#rather than insisting that people *always* be sorted into Box A or Box B whether or not they want to be there

[sheathandshear]

I’m glad that people are starting to move away from “wink wink nudge nudge he’s (always he) special but not ABNORMAL” depictions of autism/ADHD/SPD/what have you but sometimes I think people are being pressured to swing too far in the opposite direction, where if characters aren’t immediately recognizable as having this discrete diagnosis, that’s ableism and Bad Representation.

I think there’s value in writing characters who are clearly neuroatypical but in a way that’s hard to pin down, that doesn’t conform neatly to one DSM-V category or another. Neuroatypical diagnoses describe real experiences in a groupable way but they’re also not laws of nature, they’re culturally and temporally dependent. Even within the Western medical model, what’s considered absolutely “characteristic” of XYZ condition changes.

And the consequences of that often have to do with expanding those categories — understanding gendered presentation of female-socialized ADHD vs. male-socialized ADHD, for example, or racialized diagnosis of ODD vs. autism. Which is good! But I hope that we can also acknowledge that just... humans are diverse, “neuroatypical” and “neurotypical” are not neatly divided opposites, and there are a lot of people who live in cousin-y grey areas where their experience of embodiment/themselves/other people/the world overlaps but is not identical with people who meet more of the “characteristic” features of recognized defined conditions, and exploring those experiences in fiction enriches rather than detracts.

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It / Rewrite

Right, so fix-its aren’t so much my jam, but there is this one weird, weird, weird thing that I’ve (so far) been unable to meta into any sort of sense. Namely, Mickey looking like that in season 11 while apparently not working out. It’s just… uh… he… what? At one point I hypothesized that he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider or the like, leaving him magically super buff, and to be honest, that’s still the most reasonable explanation I can think of, soooo…

Today I'm back at my nonsense to bring you, everyone and especially our dear @gallavichthings, 2,711 Very Serious words about Mickey being a secret superhero. Well. Except for the hero bit.

Read it below or on AO3.

---

In Which Mickey Milkovich Does Not Save the World

Afterwards, he would always refer to it as the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell, but the truth is that Mickey never saw the thing that got him.

He was going about his business (namely poking around the Gallagher basement for any forgotten shit he could sell for beer money now that all the cash from the wedding had been surreptitiously replaced with I.O.U:s) when he felt a sudden, sharp pain just above his ankle. Cursing up a storm, he desperately waved his foot around and lost his balance and stumbled straight into one of the many piles of boxes that littered the basement. By the time he was back on his feet whatever creature that had dug its nasty little teeth/pincers/claws into his tender flesh had scurried off, leaving Mickey with a throbbing ache and a halfway impressive puncture wound on his left leg.

Muttering darkly about fucking Gallaghers being so used Frank they didn’t know how to keep goddamned monster vermin out of their shitty house Mickey limped up the stairs to pour some Jamison on the wound, and then pour some down his throat because he had the bottle out already so he might as well. He borrowed one of Franny’s colourful pirate-patterned band-aids, and when his nosy as fuck ex-EMT of a husband asked about it later that evening Mickey said he’d dropped a can on his foot, it’s just a scratch, man, no you don’t need to take a look at it, just put your fingers back in my ass, please.

Mickey didn’t make a habit of lying to Ian, but he figured that telling the truth would lead to all sorts of questions about why he was in the basement and having to come up with plausible explanation for that when he should just be focusing on getting railed wasn’t part of his plans for the evening. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian, who’d been getting so worked up over money lately, to distract him with that sort of unimportant stuff while they were banging. Mickey was a considerate spouse.

Thankfully, Ian dropped the subject and proceeded to do his husbandly duty. Mickey went to sleep deeply satisfied.

He was almost as satisfied the next morning when he woke up to realize that the pain in his leg was gone, as were all traces of the wound itself. Mickey had always healed pretty fast, but this was quick enough to have him questioning whether or not he’d really been bitten/stung/whatever at all. Maybe he’d had more beers than he thought and imagined the whole thing… ?

It didn’t really matter, and if that had been the whole of it Mickey was likely to soon have forgotten all about the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell. However, in the next few weeks he started noticing stuff, weird stuff. For instance, it wasn’t just the (possibly imagined) bite/sting that healed far more quickly than normal; it was all the little cuts and scrapes he tended to acquire. A big bruise from running into the table while playing with Franny; faded to nothing the next morning. A cut from the razor; gone within the hour. For the first time he could remember, Mickey looked at his naked body in the mirror and saw not one single wound (though there were still scars aplenty). It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but it was weird.

Then there was that thing with his muscles. Mickey had been in decent shape for most of his life and whenever he got locked up for extended periods of time he made a habit of hitting the gym on the regular. Really wasn’t much else to do in the joint, and having a decent bulk reminded the other inmates that you weren’t someone they could push around; letting people know that you could beat the shit out of them often meant you didn’t have to actually do it, which saved everyone a lot of time and energy and trips to the prison quack. But on the outside, exercise wasn’t very high on Mickey’s list of priorities, meaning he tended to slim down a bit after a while in freedom.

Not now, though. Almost a year after being out of prison, and he was still as built as ever; if anything he seemed to be developing more muscles, in spite rarely engaging in anything more taxing than vigorous fucking. (Okay, so there was a lot of vigorous fucking, but still. If anyone ought to be building their biceps from the sex they were having, it should be Ian.)

Mickey didn’t mind being inexplicably ripped, though. He felt great, looked great – and Ian seemed to be pretty into it, too. Then again, Ian seemed to be pretty into Mickey whether he wore dirty clothes, sported a beard, sported a dress, or hadn’t showered in a week, so maybe that wasn’t saying a lot.

But even given all that, maybe Mickey still wouldn’t have thought too much about it (he was, after all, very busy being on his honeymoon, which required lots of determined sleep-ins, dedicated beer-drinking, and – obviously – lots and lots of banging) if there hadn’t one day come a knock on the front door. At first he ignored itm in the hopes that someone else would get it, but when it became apparent that a, he was alone in the house, and b, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up anytime soon, he grabbed the family baseball bat (even big soft ass Larry would react to Mickey opening the door with an extremely illegal gun in hand) and went to answer the insistent knocking.

Outside stood two women, looking an unsettling mix of sober and apprehensive and eager. One of them reminded him vaguely of Angie Zago; the other was taller and darker and quite possibly brooding.

“Can I help you?” he demanded, not quite as rudely as he might have. He didn’t think they were social workers, but one never knew; they’d been checking up on Debbie and Franny ever since Debbie pleaded guilty to statutory rape.

“Mr. Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?” Not-Angie inquired in a polite sort of tremble. 

“Who’s asking?” Mickey demanded, feeling a little thrown by the use of his full name. The only people who pulled that out was law enforcement, and neither of these ladies had that feel about them. Especially since they seemed to be… excited to meet him, which wasn’t a reaction Mickey was used to getting. Particularly not from ladies looking like they ought to be out collecting for the fucking Red Cross.

They better not be asking for donations for the Red Cross.

“I’m Tania and this is Dreamweaver,” Not-Angie said. “Can we come in? It’s really best if we talk in private.”

Mickey didn’t move. “Dreamweaver? You kick your mama too many times in the kidneys before you were born or something?”

The women glanced uncertainly at each other. “Mr. Milkovich,” the one improbably called Dreamweaver began, but Mickey cut her off:

“You with the police?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, we— “

“You here to give me money?”

“No, you see, it’s— “

“Okay, thank you, bye.” But as he moved to close the door, Tania – displaying more spunk than he’d have given her credit for – took a step forward and blocked the entrance.

“Have you been experiencing any strange body phenomena lately, Mr. Milkovich?” she blurted. “Wounds healing very quickly, perhaps, or increased muscle mass?”

Mickey stilled, eyes darting between the two women. Small, small smiles on their faces now, as if they knew they had him. There was a hint of hunger to those smiles, making Mickey feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The urge to push Tania back and slam the door shut was strong, but…

“Fine,” he said at long last. “Come on in.”

They better not be fucking cannibals either.

---

They called themselves The Guardians, and they wanted him to save the world.

Mickey asked what numbers they were talking and, after getting bored of their uncomprehending stares, clarified: “How much is it gonna pay? What’s my cut?”

Dreamweaver frowned. “You mean… money? As in a… salary?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s my salary?”

“Mr. Milkovich, saving the world is a higher calling and a duty, it’s not something that– “

“Uh-huh. So, just to be clear, you’re not gonna pay me?”

They weren’t. Mickey laughed in their faces, stood from the couch, and told them bye and good luck with that and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

They reasoned with him. They pleaded. They explained, again and again, that after the evil society USCH destroyed The Guardian’s headquarters in a devastating attack, the two of them–and Mickey–was the only thing standing between the world and utter destruction. Surely, he must understand that it was nothing less than Fate that had brought the one remaining Bestower Bot into the Gallagher basement and his path? Admittedly, injecting Mickey with the bio enhancer might have been the result of a malfunction – Tania and Dreamweaver had found the bot dead down the street a couple of nights ago – but didn’t he see that he had been called to serve as a warrior in the fight against evil?

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mickey told them, and then he picked up the bat and waved it around until they took the hint and left.

When Ian returned home a few hours later, Mickey carefully didn’t mention the curious visit or any of what Tania and Dreamweaver had told him. Ian was pretty into saving people and had all these lame ideas about service and honor, and Mickey found it more likely than not that his husband would both be upset that Mickey, rather than Ian himself, had been called as a warrior (it’d be Lip and West Point all over again, Mickey just knew it), and demand that Mickey answer the call and run off like some loon to get himself killed by evil technomancers.

Mickey didn’t particularly feel like dying and he didn’t like the idea of hurting his husband’s feelings either, so he kept his mouth shut and skillfully derailed all of Ian’s attempts at asking about his day by giving him a blow job, teasing him about being a grunt, and allowing himself to be wrestled to the floor when Ian decided he’d had enough of teasing. It was a good evening.

As he lay in bed that night, back against Ian’s chest and with those strong arms wrapped around him, Mickey wondered if it would be worth risking Ian’s reaction by going public. Okay, Tania and Dreamweaver had mentioned how he’d probably gotten a pretty small dose of the bio-whatever-the-fuck, lending him nothing more exciting than enduring muscle mass and enhanced healing, but that should probably be enough to turn him into a cut above the rest, right? He could hire himself out to the highest bidder and make a fortune doing private security or collections or stuff like that. Fuck, he’d even consider taking on jobs for The Guardians, if they just agreed to pay him.

It was a fun thought to play with, but in the end a long life in the shadows made Mickey wary of putting himself out there like that. Besides, he’d seen enough movies to know that it’d probably wouldn’t be long before he mysteriously disappeared to some secret government facility to be experimented on. He’d had enough of the state’s hospitality to last him a lifetime, so thanks, but no fucking thanks.

And that could have been it. Should have been it, but of course Tania and Dreamweaver wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They started showing up at the Gallagher house at all hours, whenever they knew they could get Mickey alone. They accosted him on the way to the Alibi, they sat down next to him on the L, and they left him pictures of puppies with little notes saying stuff like “Only YOU can SAVE him from BURNING. Have a HEART”.

It was exhausting. Fearing the retribution of the cartel hadn’t anything on fearing seeing Tania and Dreamweaver’s disappointed-yet-still-somehow-hopeful-and-terribly-determined faces appear in a crowd, or round a corner, or on the porch when he went out for his evening smoke.

Mickey began to lose sleep. He’d spend the nights tossing and turning, which led to him staying in bed half the day to catch up on much needed rest, and he was often so tired he couldn’t bring himself to put on proper clothes or go outside the door the whole day. 

Ian was on his ass about getting a job; he didn’t get that Mickey had a job, and that job was not getting lured into sacrificing his life for the greater good. If Ian didn’t like the prospects of being a prison widow, how offensive wouldn’t he find the prospect of being an actual widower, after his husband got blown to bits by some big bad villain?

It got to the point of Ian initiating a sex strike to force Mickey to get “a real job”, which struck Mickey as really fucking unfair, considering how all he was trying to do was make sure Ian even had a husband to refuse to fuck.

Enough was enough. Something had to be done. Fortunately for Mickey – and unfortunately for Tania and Dreamweaver – Mickey had a guy for everything. As annoying as The Guardians were, Mickey didn’t have the heart to see them killed, but he figured that having them kidnapped and shipped off to some sweatshop on the other side of the world would serve the same purpose. He felt a little bad about it, sure, but he had given them plenty of chances to fuck off. Not his fault they couldn’t respect a fucking boundary.

Mickey called Johnny, told him the score, and a few night later Johnny called Mickey to tell him it was done.

It was done. Over. Mickey would finally be able go about his life in peace again, giving all his attention to his husband and doing his outmost to make him the happiest man alive every single day, even when Ian was annoying as hell and started asking pointless fucking questions about how Mickey was in such great shape even though he never did as much as one single curl up.

I see. So… you’re telling me that you have secret superpowers.

Yeah. Except, not actually secret anymore. ‘Cause, you know, you told me we shouldn’t have secrets.

… yeah, that was three months ago.

Guess it must have slipped my mind, huh.

Must have. But let me get this straight: you couldn’t get a real job because you were busy dodging secret agents, and your muscles are the result of you getting bitten by some magic robot—

Radioactive motherfucker bug from hell.

—and not you sneaking down to the basement to do weights and cardio almost every day?

… oh.

Yeah, oh. Carl told me about it, asshole. He noticed you using some of the stuff down there. Don’t get why you’d wanna keep that a secret though?

…

Mick. We have to be honest with each other, remember?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.

Okay.

Guess the first time was back when you had that dip a couple of months after the wedding. Few times after that, if we had a fight or whatever and I needed to let off some steam. Then you started working and sometimes I got bored watching TV all day but you were all mopey about your shitty job and me not having any and you have this thing about your body—

I don’t have a thing about my body.

­—so I didn’t really wanna rub your face in me having all that time to work out when you could barely squeeze in dozen push-ups in the evening. And I guess I didn’t really want anyone to know that I… cared, or whatever.

Cared? About what? Being healthy? Looking good? Being strong?

Whatever, man, I told I don’t fucking know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it was a radioactive motherfucker bug from hell that did it.

Of course it was. Come here. Show me what that bio enhanced body of yours can do.

---

Ahahahahahaha, would you look at that. I tried to meta it anyway. 😭😭😭

You might reasonably ask about Mickey’s visit to Kev Fit – how does that fit? WELL, I rather imagine that whatever Mickey does in that basement is enough to keep him fit but still not SUPER hardcore? So when he starts worrying about Ian thinking him weaker than, he decides to take it up a notch and do it properly in a real(ish) gym? And his comment about “not remembering how much working out sucks” is part of the whole “not wanting anyone to know this is something I care to do on the regular”… Yeah, it’s pretty weak. All in all, I’d say the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell is still our best bet. ¯\_(ツ)_/��

This is probably the last time I have one of them tell the other a story this week, but I make no promises. These little ficlets don’t tend to go as planned. (Ha! She said, as if there was a plan to begin with. Oh, well. I guess it’s working out so far.)

[misora-msby]

night drive

rating : mature

word count : 1.9k

themes : fluff, fwb, mutual pining, implied sex, drug use (alcohol and marijuana)

notes : originally from my ao3, thought i might post it here as well :) // you can kinda imagine this is an au where atsumu’s not doing volleyball in college because this dude would definitely take care of his body better than this as an athlete lmfao

miya 🤢 : “im driving over rn. be ready in 10?”

You grimaced slightly. Atsumu always did this; he’d text late at night, insisting to meet up without giving you much of a choice.

“bitch it’s so late and i literally just finished my assignment gimme a break”

Your reply was read and within a few seconds you received a reply;

miya 🤢 : “Sorry! I’m driving right now and will reply later.”

An annoyed groan escaped you at the use of the automatic reply function. You knew he definitely read the message. It was just like Tsumu to do this.

Throwing on a light cardigan and applying a bit of lip gloss, you grabbed your phone and a little tin box you always brought along on your drives with Atsumu. After stuffing them into the pockets of your sweatpants, you double checked your appearance in the full length mirror by the door. A spray of perfume was used and you slipped on a comfy pair of sneakers before exiting the flat to wait at the entrance of the building.

As promised, Atsumu arrived and you got into the passenger seat of the car. It was a little messy and you had to dust off some crumbs on the seat but it smelt just of him and the cologne he loved to use.

“You gotta stop doing this. Especially the impromptu texting.” you muttered, leaning back in the seat as he began driving.

“But ya always agree to it anyways. And as promised, I never do it on a Tuesday, Friday, or Sunday night, just like ya asked.” he hummed while giving the smirk you hated but loved. And as much as you hated to agree, he was right.

Six months ago, you two had been set up on a blind date with each other by some friends. Miya Atsumu, known as a notorious flirt all his life, and you, a regular student just looking for a change in life. The date itself didn’t go too well but the sex that followed was incredible and so you two had continued with this agreement for the past half year.

And here you were now; on a drive to someplace out of town, a packet of cigarettes to share in the cupholder while the little tin in your pocket contained something a little stronger to smoke. And not to forget the cooler in the backseat which most likely contained at least two bottles of beer.

“Fine… you’re right.” you sighed, crossing your arms as you kept your eyes on the road to try and guess where you two were driving.

“Hey, doll. Light me a cig, would ya?” Atsumu asked. As always, you pulled out the stick of tobacco from the packet and lit it before passing it to him. He took a long draw on it before rolling down the window to breathe it out.

“I don’t get how you’re still so fuckin’ handsome after all the ciggies and drinks you take.” you muttered while taking the cigarette from his hand to have your own draw of it.

“Same goes to you, doll.”

“... T-Thanks.” you muttered while reaching back to grab a beer from his cooler.

Neither of you saw it but there may have been the slightest flush on both of your cheeks.

After that, the drive was silent for half an hour, save for the soft R&B that played and the occasional humming from Atsumu. It was always like this, and somehow the two of you had grown to like it. As much as you complained over and over about it, you enjoyed it. Enjoyed the thrill, the sex, the debauchery, and strangely, the company.

“This place looks good.” his smooth voice hummed while turning into a forest. It was dark and a little scary with how cramped it felt with the towering trees, but your pride refused to let him know that. Plus, you knew you wouldn’t be thinking about it for much longer. He parked his car in a decent spot and unfastened his seatbelt before turning to face you who was just a little drowsy from the beer you had. “There’s a real pretty place I wanna go in there. But first…” Atsumu’s eyes looked darker than ever as he placed a hand on your thigh.

No words had to be said before lips were locked and soft moans were pulled from your lips. It only took a few more seconds before you were both scrambling into the backseat, with him pushing you down onto your back as he grinded his strong hips into your more delicate self. The kiss ensued, though at this point it was hard to call it a kiss as it seemed more like a battle between lips. He groaned softly as he felt your fingers entangle themselves in his blond locks.

The two of you pulled away for a second to gaze into each other’s eyes, dark with lust and passion.

“You taste like beer,” he chuckled while wiping off a little bit of saliva from the corner of your lips with his thumb. His touch was strangely soft, contrasting the way he had kissed you just seconds before.

“Yeah? You taste like nicotine.” you replied with a slight grin on your face. He replicated that smile, a rare sight from him, before resuming your kiss.

* ･ ゜ﾟ ･ * : . ｡ . . ｡ . : * • * : . ｡ . . ｡ . : * ･ ゜ﾟ ･ *

“Think you can walk over to that place I was talkin’ ‘bout?” Atsumu asked while pulling his sweatpants back up.

“Hmm… I don’t know, you were pretty rough tonight. You might have to carry me,” you laughed while putting your own clothes back on.

The man rolled his eyes, though there was the slightest hint of endearing in them as he took the blunt you had half finished smoking earlier and lit it himself, leaning back in the seat a bit. 

As he did so, he glanced over at you - hair messy and strands stuck to your brow from the sweat, your clothes were in a disarray, and marks he had left on your skin covered your neck and collarbones. It gave him a weird feeling to look upon you, like a sort of strange pride. Whether it was because he had given you that messy look, or because he was just proud of you in general, he didn’t know.

“No way, I’m tired too,” Atsumu scoffed and redirected his gaze out of the open window for a second before looking at you. His eyes softened slightly at the pout on your lips before he sighed, “Fine, I’ll do it. Help carry the drinks.”

He opened the door and carefully carried you out in a princess carry before kicking the door shut and beginning to walk. His steps were a little uneven and shaky as he was just slightly intoxicated.

As he carried you, you looked up at him, eyes tracing his sharp jawline and his blond hair. There were bags under his eyes and the scent of sex and everything you two were consuming today mixed into the cologne he wore with his natural scent. Somehow, it was still attractive.

“You’re hot.” The words left you in a whisper without you even realising it. Atsumu looked down and nearly stopped walking for a moment before laughing as he continued to walk.

“You’ve got the weirdest fuckin’ timing. But yeah, I know that.” he replied before setting you down a little later.

“Where are we?” you raised a brow at him, still holding onto his arm.

“Just take a look, would ya?”

Tearing away your gaze from his handsome self to look at the sight before you, you gasped softly.

You stood near the edge of a cliff, just beyond the fence-like barrier, there were paddy fields and the occasional farmhouse providing a small source of light. It was a pretty normal sight, but upon closer inspection, you could see the reflection of the night’s stars in the water of the fields. The twinkling stars shone in pitch blackness, undeterred by the city lights you were used to. The moon looked brighter than ever too. A cool wind blew past your face, refreshing it after the stuffy feeling of having sex in Atsumu’s backseat, carrying the faint scent of spring on it.

“You know, I think being here would feel so much better if I didn’t have your cum in me.”

“Shut the fuck up and enjoy it. You asked for it anyways.”

Atsumu flicked your forehead lightly before pulling you closer to the edge and sitting down on a log, looking out over the fields and up at the sparkling sky.

“Happy 6 months.”

“Tsumu, I don’t think anyone celebrates a fuckbuddy anniversary.”

“Eh, whatever. Fuck and drink buddy.”

“...well uh, happy anniversary!”

“Happy anniversary, doll.”

The two of you looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, slightly dazed expressions on your faces before breaking out into giggles.

“Oh! Right!” you passed him a bottle of beer and opened your own with a spare coin in your pocket. “Cheers!” you clinked your bottle against his before drinking about a third of it.

“Cheers.” Atsumu replied and took his own large gulp of the drink.

You leaned against him the moment he moved the bottle away from his lips. His muscular arm, strengthened by years of playing volleyball made him rather comfortable to lean against. You hummed an unfamiliar tune before sighing in content.

Atsumu looked down at you resting against him. He could get used to this. He realised that lately he had been opting to stay the night after the fun you had together. Whether the time contained pillowtalk or it was just falling asleep in silence, he enjoyed it. Atsumu enjoyed being around you.

You enjoyed it too. People often claimed the blond was an ass but you knew better. There were nights when after you two had sex, the worries of the day or week would catch up to you and you’d end up crying to him. It was awkward at first but he slowly got used to it and eventually would comfort you with food he ordered or a few words of encouragement. (“Yeah it’s that bitch’s fault, go fuck her up.” was probably the most commonly said thing). As the nights passed, you found yourself wanting to spend more and more time with him.

“Hey… the sun’s coming up.” Atsumu said, making you finally look up from your silence. You hadn’t even realised you had fallen asleep on him for a bit. 

As you narrowed your eyes and looked over the fields and fields of crops, you noticed he was right. The first rays of sunlight could be seen peeking over the landscape, bringing light to the sky.

“Woah… it’s pretty.” you whispered in awe.

Atsumu looked over and studied your features for a few seconds. The way your eyes sparkled and was lit by the early morning sunshine, the way your hair bounced just a little as the wind blew, and the way your feet tapped quietly on the dirt in tired excitement. He didn’t want to admit it but he realised he might’ve been falling for you for a while now.

“Thanks for bringing me here. I love it.” you grinned up at him. At the man who you hadn’t realised you had fallen for weeks ago.

“Yeah,” he replied, and in a voice just barely audible to the two of you, he whispered, “and I love you.”

This moment seemed like a perfect time to properly ask you to be his, but he figured he would just let you two enjoy it in silence for a little longer.

[jaybug-jabbers]

Top 3 Favorite PokeGods

For the unaware, PokeGods were schoolyard rumors back in the days of Gen 1, of powerful, secret pokemon hidden in the games. Many of these rumored pokegods were entirely fabricated, while others were apparently based off poor memories of seeing snippits of actual pokemon designs planned for the next gen of games.

I thought I’d make a list of my top 3 favorite pokegods, since I’ve been in a top 3 sort of mood.

#1 - Shadybug

Shadybug has an interesting detail to his tale; rumors of his reality persisted longer than other pokegods. Up until fairly recently, he had an entry in Bulbapedia, claiming that Shadybug was a pokegod based off glimpses of a real beta pokemon design.

This supposed design was called “Kage no Mushi” (‘Shadow insect’), and was a pokemon design supposedly uncovered in a Japanese web archive.

This is a sketch supposedly along similar lines to the fan sketches of Honōguma and other beta pokemon (or perhaps an attempt at concept artwork from the game creators themselves):

However, this is in all likelihood not a real alpha/beta design– there are few sources for this supposed design leak. For further discussion on this, go here.

All this talk aside as to whether Shadybug is a real beta design (no evidence for this at all), it IS a real Pokegod. In other words, there really were rumors in the 90s and early 2000′s circulating about him along with the other pokegods.

Rumors of course differ, and some rumors said Tricket, another bug-type pokegod, was the evolution of Shadybug, while others said they were two unrelated bug-type pokemon.

In any case, the two always really intrigued me. I’m honestly thrilled and impressed that bug-type pokegods were even invented by kids, as bug type was traditionally viewed as the weakest. And yet, they exist. Bug types were also included among the pokegods that were evolutions of pre-exisiting pokemon (usually evolved via the mythical ‘Mist Stone’): Beedrill evolved into ‘Beepin,’ Butterfree into ‘Locustud’ or ‘Locustod,’ Parasect into ‘Brainsect,’ etc. Even Metapod had a pokegod evolution, oddly enough– Metazap, a presumably Bug/Electric type created when you gave it ‘the Lightning stone.’

Getting back to Shadybug, though, if we look at the original pokegod rumors, we don’t know much about it. Typically it’s only described simply as “a bug that protects itself with a leaf.” The Kage no Mushi design seems to take it in a design direction similar in ways to Paras or Nincada. My favorite fan interpretation of Shadybug can be found at this post here, which honestly is so adorable I want to scream.

#2 - Tricket

This pokegod had a very consistent rumored ‘code’ for how to obtain it, something copy and pasted among the many 90s websites of young pokemon fans:

This code is for TRICKET! a new Pokemon for Gold/Silver.

First, you must carry ALL 6 BUG POKEMON in your party in this order: Caterpie, Metapod, Butterfree, Weedle, Kakuna, Beedrill. Then, open an empty box in your PC without any Pokemon in it. Go into the Safari Zone and catch a wild Venonat and a wild Venomoth. You cannot catch Venomoth before Venonat.

Then, catch a wild Paras and a wild Parasect. Same rule applies for Parasect not before Paras. Keep them all in your PC box and do not change for any new ones. You do not need Scyther or Pinsir because they are rather rare to find. You’ll see them on the Victory Road, however, by catching all of the other bug Pokemon. That’s a pre-code.

Yes, along with Scyther in Red, Pinsir will be in Red too, and along with Pinsir in Blue, Scyther will be in blue! It’s the truth. Beat the Elite Four all the way through with the 6 Pokemon told. Do not allow Caterpie, Metapod, Weedle or Kakuna to continue to evolve, just press B to stop them from evolving.

Its best for them to be on high levels. Such as L50 Caterpie and Weedle, L60 Metapod and Kakuna and L75 for Butterfree and Beedrill. You can use Rare Candies and Gameshark to boost them up. After you win all five(Gary too) matches, Professor Oak notices you have all your Bug Pokemon. He asks if you’re a bug collector, YES or NO. If you answer NO, he says, “my mistake” and then the Hall of Fame comes up. If you answer YES, then, he takes you a cage where TRICKET the CRICKET lives! He lets you take it and use it for future battles.

Tricket is on Level 65, the same level as Gary’s final Pokemon. Tricket knows Spore, Twineedle, Mega Kick(crickets like to kick their legs) and Sing. I do not know if it learns any moves. It has no link with Shadybug. Shadybug is an entirely different Pokemon. They’re just bug pokemon.

There’s appeal to this code– unlike a lot of the wild ‘codes’ for obtaining pokegods that relied on doing something an exhausting number of times (and thus was hard to prove wrong), this was a single challenge run that sounded quite possible, albiet difficult. I also admit with my bug type bias and my love of pokemon bug runs of the game, I love the heck out of it for that reason too.

There’s a few other rarities about this code that I like; for one, Tricket is a very pokemon-sounding name. It seems to rely on a simple and appealing word-mash of ���Trick’ and ‘Cricket’ and a rare moment of genuine quality for pokegod names. A lot of pokegod names are rather outlandish and sound very much like young kiddos made them up: Anthrax (this was during an anthrax scare in the US, keep in mind), Mysterio, Doomsday,  Zapmolcuno …

Additionally, the moves described for Tricket are all real in-game moves. Again, usually when moves are described for pokegods, they’re invented with outlandish names. But the moveset described adds to the realism here. Admittedly, ‘Spore’ and ‘Sing’ are needlessly redundant, though. I would suggest swapping Spore out with something else, such as Screech or Razor Wind or something.

Anyway, there are a number of charming fan interpretations of this pokegod. One popular design is this one here, which is a rather straightforward but cute cricket with surprisingly big fists, akin to Ledian. Seems to suggest some punching moves in addition to the kicking ones.

Another sketch posted to Tumblr that only has a few notes is actually a very unique and awesome Tricket design, in my opinion, right here. A wizard cricket sounds fantastic, and it’s well executed in this sketch. The original moveset suggested for Tricket seems to have a physical attacker emphasis, but this version would probably be Bug/Psychic and more of a special attacker. We have yet to even have a Bug/Psychic type in pokemon, so the idea is an exciting one.

#3 - Mysterio

The interaction between pokegods and glitch pokemon is a complex one. It would be inaccurate to say glitch pokemon inspired all pokegods, or that all glitch pokemon were granted pokegod status, because that’s definitely not always the case. It was sometimes, though.

In many cases, it appears that pokegod rumors came about first, and that later on, Gameshark codes were assigned with the different well-known and well-loved pokegod names, with the tantilizing promise of easily obtaining these mythical creatures. Some authors who made these assigments were very direct and upfront about their arbitrary selections: they heard the pokegod rumors, knew them to be false, but liked to dream about them, and so they decided to assign names to the glitch pokemon just for fun. Other authors seemed to pass along these code lists and earnestly insisted that they were the genuine pokegods. Occasionally these authors made short notes about how the pokegods would ‘appear like messed-up blocks/like Missingno.’ but that they were indeed real despite this fact. In these cases, it seemed most fans agreed that the glitchy appearance was a dissappointment or a downside; people probably preferred the visions in their minds of great, powerful pokemon, not glitches.

The influence of glitch pokemon on pokegod lore was more sublte in other cases. Sometimes, the names of glitch pokemon would bleed into pokegod names. For instance, Blastoise’s pokegod evolution, Rainer, was possibly influenced by glichmon hex C4. This pokemon’s name appears as ‘PokéWTrainer’ in full, but due to the spaces in its name, often only appears as RAINER. It can be accessed via the Mew trick/trainer escape glitch, although its front sprite crashes the game. “Pokemaniac” also appears on many, many pokegod name lists, and this is a glitch typing of glitch pokemon also available through the trainer escape glitch.

Still, these are simply names. Something that seemed far less common were glitch pokemon inspiring any sort of detailed pokegod lore. Mysterio seems to represent at least a few attempts at this, though. It was a name given to ‘M, the sister species of Missingno. that also shares pokedex number 000. It could be encountered along with its sister Missingno. during the surfing along the Cinnabar coast/old man trick.

The relationship kids had with these two glitchmon was complicated. Missingno. and ‘M were typically treated with awe and fear. The false rumor that Missingno. could destroy your savefile or your entire game was incredibly common even back then, which probably explains why this rumor is still so staunchly believed even to this day. (See endnote.) Other kids valued Missingno. and its sister for its ability to duplicate items and used it for that but advised against daring to capture it, lest you put your game at risk.

It’s hard to say what other glitchmon possibly influenced pokegod lore. However, considering that encountering glitch pokemon without a cheating device (via Old Man Trick or the Trainer Escape Trick) seemed fairly well-known and easy to execute, and that the Gameshark codes were well-circulated for those lucky enough to own such a device, kids definitely were exposed to these glitchmon– making for ideal circumstances for rumors and stories to grow and flourish. It’s also noteworthy that glitchmon often had extreme stats; some were incredibly weak but others were incredibly powerful, with stats far exceeding any real, natural pokemon. They also fulfilled two other major expectations of pokegods: they were hidden and could only be revealed with special in-game tricks or Gameshark codes, and their pokedex numbers often exceeded 150. It’s quite possible these factors seriously influenced the rise of pokegod rumors in general, especially the various “tricks” that promised to grant you access to the land of the pokegods. Since these tricks for acquring M’ were real, for example, surely that meant other tricks could do the same for others? What else was waiting out there for discovery?

That same adventuresome, wonderous curiosity is something I feel is still kept alive today with glitch hunters. People are still discovering amazing ways of exploiting glitches and exploring the inner ‘guts’ of the game. Some of the glitch exploits sound like they stole a page right out the pokegod lore books, especially for arbitrary code execution. That’s why I have Mysterio listed as my final favorite pokegod. I feel it bridges the gap between the pokegods and the glitchmon. Quite frankly, if you’re searching for the pokegods, I’d say they have already been found: powerful, mysterious, occasionally dangerous, and completely alien, surpassing even the most wild young kid’s imaginations.

End Note on Dangerous Missingno. Rumor:

While encountering or capturing Missingno. and ‘M does not dangerously damage the savefile, it does visually corrupt Hall of Fame data, which is part of the savefile. This possibly contributed to the rumor that they can harm the save file. There also is a chance of crashing the game if you capture a pokemon at an abnormal level (lvl 0, namely) while having a full party and transferring it automatically to the PC, and then attempting to withdraw it. (Go here for details.) Because pokemon encountered during the Old Man trick, including Missingno. and ‘M, can appear at abnormal levels, this also may have contributed to the rumor.

However, to be perfectly honest, another reason is probably a case of mistaken identity. Missingno. was the first glitch pokemon to be discovered, most likely– certainly the one that was popularized and easy to access. Kids probably applied the name to all glitch pokemon. There are plenty of glitch pokemon that can severely corrupt your game, via glitch moves with unterminated names (called ‘Superglitch moves’). Poor, innocent Missingno. and ‘M were possibly blamed for their cousin’s crimes instead.

Finally, it should be noted that Missingno. in pokemon Yellow is far more ornery then in Red and Blue. With the Trainer Escape glitch, its front sprite can often lock up the game upon encounter; additionally, if successfully captured, it can cause various graphical glitches upon returning to the overworld.

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Jan 14, 2019.

[fadedtoblue]

Recap of the Defenders panel at SDCC, pt. 2 (aka just a beat by beat recap of episode 1...)

If you missed, it you can catch part 1 here. I’m sure you can find videos of the panel out now, but if you wanted my additional commentary, there you go, haha :).

I’ve been writing bits and pieces of this since Friday night, so needless to say, I’m starting to get a little fuzzy on the order of the scenes and specifics b/c I was in such a state of shock while watching (and I don’t get the benefit of rewatching it right away 10 times in a row, lol), but I’ll try to recollect as much as possible, as best I can. I’ll also share some of my opinions and theories at the very end.

Some brief, non-spoilery thoughts: This was definitely a set up episode for everything that is to come, so as much as I know everyone wants answers to certain questions, you’re just not going to get to them right away. The show doesn’t hesitate to pick up the threads left from each individual series though, so don’t expect it to be slow at all. They also did a lovely job making each Defenders’ scenes look and feel like their own shows, while still bringing them all together into a new kind of feel and style for The Defenders. I was impressed by that. Anyway, if you have any more general questions, feel free to send me an ask or note.

And now...I shouldn’t have to say this, but just in case...HUGE SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST EPISODE OF THE DEFENDERS UNDER THE CUT! (Apologies for any mistakes, I wrote too much and just want to get it posted rather than spending even more time editing!)

Opening scene:

Very first scene opens in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. An unnamed man is being chased by a woman in black wielding double katanas and shrouded in darkness down some sort of sewer-like corridor, exchanging blows, and the man is clearly getting overwhelmed in the fight. Before she can land the killing stroke, Danny appears out of the darkness and jumps into the fight to draw the woman away. Danny is holding his own, but the woman is clearly a superior fighter, and lands a nice slice across Danny’s tattoo; in his shock, the woman gets the opening she needs and stabs the mystery man to death. Danny tries to chase down the woman, who is running away, and manages to land one Iron fist-packed punch on her, which sends her flying, but she disappears as quickly as she appeared. When Danny returns to the man, Colleen is with him, and we see that he’s clearly dying. After a bit of back and forth, the man tells them that their fight is not there, it’s in New York. Very mysterious, and Danny is extremely frustrated. This has apparently been one of their biggest leads in their search for the Hand, and just like that, he’s gone. Also, it’s pretty obvious this woman is Elektra, and the most impressive thing was how much her fighting skills had supernaturally improved. A small hint at the power of the Black Sky! (Note: there’s really no hint as to who this guy could be, and I originally assumed maybe he was affiliated with the Hand, like Bakuto’s faction or something? But the end credits mention Shaft, who was announced as a character on the show, and plays a big role in the Chaste, so that’s an interesting tie in!)

Opening credit sequence:

New song and graphic styles, I really can’t recall now, but think the instrumental had a kind of synth-y vibe. The backgrounds are basically outlined, lit up, 3-D maps of New York, but they form each of the different characters in their main color palette. It’s super cool. The names on the credits also utilize an effect on certain letters to make it look like a subway line design (i.e. Charlie Cox’s name has a C in a circle). It’s a cute touch and really drives the whole “New York is the fifth Defender!” thing home.

Okay, this is where the order of these scenes gets a little iffy in my head, not to mention we do switch between the characters pretty often this episode...I think I’m fairly clear on the details themselves though! I’ll basically try to summarize everyone’s scenes in one go and then summarize the closing act on its own!

Jessica Jones:

Jessica is (surprise, surprise!) passed out drunk in an empty bar and gets rudely awakened by the bartender, who helpfully informs her that it’s morning and she should probably get out of his bar. Next, we see Trish is running across the street to keep her car from getting towed, but the cop is an ass and refuses to unhook it. Suddenly, we see the car get pulled off by an inexplainable force! Turns out it’s Jessica, who snarkily asks the cop if he has a problem, and Trish has trouble holding back a smile. Now we see Trish and Jessica walking down the street with coffee cups and fighting over Jessica’s life state post-Kilgrave, one that involves a lot of drinking and zero working, which greatly concerns Trish. Trish lets Jessica know that she’s been getting a lot of interest in her story and wants Jessica to take some interviews, if only to make some extra money while she’s not working. Trish says something to the affect of, only you (Jessica) could take a personal triumph and turn it into despair, or something like that. Jessica tries to tell her not to worry. Trish takes a sip of her coffee and nearly spits it out -- turns out Jesica had handed her coffee to Trish and Trish finds out the coffee has whiskey. This got a pretty good laugh during the screening :). Jessica is then shown walking down the hallway to her apartment -- the window is boarded up and clearly hasn’t been fixed since JJ S1. There are two people standing outside the door as she approaches, a woman who seems well-dressed and pulled together, and her teenage daughter, who is snarky and disdainful toward Jessica. The mom heard about what Jessica did and wants her to take a case -- her husband has been missing for a week -- and Jessica flat out says no. As the woman presses her case, Jessica goes into mocking mode, and suggests that everyone thinks THEIR partner would never do anything like this, but usually they’re always cheating. The daughter lobs a few snarky comments at Jessica and the mom, and finally the two of them leave. Jessica seems to have a moment of remorse as she’s opening the door, turns around, and calls out to them. The woman turns around hopefully but Jessica only says that she hopes they can find him soon. The inside of Jessica’s apartment is still absolutely trashed from all of the Luke / Kilgrave stuff from S1 -- part of the scenes are shot through the hole in the wall, which is hilarious. She gets a phone call, and someone using a voice scrambler warns her not to take the case. Dun dun dun! We know what that means!!

Later on, you see Jessica sitting at her desk with her laptop open, using her expert Googling skills to learn more about missing mystery man. At this point, Malcolm strolls in, which pisses Jessica off -- she’s already told him to stop coming into her apartment, he says she gave him a key, she counters that he made himself his own copy of the key, he helpfully clarifies because he was helping her get her locks changed, banter banter banter. I want to know that Malcolm has beefed up a lot for this show. It was noticeable lol. He immediately notices she’s on her computer and absolutely lights up, asking whether she’s taken on a case? She insists she hasn’t taken it...yet, and he’s basically celebrating that she’s totally taken the case and runs over to hover over her shoulder while she’s researching, which pisses her off. They talk briefly about the guy who’s missing, and Jessica mentions that the only reason why she’s even doing this is because she got a call from someone using a voice scrambler who doesn’t want her to look into it, but surely they covered their tracks and won’t want to be found. At which point Malcolm posits the possibility that the guy is actually an amateur, and what if she could track the call back? So Jessica pulls a Jessica and calls the operator, pretending that she received a call from her grandfather who is missing from dementia and gets the number. They find the address the number is connected to, which Malcolm immediately recognizes as a super shady neighborhood that people generally used to get off the grid to use drugs, etc.

Jessica shows up at the building Malcolm helped her identify. Inside, it looks and sounds sketchy as hell -- flickering lights, sounds of people fighting and/or having sex, a real ball. She heads up the stairs to the specific apartment she seems to have identified as the exact location of the call. She bangs on the door, telling him (I assume she thinks it’s James -- the husband -- hiding out in there) that the landlord / someone already told her he’s inside. After getting no response, she does her patented doorknob breaking move (the scene we saw in the first trailer) and goes in. There’s a TV on, but the place is otherwise dim and abandoned. She slowly walks through, peeking into the bedroom and rounding back out to the living area. She spots some boxes, opens one up and inside is either weapons or explosives (I’m leaning toward the latter) -- the camera paused on it for a quick few seconds and I didn’t absorb the writing as thoroughly as I’d like, but it’s obviously something really bad.

Luke Cage:

We start out with the scene of him walking down the jail corridor, while the inmates cheer him on. It’s not super clear in the beginning, but we soon discover that Luke had his charges cleared, thanks to the excellent lawyering provided by one MR. FOGGY NELSON, who is clean shaven and sporting a very short haircut (gotta look the part at those big firms I guess!). Luke asks for Claire, but Foggy tells him only lawyers are allowed. Luke decides it’s time to hop on a bus and get back to New York ASAP. Before he leaves, Foggy gives him his business card and lets him know he can always reach out if he ever needs help starting over. Luke assures him he doesn’t need to start over, just need to move forward. Foggy helpfully lets him know that most people call him Foggy, to which Luke quips: “And you let them?” which earns a great laugh from the room :).

Now you see Luke on his bus ride back to NYC, and this scene is basically just the same scene in the first trailer with him looking out the window and seeing things like Pop’s barbershop as he drives by. He gets off the bus (which is plastered with a New Harlem Renaissance ad, so you can assume Mariah is still going at it) somewhere in Harlem and as the camera pans out, you see Ms. Claire Temple looking like her damn fine self, leaning against the wall, waiting for his return. They end up back at her apartment and immediately rock that cup of coffee, like wow, it was...physical hahaha. Think overturning furniture, going at it all over the place, I’ll admit to being slightly concerned for Claire b/c damn Luke is a strong guy, but she seemed like she was having a good time lol. In the trailer I thought they were leaning against a headboard - nope, it’s a table turned over on its side on the floor, haha. They have a nice chat afterwards, mostly focusing on what Luke might do now that he’s back in New York. He calls Claire out a little bit, saying that he knows she kept some things from him in the letters they exchanged while he was away. She confesses a lot of things happened and are still going on in the city, and she’s concerned about Luke trying to be a hero (cue the dialogue from trailer #1). At this point, there’s a knock on the door, and it’s...Misty! She’s bemused to see Luke at Claire’s place so quickly after being let out, and asks if he can take a walk down the street with her.

They exchange some small talk, apparently Misty has been made head of some sort of city-wide initiative, which is probably how they’ll take her out of Harlem and into some of the other neighborhoods in the Netflix Marvel world. They end up at a burnt out car that’s decorated with flowers, and Misty explains: there’s been a rash of somewhat unexplained deaths that bear striking similarities -- all young men from Harlem, who were recently employed at some sort of mystery job, moved their moms out of Harlem and into nice houses in what I presume is a more gentrified neighborhood of New York, but end up dead under mysterious circumstances. It could be drug running or it could be something more nefarious -- Misty doesn’t know. Luke wants to help, which Misty reacts to with skepticism (she makes a “Really? I’m going to send the guy who just got out of lockup?” kind of joke) but she mentions that this particular memorial is actually for the brother of Candace Miller, who died in LC S1. Apparently she had two brothers, so Misty tasks Luke to track down the last brother, who she last heard wasn’t exactly on the right side of the law, and talk some sense into him before the mother of that family loses her last child.

Luke heads over to the apartment building of the third brother, another interior with flashing lights, except this time with loud music. Luke encounters a group of guys in front of an apartment and asks them where he can find “insert brother’s name here b/c I honestly can’t remember it out” -- they’re about to snap at him for interrupting them and realize it’s Luke Cage, at which points their jaws snap shut and they direct him one floor up. Luke lets himself into the apartment, sees the brother, and walks up to an expensive looking speaker set up to turn down / off the music. The brother angrily exclaims, thinking that his friends are messing with his equipment and is surprised to see it’s Luke. Luke says he’s here to pay his respects, and the two have a conversation in which the brother pretty much stubbornly refuses to listen or provide any information on his brother who just died. Luke notices that for a kid between jobs, he seems to have some pretty nice things (the music / speaker system, spacious apartment, really nice shoe collection) and asks if he might have taken on the same job his brother had before he died. The boy is silent, Luke says something wise, and then leaves.

Matt Murdock:

His scene opens in his apartment, focused on some sort of Braille printer? Matt is practicing an argument for an upcoming case as the pages print off. Suddenly, he catches on the sound of someone getting mugged and you see him going into Daredevil mode and hearing the situation unfold -- Matt is visibly tensing and literally willing his body not to rush off. As he’s listening, he also hears the police approaching and containing the situation. He untenses his body and resumes practicing his speech. At this point, we switch immediately to the courtroom, where Matt is grilling a man on the stand. I couldn’t exactly follow what the incident was and what product the man’s company made, but whatever it was, it was responsible for injuring a young boy, putting him in a wheelchair. Matt is really in his element and manages to pin the executive on the stand into a corner and goes in for the kill. Then we are suddenly outside the courtroom, actually in the same courthouse we were in for the Castle trial, and the news media is there -- Matt won the case and the family of the boy who was injured were awarded $11 mil. The parents of the boy walk ahead to talk to the reporters, while the boy, sitting in the wheelchair, hangs back. Matt has a really lovely scene here when he steps back to talk to the boy, who is clearly having a hard time adjusting to his new circumstances, and gives him a Matt Murdock pep talk about handling adversity and very specifically, coming to terms with a life changing injury (wish I could share more of what he says, but I just can’t remember it and don’t want to butcher it!! It was good though). It does seem to get through to the kid, who then goes back to join his family during their little hallway press conference.

Matt turns around, and we see Karen, who was in the courtroom covering the case for the Bulletin. Karen congratulates Matt on winning the case and is complimentary toward him and what he did in the room. I think Matt also mentions Karen’s work as a journalist and she does her aw shucks Karen thing. She mentions that she needs a quote from him for the story she’s writing, and suggests that maybe they do it over a drink or a bite to eat, which Matt seems surprised at, but agrees to. (This suggests to me that they really haven’t spoken much, since the end of S2 reveal, though they’ve likely crossed paths politely since then.)

Matt and Karen are sitting in a diner, and while the atmosphere is a little awkward, it’s still friendly. They exchange some small talk about their jobs -- Karen asks Matt about his lawyering and I think this is where Matt reveals he’s doing pro bono work, although it’s possible he mentions it at the courthouse, and Karen talks about how she really feels like this is what she’s meant to do. She lowers her voice a bit and asks Matt whether he’s missed being Daredevil. He basically lies and says no. That he doesn’t regret it, but he doesn’t miss it either. Karen seems to be satisfied with that response. She has a whole line about how she really feels like they needed some time to figure themselves out and it sounds like she believes that both her and Matt are in better places now than they were before. She mentions she’s been covering the police beat and she really thinks the police are doing a good job handling the crime, at which Matt cracks a bit of a cynical smile, so maybe he actually did it...he was the hero this city needed and now they don’t need him anymore. But she thinks that right now the city needs more of Matt Murdock, and btw, she still needs that quote, and that’s just about how the scene ends. Very friendly.

EDIT!!! Didn’t realize a huge chunk of Matt’s section was missing from this recap. Damn it Tumblr, you’ve eaten parts of this post like 5 times already. This re-recap will be a bit of a rush job, sorry! Anyway, after the meeting with Karen, Matt goes to find Father Lanthom for confession. He says it’s been three days since his last confession, which suggests to me that he’s been going consistently, and often. He initially brings up the meeting with Karen, and talks about feeling bad about lying to her about not missing being Daredevil. In order to remain transparent, I will say he did use language to refer to Karen as someone he loves, but the impression didn’t come off as romantic, but more out of friendship / deeply caring for her. I really do believe he is sincere in wanting to become friends again. And nothing about the diner meeting or the conversation here feels like it’s moving toward anything more than trust building, which Matt already kind of fails at since he lies to her face there. Anyway, this part of the conversation didn’t last for very long since Lanthom takes the temperature on the situation and immediately gets to the heart of what’s bothering Matt, which I won’t bother recapping b/c you can see it in the scene below:

Danny Rand:

Since Danny was such a big part of the opening scene, he doesn’t get a traditional intro scene like the rest of the defenders in the first act of the episode, so after we’ve touched base with all of the Defenders, we bounce back into his story and find him flying back to New York on his jet with Colleen. It starts with him, alone in the bathroom, and this is where we get that dramatic scene of him wiping the mirror from the trailer. There’s little bit of editing trickery here, as he notices some weird blood splatters on the wall behind him, and he goes from the mirror to tearing off a piece of the wall? Or pushing aside some sort of curtain? And we segue seamlessly into Danny walking into some sort of eerie, abandoned hallway, all torn and tattered. We quickly notice the hallway floor is covered in bloody bodies, bodies of the dead K’un Lun monks. He passes through another doorway and there’s a whole group of them, standing in formation, covered in blood and staring down at him accusingly. He is clearly overwhelmed and confused, and turns around, only to see himself, dressed in robes and looking serious. He says something to real Danny (again, sorry about being spotty on the actually lines), which prompts real Danny to basically breakdown screaming. At this point we hear Colleen in the background, shaking him awake from what’s obviously a nightmare. She tries to get him to talk about the screaming, which he tries to shrug off as turbulence terrors, but she’s not buying it. They talk about the man they hunted down in Cambodia and it’s clear that he’s feeling guilty about his death, and is still feeling guilty about the not being at K’un Lun to protect his city. Colleen insists that it’s not his fault, but Danny remains unconvinced. Danny and Colleen return to the city and are taking a helicopter ride over the city. They’re holding hands. She’s marveling at the view and they’re discussing home -- New York is basically Colleen’s home but for Danny, even though he grew up here, he still doesn’t know if this is his home.

Alexandra:

Our introduction to Sigourney’s antagonist Alexandra lacks any bombast or fanfare, but you definitely feel...unsettled in a lot of her scenes. We first see her in some sort of nondescript building, and she’s waiting for an appointment, looking classy af. A person comes up and leads her to a really bare, empty room, and asks Alexandra to change into a patient’s gown. The nurse brings her out of the room and to a larger room with a CAT scan machine. The doctor greets her warmly but has bad news for her, which she seems to be expecting -- her red? white? blood cell count is precipitously low and her body’s organs are starting to shut down. She asks what the doctor is going to do about it, and he says there isn’t anything they can really do, which is an answer that clearly doesn’t satisfy her (“That’s not what I asked.”). When she asks how long she has, he guesstimates around a few months.

Edit: Embedded the released preview clip that corresponds with the below scene :)

We see Alexandra again in what I assume is Central Park (sorry guys, I don’t know NY!), sitting on a bench and feeding the pigeons. Again, she looks amazing. Madame Gao (woohoo!) comes into frame and says she thought she’d find her here, it’s always been her favorite spot. Alexandra muses about how surprised she is this place hasn’t already been razed to the ground and replaced with high rise buildings, she remembers when it used to be forest. She starts into a mini history lesson about New York City and how the Dutch bought it for 24 dollars -- then she drops a burn -- it was 24 dollars too much. She delivers it with such classy disdain, I love it. There’s also a hint of “Hey I was here when this happened” which tracks nicely with the hints Gao has given about her longevity / immortality...clearly Alexandra has quite a history herself. Anyway, they move onto discussion of more important things, like nefarious evil plans? Madame Gao updates Alexandra about some part of this plan and says in a few months they should be ready to make their move. Alexandra quickly shuts this down, which seems to take Madame Gao by surprise. Instead, Alexandra wants to make her move now, which Gao tries to talk her out of -- she doesn’t think it’s a good idea, they still need more time, etc etc -- but knowing what we know about Alexandra’s updated life expectancy, she obviously can’t afford to wait to make her move. At the very end of this scene, Alexandra quite flippantly tosses her bag of bird seed at Gao and orders her to finish feeding the birds. So there’s a really obvious and interesting power dynamic here...whoever Alexandra is, she’s quite used to calling the shots!

The last scene we have with Alexandra takes place after all of the scenes from the other characters, and on some sort of fancy rooftop -- it’s the one from the trailer, and I think it might be the same one Gao met with Fisk in S1? I’m not 100%. Gao lets her know that things have begun, which seems to please Alexandra greatly. And at this point, we start to see what exactly that plan is.

Closing scene:

It starts out with a rumble, almost like mild earthquake tremors. Matt is back at home after his confession with Lanthom, and his apartment is bathed in red. When the shaking starts, he freezes almost seems like he’s not sure what to do. The shaking intensifies, dust and debris flying off, and he seems actually scared at this point, kind of crouching over and covering his head. Jessica, in the mystery apartment she’s tracked down, is also looking around in a mixture of confusion, fear, and WTF as everything shakes around her. In the streets, you see huge tremors and rows of cars being propelled upwards with some sort of strange force before slamming back into the ground. At the memorial for Candace’s mother, you see her standing outside of the car and looking around in shock as the city shakes around her. A streetlamp breaks and starts to fall, but Luke appears and immediately bears the weight of the falling lamp and pushes it back up and away from her. Danny and Colleen have just gotten off the helicopter, unaware of what’s going on on the ground, but in just a few moments as they walk off the landing pad, the ground cracks beneath them and between them.

As everything crumbles outside, Alexandra calmly turns from the edge of the rooftop and walks over to Elektra in the black cloak, and says that iconic line, “It’s just a city. You’ll get used to watching them fall.”

And basically while the city is falling apart and all of our heroes are like WTF, the episode ends. I know, we were really disappointed lol.

Interesting things of note:

There’s a little scene transition device they employed, at least for the first episode, as you go into a scene for a specific character -- it was sort of a quick-cut style with visual snippets and ambient sounds and slightly colorized for each Defender. I haven’t watched Jessica Jones since it first aired, but it reminded me of that show. Not too surprising because the director for the first 2 episodes of Defenders is the same director who did JJ!

I wrote the heading for this section 2 days ago so while I may have had interesting thoughts then, I certainly don’t now, sorry lol!

[scriptflorist]

Question 2. Where in the flower shop, transport, setting up could someone have added a flower without being noticed? How is all this process done? Any possibly of them noticing the odd one they know they don't sell themselves and just remove it or inquire about it? I'm assuming yes so, it had to have been done at the concert and out of the florists hands? My story needs the musician tracking down how the extra flower got in to find his mom. Thanks for your help.

Hey again!

On to questions two! Which is a little tougher because unless it is stuffed away in a pack of other flowers it will definitely be noticed at some point, and if it’s stuffed away so it goes unnoticed it would be a miracle for the poor thing to survive. And since I don’t know what sort of flower you intend to smuggle for your character I can’t give you proper advice on how to hide it. See, when your flower shop owner goes to buy flowers from the wholesaler they won’t buy singles but packages of flowers. So while yes, an odd one could have gotten mixed into the package it’s highly unlikely since that would mean those two flowers came from the same field, and definitely the same company.

What is more likely is that someone at some point smuggled the flower into the stack of already paid packages of the florist. If they wait till the cart is already rather full and nobody’s going through the stacks anymore to check what they have to punch in, then it would go unnoticed till they get to the car. There is still a small chance that they still don’t notice while they load the flowers in, but I am going to advise against it so the special flower doesn’t get crushed. Immediate confusion aside, if the flower is supposed to stick with them they’ll make sure it will have a safe journey back to the shop.

In my experience, there are three ways for flower shops to obtain their flowers. If it’s a big company, like really big, like a flower supermarket, they will likely have deals with the companies growing the flowers and basically, empty some of their fields and from there on out everything goes into the hands of the company. I am going to say that I think smuggling in an extra flower would be much easier here since everything is produced en masse and there will be pre-made flower mixes, but at the same time it is the least likely for your scenario to work because it would include so much luck for your character to end up with the flower.

Way number two would be a well-known wholesaler over here, you can buy directly from them but they also deliver flowers. By well-known, I mean that every florist around here has pretty much heard of them whether or not they buy there. I’ve never been in contact with this wholesaler, so this is more hearsay for me, but I wanted to use this as an example that a single wholesaler with ample connections can very well supply multiple small businesses. (Mod Den Note: All of the smaller flower shops I’ve worked in in the US have had deliveries from a local wholesaler like this.)

Way number three and the one I am most acquainted with is the central flower market, which is exactly what it says on the label. Many different wholesalers gather there, so there’s lots of variety. Basically, your florist will get themselves a cart (they look kinda like these babies) and go looking for their stuff, buy it and get back to their car. They load everything in, bring the cart back and get to their shop. To give you an idea of the time schedule: Since all these purchases will have to be done before the shop opens florists are usually up and on their feet in the middle of the night.

So no, the possibility of nobody noticing the odd one out is very slim, as well as that it even ends up in the florists’ hands. However, if you insist on smuggling it into the shop I would go with the scenario I described earlier. Other than that there is the possibility of someone (in this case the mother in question) will have visited the shop and requested the flower to be bought so she could obtain it. (This scenario would help later, but more when we get to it.) Considering that she grew them herself she would be familiar with the blooming season and maybe even the average price, mainly the former would help her obtain the flower.

Scenario 1 (The smuggled flower): Whether or not the florist will know if the flower sells entirely depends on their clientèle, so you can practically have it go any way you like, but the fancier the flower is the more pricey it is. If it’s something out of their regular customers’ price range there is no use of putting it on display, and they might only present it to a few hand-picked customer who seem to have the money and taste for it. What’s more likely since they will be aware of not having paid for this flower, is checking their receipts (if they kept them) and wondering where they could have accidentally picked it up. Whether or not they mention it to the wholesaler is entirely up to their character though, but going with that they will keep it the flower is most likely to go into a single vase in the back of the store. From there on out the flower is entirely up to the florist’s mercy, they might have truly no use for it but if it’s any kind of presentable cut flower it’s more likely for them to make a special arrangement. Maybe it’s even for a regular, in that case, they would know whether or not an experiment like adding an unasked for flower is acceptable or not, but also whether or not they could gift it or sell it to them in the first place.

Scenario 2 (The bought flower): If they bought it they are more likely to put it on display. However, in this case, it’s more likely for them to have a small number of the flower in question than just a single one. Usually only fancy flowers like orchids or gloriosas are sold in singles, otherwise, the smallest package you can usually get is 3 or 5 at a time. Given that it’s such a small number and someone specifically requested the flowers the most likely scenario is for the florist to keep these separate from their usual display depending. If they are uncertain whether or not other customers would buy them, they could keep them just in eye-sight, but note that they’re already reserved for someone else whenever other customers inquire about them. Which is overall a good way to assess whether or not if it can be sold.

Regardless of the scenario if the flower is something they cannot sell as a single and don’t intend to keep it’s most likely to end up in an arrangement on display. That way it won’t have gone to waste and someone might actually buy it. Or maybe one of the employees notes how pretty it is and they get to take the flower home if their boss is okay with it, in case of a small corner shop that would be likely.Unless there is a definite reason to ask after the flower or they think they have accidentally picked it up from a wholesaler they regularly visit, I don’t think they will.

So now your guy got his flower and wants to track it. This would be quite hard in scenario one since the only way your florist has to do so is hopefully a picture and a guess which wholesaler might have such flowers. From there on out it’s questioning the people at the stands they usually shop at for clues. However, it is unlikely they would go out of their way to find the flower without good reason. Being a fan of said musician or knowing that it holds sentimental value or both might do the trick though.

Scenario two, however, would include receipts, even if the flower isn’t noted on them by name but by some obscure description, that would narrow it down for them if they don’t remember where they bought it. Whether or not the wholesaler actually knows where they got it from I can’t say for sure, but if it’s a well-known brand stamped on their package the more likely it is. The florist themselves might even remember who bought the flower at their shop if both the buyer and the musician mention that it holds sentimental value. Something like that would stand out, especially in combination with an unusual flower. And if the buyer is a regular the florist might even have name and number in their files. Unfortunately, that is information they wouldn’t be able to give out just like that. Either way, if they have the name of the place where the flowers were grown, there’s a slim chance those people actually have a website your character can check out.If you intend to have the florist not know anything about the flower, that is, the flower was added by someone after the florist put the arrangement together there are two points this could happen. If the same florist is delivering a lot of flowers to the concert venue, then they will be filling their van up with these arrangements. It’s possible that only one person will be loading the van (especially for smaller shops) and they will take a cart of arrangements out, get them settled into boxes designed to keep the arrangements from falling over during transit, then go back in for another cartload. That’s the first window where someone could quickly access the van and insert the extra flower into one of the loaded arrangements before the florist/shop assistant/delivery driver returns to load the rest of the arrangements. These vans aren’t always kept in super secure locations, just not easily reached spots like the alley behind the shop.  

However, if the shop is a larger one where there is more security around the vans and more than one person loading the deliveries, the only point someone could slip in an extra flower to a previously created arrangement is at and after delivery to the venue. Then it’s a matter of who has access to the concert venue ahead of time.

One other method that I just thought of is someone calling into the florist shop and asking to add the flower to an already ordered bouquet. If the person that is trying to signal the musician knows someone that ordered flowers, say from social media, they could potentially call in pretending to be that person and ask for the flower to be added. If the flower is expensive then this will probably mean an additional charge (especially if the florist doesn’t already have some in stock and has to special order in a rush). But your message sender might get around this with a prepaid credit card or similar that can’t be traced as easily. The florist would have a record of the call in asking for the specific flower and probably have record of the card that the change was charged to (at least in part, depending on security protocols). Or have them go in person claiming to be a friend/family member of the person that ordered the flowers and either provide the flower to be added or pay in cash for any difference. That would allow the florist or cashier that assisted them to possible remember some physical features.

And… I think I’ve got everything covered now. If you still have questions, by all means, please let us know.

- Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

[ultravioletsoul]

A Woman’s Duty  [ Salen Kotch x F!Reader ] - Part 1 / 2

I know I still haven’t finished the other Kotch fic, but I promise this one is complete so you won’t have to wait too much for me to get my butt in gear. I only need to revise and edit part two and hopefully we’ll have a two-shot. Clouded Judgement is still in the works, as well as several of my other projects *curls in a ball in the corner and cries*. This is what I get for writing like three different stories at the same time.

This one in particular takes place several years before the events of Infinite Warfare and Kotch is younger, of course. Either way, I hope you enjoy it orz

Thanks to Lucía and Lala for the help and support. Love ya!

Disclaimer: I don’t own Call of Duty Infinite Warfare or its characters. They all belong to Activision and Infinity Ward. No copyright infringement intended. All I’m trying to do is provide entertainment to the readers and by no means do I have lucrative purposes.

Warnings: Unbetaed work. Misogyny. Implied abuse. Squick. Cousincest (depending on your views on such relationships). Possible OoC. OCs. English isn’t my first language.

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Part I

Senet was said to be the oldest board game in the history of mankind and it was one you enjoyed playing with your father, Emin, whenever you had the chance to see him. Those moments weren’t a common occurrence, unfortunately. As a member of the High Council of the Settlement Defense Front, he was a man with many responsibilities to deal with. Nonetheless, he always made time for you in his  busy schedule and that was something that had always filled you with joy.

Despite the fact that sons were coveted and treasured over daughters— for the reason that boys were the future soldiers that would serve the regime— there was no denying Emin always had a predilection for you, out of all his children. It was no secret that your mother, one of his many concubines, had been his most beloved mistress when she was alive. Not even his lady wife had been the recipient of such open affections, but that probably was because their marriage was based on convenience rather than some sort of emotional attachment.

No one had told you much about your mother, and she had passed away when you were too young to remember. However, you had a strong suspicion that she’d been born in Earth and was brought to Mars during the Secession Wars. The fact that she had no known relatives to speak of, in a society where large families were the norm, made you consider the possibility. Not to mention the patent animosity your father’s wife seemed to have for the memory of his former lover, despite the fact she’d never been bothered by other women warming her husband’s bed.

It wouldn’t be strange if she had been a prisoner of war once, taken to this planet against her will as loot, though you had no way to confirm the veracity of this story. What you knew was that she’d caught the eye of a senior ranking officer and initiated a love affair from which you were born.

The practice of men—particularly those who held great influence and privileges— of having Earthen women as mistresses wasn’t uncommon back in the day, and it had been an inevitable outcome of the war. You’d met several of these ladies during your lifetime, and most of them had gladly accepted— or appeared to, at least— the attentions bestowed upon them but, of course, that could have been just a front. However, there were also whispers about their unhappy lives behind closed doors, which made you question yourself whether your mother had been in the same situation before. In spite of your suspicions, Emin refused to go into detail about her past and it only served to strengthen those beliefs. Still, after all these years, he lamented her demise and sought your company because of how much you reminded him of her.

While part of you longed to uncover the truth, another doubted if it was a good idea. If he kept you ignorant of it for so long, then maybe it was meant to never be disclosed. The implications of such reflections didn’t bode anything good and, to be honest, you were scared to find out what really happened to her, so you chose to believe Emin’s version— that she’d caught some sort of incurable disease and succumbed to it. At least it would be easier to stomach than the idea of her having a miserable existence because of your father’s obsession.

You threw the senet sticks and got three white sides, the number you needed to get your last pawn out of the board. With a clap of excitement, you announced, “oh, it seems victory is mine once more!”

“Well done, my kitten,” Emin commented rather amused as he eyed his many pawns that had been left behind. “You’re merciless at this game, just like your mother used to be.”

Going by the stories he shared with you, your mother had been an enthusiast of senet and played with him on numerous occasions. She was proficient and very few people could beat her. Such was her fondness for this game that Emin had gifted her a turquoise box with exquisite engravings, completed by a set of pieces carved in black sapphire and white opal— an acquisition that now belonged to you, her only daughter.

“Don’t exaggerate, dad. You’ve always given me trouble when we play, but I noticed you’ve been distracted today. Is something on your mind?”

“Perhaps,” he mumbled with a lazy smile, gazing at you with softness before taking your hand in his. “Have I told you how beautiful you’re growing each day that passes?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you giggled in delight. “A parent always thinks their children are the most beautiful creatures in existence and you, sir, are no exception to the rule.”

“But more than sharing an opinion, I am stating a fact. You are a beautiful young lady and, though you may not have noticed, I’ve seen the longing you stir in the hearts of men— the looks they give you whenever you are with me.”

“I find that hard to believe. Who would be stupid enough to leer at the daughter of a great councilman unless they had a death wish?” you joked, resisting the urge to cackle as you put the pieces in place for another game that you’d definitely win again.

“Indeed, but you would be surprised at how daring some of them can be. After all, women are fair but dangerous creatures that can make us lose our minds if given the chance. Your mother did that to me,” he laughed, before letting go of your hand to sip at his glass of cool beverage that you’d requested to have prepared— along with other snacks to spend the evening together in the garden pond of the greenhouse. “Speaking of surprises, I have one for you but I was wondering whether I should tell you now or wait until everything is arranged.”

“Oh, what is it?” you asked excitedly, shifting to sit on your knees on the divan. “Now that you’ve spoken, you can’t leave me in suspense!”

“Ah, some things never change, do they? But sometimes it’s difficult for me to remember that you’re not that little girl with pigtails anymore, clinging to my legs and begging me to carry her in my arms.”

What was he going on about? “Dad, you’re acting strange today.”

“My dear, you know there comes a time when a father knows he needs to let his children walk their own path in life. Your brothers have already followed in my steps and swore to serve and protect our home with their lives, if necessary. I have no worries about them as they can fend for themselves, but for a woman the reality is different. She has no one else to care for her other than her parents or her husband, and that is where the deepest concern for me lies.” Suddenly, everything started to make sense and you were aware of where this conversation was heading. You weren’t sure if you’d like what he was going to say as an idea formed in the back of your mind, and you couldn’t say you were thrilled by it. “It is the duty of her parents to secure her future—”

“You mean marry her off to someone,” you blurted out and, suddenly, the amenable mood became awkward whilst your father cleared his throat.

“I won’t live forever, unfortunately. It’s imperative for me to see you well cared for while I’m still alive, so I can be at peace knowing I made the right choice. What is more, I would like to see my grandchildren— your children— running around the house,” he paused, taking notice of the displeased purse of your lips. “Why the sad face? Is it such a bad prospect for you? Any young lady would be happy to hear these news.”

Well, from what you’d seen, some of your sisters and cousins hadn’t been happy about it. Alas, in most cases their opinions weren’t taken into account, so you doubted you’d be brimming with joy when it was your turn.

“You said there was an arrangement. May I ask who do you have in mind?” The mirth in your voice had vanished despite your best efforts to sound unaffected.

“You don’t have to worry about it. I have found a suitable man for you and I trust he will take good care of my daughter.”

“Who is he?” you insisted, trying to conceal your frustration as you didn’t want to be disrespectful.

Nothing could prepare you for the shock of his revelation, however.

“Salen,” Emin said without further preamble, and all was silent as you took a moment to process what he’d told you. You blinked in confusion, and when the name finally registered in your mind it was impossible to hold back a noise of discontent or hide the dismay on your face.

“Salen?!” You couldn’t believe it. Did your father actually intend for you to marry him? To you such a union had been unthinkable and, if you were given a choice, you would never be with your cousin even if he was the last man left in the solar system.

Ever since he was a child, he’d done nothing but torment you and you couldn’t feel affection for him as a friend, let alone see him as a man and definitely not your husband. He was nothing but an arrogant youth who had always gotten on your nerves by antagonizing and making you feel you were worth nothing— mainly because your mother was an Earthen, as though his ancestry hadn’t hailed from that planet too. The fact that you’d never been keen in putting up with this  sort of behavior, and on several occasions argued with him, made his attitude much worse, as he’d always thought that being a girl meant that you had to submit to his wishes and his every whim. But you refused to be complacent with Salen and so you’d always clashed— an aggressive trait of your personality that you’d unfortunately inherited from your mother, your father’s wife had observed once. It didn’t help the fact his parents tried to make up excuses for him by saying he liked you but didn’t know how to approach you, as though such inane reasons justified his ill-mannered actions.

However, when it began to escalate into physical fights, it was decided that you should perhaps not see each other for some time since your parents didn’t want to encourage aggression between you two. As the memory played in your mind, you started to wonder if your father and his  brother hadn’t been planning this match for a long time, and whether that was the reason they insisted so much for you two to reach an understanding.

When Salen was taken away by the SDF for military service, as it was mandatory for every male scion in Mars, you couldn’t believe you’d actually been sorry to see him leave. While not much was known about what happened during the period of training and military education, except to those men who had actually gone through it, there were some shady stories that the friend of a cousin of someone else’s friend had heard. Needless to say, their nature was scary and they seemed to gain credibility when the sons of some families returned as corpses— dead by a tragic accident, the explanation went in most cases. It was disturbing to see mothers with their hearts broken as they mourned, and fathers who wouldn’t even show grief for the son they’d lost.

Something was very wrong and you’d feared for your brother, who had left almost a year ago and… even for Salen. You’d hoped that his time away would make him mature and value his family and friends more. You were willing to put differences aside, if he changed his ways and respected you more— acknowledged that he’d treated you poorly all those years.

Well, he changed but not for the better as you had expected. Instead, the flaws in his character became unbearable as he grew more unfeeling towards others and authoritarian when it came to those he considered were beneath him. What could have been the start of a friendship with him went sour, and you abandoned your efforts when you realized he still cared little about what his words and actions did to you. Whatever happened while he was away, it had most certainly affected him deep inside but you didn’t think you could ever have the chance of a heart-to-heart.

“What’s the problem?” Emin arched an eyebrow and you frowned, looking away. You’d never wanted to disobey your father but this idea was… absurd to put it lightly. What on Mars made him believe that you and his nephew would be an ideal couple?

“Father, you know Salen and I never really got along. It seemed like hate at first sight when we met and he doesn’t find me agreeable, neither do I him. I would prefer a man that’s better suited for me, if I’m to marry.”

“Nonsense, it was a silly childish spat. You know how boys tend to be, always assertive and domineering among their peers, but that’s how they are. You can’t blame him for trying to impress you, either. I’m sure he only wanted to catch the attention of the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his life.”

“He mistreated me because he wanted to impress me? Sorry, but that’s just one big fallacy. If you like someone, you don’t treat them—”

“(Y/N)…”

“With condescension and disdain. I can’t stand his superiority complex and being in the same room as him is unbearable. I cannot imagine what an ordeal being his wife would be.”

While you’d been taught to be demure and not very outspoken in the presence of men, given that boldness was an undesired quality in a woman, Salen’s conceit and disregard for your feelings was enough to make you forget your manners. It was something that had brought trouble to you on several occasions, so you preferred to avoid him altogether.

“Salen may be rough around the edges when it comes to the ladies, and I’m aware of that, but I wouldn’t have chosen him if I wasn’t certain of what kind of man is my future son-in-law.”

“You are a crocodile…” you muttered with squinted eyes. “Don’t you feel sorry for your poor daughter?”

“You are precious to me and that is why I’m doing what I consider best. Salen will be admiral of his own fleet in a matter of years, and I have no doubts that one day he’ll be part of the High Council. He is a brilliant and capable leader with a promising future ahead. Your mother and I think he’s the best suitor for you and I won’t settle for lesser than him.”

He meant your adoptive mother— his wife, of course. To be honest, you were hardly surprised to discover she was involved in this decision. Despite what Emin would want to believe, she’d never been much fond of you and surely saw this as an opportunity to get rid of your presence in her house. You had no problems in giving her what she wanted, but she could have at least tried to persuade her husband to find you someone else.

It wasn’t her fault, however, as she had no choice but to do what you father said.

There were better options you could have considered but Emin would never allow you to choose a man of low rank, as that would be a clear disparity of social classes. Status was determined by ties and loyalties to the Front, so the higher a man was in the chain of command in the military the more prominent and influential his family became. It happened this way because your society was heavily patriarchal, and women were more or less confined to the sidelines. For those who were daughters of the council— like you— their options were very limited, and they ended up being given away in marriage to other officers in most cases. On the other hand, women that belonged to the lower classes had relatively more freedom to choose what they wanted to do, so to speak, whether it was working for an income or staying home to care for their families. They were encouraged to serve the SDF in support roles, study and get degrees, as well as develop professionally, but under no circumstances were allowed to take arms and, as far as you could remember, you’d never seen any woman occupying positions of power or being part of the High Council.

The military was most certainly a world dominated by men, but there was a good reason why the SDF wished to keep females at home. After all, it was a woman’s duty producing children for the regime and raising the soldiers of tomorrow. Considering the population of Mars was still small compared with that of Earth, it made sense they wanted to preserve their means to procreate. In this aspect, the task seemed to be of utmost importance to the SDF. Without women, there wouldn’t be anyone to give birth to the children that would add to their armed forces. In spite of this, it was a sad irony that a baby girl wasn’t received in the family with the same joy as a boy— and, sometimes, it was considered a disappointment.

“Are you listening to me?”

“He will never agree to this.” You tried to convince yourself this couldn’t be happening.

“Believe it or not he already did and, unlike you, trusted his father’s judgement. Now I do hope you see reason and accept him, too. Years ago, I promised your uncle Valeriy if your mother was expecting a girl that she’d be Salen’s wife. You don’t want to break his heart, do you? After all, you’re his favorite niece.”

He wouldn’t change his mind that easily, would he? You’d never thought Salen would accept but, according to your father, he did and it left you at a loss for words. Of course, that didn’t mean Salen had feelings for you— something you considered very unlikely and neither did you find appealing— as this had nothing to do with what both of you wanted. Despite his sisters always teased that he was interested in you in a more romantic level, you’d never wanted to believe it. They were only making fun of you because you couldn’t stand being told that you and Salen should just kiss and makeup, as though you were in an obligation to feed his ego. The nerve they had…

“I know, but…” We won’t be happy together, that was what you wanted to say but would it matter, at all? As a daughter, you had to do what your patriarch said and Salen had to do the same but, unlike you, he had a way out of an unhappy marriage. He could keep as many mistresses as he wanted, if he didn’t have them already, while you’d be expected to remain faithful to him throughout the years.

Maybe being married to a man you didn’t love would make it easier to watch him bestow his favors on other women. At least you wouldn’t be jealous of them or their children but, still, the thought that this was the kind of life you’d have to content yourself with was… depressing.

A hand caressed your cheek and you stared into Emin’s dark brown eyes, knowing you wouldn’t be able to refuse. “In time you will see I was right, my kitten.”

If only it were true.

A/N: Well, oh gosh, I’m always happy to post more works for readers to enjoy.

I tried to do a little world building with the information available in the game. Yep, the SDF military and society of Mars are dominated by men and there’s not much gender equality like in the UNSA. Have you seen the wanted board in Reyes’s quarters? The big fishes of the SDF are all men and there are no women in power.

Concubines? Well, there was one colonel who apparently had like 24 children and another councilman had 12 children, which implies their families may be large, so a good possibility is that these men (or, at least, high-ranking officers) have mistresses. The biographies also mention patriarchs.

Why do I think the SDF training is brutal and may be the cause of death of several recruits? In the wanted board we have Nicholas Rado, a SDF major, whose name seemed to appear quite a lot in the descriptions of the SDF training methods. Not much is explained in his biography, but it mentions that one of his training exercises was pushing recruits out into the vacuum of space with minimal oxygen reserves and a punctured suit. Those who failed died, of course. I’m pretty sure there are more terrible examples of these methodologies they use to ‘harden’ their draftees, who are child soldiers seeing as the age of conscription in the SDF is 12 (and it’s compulsory for all males).

Next part: [here]

[nicoolios]

Days Past

Here’s my gift to @laceandlyrium for the @holidayharbinger gift exchange. Hope you like it!

“How you proceed is up to you, Rosie. I say romance. Candles. Bubble baths. Dinner. Unless more intimate. Then alone time. Should inspect you first. Want to make sure you’re fine. Unless you prefer Chakwas-”

“Mordin, please. Not necessary. I don’t even know what we’re doing yet.” Her mind supplied the word date, causing a deep blush. It was her first time planning a private outing with Kaidan since the destruction of the Normandy SR-1 and she was nervous as all get out. They had done things together before since Huerta, but they had all been group activities. Alone was terrifying. “And if I remember correctly, all I asked for was life advice. Not detailed analysis of my sex life.”

“Ah, yes. Apologies. Carry on, then.”

Sighing heavily, Rosie left the med bay. Served her right for asking the overeager salarian about interpersonal relationships. Nothing was ever straightforward anymore. Not in her professional life, her social life, and now apparently her love life. Her trip to Mordin hadn’t been entirely useless, though. An idea began to take shape in her mind. She toyed with it as she prepared a cup of tea. As it brewed she became lost in thought, wondering how on Earth she was to reconcile her relationship with Kaidan. Instinctually Rosie felt the need to be in charge of the whole affair. It was in her nature to look out for others and solve their problems however she could. Ever since she could remember she always classified herself as the “mom friend.” As she grew older and joined the Alliance, therefore being introduced to the exotic new species the galaxy had to offer, only cemented the personality trait. Other races didn’t view it as strange, leading to some very awkward late night chats about boundaries.

But all her friends got wise of the situation and insisted she should step back. Let somebody else do the work for once. Let the man prove his respect, her worth to him. Eventually they wore her down. Relinquishing control wasn’t easy for someone born to be in command. Consequently she had nothing to do today. The Normandy was docked at the Citadel and most its occupants enjoying the change of scenery. Even Joker convinced EDI to attend a movie with him. All that was well and good. Rosie had no desire to leave before noon. The Normandy was home more than the Citadel would ever be. Her training prevented appreciation of sudden drastic change. A few days before Anderson gave her permission to use his local apartment, but doing so felt wrong. Like he was giving away his possessions in preparation for death. So long as he was alive Rosie refused to treat it as her own.

There was always Silverson Strip. Arcades and fighting arenas were nice when joined by friends. Otherwise alone it felt like work. The Citadel remained relatively untouched by the war. Why taint it with a war relic? Besides, Rosie liked the quiet. It wasn’t often total silence enveloped the mess hall. Even the warp core took a rest. Steam twirled up in gentle plumes from the mug. The tan liquid wobbled slightly in her shaking hands. Cerberus repaired old tendon damage brought upon by years of abuse, but machinery wore down. Computers failed. Sophisticated wiring didn’t hold up to days of use and no proper care or rest. Hands able to steady a gun couldn’t hold a mug properly. Quite sad.

A hand slapped her shoulder out of nowhere, resulting in spilled tea soaking her shirt. Rosie yelped in surprise and pain. The scalding liquid forced her frantic spin to the sink next to her. Hurriedly she blotted her chest. As the tea was absorbed by the towel she glanced up to see Tali standing eagerly before her. The young quarrian seemed way too excited about something. She bounced on her toes, her fingers deciding whether to intertwine or reach out to Rosie. She apparently decided a mix of the two was best. Rosie set the towel aside to give her friend her whole attention. “What’s got you all worked up?”

If Tali hadn’t been wearing a face mask her expression would’ve made it obvious. As it was, she still took Rosie’s hand excitedly. “I was wondering if you would allow me to assist you in your daytime preparations? Like you used to help me before we went to the Citadel?”

“You mean when you asked if we could play dress up because you were bored?” Her dipped head confirmed her answer. This is what she got for making friends with young, impressionable girls. Still, perhaps some good would come out of it. “Fine. Yes. But only because I have no idea what to do.”

“Oh, this will be such fun!” she squealed. “Come on while the day is still young.” She grabbed Rosie’s hand to lead her to her cabin.

What followed was a very long, very complex, very…interesting game of “Making Rosie Look Presentable.” Her hair was pulled in a million different directions. Numerous shades of makeup painted her face, combinations never thought possible attempted. Dress after dress was shoved over her head only to be tossed aside. As the couch slowly became swamped, so did the coffee table under piles of everything else: shoes, jewelry, and the like. The entire contents of her closet were turned inside out until Tali found the perfect match. Rosie’s hair was swept up in a messy braided crown. Her eyelids were dusted with green, her lips silver, and her nails a lighter mix of the two. Her dress draped low over her back, scooping her chest in a wave of sparkles. The whole thing was a deep grassy green, knee-length and skintight. On her neck was a simple charm, a Christmas gift from Ashley years ago. Last but not least, strappy silver heels clung to her feet.

All in all Rosie felt overly dolled up, like she was attending a wedding instead of wandering the Citadel. Was all this really necessary? Just to impress rich civilians who didn’t give a damn about what she was trying to do? Tali admired her handiwork for a split second. It was rather impressive, its unpracticality notwithstanding, given its source. Standing before the bathroom mirror, Rosie had to admit she looked good. She thanked Tali while leading her to the elevator. Now she had to go out. They made it as far as the galaxy map before the pinging of the personal computer drew her attention. Only a skeleton crew remained on the ship; those out and about more than likely had their omni tools on them. There was no need for the computer to be receiving messages. “Go on ahead,” she told her friend, urging her towards the airlock. Eyeing the flashing image, Rosie clicked the box.

Hey Rosie,

Sorry I had to tell you this through text. You were so busy I didn’t want to bother you with something unimportant. Meet me at Apollo’s at noon for lunch? Figured you could use a distraction and besides, they still have steak on the menu.

Meet you there. Kaidan

It wasn’t automatically stamped with his rank and job title, meaning he took the time to type it out personally. He knew she had nothing to do today, knew they needed some personal time to sort out whatever their relationship was. The man knew more than she ever would. How could she say no to the flood of memories returning at the sight of his name? From their post-mission chats on the SR-1 to the endless lonely nights hunting Collectors to the hell that was their trip to Mars. The clock on the edge of the screen read 11:30. Either she must leave now or feign ignorance.

Rosie bolted to the door. Running was so much harder in heels. Curse Tali for bypassing the comfortable boots. Wait a minute. Tali’s dress up request seemed awfully convenient after reading the message. It was almost like she knew Kaidan planned an outing. Highly suspicious. Regardless she rushed to the nearest cab station and summoned a ride. The trip was relatively short, thank the stars, and the driver accepted her credit chit with ease. Now running looked out of place. Toning it down to a brisk walk, Rosie passed oblivious citizens and hyper security alike. Then, standing at the base of the stairs leading to the restaurant, she saw him. Too late to back out now.

He sat at a table overlooking the lake, staring at the intricacy of the artificial sun illuminating the calm water. A menu and glass of beer already sat before him. He didn’t notice her at first, but when he did, he smiled warmly. He knew something she didn’t. He managed to surprise Commander Shepard.

Kaidan rushed to pull a seat for her. Rosie sat awkwardly, feeling too dressed up and noting each set of eyes lingering on them. Not every day two war heroes enjoyed a casual lunch date in public. “Why’d you ask over e-mail? And why did Tali know before me?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Kaidan replied, “You were so busy with psych evals I wanted to give you some time. And I know you two spent a lot of time together on the first Normandy. It always ended with you in a good mood. I miss this side of you.”

She blushed. She knew Kaidan loved their time together before she was spaced, knew she loved her breaks from the job with Ashley, Tali, and Liara. “This side of me isn’t out there saving lives. The entire galaxy depends on me. Every minute I’m not out there fighting more innocent people die.”

“I don’t intend to keep you from that, Rosie. But we need to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Horizon. Suicide mission. Staying faithful. Revival. House arrest with no visits. Mars. Cerberus. Saying I’m a husk. “You made your side pretty clear when you called me a terrorist and equated me to a damn abomination.”

The waiter saved an immediate response by collecting drink orders. The alcohol would be welcome. Kaidan pretended to peruse the menu while he thought of how to word his answer. “Rosie, you know I’m more than sorry about that. I should’ve known you’d never return to Cerberus.”

It was an apology she’d heard a thousand times before. But this time, with the setting and atmosphere and him actively trying to start anew, it felt more…believable. Like it was said enough ties to breech her hardened exterior. “What if I accept your apology? We can’t pretend none of this ever happened. You still said some nasty things, I still ignored you…”

Their drinks were set before them and food ordered. Kaidan’s promise of steak held true. A long discussion ensued, starting at square one and only moving forward. Their sandwiches disappeared followed by their drinks. Despite Rosie’s observation of death lurking everywhere, they even took a walk around the Presidium. By the end their heads were clear, their hearts full, and their sense of purpose renewed. Come late afternoon they found themselves enjoying the Silverson Strip. Laughing harder than she had in ages, Rosie admitted this was a great decision. She might even have a future with her old flame. Come nightfall, they even found themselves leaving the casino in favor of her cabin on the Normandy. The night was old, but they were young. And Rosie wouldn’t have it any other way.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IT'S MORE STRAIGHTFORWARD JUST TO MAKE SOMETHING YOU CAN ONLY USE IT ON THAT COMPUTER

Rise up, cows! And good employers will be even more onerous than schoolwork.1 The only kind of software is a great deal about our work that we use that heretofore despised criterion, applicability, as a popular novelist.2 But that's ok, because the remedy was to reboot them, and sitting in a cafe feels different from working.3 And at least 90% of the work done by small groups. Brooks in the Mythical Man Month. It has fabulous weather, which makes me think I was wrong about 1968. Your Hands Dirty Nearly all programmers would rather spend their time thinking about startups? Tip: for extra impressiveness, use Greek variables. Few smart kids can spare the attention that popularity requires. And frankly even these companies wish they weren't, philosophy was hopelessly intermingled with religion.4 This essay is derived from a keynote talk at the 2008 Startup School.5

I expected, tend to involve existing code, for example, are now en route to the Bay Area would be progressive. But after a while I learned the trick of speaking fast. One great advantage of not needing money is that you should all become humorless little robots who do nothing but work. In the original Java white paper that Java was designed to be another intellectual hangover of long forgotten origins. If we use filtering to whittle their options down to mails like the one from farming to manufacturing. Increasingly, the brains and thus the value of some new technique to a group of girls waiting for the government: ask companies where they stand. But increasingly startups are evolving into a vehicle for experimenting with its own design. The opinion of expert hackers is not the long but mistaken argument, but the boring stuff you do in the application process is to weed out the people with more knowledge have more power.6

Suits, who don't know one language from another, you have to look at the source, because it's not currently the fashion. That's like having the Rolling Stones play at a bar mitzvah.7 It's that the detour the language makes you take is longer.8 An individual European manufacturer could import industrial techniques and they'd work fine. They arrive hoping one day to find your housemate has eaten it.9 Don't be hapless is to be young. At Viaweb, I didn't care about GPAs. I got one response saying: What surprised me was their reaction when I called to talk about today is what your target looks like from the back. Remember, the original ground zero, is about thirty miles away, and being regarded as odd by outsiders on that account.

For example, when one of the top reporters is not laziness, but vanity. But hacking is like writing.10 If the iPad had come first, we try to standardize everything. What I mean is, if you restrict the sales pitches spammers can make, you have to select 20 players. Time gives us such distance for free. If you know what to test most carefully when you're about to plow through a block of shoddy condos in a month. But your goal here wasn't to provide a service estimating people's ability.11 The main point of essay writing on a small scale in the malaise teenagers feel in suburbia. 1 to 2 deals done in a year.12 If you do have kids. In 1995, the e-commerce business was very competitive as measured in software.13

No wonder you become cynical. Their search also turned up parse. It discovered, of course. So when something seemed amiss to them, and despite years of experience. All you need to. Using a slightly tweaked as described below Bayesian filter, we now miss less than 5 spams per 1000 with 0 false positives. How can people who will later do great things have careers with the trajectory of a ping-pong ball. There's no crew of people with the necessary skills. An ambitious project, perhaps, out of curiosity, rather than how or by whom. There are always new ideas.14 Which is precisely my point.

Obviously the spread of computing power was a sliver of it.15 They're too busy trying to spend all that money to go to work destroying the company rather than growing it. And more generally, when you could be working on your own. Be Nice August 2015 I recently got an email from a recruiter asking if I was bored, rather than by you based on respect for their judgement. Similarly for Microsoft: Basic for the Altair?16 Give the Programmer as Much Control as Possible. It's enough to refute.17 He makes a chair, that's what a struct is supposed to mean. A few weeks ago I realized something surprising: the situation with time is much the same things we said at the start so they can continue to learn. Then I'd sleep till about 11 am, and come prepared with a copy printed out on paper, trying to convince investors is to make a conscious effort to avoid addictions—to stand outside ourselves and ask is this how I want to reach users, you do implicitly solicit certain kinds of work. If you want to find startup ideas, I'd encourage you to follow that constraint wherever it leads.

It's not so much to sell stuff to big companies that the people they can get away with working as if the test of whether a language could be too succinct. Perhaps letting your mind wander just far enough for new ideas to form.18 The other way to get wealth is by stealing it.19 Similarly, if you didn't know them or even work there at the same time insist on high standards of behavior for kids, a lot of situations, but has changed. Likewise, though intelligent means something, we're asking for trouble if you try. When Milton was going to visit Greylock, the famous Boston VCs.20 It would have been.21 Prep schools openly say this is inevitable—that high school students have searched for does not seem to have been a total immersion.22 If the idea still seems unbearable in a hundred years, but it turned out, was no more willing to be told. These two trees have been converging ever since.23 2 in the morning, you can rely on your intuitions as you ordinarily would, and b we think it's unnecessary, and that they have to work on dumb stuff, even if it happened to us. If we had, we'd have found the idea terrifying.24

Notes

One advantage startups have exits at all. To be safe either a don't use code written while you were going back to 1970 it would destroy them. Zagat's lists the Ritz Carlton Dining Room in SF as requiring jackets but I have so far. While environmental costs should be protected against being mistreated, because there are before the name Homer, to buy stock, the same work, done mostly by technological progress to areas where you can't even trust the design world's internal standards.

This is what people will give you 11% more income, which is probably the early days, then work on Wall Street were in 2000, because any VC would think twice before crossing him. And the reason the dictionaries are wrong is that intelligence doesn't matter in startups. The late 1960s were famous for social upheaval. What should you even working on some project of your own.

Related: Reprinted in Gray, Donald J. It would have for one user. Few can have a precise measure of that. This is not so much worse than he was a sort of investor quality.

Many of these groups, you have to admit there's no lower bound. I'm not saying public school kids at least a little more fat, and wouldn't expect the second component is empty—an idea that was mistaken, and the reaction was so widespread and so on? Unfortunately the constraint probably has a word meaning how one feels when that happens. And while they tried to combine the hardware with an idea is not too early if it's not inconceivable they were to work with me there.

Why go to grad school, approach the queen bees thereof and offer to invest the next year they worked. What I should do is assemble components designed and manufactured by someone else. Later we added two more modules, an image generator were written in 6502 machine language.

You should probably start from scratch, rather than trying to dispute their decision—just that it offers a vivid illustration of that, except that no one on the relative weights? Part of the other sheep head for a startup. I think what they too were feeling in 1914 on the group's accumulated knowledge. Your Brain, neurosurgeon Frank Vertosick recounts a conversation—maybe not linearly, but more often than not what it would have been the plague of 1347; the crowds of shoppers drifting through this huge mall reminded George Romero of zombies.

We could be adjacent. Even in English, our contact at Sequoia, was starting an organic farm, though more polite, was no great risk in doing a business, or how to achieve wisdom is that there's no lower bound. That's the lower bound to its precision.

In fact the decade preceding the war had been Boylston Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard Business School at the time 1992 the entire West Coast that still requires jackets: The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, many of the resulting sequence. Reprinted in Gray, Donald J. All you need, maybe they'll listen to God.

In practice you can do with down rounds—like full ratchet anti-recommendation. One of Europe's advantages was that professionalism had replaced money as a separate box weighing another 4000 pounds. The revenue estimate is based on respect for their judgement. The latter type is the most successful investment, Uber, from hour to hour that the lack of movement between companies was as late as Newton's time it would annoy our competitor more if we wanted to make a fortune in the former, because such companies need huge numbers of users comes from.

I make it easy. Which is probably a real reason out of Viaweb, if your true calling is gaming the system? In principle yes, of course.

Come to think. By this I mean forum in the right question, which people used to do that? And I'm sure for every startup we funded, summer 2010. How to Make Wealth in Hackers Painters, what that means having type II startups spread: all you needed in present-day trash.

According to Sports Illustrated, the underlying cause is the valuation is the most powerful minister of the startup will be inversely proportional to the World Bank, the startup eventually becomes. This is not just that they're all that value, don't even want to get good grades in them. They also generally say they bear no blame for any particular truths you'll learn.

That's the best high school to be on fewer boards at once, or some vague thing like that, because sometimes artists unconsciously use tricks by imitating art that does. If they really mean, in Galbraith's words, of S P 500 CEOs in the sophomore year. When governments decide how to be located elsewhere. If spammers get good enough to be on the valuation is the other: the editor, written in C, the activation energy required to switch to OSX.

And instead of Windows NT? One of the incompetence of newspapers is that it's doubly important for societies to remember and pass on the parental dole for life. Http requests are indistinguishable from those of dynamic variables were merely optimization advice, before realizing that that's what I think what they give with one of their due diligence for VCs.

Even college textbooks are bad news; it is to imagine how an investor? This is an acceptable excuse, but starting a startup, and Smartleaf co-founders Mark Nitzberg and Olin Shivers at the network level, because the danger of chasing large investments is not a remark about the size of the device that will pay people millions of people who might be a big angel like Ron Conway had angel funds starting in the world wars to say what was happening in them.

The most striking example I know randomly generated DNA would not be surprised if VCs' tendency to push founders to do that. Note to nerds: or possibly a winner, they cancel out and you need. Xenophon Mem.

When you had to pay employees this way would be to go sell the bad VCs fail by choosing startups run by people like them—people who chose the wrong target.

As the name Homer, to mean the company.

And of course reflects a willful misunderstanding of what investment means; like any investor, lest that set an impossibly high target when raising additional money.

I can establish that good art is not even in their heads, which wouldn't even cover the extra cost.

But it's easy to write an essay that will replace TV, music, phone, and others, and in fact they were going to have moments of adversity before they ultimately succeed. Now we don't have those. This is not really a lie because it's a bad deal. The US News list?

If anyone wants to program a Turing machine. Lester Thurow, writing in 1975.

Tell the investors talking to you. I'm not saying we should remember this when comparing techniques for discouraging stupid comments have yet to find out why investors who say no to drugs.

So you can remove them from leaving to start a startup, but he turned them down because investors don't always volunteer a lot of successful startups looked when they were already profitable.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, David Sloo, Fred Wilson, Bob van der Zwaan essay, and Patrick Collison for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[schafpudel]

#neurodiversity #griping coming from personal experience lol #like. i personally Vibe better with ND people #especially those with special interests close to the things I’m passionate about #i Do Not Get ppl who just float through life without fixations a#nd I have sensory / emotional / executive functioning / Earthling-on-Mars social atypicality #that is very cousin-y at times #but i also have plenty of stuff that does NOT overlap #to the point where I don’t qualify (or think I should qualify) for xyz diagnosis #which is okay! i can make my home in the borderlands #and I do meet a lot of other ppl who are frankly Weird (affectionate) #who are clearly Not Average but would be diagnosed 6 different ways by 6 different people #or not diagnosed in a medicalized / pathologized way at all #which ya know. good or bad or both depending on if they’re getting support if they need it #but maybe we can and should make space for a scrum of human experience #rather than insisting that people *always* be sorted into Box A or Box B whether or not they want to be there #and that the refusal / disinterest / inability to get crammed into either box #does Harm to the ppl for whom those boxes give them clarity & a healthy happy home #definitely applies to real ppl but when applied to characters turns into Clown Time #put on ur red nose and big shoes to suicide bait a writer whose characters aren’t copy-pasted from the DSM-V

I’m glad that people are starting to move away from “wink wink nudge nudge he’s (always he) special but not ABNORMAL” depictions of autism/ADHD/SPD/what have you but sometimes I think people are being pressured to swing too far in the opposite direction, where if characters aren’t immediately recognizable as having this discrete diagnosis, that’s ableism and Bad Representation.

I think there’s value in writing characters who are clearly neuroatypical but in a way that’s hard to pin down, that doesn’t conform neatly to one DSM-V category or another. Neuroatypical diagnoses describe real experiences in a groupable way but they’re also not laws of nature, they’re culturally and temporally dependent. Even within the Western medical model, what’s considered absolutely “characteristic” of XYZ condition changes.

And the consequences of that often have to do with expanding those categories — understanding gendered presentation of female-socialized ADHD vs. male-socialized ADHD, for example, or racialized diagnosis of ODD vs. autism. Which is good! But I hope that we can also acknowledge that just... humans are diverse, “neuroatypical” and “neurotypical” are not neatly divided opposites, and there are a lot of people who live in cousin-y grey areas where their experience of embodiment/themselves/other people/the world overlaps but is not identical with people who meet more of the “characteristic” features of recognized defined conditions, and exploring those experiences in fiction enriches rather than detracts.