#so if he really thought they were that's a clear case of cognitive distortion

[whetstonefires]

#the only point I take issue with is that I don't think jgy believes any of his closely held beliefs about his situation are bullshit#when he says he didn't have any choice I think he fundamentally believes it and can defend his positions when given the chance (via @thatswhatsushesaid)

well i'm sure he doesn't believe his own closely held beliefs are bullshit lol, but hm. this is interesting!

so if we posit that, when jgy says that, it's never just convenient wording for the feeling of 'my hand was forced by the situation'

but that he intellectually believed that when he, say, had his toddler killed to cover up a suspected disability which might have led people to suspect about the incest or otherwise think less of him, then framed a political inconvenience for it and had them massacred, that he had to do it, and do it like that

(that any lesser level of violence and optimization-of-personal-advantage was tantamount to suicide)

then...

are we supposing that he believes that in a sort of, he needs to believe it, that he has an elaborate internal narrative where everything he's done wasn't only appropriate but unavoidable, and therefore he can't and shouldn't take on guilt about it, and that letting go of that conviction even where it's absurd would wound him, kind of a way?

or more like a, he just has a default position of categorizing everything he does from an emotional place of 'survival' as necessary, and therefore adequately justified, and not considering further on that subject once he's committed to a course unless somehow externally prompted, because that's the efficient way to do it and (as with wwx) you can't afford inefficient emotional processes when you're trying to survive, kind of a way?

because those imply two fairly different psychological relationships to the doing of particularly egregious crimes, and as far as i can recall they're both compatible with the evidence.

Something about how Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen took the same parental trauma and, due to their differing ages and characters and the somewhat different pressures they were under, came away with very distinct conclusions that mostly seemed pretty similar at first, since they were cast in the same mold, i.e. the Lan disciplines.

Both of them these under-parented kids trying to reconcile the message that the world is fundamentally just with the lived experience that it absolutely was not.

Lan Xichen comes away with this idea that justice is arrived at by keeping everyone happy--have I compared him to Jane Bennet yet, she's my reference archetype for this kind of eldest sibling--and working for the best possible final outcome. In which possibility he persistently has faith even when it fails to come to fruition; a disappointing compromise is just a lesson to do better next time.

This is a pretty resilient coping mechanism, since it can stand up to not only a lot of bad shit randomly falling out of the sky but to other people and even you fucking up supremely in a lot of different ways, and also to being harmed by enemies, because of course enemies will do that.

It cannot survive the sense of being totally helpless, or a loss without recoup or silver lining, because it relies on the conviction that you can bargain with the universe. That you are in a position to do so, and that the universe is disposed toward mercy.

(This I think is why he attached himself so intensely to Meng Yao--at his darkest moment, when everything was falling around him and he was alone, someone came and restored his faith in the world being, fundamentally, a good place, that will pick you up when you fall and offer second chances. Right up until it gets pulled out from under him, that's what that person means to him, every time he sees him again: that at its core life is kind, and you can be safe again after trauma.

The irony is imo less that this person is actually bad than that Meng Yao is the last person who believes that.)

Lan Wangji, on the other hand, younger and more rigid and somewhat more sheltered, comes away with the idea that bad things are the direct consequence of flawed actions. Punishment is natural law; on earth as it is in heaven; only perfection merits mercy.

(Mumble mumble Legalism I haven't read enough Chinese history to unpack that lol but.)

The advantage of believing this is that it frees you from the bulk of internal conflict. If bad things happen it's because they ought to. You can stop them from happening by doing everything right. There is no need therefore to be afraid, and relatively little need to be angry, and when you are angry it can happen in a contained, approved way, toward disruptions to the system.

This is not a worldview that can survive very many disruptions. It does not have a lot of shock absorption built in; to keep it mostly intact in the face of the universe glaringly failing to deliver requires, more or less, going systematically insane.

Plenty of people raised with these kinds of values do in fact choose to do that. If choose is the right word.

If our Lan Zhan hadn't already gotten his coping mechanism shaken up and expanded by Wei Wuxian and his charismatic undermining of the Lan Sect's system of making their laws appear to be the laws of the universe, I think he'd have been a lot more likely to break when the Wen took Cloud Recesses. Not in an obvious way, necessarily, not cracking up and screaming or berserking, and probably not even going into complete shutdown, but like. Retreating from reality a lot more.

Living way more completely in his own head, and lashing out more at people who threatened his elaborate, infinitely brittle mental architecture.

(In his worst moments, this is Lan Qiren.)

As it is, it takes Lan Wangji a long time and a pretty large amount of trauma to fully break out of this belief system, even once he's been confronted with its inadequacy to handle the actual complexities of the unstructured world.

(This is narratively important, I think, because Lan Zhan having gone through that growth is kind of the reward for the tragedy of the thirteen years; a cathartic grace note.)

And just when Lan Wangji's reached his success state on processing all that and been, essentially, rewarded by the universe with a Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen's far more robust just-world coping mechanism is finally brought to its own shattering point. And how.

...also Jiang Yanli is a very similar person to Zewu-jun in a lot of ways, but not having been orphaned as a child or thrust into politics from a young age the scale of her ambition is more modest. But that's its own post probably!

[anonthenullifier]

In your snapshot au, how would Wanda and Vision react to meeting canon Tommy and Billy? Billy with his alternate family and issues, and Tommy with his sad history.

Thanks for the ask! As is clear from this series, canon is not held to firmly haha. I hope this is somewhat what you were hoping for and that you enjoy it!

The air tastes different, a touch sour. It’s a fact no one else would pick up on, the gustatory senses of humans discerning but also overwhelmed with the endless combination of flavors. Vision does not eat and so breathing presents him the most common ingredient to his taste buds.

Vision nods, lips held in a taut line as he accesses Avenger Protocol 3252, subtitled: So You’ve Found Yourself in the Multiverse...again. Though Vision wrote the majority of the protocol, it was cosponsored and researched primarily by Dr. Strange and Wanda, neither of whom understood why Vision asked for a breakdown of atmospheric elements, but they did it anyway. He scans through the endless lists of Earths and stops once he reaches the 600s, where carbon dioxide ranges from .0039 to .0040%.

Step 1 of Protocol 3252: Ascertain rough multiversic location. Check.

Step 2: Determine if you are alone.

This is always more difficult, the transition between universes occurring with a heady rush and a feeling of discombobulation that often gives way to brief amnesia. Vision scans his surroundings, a verdant park in what appears to be an urban community. There is a bench underneath an oak, one that obscures the sight of him in case anyone were to wander past. Once seated he runs through what he can remember. He was on an Avengers mission, battling some sorcerer of pandemonium, or so the man yelled a few times but Vision did not catch an actual name, far too focused on trying to usher nervous citizens away from the rain of concrete slabs and glass shards. It was not a solo mission, Wanda was there with him, as were Dr. Strange, Captain Marvel, and...others. A hiccup in his memory is concerning, particularly if he wishes to find his way out of wherever he is.

An elongated blink recenters the growing anxiety in the pit of his abdomen, the least helpful thing he can do now is panic. “Wanda.” He says her name both in his mind and in his comm unit, hopeful one, or both, will reach her, assuming she came through with him.

A second of silence rolls into a disheartening thirty seconds and then an agonizing minute, once he reaches two minutes he takes a deep breath, moving on to Step 3: Identify potential resources for return. It is his least favorite step, despite being the single most important one. Another breath expands his chest, synthetic lungs holding onto the sour air several seconds past his normal inhalation, and then they release, his perturbation vibrating out of his lips with barely a sound.

Hesitantly Vision mentally reaches for whatever internet is available here and, once identified, connects. He always accesses major news networks first, the headlines streaming through his mind at a breakneck pace as he struggles to identify any event in this universe that might have occurred to pull him over, leaving the insinuation it was something in his own home universe that led to his desertion. This is fine, this is good information, it just means he has less control than he would like, having to rely on anyone left at the site of his disappearance to bring him back. If Wanda is there, which he so desperately hopes she is (while also feeling guilty at the gnawing want of having her here with him now, even if it means she too is stranded), then she will no doubt get to him soon. This he cannot control and thus it is unhelpful.

The major news networks deemed useless, he dips into the archives about the Avengers, wanting to determine who is on their roster and if any of them have knowledge or capabilities of returning him. Or, as Wanda pointed out the last time this happened, if he were to get stuck, is the team made up of people he actually likes and would feel okay being with for some time. With a touch more force, he sends out a mental ping to his wife, one that he imbues with the weight of his anxiety, hoping that will help carry his signal farther.

He is getting distracted. Consciously and a bit reproachfully, he urges his attention back to the search, the roster, based on news articles and the official photos on the Avengers’ webpage, revealing the team is relatively the same, though he does notice his and Wanda’s pictures are in opposite corners. An oddity since they always put them next to each other. It is tempting to contact himself in these scenarios, except Dr. Strange warns against too much interference with one’s own life, something about ripples being sent across the other universes. He finds Dr. Strange enlightening and yet obfuscating, concepts, like the multiverse, grounded in science and yet the man also throws a shroud of mysticism over it when he wishes not to divulge the secrets of his craft.

This next search is one he knows he shouldn’t do, but curiosity (and a deeply rational justification that, if successful, it would be helpful) gets the best of Vision, mind cycling back to the distance between himself and his wife in the pictures. Search: William Maximoff. Results: 0. Vision frowns. Search: Thomas Maximoff. Results: 0.

Vision stands, immediately launching into a pace of six feet to the right, pivot, six feet to the left, repeat. Nothing in the protocol states he should care about this, all the multiverses different in some way. There are some where he doesn’t even exist as a synthezoid and others where Wanda is the daughter of a powerful mutant. It seems in this one they did not have the boys (a weight latches to his heart and begins to drag it down inch by inch) and it seems possible he and Wanda are not even together. This is where he should drop this line of inquiry and go back to the protocol. Except he can’t, and he blames it on the cognitive distortions caused by traveling unwillingly through the multiverse, his typical even keel knocked askew . Vision conjures up an image of Billy, entering it into a reverse image search, certain that nothing will come up. Results: 28. and a helpful suggestion of, Related search: William Kaplan .

“Vision!” His head snaps up, eyes squinting as he rises from the bench, body swiveling in the direction of her voice. “Vision!”

Yelling for each other is frowned upon in the protocols, comm units and telepathy (if available) much preferred to avoid making a scene, but her voice is untamed and dripping with the same anxiety flowing through his veins. “Wanda!” He rises into the air, just enough to see her stumbling up a low hill, her gait uneven, the left leg overcompensating for whatever is wrong with her right. In exactly 3.59 seconds he is at her side, arms wrapping around her waist to steady her and his lips conveying his relief with a series of five uncoordinated kisses to the part of her hair. “There is a bench over here.”

Gingerly he scoops her up, hovering them over to his spot of cogitation, and then he carefully settles her onto the boards of the bench, easing her right leg so it can lay flat. “I thought I was alone.”

“As did I.”

A smile, fluid and natural, loving and relieved, spreads across her face. “But then I felt you.”

Vision bends, capturing her lips and channeling his own relief into the action, overjoyed at having her with him. Until reality sets in, his prior search illuminating a shortfall in his selfish desires. “If we’re both here, the boys are alone.”

“Let’s find a way back then.” Wanda says it as if it is as simple as walking through a door or clicking your heels three times together. “Where’re you at in the protocol?”

How far his wife has come since their early days when, according to her, protocols were meant to be ignored. “Step 3.”

Impatience underscores her drawn out, “And…”

“I think,” this is where he discovers a crossroads in reasoning, do they go to the Avengers who likely have someone who can help with the multiverse or do they find William Kaplan, hoping he is analogous enough to their own son, one who can tear holes into reality with barely a shrug. “I may have located Billy.”

Wanda rubs her hand along her leg, scarlet sparking from her fingers as she no doubt assesses her injury. “Why do you sound so afraid?”

If he were to label his intonation, it would not have been fear, but his wife is far more attuned to the actual emotions of others, particularly his. Perhaps he is afraid, and it would, logically, be an appropriate response given what he discovered. “Because in this universe his name is Billy Kaplan, not Maximoff.”

“Oh.” A kaleidoscope of emotions filter across her face, eyes and mouth morphing from fear to sadness to disbelief until a single scrunch of her nose breaks the pattern, features dropping into a blank resoluteness she tends to show only on missions. “If we want to get home, we have to try.

———

Trying is always so uncomplicated in the planning phase before it unravels into frayed nerves, Vision’s finger poised in front of the buzzer, unable to commit to pushing a simple button.

“It’s not going to electrocute you.” The usual sardonic edge has been sanded down, revealing the grains of worry piling up in her mind the longer they draw this out.

“Would you like to do the honors?”

“Not really.”

Vision tightens his fingers around hers in what he hopes is a comforting squeeze of understanding and companionship. “Okay.” The two syllables start the countdown, his shaky breath that follows ends it, his finger pressing firmly against the little illuminated circle.

The dull click of the button precedes the crackle of the apartment’s comm system and then a familiar voice comes out of the speaker. “Who’s there?”

Wanda mouths Is that Teddy? and Vision nods, certain she is correct but he needs to focus on their task without distractions. He pushes the button and does his best to sound calm, “It is Vision and Wanda Maximoff,” this should be enough, except he has no way of knowing how highly (or not so highly) regarded or familiar they are to this universe’s Teddy, “from an alternate universe.” Wanda’s eye roll clearly spells out how she feels about his choice of words. All that matters is if it works, so he ignores her unspoken derision and waits for a response.

A staticky, “Ummmm one sec,” ends the conversation, leaving them in an anticipatory, antsy silence.

Ten minutes, 37 seconds, and 28 milliseconds later the elevator to their left dings, the door crawling open to reveal Billy standing there in jeans and a gray sweater, black hair styled more maturely than what Vision has ever seen from him. In fact, he appears at least a few years older than their own universe’s Billy. “Um hi,” the man studies them, blue licking the elevator doors to hold them open, his eyes scanning over them, briefly becoming fascinated with their interwoven fingers, and then he seems to reach a decision, a curt nod followed by a, “Why don’t you come on up.”

Vision allows Wanda to go first, his hand staying firmly on her back as they walk and it remains there throughout the dense silence of the elevator ride and the even denser, slower silence as they walk down the hall and enter an apartment. Teddy warmly greets them, “Come on in, have a seat.” Which they do, Wanda choosing a loveseat so they can sit together, her attention locked on the little dance of the two men, Teddy kissing Billy’s cheek and whispering something before disappearing behind a wall. He returns shortly after with a couple cups of tea and some chips.

Where Teddy seems mildly jovial and an expert host, Billy lowers himself into an armchair, suspicious eyes never leaving Vision and Wanda. “So what universe are you from?”

A philosophical debate the team had upon beginning to map the multiverse, a conclusion reached that Vision never much cared for. “We label our universe, egocentrically, as Earth-1.” An iota of amusement quirks up Billy’s mouth and Vision is confused at just how quickly pride fills his chest at the accomplishment. “Based on atmospheric readings, you are somewhere between Earth-600 and Earth-650, by our scientific labeling.”

Billy takes in the information, quietly sorting it with whatever knowledge he possesses and then follows Protocol 3253 (So You’ve Discovered Another You from the Multiverse), “How’d you get here?”

“We aren’t sure,” Wanda grips Vision’s knee as she talks, allowing her unease to flow into his body instead of her words, “We were battling a sorcerer and then the next thing we remember is being here.”

The explanation is considered and sorted, Billy’s mouth dropping into a downward concave. “Why’d you seek me out,” now he makes eye contact, a touch of animosity in his voice, “can’t the Scarlet Witch control reality in your universe?”

Wanda’s, “I can,” is small and bordering on timid, but her voice builds back up to her normal confidence when she provides what, at least in their universe, is the truth. “But not as well as you.” This doesn’t kick start any sort of remark, and so she tries an example, “Last week you casually sent your brother into an alternate dimension because he ate the last brownie.” Wanda laughs at the memory, concern breaking briefly into the joy of reminiscing, “It took me an hour to get him back and only because you,” she falters, realizing she is breaking protocol by treating this Billy as the same person, “our Billy finally told me where to look.”

The explanation is lost on the man in front of them, his mind stuck at the beginning of the story, “My brother?”

Vision nods, gently laying out the information, “Tommy Maximoff, your twin.”

A quiet, “We grew up together?” threatens to tear Vision’s soul in two, his body desperate to march over and envelop his son in his arms. Except this could not be his son, Kaplan a name Vision has never heard and it is clear that this universe’s Tommy may not be a Maximoff or even a Kaplan either.

Instead of a hug, Vision layers his, “You did,” with as much paternal warmth that he can, and then he clarifies the statement, their sons not yet adults and not even close to being done growing, “you are.”

“I,” Billy stands, lets out a deep sigh, turns towards them, then away, makes eye contact with Teddy (who may or may not have tears in his eyes), and then he simply states, “I’ll be back,” before disappearing through the floor in a blue portal.

Vision’s never had this effect on his son, and he turns his worry towards Teddy, “We have upset him.”

“Um,” the blonde haired man mulls over how to respond, “I think it’s safer to say the universe upset him.” A marginally more uplifting, yet still devastating fact. “He’ll be back.”

They wait in tense silence, Wanda leaning into Vision’s side, his body responding by wrapping an arm around her shoulder. And then there is a blue portal next to the coffee table, Billy yanking Tommy through with him.

In true Tommy fashion, neither his words nor opinions are minced, “What the ever loving fuck is going on?”

Wanda shoots Vision a look, warning him not to correct the language, and, just to be sure he won’t go full on polite police, she handles the response with a simple, “Nice to see you too, Tommy.”

Tommy doesn’t respond to her, turning to gesticulate wildly at Billy, “You said it was an emergency. I don’t want to get roped into whatever,” he flails an arm towards where they sit, “this is.”

“Tommy, slow down and look at them.”

An epic, unfiltered roll of his eyes conveys how very done with this situation the speedster is, but he obliges anyway, silently scrutinizing Wanda and Vision until he reaches a conclusion, “You look way cozier than you should.” Another sweep of scrutiny and another observation is provided, “Like the new look, Vision.” The use of his name stings, not because it is his name but because he has only ever heard it from their son in anger. Tommy doesn’t notice the effect it has, returning the conversation to Billy, “so what’s going on?”

“Multiverse shenanigans.”

“Ugh,” his disdain is evident, “great. Why am I here?”

Billy sits back down, picking up the no longer steaming cup of tea and takes a sip. “Can you tell us about your universe.” A broad question, one he realizes before anyone can answer. “About us, specifically.”

The question in Vision’s mind is where to start in the story, whether they begin with the inception of his and Wanda’s relationship or if they simply wish to know the barebones of the story, only the pieces where they themselves fit. “You’re our sons.” This isn’t the bombshell revelation he expected, neither Billy nor Tommy are surprised by this, which only grows the confusion that took root during Vision’s initial discovery of this universe’s Billy. “We have raised you and loved you for the last sixteen and a half years. You are part of—”

“Wait,” Tommy holds up a hand to stop the explanation, “the whole time?”

Wanda’s, “Yes,” is unflinching, “We’ve watched you grow into incredible men.”

To see Tommy speechless is unnerving, to know it is not a happy speechless is suffocating. Vision asks what he isn’t sure he actually wants to know, “Why does this seem unusual?”

A derisive laugh, one Tommy is a master of using, echoes around the apartment. “Oh I don’t know, because we’re the reason Scarlet Witch went insane, the reason she killed you,” he points at Vision and the words are nonsense, describing an action Wanda would never do. “Because as if that wasn’t bad enough, I won the lottery of reincarnation and had a shitty life I didn’t ask for. And then you two, you two don’t even try to be part of—”

“Tommy,” Billy stops the tirade, his twin throwing up his arms in frustration before crashing down onto a beanbag in the corner of the room. “Let me explain.” And he does, all of the harrowing details from Master Pandemonium to Mephisto, the dissolution of this universe’s Vision and Wanda’s marriage, and then he gets to their reincarnation. “Mom’s a psychologist,” the word mom causes Wanda to flinch, “dad’s a cardiologist,” and this forces Vision’s heart to metaphorically drop through the floor. “They’re good people, they try hard but I think my powers scare them a bit. High school was tough.” The way he says it implies it is an understatement.

“My parents are divorced, absent is a good word for them,” Vision’s heart enters the core of the Earth where it dissolves in fiery anger at the way this universe has treated his family, forcing them to be separated instead of together, “can’t blame them, though, I might have been a bit of an asshole trouble maker, went to juvey a few times,” Tommy pauses long enough to eat a chip, “got experimented on in there,” and this, above all else, sends Vision’s mind into despair. His memories of saving Tommy are superimposed with the knowledge that this man in front of him, this sarcastic, resilient man endured the same event ( and then worse) only without the knowledge he’d be saved, without the confidence that love would protect him. “But then I got broken out and we’ve been doing the Young Avenger thing for a while.”

“Do you,” Wanda falters, and Vision assumes it is because she, like him, is torn between wanting to know more while also being overwhelmed by all they’ve learned and all their boys have experienced here, “see us...them often?”

A shared stare, one that’s so common in the Maximoff household, provides the answer, each of them daring the other to say it. Billy, as usual, loses. “Depends...sometimes but not regularly.” He shrugs as if what he is saying is a simple fact of life instead of a dagger that can pierce vibranium skin, “everyone’s got lives to lead.”

“I see.” Those two words are empty and pointless and yet Vision can’t figure out anything profound or hopeful, far too burdened by what they’ve learned.

“Um I’m sure you want to get back to your sons,” the statement elicits in Vision a mixture of hope and yet also a harsh sting at the detached way Billy stated your sons . “So um you all ready to go home?”

Wanda stands first, holding out her hand for Vision to use (even though he does not physically need it) as he rises as well. “I think we should go while we can.”

They stand in a lopsided circle, staring at one another and then anywhere else. Wanda breaks the silence,“Thank you for helping us and for,” Vision wonders how she’ll finish it, because he himself doesn’t know what is appropriate here, “for talking with us.”

“Yeah,” Billy has always relied on empathy in moments of sadness, which is true of him here as well, a thirty degree slope of his lips enough to convey his honesty, “I’m glad to know in one universe we got to keep you as parents.”

A wetness rolls along Vision’s cheek, fingers lifting to brush aside the sorrow he’d been trying to hold in. Wanda doesn’t even attempt to levy the dam, her tears coming on strong as Billy, followed by a slightly reluctant Tommy, hugs her. A tendril of scarlet pulls Vision into the mix, his arms engulfing their divided family.

“We should go.” Wanda smiles sadly at them, her hand touching Tommy’s cheek first and then Billy’s, “We are so, so proud of who you are.”

“Alright, this is now too cheesy for me.” Tommy says it despite the fact Vision can also detect the quick swiping away of the speedster’s own tears.

Billy waves his right hand, opening a portal. Before walking through, Vision realizes he has one more thing to say. With three steps he is in front of Teddy, his hand held out. Once the man takes it, he shares a comforting fact, “It was nice to see you Teddy. I am glad you found each other here as well.”

A beaming smile emphasizes his elated, “Me too.”

With a final look at the three men, Vision and Wanda walk through the portal, stepping out into a landscape of ruination and collapsed buildings. Vision takes in a breath and is met with the familiar air of home. “We are in the correct universe.”

Despite the upward curve of her lips, his wife is unsettled, mind having not left their alternate lives. “How could we have just abandoned them?”

Vision weighs her question, himself also confused at the information. “I do not believe it is in our authority to judge decisions we do not fully know all the variables to.”

“Ever the infuriating diplomat, Maximoff.”

“Oh, my darling,” he swings her around, allowing him to grasp her shoulders firmly, face lowering just enough to rest his forehead to hers, “I cannot begin to fathom all they told us,” he will eventually, he reasons, what they learned today will no doubt haunt his thoughts and lead down many pathways of deep contemplation, “but what I do know, is that even though they may not have the Maximoff name anymore, they are still our sons, and no matter the universe, we will love them fiercely.”

Wanda accepts it, even if she seems less than wholly convinced, “I hope so.”

“Come along,” he twines his fingers through hers, giving her arm a slight tug forward, “I would like to find our boys and hug them for a few hours.”

“They’ll hate it.”

Vision shrugs, “They will survive it.”

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

More therapy thoughts part 1/?

Behavior Theory Frameworks/Conditioning and What the fuck does Master Chief talk about in therapy?

Ramblings below - like a lot, like I spent too much time writing this and you should not read this

Behavioral Theory could work well as a framework with rehabilitating Spartan IIs if the case worker focused on Operant Conditioning Theory and Cognitive Social Learning Theory, which I talked about in this ask because I think I’m funny and this blog is an archive of me applying human behavior theories to video games.

Spartans have always been taught the mission comes first! Always! The 2s are indoctrinated from age 6-14 and then have that reinforced the rest of their lives. From the beginning they are taught to push themselves to the limits, earn their food by winning, form bonds with teammates but be ready to sacrifice them for the mission. The whole lives wasted vs spent conversation between John and Mendez after the augmentation surgery!

What the UNSC/ONI wants comes before their lives, the lives of other soldiers, civilians, AI etc. This constant conditioning of expectations and rewards has created the norms cemented in their minds. This becomes standard operating procedure.

Spartans are also an entirely separated social group, other people have made really great posts on how they are Othered and have their own way of communicating with body language. ODSTs hate Spartans, marines see them as cyborgs or saviors, and while they’re allies, Spartans are not seen or treated as human, by literally everyone. They are a means to an end, with the original goal being to maintain the UNSC’s position of power and crush the insurrectionists in the outer colonies, but uh oh Aliens!

Maybe the 2s aren’t as expendable as the 3s but the mindset and reinforcement of “mission first, people second” being repeated their entire lives is going to stick. So is the constant mistreatment and abuse from their fellow soldiers and handlers. 

Addressing the cognitive distortions that come from their upbringing while also balancing the fact that Spartans are so fundamentally different from the way they developed to survive would be so much work, especially considering how much information on them is given to their therapist.  The main distortion I would apply is minimization, making large problems small and not properly dealing with them, and specifically for John, personification, accepting blame for negative events without sufficient evidence. 

Like these are grown ass super soldiers who can kill you in less than a second and calculate the amount of gravity in a room on the fly but then also can flounder when trying to comfort civilians or make small talk because their experiences and values are so alien to adults who had more developmentally “normal” lives. 

Literally applying therapy to Spartans would be like, what was done to you was wrong, the ends do not justify the means, you were children and the adults in your life failed to protect you. You are a human person who is fallible and did the best you could with what you had. And the Spartan would say, “sounds fake but okay, can I pass my psych eval and go back to war now please?”

Jumping back to Behavior Theory

Different approaches to therapy under the Behavior Theory umbrella help modify negative behaviors with treatments like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical behavior therapy that teach individuals adaptive coping like emotional regulation, distress tolerance, cognitive distortions, and interpersonal communication. And that’s just one framework under the umbrella of human behavior theories.

Social work therapy is different from psych as it approaches individuals with heavily researched, evidence-based theories and frameworks in a holistic viewing of person-in-environment, instead of a strong focus on internal psychology. 

Social work looks at all the interacting systems, environment, history, and internal and external factors affecting an individual. One of the most useful frameworks is the Biopsychosocial-Spiritual Frameworks (BPSS) when helping a client. It helps with identifying all the intersecting factors, both risk and protective, that shapes a client’s lived experiences. The most important thing to remember is that the individual is an expert in their own life, they know their experiences best.

The hardest part is applying this to Spartans because they Are So Fucked, their lived experiences, their environments and systems and institutions interacting with them, and the amount of their personal information that is probably so classified.

BPSS is a tool to help social workers assess individuals and their situations by collecting info that is related to the presenting issues and current and past circumstances. Info like medical history, hospitalizations, substance abuse, mental illness, personal relationships, family history and background, culture and norms, education, legal history, spirituality and participation etc. is all under this framework. 

For Spartan 2s most of this info is lost or classified and helping someone who has repressed every negative emotion they've had for the sake of the mission would be so much to unpack but that’s also why you’re reading the mad ramblings over an over caffeinated nerd on the internet.

Life Course Theory which looks at developmental milestones and the individual’s experiences versus the socially expected markers, how do you apply that to children who were taken and have lived such different lives? 

While early adolescence is when “normal” development of thoughts of self and identity take place alongside the physical changes of puberty, Spartans were being turned into emotionless calculating weapons. Sorry John, no forming a sense of identity and peer bonds for you, go kill that Watts guy who betrayed us and joined the insurrectionists. 

And now that I’ve gone this insane and opened 2 whole textbooks up, let’s get to Master Chief thoughts. If you’ve read this far thank you, I swear I’m normal, 2020 has just been a weird year. 

Why the fuck did I think I could write a therapy fic on a guy with 20 minutes of actual dialogue across almost 2 decades of games?

I make fun of him and call him a himbo, but he’s smart, he knows he’s being used and there is resentment there that’s been building for years. 

There’s also decades of trauma and combat experience, physical, and emotional abuse, the lack of a support network,  lack of an identity, the biological factors and aftermath of the augmentations and injuries he’s received, a whole lot of grief and self-inflicted guilt. 

The loss of a third of his peer group with the augmentation surgery, Sam’s death, the loss of Reach (the only place he’s considered home), Keyes, the Pillar of Autumn crew, Miranda Keyes, Johnson, Cortana. He cares about the marines who fight with him!!!

He just stands there and takes it and rarely snaps, and even then it’s just small cracks on the surface with fissures running deep. The few details I will pull from Halo 5 are Blue Team’s reactions to John pushing himself so hard from the beginning of the game, and the literal crack in his armor from the fight with Locke. Like dude.  

John’s a leader and will get the mission done but he tugs on the leash. He’s earned enough of a reputation and uses it to get his way.

Halo 2’s “Permission to leave the station” with Mr. “I’m going to hand deliver a bomb to the fusion reactor of a covenant supercarrier and hope my friends catch me”. 

Halo 4 is when we see him say no to a superior officer and then 5 is him going AWOL. Palmer literally points out that no one is going to stop him.

Halo 5 kills me for many reasons but John bringing up Halsey and what she did to him and also pointing out that he knows Halo 5 Cortana is trying to manipulate him with psychological tactics hurts. 

He knows what’s been done to him!

I cannot remember which book it was but John isn’t used to working alone. He literally takes fire because he was expecting someone to have his back! 

He’s lost without Cortana! She was in his brain! Y’all! I played Halo Combat Evolved on the original xbox when I was like 8 and I knew these two were meant to be together. From the moment they met they had great chemistry and relied on each other! Cortana literally goes after people who have it out for John! John wants her approval and shows off for her in one of the books. 

I’ve already written too much here but like all of the games have John showing off for Cortana, making dry jokes, jumping out of things he shouldn’t. 

The whole point of this rambling is to try and get my thoughts about how to approach John’s character under control.

And that’s the thing. He’s lost control. He’s lost people, he’s losing his position and being phased out as an aging spartan, a relic. John’s used to following orders and making some decisions on the battlefield but it was always short term.

He has no identity beyond being a weapon. Complete the mission, clear the LZ, get put in cryo. Rinse, repeat. 

The timeline of the games are what I'm most familiar with but with the comics and books too it’s one long run from Halo 2 to Halo 4. Cairo station to the Dreadnought to the crash landing to Forward Unto Dawn to Requiem to “The Didact is Dead but not really but we’ll deal with him off-screen”.

I know Hood apparently gave John R&R orders before Halo 5 that he ignored and kept running himself into the ground. This is a man who has to keep moving and keep being useful. 

I imagine him giving in and seeking help as a last resort to fix any problems he has with performing his duties rather than helping himself be healthier. 

Any professional he sees is going to have to approach him like they’re approaching a self sacrificing feral cat, with lunch meat and quiet. This man needs to have his support network closer, set up long term goals, and do some serious, and most likely incredibly painful, self reflection on where he’s come from and where he wants to go. Get him out of that tin can and into therapy. I don’t have a nice neat ending because this was a ramble and also therapy is not neat and tidy. Thanks for reading my words about mr halo

[emy-loves-you]

Wrong Numbers and Useless Gays Chapter 4

Sad Boys and Fun Facts

Patton’s a sad boi but Virgil has a distraction

Chapter 3 | Masterlist | Chapter 5

Three weeks had passed since Virgil had first texted Roman. In those three weeks, Virgil had learned a lot about his new friends.

First, there was Patton. God, did that man love puns. Virgil also loved puns, but he preferred reading Patton’s puns over making his own. Remus had caught Virgil blushing at his phone and made a comment about his new “friends with benefits” (Virgil had been unable to respond. He was too busy trying to hold back his giggles from one of Patton’s pun tangents). Patton also made it clear that he was the “Dad Friend” of the group. Virgil couldn’t type a single self-deprecating comment without Patton threatening to physically fight him. It was rather terrifying, really. He also made sure that everyone was taking care of themselves. Once they learned that they were in the same timezone (They hadn’t shared cities yet. Friend or no, Virgil was telling where he lived in that quickly) Patton made it his goal to check in and make sure that Virgil ate at mealtime. One last thing about Patton was his… struggle with technology. He tended to send almost everything directly to the group chat instead of private messages. Logan said that he tried to teach Patton how to do so, but the lessons never seemed to stick.

Speaking of Logan, the nerd had his own quirks. He didn’t type much, usually only responding when someone required everyone to respond. The other time that he typed was during debates. Nine days into their friendship, Virgil had mentioned saying “you too” to a cute barista and claimed that he ruined any chances with his new crush. While Patton and Roman offered words of encouragement, Logan remained silent. Virgil had assumed that Logan agreed with him but didn’t want to upset his boyfriends. As soon as their conversation ended, Virgil received a private text from Logan, requesting to debate. They argued over cognitive distortions for a whole hour before they reached a compromise. Logan had called the debate “lit” and asked if they could debate again in the future. That was another thing about Logan. Apparently, he had vocabulary cards for slang words. When he was talking out loud, he would hold the card up so the others knew what slang word he was attempting to use. When texting, he would put quotation marks around the word. It was adorable, in Virgil’s humble opinion.

Then there was Roman. Princey was known for his dramatic flair and Disney references. When he was feeling especially Extra™ , he would use “thees” and “thys” and call people peasants. He also had a love for nicknames. Patton had very few personal nicknames, with most of them being terms of endearment like “honey” and “amor.” Most of Logan’s nicknames pertained to him being a nerd, such as “pocket protector” and “Microsoft Nerd.” He seemed to have a limitless number of nicknames for Virgil, with most of them referencing his emo-aesthetic (how Princey had discovered that so early in their friendship, Virgil had no clue). He never repeated Virgil’s nicknames; the only exception was “storm cloud,” which he tended to use at least once every conversation.

Virgil had become extremely close with the trio over these three weeks. That wasn’t the only thing he did, just the thing he did most often. The Dark Sides had finalized their contract with Thomas, who set up a tour almost immediately. Virgil really should have seen that coming. Their band had become extremely popular over the past few years, and they had only done one tour before this. Performing across the country would help boost their popularity even further. Virgil sighed, his anxiety spiking at just the thought of seeing all those faces in the crowd. That was why he used the persona Anxiety. Anxiety wasn’t afraid of anything, he was fear. Being Anxiety allowed Virgil to be confident and suave without worrying about judgment. They judged Anxiety, not Virgil. The case was similar for Janus and Remus. Deceit was elegant and mysterious, while Duke was loud and over-the-top. They didn’t have to be rejects wanting to fit in with society. No, they were Rockstars. Society wanted to fit in with them. And Virgil was just fine with that.

Bzzz

Vigil glanced over at his phone. He was in Los Angelas right now, around halfway through his tour, which put him 3 hours behind his new friends. He glanced over at his clock, 9:45 PM glaring at him through the dark. He turned back to his phone. Why are they up at 12:45 in the morning? I know Logan keeps them on a rigid sleep schedule.

P- (9:45 PM) Ro? Are you still up?

V- (9:45 PM) Pat, why are you still up?

P- (9:45 PM) Why are you still up, kiddo? It’s almost 1 AM! Don’t you have a hangout with your friends today?

Virgil sighed, thinking of the concert he had tomorrow. He glanced over to his sketchbook. Patton had been really impressed with his sketches, so he had been practicing less gory drawings to show him. It had evolved into something almost therapeutic. Knowing how he worked, Virgil would probably sketch until around 2 in the morning, then sleep until 8 AM. The concert wasn’t until 7 PM, so he had enough time to sleep in if necessary.

V- (9:46 PM) First of all, you know I’m in California right now. It’s 9:46 for me. Second of all, we’re not hanging out until tomorrow night, so I can sleep in if needed. Third of all, you’re avoiding the question: What are you and Roman doing up at 1 in the morning? I thought you guys had work in the morning.

P- (9:47 PM) We do. Roman got a burst of inspiration at around 10, and he usually refuses to sleep until he writes it all down. He probably fell asleep at his desk, that silly billy!

V- (9:47 PM) That doesn’t explain why you’re still awake. And why didn’t you get up to check on him? I thought you guys lived together.

P- (9:47 PM) We do! I just couldn’t fall asleep tonight. And the bed’s too warm to get up!

V- (9:48 PM) Well, Princey’s probably being a “sleeping beauty”

Virgil frowned at his phone. Patton hadn’t responded to his text. Sure, that wasn’t a very good pun, but it was still a pun. Patton laughed at every pun he saw, or at least followed it up with another pun. He could be asleep, but didn’t he just say that he had trouble sleeping?

V- (9:50 PM) Pat?

P- (9:50 PM) Yeah, Kiddo?

V- (9:50 PM) Are you okay?

V- (9:52 PM) Patton?

V- (9:52 PM) I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Just because you didn’t answer my pun doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with you. I’m sorry that I sounded like an asshole.

P- (9:52 PM) No, Sweety. It’s fine! It’s nice to know that someone cares about you!

P- (9:53 PM) I’m just a little sad today.

V- (9:53 PM) Do you wanna talk about it?

P- (9:54 PM) I’m fine, Kiddo! This just happens sometimes. No need to worry!

Virgil sighed, thinking about how much Patton reminded him of Janus. Janus grew up neglected, and was taught to convince everyone that his life was perfect. By the time Virgil had met him, Janus was 19 and a compulsive liar. Virgil wasn’t much better, having just gotten kicked out of the foster system. Virgil lived with Janus (and soon Remus) until The Dark Sides had enough income for Virgil to live on his own (technically Janus had more than enough money for that- his parents were loaded. But Virgil wanted to have something that he earned. He wasn’t just some charity case). When they first lived together, Virgil could never tell what Janus was actually thinking. It took a lot of time and trust to separate Janus from Deceit. Now, he was still heavily sarcastic, and he tended to close himself off when he got upset, but Janus had come a long way.

Virgil looked back to his phone. Patton didn’t seem to have it as bad as Janus did, but you could never tell. At least he acknowledged that he wasn’t okay. There is the chance that something really is bothering him, but Virgil had to trust Patton on that note. It is entirely possible that Patton is just feeling down today; God knows how many times Virgil would question why he should get out of bed. He bit his lip. What helps me when I feel sad for no reason? He smiled, remembering when Remus would spout the most obscene things to distract himself from his own negative thinking. A distraction.

V- (9:56 PM) Did you know that giraffes can clean their ears with their own tongues?

P- (9:56 PM) What?

V- (9:56 PM) “Rhythm” is the longest word in the English language that doesn’t have a vowel.

V- (9:56 PM) Elephants are the only mammals that cannot jump.

P- (9:57 PM) More like Elecan’t!

V- (9:57 PM) Haha :)

V- (9:57 PM) Without food coloring, Coca Cola would be green.

V- (9:57 PM) A 3-year-old boy was elected as mayor in Dorset, Minnesota

P- (9:58 PM) No way!

V- (9:58 PM) Yes way! His name was James Tufts.

V- (9:58 PM) 7 different dogs have been elected as mayors in the US.

P- (9:58 PM) I love dogs! They’re such good boys!

Virgil smiled, adding Loves Dogs to his mental list of Quirky things I like about Patton Morale. They continued to talk about dog mayors for a while until Patton ended it abruptly.

P- (10:14 PM) Why are you doing this?

V- (10:14 PM) Doing what?

P- (10:15 PM) Why are you going out of your way to try and cheer me up? You should’ve stopped talking to me 20 minutes ago. Instead, we’re laying here at 1 AM talking about dog mayors! I would have been fine on my own. Why are you wasting your time on me?

V- (10:16 PM) Pat, if you tell me that I’m wasting my time talking to you, I’m going to have to physically fight you. You are my FRIEND. I care about you. When you’re sad, I WANT to cheer you up. When you’re happy, I WANT to laugh along to your punny jokes. Because I know, at the end of the day, if I was sad and needed someone to cheer me up, you would do it in a heartbeat. You, Lo, and Princey are amazing people, and my time spent with you will NEVER be a waste. I swear.

Virgil sighed, dropping his phone on the bed. He might’ve been too forward with that last text. But it was true. While the four of them weren’t nearly as close as Virgil was with Janus and Remus, he still cared about them a lot.

P- (10:18 PM) Thanks, Virgil. That really means a lot to me

P- (10:18 PM) I’m gonna try and get some sleep now

V- (10:18 PM) Alright Patton, Goodnight

P- (10:18 PM) Goodnight

The next day, Virgil saw a postcard in the window of a gift shop. It had a puppy with sunglasses on the beach, with cartoonish letters saying “Having A WonderFUR Time!” He took a picture and sent it to Princey.

V- (1:08 PM) What’s your address or PO? I wanna send this to Patton.

R- (1:09 PM) Say no more, Hot Topic!

V- (1:09 PM) Aw, you think I’m hot.

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

Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus

[cherubchoirs]

Cake’s Bad End Au Part III: The Holy Grail

Here it is, the posts that will finally outline the events of my Bad End AU! I’m not a writer in any sense, but with so many people enjoying the content I create for this AU and several people asking about it, I wanted to write up a synopsis of the events that take place and, more simply, what this AU even is. This is my idea of what happens when Akira takes Yaldabaoth’s deal on Christmas Eve and all of its implications, so I hope everyone enjoys it and that it puts the pieces for my AU in context. There will be three parts: Akira, The Thieves, and The Holy Grail. This is Part III: The Holy Grail, which details how Akira is saved and how the Thieves ultimately conquer Yaldabaoth. (7,325 words)

(TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse and some descriptions of illness/pain)

When the Thieves meet again, there’s a strained sadness, close to hopelessness as they look at each other in turn and wonder if anyone has any ideas...the longer the silence hangs over them, the closer they come to saying out loud only things Goro has had the courage to say until now but, surprisingly, Ryuji speaks up. He prefaces what he’s about to say with acknowledging how stupid it’s probably going to sound and that he never really understood too much how the Metaverse worked but...with the scar on Akira’s chest, with the way it bled to summon that god, is it possible Akira’s heart was stolen and...if they get it back...maybe…? He trails off with the idea as no one speaks up, thinking it must have been SO stupid the other Thieves don’t even want to recognize it, but Ann says hesitantly that she thought of something similar. Ryuji nods excitedly to her and looks over to Makoto, their stand-in leader, and he’s hopeful by the look of concentration on her face as she considers what Ryuji says. They wait on her silence before she asks Goro about Akira’s heartbeat, how he didn’t feel a pulse, and Goro completes her thought by saying, as a being of the Metaverse, Akira’s heart being stolen has translated into something literal in a sense. His heart is actually gone...but it’s not in the way the Thieves’ had stolen them before, correct? After all, Akira is a pure being that Yaldabaoth is attempting to “perfect”, Makoto positing that perhaps his shadow was destroyed similar to a mental shutdown but Goro suspects it could be that he is severed from his shadow...and if that is the case, his shadow exists in some capacity somewhere as it seems not all of his memories are entirely lost. A rescue mission in a sense seems more feasible after seeing the god that controls him and if they were to find his shadow – or his persona – lost in the sea of souls, there must be a way of reconnecting the two in order for Akira to regain his heart.

All of this is conjecture, they understand that, but Futaba immediately begins to think on how she and her Persona might be able to find Akira’s heart...surely it must remain somewhere in Mementos and if she begins attempting to track for Arsène’s signature, maybe...maybe they could find him. And while he may have forgotten himself being stolen from Akira, perhaps, if Goro really does have similar capabilities, he could negotiate with him in the same way Akira used to in order for Arsène to remember himself. It’s a longshot and they all know it, but what in their work as Thieves hasn’t been? It will require them to face down a hostile Metaverse, perhaps even moreso now, time and time again before they may even get a hint of Arsène, but they all agree to the plan...including Goro, who mostly holds out hope that in finding Arsène, they’ll learn exactly what happened to Akira.

So with a plan in place, they push forward into Mementos once more and day after day they will spend hours roaming its halls, Futaba helping to cloak them along with smokescreens they’ve created using Akira’s old notes, but still they seem endlessly hunted with the Reaper in particular tailing them far more often than it used to. It’s grueling work, however, the team’s morale whittling little by little every day after an excursion that leaves them bone-tired but no closer to finding their answer...and what if they’re wrong? What if the god has totally destroyed Akira’s shadow and has modified him after causing a mental shutdown in him? It must be possible for an entity like that to accomplish as much...but even still, they persist because, after all, this is their best option – they can’t leave Akira as he is, and it’s either fight to the death or bet on Arsène still existing somewhere in the vast reaches of Mementos. It’s exhausting, it’s thankless, and the public continue to shift more and more due to the amounts of hearts Akira reaps, but it also reminds them every day that this cannot stand, that Akira would never have wanted this...even if he was the one that created it.

It makes all their pain well worth it when Futaba’s search finally pings late into the night in another trip to Mementos – a signature like Akira’s, like Arsène’s, wandering deep in the Depths where they know they can’t stay for long without fear of being devoured. It’s a mad dash toward that signal before they lose it, Futaba keeping a good track of it even as it moves erratically through the floor, and finally, finally, all of their patience and hard work can pay off. Arsène obviously isn’t whole, his mask cracked with broken horns and torn wings, making it clear how forcefully he was ripped from Akira in order to sever his will of rebellion and brainwash him for that god. He initially behaves similarly to the other shadows that wander the Metaverse, although his attacks are far more frenzied and disjointed, but, knowing all his weaknesses, the Thieves can easily surround him to attempt a negotiation...and it’s one that proves interesting, even difficult, given Akira’s propensity to wear masks. They must answer in a way Akira would like, the true Akira and not the one molding himself to whatever the other person might want to hear, so it takes the effort of each and every one of them coming together to answer the questions Arsène poses to them. Goro takes the helm on speaking with him, however, distinctly aware of how similar he and Akira could be if the disguise was peeled away from them both, and with that knowledge coupled with consultation between all of the Thieves, they come to reason with Arsène and in doing so, he remembers himself, he remembers Akira.

He takes up residence in Goro’s heart after thanking the Thieves for finding him, admitting that he too initially sought them out but, given his weakened state and his separation from Akira, he forgot himself. They learn from him all that happened to lead Akira here, how the false god had led him through this past year, how they had forged a powerful bond just as Akira had with all of the others here, how that trust was betrayed...how all of them disappeared and Akira was left to decide the fate of the world while held hostage under threat of death, under the coercion of his teammates being revived, under the impression of a cold and callous public that cared not for him nor any of Thieves that had been lost. In that state, he made the wrong choice – he gave in to his own desires and the god ripped Arsène from him, tore out any connection they had to each other in a bid to destroy Akira’s rebellious spirit and make room for him to take up residence where Akira’s heart had once been. Arsène was not gotten rid of himself as Akira was still human at the time and doing so would have killed him, with the false god a bumbling fool himself that has no knowledge of how the human soul works and so could never safely perform the operation himself. So Arsène was cast off into the depths instead, where Yaldabaoth knew he would ultimately forget himself and, in time, possibly expire due to his lack of a human host at that point. In other words, Yaldabaoth is arrogant, narrow-sighted, and stupid, hardly a god but instead just a being given immense power that had twisted Akira’s cognition...for all those months, in fact. Akira, locked in the Depths of Mementos under the guise of the Velvet Room, the two fused in such a way that Akira was, without knowledge, exposed to Yaldabaoth’s distortion each time he stepped foot into that cell – with no image of rebellion to protect him, he was slowly poisoned with Yaldabaoth’s influence, insidiously, to the point that it may have helped tip the scale in Akira’s decision. Now knowing the truth and knowing what their leader had suffered to bring him to this state, all that’s left was to see if the Thieves could return Arsène to him...or if it really would come down to their deaths.

Now would come the full exploration of Akira’s cathedral – the Thieves wait until there is another lull in hearts being stolen, knowing it means Akira must have returned home in order to rest. It could be their final mission, all of them knowing one of three things will happen today: They die, Akira dies, or Akira comes back to them, and while they have no idea which one it will be, they have steeled themselves for any and all possibilities. Back into Mementos, back into the cathedral, now fighting through zealous shadows that attack them for daring to step foot on holy ground again, but when they find Akira isn’t resting on his throne, they know this has become a full on infiltration. They treat it like always, sneaking over the rafters, hiding in shadowy corners, working deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine structure to find where he must rest in order to avoid the shadows that crowd his nave. Out of the public areas, they find the cathedral full of angels that serve Akira and are single-minded in his protection, particularly against the Thieves that have angered their god so. But their resolve is hardened, no longer fearful as they fight through blood and tears to carve a path to Akira’s private quarters where his personal servants launch one last stand against them. They are hellbent on destroying these invaders but it comes nowhere near the absolute rage felt by every single Thief, tearing them apart to finally find Akira once more, already awake and waiting for them. He’s exhausted now, the smile gone from his face that looks sicker than it ever has, wasting and no longer in the mood to humor them. He draws his scythe without words this time and they know it’s now or never, they would have to fight, wear down whatever resolve he still has left, and return Arsène to him just as Yaldabaoth’s control breaks but before he comes to his child’s aid.

The timing needs to be perfect, Goro having to gauge that opening as he stays in close with the others keeping him protected against any of Akira’s blows. The fight is a desperate one, Akira clearly burning himself out by fighting so soon after his punishment for defying Yaldabaoth in saving the Thieves the last they met, but it’s exactly as they had hoped even if it pains them to think what he must have gone through for it. It allows them to reach his breaking point sooner, to rip off that yoke of control where they can hear him, hear their Akira in his voice, and in that second, without a beat between them, Goro breaks through the ranks of the Thieves to summon Arsène. He rushes into Akira, the other boy dropping his weapon as Goro’s hand slams into his chest and all the Thieves huddle in around them, no clue how they could help but lending all their strength and all their pleas to Akira to accept Arsène, to remember himself if only for one second to open his heart again...and Goro feels Arsène leave him, the heaviness of his presence lighting off of his heart. The mark on Akira chest tears again, bleeds once more, but only a moment later it fades...not gone, but now a scar instead of an open wound as Arsène manifests before him once more, asking him to take back his future. The pain it causes Akira is immense, Yaldabaoth roaring in his head and attempting to drown Arsène out, drive him out of his heart once more where only one of them can stay. Akira screams and shudders, collapsing under the weight of a splitting headache...but it feels familiar, like he has been called to this before. He feels like he teeters on the edge of death but Arsène’s voice is familiar...all of their voices are familiar in that instant...he can’t put the memories together, they’re too fractured, but Arsène’s voice drives over Yaldabaoth’s reminding him that he did all of this for them, will he abandon them now and let them die?

Never. Akira will always save them, no matter the cost.

Led only by his emotions, he takes Arsène’s contract to expel Yaldabaoth from his heart in an effort that sees him fold in on himself entirely where Goro catches him, the cathedral beginning to crack and collapse around them like the Palace of a fallen ruler. They move quickly, rushing from the quickly disintegrating building and the palpable anger of a god that’s had his most devout servant stolen from him by Thieves. This is the point at which the Bad End AU splits into its good or bad ending (NO I haven’t decided on what is the “true” ending skdfd) – Akira either dies shortly after these events or he continues to live on in order to assist them in felling Yaldabaoth. If Akira dies, he does so just as they reach the end of Mementos – he tells them he doesn’t have the strength to go on in reality and even now, his body is only sustained by feeding off of Mementos, off of what Yaldabaoth continues to give him. As a last bid to help them, through pained and breathless apologies as a fever grips him and his vision begins to fade out, he uses what’s left of his strength to reopen the Velvet Room and return Morgana to the Thieves, as well as have Lavenza and Igor’s aid as Goro must work in his stead now. He apologizes for this, especially to Goro, thinking...they must have made a promise like this before, right? Goro is stained with his blood by now, coated in the smell of fresh roses as the Velvet Room door opens once more and Morgana rushes out, desperate to help, to guide, to give them hope...but he knows he’s too late seeing Akira’s limp and fading form held fast in Goro’s arms. Lavenza comes behind him, passing by Goro’s shuddering frame as he squeezes Akira, holding him tighter and tighter like that will keep him there with them, and she sits beside him. Akira apologizes to her too, in a voice so quiet only she and Goro can hear, and she forgives him, telling him she always knew he would make the right choice in the end while Morgana comes to join her. He gets in close to Akira, telling him how proud he is and how he doesn’t need to worry anymore – Morgana will lead them all to victory and he can just get some sleep...he’s tired, right? Akira nods, smiling again as Morgana presses in against him and the last things he can feel are Morgana’s comforting warmth and the safety of Goro’s arms before he leaves Yaldabaoth in capable hands.

Should Akira live, however, they reach the edge of Mementos just the same and Akira unlocks the Velvet Room as well, but he instead informs them he can’t possibly exist in reality. He asks them to just leave him to his fate for rebelling against Yaldabaoth, but Morgana and Lavenza arrive to offer him shelter in the Velvet Room which, now free of the god’s control thanks to Akira, he should be safe in as Yaldabaoth will find it impossible to reach. The Thieves know it’s their only choice, very aware that they’ll die if they stick around to think about it too much longer, and so they leave Akira in the hands of the Velvet Room before exiting the Metaverse at Lavenza’s insistence that they go home for a rest – Morgana will contact them the following day to coordinate their efforts. Akira escapes to the Velvet Room, finding himself exhausted and confused to the point that he immediately collapses and spends the next full day asleep. Morgana sticks close to him, only leaving when Akira wakes once more and he needs to go into reality to fetch the other Thieves for a full meeting after all this time.

When they arrive, all of them are ready to rush to Akira, to welcome him back and have a mini celebration for his return...but he’s not healed the way they all expect. He looks no different and he informs all of them he has no memory of them, not even a sliver beyond splintered pieces that flash without his consent that he cannot piece together, and he is not at all human. But Arsène, all of his memories were whole...Akira just shakes his head, suspecting Arsène sacrificed quite a bit in order to fight with Yaldabaoth for his rightful place, so while Akira can feel again, while his rebellious will has returned and he feels an unspeakable amount of betrayal toward his father, the specific memories of his human life are gone. He informs the Thieves that he trusts them implicitly and he will fight for them and their ideals, so they can figure out the rest once Yaldabaoth is...gone, but his voice is full of obvious reluctance and immediately Goro states he’s too much of a liability to go into battle with against his “father”. The Thieves object instantly, saying it’s Akira’s right to stand up against him just like all of them have done in the past and that they believe in his trust of them, that he initially did all of this for them. Akira nods, however, noting that Goro’s point is one based on logic and could be correct – While Akira has regained some of his heart, it is broken in a sense and he doesn’t wish to hold the group back from what they must do. The risk of him bowing to Yaldabaoth’s control isn’t minimal either, so he would ask to act as support and perhaps provide an expert source of navigation for their return to Mementos, given that he understands it as it is really just a part of himself. No one had expected Akira to jump back in as leader, exactly...but to hear him say he would act in a support capacity without fighting to go up against the one who wronged him so terribly is unnerving to the Thieves. It’s just...not how Akira would act. They try prompting him further but his response stays the same – Goro is being logical, he shouldn’t be on the frontlines. Morgana takes over for him at that point, saying it most likely is for the best to let Akira act as he thinks he should with a threat like this looming over all of them. Still, despite the Thieves being put off by an Akira that seems more like a shell than the friend they knew...they have Morgana back and Akira is there to help them at the very least, and they need to take victories where they can. Goro isn’t so easily sated, but he knows he needs to swallow his emotions for the time being too.

Truthfully, Akira knows it may not even be the best logical answer to allow him to go along with them at all as he feels Mementos churning and twisting, having already taken a small private trip before the Thieves had been gathered to see the agitation in the shadows there (just to the first floor, just out of the curiosity that has always plagued him), yet they still don’t move to attack him. He’s slightly puzzled by the development, but he knows it’s something to do with the public’s cognition along with...his father’s, but he has been cut off from Yaldabaoth’s thoughts, and so he doesn’t pursue the question any further for it is not his place to guess at the divine. Akira still believes in the divinity of Yaldabaoth, that he is indeed a god that was born of people’s will, and it’s difficult to accept the fact that he’ll soon be standing by the Thieves’ side in opposition even if he now does believe his father is wrong. Even still thinking of him as a parent, as the one that provided for and protected him...knowing that going to him now with his convictions set to aid the Thieves meaning that either they or his father will have to die. But he can’t let humanity suffer under his cruel and callous rule, he can’t let him drain humans of their independence and their right to grow and change, because Akira knows it’s not out of care for them but instead hatred for their failings. Even in his faltering resolve, he knows what is right and what is wrong...and Yaldabaoth, his father or not, is wrong.

And, though he senses love and devotion from the Thieves, he senses their discomfort with him as well, their fear of him and the way they emotionally recoil when he speaks (he doesn’t have human speech patterns down, so his intonation is still odd and flat). Goro is particularly repulsed by him, lashing out at him and criticizing him while the other Thieves quickly rush to his defense despite the obvious misgivings of their own...but he feels a depth and breadth of emotion in Goro focused solely on him that is nearly alarming to a being like Akira. And for his part, he feels love and devotion to all the Thieves, but it simply lacks context, the memories that would provide him understanding and the human capability to experience emotion to provide him clarity...and similarly, his feelings for Goro are profound and complex, ones he can barely understand and parse let alone come to label in neat categories. All of this mixed emotion dictates to Akira that he must remain strictly as a functional unit of the group, providing them aid and navigation when needed without adding anything unnecessary that may cause strife and therefor miscalculation. The Thieves themselves feel deeply guilty for their own anxiety around Akira, but...he truly isn’t their leader, he isn’t their friend, yet they understand how much of an effort he’s making now to support them. There will be time to heal after all of this and that thought keeps them going as Morgana helps bridge the gap between them, helps ease all the tension they feel in order to work with Akira the way they need to. Only Goro seems resistant to it, but they do know why he, out of all of them, would struggle the most with what’s become of Akira.

They don’t really have the luxury of waiting and getting used to each other, however, Yaldabaoth moving forward with what he had decided on Christmas Eve now that he’s lost Akira. Akira knows his plan, that he will force the real world to fuse with the Metaverse now that the bridge between himself and reality is gone – humanity was judged to be sinful and only granted a reprieve because Akira worked so tirelessly to instill Yaldabaoth’s ideals into the public. So with only some rest, the group can wait no longer as reality bends around them to resemble the Depths of Mementos and, with the Thieves receiving some guidance from the Velvet Room, they move forward to save humanity one last time. Akira does well to mind himself, assisting in tactical orders or, if he finds his mind buckling, keeping himself silent to focus on blocking out Yaldabaoth’s ideals, his insistence, his voice ringing in his ears still. He can manage with the help of Arsène and Futaba by his side but the further they go, the closer they get to his temple, the more silent he becomes and the seed of doubt planted in the Thieves grows little by little...but still, they push forward, they know Akira can overcome this. However, they know all too well that the real test starts when they reach the shrine of the Holy Grail, when they once again face the god that had held him captive and stolen his human life, the very will from his heart. Goro strongly suggests Akira leave them before they do so, but in his first show of true emotion, true conviction, he rejects the idea immediately, saying he will never be free if he doesn’t enter that temple with them...if he doesn’t find closure with his father. He can’t falter now, he can’t afford weakness, or he will surely wither when this world disappears with Yaldabaoth – and he will not betray them. The Thieves all agree after some contemplation and Morgana’s blessing, Goro the last to accept Akira’s presence but there’s something different in his eyes when he watches the other boy now before they enter the shrine.

Their final confrontation arrives, the Grail shining brilliantly in the center of the shrine surrounded by his devout followers and Akira is immediately inundated with thoughts that are not his own, Yaldabaoth’s voice booming against his skull in reprimands, in disgust, in hatred for him. He speaks to the Thieves too but Akira knows his words to them are different and they begin their fight, attacking him from every angle in blows Akira can faintly feel ghosting over his own body. He grits his teeth against the lashes, all of them paling in comparison to the fight to continue controlling his own body under the oppressive weight of Yaldabaoth’s presence encroaching on his heart. There will be a place for you, my child, there is always a place for you by my side to join in my reality...Repent. Repent and return to me if you wish to protect not just these humans but the ones scattered in every corner of the world, the ones who will suffer without you. Repent, or they die along with you. His father is growing angrier, wrathful toward the rebellious Thieves before him and the son that has abandoned him, soon no longer wishing to humor them as he takes his true form, the one they had seen come to Akira’s aid that day in the cathedral. Akira has fallen to the floor, clutching at a chest with a wound that’s reopening, little by little the flesh tears and begins to bleed around his fingers as his resolve wanes in all the pain he feels, in the guilt he feels at his betrayal and the grief he can feel in Yaldabaoth. What a terrible child, what an ungrateful child...what a cruel child to strike at the god that had protected and nurtured him so.

The Thieves stand up against him even now though, the blows they level against him growing more and more painful to Akira, his thoughts breaking apart as he forgets,  Arsène’s voice growing weak and distant and Yaldabaoth’s growing ever more powerful...and he finds the pain fading as he takes up his scythe, as the name “Akira” flickers out of his mind. Akira opens his eyes to look up, to see the Thieves bloodied and battered and still fighting as Yaldabaoth rains an onslaught of devastation onto them only for them to support one another, protect the weakened to heal them while the others attack with a ferocity that one exhausted and drained human being should never be capable of. Futaba is focused on the battle in front of her but immediately turns to see Akira as he rises, weapon in hand once more and looking too oddly calm. She calls out to him in fear, the other Thieves picking up on the shaking in her voice and those on the backlines grip their weapons in sweating hands, healing each other once more as the god mocks their sentimentality, their insistence to save those who never asked for them. Akira’s movements are unsteady, each one is fought against as that shred of his heart restored to him screams in protest and while the Thieves are forced to raise their weapons against him again, they know he’s struggling with every swing of his scythe, he’s fighting himself more than he is them. Memories flash, he remembers the fear, the dread of losing his humanity, losing the will to care for the people in front of him now that call to him, who are fighting for their lives but do no harm to him even as he attacks them just as Yaldabaoth commands. But his body is pulled unwillingly, his heart is with him again even if he’s too stupid to remember the people that love him, even if he’s too selfish to keep them safe like he once promised he would. It’s Yaldabaoth’s bid to control him but he is no longer a part of Akira...he can’t be, his heart belongs to him and him alone, and he can’t afford to cause suffering to those that would risk their very lives to return it to him...even if they go against the people and even if they are sinners. That’s what Yaldabaoth would say, but he lied, time and time again he told malignant untruths to Akira, who now does his best to keep standing even as that excruciating pain returns to him in punishing waves. It’s the least he can do, stand with them as they do all the heavy-lifting for him, lower the scythe he can raise at them but not Yaldabaoth still...he wonders if he was this pathetic in his human life, but then isn’t that just like a human? Having to lean on others?

But he is quickly punished for his endless defiance and his wicked treachery, for the very thought that he should admire human weakness. His vision shutters, the sounds around him ripped away, even the feel of the wind battering against him is stolen with such speed and such force it’s almost painful, every sense suspended. Numb even to pain he wishes would come back. Complete deprivation. Akira has felt it, it’s not the first time Yaldabaoth has taken every sense without warning as a way of breaking his hysterias...so they are not totally severed, are they? He closes him off to everything, allowing only the experiences he deems appropriate, usually just his voice, his words after Akira has experienced a loneliness so penetrating he’s on the edge of losing even the false identity of The Son. But here, the silence, the lack of existence, only lasts long enough to remind Akira of all he has suffered, of all he has had, before Yaldabaoth’s voice speaks to him, no longer roaring, no longer shaking him with the very sound of it, but instead how he would speak to him in the days they spent in the Depths alone, only together surrounded by shadows. It’s stern, but it doesn’t have that hostility, it is only for him even if he knows his father must still be striking at the Thieves, working every second to kill them while he comes quietly to his child. He will have no place with them, he is no longer human and he will only repulse those he fights for now, the ones he now swears allegiance to will abandon the unnatural child...it is in human nature to do so. He asks that he repent, that he assist Yaldabaoth is killing Thieves that will only betray him, and the child can return to his only home in the Depths of Mementos, the human who’s heart has stopped and who’s blood is now made of the Holy Grail’s ichor. They are of each other and the two cannot be split, not after Akira’s resurrection through his elixir, and no measure of rebellious will, no measure of human stubbornness, the refusal to admit loss and all the deficiencies and fallacies of mankind, can bring Akira the humanity that has died. So he faces the choice of rejoining his father now, swearing his loyalty and returning his control to the god he is bound to, or Yaldabaoth will offer him the mercy to kill him with the others, to put him out of his misery if he chooses to drive himself mad by aligning himself with humans when he can only be rejected by them. But Akira can feel Yaldabaoth’s grip loosening, not because he wills it but because Akira’s own heart is interfering, gnawing at his power over him and allowing his senses to filter in little by little. Yaldabaoth’s offer, rejoin or perish here, show that his yoke has been thrown off of Akira’s shoulders – he cannot simply kill the Thieves and take Akira for himself again, he must return willingly...and so he appealed to his emotions, threatening him with loneliness, the exact punishment he had used on him to great effectiveness time and again.

But it’s enough. Maybe Akira will always be alone like this, maybe the humans he fights for now will leave him, but he tells his father it’s okay as his sight flickers in and out, muffled, distant sounds reverberating in his ears...because as much as he is no longer human, he is not like Yaldabaoth either, is he? Yaldabaoth is disgusted by him in a way too, he hates the human parts of him that react with emotion, that are irrational and distracted by hobbies, undeserving of the halo around his head in Yaldabaoth’s eyes. Yet his father asks that he stay with him, continues to reach out to him even as he actively opposes him and it is not a functional request - Akira knows Yaldabaoth does not believe he needs him by his side to destroy the Thieves, nor does he fear his child could be his downfall if he does not rejoin him...instead, Yaldabaoth feels richer with him, a fulfillment when they speak together, and he had learned to attach himself to something so imperfect, something that angered him, repelled him, something he should hate and yet felt what, in his own heart, could be thought of as the opposite. So why not the humans too? They will reach out to him, they will feel richer for knowing him, but they will not punish him so for the things they hate about him...and Yaldabaoth has grown malignant in his hatred for humanity, those he is meant to save from suffering. Even as The Son, a being meant to believe only in the word of his father, Akira knew of this hostility, always aware in some part of himself that it was wrong no matter how many times he may have forgotten that. So...weren’t all their arguments just leading up to this? His senses continue to return, flooding into him as he admits to his father this fight is what he wants, he wants to stand in opposition to Yaldabaoth, to the father that retracts his hand now in anger, in insult, in pain of rejection. He can hear Futaba shouting frantically for him when focus returns to his features, his slack frame immediately tightening up at the pain that rushes through him again but he remains upright, spine stricken straight as pearl-like eyes stay fixed to the blinding angles of Yaldabaoth who redoubles his efforts to destroy the Thieves that have stolen the one thing he may have ever cared for.

But there’s a moment as he stands by and watches, eyes moving to follow the movements of the Thieves, that it seems they...his friends...have a chance, it seems they really may be able to stand against his father and triumph...but it’s short-lived. He strikes them all down, each one of their bodies striking the earth beneath them and they can’t move, they can’t stand even though he can feel their struggles, their desperation to just get up one last time, their despair when their bodies refuse to obey. Now only Akira stands behind them, a coward who can feel Yaldabaoth’s gaze on him, burning into whatever soul he may have left, who mocks him for rejoining these pitiful thieves, who mourns the fact that he must kill him now with the others for his foolishness...to lose his child so pointlessly, even a god must grieve for him. Akira chokes on his words, wanting to encourage them to stand again but he can’t, how can he ask so much of them when he’s contributed nothing? And yet...it rises up in him, but he realizes it’s the cognition of the people, of the public as Morgana joins him to stand again and refuses to fall before Yaldabaoth, no matter how many times he may strike him down. Human hope. Human hope, which Akira so deeply admired, now stands up to his father small...but growing. It flickers but Akira can feel it too, he can feel what Yaldabaoth stole from the people, from his friends, from himself, and he begins to straighten his stance again even against the pain blooming from his chest. It’s hope, but hope fueled by anger, by a righteous fury unlike anything he felt working for his father, and Arsène’s voice overtakes Yaldabaoth’s as he can’t bear to hear anymore of his sanctimonious lecturing when he stole Akira’s very heart. Human hope and human anger, human rage at cruelty and unfairness, it overtakes him, a sin! A sin, Yaldabaoth screams at him, a sin to feel such wrath, feel it no more! If the Thieves cause the child to commit such grave atrocities, they will die to cleanse him and force his repentance at the time of his own death.

No more. No more victims, not him, nor the Thieves that saved him, nor the humans he abandoned.

His body burns and it’s licked with blue flames, Arsène appearing at his side as shocks of black return to his brilliant white hair, light, barely there irises showing in eyes no longer blind. The public rises up behind the Thieves, Morgana standing first and the pain is fading from Akira’s body, the others rising in obvious agony as his scar stitches itself up once more and he can no longer hear Yaldabaoth in his head, his voice only on the outside now, only what the other Thieves can hear. He walks forward to join them, raising his scythe as he finally speaks, tells Yaldabaoth this must end, he is no longer in the favor of the people, and if he doesn’t heed what humanity wishes, Akira must be the one to strike him down. An ungrateful child...perhaps so, but he will never be controlled by another, he will never allow himself to abandon his ideals that he fought for and he will not allow himself to ever again forget the humanity he so foolishly lost, so let him be the ungrateful child. And it’s laughable to the Thieves, to Yusuke, to Haru, to Goro who had to do just the same as Akira does now...Goro who stands just by Akira’s side now with barely any space between them, and Akira can feel the spike in anger in his father at the display. They’re not meant for this, are they? Yaldabaoth attempts to strike down the Thieves beside him again but they refuse to fall now, still demanding Akira repent now for joining the sinful masses and Akira rejects his offer, no more salvation. If he wishes to keep humanity in the dark, if he wishes to continue to control them under a vindictive rule, then the son must punish the cruel father.

Akira awakens to his true self then, the one that still sleeps within Arsène – Satanael, the one Akira knows innately as the child of Yaldabaoth in Gnostic lore, the child that works tirelessly for his father until he learns how wrong he is, how false he is, how unfair and resentful he is toward humanity, and he rises up against him to release them before he is cast into hell for his betrayal. The chains of the shackles around his wrists are broken when Satanael is born, taking his stand before Yaldabaoth in defiance for a life lost, for putting his Thieves through so much grief, for nearly sacrificing all of humanity. He cannot take back the mistakes he made, but he can take his stand to save them all now and there’s a quiet moment in that stillness, Satanael leveling his gun at Yaldabaoth’s head, a moment of grief passing between father and son, before Akira allows his persona to pull its trigger and shatter Yaldabaoth, destroy the face that Akira once held a hand in reverence to. And the god folds in on himself, a piece torn from Akira as his life fades out over them and he says his goodbyes to his child, to the one who still somehow came to fulfill his role as the trickster against him. He loses his form, returning to his inert state as the Holy Grail that naturally finds its way back to Akira, floating quietly before him in silent moment of reflection until he reaches out his hand and it dissolves. Ripped open, taken from, and now healed just a bit again...what remains of Yaldabaoth is now a part of him, his humanity forever gone. But in this state, with the will of the Thieves that gather around him now, he can rewrite the world as it should be based on their wishes...and so it is done. The Metaverse fades, reality returns to its untouched state, and Morgana, along with Akira himself, are preserved by their wishes and their wishes alone.

Shibuya has returned to normal, the public milling around them seemingly unaware of what they all just accomplished, but Akira can feel now that they are free, at the very least. He thanks all of the Thieves and they return the sentiment instantly, the wall between them and him seemingly vanished, crumbled at least, as they all express happiness at the peeks of black hair and his clothes now changed in reality, meaning he has some solid form again. He’ll keep getting better and so will they, so they insist they’ll see him tomorrow and absolutely, no questions about it, spend some time at Leblanc to catch up (he’ll love the coffee, they know it). He smiles again, this one more full and more earnest despite his grief, accepting their offer but wishing to return to the Velvet Room for now, too exhausted to carry on and the Thieves all agree...but as the group splits off and he watches his new but familiar friends leave in contentment, in relief, in a renewed sense of trust in him, he sees that Goro doesn’t follow suit with them. He’s quiet, but only because Akira senses a weight on him, one he can’t sort through himself and while Akira can’t fathom the correct human response, he instead just asks if he’ll be there tomorrow too...at Leblanc, a name he thinks he knows, that feels safe...he adds that he hopes he will be when Goro maintains his silence at the question. There’s a moment of hesitation but there’s a shift too, a small bit of surprise, before Goro looks toward him to nod with a faint but sharp smile, adding that he hopes Akira won’t forget before he takes his leave as well. And while Akira still feels so many volatile emotions in him, something did change between them before Yaldabaoth...and he needs to understand who he was, who they were, and without knowing why or how right now, he knows Goro will be integral in regaining what he gave away. He leaves the bustling square only when Goro’s been swallowed by the crowd, exhausted but with Morgana padding along at his heels in high spirits (but sooo ready for a cat nap, he says). And while it will be slow, while Akira distinctly feels he will never be human again, he knows now each step back will be one into his old life, into his friends’ lives, into what he and Goro share, and he can take his time.

[vannahfanfics]

Lucky

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Himiko Toga, Dabi

Warning! The beginning of this story depicts a bloody nightmare, and so readers should take caution before reading! 

The blood burned Himiko’s skin as it drenched her face, her hands, her throat. Its iron tang spread over her tongue with every gasping pant her lungs heaved, making her tongue loll out between long, agonized screams. Himiko adored blood; she’d always had that morbid fascination, that insane need to consume to thick, ruby-red, life-giving liquid. But this- this was different. Himiko never thought it would be the case, but it was too much blood. The dense fluid gushed into her mouth and down her throat as it cascaded over her like a waterfall; where was it coming from? It seemed to rain from the heavens in bucketloads, soaking Himiko from head-to-toe. As it filled her lungs instead of air, Himiko’s chest heaved as it grew heavier and heavier, like an iron weight was slowly digging into her sternum. 

Himiko was drowning. 

“Noooo… Agh… Ungh… Pl-eee-ase…” Grotesque chokes, gurgles, and sobs bubbled around the blood coursing down her trachea. Himiko clutched at her throat as she lurched forward, planting her hand against the cobblestoned alley floor submerged beneath the lake of blood splashing around her. The angle allowed her to regurgitate the hot, suffocating fluid, but now the stream was crashing down onto her shoulders and back. Himiko’s elbow began to wobble violently back and forth as her slim arm struggled to hold the weight of her drenched body and clothes combined with the cascade’s pressure. Tears leaked out of her eyes to carve through the splashes of red on her cheeks. 

“Why? Why, why, why, why?” she demanded, voice cracking in the middle of the scream as terror and frustration shattered her mind. A long, agonized groan followed. Her entire body pulsed with pain, and she swore she could hear her cells screaming. Maybe it was herself screaming. Perhaps she was actually hearing the shrill laments of those she’d slain in her hemophilic mania. Himiko didn’t know. 

Himiko’s eyelids drooped as exhaustion crept through her, cell by cell. Finally, her arm caved, and she flopped lifelessly into the blood; the stream continued to crash down into her back to flow in rivers through the folds of her soaking wet clothes. It pooled over her, coating every inch of her person in bright red. The blood flooded into her mouth again. This time, Himiko simply embraced it- embraced her rapidly approaching death. 

Is this my punishment? 

Himiko awoke with a shrill scream. Her fingers clutched the pink-striped comforter in a white-knuckled grip, and the sheets tangled around her body were damp with perspiration. Himiko’s gaze snapped wildly around the room, not settling on anything long enough to even determine what it was, as her body slowly came down from the horrifying high. The bed creaked and groaned with the violent tremors that gripped her body. Second by painstaking second, Himiko gradually exited the terrifying nightmare and eased back into reality. Her tense muscles slowly relaxed until she slumped forward, chin banging against her chest. 

“Phew…” Her muscles pulsed with a dull ache from clenching so hard during her terrifying dream. Sniffling her still tear-heavy eyes, Himiko rubbed at them with the heels of her palms, spreading the salty liquid in her blonde lashes and around her eyelids. Then, she tipped her head back with a deep sigh, looking at the water-stained and cracked ceiling of their ramshackle hideout. After pouting at the popcorn ceiling for a moment, she flung the comforter off herself, her blank slate of a fear-jellied mind compelled only by an instinct for hydration. 

The door to her bedroom creaked in protest as she pried it open, spilling the moonlight from her small window into the dark hall. The dull droning of low-volume video echoed through the thin hall, originating from Dabi’s room in the back corner of the ruined apartments. Dabi usually fell asleep with the television on, if he fell asleep at all. Many a time, she’d crept back there out of curiosity to see him lounging on the sofa, swigging a beer and watching the late-night programming with disinterested lidded electric blue eyes. This time she headed in the opposite direction towards the bar to procure herself a glass of water. 

The bar echoed with light clinking as Himiko removed a whiskey glass from the cabinet. The soles of her feet pitter-pattered against the wood, causing it to groan every so often as she displaced the settling wood. She turned the faucet on at half-strength to not awaken the group of villains with the gushing stream. Her efforts went unfounded, because as soon as the water spilled forth, Himiko released a strangled gasp and dropped the glass down in the sink. In Himiko’s imagination, thick red blood spurted from the dirty chrome faucet, drenching her hand in hot, sticky mess. She crouched down immediately, quaking with wide eyes, and clenched the countertop in a tight grip to ground herself. 

“It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream,” Himiko repeated feverishly. Slowly, she straightened up to peek just over the top of the counter into the sink; now, crystal-clear water was trickling from the faucet, splashing down on the marbled surface of the whiskey glass. Sighing deeply, Himiko returned to a standing position and retrieved the glass. Though the sides were now slick with water, she still filled it with the liquid and downed it quickly. It didn’t comfort her like she thought it would have. Perhaps she should’ve opted for whiskey. 

“A little early to be day drinking,” a deep voice purred from the hall’s entryway. Himiko glanced over to see Dabi leaning against the wall with arms crossed as he regarded her with critical blue eyes. Himiko clicked her tongue and drank another glass of water, then shut off the faucet. She set the glass in the sink to attend to later, gently so as not to make any more unnecessary noise, before turning to Dabi. Her weary must’ve been carved into her face, because his mouth twitched up into a sympathetic smirk and he breathed, “So you get ‘em too, huh?” 

“Everybody does,” she shrugged indifferently. Well, she didn’t know if everyone got nightmares where they were drowning in blood, but she refrained from commenting on that. Dabi hummed thoughtfully and continued to stare levelly at her nightgown-clad form. Nervous under his intense stare, she wrung the hem of her sleep-dress and regarded him shiftily. “Did you come in here to tease me, Dabi? Because I will stab you,” she threatened. Dabi snorted and rolled his head, stretching the tendon in his neck into a taut line as he looked belittingly at her. 

“Do you really think I’m that much of an ass? ‘S’not a teasing matter,” he grumped. Himiko’s eyes widened a little. With a small “tch,” he rubbed the stretched plane of his neck and studied the dusty floor. “Contrary to what you may believe, I came to check on you.” Himiko’s mouth parted in a small, shocked gasp as she stared incredulously at Dabi. His scarred face distorted into an uncomfortable scowl, but his blue eyes flickered to her, burning with acute concern. Himiko found herself melting at the sentiment, a dreamy smile spreading wide over her face. 

“Really~? How sweet of you, Dabi! I didn’t know you had it in you~!” she trilled while skipping across the kitchen to stand in front of him. He immediately stiffened and reared back a little, shocked by her sudden invasion of his personal space. Himiko leaned in, eyes glittering as she relished the fact that she might get some comfort and affection for once, even if it was from someone as emotionally constipated as Dabi. “Hug me!” she asked, opening her arms wide and scrunching up her face in a broad smile. 

Himiko was only teasing. She knew Dabi would only offer a few words and then retreat to his room for the night. Honestly, Himiko felt a lot better just knowing he cared enough to check on her, so she’d just taken the opportunity to joke around. That’s all it was. 

That’s why it completely floored her when he wrapped an arm around her head and jammed her nose into her stubborn in a firm, purposeful embrace. Himiko’s eyes blew wide as a dull pain bloomed across the bridge of her nose at the brunt action, but she honestly wasn’t even aware of it, because her mind was too bust reeling in shock. For a few seconds, her arms remained splayed out on either side, fingers twitching as her cognition struggled to process the sudden turn of events. 

“Such a pain,” Dabi drawled with a small sigh. Himiko’s eyes watered at the affection bleeding into his tone, and her tears stained the dark gray fabric of his tee-shirt. Slowly, her arms lowered so she could curl her fingers into the cloth, bunching it up and twisting it tight. A low, mournful groan resounded in her chest, and the dam broke to release fresh tears down her cheeks. She cried softly and pitifully into Dabi’s chest while he continued to nestle her head between his pectorals. “I knew it. You don’t have to pretend you’re all happy all the time, you know,” he said softly. “It’s okay to let it out every once in a while.” 

Himiko cried about a lot more than the nightmare. The emotions kept flowing and so did the tears, but Dabi patiently allowed her to sob it out, caring naught for the sizeable wet stain that developed on his tee-shirt. After about fifteen minutes of petulant crying, Himiko finally felt drained, both of energy and sadness. It left her feeling clean- like she’d stripped every layer of herself down to a raw being, ready to start anew. It was more refreshing than she’d ever thought possible. 

Dabi’s arm shifted to the nape of her neck as she slowly lifted her head to blink tearily at him. The scar tissue of his face stretched at the metal staples as he grinned. “Feel better?” 

“Yeah… Thanks,” Himiko smiled warmly and wiped the lingering tears away with the tips of her thumbs. Slowly, Dabi’s arm dropped from her shoulders to flop loosely to his side and slipped into his pajama pants’ pocket. Shyly, she clasped her hands behind her back and swayed her body from side to side. “You’re really nice when you wanna be!” she praised. Dabi snorted. 

“Yo, don’t go spreadin’ rumors or anything. If I hear you gloating to the others, I’ll burn your eyebrows off.” Himiko gasped, affronted, and slapped her hands over her brow to protect the thin bands of hair. Dabi laughed, but she didn’t doubt he would if she really talked. Not that she was going to, anyway- she liked the idea of sharing this secret with him. It almost felt like having a begrudgingly caring older brother who’d steal the moon for her if she asked, but wouldn’t admit to anyone that he did it out of love. 

“Don’t worry!” she assured, still holding her eyebrows. “It’s our secret! I’ll even pinky-swear!” Emphatically, she jammed out her pinky. Dabi snorted again, but smirked amusedly as he looped his pinky with hers. 

“Whatever. I’m goin’ back to bed,” Dabi gruffed, promptly turning on his heel to melt back into the dark, gloomy hallway. Himiko leaned around the corner of the wall to watch him retreat, holding her hands over her brow arches until she heard his bedroom door click. She then smiled contentedly, dropping her arms to her sides with a happy giggle. 

“It’s our secret,” she hummed to herself again. “I’m the only one ever who got to see Dabi’s soft side! Hehe, lucky me.” Himiko held a hand over her heart as warmth filled her body from head-to-toe. It was so unlike that hot, suffocating heat that enveloped her in the nightmare; this warmth was soft, embracing, like being wrapped in a cozy blanket after a long day in the cold. “Lucky me,” she repeated softly, eyelids drooping as she considered how lucky she was- lucky to find this weird, quirky, dysfunctional little family. They were villains, but they deserved love and comfort too- and they were more than willing to show it when needed. 

“All right. Time for bed!” Himiko huffed and scampered back down the hall to her bedroom. Before she entered, she paused in the threshold and called softly down the hall, “G’night, Dabi.” There was a brief pause. 

“Night.” 

Himiko smiled broadly and shot into her bedroom, belly-flopping on the bed. Giggling contentedly, she snuggled into her pillow and once more looked at the dirty, decrepit ceiling. Sure, it was gross and probably a health hazard- but hey, it was home, the home she shared with her family. She couldn’t ask for a better one.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​ @wesparklebitch​ @simplybakugou​ @lovelusional​

[softestvirgil]

Feelings

Authors note: This is loosely based on this post

Summary: Logan holds a court case by himself to vent, and an unexpected visitor shows up

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: PG

Pairing(s): Platonic Analogical

Word Count: 1643

Warnings: Crying, Yelling, Deceit references, Emotions, Cursing, Shoulder touching, Unresolved ending

Let me know if there’s any more I should add!

Days after Thomas’ “callback or wedding” dilemma, Logan still felt miffed that he was left out.

He knew it was Deceit's doing, but he also knew if the others could, they would probably do the same, and if he was honest with himself, that didn't feel good.

Feel.

Logan didn't “feel” anything, so why was that the only word he could come up with for what was happening? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he needed a way to let it out.

To get rid of it so he could continue to do his job.

So, he went into the mindscape and recreated the very same courtroom they had all been in days prior, and held a private case, by himself.

First, he reads the case against him, then he makes himself swear on a bible, to tell the truth, and then the case began with him acting as the prosecutor.

“The accused clearly displays symptoms of emotional activity, yet he denies it, why?” He said.

Then he switched over to the witness stand. “I don't feel anything,”

“Falsehood!” He yelled at himself, slamming his hands down for emphasis. “There is clear evidence that you were upset by being left out, there is clear evidence that you got angry at Roman a few months ago, to the point of physical violence, and there is clear evidence that you have been feeling inadequate for a long time! Admit it!”

“No!”

“Why not?!”

Then, he lost it. “Because- because I need to do my job! I need them to take me seriously! I need to see things objectively and not be blinded by foolish biases such as human emotions. If I have feelings, then what good am I? What is the point? How can I help Thomas?”

Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, fogging up his glasses. He tried wiping them away but more came in their place.

Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Ahhh!” He yelled, jumping up from his seat. He then saw the face of Virgil, staring at him in bewilderment. “How did you even get here?!”

“What… was that?” Virgil asked him, ignoring his previous question, shock evident in his gravelly tone.

Logan turned away, not letting the other side see him like this. “What was what?”

Virgil’s eyes went big, then he repeated himself. “What was that?” He gestured wildly. “And don't say nothing or he will show up,”

“How much did you see?” Logan replied, not daring to meet Virgil's gaze.

“Enough,” Virgil replied, getting closer to Logan.

Then anxious sides’ face softened ever so slightly. “Are you crying?”

Logan sighed. “I uh, I suppose I am. I won't lie to you since that seems to be off limits from now on without, unwanted company,”

“I had no idea that you… I mean I had wondered about it before but I assumed it was impossible,” Virgil admitted, thinking out loud almost whilst anxiously fidgeting with his zipper.

“Assumed what was impossible?” Logan probed, no longer crying.

“You… having feelings,” Virgil stated, meeting Logan's eyes that were rested on him.

Logan shook his head. “I shouldn't,”

“We all do, and we still manage to get our jobs done,” Virgil pointed out.

“That is correct but you do not do your jobs as efficiently as you would without feelings in the way. I, for example, am no longer serving Thomas the way he needs me to, and he has made it clear through all of you that he grows tired of my efforts to try to. I'm not the fun one. The interesting one. The cool one. I'm just the one who upon entry, ruins the enjoyment of the whole experience. That has become my role,” Logan was crying again, which went unnoticed by him but not by Virgil.

“You're uh…” Virgil started, pointing at Logan's cheeks.

“Again?!” Logan shouted, clearly not familiar with how crying works.

“Listen, buddy, Thomas does need you,” Virgil said, trying to be as warm as he could. He wasn't a very comforting presence to have around, and he was fully aware of that, but he cared about Logan.

“Oh, I am aware that he needs me,” Logan replied confidently.

Virgil put his hands through his hair. “Then, what-”

“I am simply saying, that while I have a necessary function, I am unwanted,” Logan finished bluntly, his tears had stopped, and his expression was blank.

“You- you know what? This is ridiculous,” Virgil yelled, about to sink out from frustration.

“That is exactly what I meant,” Logan commented.

“What is?” Virgil asked, sinking back up and tilting his head.

“You were just about to leave because you felt upset,” Logan stated. “Making your opinion biased by feelings,”

Virgil raised his hands up in the air. “Yes! Because- because what you said is stupid!”

Logan pursed his lips. “And why would you say that it is “stupid” as you have so eloquently phrased it?”

Virgil was growing more and more frustrated as this went on. “Because! Because I- because we...”

“Because... you?” Logan pried.

Virgil gave up. “Because we love you,”

Logan scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I cannot believe you right now. How could you think such a thing of Thomas, of me?” Virgil argued, clenching his jaw.

Logan was screaming now. “You all have left me at this conclusion, and yet you are mad at me?! Preposterous!”

Virgil sighed exasperatedly. “Yes, I am mad at you! Do you know how hard it was for me to admit that thing before? Do you know how much your presence helps me? Helps Thomas? Do you realize that you, right now, have done exactly what you tried to teach me not to do?”

“What do you mean-”

“Cognitive distortions, Logan!” Virgil said, slamming his fists onto the desk.

“Fuck,” He muttered under his breath as mild pain shot through his knuckles.

“You- you're… right,” Logan admitted. Virgil was as shocked to hear those words leave Logan's mouth as he was himself.

“I always thought of myself as removed from those issues. Thinking that I could somehow help you better if I did not experience them myself. Now I am unsure what to do. I am defective. Once Thomas finds out... what will he think of me?” Logan was shaking, hard. He was shaking so much that his legs weren't stable on the floor anymore.

“Logan, I-” Virgil began but was cut off.

“-I'm scared, Virgil,” Logan confessed. “I am so scared because I am not used to this. I am not used to not knowing what to do,”

Virgil chuckled, helping Logan back over to the chair to sit down. “Now you know how I feel,”

“I suppose I sort of do, in a way,” Logan agreed.

“Thomas may not understand you, but he does need and love you. Trust me, I know. I went through that, too, don't you forget. For the longest time, I thought I was just acting as the party pooper, coming in to destroy any fun anyone was having, and that was all my job ever could be, but now… things are different. Maybe things could be different for you too if you are open about what you are going through,” Virgil explained.

Logan shook his head again. “I cannot do that. I do not want to burden Thomas with my inconsequential emotional turmoil,”

“Man, and I thought I was stubborn. This,” Virgil gestured to, and around Logan. “Is like talking to a brick wall,”

“I apologize that you are upset,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. “You are free to go, so long as you do not repeat any of what went on here today,”

Virgil moaned. “Ugh! You know I can't do that. That would give him a reason to come back!”

“He will come back eventually,” Logan stated blankly.

“Yes, but shouldn't we do everything we can to prevent that?” Virgil asked him, looking around fearful of the snake finding a way in.

“I suppose but me telling Thomas will not do me, nor him, any good, Anxiety,” Logan explained. “I need to do my job. I need to be taken seriously. I must be listened to, or things will not get done,”

Virgil got up on the desk. “Listen, man, I just told you I loved you a few minutes ago, alright? Cut me some slack,”

“You said “we love you” not “I love you” Logan recalled. “There's a difference,”

“Fine!” Virgil yelled. “I... love you,” He said, as gently as he could manage.

Logan's features, once tense and full of contempt, had reasonably softened now.

“I believe you,” Was all Logan could say.

“That's it?” Virgil inquired.

Logan scoffed. “You are not going to make me say it back after you just spent the past 1800 seconds arguing with me, are you?”

“No, I guess not,” Virgil said, mocking hurt. He didn't actually really care if Logan said it or not but he figured it would be cool to hear it anyway.

“Alright, fine! I love you, too,” Logan said back, finally.

Virgil smirked devilishly. “I did it. I got Logan, to say he loves me. My power…”

“Quiet, you!” Logan yelled, playfully swatting Virgil on the arm.

Virgil grabbed his arm. “Ow! Hey! You said you loved me!”

Logan tried not to smile, but he was enjoying this. “I did do that, however, you were being foolish,”

“Fine. If that's how it's gonna be then…” Virgil started and transported himself into the judge's chair.

“I, Virgil, find the defendant guilty of all charges!” Virgil shouted, banging the gavel.

“Objection! That is not how sentencing works!” Logan yelled, then he snapped them both back into Thomas’ living room. No one else was there, so it was still just them.

“I am just going to say that, I refuse to lie if you having feelings ever comes up, Later...” Virgil said cheekily before sinking out, as to not let Logan argue.

“Then I suppose, I must attempt to do better at concealing them, then,” Logan whispered, with the smallest bit of a smirk on his lips.

[theexistentiallyqueer]

I really hate waking up to see that there was good meta that was circulating during the night and I have so many things I want to say but I have to go to work like a responsible adult in this capitalist hellscape. I’m specifically referencing this, this, this, and this, and I just got home from work and it was balls to the walls fucking crazy today, so excuse me if I seem incoherent and disjointed.

All of this made me think of a few very specific theories I have, which I’ve already mentioned in passing, but now I feel the urge to lay them out all together in one post, which are:

Loki is Goro’s original persona, and Yaldabaoth hand-picked him for a reason

Yaldabaoth, disguised as Igor, served the function of psychopomp cognitive guide to Goro that Morgana serves to Akira, Teddie serves to Souji, and Mitsuru serves to Makoto

Goro used Loki’s berserker power on himself so he could kill Wakaba

Robin Hood is the persona born from Goro’s bond with Akira and represents the justice he wishes he believed in

Goro is not a true wildcard and never was one

Plus some other ones reading today’s meta made me think about

So, without further ado.

Loki as Goro’s original persona aligns most strongly with two things: 1. actual dialogue during his boss fight, and 2. the larger framework of the game Yaldabaoth was playing.

For his boss fight I’m referencing specifically the JP-ENG comparison of that scene. One of the things the anon who did the comparison repeatedly references is that “psychotic breakdowns” is an incredibly erroneous translation of what Call of Chaos actually does:

!! 暴走させる means “to make [something] run wild/rampage/act reckless,” not to drive the psychotic. While it can be used to refer to someone wildly lashing out at others, it can also be used for a runaway car, losing control, acting without regard or just being reckless in a potentially dangerous way. In the Persona series, this term has also been used in reference to losing control of one’s Persona, and to a Shadow going berserk (for those who’ve played Persona 4 Arena Ultimax, the JP name for Shadow Frenzy, シャドウ暴走, also uses the term).

Goro’s ability makes people act recklessly without regard for others; it doesn’t make them outright psychotic. (Strangely enough, the first scene at Leblanc in the game translates the incidents related to this ability as “rampage incidents,” which is closer to what it should be, yet they consistently screw it up in later scenes.)

And the original dialogue follows up on that:

Makoto (JP): あんな、人を操ったり狂わせたりする力を、自分自身の心から生み出してたなんて…(“To think that the power to manipulate and drive mad others was born from his own heart…”)

And more subtly:

Futaba (JP): なのに人生ソロプレイだったから、目覚めた力は、自前の『嘘』と『恨み』の、たった２個だけ… (“Even so, ‘cause you went through life in single player, the powers you awakened were just your "lies” and “resentment”…“)

I feel like the original text upholds this argument, especially considering Goro consistently refers to Loki as his “true” power, and he is way OP with Loki in a way he’s not with Robin Hood–almost as if he’s had more time to level-grind with Loki than he has with Robin.

As for Yaldabaoth, I think the context of what Yaldabaoth actually wants is very clear: Yaldabaoth wanted Goro to win. He created a blatantly unfair “game” modeled after the normal “game” played between Philemon and Nyarlathotep, and the first thing he did was give a persona to one player two years earlier than the other. Yaldabaoth wants to destroy and remake the world, and he would have cherry-picked the angriest kid in the barrel to make that happen. Goro didn’t have some psychopomp cognitive guide in the form of a talking cat to explain the metaverse to him, and I think it stands to reason that Yaldabaoth groomed Goro as much as Shido did: Yaldabaoth was Goro’s psychopomp cognitive guide. Goro’s not-dumb enough to be immediately suspicious when a random app installs itself on his phone; it stands to reason that he only paid it any attention because some half-bald fucker with a nose longer than Goro’s Robin Hood mask planted the idea in his head of what it could be used for. Akira tries to delete the app twice, and it’s only after Ryuji accidentally triggers the Nav that he stops trying to get rid of it.

(I’ve seen the Goro was a subject in Wakaba’s research theories too as an explanation for how he could know so much of the metaverse without Morgana around to catsplain it to him. I’m not a fan of them, mostly because I think subtle writing is a concept Atlus is very much not at all engaged with, and if he really was a research subject that would have been dumped on us with all the subtlety of trying to assassinate someone by dropping roof tiles onto them, and I like my HCs and theories to be as in line as what can be explained most comprehensibly with canon until I decide to throw the entire baby out with the bathwater and say MY PLAYGROUND NOW. It’s a cool theory, it’s just not one that I’m into. The people who play with this theory are smarter and more valid than Atlus will ever be. And who knows, maybe Royal will prove me wrong. I am open to being proven wrong and Krist is already starting to feed me food from Royal that has me second-guessing, but I’m going to wait until the international release in March to have takes on this.)

As for Goro himself–I’ve always, from the first time I played P5 when I thought Goro as interesting enough in concept but wasn’t really ready to be a Goroboy, thought that Goro represented the Justice Arcana in reverse, which is interesting in that this Persona game you can’t reverse confidants’ cards. Goro is reversed Justice in and of himself within the main context of the narrative.

I don’t really jive with the idea that Goro started out with Robin Hood as representative of his ideals before he was manipulated and twisted by Shido, because it contradicts the context in which he had his awakening and it removes whatever degree of culpability or autonomy Goro did have in what he ultimately became. Goro is full of rage, and Goro acted on that rage. Goro got the slightest taste of power and went from 0 to acting on a desire from revenge in about thirty seconds flat. He definitely didn’t realize he was signing on for murder and Shido definitely groomed him into being his psychopomp hitman, Goro is the one who took the initiative to approach Shido in the first place because Goro wanted to destroy the man who destroyed his life and who did, in some sense, kill his mom. Not that I think it’s disingenuous to say that Goro did originally believe in a justice that was, well, more just, but there’s a vast chasm between the boy who used to pretend to be a hero of justice and a boy who decided what he wanted most was to humiliate his fascist of a father. Goro’s sense of justice was already hugely warped by the time he awakened to his persona. Justice is exposing Shido publicly and holding him accountable; justice for Goro was making Shido’s life a living very personal hell.

Loki’s power isn’t even necessarily to make someone go berserk. Goro actually explains how Loki’s power works at the start of his boss fight, and it’s carried through pretty well in the English translation.

Goro (JP): ちっぽけな存在でも、心の枷が外れると、桁違いの力を得る事がある。 ("Even a tiny being, once you remove the bonds on its heart, can gain unimaginable power.”) Goro (EN) Even the feeblest existence can gain tremendous power once the chains on its heart are broken. !! 枷 has a double meaning of both literal restraints (shackles/chains/etc) and more metaphorical ways to bind someone (such as relations to others, or societal restrictions on what you’re allowed to do). While “chains on its heart” is a valid translation, it fails to maintain that wordplay in English, and given how the power he’s talking about works, it’s almost certainly on purpose.

Loki’s power works by shattering the restraints on a person’s heart that stop them from acting recklessly in ways that hurt other people. I think a case could very much be made that the reason this seems to always result in violence on the part of those of Goro’s targets (and Goro himself) is because when you’re in that state, you stop feeling sympathy or empathy, and the dark impulses you bury deep inside (which everyone has) can reign unchecked.

When I first started to choochoo along the “Goro went berserk to kill Wakaba” train, one of the first things I started to speculate was that he was the first person he used Call of Chaos on. I started to reevaluate that today when I read all of that delicious food and found myself rethinking how Goro would have approached Shido, and I found myself drawn the conclusion that Goro brought Shido two things–the ability to gather secret knowledge and the ability to drive people berserk–but Shido would have wanted proof. And Goro’s an idiot, but he’s not dumb; he would have had that proof ready in advance. Goro would have been causing some psychotic breakdowns on a smaller scale before he approached Shido, just enough to make the news and catch Wakaba’s attention in her research, but not enough to cause widespread chaos on the scale that’s referenced in game, before he stepped foot through Shido’s door.

I find it very hard to believe that Goro didn’t know the basics of Wakaba before he killed her: single mom, no father in the picture, daughter roughly his age. Goro is the type to hoard information because it makes him feel in control, so he’d be given this name from Shido and want to know everything he can uncover about his target first–also he’s the one with the metaverse nav app and he’d need to know as much about her as possible to figure out what her distortion is.

(This is assuming Wakaba had a palace as opposed to residing in Mementos. I have no grounds to base this theory on, but I think she did. I won’t go into it in too much detail, but I HC that Wakaba’s palace was modeled after the Library of Alexandria, and Wakaba’s shadow was Hypatia. I’ll save the thematic whys of that for another post because they’re neither here nor there.)

I have a hard time buying that a teenager would just go from zero to being okay with murder without having some pretty critical hangups in the process, especially a teenager who kind of thinks of himself as a hero who has to get his hands dirty. You can’t really justify murdering an innocent woman who did nothing wrong when you measure her against people like Okumura. Especially when so much of that single mom’s life story should probably logically resonate with you.

(This is another reason I get upset that nothing in canon ever has Goro actively acknowledge his murder of Wakaba, because if it did it would have to grapple the between Goro and Futaba and the fact that Goro did to Futaba was exactly what was done to him, but way more directly. Atlus is not subtle and is also not capable of nuance or depth.)

So the logical line of thought is that Goro used Call of Chaos on himself to break the chains on his own heart (the feelings that would make him sympathize with Wakaba and see his own mother in her) so that he could kill her. I’d also argue that layered on top of of all of this is that Goro didn’t know killing her shadow would kill her, because Shido guarded her research closely and Yaldabaoth wanted a boy who would be willing to smash things. They were both grooming him to be their perfect little murderer.

By the point we meet him in the game Goro is heavily tied up in Shido’s conspiracy and all that that entails. His already jaded sense of justice will by this point have been warped beyond repair–until he meets Akira. Akira is probably the first person Goro has ever bonded with in his entire life, and a wildcard’s power is rooted in the ability to form bonds. Positive bonds specifically, because it’s only through those that their power can grow. I think we can all look at Goro’s life and agree that his relationship with Akira is the only positive one he’s had since he was like…….never years old.

And I specifically think that it’s through his relationship with Akira that Goro starts to reawaken to his true sense of justice. It’s textually canonical that Goro is jealous of the fact that the Phantom Thieves found a way to achieve their goals without collateral damage. I think that bonding with Akira–in a way Goro has literally never bonded with anyone else before–is what caused Goro’s second awakening and his tentative re-embrasure of the belief that justice is about helping, not hurting. Except he’s in two such different places at this point. I’m very on board with the BPD!Goro hc that’s become a thing lately, thanks to Krist and the goroboys discord server, but I’m not going to go into specifics because I’m not BPD. I just think that from what I’ve read of BPD it sounds valid, and if a person who is BPD says they get that mood from him, that’s extra valid

But Goro’s sense of self is clearly very split between Loki and Robin Hood and what they thematically represent. He wants to be a hero, but he still dresses like a tokusatsu villain half the time. He wants to be a hero, but he’s also a murderer. He can’t reconcile these aspects of himself.

Goro isn’t a true wildcard because he lacks the ability of connection. While the wildcard ability is granted by a cosmic entity (Philemon/Igor/Yaldabaoth/etc.), the degree of its manifestation is dependent upon the wildcard’s ability to connect with other people. The case could be made that Adachi and Namatame are wildcards because they’re both selected as game pieces by Izanami, but only Souji manifests the wildcard ability because only he is able to connect with others. The implication to be taken from that is that a cosmic force can grant an individual a persona and the corresponding wildcard ability, but that ability can’t manifest itself unless the individual is capable of wielding it–which Goro is not.

And very much unlike a wildcard, if you take the necessary steps Goro’s two personas do fuse into an ultimate whole. If you complete the development of Goro’s character to the extent the game requires, then Loki and Robin Hood fuse to become Hereward. I have some thoughts about this in relation to the fact that I can’t find any evidence that Hereward is tied to the Robin Hood myth, but all that aside: Goro’s warped sense of justice and his true sense of justice fused together in a way that’s, uh——-

Robin Hood is very bara and Loki is very twink. Hereward looks extremely similar to Robin Hood, but has a dark grey, an almost black, color design. Hereward literally represents Goro embracing that justice is grey, and that it’s okay for Goro to both want to be the hero and to want to see people struggle with the hard questions of how the hurts they’ve inflicted, intentionally or not, have impacted the people affected by them.

Goro was never a true wildcard to begin with. Yaldabaoth chose him because he was isolated. That he found his other half in Akira was dumb luck of the draw.

[level247-table-tech]

like, i recognize to a lot of people the formality reads as generalized ‘early episode weirdness’, and i won’t pretend to think it was all intentional, but looking back it reads as progression. even knowing that things they share, or that we learn about them in general as they open up, are directed to the audience- made clear even by the camera angle - they are talking to each other in-universe, and i get the sense that they are learning about each other as characters too.

important note toward that point: they know what everyone else does, due to their functions, as well as knowing enough about each other’s specific inputs on various matters to clash about them. but as characters, i would argue they are unfamiliar to each other; they aren’t on a first-name basis and there’s little evidence of them interacting offscreen aside from said clashes. by getting to know each other by character, rather than just by function, they are more able to work together, come into agreement, and work toward a happier, more completely fulfilled thomas.  as a couple extra notes, them being characters is what nondiegetically allows them to speak at all, therefore indirectly what allows them to come to conclusions together.  there’s a neat symmetry in the concept that knowing each other’s characters is what allows them to work through things together more efficiently in-universe also.  a more fulfilled thomas seems like the natural result of his sides being happier, given that they are his aspects, and that’s what all of them are working toward. them knowing and being decent to one another seems conducive to that. self-love, and all, but more on that later.

everyone seems less likely to show up, in earlier episodes, unless their function is pertinent[or they are called upon]. this is where we find one- or two-character installments. less of a group discussion, more just a necessity. in particular i’d argue that any of their appearances to thomas pre-series were more akin to either the example arguments in mind vs. heart[not mvh itself; thomas called them for that talk] or one-on-one discussions in the mode of way too adult[talking about what these represent from a non-imaginary point of view could be interesting, but not on this post]: they show up when they have a stance on whatever’s at hand. this more minimal dynamic holds up in early episodes, and correlating to this theory, the change from that is due to advancement in-universe. though it is pointed out by anxiety in alone on valentine’s day that he can’t just sit things out if he doesn’t want to participate. most likely it’s just because he has feelings about the topic of discussion and does not care to go unheard, but it’s worth noting.

early appearances of all sides[in dilemmatic episodes, that is; generally only anxiety is antagonistic where there’s no particular argument] are more hostile, but early episodes also focus more on reconciling their various areas. again, we can exclude single-character focus episodes[princey is barely in taking on anxiety and he’s called up by thomas. it’s an anxiety episode], but there are more 2-sided arguments in the early episodes. the heart vs. the mind is a good example, with morality and logic talking through their previous arguments, and working toward compromise. that word’s gonna crop up again a lot. of course, one does get the impression that there’s little animosity related to past arguments! but that, i believe, can be chalked up to civility. that, and potentially regret is someone else’s domain, or thomas prefers not to dwell on it. in any case, they come to an understanding that if they work with each other rather than against each other, thomas can come to conclusions more than conflict, which are satisfactory to both parties, and which removes a stressor. the dark side of disney showcases a discussion between two sides who are less inclined to civility in ordinary clashes: princey takes his duty very personally, and anxiety is conflated with his negativity in a way that frames him as antagonistic to others and to thomas. yet this is a more casual discussion, less about conflicts or life events great or small, and more about interpretation. presumably this is just thomas pondering disney plots, on that level of thinking[listen there are three whole layers of reality in this show; i can’t just say diegetic or in-universe. the viewers are real, the sides are imaginary, and character thomas is having thoughts. i don’t know what to call it], and the results of this discussion won’t impact much other than tarnishing disney’s image. it’s just a disembodied ideal based on an external, unrelated body of work. anxiety proceeds to point out flaws in the ideal. many of which are valid points, and princey anticipates anxiety bringing up stockholm syndrome in the context of beauty and the beast, demonstrating that he already recognizes these flaws, and is just more accustomed to not focussing on the negative. different values of the critical. by the end of the episode, though, anxiety also admits that he appreciates disney movies despite their flaws. princey saw the flaws, but didn’t want to dismiss works outright for them; anxiety in truth shared this position but was unwilling to let the praise stand without a critical eye: a valid condition[pretending disney is flawless is setting a bad, bad precedent]. from then on more discussions ensue wherein more sides have opinions to bring to the table, presumably because it works and they have input, up to my negative thinking, wherein morality and princey are tabled, put offscreen. they provide excuses for their absence. already, there is enough precedent for all sides being present to these talks that absence calls for justification, at least in the opinion of thomas[not sure if anyone else was writing by that point? them too]. this is less one of those compromise episodes, and more an early appearance of how applying logic to problems is really effective, but it acknowledges anxiety’s opinions/feelings as being legitimate[in the sense that feeling that way is valid, not that he’s right], and addresses the cognitive distortions that lead to this kind of downward extrapolation. anxiety was wrong, but them working together brought thomas to a place where he had a more realistic projection of the effects of his actions. less relatedly logic admits to appreciating anxiety’s adherence to the formal debate format[for as much as he did so, at least], and says that while he frequently disagrees with anxiety, he isn’t as opposed to him as anxiety seemed to believe. this is a debate between a side with that civility i mentioned, and one without. but anxiety mostly does not express that civility due to that mentioned conflation of him with his negativity, which logic does not engage in as much here; logic points out failures in reasoning without edging in on personal attacks, dismissing anxiety’s arguments due to fallacies, and not because he attributes them simply to anxiety being a negative person[side? you know what i mean]. the result is fairly peaceable. now, keep in mind this talk about anxiety, we’ll focus more on him in a bit.

another angle of progression is in time they actually spend together[not during the course of an episode; i hesitate to just say ‘not counting times where thomas is present’ but you understand. time not occupied by dilemmas, maybe]. as mentioned, there’s little proof they’ve seen each other pre-series outside the occasional argument[also that dollar morality borrowed, but what even was that? it was also with princey, who he seems to have the most in common with], but as end-cards made appearances, we could see the sides spending time together. in an after-the-scenes sort of sense, to be sure, where it feels like they’re sticking around after filming because they somehow have to. at least, that’s the impression i get from the losing my motivation end-card; princey and anxiety probably would not want to spend time together at that point in time. i’ll chalk the ‘necessity’ of that up to the bizarre non-diegetic framing[like, in that scene he calls his agent. i have no idea what they were trying to imply]. at other times, though, it does read more as the sides generally hanging out, such as in mind vs. heart, where it reads more as them spending time together in an unofficial, personal sense[if only because logic has the presence of mind that during any official capacity in which they would spend time together he probably wouldn’t be so loose-tongued as to let that joke slip] and other goofier, more personal moments. it’s hard to place the dark side of disney’s endcard between these possibilities for that reason; they’re goofing around, and it’s not so implausible to believe that they’re sticking around out of preference. aside from end-cards, which take a bit of a turn at the end of the season and fall almost completely into the ‘personal’, ‘unofficial’ setting, there’s more evidence of them spending time together off-camera in later episodes, after the familial progress. offscreen things like anxiety mentioning morality paid him a dollar to make a pun, a flashback from princey of him seemingly in the midst of a casual conversation with at least one other side[the one where he alludes to not being a huge jelly guy], and a bit further back, princey and morality revealing that they’d worked together on the holiday sweaters. furthermore, as less of an offscreen moment and less of an unofficial setting but still worth bringing up: morality’s appearance in losing my motivation. he shows up in costume to match logic’s, to help solve a problem he has no particular stake in[that we and they know of yet]. this can be attributed to a couple factors: he wants to be helpful, and he wants to spend time with logic. potentially that second factor is linked to him already feeling they have bonded from the then-recent mind vs. heart; their shared love of onesie pajamas[and wordplay, much as logic will deny it] causes morality to feel closer to logic, and wanting to spend more quality time. he’s the most sentimental side; it makes sense that morality would be the first to feel more personally attached to the other sides. and even though the events of lmm are problem-solving in an official capacity[by their standards], it’s also said to be playing[dress-up]. spending time together. morality’s sentimentality and attachment to other sides doesn’t end there. that is only the beginning. but further such declarations are less within the realm of quality time and more business hours, so let’s move on to our next focus.

i don’t care to think up a diegetic reason they all started showing up in the first place[the first episode relates directly to the audience with a fine mist of a 4th wall], but anxiety has been present too, since early on in the series. he barely misses out on any discussions, and that’s if you count the initial introduction as a discussion. and he makes good points at times, too. his initial episode is about how to work him down from a heightened state, but in future episodes, he offers legitimate arguments and good points. things like more realistic goals[he says he knows thomas’ limits, a fair assessment], saner plans, emotional insight, honesty that is brutal but ultimately helpful, and reflections on past events. he has issues at times with identifying the reasons behind some feelings, but anxiety is irrational[the feeling, not the character], and we can only guess how much insight he has into that anyway. what we know is that when he identifies problems, he really wants to be heard, and he’s not the best at telling whether problems he’s identified are as legitimate concerns as he’s guessed due to cognitive distortions. these are thoughts thomas has, and anxiety gives voice to. other sides, in the past, have been less willing to help with working through these concerns, and more willing to just shoot down anything he says on the grounds of he said it. and even if he has trouble with which hesitancies are reasonable, he’s worried about them ignoring actual problems if he doesn’t point them out. anxiety wants to be listened to, until he doesn’t. there are a few contributors to that, logic demonstrating his concern as being excessive, disparaging remarks about how unhelpful/relentlessly negative he is hitting home, how successful all their talks have actually been in solving problems, any number of these;very likely a combination. we shall focus on the third: they’ve all been communicating with one another, which has been helping a lot to work through problems. they are identifying problems, and solving them. anxiety feels that things they’ve said about him causing problems are right, and that he isn’t needed/is holding thomas back. but as mentioned, anxiety has been there since nearly the start, appearing just as often as anyone else. he’s been there throughout the developments the others have been making; as they all communicated, he was communicating too, and in fact contributed to the solutions of multiple problems. he’s been there all along as the family came together; he may feel like an outsider, but he’s as much a part of the group as anyone. morality’s card said family. the specific label was a product of sentiment[not inaccurate by any means though], but it was accurate in depicting them as a unit. they do work primarily as a unit from that point on.

now to address more recent events. deceit and the duke have made an appearance, the others[pros: accurate. cons: this is a word i want to use for other purposes, such as that one there], or ‘dark sides’[pros: distinctive. cons: reductive] have been confirmed to be a group. that said, they are only confirmed as a group, not a cohesive unit. who knows to what extent they communicate or operate as a team. there is still ambiguity, however, about whether they are more of a unit than the ‘light sides’[pros: distinctive. cons: exclusive] or famILY[pros: accurate. cons: unhelpfully inclusive, contains capital letters, sentiment-ridden] were before season one. no dark side we have encountered seems like the type to both have and act on the kind of sentimentality that attached morality to his family, but there is much greater evidence of them interacting offscreen before.  yet that evidence shows no signs of particularly positive interactions. anxiety and deceit evidently know each other, but there's little evidence of what their past was actually like, and their interactions now are frigid, to say the least. deceit and the duke had a conversation about transparency, which was heavily paraphrased[i have to assume so at least] and occurred after deceit revealed himself in the first place. that seemed like less of a group decision and more an idea deceit had. furthermore, that idea seemed to be in response to events and actions on the part of the light sides. so who can say if the dark sides ever worked together. but it’s hard to imagine they’d have done so more than the light sides had been.

to be clear, my emphasizing morality as the one who declared them a family out of sentiment should not be read as disagreement with him saying so; i do not seriously believe anyone included in that family disagrees. he is the one who said it first, acted on it first, and initiated more of the social bonding. and referring to sentimentality as a factor should not be read as negative. that’s just what these are being attributed to. it’s a trait he has in spades, more than any other side, that contributes to his decision-making.

i know i said i was going to talk about self-love later, but that’s gonna be another time. besides, i have raw data to collect on that first.

i feel like i write more about the older episodes because they’re easier to parse, and i don’t know why. maybe it’s that they don’t have as many instances of people keeping their goals close to the chest. or it could be that they’re less of a time investment to rewatch. maybe the characters talking more like characters than people makes them speak less straightforwardly. maybe the fact that new episodes are caused by ‘real’[to character thomas] events and less about unprompted introspection is leaving some things to the imagination. maybe they’re trying to leave more to the imagination now! to be fair, imagining is fun. but insight lets me do things like this.

i did a whole separate section on virgil. to be fair, he could use the validation. he’s 100% a part of this family. plus, i’m not opposed to writing about other characters i love to the same extent. 8)

if you have thoughts about this, let me know! if you have questions, be assured i will be more upset if you don’t ask them than if you do.

[light-of-being]

a very fkin long and incomplete exposition of my flaws as a human being

I've not really spoken about the probably most consequential event in my recent life (the ending of a long term relationship), and that's because I haven't really thought about it very much. At least, not in a clear-headed space not entirely filled with rage, fear, or initially, longing. So, I've mostly just been waiting for the intensity of those responses to wear out before I can go back and make sense of things in a sorta 'safe' way.

(These days it's mostly anger and/or hurt. Sometimes twinges of hatred, but those fizzle quickly. I know that attitude isn't 'true'. I tried to hate him, I really did. Things would be so much simpler that way — an obvious villain of pure evil, a mistake worthy of contempt. Put him behind me as someone I regret meeting and consider everything only as a flashing warning sign of what to avoid next time. But real life never is that easy, is it.)

Regardless, reading about miscellaneous psychological ~stuff, I realised that I know for sure now that there are sides of me that only come out in a close relationship, as they postulate. It's unfortunate that my exposure to this was only in such a toxic environment, and I'm not sure if or when closeness has any chance of happening again.

I suspect, based on what I have/haven't felt with him vs others, that I can (at least at this stage of my development) only really feel 'seen' by an antisocial/narcissist/schizoid (or something in that general direction), just hope to god it's a mature one next time. I might want to interrogate and possibly change that fact, I'm not sure it's at all a healthily arrived preference. But...

there is a degree of normalcy and social belonging in others that becomes a wall

I can relate superficially, cognitively and even 'deeply personally' (tho is all y'all's deeply personal shit necessarily relational?), have a good time and even feel 'connection' but there are parts that seem simply insurmountable.

The lack of relating to many things is the unifying factor between me and the specified groups: the shared experience of not having shared experiences

But yet, a more acute awareness of superficiality, and the drives and mechanics of human interactions, attitudes, identity and constructs, not taken for granted as default but built from the ground up (Most often out of either necessity or a desire to manipulate them, but still).

Actually, most straightforwardly, the shared experience of experiencing oneself as an outsider to society — whether people personally, accepted norms or expected attitudes towards self and other.*

Anyway, that was a whole semi-tangent I went off on (useful and relevant to the initial thought but not the point I was planning on).

Important point was...ah yes, insights!

...into how I behave under genuine relational circumstances. Due to aforementioned toxicity, I'm not sure how generalisable they are to relationships overall, but they should generalise to feeling-states.

1.

(a) Fear. Defensiveness.

Switches off my brain. Obvious? No. I have been actively strategic while having a gun pointed at me. I thought I had that down. Turns out, I cannot dissociate myself out of an argument most of the time.

Turns out, just the fact or even prospect of arguing activates panic and brain goes out the window. Which is really fucking stupid as an occurrence because how many of these could be prevented with a bit of mindfulness and thoughtful responding. But getting emotions to chill out for long enough to do that is tough.

(b) I am a stubborn dumbass. Kid me argued until they were attacked so harshly that they absolutely could not continue. The alternative presented was to just keep silent, one I did not then and do not now accept. Discussion where both parties partake in good faith have generally been fruitful, only neither of these situations were that. Both involved one person trying to dominate at all costs. To which I suppose keeping silent for the moment and then running tf away is an appropriate response. Idk. I'm not sure if this is a 'normal situation' to which I respond unhealthily, or an 'abnormal situation' in which you just do your best to survive. Arguments are normal. Idk if other people have a less aggressive approach that is less outright terrifying, in which I can modulate, but it does seem like people want to prove you wrong and get angry, which I perceive as aggression.

2. 

Which brings me to boundaries. Can I shut things down when I'm overwhelmed. In the present case, the answer was no. They both didn't stop and the fact that I asked for this was interpreted as admission of defeat.Oftentimes, getting out of the situation was more of an ordeal than dealing with it. [We stayed at a hotel the one time and he did things that made me very uncomfortable (in like a “things that I shudder at thinking about even now” kind of way; not sexual btw which this has made it sound). I thought I was as clear as I could’ve been by saying, “I’m going to legit have a breakdown if you keep doing that” but apparently it came across as a joke (gotta improve on communication as well). He stopped and apologised when he realised I was crying, but later blamed me for not being more assertive and laughed at my ‘exaggerated’ response and “meltdown”. At this point I wanted to leave and go home, but he withheld [my copy of] the key. He insisted and manipulated and coerced for discussion, said I could have the key if I “really wanted it, but do I actually want that”, until it was just easier to give in. The helplessness and feeling trapped of that evening haunts me to this day, and I want to be very sure to never be in any situation where that is even a possibility again no matter what.]

I need to get better at knowing what is and isn't okay and being strong enough to enforce that.

3.

(a) Attachment is a bitch. Utterly unfamiliar sensation, one I don't know my way around at all. The rarity of relation makes it seem so fucking precious, so fucking necessary to protect even to my detriment and his. Dare I tip the boat or will it sink. Should I be the dancing monkey to keep it from sinking. Should he.

(b) The feeling of giving a damn what someone thinks of me is also foreign and difficult. It also seems hella intensified by virtue of not existing elsewhere. Disapproval feels devastating. Criticism becomes attack. Everything feels like a continuous effort to establish worth. I'd imagined acceptance could be taken for granted, but I questioned it the whole way (obviously doesn't help when he demands changes).

(c) I have trouble distinguishing between personal issues and insecurities and legitimate reason to be upset. I think this is typical. But with trial and error, one can probably pick up on what you carry with you across differing people and circumstances. I don't have that data. I have nothing to compare against. I also suspect some parts of this is him treating legitimate reasons as being my distorted perceptions, which I'm pretty sure did happen for a few things that I believe are 'objectively' shitty.

5. 

I trust. Too. Fucking. Much. I take shit at face value. This is very often dumb and...bad in literally every sense, but I don’t yet know how to identify preemptively when that's the case. I also fail to be adequately 'suspicious' I guess to be alert to minor inconsistencies later on. Lies are especially devastating. I built my reality around you using that fundamental premise. Now you tell me it was false all along. Where does that leave me? I go back to substitute and nothing makes sense. I don't know if the initial statement was a lie or the claim that it's false was. I don't know if everything I remember is just distorted somehow. I don't know what to do. (aside: gaslighting? I’m inclined to say “effectively, yes”. The best explanation I have is that for many things he rewrote the narrative in his own mind and does not remember the things that blatantly contradict it. For other things, I cannot see that being possible and am forced to think it’s just pure lies). All of this could have been prevented if I accounted for people being dishonest.

6. 

(a) I lose sympathy. Genuinely did not ever expect this to happen. Enough hurt, enough deception and I stop trying to understand why. I assume malice. I expect malice in future interactions and misread situations as a result. In the beginning I made fucktons of effort to be understanding of things far from my typical range (hello, admissions of past violence and present homicidal ideation. Hello, talking someone out of real intention of ruining a person's life over a minor slight). Honestly, I think I overreached. Some of these things were not things I should have tolerated, accepted even. When I started walking on eggshells to not have him ruin my life, too, that was probably when I should've gotten out. He claimed that the people he cares about are exceptions. That's probably true, otherwise I would currently be in a ton of shit. But at some point I did stop believing it.

(b) I don't really think that most of the things that happened were malicious. Some, he admits, were. But mostly he wasn't out with the intention to hurt me, but he also didn't make the effort...not to. Even with me repeatedly complaining about things, he was defensive or dismissive, considering me talking about an issue to be me creating issues in his life. This is super shitty, his damage is caused by a stubborn ego fixation and sheer passivity, thoughtlessness (he has agreed to all of this in our final conversation), but it isn't exactly intentionally malicious. If he genuinely didn't believe there was a problem, that is an issue, and the fact that he utterly failed until the end to even consider the possibility of a valid complaint, is a very real flaw. He is bad insofar as "he is lazy and incompetent at being good". Which I can understand but nevertheless protect myself from. Ideally, sooner. At the point where I start feeling like someone is being shitty more often than not, something needs to happen. A discussion, a reconsideration, a run-as-fast-as-you-can... Something.

Idk. This isn't everything. But yeah.

.

.

.

* These 3 PDs are often used in illustrating the idea of pathologising difference: few of the criteria are about subjective distress and many about extrinsic value judgements of what a person should be like (lol, my clinical psych final had an essay question on this). I don't necessarily agree but it does speak to a shared thread of...something. That said, this characterisation is tbh still too broad for my liking. Importantly, it is definitively applicable to autistic people but I do not in general relate to that in the same way. Some specific manifestations of it, yes, but I have seen far too many excessively... 'human' autistic people to include the whole category. There are probably folks in the PD categories who are also like that but I think much less common.

[coffeeandgraceupongrace-blog]

My Testimony

It’s hard to describe what it felt like, when my mental illness took over. I guess the most accurate description I can think of is head fog. I could see everything around me but I was processing all of it differently. Slower. As if everything I did had to be done very carefully, specifically, or else maybe somehow my hands would betray me. The worst fear that I carried was that I might harm someone I love. Which made little sense to my loved ones, it wasn’t in my character, so why would I fear it?

But OCD plays on those fears and insecurities (and my biggest fear was something bad happening to the ones I love) it builds a home in your doubt. It is fueled by anxiety. And the more you feed it the harder it is to return to a healthy state of mind. I knew I wasn’t like the people I read about in the news but I feared I would become one. “What was to separate me from them?” I worried. It carried on for months.

Ultimately during this dark time of self-doubt and loathing I was forced to face my fears. I was forced to confront my distorted reality with my daily routines. I couldn’t avoid being around other people because my son needed to be outside and enjoy the cool, fresh air. I couldnt lock myself away because I was needed. To make meals, to read stories, to be the mom I always was. That couldn’t change. Something broke me after my separation, custody battle, after my son was diagnosed with severe autism, after I was forced to move in with my mom and dad and then when It was time to leave. Living alone. With no one to really converse with. I was carrying so much. I didn’t want to appear weak.

I remember searching for the tools to help restart my brain. I was proactive to become my old self. What would kick it into the right gear again? It was as if everything was wired wrong. I read exercise, so I’d get my heartbeat up. Jumping jacks, sit ups. I read meditation... so I sat and faced my thoughts, letting them float in and out and away while I momentarily enjoyed a blank state of mind. A family member suggested colouring, before I knew it I filled books of colouring pages. Pages filled with the Canadian outdoors. I wrote out worst case scenarios to confront my fears, as suggested in Cognitive Behvaioural Therapy...Over and over again to desensitize myself. I distracted my mind with mindless television. Treated myself to the things I used to enjoy. Gourmet coffees, treats and books. It all felt hollow.

Then someone suggested listening to happy, inspiring music. A mentor in my OCD support group suggested K-love radio helped them. So I turned it on and quickly discovered it was a Christian radio station. Not my usual genre. “Isn’t Christian music usually really cheesy? I believed. Then what followed were some genuine smiles. I had forgotten the feeling. To smile. The music reminded me of a profound love and presence that would never leave my side. I tuned in daily, listening to the words and after some time of listening in. It led me to prayer.

It was at this time that I started asking God to help me, so that I could feel like myself again. I wanted to be the happy optimist I used to be. I wanted to laugh and enjoy being with my family again. I didn’t want to continue a fear-based life and what I did, which is hard for someone with OCD, is I put my trust in Him. I surrendered. I praised God. I thanked him for the things I have, I pleaded with him to clear this fog in my head that made me afraid of my own shadow. That made me question the goodness I knew was inside of me.

I kid you not, when I reached out. There was a Hallmark movie moment, I couldn’t help but laugh at. The sun shon through my window and on to me... like this perfect beam of sunny recognition. That to this day I still feel a little bonkers sharing. But there it is. I asked and he listened. With returned prayer I began feeling like my old self again, and it helped me be brave and speak with my family physician about what I could to do maintain my mental health. So I wouldn’t relapse again.

What I learned was that sometimes God gives us the storms we need to grow closer to him. To lean on him and ultimately discover the strength within ourselves to overcome these mountains, and that’s what I did.

[arteacactus]

Touch Starved Logan

Warnings: General depression, eating disorder mentioned, physical aggression mentioned, maybe cursing I can’t remember Notes: I’ve never written anything like this, this will all be entirely inaccurate- I apologize Pairings: Platonic Analogical, maybe platonic LAMPT

Logic was not an emotion. It was not a feeling; not something that you can easily block out and ignore. Logic wasn’t related to emotions and feelings. Therefore, Logan wasn’t related to them, either. Logan was logic. Logan did not have feelings. Logan didn’t get emotional.

Or so he thought.

Logan was familiar with the term ‘touch starved’, or ‘skin hungry’. He’s done research on the term before, learned everything there is to learn on it. He just.. Never thought the term could be used towards him.

As said in an article he’d read about touch starvation, “Touch deprivation is a condition that involves little or no stimulation by way of physical contact with other people. Human touch has been proven to be vital to emotional, psychological, and physical growth in infants and to some extent in older children and adults. Deprivation can cause developmental deficiencies in babies. Studies have shown that in extreme cases, touch deprivation can lead to infant death. In adults and older children, touch deprivation is related to conditions such as depression, aggression, and eating disorders.”

And thinking about it, he showed symptoms of it all.

And quite frankly, that scared him.

Logan wouldn’t deny he’s been feeling depressed lately, but blamed it all on working too hard; he has been loading much more on himself than usual.

He’s been easily aggravated and snapped at the Sides much more than usual this past month, going so far as to threaten to hit them sometimes. A single glare was enough to silence them these days, managing to subdue Roman’s dramatic nature and Patton’s happiness by his mere presence.

And maybe he forgot to eat some days and didn’t keep down the things he did eat.

But he didn’t think it was all that important, to be perfectly honest. Maybe he’ll brush his hand over someone else’s “on accident” more often. Or bump their shoulders together more. Maybe ask Patton for a hug every once in a while.

Yeah, the idea of needing human touch and getting negative side effects from touch deprivation spooked him quite a bit; he was logic and therefore shouldn’t be feeling like this. But, what can you do? It wouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?

Truth is, Logan didn’t realize how bad it was, until he actually initiated his plan.

It was early in the morning, and as usual, Patton and Logan were the first ones awake and therefore the only ones in the kitchen, Patton making breakfast while Logan sipped his coffee and helped set the table.

It was a good time, Logan supposed. They were the only ones there and it wasn’t like Patton would turn him down; Patton could be six feet under and he’d spring back up to give anyone a hug when they needed it.

“Patton?” Logan piped up after the whole morning being spent in silence, Patton jumping at the sudden sound and almost burning himself on the hot pan.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to startle you.” Logan quickly apologized, realizing he probably should have been more careful about gaining Patton’s attention.

“It’s fine, Logan! What do you need?” The cardigan clad Side replied with a reassuring smile.

“I was just wondering if you would..” Logan trailed off, a frown taking place. Now that he was thinking about it, it sounded a bit needy, didn’t it? And wouldn’t it be odd, coming from Logan? And probably awkward for Patton, too. He knew his recent aggressive behavior had been scaring him and the other was already visibly tense, probably from being in the same room as Logan. Thinking about it, probably also the reason why he startled Patton so much by speaking.

“.. Nevermind.” Logan decided to just forget it. Maybe Virgil would be open to watch a movie together or something and he could cuddle with him then and pass it off as him being sleepy.

“Wondering if I would, what?” Patton insisted. If there was something Logan wanted that Patton could give, he’d gladly do so.

“Nothing, it’s silly.” Logan replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“C’mon, Teach, nothing you could say is silly. If you want me to do something, it’s probably for a good reason!”

“It’s merely something to satisfy my own desires; it’s not important. I promise.”

Patton pouted, but dropped it, finishing his pancakes and piling them on the plates on the table just as Virgil and Roman came walking in, Virgil looking as tired and moody as ever. Roman tensed ever so slightly upon seeing Logan but pretended everything was just fine, and sat down at the table to eat. Logan’s frown deepened and he felt guilt coil around him. Roman was unsettled by Logan just being in the room, just like Patton.

Finishing his coffee, Logan washed the cup in the sink and started to leave the room.

“Hey, Logan, where are you going?” Patton asked with a frown, though it looked more like a pout.

“To my room. I have plenty of work to do.”

“When was the last time you ate with us?” Virgil spoke up suddenly, voice deeper than usual due to being tired.

“.. Unimportant.” Logan replied instead of giving a proper answer, continuing to walk out.

“Wait, Logan!” Patton whined, reaching out and grabbing Logan’s hand to stop him, successfully managing to do so, as when he was touched, Logan stopped functioning.

The Microsoft error noise sounded in his head and he could practically see the blue screen and the “Logan.exe has stopped working”.

Warm.

Patton’s touch was warm.

It seeped into his skin and for a second, the cold left him, and all focus was on Patton’s warm hand and the gentle hold. Patton invaded his senses.

He could feel Patton’s warm hold, smell the sweet scent of vanilla from the other’s shampoo, hear his concerned voice-

Oh, wait, Patton was talking to him.

“Logan? What’s wrong? What are you looking at?”

Logan blinked, drawing his gaze from empty air to where their hands were linked together, and in an overwhelming burst of panic, ripped himself away from Patton and immediately vanished, ignoring the startled cry from the other.

He reappeared in his bedroom, cradling the hand that had been held, shivering at how it seemed to be even colder than before after being touched, before a wave of shame crashed over him.

He just completely broke apart as soon as Patton touched his hand.

Perhaps his touch deprivation was more serious than he’d initially thought.

Instead of trying to fix this, Logan kept himself locked up, but even more so than before.

He only left his room when absolutely necessary, usually at night time when he was absolutely sure everyone else was asleep so he wouldn’t risk being seen, or worse, touched.

It was definitely doing some damage, too. He could no longer sleep without holding something, having resorted to stuffing a heating pad into a pillow and cradling it as a makeshift human body, got a weighted blanket, and even went so far as to steal some things from the other Sides so he could sleep soundly with the scent of them surrounding him.

For the first time in the week he’d been living like this, he was summoned by Thomas.

He looked up from his book to see Thomas, Patton, and Roman standing around; Virgil was not present.

Patton audibly gasped and Roman’s jaw had dropped, Thomas’ hands flying up to his mouth.

“What?” Logan finally croaked, clearing his throat. Had he really not talked in that long? It hurt to actually speak out loud, and it was audible in the way his voice rasped.

“Have… Have you looked in a mirror?” Roman managed to get out after a minute of stunned silence.

“No? I would have no need to.” Logan replied, suddenly feeling anxious. What did he look like? He must have looked awful to gain that reaction.

“Well.. You look a little like Virgil, but.. More.. intense?” Thomas tried to explain, doing so badly. But, Logan got the gist.

“I apologize for my appearance, then, I suppose I should have tried to.. Fix myself up.” Logan replied, even though he had no idea he would be summoned in the first place.

“What’s been going on? You look like you need to really talk through some troubles.” Thomas replied, immediately tossing the original reason for summoning him out of the window so he could try to fix whatever problem he had. It couldn’t be a good thing when his own voice of reason was looking worse than his anxiety.

“It’s nothing. Merely silly, unimportant matters.” Logan replied stiffly, reluctant to talk about his touch starvation. No doubt they’d react negatively to it. He was logic- how could he need to be touched? It was stupid. They’d surely voice how dumb it was, too.

.. Oh, boy. Cognitive distortions. This issue was really getting to his thought process.

“Logan!” Patton gasped, upset he would talk so dismissively about his own health. “Don’t say that! What’s been bothering you? If it’s making you so stressed you need to talk about it!” He stomped his foot childishly, crossing his arms over his chest, but there was a certain fire in his eyes that indicated he was genuinely taking this seriously and wasn’t going to let up very easily.

Logan was starting to sink down.

Oh, definitely not.

Roman reached over, grabbing Logan by the arms and pulling him back up, yanking him closer to the other three.

Logan froze and all thought halted.

He was being touched again.

Warm, calloused hands gripping his bare arms and pulling him closer towards more warm, breathing people who could very easily reach out and touch him and make him feel warmer and more comfortable and he needed that touch he wanted to be touched he wanted to feel warm warm touch hold-

“Logic?”

And his thoughts resumed.

Logan noticed they were all staring at him in concern and he realized he’d froze, mouth hanging open and trembling violently in Roman’s hold and Roman was still holding him and he wanted to scream and cry and lash out all at once.

“I-I’m sorry-” Logan stammered, voice cracking with oncoming tears because Roman wasn’t letting go. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

“Logan, what’s up?” Thomas asked gently, almost fearing the answer.

“He’s touch starved.” A deeper, tired voice came from behind them.

Virgil joined the group.

“Touch starved..? What’s that?” Roman asked, thoroughly and utterly confused by the new term he’d never heard before.

“It means he hasn’t been getting enough human contact as he should and it’s really badly affecting him.” Patton replied quietly, “Logan, we had no idea-”

The distraction gave him an opening. And he took it.

Logan sunk out of the living room, retreating to his own bedroom once again.

“What do we do? We can’t just easily pull him out of this, can we?” Thomas fretted, sitting on the couch with the other Sides, all of them trying to figure out how to fix Logan.

Virgil, who’d been touch starved, too, before revealing his name, had a bit of an idea as to how to pull Logan out of it, but he wasn’t sure if Logan would be as willing to get out of it as he had.

“I think we should try to get him to talk about it, first.” Virgil chipped in, “I.. Knowing Logan, I don’t think he’s pretty happy with the realization he’s got feelings and needs to be touched and he’s in denial. I think getting him to talk about it and admit it to himself is the best option.”

Silence followed his words.

Virgil was starting to get anxious that he’d said too much or said the wrong thing, when Patton brightened. “That’s.. An amazing idea!” He exclaimed, “We should each take turns trying to talk to him, maybe?”

“I think you should go first.” Roman immediately stated, followed by nods of agreement from Thomas and Virgil. Patton probably had the best chance of getting him to answer.

“Got it!” Patton chirped, “I’ll be right back, hopefully with Logan!”

And with that, he disappeared, reappearing in the mind palace where their rooms resided.

Patton cracked his knuckles, walking up the stairs to Logan’s room, which was, unsurprisingly, locked.

“Logan?” He called through the door, knocking on it gently. “Teach? We want to talk to you.. We, being, Thomas, Virgil, Roman, and I. We wanna make sure you’re doing okay.”

Silence.

A little worried, Patton tried again, “Logan? You okay? Sleeping? Hopefully..?”

Some slight shuffling from inside, telling Patton that Logan was, in fact, awake, and could hear him, he just refused to answer.

Saddened, Patton folded his hands together. “Hey, Logan, we.. we wanna help you. We wanna make you feel good again. Please, let us try..?”

Nothing.

Admitting defeat, Patton turned, and walked back down the stairs, before reappearing to the other three, shaking his head.

“I’ll go next,” Roman decided immediately, “Maybe he needs a little more of a push!”

And without Virgil could say, “No, you idiot, that’s the exact opposite of what he needs”, Roman was gone.

“Logan! We request your magnificent presence in the living room so we may talk to you, and get you feeling like your usual nerdy self again!” Roman announced once at Logan’s door.

Again, some soft shuffling, but no indication that he was unlocking the door or replying anytime soon.

“Looooggaan, may you grace us with your existence outside?”

Silence.

And then, Roman dropped the act, and tried luring him out by being serious to show that he was, in fact, concerned.

“Logan, c’mon, we genuinely do care about your well-being, and.. It’s scary, that you’re hurting. We want to help you. Please?”

He heard some more noises, and his hopes raised, thinking that maybe Logan was gonna exit, or answer, or something-

And then the noises ceased and his hopes fell once more.

Logan wasn’t gonna be lured out by Roman.

Disheartened, Roman left, returning to the three others and whining about how he was unsuccessful in making Logan exit his cave.

“How can I talk to him?” Thomas asked, wanting to give it a shot of his own.

“Well, we can take you to the mind palace again.” Patton replied, “But we don’t know if it’s gonna work, we can’t get Logan out, I don’t think anything will..”

“Well, we have to try!” Roman declared, “Thomas, let’s go to the mind palace once more!”

“.. Logan?” Thomas called, standing outside Logan’s bedroom door, the other three Sides standing behind him, nervously waiting to see if the Logical Side would respond to their Host.

“Logan, buddy, you there? We gotta talk about some pretty important things..”

“We want to help you!” Patton couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming, “Please?”

“Let us try to work through this together, Logan.” Roman called through the door, fidgeting nervously.

No response.

They were really close to giving up hope and walking away, when Virgil stepped forward.

Virgil raised his fist, knocking gently on the door. “Lo?” He spoke softly, and by some miracle, Logan responded to Virgil and Virgil alone.

There was shuffling that slowly got louder, the click of the door unlocking sounded, and Virgil was let in.

Virgil slowly opened the door, slipping inside and turning to the Sides and their Host, holding up a finger to ask for a minute alone, then shut and locked the door again, leaving Logan and Virgil alone in the room and Patton, Roman, and Thomas to sit and wait.

Staring at the door in shock, mouths hung open in surprise (and, in Roman’s case, offense, because Logan let Virgil in but not the Prince?), the other three decided to do just that. Sit and wait.

They decided to settle in the living room of the mindspace, waiting patiently for Virgil to reemerge with Logan in tow.

Inside the bedroom, Virgil walked in to see Logan sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing the Anxious Side’s old sweatshirt, Patton’s old cardigan on his lap, and Roman’s old sash beneath the sweatshirt.

So that’s where their clothes went.

“Lo, you doing okay?” Virgil asked gently, sitting down at the end of the other’s bed.

Logan sucked in a shaky breath, and shook his head. “No. No, I’m not, Virgil.” He croaked, looking up and meeting Virgil’s gaze, tears rolling down his cheeks, eyes red from crying.

Virgil sighed, reaching out to the other Side in a silent invitation.

With some hesitation, Logan gave in, squirming over to Virgil and settling into the one-sided hug, letting out another heavy, shaky sigh at the warm, comfortable hold.

Virgil held Logan close, gently squeezing the Logical Side. “I know how touch deprivation feels.” He admitted quietly, “I was severely touch deprived before I told you all my name. It’s.. It’s not fun. But you can get pulled out of it, you know. We want to help you, Lo. We really do.”

“.. I appreciate that.” Logan mumbled, “I genuinely appreciate it, Virgil. It’s just.. I’m Logic. I am the rational decision making in Thomas. I don’t have emotions, feelings. I shouldn’t need to be touched. I shouldn’t want it. So why?”

Virgil shrugged, “You’re not all emotion, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have them. The need to be held and touched sometimes isn’t that bad.”

“.. What if I’m mocked for this, though-”

“Cognitive distortions, Logan.”

“Yes, right, right.”

Virgil cracked a grin, and squeezed Logan some more. “Hey, let’s go talk to the others, yes?”

“.. Yeah.”

Logan decided that sure, maybe Patton hugging him whenever he entered the room and insisting on cuddling during movie nights got a little annoying at times, but he felt infinitely happier compared to when he wasn’t being touched at all.

He really was glad he let Virgil into his room to talk about his feelings.

.. But he definitely felt really awkward when he returned their clothes to them later.

[voidchangeling]

Under The Stars

Summary: Virgil’s name reveal’s anniversary is coming up and Patton wants to make it special for Virgil. However, he gets a bit more than he had thought. Words: 2968 Ships: Platonic Moxiety

If he had to be honest, Patton had completely forgotten about how long it had been since Virgil had revealed his name. Time had just flown so fast and last time he looked at a calendar, it was still May. But now, a year had gone by and he really wanted to do something special. Not because they had finally gotten to know his name, nope, that was just a bonus. He wanted to remind Virgil about this day, to let him know that a year may have gone by, but he hadn’t stopped being accepted. Part of him was a bit worried that Virgil might think that they were just pretending to accept him in order to make things go back to normal. That had been how he had thought for a while after they had started hanging out with him. It had taken a long time to get him to calm down and not expect to get a hateful comment his way. Patton was scared that if they didn’t remind him, he might think they had stopped accepting him. He didn’t want that to happen. Not if he could help it.

“We need to celebrate this!” he had said to the others with enthusiasm. But Logan had just sighed deeply and looked at him with a look that Patton was way too familiar with at this point. Roman, on the other hand, seemed to be uncertain about the idea. “You know how he is, Patton. He might not want to be celebrated. I mean, he’s Anxiety for crying out loud!” he had said, gesturing to the stairs where Virgil normally was when they filmed a video. The sound of music from Virgil’s room could be heard, letting the others know that he was there. Logan adjusted his tie. “Yes, Roman is correct about this. He may not wish to be celebrated or be seen as someone important. There’s no need to make something big out of this day or go over the top. But while I initially agree with Roman on this, I can see why you would want to do this. However, I’m not going to involve myself in this.” He cast a look over at Roman before he went back to his laptop. Apparently, he was doing some research on a galaxy, or at least that was as far as Patton could tell. He even saw a couple notes that had been jotted down in his neat handwriting. Roman smiled a little before returning to the story he was trying to write. Patton had trouble reading his loopy handwriting, but he could tell it was about two princes who fell in love and were forbidden to see each other. He sighed dejected and left the commons to go to his room to figure out what he could do on his own. Logan and Roman didn’t seem interested in celebrating the anxious side, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He had to admit that it made his heart break a little on the inside. But he knew they still cared about him, at least, he hoped so. What could he do on his own? Well, he could make another card! Pour all his feelings out onto it and let Virgil know just how much he loved him and accepted him for who he was! That could work! After all, he had loved the one he gave him a year ago, enough that Virgil made one as a gift for Christmas. No, that didn’t seem right. It wasn’t enough. Another card would just make it seem like he was just being childish, and he didn’t want Virgil to think that. Maybe he should cook for him! No, that didn’t fit either. He had cooked for him plenty of times and while Virgil did seem to enjoy it, it wouldn’t convey the feelings he wanted to express. Maybe he shouldn’t give him anything, not a physical thing, but instead, give him an experience. Make him feel special and appreciated for being there. That could work! But he needed help for that to happen.

Virgil was confused when he opened the door and saw Patton standing outside with a huge smile on his face. Normally Patton would just have appeared inside his room, but this time he didn’t. ‘You did something wrong and now he’s here to tell you’ his mind went. He dismissed the thought, remembering the things Logan had told him about cognitive distortions. “Oh, hey Patton. Was I being too loud? I can turn it down if it’s disturbing you!” he said, already going over to his laptop to turn the volume of his music down. “No no! I didn’t come here because of your music, kiddo! I actually wanted to ask you if you wanted to go somewhere with me? You know, spend some time together, just the two of us! I mean, if you want to of course. I don’t mean to make it seem like you HAVE to go. I was just wondering…” Patton’s voice trailed off and he looked down, expecting to be rejected or something worse. Virgil blinked, completely caught by surprise. He didn’t know what he had expected, but definitely not this. And the fact that Patton had looked so happy only to look scared when he realized that he could be taken the wrong way. He turned the music off, making Patton look up in surprise and Virgil swore he saw tears in his eyes. “Do I have to wear something formal for this or can I just wear whatever?” he asked, already having made up his mind to not change his clothes regardless of Patton’s answer. “You can wear whatever makes you comfortable! It’s not anything big or fancy.” He answered, watching as the anxious side turned the laptop off before going back to him and closing the door, locking it. It wouldn’t really stop anyone from getting in if they really wanted to, but it just kept his mind at ease. Patton briefly reached out to take his hand, lightly touching it before he changed his mind. Virgil understood why and smiled a little in appreciation. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have hesitated and held his hand. “Well, lead the way, Pat. And it better not be another surprise party or I’m leaving” he said, slightly frowning as he followed Patton through the commons. The moral side just shook his head with a smile. “It’s just us,” he said. The two went past Logan who didn’t even look up from his research, clearly invested in it. Virgil made a mental note to check in with him later. He started to be even more confused when they stopped in front of a room he hadn’t really seen before. And when they opened the door, it led… outside. It appeared that they were in a clearing in the middle of a forest. The full moon looked down at them as well as thousands of stars.

“Patton is this-“ “Welcome to the Imagination! A place where literally anything can happen and only your fantasy can restrict you!” a familiar voice called out and Roman was suddenly beside them. When Virgil looked at him with a weird look, he smiled widely. “Patton here wanted to make something special for you and he required my assistance to use this room as he has never used it on his own before.” He said, with a grand gesture to their environment. “Are you sure you don’t want something more? I could add a dragon or 3 if you want to fight some or maybe a village?” he asked, looked at Patton, looking more than ready to add his suggestions to the place. Virgil looked over at him like he was insane, getting ready to run in case he added those dragons. But Patton shook his head. “No, I just wanted it to be something simple. Thank you, Roman.” His voice sounded light, but stern. Making it clear that he was serious. Roman shrugged. “Tell me when you’re done,” he said before he left. The two of them sat down in the grass. Time went by before Virgil decided to ask. “Roman said you wanted to make something special for me. But why? It’s not my birthday or anything, at least I don’t think so. So why do this today?” Patton smiled and took a deep breath before he answered. “Because today it’s been a year since we accepted you. Since you revealed your name to us. And I want to make this special because I don’t want you to forget how much you mean to us. And to me. I don’t ever want you to feel like we don’t care about you” He looked at Virgil the entire time he spoke, not looking away for a second. He saw what appeared to be a light blush before the anxious side looked down. A soft laugh came from him as he started to understand Patton’s reasoning for acting so strangely. “So that’s why. But there was no need to make anything special out of something as stupid as that. I honestly forgot it myself because to me, just being accepted among you guys is more than enough. But I’m glad you did it anyway, Patton. Because even though it’s not something I care that much about, I still appreciate that you wanted to do something for me of all people. Even though I think I might not deserve it.” He finished his talk looking away from Patton, but he already knew that he was pouting from talking bad about himself. He looked up at the moon, admiring just how real it looked. Maybe he should come in here more often. “Hey, Virgil?” Patton asked, bringing his mind back to the conversation at hand. He looked over and the moral side was smiling, not much, just a little. “Did you know which names I thought you might have?” he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject to something more positive. Virgil didn’t mind it at all, as part of why he kept his name hidden was to make the others guess. It was only a very small part, but it was still there. “No, what did you think my name was?” he asked, actually getting curious. “They’re stupid, but me and Roman did a lot of guessing around and some of them weren’t really all that serious. I don’t even remember all of them, but we guessed Evan, Adam, Anthony, Ann.” He stopped for a moment, trying his best to remember, but Virgil was already laughing. “Oh oh, and Roman was so sure your name was Alexander! I think my favourite was Angel, though. Because you are one!” he said, joining the laughter.

They both went a while with just laughing. “You really thought I would be called that? Oh my god, that is just. Wow, can you seriously imagine me having a name like Evan? And I thought my normal name was bad!” He said, wiping tears away from his eyes. It didn’t appear to smudge the shadows under his eyes in the slightest, so either he was using something waterproof or it wasn’t makeup. But Patton didn’t really think about it further as he pouted childishly. “Hey, your name isn’t bad. It suits you and I told you that I like that it’s different” he said. “I know, I think I’ve started to accept that now that you guys are saying it. But seriously Patton, Angel?” he said, his voice questioning, but he was smiling. “Yes! You can’t deny that one, I won’t allow you!” he maintained. Virgil giggled softly before they both went silent, just laying down and looking up at the stars above them. A couple shooting stars shot across the sky and Patton quickly exclaimed “Shooting stars! Virgil make a wish!” “For what?” he asked, confused again. “Anything! I wish that you can be happy and heard and loved in all eternity!” Patton answered. “Umm, isn’t there something about that they won’t come true if you say them out loud?” He asked, sounding even more confused and flustered. “Maybe, but it could also be that they’re more likely to come true if you do say them out loud! Because then I can make them come true if the stars don’t!” Patton’s voice got even more excited, something the anxious side didn’t think was possible without choking. Virgil sighed but made up his mind. “I wish that we can forever be true with one another and nothing will have to stay hidden.” He kept his voice low, but steady as it was something he had wished for a long time. He looked over at Patton, the moral side looking back at him with a surprised look in his eyes.

“Hey, Patton? Can I tell you something? And please don’t tell the others about this, because I’m not sure how they’ll take this.” He started to get nervous, worried that Patton might not be that great at keeping secrets. “You can tell me anything! If you don’t want other people or sides to know, my lips are sealed.” He made a gesture that looked like he was locking his lips and throwing the key away. Virgil smiled fondly, happy that he understood. “Well, for a long time, I’ve admired how you’re able to stay so optimistic and happy. Able to just make the room feel so much warmer with your presence. And there I was, scared and alone, worried that I might not be heard. You know how I adopted that dark persona? It wasn’t just to make you guys on edge, it was a method I used to forget my own fear. But in fact, I was scared. Scared that if it stopped working, I would have to go further with it. To actually be harmful to you. That I would have to the one to make you scared of me and make the warmth go away. My mind kept going on and on about how much you guys must hate me. But I’m glad I don’t have to do that. That I don’t need to put on a stupid persona anymore. That I can now just be me, just be Virgil and not some stupid villain like I was trying to be. And even though I might sometimes go back to putting it on, I remind myself that you care about me. That you care about Virgil and that I don’t really need the Anxiety mask anymore” He looked away from Patton, not wanting to see how the moral side might react to his vent. He heard a sigh and looked over at Patton with a worried look. Had he gone too far? Did he make Patton uncomfortable by revealing something so personal? “I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I just-“ “You didn’t make me feel bad, Virgil. I’m just realizing that there’s something I should tell you too.” His voice was calm, sounding regretful. The anxious side started to look worried as well, but for a different reason. ‘He’s going to reveal that he hates you! He’s going to tell you that all of this was a lie!’ his mind shouted, making it hard for him to ignore. “Don’t worry, it’s not something about you. You just reminded me of something.” Patton didn’t look away from Virgil, even though he seemed uncomfortable with what he was about to tell him. “I don’t want the others to ever know this. Even though they already slightly do.” He said, almost biting his lip. He took a deep breath and held it for a while before releasing it.

“What you said about me, it’s not completely true. You see me as someone who’s able to always be happy and optimistic and just crack jokes when things turn serious. But in reality, there are times where I put on my own persona because I don’t want you guys to see the more sad parts of me. I act childish to cover up how hurt I sometimes feel. And I know I said that I wouldn’t hide my feelings anymore after what happened with the breakup. But I still do. Just not as much and it’s thanks to you, Virgil. You made me realize that avoiding nasty feelings won’t help, that feeling them is okay. You said you admire me, but I admire you. Because you’re able to be pessimistic, to be mad and uncomfortable. I can’t express these darker emotions, because I’m always expected to just be like this. And when I’m not, I’m expected to go back to being happy again. But when I find myself feeling sad, I always think of what you said back then. And that makes things easier for me. So you may think you’re a bother, but really, you’re helping me in ways the others might not be able to understand. And that’s something I truly wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.” At the end of his vent, his voice started to shake, but he didn’t seem to care. Virgil held the moral side close to him, unsure of what to do. But he didn’t need to do anything, because Patton wasn’t feeling sad. He looked up at Virgil with a look that expressed so much joy that the anxious side couldn’t help but smile. “Guess being an emotional side just comes with all sorts of weird things, huh” he said, not noticing the fireflies that had started flying around them as he looked up at the moon again.

And for a long time, they were both silent. There wasn’t a need to talk anymore. They could just be them. Just for a bit. Just them.

[tf2humbug]

After I answered a question yesterday about the possibility of Medic (or any other TF2 character) being a psychopath, I got to thinking about what might actually be the deal with these guys. Obviously, they’re abnormal, but I don’t like writing off weird characters as just being crazy and/or stupid.

I dug into what I understand about the characters—the core mercs as well as the Administrator and Miss Pauling—and came up with this run-down of how I think they might be diagnosed if evaluated by a modern psychiatrist.

A disclaimer! First off, please take all my conjecture with a big ol’ grain of salt. I’m not claiming to be an authority on either psychiatry or neurology, and this is just my personal interpretation of the characters. It’s fine if you don’t agree! Also, I want to be clear that I mean no disrespect to anyone who might have any of the conditions I mention. I hope my tone comes off as respectful and not exploitative.

One last thing. I feel like this should go without saying, but just in case: DON’T USE THIS LIST AS A WAY TO DIAGNOSE YOURSELF. If I mention something that strikes a chord with you, by all means research it, but talk to a professional if you seriously suspect you might have a mental issue. I am NOT a professional!

Now that all that hemming and hawing is out of the way...

Scout

Not to rely on stereotypes, but I think ADHD is likely. His impulsivity, hyperactivity, and need for stimulation are strong indicators. He also has a tendency to self-medicate with massive amounts of caffeine and sugar from all the soda he drinks. Oh, and it’s been pretty heavily suggested that Scout is dyslexic, which I believe to be the case.

Soldier

It’s pretty much directly stated in the comics that he has brain damage, resulting in delusions and cognitive impairment that border on dementia. (Think Gary Busey post-motorcycle accident.) The comics suggest he was brain damaged by lead poisoning in the water, but I’m certain he had preexisting problems from old head trauma. That helmet has an important function!

On top of that, I think Soldier’s a good candidate for Tourette Syndrome, but I don’t mean the coprolalia version you see in TV and movies, where someone involuntarily shouts obscenities. He commonly has sudden verbal outbursts (”MAGGOTS!”) and physical tics (saluting, marching, etc.) that manifest in his drill sergeant persona.

Pyro

Oh, boy. Okay. Pyro is a hell of a puzzle, and I could go on for pages, but I’ll boil it down to what I think is most likely. Of course, they exhibit pyromania, but possibly also synesthesia?

One possibility is an “eccentric” mood disorder that manifests as a loss of contact with reality, among other symptoms. That would be either Schizotypal Personality Disorder or full-blown Schizophrenia. The distorted Pyroland version of the world fits this really well, and it’s possible that it might be a chronic thing, with Pyro constantly filtering the world through their delusions.

The other likely possibility is some sort of Temporal Lobe Epilepsy, where seizures in a focal part of the brain yank Pyro out of reality without sending them into the physical convulsions you associate with general epilepsy. This would suggest that Pyro does touch base with reality but gets “transported to Pyroland,” instead of living there all the time.

Demoman

This one is easy. Demo’s a severe alcoholic, to the degree that stopping drinking cold turkey would probably kill him. In the comics, his body even rejects normal food and drink because it’s learned to get energy just from booze, and his body, in times of withdrawal, can make its own alcohol supply, which an actual real thing. It’s called Auto-Brewery Syndrome, where microbes in the gut can convert carbs into ethanol. Demo must just have the most advanced case of it in human history!

Heavy

He seems completely neurotypical to me, aside from the hints of both psychopathy and PTSD that come with being a mercenary. I do think he used to have problems from sleep apnea, but some surgery cleared that up. Now he just snores like a chainsaw. (Yes, I know sleep apnea isn’t a mental condition.)

Engineer

I suspect, but I’m not certain, that he may be in the very high-functioning part of the Autism Spectrum, with savant-like qualities. Maybe he got his 11 PhDs and abilities as a human calculator just from being driven and extremely intelligent, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he were wired differently. If it is the case, he’s learned to compensate incredibly well in his interpersonal behavior. That Texan charm is a pretty effective tool for putting people at ease, I bet.

Medic

Like I said before, I don’t like simply labeling characters as “crazy.” Yeah, he’s got the mad scientist thing going on, but I think that stems from Bipolar Disorder. Specifically, I believe Medic has type I, which is what people usually think of when they imagine bipolar behavior: extended periods of elevated mood (or hypomania) punctuated with full manic episodes, which can take on psychotic features. There may or may not be periods of depression. He doesn’t seem to swing that way, but it’s possible.

He’s DEFINITELY a self-medicator. I mean, duh. Huffing Medi-Gun fumes and a bit of drinking probably help to calm him down when he gets too high-strung. I doubt he takes pills for it, e.g. lithium or anti-convulsants, because of the high likelihood of side-effects. I could see him doing some DIY ECT, though. Getting too unstable? A few brain zaps, and he’s right as rain!

Bonus fact! Did you know that a German term to call someone insane is to say that they “have a bird”? It might come from folklore about insane people literally having bird familiars living in their heads, or it might be something like calling someone a “crazy cat lady,” where people who keep birds will talk to them too much and seem a bit off. Just thought that was interesting!

Sniper

I personally believe he probably has some Agoraphobia. Not to a debilitating degree, but he hates being stuck in what feel like insecure places. It’s actually a symptom of Avoidant Personality Disorder, which I think is pretty likely for him. It’s thought to result from feeling abandoned and alienated by other people at a young age. (*cough*orphanedbybirthparentsandraisedinAustralia*cough*) In addition to agoraphobia, signs include self-imposed social isolation, emotional distance, mistrust, and an inferiority complex. If he does have APD, he’s integrated it neatly into his occupation, where distance is a good thing.

Spy

Similar to Heavy, he seems pretty neurotypical to me. It’s possible that he had some similar issues to Scout when he was younger, but if so, he’s learned to compensate. He does exhibit the most psychopathic traits of all the mercs, but like I said before, I don’t believe any of them are actually true psychopaths.

Administrator

Classic megalomaniac! She’s got textbook Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Everything about the way she presents herself screams narcissism: grandiosity, a thirst for power, arrogance, a sense of entitlement, lack of empathy, and extremely manipulative behavior. Maybe she has good reasons for her narcissism, like being an 150-year-old supervillain, but I digress.

Miss Pauling

Poor thing. I’ve mentioned it before, but my pet theory is that the Administrator broke down her original personality and built it back up to make her a useful pawn, capable of appearing very unassuming and responsible while performing cold-blooded acts of violence guilt-free. She’s a perfect tool, with limited freewill and no room in her mind for cognitive dissonance to slip in. To her, I imagine it feels like living with with Depersonalization Disorder, where either the world around her or her own actions take on an unreal quality as a way of shielding her mind from the nasty parts of her job, but on the outside, the effect is seamless.

[ask-the-elders-chosen]

Google-translated from Russian->English version of Chosen just for comparison and laughing purposes (I am dying how the Assassin gets translated into “killer, murdered etc’)

RECEIVING DATA, ADVENT SELECTED "HUNTER"

RECEIVING DATA, ADVENT SELECTED "WOMEN" (wat)

FILE 215903: DATA RECEIVED DURING THE ADVENT NETWORK BREAKDOWN ABOUT THE SUBJECT ADVENT SELECTED "KILLER"

ATTENTION! THE LEVEL OF ACCESS TETA IS NECESSARY

ACCESS CODE "TETA_OKHOTNIK" is REJECTED. FILE IS NOT AVAILABLE AT THIS MOMENT OF TIME.

ACCESS CODE "TETA_CHARODAY" is rejected. FILE NOT AVAILABLE AT THIS TIME-

SECURITY SYSTEM CIRCUIT DIAGNOSES

OBTAINING ACCESS TO THE FILE ...

[15.04.2029] Despite the fact that the accelerated growth rate of the subject ADVENT SELECTED "KILLER" corresponds to the calculated values ​​for the clones in the current methodology, expectations about its final form may turn out to be optimistic, to put it mildly. Within the framework of the existing doctrine, every effort has been made to avoid the characteristic problems that we faced in the subjects ADVENT SELECTED HUNTER and ADVENT SELECTED "CHARENTS", however additional security measures take much longer than in previous cases. However, if we want to achieve absolute respect for the power of the Elders, this should be our first priority.

[06.06.2029] ... so far, it exceeds all expectations with respect to the current goals of the doctrine - subordination and concentration as the first priorities-

Click.

"I'm not sure why we need a younger sister at all."

"Obviously, your skills no longer justify the expectations of our overlords." They are disappointed in you, brother.

- Really? I wonder what can be said about you then. I, too, was the Chosen One. And now she is. Let's unite. You subordinate the Priests, and I'll cut off her head as soon as I fall out of the capsule. We do not need all this. We do not need her.

"For once in all your worthless life, keep yourself in your hands." If the Elders deemed it necessary to bless us with their sister, we will meet her with open arms.

"Hmm, but you're still thinking about it, are not you?"

- To be silent. ________________________________________

Our child. Do you hear us?

…Yes…

Soon you are destined to awaken. You will be an instrument of our will. You will not have either worldly desires or emotions. There will be a place to be just a debt to us. You, among the billions, were elected. Executions of infidels and dissidents without pity. Only our word will be your law. Do not let us down.

... I will not let you down ...

Your brother, the Eldest, will guide you. Your brother, the Elder, will test you. However, you are destined to surpass them, for you are our favorite. Created in our image, you are the embodiment of our ideals.

... I will not let you down ...

Go, wake up from sleep. In due time this world will be yours. This is our promise. ________________________________________

When the Assassin makes his first sigh, he does not look like a mournful cry of a baby in the first seconds of being in this world. She already knows five hundred different tactics on the battlefield. It can appeal to the knowledge of the masters of the sword: both human and extraterrestrial. Its first independent thought is the release from the capsule that holds it, and a detailed analysis of the imperfections of the material from which the glass is made.

However, she does not need to strain: the liquid slowly swells and without her intervention. A distant howl of sirens around dips the room in a red light, which bounces off scientists and dressed in armor figures ... her brothers. At the level of innate instincts, she realizes that they are one flesh and blood. The safety glass exfoliates, allowing the Killer to fall forward. Without the absence of liquid, the cables that were stuck in her suit are pulled out of the nests one by one. Her weight releases from the shackles, and the Killer takes the first step, landing in the perfect somersault.

She does not ask about who she is, nor about where she is: she already knows the answer. Words come to their heads by themselves. Jah-mon-Mont Balladur. Assassin. Infernal harpy. So they called her. And so it will be known to the world.

- The subject shows cognitive functions, there are no signs of surprise or disorientation.

The murderer rises from her knees. It does not need to be taught to walk. A set of skillfully forged blades awaits her, beautifully laid on the stand, and she runs her finger along the blade, checking the sharpness. Picking up both a short sword and its longer version, she makes several swings, estimating the weight before throwing the dagger at lightning speed into her older brother.

The blade pierces the "Dark Spear", passing through the generator of kinetic charges, thereby disabling the rifle. The hunter reacted instantly: either he dies, or his weapon takes a blow at itself. The assassin lashes out in the direction of his Oldest, swinging his long sword and exposing one arm in a protective manner. However, she is not destined to achieve the goal: a powerful charge of psionic energy strikes her right in the chest and tightens her to the floor, only she needs to cross half the room.

"And she's with her character," snarls the Hunter, grasping the hilt of the dagger and pulling it out of his rifle. Frowning, he assesses the damage caused, along the way throwing the killer Weapon on the floor. The Spear was once again hanged on its back, and the pistol drawn more out of principle than necessity. Killer writhes on the floor in pain. Her first attack in her life. She knows that it will not be the last. She knows that she is in for a much worse pain in case of failure. Considering her punishment sufficient, the Old One frees her from psionic shackles. Priests run to her. One on the left. One on the right. She accepts their outstretched hands of help, for if the Elders are favorable to them, then so should she. "We are not your enemy, Sister," says the Wizard. "The gods must be pleased with how zealously you strive to start your service." Come here, greet your brothers. Now you're one of us. The killer straightens up. Priests that stand on each side, barely reach it to the ribs, and when it moves, the air seems to carry it. No sound. Not the slightest rustle. Not even the rustling of the fabric. It combines incredible flexibility and mobility: it is like the wind that slips through thickets of reeds. She approaches her brothers, no longer showing signs of hostility. - Dhag Il Vallinor, - she greets the Elder. He has enough decency to honor her with an almost imperceptible nod of the head. She knows that he sees in her only an empty space. It does not provide a threat to him and, therefore, is nothing. She will prove that he is wrong. She was the favorite offspring of the Elders. Not he. "Dhag Mai Mardon," she greets the Elder. He grins, full of the worst human qualities. She knows that he is not happy about her coming into the world. That it hides the hatred of the essence of three minutes of the people. She did not feel anything for him. She did not care. "I'll kill you myself if you dare interfere with my work." She reveals her sharp teeth, smiling with an empty smile, in which there is not a shadow of love. She passes by their tense figures to bend down, pick up a dagger and insert it into a secret hole on the hilt of the sword. Its purpose is clear as a day: to kill those of the "ADVENT" that gained freedom. What became too self-sufficient. She will become their sword in the darkness. Silent forerunner of an imminent death. To those who will settle them for ever and ever .- I understand that this means "no" to participate in family gatherings? "The hunter is sniveling." She does not see how he instructs the muzzle of the pistol on her leaving figure: on the back of the head, still crowned with scraps of cables and wires. She hears. He's so noisy. It's disgusting, annoyingly noisy and loud. The silent click of the "Dark Claw" fuse is like a thunderclap for her heightened senses. Her blade sang, cutting the air and reflecting the charge of terrible power released from the Dark Claw. The killer decided that the hunted expression on Hunter's face was a symbol of much greater pain than she could have physically caused him. His accuracy was blessed by the Elders, and yet she was the cause of his misfire. She carefully returns the sword to the sheath. She does not offend him. She has no desire to do this. She must hurry to the place of great power, which appeals to her. The murderer looks at the sarcophagus: the container of power that pulses, permeated with the energy of its overlords. She respectfully bows her head, imagining that they can see her. She feels safe in the walls of her own sanctuary, surrounded by a melodic psionic buzz. The killer sits on the floor, crossing his legs like a child in the first school days. However, the posture adopted is not only a symbol of childish obedience. It is like a lotus flower. Relaxed, she opens her mind, allowing the energy flows to fill the body. Breathe in. Exhalation. As long as it is true to Their goals, it will not let it perish. Even if it fails, Their love for her is too strong. She knows it. Intervention from the outside. "Who?" - The killer asks, rising with a sword at the ready and bending like a wild cat, ready to jump. She sees the outlines of the figures - infantrymen. The soldiers of ADVENT, as she believes. Distorted brainchild of genetic modification. No no. Ideal of the crossed DNA of man and the newcomer: a symbol of balance and harmony. One officer. One priest. The officer first gives a voice. "Captain of Defense Fiduchi," he appears, and then, following the example of the priest, he reluctantly kneels before her. The murderer does not care about such respectful gestures addressed to her. She would have preferred to earn the respect of her subordinates, shedding her blood on the battlefield, and not to encounter such benevolence merely because of the status of the offspring of the Gods. "For many years we expected your arrival, Chosen One." Our lords erected this Citadel for you: we were sent as a supplement to monitor order and defense. "This is your refuge," confirms the priest in a soft tone, "and your base for operations." You can use it ... and us on your own. "Do not you dare step over the threshold of this room, unless you're looking for a quick death," she warns, pointing the blade at both soldiers. It fits, but does not feel a shadow of fear in the offenders. They were created fearless, ready to serve and die. Even if death itself looked at them in the face, they would stand until the end, as long as that is the will of the Elders. She already felt more like these soldiers than with her blood brothers. "If you want to contact me, then ... What is your name? "The Mystic of Hecate." Mystic Hecate will call me." You're capable of that, right? Or should I take one of my brother's followers? "I will do as you please." - Acceptable answer, - The killer puts the sheathed in the sheath. Straightening, she gestures for them to rise from their knees. However, even in their full growth, both soldiers were dwarfs compared to it. They respected her. For them, she was a deity. Nothing, soon it will prove its status in practice. And although Jah-Mon did not see herself much in the role of commander, she would try to use that small army that she was given, with intelligence. "The Chosen One, if you will allow ..." The officer waits until she nods, and continues. - Your auxiliary weapons and armor are waiting for you in the armory, and the sooner you give us instructions, the better. There are also several reports about criminals in the ranks of "ADVENTA", which you should pay attention to. The murderer still comes to the conclusion that these soldiers are more to her liking than her brothers. Like her, they speak clearly and in the matter. Neither scathing comments, nor senseless sentimentality. - Your first priority is to maintain the security of this Citadel. You have the right to use all means at your disposal in order to fulfill your duties in the best possible way. In my absence, you are under the control of the base. - The killer steps to the exit, too practical to just stand and give commands. The officer and the Priest follow her. - Hecate, you will be my eyes and ears. You will be mine- The Starpaw. The "Center". Her face looks puzzled. She does not know any people or aliens with callsign "Center". She only knows the "Senior Officer" - a position, but no more. This was not her own independent thought, no, she came from a place in which she learned tactics through countless battles. However, if the Elders gave her that term, she would try to find an application for him. "My old man," she concludes. The priest bows his head in misunderstanding, but obeys unconditionally. Jah-Mon wandered through the sacred corridors of his Citadel, as if she had done it thousands of times before. In its arms were all kinds of weapons that humanity could only dream of: some prototypes in disassembled form lay on workbenches. In this room, she will improve her knowledge of human technologies. "Leave me," she says, and Fiduchi and Hecate leave without any questions. Now in a blissful silence that was not disturbed by every heart beat that she could hear, or with a low sigh, she could appreciate the armor hung in front of her.

The material was light and fit her figure like a second skin: like her, the costume was sewn only in order to fulfill its basic function. No ceremonial decorations or excesses. With the exception of a single symbol on the chest: a Favorite Label. She found this symbolism acceptable enough and did not get rid of it. Armor covered every millimeter of her body, perfectly matching the main costume, except for the face. The absence of any protective mask or helmet was in her eyes a major drawback, and it was incredibly annoying.

The weapon was allocated from the general mass by its unusual design. It remotely resembled the Hunter's "Dark Spear". The more massive barrel allowed to make a wide shot, and although the charge had less power, the recoil was large enough to compensate for this. The weapon was weighed as much as was required in order not to slow down its movements: the shotgun was designed for its composition and combat style. Turning, she noticed a label attached to the trunk on a paper thread. How old-fashioned.

"Arasi" was his name. She brought the label closer, studying the contents of the scratched words. "Sister, you will be the eye of the storm ..."

She tore off the label from the weapon, knowing that it would break during the fight, however, contrary to common sense, she did not get rid of it. Not surprisingly, it was so much like the "Dark Spear" - Hunter made this weapon. For her. The emptiness that she felt for him suddenly began to fill up a little, but in the end the emptiness was empty.

Dressed in armor, with a shotgun on her back, she flexes her fingers and feels like the material pulsates when in contact with her psionically sensitive skin. She can not wait to fight and kill. To fulfill one's purpose, the very cause of her birth. She exits the armory, heading for the control room. At some point, Hecate joins her.

"Do you like brothel?" She tries to ask, but the Assassin interrupts her.

"This shotgun, Arashi." He was created by my brother, the Elder. Does he have access to my Citadel? My only refuge on this earth? I very much doubt that he just left him at the gate in this form.

Hecate does not answer right away, pursing his lips, but not strong enough to break perfect lines with wrinkles, dimples or anything else.

"He's the Chosen One," she replies. - We follow the instructions of the Chosen, regardless of who is in front of us: You, Hunter or Wizard. If you want to visit your brothers, you will be treated in a similar way.

"Then I'll make changes to your directives." From now on, you are allowed to admit only those who have my personal permission. - As you wish.

Silence hangs in the air exactly ninety seconds before the Assassin again gives a voice:

"I find the quality of the armor acceptable." Of all the possible six hundred and thirty-three faults that I could find, this armor has only one single.

If Hecate were allowed to smile, she would undoubtedly have done it.

The control tower was one of the branches within the Citadel, but it was by no means small. The monitors illuminated the room, in the center of which the world map was adorned, with a soft reddish glow. The system was fully automated: the control panels did not have a single soldier. The killer looked closely at the monitors, concluding that some showed the streets of New Cities, and other key points in the transport network. Her gaze caught the image on the radar screen, flashing red. With a single thought and a smooth swing of her hand, she was able to interact with the interface, which opened her access to the recording from the outskirts of the European metropolis. A group of four defectors "ADVENTA". Her experience, despite the first day of existence, suggested that they wanted to rob the convoy in order to extract resources."Watch this room," the Assassin said to her old man, letting the psionic energy wash it and hide it from prying eyes. ________________________________________ Jah-Mon observed with interest how people interact with each other. Mentally, she chastised herself. How can she, the Chosen One, the embodiment of perfection, afford to be so distracted? But ... how could she not be distracted by them? This race, these people were the object of such admiration and curiosity on the part of its overlords. The creature that she knew only as a Commander was a man, and They admired him. Love. The elders clearly saw only weakness in such emotions, so she could not feel them, right? Right? A black-haired man, a man, embraced with one hand another representative of his own kind. It was a woman with a big belly that she held, one hand on the tumor. No, not a tumor. Pregnancy. The assassin slipped from the eaves on the roof and landed right next to the pair. They were unable to feel or see her, and she walked with them on a par with listening to the conversation. "... And I'll call Paulo, let him know that I can be a little late," the man's face becomes thoughtful. "Are you sure that everything will be all right, Marie?" Maybe I should take another day off? "It's not that I'm going to be alone, Bob," the woman laughs. "Listen, there are peacekeepers around and they are always ready to help. I'm sure one of them will take me home if I politely ask. Do not put yourself under attack because of me. Jah-mon leaves them, living in ignorance of justice, which it is about to accomplish in the near future. It slips between passers-by and peacekeepers, not touching any elbows, despite the pace of running and long limbs. With one single leap, she lands on the roof and runs to the last known location of the free "ADVENT". Her short-term delay will not save them from imminent fate. They no longer discussed the plan of action, apparently waiting for the convoy to arrive with the materials. The explosive was laid on the rails, and the entire guard of this transport point lay dead. The killer bends on the ledge right behind the soldiers with their heads uncovered. One of them holds a detonator in his hands. They were two. Where did the others hide? The fast terrain showed that they were hiding deep in the bushes together with the dead bodies. Most likely lay in anticipation of pulling the containers deeper into the forest thicket. She approaches explosives and studies the design. The bomb was an alien assembly: the charge is most likely from the weaponry to which they were previously assigned, and it was activated not by a satellite or a psionic, but by a detonator. The one she saw in the hand of one of the traitors. Like the spit of death, she arranges a harvest among these sinful, wicked blasphemers that dared to turn away from the Elders, that they dared to discredit Their gifts, Their embraces. The first of them falls from her blade with a deep cut on her throat. Her disguise subsides, and the second is given only a second before his head is in the hands of the Assassin. A deft movement, she turns his neck. Jah-Mont hovers in the air, dodging the return fire of the last two with unprecedented grace and dexterity. "Arashi" slides off the belt in her left hand, as she predicts. After landing, she shoots a narrow sheaf of kinetic fragments in the chest of the third. He is burned, but still survives, spread out on the ground. Each katana stroke reflects the magnetic charges released by the fourth in an attempt to kill her. It is a failure, and it stands over him like Death - no, Judge. She judges him and finds him guilty. The sentence is death. His severed head rolls on the ground, joining the remaining fallen offspring of ADVENTA. The sounds of a dying terrorist, full of agony, prove that her work is not over yet. She comes to the third and thrusts the blade of the sword into his skull, completing the begun. The killer returns to the Citadel as quietly as she left from there to clear her blades and repeat the cleansing the next day: as many times as her lords wish. It finds the results of the first day of its existence acceptable, but not at all ideal.

[eminentfocus]

Stranger Than Fiction

“I’m such an idiot!  I can’t believe I said that!  They must absolutely hate me!  How will I ever recover from this?  I hate it here!”  We all do it.  I’m guilty too.  No one is immune to automatic negative thoughts.  We all toss around these negative thoughts to allow us to imagine potential threats and problems.  It is literally in our survival DNA to come to the worst-case-scenario.  This gives us an opportunity to correct our behaviors to avoid harm, it’s necessary.  We learned about a piece of this neural network last time, when we talked about loneliness.  Today, we will really examine the sneaky little cognitive distortions that lead to chronic stress and body trauma.  To do this, we must look at the story we tell ourselves to recognize our automatic negative thoughts.  Ready for the dive into the rabbit hole?  Here we go!

90 percent of the thoughts we have are habitual, that is, we have the same thoughts, daily, for the majority of our lives.  What is shocking is that most of those thoughts are negative.  Research has concluded that these negative thought patterns change the physical brain and our overall health.  Any study done on chronic stress will prove this point repeatedly.  The problem with automatic negative thoughts, or ANTs, is that they become habitual at a neurological level.  We are literally creating physical neuro pathways to change the structure of our brain and thinking patters each time we engage with these thoughts.  After some time, our behaviors and beliefs of logic change.  Our mind convinces us that something is true that has no accuracy.  Yikes!

Dr. Aaron Beck discovered “ANT thought streams” way back in the 1960’s when he was working with depression patients.  They had very similar thinking patterns and stories that they told themselves about how they “fit into” the world.  They had streams of thoughts in their heads most of the day about how they were not fit for the world and that they aren’t deserving of anything positive.  He was able to narrow down thousands of repeat thoughts and separate them into three clear categories: They displaced negative ANTs about themselves, the world and the future.  He quickly realized that the basis of these negative thinking patterns created a level of stress equal to a natural disaster for both our physical brain health and our mental well-being.  Today, I will tell you that noticing your own personal ANTs and employing some tools to challenge and control them is an amazing return of investment to yourself.  Turning off this useless, debilitating, negative chatter is one of the most powerful things you can do for your well-being.  You are worth it, I promise!

Today I will break down the nine most common ANTs so that we can recognize when we may be off the rails.  I will also give you four main tools to add to your toolbox that just may change how you think about most of the world.  I advised you that this would happen here, so let’s just rip off the band-aid and get on with it, shall we?

Black and white thinking.  We have already touched on the beast I like to call the “should monster”.  This guy is the president of the always and never club.  He tells us that things will always be this bad and that it will never get better.  He completely misses all the good opportunities.  He’s a jerk and a set-up.  Quiet him!

Focusing on the negative.  We all get into funks sometimes where everything just feels blah.  Sometimes someone cuts us off in traffic and the entire rest of the day is a steaming pile of shit.  Everything goes wrong and everyone is annoying.  Noticed that?  It’s not the world hunty, that’s you!  Do the roses have thorns or do the thorn vines have roses?  It’s up to you!

Fortune telling.  No matter what they say to you, you know you will suck.  You will bomb and everything that you imagined going wrong truly will.  No one can change your mind, even yourself.  You finish the project and get great reviews, yet still, you believe it failed.  It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point.  See why you cannot get a different result here?  You have decided to turn off your logic for fortune telling, why?  Stop that.  No one is that damn powerful!

Mind reading.  “Oh, boy!  I know they hate me!  I can see it in their face.  They look bored and pissed!  Ugh!  I know they absolutely cannot stand me right now”.  Did you ask?  Did you ever stop for a second and say, “hey, what are you thinking about”?  I bet if you did you would learn that most people are thinking about their own ANTs a lot more than they are thinking about you.  I know that probably stung a little, but the fact is that most people think about us way less than we think they do.  Most times when they think about us, it is not in a negative light, but because they need help from us.  Proven fact.  Believe it!

Thinking with your feelings.  You will hear me say it until you are sick of it: feelings are not directives, only warning signs.  We need them but do not always need to act on them.  It is okay to label and call out our emotions to try to reflect on the why, but this is where it must stop for your sanity.  If you spend too much time here you create physical neuro pathways, remember earlier?  Why the danger label?  When you lay these pathways, you go from feeling something to actually becoming the feeling.  This is a form of self-harm.  Yes, again.  I know!

Being ruled by should.  Ah!  The “should monster” strikes again!  See why I call him a guttersnipe?  He sits up on his pedestal and tells us how we should be doing things, thinking thoughts, caring for ourselves and others from his own level of survival.  He’s a real Richard!  We proved in an earlier post that guilting ourselves into change does not change behavior, see the alcohol and tobacco industry for quick examples.  Guess what?  It’s just more self-harm that actually demotivates you.  Hard truth.

Labeling.  Anyone who knows me understands that I struggle to label people.  I have a hard time giving police an accurate description of people because I just do not label people or things.  I cannot easily identify race, ethnicity, social status, and sometimes even gender because I have not practiced judging others on these things.  However, I label the shit out of myself!  Bad or aloof are two of my favorite labels for myself.  What have I learned about this?  Labels simply are thoughts that become self-fulfilling prophecies for yourself and ruin your relationships with other people.  Labels have no place except on canned goods.  Rip them off and throw them all away!

Taking things personally.  As I mentioned with the sting earlier, people do not think about us as much as we think they do.  When you see that someone is focused and engaged in their own mental turmoil it is so easy for us to assume that they are upset with us.  We see their face, notice their body language.  Hear their sighs of disapproval.  Automatic thought: I must have said or done something to upset them.  It has to be me because I looked at them.  I noticed their turmoil so it’s me!  Again, did you ask?  Again, I bet it’s not even about you!  They may be nervous about an upcoming presentation or meeting.  They may feel ill prepared for a test.  They may have gotten some bad news and not know how to process it… Most times, it’s not you!  You’re not quite that important.

Blame.  My alarm didn’t go off this morning, so it ruined my entire day.  You didn’t call ahead to give me enough time, it’s your fault we’re late!  Why didn’t you tell me right away?  It’s your fault it got so bad!  Sound familiar?  It is easy to scapegoat people because we have a genetic need to be right.  We need to be sure to feel safe.  Truth is, you are the only person responsible for the condition of the pavement on your road.  Only you.  Own that shit!  Sorry- not sorry.

I know that some of that hurt and it should if you do any or all of these things.  Usually reflection and ownership feel a little bad at first.  It’s okay.  In fact, the only place we can start is where we are.  How will we ever start if we cannot face the idea that we are only what begins us?  Dr. Robert Emmons certainly can give us insight and hope through the practice of gratitude.  He discovered that gratitude is the most powerful promoter of mental and emotional resiliency, while minimizing underlying negative emotions.  It is easier said than done, though.  Ready for the tools of the trade I promised?

Personify your own inner critic.  You already been knowin’ he’s a shit.  Give him a name and personality.  This makes him real and gives you an added edge to get to know his ticks from outside of yourself.  Take the time to really dig into who he is and how he is different from you at your core.  He is a part of you but separate, make it that way mentally!

Get bored with his stories.  We all have that one friend that tells the same three stories over, and over, and over, again.  We know how to deal with that friend right?  We deal with those same old repeating thoughts just like that friend.  “Oh geezus!  The same old story again dude?  Really?!?”  Eyeroll…

Reframing your “shoulds”.  I should go run.  Scratch that!  I want to go run because I feel so much better after I do.  I should go to work early.  Wait!  I want to get in early to gain traction on my day- I’ll get so much done!  I should cook something healthy instead of getting take-out.  No, sir!  I am worth the time to make myself something that will encourage me to get me closer to my goals.  Do THIS all the time.  Never stop!

Countering ANTs with PETs.  Positive empowering thoughts are the counterbalance to automatic negative thoughts.  Remember everything that is negative has a positive, that’s the hope we find for change.  This takes a piece of paper and a bit more work.  This is one of the best tools you can use though, so worth the investment!  Here how you do it:

Separate your page into three columns.  The first one you will name “Trigger”, next “ANTs”, finally “New Thoughts”.  In the first column you would place what triggered the ANT.  Did you make a mistake, say something you didn’t mean?  In the second column you will write your actual thought like “I suck because I messed up.  I don’t deserve this job!”  Finally you will take the time to write a new thought like “I am new at this.  This is the first time I have done this and now I know what to do/not do next time.  I’m growing”.  The more you do this exercise the more you will understand your own ANTs and how to practice combatting them.  You should quickly notice your common triggers and automatic responses.  Super powerful!  As with ANTs, PETs also create physical neuro pathways.  Just like ANT’s, PETs can also become self-fulfilling prophecies.  Go on now- do the fucking work, I’ll see you next time!