. Many other asari have sisters and half-sisters they were raised with, or who they were raised by in circumstances where their mother passed.”

Hearing Samara mention her family caused Miranda's mind to deviate from her original query.

“Your bondmate was another asari, wasn't she?” Miranda asked. She wasn't entirely sure how being a carrier for Ardat-Yakshi syndrome worked, but she had been under the impression that only purebloods could be Ardat-Yakshi, meaning Samara would have needed to have a child with another asari to pass it on.

Samara's expression faltered, turning stony. “Yes,” she answered, emotionlessly.

“And you were the mother of all your children together, weren't you?” Miranda continued, curious as to how this disease worked. Samara seemed to think the fault was inherent in her, but Miranda couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't more likely that both parents needed to be carriers of the gene to have three Ardat-Yakshi daughters. “Do you think things would have turned out differently if you hadn't—“

“I would prefer not to speak of this,” Samara quietly cut her off, but the firmness of her voice was unmistakable. This was a very painful subject, even four hundred years later. She was not willing to revisit it.

“...You're right. I'm sorry,” said Miranda, dropping the matter entirely. She wasn't about to repeat her error of two days ago. If she had the opportunity to avoid causing Samara offence a second time, she was going to take it.

“It is not your fault,” Samara assured her, aware that there was no malice behind Miranda's line of inquiry. “But that aspect of my life is my own.”

Unfortunately, Miranda could rarely leave a question unanswered.

She hadn't failed to notice that every time she delved a little too deep into the subject of Samara’s bondmate and children, she inevitably touched a nerve. Just when it seemed like Samara was open to discussing it, a shadow would come over her, and then she would completely shut down and refuse to talk about it. Miranda didn't understand why, and that was a problem, because if she couldn't grasp what the issue was then it meant she was in a disadvantageous position.

And it wasn’t just her family either. The last time Miranda said something to upset her, she hadn’t mentioned her bondmate or her children. So there were clearly sensitive matters at hand that Miranda hadn’t even fully identified yet.

Knowledge was power. Knowledge was strength and safety. If she didn't have a more accurate picture of what it was that made Samara keep reacting that way when she brought up particular topics, and if she couldn’t figure out where those invisible lines between ‘okay to ask about’ and ‘strictly off limits’ was, then there was nothing to stop Miranda from potentially offending her again.

Miranda was a problem-solver by nature. Leaving anything unresolved didn't sit right with her. But the defining events of Samara's past took place over four hundred years ago, on Thessia. How was she supposed to find out any useful information when Samara was unwilling to speak of it?

It wasn't impossible to track down answers, but it would likely be arduous. It would take time, more than she could afford to devote amidst their mission.

On the other hand, if she found the opportunity to learn more about Samara expediently, then any lead was definitely worth further investigation...

*    *     *

It was nice to have a moment of peace.

Miranda stood by the River Thames, gazing out over the landscape. She’d been granted a reprieve from work to attend medical appointments, monitoring her health, following up on her recovery. They’d taken nearly the whole day.

It had been worth it, though; the doctors had given her as close as she could get to a clean bill of health in her current condition. There were no signs of sepsis, though they were keeping her on oral antibiotics just to be safe. They had warned her she may experience fatigue and weakness for some time.

Her skin grafts were healing well. There had been some contraction, and there would always be burn scars, but her body was not rejecting the synthetic skin. There was no apparent risk of infection. Frankly, the day when she no longer had to bother Jacob for help cleaning her wounds couldn’t come fast enough.

Work kept her mind busy most days when she wasn't in her bunk. It was a welcome distraction. But it didn't ward off the thoughts that came in quiet moments, when she lay in her bed at night. Or moments like this.

Sleep often eluded her, and it was poor quality when it didn't. Her dreams were disturbed by bright flashes and memories of her desperate struggle to survive after the shuttle crash, haunted by the faces of death – those who had fallen under her command, or by her side. The visions showed no signs of abating.

When she couldn't get to sleep, or deliberately delayed it due to what awaited, she often lay awake thinking about the Normandy's crew and what had become of them in the war. All of them. Not just her squadmates.

With Shepard gone, Miranda was the highest ranking person left from the original SR-2. That was a responsibility she took seriously. If anyone was going to track down potential survivors, it had to be her. And, if she couldn't find them, then she would be the one who had to contact friends and family members to let them know they were missing, if there was anyone left to deliver the news to.

Miranda had checked reports from other cities when they came in. Information was spotty at best, but it did get through. She searched for any mention of familiar names, or people who matched the description of any members of the Normandy crew she was aware of, from every iteration of its service.

But she would have lied if she said there wasn't one person she looked for more than others – the one person she knew to be alive, and who she felt closer to than anyone else on that ship; the woman who had saved her life.

Samara.

It had been far too long since she left, and nobody had seen or heard from her since. The stark silence was disconcerting. Miranda was starting to worry. Nobody had found her in another corner of London. Or, if they had, nobody had documented her presence. If she was no longer in the city, then she'd offered no word of her departure. That seemed so unlike her. Or perhaps it didn’t.

Miranda knew that the Code came first for Samara, before everything else. The only reason they'd been able to form the bond they had on the Normandy was because Samara had temporarily sworn her allegiance to Shepard. Once that was over, she had no reason to stay by Miranda's side for any length of time.

It shouldn't have hurt. This was all to be expected. But it did. It left an unfamiliar ache in her chest to think that the connection they'd forged was just an illusion – that their time meant far less to Samara than Miranda thought, and that she was just projecting its significance to herself onto someone who didn't share that opinion. She supposed that it shouldn't have surprised her if that was indeed the case. Her father's voice in the back of her head certainly told her it was petulant and childish to waste her time on the frivolous pursuit of a personal rapport.

But Miranda knew that the voice of her insecurities spoke falsely. She'd been there for all those countless moments enjoyed in one another’s company, and she had a perfect memory. Miranda was hardly the most astute at reading other's emotions, but surely she would have seen in Samara’s face if their connection was purely one-sided. Why would she even need to lie about that?

They had a friendship, didn't they? A real one. One of the few Miranda had ever known. And it was definitely mutual. So why didn't Samara care enough to come and check whether or not Miranda had survived her injuries?

“Thought I'd find you here,” Jacob's voice portended his arrival behind her.

Miranda uttered a faint snort. “My love of polluted water and crumbling bridges is notorious,” she remarked, looking out over the scene as Jacob joined her on the railing near the Thames. “You sound more chipper than usual.”

“Only because I've got good news. You know how they’ve been looking to move people off the streets and into any buildings that are safe to occupy? Well, guess who just got new digs,” Jacob announced, showing off a set of keys, thrilled to finally escape tent city. “Hard work pays off; they said I was ‘priority personnel’.”

“If you're waiting for a round of applause, you've got the wrong woman,” said Miranda, turning back toward the view over what was left of Westminster Bridge.

“You should be cheering. Everywhere I go, you go. Unless you prefer the bunk. Because I’m perfectly happy to leave you there,” Jacob jokingly remarked.

“No. Getting out of the cold would make a nice change. As long as I don't have to climb too many sets of stairs,” Miranda replied, unable to muster much enthusiasm given her prior ruminations. Even though leaving Hyde Park was a welcome prospect, it didn't exactly feel appropriate to start celebrating.

At the end of the day, they were still all alone.

“It's nothing too flash, and we'll be sharing with about ten other people. But it's an improvement,” Jacob said with a shrug and a smile. Miranda didn't respond, half-consumed in other thoughts. Jacob didn’t fail to pick up on her evasive behaviour. “What's up?” He stepped forward, sensing something on her mind.

Miranda's gaze wavered slightly, but she covered it. “It's nothing.”

“Look, not to put any pressure on you, but if you can't talk about it with me, who can you talk to?” Jacob reminded her, turning around with his back to the railing. Miranda couldn’t argue against that. But she wasn’t accustomed to leaning on others, having lived her entire life in the expectation of bearing everything alone.

“Allow me to rephrase – it's not any one specific thing. A lot's happened. I'm still processing it all, I guess,” she murmured, and that wasn't a lie.

“You didn't get bad news from the doctor, did you?” Jacob queried, concerned.

“No,” Miranda assured him, shaking her head. “That's all going better than anyone could have anticipated. Anyone who doesn't know me, anyway.”

Jacob was visibly relieved to hear that. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Not really,” Miranda muttered, preferring to keep her thoughts her own. 

Although, come to think of it, that wasn't entirely true. There was at least one thing Miranda could think of that Jacob might be able to provide more information on. Something that was weighing on her more heavily by the day.

“...Hey.” Jacob glanced up when Miranda broke the silence. “Not to change the subject, but how long did you say it had been since you last heard from Samara?” she asked, unable to shake the peculiar void left by her absence.

“Since before you woke up,” Jacob answered plainly, exactly what he’d told her last time. What's more, Jacob knew Miranda would have remembered that. She never forgot anything, unless she didn’t care enough to pay attention to it in the first place. “You worried something might have happened to her?”

“No,” Miranda coolly shot that down. “Samara has been fighting on her own for centuries. She can take care of herself. Hell, she's even more capable than I am, and she's the last person I'd expect to do something stupid to get herself hurt.”

“But you're worried,” Jacob pointed out, knowing her far too well to believe that deflection. Miranda sighed. He was right. She was. “Talking helps. Want to try?”

“I just don't understand it,” she admitted, seeing no sense in letting herself dwell on what troubled her longer than she already had. Besides, Jacob was the last identified person Samara had spoken to. Perhaps he could offer some insight that Miranda was lacking. “It's like she dropped off the face of the Earth. She really didn’t tell you anything about where she was going?”

“Nah. You know Samara,” said Jacob with a nonchalant ease, unperturbed by her disappearance. Yes, she did, Miranda thought. Better than Jacob realised. “She’s not the kind to leave a note. She just comes and goes as The Code wills.”

“But she should have been back by now. Or contacted us, at least,” Miranda mulled over the puzzle aloud. “Not even a word. Nothing. They aren't even bringing in survivors who claim she rescued them anymore. That's...” She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. That wasn't the Samara she knew. Or she thought it wasn't. There had to be an explanation. Maybe something had happened.

“I know what you're thinking,” Jacob began, well-acquainted with Miranda's single-minded determination to leave no problem unresolved. After all, she’d been the one to track down his father. “You can't go out there and look for her.”

“Of course I can't, Jacob; I have no clue where I'd start, even if I did have the resources to mount a search,” Miranda matter-of-factly replied, uttering a dismissive scoff. Not to mention that Miranda wasn't the type to get distracted from greater goals by personal matters. Aside from those times where she absolutely had. Those were clearly exceptions. “And that wasn't what I was thinking.”

“Then what was?” Jacob prompted, curious.

“I...I don't know,” Miranda admitted. Too many different things at once. Too many disconcerting possibilities, all borne from a common root. But, at the core, there was one kernel of doubt that seemed to cut deeper than any other.

What if Samara just didn’t care?

For as much as she tried to look for evidence to convince herself otherwise, she couldn’t disprove it. If Samara wasn't hurt, then that meant she was staying away by choice, even though the last time she had seen Miranda she was laying on a hospital bed, with no certainty whether she would live or die.

She hadn’t even lingered long enough to receive confirmation that Miranda was going to wake up before she went off to do what her Code demanded. And she hadn’t returned to learn what had become of her.

Even complete strangers likely would have followed up on the condition of someone they rescued, right? Code be damned, there was no excuse for abandoning her on what could have been her deathbed. Miranda thought she and Samara were close enough to mean something to one another.

But obviously they weren't that close, or else Samara would have been here.

That realisation left Miranda with an alien sensation in her chest that she couldn't entirely describe, and one which she was uncomfortable talking about.

She’d never been...rejected by anyone before. Discarded. Cast aside.

Was this what that felt like?

“I've never known you to not know what you're thinking,” Jacob observed.

“I wouldn't even be here right now if it wasn't for her,” Miranda acknowledged, meeting Jacob's gaze, her eye no doubt betraying some element of her inner turmoil over this. “She's the only other one of us who we know for a fact survived. But I never got the chance to see her or thank her or ask her how she is. She hasn't even come back to check on my condition, or say one final goodbye. Maybe you don't agree but...that doesn't sound like the Samara I knew.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You know she checked on you,” said Jacob, folding his arms as he sat back against the railing. A fleeting shift of expression flitted across Miranda's brow. “I know you didn’t forget what I told you about how she reacted when the doctors wanted to turn off your life support.”

“No, I guess not,” Miranda quietly acknowledged. “But I wasn’t awake for that, so you’ll forgive me if it’s difficult to reconcile that with her current behaviour.”

“Look, I can't pretend that I get where she is emotionally, but...well, she's kind of like you, I guess,” Jacob supposed. “And that's how I know she was worried about you, because she expressed it exactly how you would have.”

“How would I?” Miranda asked, arching her eyebrow, with a hint of genuine doubt. She could honestly count the people she’d ever truly cared about on the fingers of her remaining hand, so she hadn't, to her recollection, ever had to cope with someone who was important to her being seriously hurt.

“You would bury yourself in your work and focus on it as hard as you could, because working gives you an outlet and keeps you sane, but you would go and check in whenever you had a free moment in order to stay updated,” Jacob explained. Miranda couldn't dispute that. “That's what Samara did with you.”

“For a couple of days,” Miranda added, making sure that specification wasn't overlooked. It did rather change the complexion of the situation. “Then she left.”

“Yeah. Because she's a Justicar, and she has a binding responsibility to every other victim out there. She’d be breaking her oath if she ignored it. Why are you taking it so personally?” Jacob asked, oblivious to the friendship that had been formed in the seclusion of the Starboard Observation Deck.

“I'm not, Jacob, I just...” Miranda trailed off.

She was taking it personally. She was reading into things that had perfectly logical explanations, moping around like a lost puppy, ignoring all the things Samara had done for her and all the signs that she wasn’t apathetic to her.

And maybe Jacob was right that she should have been satisfied with these answers. The Code was The Code, and Samara was always going to put her selfless service to justice ahead of anything else. What kind of friend would she be if Miranda didn't understand that – if she expected Samara to compromise her beliefs? Why couldn't she accept the obvious explanation as good enough?

“Never mind. Forget I said anything,” Miranda finished, shaking her head and walking away from the railing, tired and frustrated and no closer to feeling any better about Samara’s absence, or deciphering the meaning behind it.

To his credit, Jacob didn't push the issue.

*    *     *

A blue glow bathed the Starboard Observation Deck. Samara and Miranda meditated side by side. Miranda concentrated on the biotic ball she’d formed between her hands, keeping its shape steady. The simple task helped clear her head of conscious thoughts, allowing her to access a different state of mind.

She didn't even hear the door open.

“Is this a bad time to interrupt?” Shepard's voice broke Miranda from her trance, causing her to look back over her shoulder. Samara didn't even flinch.

“You would be welcome to join us, Shepard,” Samara extended a friendly invitation. “And my time is always yours if you require anything.”

“I was looking for Miranda, actually,” Shepard explained, giving a small gesture towards her to that effect. “I went to your office first, but EDI told me you were in here. I didn't realise you were busy. I'll come back later.”

“No, no, I'm free,” Miranda assured her, dropping her biotic field and getting swiftly to her feet. It didn't matter what hour of the day it was or how much she had already accomplished beforehand; work always took priority. That was what made Miranda so effective. “What do you need, Commander?”

“I've been thinking about implementing those upgrades Jacob and Garrus suggested to the Normandy's weapons and armour,” Shepard began.

“Good idea,” Miranda replied. Given what had happened to the old Normandy when it faced an attack from the Collectors, any advantage they could get going forward would be a wise investment. “Where do I come in?” she asked. Shipbuilding was one area in which she could offer little to no expertise.

“These upgrades require rare minerals. EDI can scan nearby planets, but if you could do some research and narrow down a list of planets that might be rich in the minerals we're looking for, it would save a lot of time and fuel,” said Shepard.

“Certainly. I'll have a list of suitable candidates ready by morning,” Miranda obliged her request, turning to Samara. “We'll pick this up again some other time.”

“I look forward to it,” Samara cordially replied as her guests took their leave.

Just as they both stepped towards the door, Miranda noticed a strange smile on Shepard's lips. Miranda eyed her Commander suspiciously, but made no comment until after they left the room, and were out of Samara's earshot.

“Do I want to know why you're smirking?” Miranda remarked as she walked at her side, keeping her voice low, lest anyone else overhear.

“I don’t know. Do you?” Shepard quipped, approaching the elevator. Miranda didn’t even indulge that with sarcastic laughter. “I’ll admit; I didn’t peg you as the type to make friends aboard the ship. It's nice to be proven wrong.”

“What, because I'm supposed to be incapable of basic social interaction? I'm perfectly civil, Commander.” Shepard looked like she could have voiced disagreement on that, but elected not to. “But, I will be honest; I do enjoy Samara's company over that of anybody else on the ship.”

“Even over me?” Shepard joked, hitting the button to call the elevator.

“Yes,” Miranda answered frankly. Helping her protect Oriana meant Shepard had earned her trust in a way few ever had, and the closer they grew the more Miranda found to like, but Andrea still only came in about third, behind Jacob. They may have butted heads a lot, but after everything they'd been through together he took a sentimental edge. “If that makes us friends, then so be it.”

Shepard chuckled at her blunt honesty, unoffended. “Not that my opinion matters, but I think this is good for you – being friends with Samara.”

“...But?” Miranda filled in the blank, sensing there was a caveat.

Shepard sighed as she waited for the elevator. Evidently Miranda was right, even if Shepard hadn't intended to voice any reservations she might have held aloud. But Miranda had broached the subject, so it was unavoidable.

“Despite popular opinion, you've never struck me as someone who says or does things to upset people on purpose. Samara's a lot wiser than I am, so I don't doubt that she realises that too. Just be careful with her, okay?” Shepard advised.

“Careful? With what?” Miranda didn't hide her puzzlement. “Samara's a matriarch. She's a strong woman, in every sense of the word.”

“Yes, she is,” Shepard concurred, her tone unchanging. It was clear from her expression that she'd spoken to Samara a lot, following Morinth’s demise. “But even the strongest of us have things we hold close to our chest, for good reason.”

“I'm not an idiot, Commander. I understand what she's gone through recently. I've done my best to support her. Not that it's any of your business, for the record,” Miranda noted. She didn't need to justify herself, or prove her good intentions.

“No. You're right. It's not.” Shepard raised her hands as if in surrender, backing off. Evidently she wasn’t looking to criticise Miranda or make her get defensive. “And I appreciate you being there for her. I'm sure Samara does too,” she said sincerely, glad Miranda had been so considerate of Samara's emotional well-being, although it was completely unexpected given her usual demeanour.

“So what's the problem?” Miranda confronted the issue directly, not about to let this go until Shepard shared her thoughts, whether she wanted to or not.

“There is no problem. I meant it when I said I think this is good for you. Both of you.” Andrea ran a hand through her hair as the elevator finally arrived, sensing Miranda would hold it against her if she didn’t speak her mind. “But you do have a tendency to be so focused on what matters to you that you don't take the thoughts and feelings of others into consideration, even where it affects them.”

Miranda paused. “No. I don't agree with that,” she responded. She wasn't offended by Shepard's opinion, but she thought it was misplaced. “Of course I take others into account when I make decisions, where it’s relevant. If I cared that little about people, I wouldn't be trying to save humanity from the Collectors.”

Somehow, Shepard didn't seem surprised by that answer.

“I’m not saying you don’t care. And I’m sure you don’t do it deliberately. I’m just saying you can be a bit...careless with people’s feelings sometimes. And it can read as insensitive,” Shepard advised, choosing her words delicately.

“Isn’t that their problem?” Miranda countered. “How other people choose to interpret me is their business. But I’ve never had that problem with Samara.”

“None of this is meant as an insult. I just don't want you to inadvertently say or do something you'll regret. That's all,” Shepard clarified as she stepped into the elevator, keen to let this go. It really wasn't that big a deal, and it certainly wasn’t an indication of any distrust. It had barely been worth mentioning.

“Something I'll regret?” Miranda echoed, furrowing her brow, wondering if Shepard knew something she didn’t. “Like what?” Miranda stared in confusion as the elevator doors closed, leaving her alone with her question unanswered.

Miranda frowned in puzzlement. What a bizarre conversation.

She didn't understand what Shepard was getting at, or where that had come from. She'd never confronted Miranda for tactless behaviour before. Her mind did hark back to the incident with Samara in that very spot a few days ago, wondering if word had spread that Miranda had caused her to storm off, but Andrea hadn’t mentioned it as an example. She’d only spoken in hypotheticals.

If that incident had been what sparked Shepard’s concern, it wasn’t like Miranda needed a warning. While she still wasn’t sure what she’d said to cause offence, Miranda had been more cautious since. Besides, Samara was a rational adult; she was perfectly capable of telling Miranda when she crossed a line.

Why was Shepard so concerned about Samara's well-being all of a sudden, anyway? Samara may have suffered a great tragedy, but she was by no means fragile. She was a Justicar, for crying out loud. Words weren’t going to hurt her.

Certainly, taking her daughter's life had been a profoundly heart-rending experience, but like the resilient person she was Samara hadn’t let it destroy her. If anything, she’d come out better for it. Miranda admired that about her.

Nevertheless, Miranda was no fool. It went without saying that she wasn't stupid enough to say something flippant about what had transpired with Morinth. She’d witnessed Samara’s sorrow firsthand. And, despite Shepard’s concerns, Miranda didn't discount Samara’s feelings as an irrelevance. Far from it

She wasn't a loose cannon like Jack. Miranda was nothing if not professional. She was never at risk of being incapable of moderating her own behaviour. She had a low tolerance for incompetence, admittedly, but otherwise she treated people with basic respect. Why the hell did Shepard of all people feel the need to caution Miranda about something she was already doing faultlessly?

Unless Shepard knew something about Samara that Miranda didn't...

Hmm. Now that was a thought.

*    *     *

“It's been a month. You can’t honestly be convinced that it is worthwhile to continue looking for survivors,” said the President of the European Council, communicating via a secure channel from somewhere in rural France.

Brussels had been hit hard early in the Reapers’ invasion, as had all of Earth’s major centres. For their own safety, any world leaders who hadn't been indoctrinated or killed during the invasion had been smuggled into remote locations by various special forces. With the Alliance Parliament destroyed and the bulk of military leadership currently outside the Sol system, that meant supranational governments were now the highest authority ground-side.

“How can we stop now?” Miranda asked, refusing to accept that instruction. “I understand making tough decisions, but this is unreasonable. If we give up, then not only are we abandoning parts of the city we could otherwise be expanding into, but we're condemning anyone out there to an almost certain death. That window of opportunity isn't going to be open for much longer.”

“What window? We won't find anyone alive at this point,” The President proclaimed. “Search and rescue is no longer a priority; our focus must be on consolidating our existing settlements, restoring infrastructure and ensuring our current population won't succumb to illness or starvation.”

Miranda sneered, tempted to interrupt her again. She'd been hearing this same message from authority figures non-stop since forcibly discharging herself from hospital and joining the relief effort, just in slightly different variations. She hadn't dragged her battered body back into action in order to be told to sit and wait as their already faint chance to save lives dwindled. But she didn't need to call the politician out on her bullshit. Someone was already speaking for her side.

“With all due respect, Madame President, every time it's been declared that it's 'too late' to possibly find anymore survivors, we've gone out and found people alive,” said Commander Bailey, the closest thing to a leader London had at the moment, for good reason. He'd been there to clean up the Citadel after Sovereign's attack. He knew a thing or two about how to react to wide-scale destruction.

“We're in the middle of London, not the bloody Sahara,” Miranda argued, managing to refrain from scowling at the holographic projection. “We’ve made contact with numerous outposts in various parts of the city, and the story is always the same. The power may be cut off, but with ingenuity and a bit of luck they’ve been able to scavenge enough food and water to sustain themselves.”

“Then what is the urgency?” The President countered, annoyed. Miranda’s eye narrowed. “If people are surviving outside the green zone, I am not stopping them.”

“The issue is that these isolated outposts won’t last forever,” Bailey explained, keeping an even tone. “They can only sit around and wait for the outside world to make contact for so long before circumstances force their hand. They don’t have the manpower to get nearby hospitals up and running, and they can and do run out of options. I’ve already heard reports of missing persons who left these outposts to look for other people, who haven’t been heard of since.”

“I can attest to how dangerous it is out there,” Miranda chimed in. “If they don’t think we’re looking for them, people will grow desperate, and risk everything to save themselves. Even if they remain where they are, supplies will run out. Every second we wait is sentencing probable survivors to slow starvation.”

“I understand that,” the European President sombrely replied, acknowledging that her decision would likely cost lives, “But we have to cut our losses and move on. Earth is a logistical nightmare. While we calculate the fallen, ships from every species in the galaxy continue to land. Every habitable city is already overburdened with their numbers. They were not prepared for this.”

“We have no control over that.” Miranda shrugged her shoulders. “You need to coordinate with the leaders of the other Council races. They decide when and where their people land. It’s their responsibility to take charge.”

“At the end of the day, they have no choice but to come to Earth,” the President responded, evidently having had those discussions. “The quarian fleet may be feeding the dextro-races for now, but none of the others brought adequate rations. God only knows how we're supposed to keep peace with angry, starving aliens behind the guns of battleships. They can't all go into stasis! We need to start producing again before everything we have in reserve is consumed.” 

“No offence, ma'am, but it's not our job to fix that,” Bailey said plainly. “We already have more aliens in London than we have the space or provisions for. That overcrowding is only getting worse by the day. Ordering us to sit around on our asses or to go become farmers isn't going to improve the situation.”

“Not when you phrase it like that, but you could be devoting your time and attention to tasks like construction, or send the ships you use to scour the wasteland to the countryside so workers can begin producing fresh food. And I don’t doubt that Ms Lawson could be a valuable asset if she turned her mind to formulating solutions for our broken mass relay,” the President pointed out.

“I appreciate the compliment, and I have every intention of addressing higher-level problems when people's lives aren't at stake,” Miranda responded.

The President shook her head, visibly stressed. “Why are you advocating for this, anyway? I've read your status reports on London. You don't have enough room or supplies for the survivors you've already found. How can you possibly justify wasting resources and manpower searching for more?”

“As we’ve tried to tell you, moving into other parts of the city and getting them up and running again is vital to London’s sustainability,” Miranda asserted. “I am not opposed to making sacrifices for the greater good – letting some die so that others might live – but what you're asking for is counter-productive until we have a viable base to build upon. We do have to expand the green zone now, before disease and hunger set in. It's our only chance of averting catastrophe.”

“But—“

“With all due respect, this is not up for debate,” Miranda cut the President off without any regard for her status. “We have no choice but to clear the roads and get infrastructure and supply lines working again, to locate habitable spaces, to find buildings that are intact, to reopen hospitals, to get people out of overcrowded parks and into temporary housing, or more suitable shelters. The fact that we still have a chance of finding survivors only adds to the urgency.”

“I'm in agreement with Ms Lawson,” said Bailey, presenting a united front. “Right now, our streets are flooded beyond capacity. As it stands, the situation is tenuous as best, and unmanageable at worst. There could be riots or epidemics if we don't act soon. We're already on the brink of famine. We'd be better off if we could offload the people who can't contribute into residential zones. Then maybe we can establish some form of order and start using the soldiers and volunteers who are still fit and healthy enough to be put to work to their full potential.”

“Every city on Earth is rife with these problems! Stop focusing on yourselves like you owe nothing to the rest of us!” the President all but spat. “Do you expect us to continue to divert resources to your relief effort indefinitely?”

“No, but I expect you to allow us to make do with the resources we have,” Bailey stated frankly. “And you could try and get the leaders of other species to stop interfering. I can’t make progress when I’m being undermined on all sides.”

Bailey was right. Contradictory orders from outside sources were becoming as serious problem, preventing him from exercising authority over those who hadn’t actively joined his relief effort as volunteers. It seemed like each separate military organisation was looking out for themselves, which meant they were reluctant to lend Bailey any assistance. A divided London was certain to fall to pieces.

Bailey may have been the closest thing London had to a recognised leader, but he was operating with little support outside of Alliance personnel. And, while there had been aliens from all species willing to step outside their own chain of command and take up work at their HQ, they were the exception rather than the rule. Most never abandoned their first loyalty to their own military.

They were doing damn well in light of the circumstances, to be sure, but things would be much better if he just had official approval to make a concerted push into unexplored parts of the city – to order people from every species to move out, instead of sitting idly by because they didn't know who to follow.

Miranda imagined the situation wasn't that different elsewhere on Earth. London just had it worse because of the vast numbers left stranded by the battle there.

Many with working ships had seen the sense in heading to other cities already, since London clearly couldn't support them all. In some ways, their departure was a good thing, but, in others, it was a waste. Those ships could have been useful, even if they’d only taken more refugees with them, instead of leaving them behind. The level of disarray and lack of communication only made it harder to reinstate any semblance of structure amid the chaotic aftermath.

“If you leave me no alternative, I can authorise Alliance military forces to take direct control of the situation in London, Commander,” the President warned. It wasn't a threat, just a step that wasn't out of the question. “I have trusted you to work in concert so far. But, if you cannot maintain order, someone must.”

Before Bailey could speak, Miranda stepped in.

“Paralysis is not 'order'. Although London may be a powder keg, we can and will keep it under control, but that won’t be possible while you ignore our advice. Unless we intervene now, London will collapse, and we will be forced to shift the burden of our population onto others. So, if you want to create fewer problems, I'd recommend you support our plan to expand and recover who and what we can,” said Miranda, following the example of a fallen friend in being diplomatic.

Honestly, Miranda thought it would have been more effective to shoot the politician and put someone competent in her place. But the President wasn't there in person, so she supposed that was off the table. Solving problems with speeches had always been Andrea's strength rather than hers. Miranda just hoped some of Shepard's uncanny luck and charisma had rubbed off on her.

The President paused, giving Miranda's words some thought.

“Very well,” she reluctantly conceded. “I will authorise a drive to expand our habitable territory across all cities, including London, and I will speak to representatives from other species to ensure cooperation in this endeavour. But be warned that, if this is unsuccessful in rectifying your problems, then that is on you. There will be no more excuses. Following this, I will divert excess resources and personnel away from London and into arable parts of Europe. I think you'll find others will not do you the kindness of giving you such forewarning.”

“Thank you, Madame President,” said Bailey, politely nodding his head and saluting before the transmission was abruptly terminated. He sighed. “Well, that's a start,” he remarked. Most of the time, the outlook was so bleak that all one could do was pretend that days like these counted as good ones.

In a sense, they were. Better than the bad days, at least.

“It's not a start. This should have happened weeks ago, and we never should have had to fight for it,” Miranda spoke, her voice strained with frustration, masking a faint wince as she leaned on her crutch. “Anyway, I should get to work. We have to compensate for the delay this political posturing has caused us.”

Her physical discomfort didn’t escape Bailey’s attention.

“For as much as I admire your dedication, you know you’re more use to me alive than dead,” he commented, folding his arms like a disapproving father. Thankfully not in the same manner that would have described Miranda's, though. “You’ve done an outstanding job, Ms Lawson. Now take some damn medical leave.”

“And sitting on my arse would accomplish what, exactly?” Miranda countered, fed up with copping flack for doing the work everyone else was either too stupid or inept to do. Whether Bailey was joking or not was irrelevant, given her mood. They needed her. She made strides that others didn't, and accomplished what others couldn’t. She was the best. “Honestly, you're starting to sound like Jacob.”

“You say that like it's an insult. He’s a sensible guy. You should listen to him,” Bailey remarked, audibly smirking. He was a gruff, serious man, but he did seem to enjoy riling Miranda up in jest. Probably because she could take it. That and her desire to shut him up was a powerful motivator; it brought out her tenacity.

“Why bring this up now?” Miranda asked, perplexed, and a little suspicious, limping along beside Bailey as she followed him out into the hallway. “You know I was being treated for sepsis when I first contacted you, right? This is the least incapacitated I’ve been since I started working here.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Sepsis? Really?”

“I defy medical explanation,” Miranda dryly replied. That wasn’t an exaggeration either. But that was a long story. Too long to get into right now. “Point is, I know I haven’t done anything to make you question my reliability all of a sudden.”

“Maybe not, but you sure as hell do look exhausted at the end of the day. And right now,” Bailey observed, suspecting she was pushing herself too hard.

“I like being exhausted,” Miranda answered honestly. It kept her mind off things.

At that, they came to a stop in the corridor. “Alright then. I'm not going to pussy-foot around this; the reason I bring this up is because I figure you want to do with this operation what you did with the Wolfe Gang at the hospital,” he pointed out. “You plan to go out into the field in person if you can, don’t you?”

“Who's going to stop me if I do?” Miranda stated bluntly.

“I could have you detained, you know,” Bailey noted, though it was clearly an empty threat. “All I'm saying is, you're one of the privileged few who has an actual place to live at the moment. So, when we get the green light to go out into the field, just stay home that day. Don't go getting yourself killed on my watch.”

“Tell you what, I promise I'll rest when I can be sure you and your people would be even half as effective without me,” she remarked. It wasn't smugness, just truth. In fact, from what Bailey had come to know of her, this was practically humility. “Until then, I'd recommend you trust that I know what my body is capable of. My judgement has never been wrong yet.”

Bailey almost mustered a grin. Miranda had an attitude. Ordinarily, not a quality he liked. In fact, it might have made Miranda impossible to work with, if it weren't for the fact that she was exactly as good as she said she was and delivered better results than anyone else on his team as consistently as clockwork.

Noticing his response, Miranda softened. Much as she may have bickered with him, she knew she couldn't have accomplished what she had without Bailey's help and unwavering support. As an ex-Cerberus agent, people were unlikely to follow her. Being a former member of the terrorist group that had been attacking, slaughtering and conducting experiments on thousands of innocent people did not inspire confidence in a leader. Bailey, however, people listened to. People trusted him. And he allowed her to do her job, despite her past.

London needed somebody like him – somebody Miranda couldn't be. Moreover, he'd proven his competence. It was fortunate he hadn't been among the millions who sadly failed to make it off the Citadel in time to escape the Reapers.

Now, the Citadel was a smouldering wreck – scattered debris in the sky. Miranda supposed most of the people still trapped inside had died when the Citadel hit the mass relay, not in the massive explosion when the Crucible was fired. She wasn't sure which death was worse. But this wasn't the time to ask that.

“Well, are we just going to stand here all day, or are we going to make the most out of the time we've got left to get organised?” asked Miranda, patience running thin. She was ready to get back out into the wasteland, and make something amounting to a difference in this post-apocalyptic hell-hole.

Bailey nodded his head. “Best words I've heard all day.”

“Alright. I'll begin making arrangements,” Miranda affirmed.

“Oh, and Ms. Lawson?” said Bailey, stopping Miranda before she could hobble off. “Let Mr Taylor know you'll each be leading your own teams.”

Miranda's brow quirked, surprised Bailey was letting her go. “You're serious?”

“Start preparing your people; I don't want there to be any delays when we get approval to move out,” Bailey continued, dismissively waving his hand as he returned to his duties. “I'm counting on you, Ms Lawson; don't let me down.”

Once he departed, a small smile tugged at the corner of Miranda's lips, satisfied to have been given that opportunity. She knew the odds of finding anyone she knew personally were slim, but she'd be damned if she didn't want to turn every last ounce of strength she had in her body to combing the ruins for any trace of anyone who she served beside on the Normandy, living or dead.

She might even see Samara again.

*    *     *

“Hey.” Miranda glanced up when Shepard spoke to her. “You doing okay? You got pretty banged up back there.”

“I'm fine, Commander,” Miranda answered, trying not to wince. As fine as anyone could be after getting bullrushed by a yahg and nearly crushed to death. She was still pissed off at herself for letting her guard slip like that, sour about getting taken out of the fight. Miranda had fallen short of her own standards, and Shepard and Liara had been forced to fight the Shadow Broker alone.

“You're sure?” Shepard pressed, sounding concerned.

Miranda realised she was unconsciously nursing her ribs and made a concerted effort to stop. “I've had worse. I don't need to be rushed to medbay, if that's what you're asking. Besides, I think you’re needed.” She nodded her head towards Liara, aware of Andrea's existing relationship with her. “Take your time.”

Andrea followed her line of sight, realising what she was implying. “Thanks,” said Shepard, appreciating that Miranda was allowing them a private moment.

“See? Even I can be sensitive sometimes,” Miranda quipped.

Shepard smirked at her before following Liara deeper inside the ship, leaving Miranda alone in the control room, but for the holographic VI hanging about.

Miranda leaned back against a panel and glanced about herself while she waited, idly curious about the technology and resources that the legendary Shadow Broker once had at his disposal. Or, well, she supposed there was a new Shadow Broker now. Maybe there would always be one.

Cerberus had dealt with the Shadow Broker in the past, never on good terms. To Miranda's knowledge, The Illusive Man had always perceived the Broker as a threat and a potential enemy, refusing to use his services lest it avail the Broker of information he could turn against them. His caution had proven prescient when the Broker allied with the Collectors. But, now that they had seized his ship, Miranda was sure The Illusive Man would be eager to make use of it.

As Miranda examined the control room, she couldn't help but find it funny how dated most of the technology was compared to any Cerberus facility she’d worked at. Maybe that was deliberate. If everyone assumed the Shadow Broker relied on cutting-edge technology, using older models made his network harder to hack. More likely, the ship was just so old and keeping its location hidden was so crucial to the Broker's survival that he'd never been able to modernise.

Before she got more than a third of the way around the room, an open terminal nearby caught Miranda's eye. She recognised familiar names on the screen – the names of her squadmates. Checking to make sure nobody but the VI was watching, Miranda went to investigate, her curiosity piqued.

Browsing the terminal immediately revealed that these were the Broker's files on every relevant person aboard the Normandy. The Shadow Broker must have been accessing the data he held on each of them at the time they boarded his ship. There was information about everyone at her fingertips. Every single person.

If Liara intended to keep this information, Miranda didn't begrudge her for that. Smart. It was what she would have done, in her position. Given her relationship to Shepard, no doubt Liara would prefer to keep an eye on those closest to her.

As she scrolled through the list, her own name came up. Miranda checked that file first. Her eyebrow arched. Contrary to providing tactical intelligence, the information was distinctly...personal. It contained records of her online dating history, medical records, even messages between her and Oriana.

Hmm. Invasive. Was this how it felt when she did that to everyone else?

She didn't delete any of it from the server. Liara would know. Besides, she probably didn't have that much longer before Shepard returned, ready to leave.

There were still so many other names there, though. Thane. Kasumi. Jack. Garrus. Jacob. Mordin. Tali. Samara. Every single member of the team. She couldn't pretend she fully trusted every person on that list. She didn't, and many of them felt the same way about her. Even when it came to those she felt closest to, she couldn’t forgive herself if she let this information slip through her fingers. 

Miranda may have undergone something of a transformation since first joining the crew of the Normandy, but she hadn't changed that much.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Miranda synced her omni-tool to the Shadow Broker database, downloading as much of the data on her Normandy comrades as the system would allow her to. She wanted to know everything about everyone, leaving no trail behind for Liara to detect anything amiss.

As such, when she returned to her office that evening, Miranda couldn’t wait to dive into what she’d obtained. She had a wealth of options to explore.

Most of it turned out to be garbage, honestly. She read Jack’s terrible poetry, and Grunt’s extranet search history. She found out what movies Jacob was viewing, no surprises there. Those were all things Miranda already kept track of.

Other information was more...revealing. Things she wouldn’t have known otherwise. Information from years ago, not from aboard the Normandy.

As she closed Thane’s file, Samara’s name caught her eye. Miranda opened the Broker’s records on her without hesitation. Miranda would have been foolish not to. She’d touched on sensitive issues enough for it to become a recurring problem  – one that even Shepard had warned her about.

Any method that might aid Miranda in demystifying Samara’s past was a welcome one. Contrary to the popular saying, ignorance was not bliss. The longer she remained blind to any relevant information, the more likely it was that Miranda would repeat the mistake of saying something inadvertently offensive. If she did that too often, it would almost certainly damage their burgeoning friendship.

Second thoughts never crossed her mind.

The Shadow Broker only had so much intel on Samara. A conversation with her daughters. A list of possessions bequeathed to the Justicar Order. But it was still extremely useful; those names, dates and connections to Samara’s past around four hundred years ago made it significantly easier for Miranda to follow further leads, and track down more files related to her family on Thessia.

She didn't consider it an invasion of privacy to do so. It was just research. All this information was either on file with the Shadow Broker already, and the rest of the leads she hunted down were readily available to the public.

Well, not all of it. Some did require hacking into police records once she knew exactly where to look, but it still wasn't exactly a secret. At no point did it occur to Miranda to stop digging, or that she was going too far down the rabbit hole.

One by one, she started accessing files from that critical period, painting a detailed picture of Samara’s life around the time of her daughters’ diagnoses.

What she found was illuminating, to say the least.

In the years prior to becoming a Justicar, Samara had been living the most boringly, blisteringly normal upper middle class existence imaginable. She lived in a good neighbourhood in a four-bedroom house. Her bondmate was an associate at a prominent law firm. Samara was an actuary in a finance company. Their three daughters, close together in age, all attended the same prestigious school.

From the available evidence, it was clear Samara maintained an active social life. She had a gym membership. She played for her company's sports team. She attended community events with her neighbours and had a reputation as a rising name in her field, on the path towards potentially owning her own risk-management and financial advice company by the time she became a matriarch.

By all accounts, she was a typical, everyday, if high-achieving middle-aged mother. The sort of person nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to.

That had all changed, almost overnight.

Rila was the eldest daughter. She had been the first to be tested, and the first to be diagnosed as an Ardat-Yakshi. She was taken away almost as soon as the test results came back, before they even had time to process the news.

They probably only got about five minutes with her as a family before Rila was whisked away by the authorities, never to be held by either of her parents again.

The devastation of losing Rila in an instant hit their family like a tonne of bricks. Samara did her best to be strong and hold it together for the good of her loved ones, but everything unravelled around her with shocking speed. 

There was a record of medical notes from a counselling session (mandatory for parents of Ardat-Yakshi children) detailing how all appeared to be going well. Samara’s bondmate had just returned to work after a ‘nervous breakdown’. The psychiatrist seemed pleased with their progress, noting that both of them were doing their best to recover and support one another after their horrible news.

Only a few weeks later, there was a death certificate.

Samara's bondmate.

Suicide.

The official cause of death was exsanguination. According to the incident report, she was found in the bathtub. Victim's bondmate contacted police. Body discovered when she returned home from work, after collecting their children from school. No foul play suspected. A suicide letter was present on scene.

A copy of it was in evidence.

There was no way in hell Miranda was opening that. She couldn’t. Even the thought of it made her sick. The police report already said too much.

Samara's partner felt that this was their punishment. They'd been arrogant, ignoring the risks inherent in a pure-blooded union. She couldn't look at herself or Samara without seeing 'the curse' they had passed onto their child. She couldn't live with it, this sickness that they had unknowingly carried inside them. And, as Falere and Mirala approached testing age, she could not bear her fear that they would share their sister’s fate.

'I cannot love monsters,' she'd said, which meant she couldn't love Samara, her children, or herself. And she'd taken her own life to prove it, consumed by despair.

It was hard to imagine what Samara and her children had gone through. Samara couldn't have been oblivious to her partner's conflicted feelings following Rila’s diagnosis, or her struggle. But she had just been going about her day like any other day, putting on a brave face for her children, maybe daring to think that they could heal from this and find some semblance of normalcy, even without Rila...and she had come home to find the woman she loved dead in the bathtub.

In an instant, any hope they had of moving on with their lives had been snuffed out.

Nothing would ever be ordinary again.

Perhaps that explained why Mirala had turned into Morinth. Her behaviour had changed after her father's death. She became angrier, understandably. There were mentions of her becoming violent at school. She lashed out at teachers and fought with other students. All the while, her own test loomed nearer. They were monitored closely the whole time, Mirala and Falere, because of their sister's diagnosis. It was said to be a 50% chance they would possess the same illness.

Then Falere was officially diagnosed, only about two years after her elder sister. Mirala's test was due two years after that. Falere cooperated. Mirala didn't.

She knew she would fail the test, just like her sisters had, and that she would be forced to endure the same fate. So she ran the day she was scheduled to take it.

They found the body of her childhood best friend twelve hours later. The first person Mirala had melded with. The first person she'd killed. Morinth had still been a child at the time. She probably hadn't fully grasped that there was no way for an Ardat-Yakshi to safely meld with anyone. Maybe she'd hoped she didn’t have the syndrome. But it didn't matter. There was no going back from that.

The police had interrogated Samara, accusing her of facilitating her daughter's escape and assisting her in evading detection. Samara had insisted she had no clue where Mirala was. But she admitted that she felt responsible all the same.

In the transcript, Samara confessed that she had tried to emotionally prepare Mirala for what might happen, explaining to her that she might have to join her two sisters, and that she would live a life of seclusion and comfort. Instead of calming her, those words had stoked Mirala's panic and pushed her over the edge. It was no wonder she had stolen the opportunity to take flight.

Samara blamed herself for everything. Her daughters' condition. Her bondmate's suicide. Mirala's escape. The death of that poor, innocent child.

And everyone else blamed her too. She returned to her home alone, a pariah, locked away with the memories of her broken family, and society’s contempt.

Samara lost her job, citing poor performance. There were reports of vile, anti-pureblood vandalism on her home, never investigated. The child Mirala had killed, her mother had been Samara's friend once. They played on the same sports team. But not after that. Miranda deduced that much when her name came up on an assault and battery report against Samara. No charges were laid.

Miranda deduced even more from the next police report.

They'd been called to Samara's house by a frantic neighbour. Evidently, the only one who still gave a shit about her and didn’t despise her for the disease her children bore. She broke into her home when Samara didn’t answer her door or respond to phone calls, and she found her lying unconscious on the floor.

Samara had been prescribed drugs that Miranda recognised as common asari anti-depressants, and tried to overdose on them. There was a record of her admission to hospital, where she was held as an involuntary patient until she was deemed to no longer be a danger to herself. She was released back to the same empty home, the same hollow shell of a life, the same crushing isolation.

After that, there wasn't much information. Some updates on Mirala's presumed whereabouts, and crimes she was suspected to be responsible for. But for Samara, the next notable record of her was that conversation with her daughters the Shadow Broker had recovered. That was the day before Samara bequeathed all her possessions to the Justicars and swore her life to their Order.

Miranda could only speculate as to precisely when and how that decision came about. But she had no wish to dig deeper after the horrible things she’d already read. She had uncovered more than enough. More than she had any right to.

And, for the first time in her life, she felt rotten to her core.

Was this what Shepard had been warning her about? Had she known or sensed how deep Samara's wounds ran? Was that why she was wary of Miranda being careless with her trauma?

It was only as Miranda sat there processing that emotional rollercoaster that remorse began to bubble up inside her. Sure, she could justify it to herself that it wasn't really an invasion of privacy to learn things anyone present at the time would have known, because Miranda was nothing if not an expert and defending her own actions. But unearthing confidential records that went to Samara's mental state, her innermost thoughts, and her attempt at taking her own life?

Yeah, even Miranda felt uncomfortable with that.

She should have realised earlier that there was no separating the two. How could she read anything about such an intimate and painful part of Samara's past without crossing a few boundaries in the process? It wasn't like Miranda hadn't known what she was doing. She'd chosen to violate her trust and her privacy in the full knowledge and appreciation of what that meant.

She would have done this to everyone on the ship without a second thought. Hell, she already did, as a daily routine. She dug into their past. She hacked into their private messages. She spied on them. Not a single person on this ship didn't know how little Miranda cared to respect their agency.

So why did this feel so wrong?

Well, either way, Miranda had got what she wanted, right? She'd wanted to understand what happened in Samara's past and with her family in order to be able to grasp how profoundly it must have affected her and why she flinched at the mere mention of the subject. Now she fucking knew. Boy did she ever.

Be careful what you wish for. Because you might just get it.

*    *     *

Miranda was never truly satisfied with anything so one would have been forgiven for assuming from her complaints that she disliked their apartment. There was no way before the war that twelve people occupying a small three-bedroom apartment wouldn't have violated health and safety laws. There were way too many stairs she had to climb on one good leg. The water supply was spotty at best. And the bathroom situation was better left uncommented on altogether.

However, she was actually pleased with the upgrade. It was a relief to be out of tent city. For the first time since leaving the hospital, she had her own private space to sit and think. Since she wasn't a socialiser and was in no condition to battle the crowds in food queues, she tended to be the first person home. Even when she wasn't, if she wanted peace, she could head up to the roof with a laptop.

On that afternoon, about half her roommates were home, most of them in the kitchen and lounge area, either cooking dinner or hanging around shooting the breeze after a long day. Miranda kept to herself, seated at the small desk she'd set up in her bedroom, working on her computer, making the final preparations for her search and rescue team, ensuring everything was in order for tomorrow.

She'd already secured the assistance of Shiala and the Feros colonists. As promised, they were only too happy to help after Miranda had assisted them in securing the medicine they needed. They wouldn't be on Miranda's team as they didn't have any of the kind of specialised equipment necessary to be of immediate use to her, but they would be offering backup and support, helping evacuate any survivors and maintaining supply lines to and from the search front.

They would only have a couple of days, they had to make the most of this effort.

“Miranda,” Jacob's voice caught her attention. She hadn't heard him coming, something that almost never used to happen to her before her hearing was damaged. He was short of breath. She could tell he'd been sprinting across the city to get to her. “Whatever you’re doing, put it down; I got a message.”

“From Samara?” Miranda assumed, immediately getting up from her desk.

“No.” He shook his head.

Without another word, he handed over a datapad, leaving the room and closing the door behind him, electing to give her privacy. Miranda arched her brow in confusion and touched the screen. A video was already queued up.

She didn't dare to hope. Except she did.

“Hey, sis. It’s me.”

Miranda barely made it past the first word before the full force of seeing Oriana again hit her square in the heart. Her knees quaked, and she had to sit down fast as her weak leg buckled, almost collapsing onto the edge of her bunk bed. 

Her head swam from the shock, and she felt like she was about to fall off the face of the Earth. Suffice it to say she had not been emotionally prepared.

“I...don't need to tell you it's me, because this is a video message and you can see my face, can't you?” Oriana grimaced at her choice of words. “Ugh. Sorry. I don't mean to sound like an idiot, but I'm having a one-sided conversation with a black screen and not hearing you talk back to me. This feels so weird.”

“I know,” Miranda murmured, the soft glow of the screen illuminating the dark. 

“And now I'm rambling. Great start, Ori.” Oriana paused, swallowing heavily, her eyes downcast. “I don't know if you'll ever get this. Communication keeps blacking out everywhere, and...and well...I received a message from your friend, Jacob. I think it's old, but...He told me you were hurt pretty badly. That you were missing for five days. That you were in surgery for a long time. That you might not—”

Oriana's breath hitched, unable to speak that thought. Miranda's heart broke as she watched her sister struggle to blink back tears. That was her fault. She had forced her sister to bear that pain alone. She had made her worry like that.

“But, then...you're you, you know?” Oriana’s voice cracked as she spoke. “You might secretly be a huge nerd, but you're also an unstoppable, all-powerful space badass, so you have to be okay. You're going to hear my stupid rambling someday. And...we're definitely going to see each other again. We only just met, yeah?”

Miranda never normally cried. Except when it came to her sister. The first time she’d seen her. When she’d been forced to let her go. When, after nineteen long years, they finally met. But this? This didn’t only make her cry. This wrecked her.

Oriana's voice. Her words. Her fear and sorrow. It tipped her over the edge, and swamped her in a sudden surge of emotion that destroyed every wall in its path.

She broke down and wept like she’d quite literally never wept in her life.

“Whatever you did on Earth, it worked. You saved us. I mean, the mass relays are gone, but we're still alive, right? We have a chance at a future. We can come back from this. Somehow, we'll find a way. Someone will figure out how to rebuild them. It has to be possible. When that happens, you can come back to me. Or I can go to you. Whatever. We can be together in person again, like we're supposed to be. So you have to live to see it. If not for you, then for me.”

Miranda's fingers gently brushed the screen, certain the teardrops on her cheek mirrored the stains on Oriana's, the light of her image reflected on her skin.

“If you ever wake up, please send me a message. Even an email. Just let me know you're okay. I don't know if we'll be able to talk properly anytime soon with the Extranet the way it is. I imagine we're just two among billions trying to contact each other. But...fuck them; you’re the only one I care about.”

Through her tears, Miranda almost uttered a laugh at that. She and Oriana, they were both so different but...sometimes they were exactly the same.

“I love you,” Oriana said sincerely, unknowingly meeting her sister’s gaze through the cruel divide of time and space. “Please be okay.”

With that, the message ended.

The only thing Miranda did before recording her reply was wipe her eye and take a second to catch her breath. She had to reach out to her. Yes, she had already done so, but not as she truly was. Not openly. Not the way Oriana deserved.

She had to make right what she'd done wrong; she needed to be real.

She hit record.

“Oriana, I...I don't know if you've received the last message I sent you. To be honest, I don't care, because I just...I just got yours. Your first one.” Miranda brushed the hair out of her face. Doing that exposed her half-burned face, cotton and gauze concealing her now empty left eye socket. The tablet was far enough away that it clearly showed where her left arm stopped above the elbow as well.

“...This is why I only sent you a voice message before,” she confessed, realising this was the first time her sister would grasp the extent of her injuries. “I didn’t want to frighten you. And I didn't want you to worry about me. But...hey, at least people won't have any trouble telling us apart when you're older.”

Miranda managed a tearful smile. She'd never been good at jokes. She honestly didn't have an ounce of humour in her, thanks to her father's influence. The closest thing she had was sarcasm. But for Oriana, she would certainly try.

“It looks worse than it is,” she continued, glancing down self-consciously. “I'm not in pain. Not much, anyway. Not anymore. I'm already back at work, like I told you before. I...If that message got through. But I really am fine. I wasn't lying when I said that. I've never lied to you in your whole life, even when you didn't know me. Except...Except when I left for Earth and promised I'd come back.”

Her voice caught. Her breath choked and she shuddered as she fought back a sob.

“I'm so sorry.” Miranda’s resolve dissolved, pleading for forgiveness. “I'm so sorry I put you through that – not knowing if I was going to survive. And I'm sorry I came here because, if I hadn't, we wouldn't be stranded light years away when I swore to you that we were finally going to get to be a family. And I'm sorry because...I gave you my word I'd be back when I never truly believed I'd make it through this. But then, you already knew that, didn't you?”

More than anything else, that had been the one thing that ate away at Miranda's conscience, and kept her awake at night. For all the other harrowing thoughts that haunted her nightmares, none were worse than the fact that she knew she was lying to Oriana about her chances of returning.

Miranda had come to Earth fully expecting to die in the fight to save the galaxy. Maybe that had just been wishful thinking. Maybe she would have preferred that to living with the consequences of her cowardice, and facing responsibility for deserting Oriana to go play at being a hero.

She didn't feel like much of one now. Heroes didn't get their whole team killed.

“Please keep sending messages. I know I don't actually have to ask that of you. But I need to hear your voice, and not just because yours is a thousand times more positive than mine. Although that helps.” Miranda brushed the moisture from her eye, but it was in vain. “The only reason I am who I am today is because of you – because I had to protect you, and keep you far, far away from...you know who. Without you, there is no...'unstoppable space badass' or whatever you called me.”

Miranda couldn't help but utter an emotionally broken laugh at that. That was such an Oriana thing to say. Sometimes it seemed impossible that she and her sister really did share completely identical DNA. Oriana was so light-hearted and funny and empathetic, the exact opposite of Miranda in those respects. Nature versus nurture, and all that. They made a good study in which traits were which.

“...It was also your voice that kept me going after the shuttle crash,” Miranda confessed. “I was out in that wasteland for what felt like eternity. Alone. Hurt. But every time my body wanted to stop, I thought of you, and I kept going. Samara never would have found me if not for that. So please...stay in contact. I don't mind what you say. Just...something. Anything. As long as it's you.”

Words couldn't encapsulate how wholeheartedly she meant that. It didn't matter what Oriana said, or how stupid and inane she probably thought it was. Miranda would have killed just to hear her waffle on about nothing. Just to hear her speak. Just to know she was living her life.

It made all her sacrifices feel like they were a little less in vain, if they'd played any part in keeping Oriana safe, happy and healthy. Even if they hadn't, it made the vast distances between them feel a little smaller.

She sat in silence for a long moment, the numbers on the recording still ticking by. Even though she wasn't saying anything, she didn't want to end it. Doing so felt like severing that faint connection between herself and her twin, not knowing how many days, weeks or months it might be before she heard a reply. But time wasn't going to wait for her. She still had a job to do tomorrow.

She sniffed and straightened up, pausing to think if there were any last words she wanted to add. But there weren't. Not that occurred to her in that moment.

“I love you, Oriana,” she said – the only person Miranda had said those words to, and the only person for whom that statement had ever been true. “Goodbye.”

Miranda switched off the recorder. She didn't play the message back. She just sent it, and hoped it reached her sister quicker than the last.

Jacob didn't ask any questions when he came in to check on her when she was late for dinner. He just hugged her and let her process her mixed emotions in silence until the tears stopped flowing, and the sobs stopped tearing her throat.

*    *     *

Guilt was an emotion Miranda was not well-acquainted with.

Miranda rarely saw beneath the surface when it came to her perceptions of others, satisfied that her first assumptions were always correct. She never got close enough to anyone to care what they thought of her, or to spare a thought for the emotional impact of her actions. People’s personal feelings didn’t matter to her. And they weren’t Miranda’s problem. Hence, it was hard to have many regrets.

But that didn't apply to Samara.

In only a few short weeks, Miranda had grown to value Samara’s companionship in a way that was...completely new and unfamiliar to her. Miranda had never been allowed to have friends growing up. She’d never learned the skills necessary to make them. And, as she’d entered adulthood, her independent and self-sufficient nature (along with her difficulties relating to others) ultimately convinced her that she neither needed nor desired it. She hadn’t missed anything.

Samara was the first person she’d met who made Miranda appreciate what a genuine rapport actually entailed, and how it could enrich the quality of one’s life rather than needlessly distracting from it. None of the time she’d taken to get to know her had ever felt like a waste. Nor did those moments where Miranda had allowed herself to show vulnerability, and listened to Samara’s sage advice.

Unlike most other people, Miranda usually didn’t struggle to connect with her. Maybe that was because Samara wasn’t dominated by her emotions either. She didn’t react to things in irrational and unpredictable ways. She was perfectly capable of putting her personal feelings to one side, and talking things through logically.

Perhaps that was why, when something did upset Samara, Miranda tended to take it more seriously. And with good cause, because so far it was always something that made complete sense. Something even Miranda could understand.

The events surrounding her family were no exception. And that placed Miranda in a dilemma. Because she could foresee the reasonable consequences of her actions in violating Samara’s privacy if they ever came to light.

And, for once, she cared.

Scarcely a moment had passed since Miranda had gone digging into Samara's past without her consent that she hadn't second-guessed her decision, or wished she hadn't stumbled across the Shadow Broker terminal. She told herself it was a waste of time and energy to beat herself up over it. It was too late to undo it now. This exercise was pointless. But it didn't silence her unease.

On one level, she didn't think she should regret it. A voice in her head told her she shouldn’t feel compelled to apologise, because, technically, she hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. Not by her standards. It was nothing she wouldn't have done and hadn't already done to others a thousand times without blinking.

And, unlike other times, she hadn't done this to gain an advantage over Samara or to report it to The Illusive Man. Miranda's sole reason for investigating further into her background had been to gain a better insight into her, and to try to reduce her risk of accidentally upsetting her in future. Admittedly, those reasons were still selfish, but they weren’t malicious. It was only because she'd come to care about Samara as a friend that she'd delved as deep into her past as she had.

Conversely, it was only because of their friendship that Miranda was questioning her actions. It mattered if Samara felt betrayed or hurt by anything she’d done.

Even if she never found out, that didn’t exactly put Miranda’s mind at ease. Whether Samara realised it or not, Miranda had opened Pandora’s box and released her deepest secrets, and that lid could never be closed again.

Samara was her closest confidant aboard the Normandy, and now Miranda knew, in intimate detail, how the worst moments of her life had unfolded, unravelling the fabric of her entire family, leaving her with nothing but unimaginable grief and mournful memories. Her children's diagnoses. The suicide of her partner. Mirala's first murder. The way her friends and neighbours had turned against her. How Samara had attempted to take her own life.

Miranda knew all these things, and she could never un-know them. Every time she looked at her, that forbidden knowledge was there. And Miranda couldn't even express sympathy for what Samara had gone through, or comfort her, because doing that would expose her treachery. It just had to sit there in the pit of her stomach, an unspeakable transgression, perpetually gnawing away at her.

She’d never felt that before.

Miranda had lived her life without shame, never once craving absolution for any of her sins. She’d never lost sleep over the people she wronged in pursuit of her own ambitions or the furtherance of Cerberus’s goals. She was always justified.

But not here.

For the first time she could recall, she craved forgiveness. But she was too afraid to confess and repent, for no other reason than because Samara’s opinion of her might be permanently damaged if she revealed what she’d done. And Miranda couldn’t reconcile with losing her, even if she deserved to.

She hadn’t been this scared in a long time. Not since she was a child, hiding minor mistakes from her father and his disproportionate retribution.

In retrospect, Shepard’s warnings to be careful with Samara made perfect sense. More than that, they’d been prescient, a prologue to future events. 

Was this what Shepard had been referring to? Had she known all along? Shepard did have an uncanny ability to understand people. Maybe she'd recognised the hollow heart Samara carried with her. Maybe they’d talked about it.

And to think, all this time, Miranda had assumed Samara was at peace with her past, troubled only by Morinth’s murders and recent death, purely because she didn't let her pain show. Between the two of them, Samara always seemed like the stronger one. Then again, maybe she still was. She had persevered despite what she had endured. Miranda had been damaged far worse by far less. 

Well, either way, Andrea had been right; Miranda had done something she regretted. Just as Shepard predicted, Miranda had been so narrowly focused on pursuing her own desire to learn more about Samara's history that she had barged through any barrier of privacy like a battering ram without sparing so much as a thought to her wishes, or how she would be affected by that.

She should have listened to her. She should have left it alone.

“Miranda?” Samara prompted Miranda to open her eyes. “I understand that we are meditating, but...” Samara trailed off, visibly searching for the right words.

“But what?” said Miranda, too frustrated with herself to be self-conscious.

“You seem quiet,” Samara tactfully pointed out. Maybe it wasn't the quiet itself that struck her as odd, since she and Miranda could spend hours in the same space without exchanging a word, but the tension she sensed in it.

“I'm just...concentrating,” Miranda assured her, dodging the question. That slight hesitation didn’t go unnoticed, confirming Samara’s suspicions weren’t misplaced.

“If something troubles you, perhaps I can be of assistance,” Samara offered.

Miranda's teeth grazed her lower lip. Samara's unconditional kindness twisted the knife. It was a stark reminder that Samara would never have betrayed Miranda's trust. “No. I think this is one of those cases where I need to help myself.”

“Very well,” Samara respected her wishes. “I am here if you need me.”

“Hmm.” Miranda glanced down. Perhaps there was something. “I never apologised to you for upsetting you the other day, did I?” she asked, well aware that she hadn't. “I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have pushed you into that conversation.”

“Your apology is not necessary, and I should not have reacted in the manner I did. There is much which I have not told you, or anyone else aboard this vessel. You cannot be expected to intuit all that may cause me discomfort. But I thank you for apologising,” Samara graciously replied, forgiving her mistakes.

“You know, I think you're the first person I've spoken to who doesn't make me feel humiliated for admitting I'm wrong,” Miranda acknowledged. If only everyone was as easy to talk to as Samara. Maybe she’d do it more often.

“Show me any person who has never been wrong in their life, and I will show you a liar,” Samara replied, a relaxed smile tugging at her lips. “Though we should all aspire to better ourselves, no one should be shamed for imperfection.”

“Tell that to my father, if you ever meet him,” Miranda remarked.

She did feel better, having made some small amends to Samara for something, even if it wasn't what she ought to have expressed remorse for. But it didn't lift the weight from her mind, every moment a conscious reminder of what Samara had gone through with her family, and the private grief she still bore.

But, come to think of it, maybe Samara didn't have to carry that all alone.

“...Samara, can I ask you a personal question?” Miranda began. Samara tilted her head, receptive. Miranda wasn't so sure that would last once she asked what was on her mind. “Can you tell me about your bondmate?” she said, genuinely wanting to be able to connect with more of that part of  her life. Only, this time, she wanted to do it the right way. “Only if you're comfortable with it.”

Needless to say, Samara was taken aback by the abrupt question. She glanced down, her gaze heavy. “Forgive me, I find it very difficult to speak of her.”

“Of course you do,” Miranda replied in a sigh, understanding why. How could she be so stupid? It wasn't any of her business. “You're right. I shouldn't have—“

“It was strange. I had never considered myself to be unhappy in my life prior to that point. But, when I was with her, I realised I had never truly known happiness, or love,” Samara reminisced, her voice soft and wisftul. “She completed me, and elevated me. I can say with no falsity that she made me a better person.”

Miranda didn’t interrupt, watching the expressions play across Samara’s face as she drifted into thought, remembering brighter days from a distant lifetime.

“I had just returned to Thessia, for my mother’s funeral,” Samara explained. “Her passing was...very sudden. I had not been told that she was ill, so it was...difficult to bear. I could not accept it, or comprehend that my chance to reconcile with my mother before the end had, in essence, been stolen from me. I harboured a great deal of anger and resentment towards my sisters over this.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Miranda said quietly, certain she would have felt the same had she been in her position. Not that she had a family of her own to compare with.

“One day, a complete stranger approached me at the temple of the Goddess, and wanted to know if I was okay,” Samara recalled their first encounter. “She had seen me there several times recently, and was concerned that I always seemed so upset. She bought me a cup of tea and something to eat and listened to me bare my soul. I do not know if I could have endured that day without her,

“I do not remember the things I said,” Samara continued. “But somehow she must not have thought me a raving madwoman, because we kept spending time together, and within a few weeks we had already become close friends. We were friends for over two years before I recognised that I had fallen in love with her.”

“What was she like?” Miranda said curiously, eager to learn more about the woman she'd only read about in police reports and medical records, and about the life she and Samara shared together for nearly a century.

“She was a strong woman, but gentle. Devout in her faith. She never harmed a soul in her life,” Samara described her, unable to help but smile fondly at her memory. “She was stalwart in her convictions, but never harsh or severe. She was warm and kindhearted, sometimes to a fault. I learned much from her.”

“Isn’t it taboo for asari to be together?” Miranda asked, prepared for Samara to stop her if her questions crossed a line. “Did that...affect you when you started dating? Were either of you uncomfortable with changing your relationship?”

“I had no concerns, but she did initially, yes. However, it is not so rare as one might think; I can guarantee that there are far more asari who have melded with another asari than there are those who have not,” Samara assured her. Though that couldn’t be proven, Miranda trusted her authority on the matter. “And is not forbidden to become bonded or produce children. While social stigma does exist, the law does not permit discrimination against purebloods, or asari-asari unions.”

“But it happens anyway,” Miranda stated the obvious. Just because it was illegal to discriminate didn't mean people didn't find ways to act upon their prejudices.

“Yes,” Samara conceded. “Unfortunately, the world we live in is an imperfect one, built upon the flaws of imperfect people. She sought to fix it, which is why she pursued a career in law after we met. Her idealism was ill-suited for a system that fosters inequality, privileging the corrupt and disadvantaging those who value character over personal gain. She fought for justice, but rarely found it.”

“You do the same,” Miranda observed.

“I was not the person then that I am now,” Samara reminded her. “Though I believed myself to be otherwise, I was less compassionate towards others, and prone to moral relativism. I had less sympathy for the plight of others, and thought they should be self-reliant. Some of my views had merit, and not all of them have changed, but I was misguided. I did not appreciate how fortunate I was.”

“But you've become nothing if not a crusader against injustice, just in a different way than she aspired to. You defend the defenceless, and cut through the bureaucratic red tape that allows corruption to thrive. I’m sure she’d be proud of that if she saw you now,” Miranda postulated, hoping she took some comfort in that.

“Perhaps,” Samara neither agreed nor disagreed. “But my endeavours are distinct from hers, in that no Code ever compelled my bondmate to be virtuous. She just was. She walked the righteous path of her own accord. To the extent that she was able, she was tireless in her efforts to advocate for clients who fell through the cracks in the system, and those whom the laws of Thessia failed.”

“That sounds very noble, but if she worked at any reasonably sized firm she was more likely representing the rich than the poor. And every lawyer ends up on the wrong side of a dispute at some point. It's part of the job,” Miranda stated frankly.

“You are correct. She was often forced to act against her conscience. She said it was worth it in order to keep her job, so that she could continue to use her status and position to assist those clients whose cases genuinely mattered to her at no cost. Those moments were truly rewarding to her. However, they were few and far between. I knew she struggled with this,” Samara confessed.

Miranda noticed Samara's thumb was unconsciously tracing circles on the back of her other hand. She didn't think she'd ever seen her fidget before. It occurred to her that this was probably the most openly she'd reflected on her bondmate in a very long time. Possibly since her death. It was obviously a painful subject to bring up. But that didn't seem to be deterring her. Maybe this was cathartic.

“She was very different from you or I,” Samara continued. “You thrive when challenged to your limits. Pressure does not defeat you; it fuels you. The more tirelessly you work, the stronger you become. But this was not so for my bondmate. The stress undid her, and gnawed away at her. She was often overburdened and overwhelmed, and began to buckle under the weight. When she came home, she dreaded answering the phone, afraid it would be work. I loved waking up in the mornings and facing the day ahead. She loathed it.”

“That doesn’t make you different.” Miranda shook her head. “You describe your bondmate as gentle and kind. I might be neither of those things, but you certainly are,” Miranda pointed out. Samara had never been otherwise towards her.

“No. In this, you and I are alike. You are a hard woman, as I am. And I was moreso then,” Samara quietly confirmed. “Perhaps that is why I failed to grasp how heavily her work weighed upon her. I misconstrued it as mere frustration, even as she became unwell emotionally. After she passed, I...” Samara stopped suddenly, taking a long moment to compose herself. “I often thought if I had been softer, she would have confided in me. And I could have saved her.”

“People aren't unbiased judges of their own state of mind. It isn't your fault if she didn't tell you. She probably didn't want to acknowledge it herself. Or maybe she didn't want you to worry,” Miranda comforted her. It wasn't fair for Samara to blame herself for her partner's mental illness. She had no control over that.

“With respect, I have thought about this a great deal over the centuries,” Samara replied, her voice calm, but layered with deep, unabating sorrow. “In retrospect, it would not have altered her fate. Because I would not have listened.”

Miranda blinked, taken aback by that frank statement.

“There were signs that her health was in decline and our relationship was deteriorating that I was too blind to see,” Samara admitted. “We were under strain. And I was not sensitive to her needs. I was always pushing her to be resilient – to be an example to our daughters. When something was amiss, I would say, 'weather this, and it will pass, and you shall be the stronger for it.' I did not know then as I know now that it cannot always be so. I was too rigid and simplistic. Arrogant, even. Would that I had heeded her sooner.”

Samara trailed off into troubled silence. Miranda didn't know what to say to that. She couldn't comprehend living with that level of regret. The closest thing she could imagine was if she had never rescued Oriana from her father.

Even if the blame was unwarranted, how could someone ever forgive themselves if they felt responsible for...essentially killing someone they loved?

But Samara’s bondmate had a lot to answer for too. Far more than Samara did. She may not have been in her right mind, but her actions had hurt the woman she claimed to love so deeply that it damn near destroyed her.

Miranda’s first instinct was to think it selfish and cowardly to abandon her family rather than face reality. But, intellectually, she knew that was simplistic. Medical opinion was clear that depression and anxiety didn’t work that way; it wasn’t a moral failing or a question of willpower. That was her father’s influence talking. Besides, Samara had been driven to the same despair too, and she was far from weak. Samara had the most unshakable resolve of any person Miranda knew. 

Still, Miranda couldn’t understand what would make someone want to do what she’d done, or why Samara wasn’t angry at the mere mention of her.

Could someone ever forgive the person they loved for taking their own life?

“...Do you still love her?” Miranda asked, aware of the painful way their relationship had ended, and grasping to some degree the hurtful things her bondmate had said in that letter. Perhaps it was a stupid question, but she'd never felt anything like what Samara had described, so she didn't know.

Samara glanced down at her hands, clasped together in her lap. “Eternally.”

As their conversation trailed into silence, a strange sense of relief washed over Miranda. That gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach faded. Samara had willingly shared information about that part of her life. It was out in the open now. She had tacit approval to know...most of what she knew.

Even though she wished she had not sunk to employing those underhanded methods, Miranda had come to better understand the ever-present shadow that Samara carried with her. It wasn't always on the surface, and it didn’t mean the moments where she was visibly happy were fake. They were real. But echoes of her past lingered, inescapable. And she would always bear that heartache.

In the span of less than five years – which, to an asari, was the equivalent of a couple of months – Samara had lost everything that gave her life meaning. Her bondmate. Her children. And it had broken her. At one point, she believed she'd had nothing left to live for. Yet somehow she had found the strength to rise from the ashes like a phoenix and keep living. She'd survived, and endured.

Anyone who was privileged enough to be privy to that part of her story could only marvel in awe upon recognising what an astonishing feat that was.

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me,” said Miranda, appreciating that she had indulged her petty questions. “I know it’s hard for you to talk about.”

“It is,” Samara acknowledged, visibly drained by their conversation. “And yet...if I am not mistaken, you may be the first person who has asked me to.”

Miranda arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Justicars do not discuss the people we once were with one another. And I have travelled alone for a very long time,” Samara informed her, her voice barely above a quiet whisper. “...I am grateful that you encouraged me to speak of her again, but...from now on, I think it would be best to focus on the task ahead.”

“Of course. I agree.” Miranda nodded her head, taking that as an indication that Samara was not prepared to reveal anything further, and did not wish to dwell on her past more than she already had. Miranda didn’t have a problem with that. Samara wasn’t obligated to reveal anything she didn’t want to.

Miranda still regretted not respecting that boundary sooner, but her failure just made her all the more committed to never breach Samara’s trust again.

She couldn’t erase what she’d done, but she could change her behaviour going forward, and prove herself worthy of Samara’s confidence. She deserved that, especially if Miranda truly was the closest thing to a friend she’d had in centuries.

“You really are an incredible person, Samara,” Miranda told her.

Samara held her gaze for a moment, meeting Miranda with a faint effort at a smile that never reached her weary eyes. “I am not, but thank you for saying it.”

*     *     *

#fic #miranda lawson #samara #femslash #mass effect

[emperorren]

[pt 1 of 2] Thanks for the awesome reply! I

I find them overall quite emotionally sterile and very male-centric, both in the male leads but also in the story emphasis. It's fine but the buddy-buddy team up para-military stuff is empty for me personally. And if I can respect people who love it they can respect my jam

To be clear though: what they're doing CAN be art. The 1:1 political stuff and approach in Black Panther proves that. I hope Captain Marvel is similarly excellent. I just want there to be more room for the stuff that's my jam and recognition of it as actually doing something different rather than failing/being "problematic" at being an MCU movie. 

^ About the MCU approach to political analogy, I'll never grow tired of referring to this post by cephiedvariable, particularly the part that says:

[...] the idea that Captain America as presented in the MCU (or any character in big, colourful PG rated popcorn flick for that matter) is a new, revolutionary, un-problematic kind of hero is how we saw so many people unblinkingly and uncritically swallow ‘The Winter Soldier’ as some politically rebellious masterstroke of leftist defiance when it was actually a very careful, very safe, very neoliberal script that took tepid aim at something everyone agrees is bad (the Patriot Act) without offering any substantial commentary or praxis and while *still* stroking off American exceptionalism and perpetuating the inherently reactionary message of superhero vigilantis.

[...] I’m not saying 'The Winter Soldier’ is bad and you’re bad for liking it, I’m saying that I think the conversation we had about it as a culture was exactly the conversation Disney wanted us to have about it. The idea that these are “important” statements, that these black & white, a-thematic stories told in broad strokes across multi-million dollar canvasses are meaningful moral constructs is what Disney and similar companies want you to think.

The “political” statements in the MCU boil down to essentially a series of simple and uncontroversial clichés (nazi-coded organizations are bad!, killing half the world population preemptively is bad!, using weapons of mass destruction against innocent civilians is bad! Every single life matters!) that are framed and spoon-fed to the audience as revolutionary, greatly heroic messages. Meanwhile, the villains (Killmonger, Thanos, Zemo, Pierce, Raza, Ultron, etc.) are the ones who actually try to subvert the status quo by individuating social illnesses and reacting against them. But since they’re also batshit genocidal maniacs, with no exceptions, their revolutionary impact along with whatever decent point their ideology was trying to make is normalized as Evil(TM) and eventually nullified and condemned by the narrative, and the status quo is restored peacefully and without any substantial attempt to fix the wrongs the villains tried to bring up. Moral of the story: yeah, society is full of flaws but war is bad and killing people is wrong so let’s defeat the bad guys and their Wrong, Horrible, Not Good At All approach to fix said flaws and then sit down, have a beer and hope for the best, god bless america.

It’s a very conservative, extremely safe approach to political analogy, and in the context of this genre it works well, as it easily creates high stakes and a simple, relatable, accessible moral divide between heroes and Complex Villains With A Cause. But it’s not the brilliant, revolutionary political commentary that people think.

Star Wars makes it even simpler and more universal (in the movies, it’s not even clear what’s the ultimate purpose of the FO, what makes it different from the Empire, what the hell they’re trying to accomplish or reacting against---the evils of democracy? political corruption? unequal distribution of resources? too equal distribution of resources? slavery? anti-slavery?). We don’t need a lot of details because the political conflict is transparently just a backdrop or large-scale allegory for the personal/existential conflict; the battle is life / love / creation / democracy VS death / hate / destruction / tyranny, rather than two concrete ideologies at war against each other; it’s just slightly more political than Fantasia’s battle against the Nothing. (the political aspect is much more prominent in the supporting materials, but those aren’t essential to understand the movie trilogies).

I find them overall quite emotionally sterile and very male-centric, both in the male leads but also in the story emphasis.

I’m actually a fan of the MCU, and I appreciate that it’s getting more and more female audience-friendly. I’m HYPED for Captain Marvel. But I also take it as what it is---I agree on the male-centricness (see also: Not Heroines, but Female Heroes) and I don’t think it’s necessarily a problem, provided that (as you said) it isn’t regarded as the highest touchstone in the action fantasy genre that every other franchise needs to conform to. As for the emotional part (or lack thereof), I personally read between the lines and use my transformative gaze whenever I can, even if that means treating the actual movies as a blank canvas to project my headcanons upon. The transformative approach makes every piece of fiction better than it is, but I find it particularly true for the MCU.

#/ #// #/// #//// #mcu for ts #mcu criticism #political messages #political analogies #the mcu problem #sw vs mcu #mswyrr #asks

[tlbodine]

Ableism, Mental Illness, and the Horror Genre

Horror has a problematic history with the mentally ill, and I think there’s a lot to unpack there in terms of ableism and deconstructing harmful tropes. 

* For purposes of this discussion, I’ll be using some potentially-triggering terms like “insane” and “crazy” and “lunatic” and “psycho” and I kindly ask that you don’t take that as any sort of endorsement or reflection of my values -- just as a bundle of terms familiar in the genre. Tread forward carefully. 

Loosely speaking, I think mental illness has three flavors in the horror genre: 

Stories where people with schizophrenia/DID/whatever are the villains 

Stories set in or using mental hospitals/asylums as scary plot devices

Stories about people going insane/losing their grip on reality (or thinking they’re going insane because of the supernatural shenanigans happening in the story) 

I don’t think that these three tropes are necessarily closely related, and I don’t think that any of them are inherently ableist if dealt with under certain circumstances -- but let’s go back to the beginning and try to break it down a bit.

What is Ableism? Why is it Harmful? 

Before we get started, let’s talk about why we should care about this at all. So what actually is ableism? 

Ableism --  The practices and dominant attitudes in society that devalue and limit the potential of persons with disabilities. A set of practices and beliefs that assign inferior value (worth) to people who have developmental, emotional, physical or psychiatric disabilities.

(Source: http://www.stopableism.org/p/what-is-ableism.html) 

Ableism against the mentally ill stigmatizes people who have mental illnesses. It dehumanizes and “others” them. In horror media in particular, it promotes the concept that “crazy people” are dangerous, which can lead to acts of violence against them or an overall lack of compassion. 

I’m a firm believer that there are no bad tropes, and that people are always free to write the stories that speak to them - but I’m also a firm believer that you need to take responsibility for your creations and be aware of the effects your words may have on the world. So we’ll look at how mental illness is portrayed in horror media, why it can be problematic, and some ways to subvert it. 

Mental Illness, as a Concept, is Relatively New (and a lot newer than the horror genre)  

The concept of ableism is even newer. Many, many tropes are rooted in times when social concepts were different. Human behavior hasn’t changed much, but the way we talk about that behavior has -- and stories have a way of sticking around after the cultures that created them are gone. So we have a whole stack of tropes and narratives and ideas that are tied to older ways of thinking. 

So for example: At various points in history and across various cultures, mental illness as we know it today may have been viewed as demonic possession, fae magic, witchcraft, etc. In other words - a lot of the tropes we already associate with horror may in part have been used as an explanation for mental illness symptoms (and the mentally ill may have endured terrible punishments for it throughout history as well). 

Then, as more modern medicine started to be practiced, and psychology began to be developed, the concept of mental illness started to develop...and sometimes that, too, was horrifying. 

Here are some supplemental reading links on the topic you might find interesting: 

http://nobaproject.com/modules/history-of-mental-illness

https://www.healthyplace.com/other-info/mental-illness-overview/the-history-of-mental-illness

http://www.inquiriesjournal.com/articles/1673/the-history-of-mental-illness-from-skull-drills-to-happy-pills

Even in modern times, we still don’t fully understand how the brain works and what causes mental illness and the accompanying behaviors -- and the unknown continues to be scary. All of our fears live inside unanswered questions. And that is why these narratives continue to hold sway. 

Why Insanity is Frightening 

Let’s go back to my earlier assertion that there are three flavors of mental illness in horror, because I think at their core that each version preys upon entirely different types of fears: 

#1 The Psycho Killer Trope: 

As seen in: Psycho, Halloween, The Silence of the Lambs

Falls under the TVTrope “Insane Equals Violent” https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/InsaneEqualsViolent 

Many urban legends also deal with “escaped lunatic” or “dangerous madman” character tropes. The gist of it is that a mentally unstable person is violent, commits atrocious acts, does not feel remorse (or much of anything else), and may somehow possess superhuman strength. 

This scenario is frightening because: 

A crazy person has no motive and cannot be reasoned with 

Crazy people behave erratically and unpredictably 

An insane mind is harder to understand, effectively dehumanizing the villain 

People with hallucinations or delusions can experience a twisted view of reality, leading to abnormal behavior (and cool cinematic effects)

Essentially, if you want to turn a human into a monster, making them “crazy” is an easy (lazy) way to do it. 

Now, here’s the thing. Sometimes, the mentally ill really are dangerous, such as people who attack their families while experiencing delusions. And if you consider sociopaths to be mentally ill, then a good number of serial killers and other violent people count as mentally ill: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/wicked-deeds/201409/the-sociopath-serial-killer-connection

All the same, there are many ways that this trope can become ableist and damaging: 

The overwhelming majority of mentally ill people are non-violent and are actually much more likely to be victims of violence themselves in real life. There are a lot of reasons for that. For one, many severely mentally ill people end up homeless (or homelessness exacerbates existing mental illness), and the homeless are a common target of violence. For another, people’s fear of insanity can lead to them perpetuating violence against the mentally ill. Nasty cycle, right? 

The other big problem with this trope is that it’s not portrayed realistically 99% of the time. Real-world psychopaths are generally not known for their cackling insanity and childish violence. Schizophrenics and people with DID/multiple personalities are statistically very rarely violent, and their violent tendencies are really overblown in media. And that is probably the biggest thing: If the only time we ever see a schizophrenic character in a story is when they’re a crazy killer, then we the audience are going to start thinking that all schizophrenic people are crazy killers. Because most people don’t know anyone with schizophrenia, and they’re not used to ever seeing positive or compassionate portrayals of those people in media. 

#2 The Haunted Asylum Trope: 

As seen in: The Ward, Session 9, American Horror Story: Asylum, and more video games than I can possibly count

Falls under the TVTrope: Bedlam House https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BedlamHouse

There are two flavors to the haunted asylum trope, and they can overlap or happen distinctly. The first is where the action takes place in a now-abandoned building that was once a mental institution and is now haunted as shit. The second is where a person is committed to a mental institution that may or may not be haunted and endures all manner of terrifying things up to and including: abusive staff, ghosts, violent patients, and torturous “treatments.” 

There are more examples of this trope than I can possibly list out, and its roots dig back real deep into our not-so-distant past. Stories like Poe’s short story “The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether” is an early treatment of the premise (compare and contrast with the film Stonehearst Asylum, which is basically a re-telling); Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, while not precisely horror, is a trope codifier for a lot of things that show up in these stories. 

There’s a lot to fear in this setting: 

“Treatments” that were dangerous and brutal, like lobotomies and electro-shocks, being essentially forms of torture 

The idea of being locked up against your will (a justified fear in certain points of history, when locking up your inconvenient relatives was a viable option)

Being locked up somewhere occupied by those same murderous-madmen from the previous trope 

Ghosts and vengeful spirits who are really pissed about all of the above 

In some ways, the haunted asylum trope is actually anti-ableist, or at least inverts the ableism of the psycho-killer trope, in that the “madmen” are often sympathetic characters rather than the villains. However, it then creates its own set of problems. 

One of the worst issues with the “haunted asylum” trope is it is anachronistic. Modern mental health care isn’t perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better than it was 100 years ago -- but people don’t have a lot of cultural touchstones for what a modern inpatient care facility looks like. Painting psychiatrists and other mental healthcare staff as sadistic torture-lovers isn’t exactly doing the profession any favors. 

If the public associates getting mental health care with the kind of things they see in media...well, they won’t be very supportive of that care, right? And that’s a big problem. 

And, of course, if your haunted asylum is also home to crazy psycho-killers, you have a two-for-one ableism problem. 

#3 The Am-I-Losing-My-Mind Trope: 

As seen in: The Shining, 1408, The Babadook

Falls under the TV Trope Through the Eyes of Madness: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ThroughTheEyesOfMadness

The diverse sub-genre of “psychological horror” quite frequently utilizes some form or another of this concept -- “Are these things actually happening, or am I losing my mind?” I’m the first to admit that I’m a sucker for this trope. It’s probably my favorite thing about the horror genre. But that doesn’t mean it’s wholly unproblematic. 

There are a few sub-types of this trope: 

Gaslighting, where someone purposely manipulates a character to make them feel like they can’t trust their own perceptions of reality 

The “I think I’m going crazy but wait actually it’s a supernatural event” trope 

The “something happened and it made me go crazy (and possibly violent)” trope

Of these, the third one has the greatest risk of becoming ableist. It’s sometimes used to give a backstory to the psycho-killers in #1, and it has some troubling implications. For one, the idea that trauma can make you go crazy is...overly simplistic at best. We don’t fully understand mental illnesses, but we do know that they are often linked to genetics, brain injury, neurological disorders, childhood experiences, etc. etc. etc. In other words, it’s pretty fucking insensitive and reductionist to suggest that a single traumatic event can “drive someone crazy.” 

The other issue is that, in these cases, being crazy (or being viewed as crazy) is the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to somebody, right? Like how often do we see the harmful trope of someone experiencing something, then being locked away in one of those mental institutions from #2, and then their life is effectively over? That has to feel pretty awful for the people who do suffer from mental illnesses in the real world. 

So, Okay, How Do We Fix It? 

All right. If you’re still with me after this long exploration, you’re probably wondering: OK, TL, I get it, but what am I -- a horror writer -- supposed to do about this? How do I tell scary stories without falling back on harmful tropes? 

Gee, I’m so glad you asked! 

Not every story is the same, and there is no single “do this and never be accused of ableism” formula, but there are some tips I think can make a lot of difference: 

Ask yourself: Why am I writing this story? What is it about the premise that intrigues and frightens you? Drill down to the core of your motives and mine the untapped potential of fresh ideas rather than regurgitating more well-worn tropes. If you want to write a story about being locked in a place with violent people, can I set it somewhere other than an asylum? If I want to write a story about a murderer, can I make him frightening without him being insane? 

Do your research and portray things realistically. Research here means original, real-life cases and events. If you want to write about a mental hospital, look at real mental hospitals and draw your inspiration from them rather than drawing from the stock tropes in other stories. If you have a psychiatrist character, learn about real psychiatric treatments in the time period you’re writing about. If you have a schizophrenic character, research the actual symptoms and behaviors associated with schizophrenia. 

Question what your thematic choices are actually saying. Consider the implications of a plot point or character, and decide whether you’re comfortable with them. Be self-aware about what you choose to include. 

Practice good representation. A lot of the harm from ableist narratives comes from the mentally ill character being the only representation of that illness - not just in their story, but in every story. Consider including sympathetic, non-villainous characters with (realistically portrayed) mental illnesses. If you have several such characters, it’s not so bad if one of them is indeed a villain. 

Get a sensitivity reader. Find somebody who is familiar with what you’re writing about, and get them to read it and tell you if you’re being an asshole. Ideally, get more than one. Someone who has first-hand experience with the topics you’re writing about can tell you whether or not you’ve missed the mark (within reason). 

Invert and avoid stereotypes: This goes hand-in-hand with doing your research. Study the tropes that are common in the type of story you’re telling, and think of ways to challenge or invert the most common stereotypes. Not only will you avoid falling in the same traps, you’ll also give your story a fresh and refreshing twist that the reader will enjoy. 

I hope this was helpful. If you have more thoughts, feel free to add them below! 

Enjoy what I’m doing here? Show your support by buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/A57355UN

#how to write horror #ableism #writing advice #mental illness #tropes #long post #i kind of wrote a treatise there #oops

[laracastrowrites]

An Excerpt From An Interview

A lot of readers had a meltdown over The Darkling’s fate.

"That really doesn’t bother me. Occasionally I would get a tweet from somebody who’s like, ‘How come Alina and The Darkling didn’t end up together?’ I’m all for people who want to write fanfic, but there’s absolutely no way I would ever make a relationship that was, quite frankly abusive. People like to forget the fact that he tried to enslave her, tried to steal her power, and even if you put all those things aside, the idea that Alina would forge that kind of alliance with somebody who mutilated one of her friends…Alina has this team of people who had sacrificed so much to defeat this man, the idea that all of a sudden she was going to be, 'Never mind, he’s hot, let’s have fun.’ It was just unacceptable to me."

And.....

"If I wanted people to hate The Darkling there would’ve been many ways to do that, I could have him kill a kitten or something. It almost became this challenge where I was going to keep him as compelling, charismatic and attractive as possible because I don’t believe the people that are most dangerous to us are devoid of those qualities; they’re the people who enter our lives who are broken and beautiful, but are still bad news.”

She said all this with a straight face.

***

I've read this specific one (and maybe that's why I dont search for them anymore neither read them lol).

So let's break this statement piece by piece, shall we?

First of all: look, Idk how things went at the time but like... when the interviwer says "the Darkling's fate" I think she means his death, right? So why the hell she made that about ships and shipping??? There was no reason for that! Anyways, this just shows how HER mind is so focused on that and whomst exactly would do anything for their(HER) ship to "work", right?...

And let's go to the part where she talks about Alarkling then: I love how she puts it in a way like she had nothing to do with how their relationship went down and like, she couldnt have done nothing about it lolol look, I know sometimes writers feel like their characters conduct the narrative and make decicions that you werent "expecting" and dont go with what you have planned at first, but with a piece like tgt where we clearly see that the author didnt respect the organic course of things, making all she could to stick with her planned couple that just worked inside of her own mind, I think we have a right to say that, if she wanted to, she could have changed the Darkling and Alina's dynamic and relationship (and I'm not even saying on a couple/romantic basis, she could have made them turn down friends or allies or whatever!, eventually) and she knows this damn well! So perhaps she should stop playing innocent on this, like it wasnt HER choice and it's all on the bad Darkling, a FICTIONAL being created by HER that is following HER script and what SHE'd planned !!!!! And no, people DONT forget all the crapy things he'd done, but since the first book readers had the hope he would turn around and redeem himself (at least on where he wronged Alina) cause the author put that hope in there, she did play with the idea of redemption within his character, then ofc some people would be sad and/or pissed and disappointed because she didn't delivered; you dont get to play and tease people with something without ever delivering it and expect people to be quiet about it and dont complain later, but well, she said that doesnt bother her anyway (which I dont believe it's true lol), right? So... And btw, Genya's torture was bullshit and ooc and gratutious (this interview just made me see that she REALLY did that just to make him irredeemable already) and it's ALL on her and it was her shittiest move in the whole trilogy (even more than Alina's fate), maybe she should think a little about why she needed to disfugure a female character that had already been raped and manipulated and used in order to further a villain's arc and put him into a hole he couldnt get out by doing an act based on...something(???) that didnt even fit in that character's motives and reasons and modus operandi, just saying... (self critique never killed anyone, you know, and in this case, she REALLY needed to think about it cause that was very problematic and harmful). And I have to lol everytime I see her talking about how the Darkling wanted to "steal" Alina's powers, omfg the irony ,,,,,,, should I remind her who exactly "stole" Alina's powers away by the end of the day ???? SHOULD I ?????? Spoiler alert, it wasnt the Darkling........... WHO'S THE VILLAIN NOW UH? WHO??? WHOMST ?????

And well, let's get back to Genya's case and the part where she says "Alina has this team of people who had sacrificed so much to defeat this man," I mean, if Alina isnt supposed to unit forces with shitty people who hurt her friends then why the fuck she would be on the King's side ????? Ok that in s&s Genya was on the Darkling's side, but it isn't like she didn't and couldnt see the King was shit too and Nikolai wasnt the first one in the throne's line of succession, so ???? Why exactly she would have to be on THEIR side??? And I'm not saying she should be on the Darkling's side either, ofc not, but the thing is (and it's other point that bothers me): she shouldnt be EXACTLY on the monarchy's side either! But if LB thought she must, then at least she could have seen its problems and be critical about them and could try to make a better Ravka by improving the govermnent system and making opposition to the Darkling at the same time. It bothers me that Alina never grew to have a political view and agenda when her own existence was very political! Something that the Darkling got it since the first time people tried to kill him, and he was way younger than Alina when that happened (but maybe she spent too much time living as an otkazatsya to get right away what meant to be a grisha in that world, luxury the Darkling didnt have, but still... after everything she went through, after she accepted herself as a powerful grisha, where people were still trying to use her and her powers from all sides, she should have gotten something out of there, she should have seen more clearly through, the only thing she had to do was using her fucking brains). Alina was just pushed through the narrative by people with their own purposes and agendas and she never grew to have one for herself (her purpose was based on urgencies created by people with agendas, for example: she wanted peace for Ravka, why? Because the Darkling and the Monarchy entered in a civil war; why was she staying by the Monarchy's side? Because the Darkling wanted to enslave her, so at least these people here arent trying to do the same (as long as she knew.......... except for the Apparat), so she was always reacting to the situations rather than acting and creating new ones based on her own purposes). Or maybe LB did this on purpose so she could justify Alina's resilience in losing her powers by the end of the trilogy (which doesnt, ofc). But then she lost the opportunity to create so many nice nuanced conversations about politics, oppression, privileges, power, religion, the ways of war, etc.; if Alina had been the opposite of the Darkling but still getting his point and being attracted by him and his ideas but still sticking on what she believed in and showing better ways than him to do things (I mean, how about Alina throwing on the Darkling's face that he said he was trying to end the war and create a better world for grishas beggining by enslaving and controling her, a fellow grisha, which was exactly what their oppressors did, so it was very contradictory and not by far the best shot, and it wouldnt be long lasting, I mean, I would've loved to see that! But maybe it was too dangerous... what if he'd listened to her, uh ??!?!?!?!!!!! what if he was convinced by her, uh ???!?!?!?!!! then they would have to be kind of on the same side, right? and omg! god forbid this from ever happening !!!!! 😒😒😒 ), anyways, it'd be much more nuanced and interesting, in my humble opinion...

I have more rants about the grishaverse concerning the political aspects and LB's bias choices but I wont get to it rn, that's it for today.

#enough it's enough #and thx for reminding me of this gold piece of interview #that i hate sm lol #submissions #anon #submission