Dear Diary,

I've hit my latest Adulting conundrum; specifically, if something is unquestionably childish, and it doesn't hurt anyone, or limits the hurt to assholes who desperately deserve it, and it brings me joy, need I eschew it to be an Adult?

Seriously, I need to know, because after yesterday my brain really wants to go to town imagining, visualizing, then brutalizing fuckin' Cadet Smith with lurid descriptions of the depraved debasement she's obviously seeking at my Kitten's hands. Or elevator stilettos, because fantasizing about Kitten without Glowing Midnight is like a burrito without taco sauce; why even? I mean, yeah, still awesome, but if you've got the sauce why isn't it on there?

Before anybody starts talking about 'but didn't you do that with Larry?' I'm gonna have to stop you right there and gleefully distract you with the level of Cognitive Dissonance I can maintain by pointing out that I can and do simultaneously throw up in my mouth a little bit thinking about the world record micropenis haver while also maybe doing a little mental 'I don't really want to join in, but I'd love an invite to play single player while watching you two co-op' fantasizing about Bonnie and her Clydesdale epic mount on a surprisingly regular basis. Yeah, Fizzaroli ain't got shit on me for distractions.

Wait. What does it say about me, entirely separate from 'adult' or not, that I've yet to look in on my sister or any of my old friends, but I absolutely spent the time to scry up somebody watching episodes six, seven, and eight of season two? I mean, on the one hand that shit is, indeed, fire, but on the other hand, are any of my old friends in trouble? Doing well? Alive? Dead? Do they think about me? Do any of them know what happened to me? Did I have a funeral? An obituary? Did people cry? Laugh? Is it weird that I hope my friends got together and laughed about all the crazy shit we pulled together?

Did I matter?

Shit.

So we did a couple other mass scenarios yesterday. My favorites? The whole fuckin' series where Cadet Smith, as a reward for winning the 'me versus everybody' fight, got to play Escort Mission. If anybody ever deserved to be forced to play Escort Mission it's that arrogant biotch.

Of course you know who got to play the Damsel in The Dress, right? Okay, before the first round of Escort Mission started, duBois called me over with the other two High Priestesses and said, "okay, ladies, I need one of you to be the 'assassination target'; the other two will stay on standby in case someone gets hurt. So, I'm thinking since we'll be doing this a few times, you three can take turns being the target?"

"Or," I interrupted, "we can go with the option that doesn't wind up with me reducing the Cadet overpopulation pressure and using your nut sack as a speed bag, and I play target while these two stay on standby. After all," I popped into The Dress, complete with her boots, "I think I'm the hardest one for whoever's gonna be guarding me to hide, right?"

"Okay, preference noted, and because I'm not an idiot and know what will happen if you're bored, if I give you the signal when we start a round, you're a trap and you get points based on how many you incapacitate before they catch on. Got it?"

"Okay, now this sounds fun. You got it, Marshall. Send me in coach, I'm ready to play, today."

Oh, man, I hammed that shit up, and was absolutely the worst 'escort target' from every video game ever all rolled into one. When she told me to run, I tiptoe pranced, waggling my hips, holding my hands to my cheeks and squealing at the top of my lungs. When she told me to stay still and she would guard me, the first time anybody got within like three paces of me, I ran away. From her. My absolute favorite, though? The first time when the Marshall gave me 'the signal' I turned to Cadet Smith, who had no idea about 'the signal', and piped out, "My Hero! They're coming to kill me? What should I do?" at a volume that had the rest of the Cadets snickering so bad they had a hard time coordinating themselves. Smith, frustrated beyond all coherent thought, which I'll admit is the only rational response to an Escort Mission, just glared at me for a solid ten seconds, then jerked her head in an abortive shake and said, "Fuck. I don't know, hide or something."

Because I hid. No, I didn't use Blend. Yet. I hid, in simultaneously the most Escort Mission possible and the most Me way possible. I grabbed up the skirt of The Dress and wrapped it around my head. No, I had not deigned to wear the panties today, because I had a suspicion that I would wind up getting sweaty, bloody, or both, and eschewing undergarments left poor Marie with one less article of clothing to get stains off of, and I'm an awesome concubine-haver like that. Smith just spluttered out random half words, most of them profane, vulgar, obscene, or somehow all three at once, until she finally managed to get out something that sounded like, 'what the fuck', to which I loudly replied, "I can't see any of them now, which means they can't see me, right?"

Which is exactly when duBois shouted, "BEGIN!"

A few important points. First, some parts of The Dress are sheerer than others, and if you put sheer fabric over your face you can see pretty well through it, even if it's far enough away from your face that your face doesn't show. Second, points to Cadet Smith for doing exactly what I would have done in that situation, which was to go balls-to-the-wall berserker offensive on the other Cadets before they even stopped laughing at my idiocy, getting weirded by exactly how 'full body' my scars were, or ogling my exposed clam. I mean, like, 'nothing covering it' exposed. Not like I was posing for Penthouse or something. Let me tell you, when a PCHA Cadet pushing 'Senior Cadet' goes ham? You do not want to be in any condition other than 'ready to protect your shit', and like half of them went down with their shit wrecked before they realized that It Was, indeed, On.

Four of the remainder decided that taking down the 'Escort' was the right way to go, or at least the one least likely to get them collectively skewered one at a time. The other four decided to come at me as I stood there shouting shit like, "Hero? Hero! Wherefore art thou, Hero?" or, "did anybody else notice it get chilly all of a sudden?" Of course while their side 'won' if they took me down, the one who did the deed got a couple extra points. More if they went 'off plan' to do so, which I thought was a really neat way for duBois to give Smith a tiny advantage she could maybe exploit. Not that she had, because while she's got academics sewn up, her shit wrecking, while nominally effective, had neither style nor panache. 'A', maybe 'A plus' for this particular round, but in no way 'S'. Not even 'S minus', not even this time.

So all four of them came at me, not as a group of four ensuring a takedown, but as four individuals deliberately not planning, by common unspoken accord letting whoever got me first have the Extra Bonus Points. They came at me from all four points of the compass, the one coming in straight not slowing down until he got to two long paces away, when he started his attack.

Which is exactly when I pushed my Blend all the way up, laughing when he stumbled and almost faceplanted as he tried not to figure out where I'd gone, but why he'd been swinging at air in the first place. But I wasn't done. Hell, I wasn't even started. If Cadet Smith was gonna go to A Plus shitwrecking, it behooved me to demonstrate S plus plus, after all. So I started oscillating my Blend between 'Pretty much just Tabitha' and 'there were Eight Valkyrie, and he killed All Four!' to the tune of They Might Be Giants' Birdhouse In Your Soul. One at a time, I tapped their hinge joints sideways with just enough force to end their professional wrestling career if Heal Injury weren't a thing, hitting them whenever I slipped my Blend to 'Tabitha normal'. Not, mind you, out of any wrongheaded desire to 'play fair', but because if duBois was gonna put me one vee four against poor bastards I'd gone one vee fourteen against? I was gonna dunk on them as hard as I could in the most humiliating way possible.

'Oh, Tabitha, why would you do that to your classmates?' Look, I'll remind you of two things; 'full contact' and 'bored Tabitha'. They really ought to have been grateful I didn't preferentially Mana Blade them in the crotch, what with me finding out after 'Tabitha Does the Practice Yard' that not only could Saffron Heal Mana Blade injuries without scars if I pumped Mana into her? Doing so required an amount of Mana that caused the injuries to glow so bright it formed the Platonic Ideal of the Anime Glow of Censorship. For any of you who are gonna argue about Plato not being into Anime, I'll remind you, Ancient Greek Academic, of course he was into Assholes. Oh, and a huge nerd and probably had a hidden femboy fetish. Whenever you have a huge gay nerd with a femboy fetish, an Anime collection spontaneously generates under their bed. That's just science.

Smith got a little berserkerier when I included her four in the 'Your Hinge Joints Are Mine!' rotation, but since I saved the second knee for last on all of them and stabbing a dude lying on the ground just isn't as satisfying as stabbing a dude that's standing in front of you, none of them got enstabbified. Kicked and stomped repeatedly from the waist down, but not stabbed. I heartily approved, and when the final hinge joint went sideways, I expressed my approval and gratitude by popping back to full visibility, with The Dress back more or less like Loki'd intended it to be worn, pressing my elbows to my sides and my knees together, jumping up and down and squealing, "My Hero! A Winner is You!" at the best volume I could manage in an uwu voice. When her jaw slowly dropped open, before the blind rage left her eyes, I piped out, "and now for your lewd and inappropriate Hero's reward!" leaned into her, squeezing my tits together with my upper arms, and gave her the world's most chaste peck on the cheek, right below her increasingly twitchy eye.

I considered it a smashing success that the only response to calling upon World's Best Dad God, all I got in reply was strangled laughter.

"MARSHALL!" Smith bellowed. "If we win, we get to move on to something else?"

"That's about the size of it," he called back.

She stood there, eye twitching, trembling with rage, then screamed out, "FUCK!" and stabbed me right in the kidney. Okay, I dunno from kidneys, but she plunged that Cold Iron blunt to the hilt into my side right above the hip.

I gasped, but managed to maintain the uwu and volume enough to make sure everybody heard, "penetrating me right here? So forceful, Sempai!" She screamed, pulled her sword out of me, and stabbed me again. Running mostly on adrenaline with maybe just a soupçon of masochism, I leaned into her, biting my lip just to be sure the sudden flood in my mouth was at least half blood instead of all drool, and uwu'd, "But Hero-sempai, you'll get me pregnant! Will you take responsibility?" before planting another kiss in the same spot, leaving a dripping bloody lip-mark before sticking my drooly, bloody tongue in her ear. Reacting in the only rational manner to my random wacky-assed bullshittery turned up to eleven, she went to town like a crack-addicted con with a shiv who's been told that if the prison infirmary can't save Dejuan, he'll get his fix on the daily until he ODs. I'm not sure if my laughing made it better or worse, but when I left a bloody streak across her neck and cried out, "Sempai, if you don't stop I'm going to lose my mind!" that definitely kicked the tempo back up a notch.

Eventually she ran out of steam and let me sort of slump down to the ground. I might have been a lot lightheaded from blood loss, but the look on her face that hadn't gone away until she stood there, hands on her knees, panting with exhaustion? Totally worth it. Point to her though, because when I managed to wheeze out, "missed The Dress every time. Nice."?

She managed to grunt out, a few syllables at a time, "you're an insufferable bitch, but it's a nice dress, and I have class."

I'm not sure if she took an extra long path to bonk my head on as many paver cracks as she could when she dragged me back to Saffron by my ankle, or if her staggering was legit staggering from exhaustion and blood loss. Not that anybody could tell if she'd taken any cuts, what with me painting every inch of her red. When she dropped me in front of Saffron, head spinning from endorphins, blood loss, and my own special brand of fucked up self amusement, Marshall duBois tromped over, blew out a lungful of air and said, "okay, ladies. How do you want to handle this?"

Before Karen or anybody else could say anything, I looked up and, totally non-uwu, said, "handle what? You said Full Contact, and it's not like this is gonna kill me too quick for Siobhan and Saffron to fix it."

"And you're not going to bleed out before they can why?"

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Pfft. For me to bleed out from a gut shot all the shit's got to get out of the way first, and we all know there is no end to my bullshit."

Not only did I get the hat trick of a triple simultaneous duBois, Siobhan, Saffron facepalm? Not only did Cadet Karen Smith also facepalm? I'm pretty sure she broke her nose when she did so without realizing that her hand was pretty much glued to the hilt of that dull as fuck Cold Iron fire iron.

Yes, my pain tolerance and masochism might lead me to some potentially unhealthy places, but you gotta admit, that shit was funny as fuck.

Saffron just sighed and said, "please tell me you didn't just throw the game and risk some kind of sepsis just for, how did you put it, the lulz?"

"Nah. First of all, I didn't throw the game." When duBois and Smith both looked at me, giving me synchronized perfect, 'what the fuck, Diaz?' looks, I said, "hey, you said on the signal I was to fuck up my attackers, not that I was, y'know, to rescue myself," as I giggled internally at duBois' crumbling sanity, because giggling externally hurt a little too much even for me, I continued with, "also, this was all to set up a teachable moment for Cadet Smith here." When she tried to say something, but got interrupted by a bit of bloody spit leaking into her mouth, I said, "you get to learn a new word today, Cadet Smith! This is an adjective, describing a series of events wherein, despite the cost, you deem your goals met successfully. The word is 'Worth'. Here, I'll use it in a sentence for you. Getting repeatedly stabbed in the gut just to see the look on your face when you deliberately threw that round? Worth. Totally fuckin' worth."

She snorted, spat out a wad of half congealed blood and spit and maybe some snot, barked out a single laugh, and said, "throwing that round for the opportunity to stab your smug ass? Worth."

I put on my best proud momma voice and said, "excellent! Although next we need to go over basic anatomy, because my ass is about eight to twelve inches lower and about a quarter of the way around. Oh, and maybe some weapon versus target lessons, since I've had both butt plugs and constipation that were sharper than that fucking hunk of shit."

I wanted to banter some more, but right about then my stomach declared 'maximum blood content exceeded, regurgitation event activated'. Note to self, do not puke with ripped up abs, it is a very not fun kind of painful.

But, as noted, Siobhan and Saffron were right there, so it's not like there was any real danger, right? Okay, no danger of death or permanent injury, and I had to give Smith a few more brownie points when the targets of her enraged crotch stomping got Healed, because my sense of humor is still run by my inner twelve year old, who thinks live-action Anime Crotch Glow is fuckin' hilarious. Also, once they had me Healed enough that I wasn't in danger of bleeding out when she did so, my Kitten might have shown her claws a bit by stepping me through Shaping a Heal Injury, dumping Mana into it until nobody could see what she did next, then delivering it by ramming my thumb up my own ass. Right about as I stopped convulsing from that, she leaned in and whispered, "you absolutely deserved that."

"Yeah, but did I like it or not? Was it reward or punishment?"

Before I could continue with my best DBZA announcer voice, she interrupted me with a quick peck on the lips and said, "Goof, you and I know the answer is and always will be 'both' where you're concerned, unless you can find a third option so it can be 'all'. Now get back up and go play Damsel in Distress some more until Cadet Smith actually manages to rescue you."

Which we did the very next round. Something, something, something, 'assassins' scampering backward every time they got close and my grin got big, doing the same every time Cadet Karen 'Stabby Mc Stababitch' took a solid grip on her Cold Iron butt plug's hilt and came in with the clear intent of getting her stab on.

Eventually I uwu'd out, "Sempai! Sempai! They keep teasing me, but I'm too shy to self-service in public, please come shove it in my guts again!"

She, being a fast learner for all that she's not my kind of bitch, called back, "I'm a little busy, I'm good on the stabbing for now, and we both know you'll do it anyway if I don't."

At that point duBois stepped in, declared us the winner, confirmed that he had not, in fact, given me the signal to be a trap, and declared the next lesson to be 'sheathing the sword', which was way less fun than it sounded. Okay, it sounded even cooler when he 'translated it to loser', which was 'taking a hit to get the job done instead of flinching like a scared little bitch'.

I think I might have pissed him off a little with my antics, especially since I think he was still trying to erase my Onotopp maneuver from his brain, not have me hand him a whole shopping cart full of fetishes of dubious legality, let alone health. The Cadets who refused to even take a swing at me pissed him off more though, what with the whole, 'refusing to engage'.

Smith and I demonstrated by punching each other in the face a few times each. Once, to show we could stand there and take a hit without flinching. Twice, to show we could let someone break our nose a second time and not flinch even knowing it was gonna hurt in an absolutely suck way. The third time was entirely for shits and giggles, but neither of us was gonna give up Teacher's Pet Points by saying that out loud.

When it was Saffron's turn, because she was in the class after all, she switched back to her uniform, pointed at the biggest dude in class and said, "you," then stepped over to the practice area and stood at Parade Rest. When he stood there looking a little bit indecisive, she called out, "I solemnly swear upon my Goddess that I will not retaliate in any way for any harm that comes upon me. I make no such claims if you hold back in any way or continue to waste my time by standing there."

With that he came at her, a leaping lunge that brought his fist rocketing down at her face. I sucked in Mana and Shaped a Heal injury, stepping to them when I heard bones crunch. Then I looked down to see Saffron still standing there, motionless, and the big dude's hand spread around her face like a compact car spread around a narrow Jersey wall corner. I pulled him off of her as he tried real hard not to whimper and Healed his hand, after which he gave me a fist bump. DuBois called out, "What the fuck was that, Aetos?"

Saffron calmly but loudly replied, "your instructions were that I must not flinch. You said nothing about allowing myself to be hit. I think everyone saw, I did not flinch. Need we continue this?"

The Marshall growled something under his breath, then announced to the class, "I swear to Lugh that on the day any of you smug fuckers manage to clever your way into a situation you can't clever your way out of again? Before I lead or even send any rescue missions, I am going to point and laugh."

That's when I realized, duBois reminds me of Gordon Ramsey. Injured Tabitha? Gently brought back up to speed. Cocky Hero Tabitha? Got cussed at vehemently. I mean, I've had worse. Teachers who only show up to class on days they're being observed are the nicest on that list.

Anyhow, after some more traditional sparring, he left us to our own devices, grumbling the whole way. We stumbled down to Dinner, then back home to find Marie and Menace waiting with bath time ready. Such a saintly child we've raised.

You wanna know how tired we were? Too tired to fuck once Menace fell asleep. Yeah. Okay, mostly my poor Kitten, but that meant nobody was apparently worshipping me from 'Olympic distance runner' to 'literal incarnate god', so whatever. Sleep's good too.

Mimic dreamt of Mom in the sky and decayed Mulch in the south.

Woke up when Saffron went tense on top of me, then disappeared, a scream of pure, frustrated rage coming from the cracked open door to the other room. Menace and Marie both went from zero to tense in no seconds flat, even if Menace was growling at the wall while she got her bearings. A second later, before any of us could really react, Saffron slammed through the door, pointing at Menace and saying, "Marie, take her in there until I say otherwise."

Marie didn't ask, just scooped up Menace, and the moment she got clear of the door Saffron slammed it and screamed again, punching the damn wall over and over again until the stone shone slick with her blood. By then her ongoing scream had wound down to a hoarse pant. I stepped behind her, turned her gently around and sat on the bed as I Shaped Heal Injury on her hands. I went to deliver another one to her throat with my tongue, and ran into her palm, arm ramrod straight. "No. Before we begin, I am not upset at anyone present in our rooms. Nor anyone alive." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a few moments, nodded, jerked her head in a single shake, then let that breath out and looked me in the eye.

"Tabitha. Wife. Goddess. Lover. I have a plan, and if you do not force me to the most intense non-sexual exercise I can endure, preferably in the Practice Yard, until I collapse from utter exhaustion within sixty seconds of me describing the plan to you in full, we will be executing that plan. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "You tell me your plan, and if I'm not down for it, I've got sixty seconds to get you working yourself to death in the Practice Yard, no nookie allowed."

She took a deep breath, muttered, "someone who understands the FUCKING assignment." Then she looked me in the eye. "I am going to leave Isnomi with Grandma, or barring that Sigyn or Bonnie, unless I can convince them to join, in which case I will be leaving her with Raven for the duration. I will then be taking Marie, Siobhan, Bonnie, Sigyn, the Maid staff, and any female Cadets who follow our skyclad selves to the Practice Yard while you Scry up whatever corner of Metaphoric Space the Soul of Benjamin Fucking Franklin resides. I will then project a live image of the Practice Yard and the top of High Fucking Artificer Franklin My Ass Bridge's central spire to Franklin's corner of M Space and the sky above Phileo and the Yards. You and I and every woman we can get will begin as much uninhibited carnal activity as we can fit in the Practice Yard, while you and I Co-Locate to the top of the central spire and you assist me in using the central spire as a sex toy."

She gulped a breath while I sat there, more than a little stunned at the pure venom spitting out of my Kitten's mouth.

"At that time, concurrent to those images, I will begin projecting an ongoing voice and text announcement that any woman without the surname Franklin may join us in the Practice Yard, and any man without the surname Franklin may join us atop the central spire. Men and women named 'Franklin' may only join in our extended frenzied Revel if they immediately and irrevocably change their names to 'Shitstain' while publicly confirming that name to be preferable to 'Franklin'. Meanwhile you will Co-Locate to all locations visibly named 'High Artificer Franklin' and replace them with 'Arrogant Ignorant Idiot Overhyped Fuckboy', with the exception of the bridge, which you will rename to 'World's Largest Phallic Compensation'."

Another deep breath. This time I let her continue because I could tell that the white hot rage flowing out of her mouth stemmed from something nearly as deep as her love for our family, and I could kind of respect this level of dedication to utterly wrecking someone's shit.

"While we all copulate furiously, and I do mean that in every sense of the word, until every living thing in Phileo and the Yards curses his name, mocks him incessantly, or both, Conrad will pay him a visit, swap his gonads and eyeballs in such a way that he can neither look away from nor stop listening to my projection, followed by removing his manhood, turning it into a pair of... 'vibrators', shoving them up his nostrils permanently, then attaching his lips permanently to his asshole after making him lactose intolerant and pouring a gallon of milk down his throat."

Conrad opened the door to our bedroom and said, "I'm going to what now?"

She turned to him and spat out, "you heard me."

I have no idea what he saw in her eyes at that moment, but he meekly said, "yes, Mom." and closed the door behind him.

When she turned back I asked, "you done?"

She thought about that for a bit, then said, "I will be looping that projection in Franklin's corner of M-Space until the end of time, with special attention to his descendants repudiating him in favor of being referred to as fecal detritus. Done. You have sixty seconds."

She glared at me with the kind of implacable fury that would make Temujin think, 'I think you're going a few steps too far with salting the earth and destroying their legacy', because if he looked in those eyes he sure as fuck wouldn't say it. I sure as shit wasn't gonna.

"Damn, Kitten. The fuck did Fatass do?" Just to be clear, I've got nothing against Franklin. Kite flyer, womanizer, self-electrocuter, general smartass, and huge nerd, so you know my initial thoughts would be respect with a side order of lubrication.

She growled out, "falsified. Data. AND fudged the fucking mathematics!"

Okay, yeah. That would do it. My loins twitched a little at exactly how deeply nerdy my Kitten was to be this enraged over that, but before I decided to sign off on plan 'literally powerfuck Franklin and every aspect of his legacy', I asked, "on what?"

"Global. Fucking. Inspect." She took a deep breath and said, "Ten seconds."

I spent the next five seconds imagining a city-wide orgy centered on my Kitten and I literally fucking Fatass' Legacy into nonexistence, then sighed and did the Adult thing.

I Co-Located three ways. The first of me Translocated Saffron to the Practice Yard, slapped her still-naked ass in the pouring rain, and screamed, "MOVE, PRIESTESS, MOVE!" When she took off at a sprint, I leapt on her back for a piggy back ride, berating her at professional DI volumes as she ran endless laps, still screaming her rage at the uncaring skies.

The second of me looked at our daughter and said, "hey, Menace. Mom's a little upset about something an already dead guy did wrong, and we're gonna spend the day exercising to get her mind off it, because that's a mature way to cope with that kind of frustration. Once you've both had breakfast, Marie's done work for the day, and you're properly dressed for the rain, you're welcome to come help us out," here I looked straight at Marie and said, "I think I'm gonna need some help with this." They showed up a little before lunch, some finger noshes in hand, and I clamped my thighs around my Kitten's waist, shouted, "Carry Menace so she can feed you lunch, 'cause you don't get a break today!" and waved pointedly at Marie, who leapt into a princess carry in my arms. Saffron staggered and fell to one knee, sliding forward bent over, but never actually completely losing her footing.

As she shoved herself back to her feet and stumbled forward, she growled out, "I didn't say you had to be this much of a bitch about it."

"Didn't you though? Wouldn't you be Co-Located and doing all that other shit anyway if I weren't riding you this hard?"

"We're still changing everything named after him."

I nodded. "That's fair."

"This is also going on the list. For both of you."

I laughed. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Kitten."

The third me Co-Located directly into Conrad's workshop. He turned to face me, no expression at all on his features. With no preamble, I said, "High Artificer Franklin has offended your mother more deeply than I can properly express. I trust you to act with your best ingenuity, taste, and creativity." His face took on an expression of pure, joyous rapture as he nodded his understanding and agreement.

I said I chose the Adult response. Not the Nice one.