#“I'm used to this” “I can endure it” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

erenfox · 3 days ago

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RANKING SBG SHIPS BECAUSE LOKI GAVE US ALL FREE WILL 🗣🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥

Aidlyn/Ashden: good lord the chemistry. the 'he fell first but she fell harder' trope. the lil gestures by aiden. him annoying tf out of her but also becoming very caring when she's hurt. I'M SO CALM RN GUYS. and the fact that them ending up together is inevitable lmfao XD 9/10

Benlor: FUCKKK IM SERIOUSLY NOT OK THESE TWO ARE JUST SO PURE AND SWEET TO EACH OTHER. ESPECIALLY TAYLOR TOWARDS HIM, cuz he kinda suppresses his feelings and is a sad boi :( dw ben taylor's gonna make you feel happy again fosho lmao 😭 the lil blushing ben always does around taylor! her supporting his ideas even tho they flop! her helping him calm down from barron through music! her always cheering him up whenever he's gloomy! her being the first to thank him for opening up! THEY'RE LITERALLY THE DEFINITION OF SHE FELL FIRST BUT HE FELL HARDER! GOD IM SO NORMAL ABOUT THEM 😭😭😭 10/10

Tylenol/Tylo: i never thought of the prospect of them together, but post tumblr i must say its interesting. not just them being the single ones in the team, but i like the way tyler defended logan against barron, and his general protective aura around logan. but then again tyler was kinda rude to logan in the start. but then again it gives nerd x jock vibes which to me r pretty cool 5/10

Tyden: LMAO the continuous saga of them pissing tf out of each other. it would be fuckin hilarious if they somehow end up together. but apart from the general hilarious bickering, there's not too much to it 5/10

Tayden: goddamn their friendship is so precious!! her painting his nails? her carrying him on his shoulders in dat one artwork?PURE BESTIE VIBES they just match each other's freak lmfao. 8/10

Logden: meh there are not any significant moments between these two. would definitely be cute, but i can't see it happening lol 2/10

Loglor/Taygan: no but why can i actually see this happening lol. the way theyre both so gentle around each other! then the way she was the first to help him when he got slashed by the phantom? and also the way she stood up for him when tyler was being rude? Cute! 6/10

Benlyn: ooh the two quiet people of the gang! they could work out really well bcoz they definitely understand each other's struggles with muteness and phantom hearing respectively. plus that panel of ben braiding ashlyn's hair was so cute lmao :> 7/10

Loglyn: AAA they have sm potential!!! before the events of yk the whole ✨sAvAnNaH✨ mess, i feel like they wouldve been each other's only existing acquaintance they may call friends (ik it's not canon but it's very plausible lol) 6/10

Benlo/Logben: theyd definitely be good together, it's just that my sbg memory is failing to recall any significant moments b/w them ;-; if y'all remember pls do tell 4/10

Tyben: what is with the hernandez siblings always ending up being bens biggest supporters lmao XD it's a cute dynamic honestly 5/10

Taylyn: now this is one freakin adorable ship TvT. the way taylor always had a slight pang of concern for a friendless lonely ashlyn when they were kids? and the way they quite frankly became besties after enduring all the phantom world shit? very sweet lmao 7/10

Tylyn/Ashler: i have been usurped into the tylyn propaganda by @tragedry honestly I DO NOT COMPLAIN. like holy fuck they're so enemies to lovers! them "loathing" each other, fighting for leadership, but then immediately becoming possibly the biggest protectors of each other in times of danger??? extremely wholesome lmao i love them smmm 9/10

SO THE TOP SHIPS ARE:

3. TAYDEN (the crack ship) 😈🔥🥉

2. tie b/w TYLYN and AIDLYN (the wholesome ships) 😌��🥈

1. BENLOR (THE PUREST SWEETEST MOST ADORABLE GOOFS EVERR I-) 🥺❤🥇

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grison-in-space · 1 day ago

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Cheers, thank you for the added context! I'm still more than a little judgemental about this thing's function as a wheelchair given the comment I made above about core musculature control and endurance, which is going to apply to any variation of this technology as applied to wheelchairs. I can imagine other functions that could certainly be useful in other contexts for able-bodied people, however; there's a reason I made the dressage comparison. A trained horse which is that sensitive to steering via seat is a useful technology for all kinds of use cases, like being able to react quickly to a complex and changeable environment on the fly. I could see a great use case in, for example, motorcycles.

And I think that's a function in part of the tech's status as a proof of concept. Serving disabled communities is not necessarily the point of futuristic tech like this; often, the proof of concept is actually intended to sell the tech to (presumed able-bodied) investors or impress (presumed able-bodied) technical competitors. That is, it's a proof of concept designed to show off what could be done. In theory. If you don't worry too much about price. Or actually convincing people to buy one. Or, or, or...

Disabled people often show up in these things less as a driver of the actual concepts and technology being showcased and more as a convenient fig leaf of imagined potential function for the device. The technology really might in fact be useful and valuable in some other context that the creator hasn't imagined yet! But before that connection gets made, the creator can fall back on a half-assed claim about functionality for disabled people. This is why basically every technology in progress that applies to mobility shows up in a wheelchair prototype whether or not it is a good fit for most wheelchair users: a wheelchair makes a great demo item to let people steer around and familiarize themselves with the tech, and you get to pat yourself on the back and tell yourself you're improving life for the "less fortunate" while you're at it, even while actual technological improvements that are important to mobility aid users are not particularly taken into account.

That's the phenomenon I think people are being critical of, not so much tech innovators acting like tech innovators. This absolutely is bog standard for displays of developing tech, and that's actually kind of a problem when you sit down and think about it from the perspective of a person who actually does routinely use devices like this thing: it's claiming the warm and fuzzy emotions associated with helping disabled people out without actually focusing on innovations that improve their lives directly.

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ashleymilesphil · 1 day ago

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Update on the Situation of LGBTQ Refugees in the Rainy Season🙏🏳️‍🌈

Hello everyone,

I want to take a moment to give you a quick update on what’s happening with our LGBTQ refugee community. Right now, we’re in the middle of the rainy season, and it’s been raining for almost seven hours each day. These heavy rains are causing devastating floods that not only seep into our temporary homes but often dismantle them entirely.

As you can see from the pictures , the rain gets everywhere soaking every belonging we have and sometimes sweeping them away altogether. The situation is incredibly dire, and with nowhere to turn, it feels like an endless battle just to stay dry and safe.

These conditions have made it even easier for diseases like malaria, cholera, and typhoid to spread. We desperately need stronger, more reliable tents to provide shelter. Each tent can accommodate at least 15 people and costs around $350 to $400.

We are pleading with well-wishers and the global LGBTQ community to stand with us during this incredibly difficult time. Your support could make a world of difference in protecting our lives and giving us the dignity of a safe space to weather this storm.

If you’re able to help, please consider donating through our GofundMe and ko-if or sharing our story to help us reach others who might be in a position to assist.

KO-fi : https://ko-fi.com/phil24

Thank you for your compassion and solidarity. Together, we can endure even the heaviest storms.

With gratitude.

AshleymilesPhil

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funnypoet111 · 2 days ago

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Hello dear friends, 🌟

I'm Mahmoud Jihad from Gaza. My family and I have lost everything—our home, my university, all of it. Now, we find ourselves living in a flimsy tent after losing everything. I was studying Information Technology and supporting my family, but now we are left with nothing. 😔

We are enduring unimaginable destruction and desperately need your help to survive. 😭 Even a small donation can make a huge difference. Every single contribution is a spark of hope in this dark time. ✨

Our campaign has been verified by: @beesandwatermelons ✅ #190 and @gazavetters ✅ #63.

You can make a difference by supporting us through this GoFundMe link: https://gofund.me/463cbf01

From the depths of our hearts, thank you. Let's rebuild our lives together. 🙏❤️

Thank you so much for your generosity and support!

Your donations will directly help us in rebuilding our lives. Thank you again for your kindness and generosity! 🌹

Please donate guys even a small amount means a lot!!!!

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elizabeth-holland24 · 2 days ago

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The Beast Within - Chapter 5

Days in the sun when my life has barely begun. Not until my whole life is done will I ever leave you. Will I tremble again, to my dear one's gorgeous refrain. Will you now forever remain. Out of reach of my arms. Oh, those days in the sun. What I’d give to just relive one. Undo what's done. And bring back the light. Oh, I could sing, of the pain these dark days bring. The spell we are under. Still is the wonder of us I sing of tonight. How, in the midst of all this sorrow, can so much hope and love, endure. I was innocent and certain, now I'm wise but unsure. Days in the past, I can't go back into my childhood. Oh, those precious days couldn't last. One that my father made secure. I can feel a change in me. Oh, hold me closer. I'm stronger now, but still not free. Days in the sun, will return. We must believe as others do. That days in the sun. Will come shinning through.

Flashback

The woods always felt alive, even in their stillness. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves, casting golden patterns on the forest floor. A young Mausi skipped over roots and around trees, her worn shoes crunching against the earthy path. This was her sanctuary, a place where rules didn’t matter, where she could dream endlessly and imagine a world beyond her small village.

As she wandered deeper, a muffled sound stopped her in her tracks. A soft, hiccupping sniffle.

Curiosity, tinged with concern, bubbled inside her. Who could be crying here, in her woods? The sound pulled her forward, her little feet quiet now, as if afraid to disturb the sadness lingering in the air.

And there he was—a boy, crouched by the base of an ancient oak tree, his head buried in his knees, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. His clothes, though finer than hers, were dirtied from the forest floor. He looked about her age, maybe a little older, but it was hard to tell. His form was curled in on itself, as if he wanted to disappear, to fold himself into the shadows of the woods and never come out.

Mausi’s heart clenched. She didn’t know why, but seeing him like that hurt her in a way she couldn’t name. She wasn’t the kind of girl to ignore someone in pain—especially not when that someone seemed so lost.

She took a cautious step forward, her small voice breaking the silence. “Why are you crying?”

The boy stiffened but didn’t look up. “Go away,” he muttered, his voice raw and shaky.

Mausi frowned but didn’t leave. Instead, she plopped herself down beside him, tucking her knees under her chin. She wasn’t the type to be scared off easily, not by a little grumpiness.

“I’m Mausi,” she said cheerfully, though her voice was softer than usual, as if she knew not to push too hard.

Silence.

“My dad calls me that. It means ‘little mouse.’” She paused, glancing at him. “What’s your name?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbled.

“Well, I’ll just call you ‘grumpy boy’ then,” Mausi said, crossing her arms with mock indignation.

At that, he finally looked up, his tear-streaked face partially hidden by unruly blonde hair. His green eyes, red-rimmed from crying, locked onto hers. For a fleeting moment, something unspoken passed between them—a connection neither could fully understand.

“I don’t need friends,” he said, his tone defensive but weak.

“That’s fine. I don’t need another friend either,” Mausi replied, shrugging. “But I’m not going anywhere. You look like you need someone.”

The boy stared at her, as if trying to decide whether she was a nuisance or a lifeline. Eventually, his shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and he let out a sigh.

They sat there in silence, two small figures against the vastness of the woods. The weight in the air began to lift, little by little, as the boy’s sniffles faded into the rustling of leaves.

From that day on, the two became an unlikely pair, their connection forged in the quiet corners of the forest where the rest of the world couldn’t reach them. The boy never told Mausi his name, and though curiosity burned within her, she never pushed him to share it. Somehow, she understood that names held power, and his reluctance was less about hiding and more about protecting something fragile within himself.

Instead, they created a world of their own, one where names didn’t matter, and labels were irrelevant. They met in the same secluded spot beneath the ancient oak tree, the one whose roots snaked into the earth like veins carrying the lifeblood of the forest. It was their sanctuary—a place where laughter, exploration, and quiet companionship thrived, untainted by the weight of expectations.

The boy was guarded, his words often clipped and his demeanour prickly. He had a way of snapping when he felt too exposed, a defence mechanism Mausi came to recognize as fear rather than anger. But she had a gift for disarming him. Her chatter filled the silences he carried like armour, and though he’d roll his eyes or let out exaggerated sighs, Mausi noticed the corners of his mouth twitching upward when he thought she wasn’t looking.

She talked about anything and everything:how her father was always building something; how she didn't have a mother, how she loves adventures and reading, hoping one day she'll get an adventure of her own, how in her village they made fun of her for being different. Her words painted vibrant pictures, filling their little world with light and warmth.

At first, the boy didn’t respond much beyond a grunt or a sarcastic comment, but slowly, the cracks in his shield began to show. In stolen moments of vulnerability, he shared pieces of himself—little glimpses into the life he kept hidden.

As the weeks turned into months, the boy’s edges softened further. He taught Mausi how to skip stones across the surface of the creek, laughing when her first attempts sent the rocks plunging straight to the bottom. In return, she showed him how to whistle using a blade of grass, their giggles echoing through the forest as they competed to see who could make the loudest sound.

Yet, no matter how much they shared, there was always a heaviness in the boy’s eyes, a weight Mausi couldn’t quite name.

One day, as they sat side by side on the bank of the creek, Mausi noticed a scar running along the inside of his wrist. It was faint, almost hidden by the dirt smudging his skin, but unmistakable. She reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing against it before she realized what she was doing.

The boy jerked his arm away, his expression darkening. “Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” Mausi stammered, pulling her hand back. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s nothing,” he interrupted, his tone firm. But the way he turned away from her, his shoulders tense and his hands clenched into fists, told a different story.

Mausi didn’t say anything else, afraid that if she pushed too hard, he might disappear again. But the scar stayed with her, a silent reminder that the boy she called her friend carried more pain than she could see.

Even in their happiest moments, the shadow lingered. It was in the way he sometimes stared off into the distance, his brow furrowed, as if he were reliving something he couldn’t escape. It was in the way he flinched at sudden noises, his head snapping around as though expecting danger.

Mausi wished she could take that shadow from him, to make him laugh so hard it disappeared forever. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple. Some hurts ran too deep to be erased by kind words or shared laughter.

Still, she stayed. Because even if she couldn’t heal him, she could be there—to listen, to laugh, to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

And in return, the boy gave her something she didn’t even know she needed. For all his guardedness and sharp edges, he made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had. When he looked at her, it was as though she mattered—not as the village’s ‘little mouse’ but as Mausi, a girl who could climb trees and weave daisy chains and bring light into the darkest corners of the forest.

Together, they carved out a space where the weight of the world didn’t exist. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t without its complications, but it was theirs. And for a while, that was enough.

The rain came suddenly, drenching the forest in a matter of moments. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky hung low and gray, casting the woods in a shadowy gloom.

Mausi clutched a bundle of wildflowers in her hands as she raced toward their spot, her heart pounding with a strange urgency she couldn’t explain. The rain soaked through her clothes, chilling her to the bone, but she didn’t care. Something felt wrong—terribly wrong.

When she reached the clearing, she saw him.

He was curled up at the base of their tree, just as he’d been the first day they met. But this time, his sobs were not muffled. They tore through the air, raw and gut-wrenching, the kind of sound that made the world feel heavier.

Mausi dropped the flowers and ran to him, falling to her knees beside him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Are you hurt?”

He didn’t answer. He just shook his head, his hands clutching at the damp fabric of his shirt as if trying to hold himself together.

Mausi hesitated, unsure of what to do. Finally, she did the only thing that felt right—she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, even though she didn’t know if it was. “You’re not alone.”

For a moment, he stiffened in her embrace, as though the kindness was too much to bear. But then he broke, his sobs growing louder as he buried his face in her shoulder.

“I can’t—” he choked out between gasps. “It’s gone. They’re gone. Everything’s gone.”

Mausi didn’t understand what he meant, but she didn’t need to. She just held him tighter, her own tears mixing with the rain as she tried to absorb some of his pain.

For weeks, he didn’t come back.

Mausi visited their spot every day, her heart sinking a little more each time she found it empty. She left little gifts for him—wildflowers, pebbles, even a tiny carved mouse she’d made from a piece of wood. But they remained untouched.

She began to wonder if he was ever coming back.

When he finally did, he wasn’t alone.

Mausi’s face lit up when she saw him, but the joy was short-lived. The boy she knew was gone, replaced by someone colder, harder. He stood with a group of older boys, their laughter sharp and cruel.

“You’re here!” she said, her voice filled with relief. “I was so worried. Are you okay?”

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “What, are you some kind of puppy?” he sneered. “I don’t need you following me around.”

The words stung, but Mausi refused to let him see. “That’s all you have to say?” she asked, her voice trembling. “After disappearing for so long?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” he snapped. “I’m not your friend. We’re not even on the same level.”

The boys around him laughed, their jeers echoing in the clearing.

Mausi blinked back tears, her heartbreaking in a way she didn’t think was possible. “Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry I cared.”

She turned and walked away, leaving the flowers she’d brought for him lying on the ground.

The boy watched her go, his fists clenched at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to call her back, to apologize, to tell her the truth. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“She’s better off without me,” he told himself. “Everything I care about gets taken away. It’s better this way.”

But as her figure disappeared into the shadows of the woods, he felt the weight of his words crushing him. For the first time in his young life, he wondered if pushing someone away hurt more than losing them.

A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took me so long to publish this chapter. Thank you so much for the love and support this story has gained. We got a flashback, wonder who that boy is. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter, thank you so much for the love and support on this story again. Don't forget to comment, like and reblog, so I know if you are enjoying it. I think that's all. Thanks for reading <3

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vaspider · 2 days ago

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Skipping past the actual point of what I was saying and just defining misogyny back to me in the exact way I just said is profoundly unhelpful is also not particularly helpful. Not only do the people saying "men don't experience misogyny" not think that misandry can ever be real - and in fact the post I was referencing makes the point that men don't experience misogyny on the way to saying that men aren't ever oppressed for anything about their gender - so this redefinition plays directly into that, the entire central point of what I just said is that these experiences are not meaningfully unique, that is:

There is no flawlessly singular experience of oppression experienced only by women, experienced the same way by all women, and never endured by men.

Defining an experience of gender-based abuse or oppression based on the gender of the victim and not the animus expressed by the abuser ends up requiring extreme and extremely unhelpful gymnastics to maintain those definitions. And that's assuming that people only come in "strictly cis man" and "just cis woman." The entire idea that you must define things separately and strictly profoundly falls apart in the face of trans people, especially gender-non-conforming, non-binary, genderfluid, and multigender people. Am I experiencing a new, third thing when I'm treated badly for my presumed status as or failure at womanhood as a non-binary person? Is a genderfluid person experiencing misogyny or misandry only on differing days? Does a bigender person experience both all the time?

Pretty clearly, that isn't the case.

And that's part of my point. Defining things based on the gender of the person results in splitting people apart into tinier and tinier groups who can't possibly meaningfully fight against the people hurting us, and that's the way the forces in charge want us.

tl;dr - I know that definition & it's one of the ones I'm saying is unhelpful.

I've been thinking about the one post that had some weirdo TIRF on it talking about how "men 👏 don't 👏 experience 👏 misogyny" and everybody just kind of skipped to talking about how ofc trans men experience misogyny but like

We can't just skip how fucking asinine that sentence is on its face. That is not ground that should be conceded, bc trying to state as if it's a plain fact that "men don't experience misogyny" should get you laughed out of any room you're in.

Every time a boy is told he "throws like a girl" or is called a "little baby girl" for crying, he's experiencing misogyny because he's being devalued for traits that others see as feminine, traits which those doing the mocking see as belonging to women. Every time a fat dude's "moobs" get mocked, he's experiencing misogyny. Every time a girl makes fun of a dude for enjoying something she perceives as feminine, he's experiencing a double whammy of misogyny and homophobia.

There is no other reasonable way to discuss what these men are experiencing. That's misogyny.

The longer I talk with people in all kinds of marginalized groups online, the more convinced I am both that it's very understandable that people want their experiences and their hurts and their oppressions to be totally unique and unable to be experienced by anybody who isn't part of their group and also that anybody who hammers away on the idea that "only [X] can experience [Y]" and devotes excessive time to guarding the borders of their little fiefdom is not just not helping the cause of liberation, but is actively degrading our chances of making meaningful change.

I would go so far as to say there probably isn't a man alive who has zero experience of misogyny. Misogyny is leveraged against men constantly as a form of social control. Just because it's "do X or we will devalue you by calling you a woman" doesn't make it not an experience of misogyny.

Is it exactly the same thing that women experience? No, but also what different groups of women and different individuals experience is also different. There is no flawlessly singular experience of oppression experienced only by women, experienced the same way by all women, and never endured by men.

With that very simple fact in mind, spending time endlessly trying to police the way that another marginalized individual speaks about the method and effect of their own oppression rather than finding solidarity and commonality is fucking fed shit. It does not serve us and actively sabotages all of us, serving only those who actively benefit from our subservience and our infighting.

So fucking stop it.

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z-moves · 2 days ago

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Hello dear friends, 🌟

Our campaign has been verified by: @beesandwatermelons ✅ #190 and @gazavetters ✅ #63.

You can make a difference by supporting us through this GoFundMe link: https://gofund.me/463cbf01

From the depths of our hearts, thank you. Let's rebuild our lives together. 🙏❤️

Thank you so much for your generosity and support!

Your donations will directly help us in rebuilding our lives. Thank you again for your kindness and generosity! 🌹

hi again, Mahmoud. i'll share this again. i hope that you will be able to survive. i'll share this again so that more people will see it.

$10,088 USD / $25K

this fundraiser is #63 on @/gazavetters's list of vetted fundraisers. [ link to Google Sheets ]

it is also on row #190 on @/beesandwatermelons's (Instagram) list of vetted fundraisers. [ link to Google Sheets ]

tags for reach (please let me know if you don't want to get tagged):

@heritageposts @nabulsi @appsa @feluka @timetravellingkitty @rhubarbspring @irhabiya @wellwaterhysteria @junglejim4322 @kibumkim @neechees @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @tortiefrancis @toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @aristotels @komsomolka @neptunerings @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @dykesbat @watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq

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iamfarfromvibingrightnow · 2 days ago

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Hello dear friends, 🌟

Our campaign has been verified by: @beesandwatermelons ✅ #190 and @gazavetters ✅ #63.

You can make a difference by supporting us through this GoFundMe link: https://gofund.me/463cbf01

From the depths of our hearts, thank you. Let's rebuild our lives together. 🙏❤️

Thank you so much for your generosity and support!

Your donations will directly help us in rebuilding our lives. Thank you again for your kindness and generosity! 🌹

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2346khith · 10 hours ago

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Hello dear friends, 🌟

Our campaign has been verified by: @beesandwatermelons ✅ #190 and @gazavetters ✅ #63.

You can make a difference by supporting us through this GoFundMe link: https://gofund.me/463cbf01

From the depths of our hearts, thank you. Let's rebuild our lives together. 🙏❤️

Thank you so much for your generosity and support!

Your donations will directly help us in rebuilding our lives. Thank you again for your kindness and generosity! 🌹

For those who see this please, visit their blog and reblog their blog’s posts so they get more attention and if you have the money to spare please donate.

Also I apologize, but I do not have the ability to donate to you. Trust me if I had the ability I would but I don't and I can't. I have no bank account or credit card to transfer money to and no job to gain any money. Every time I ask my parents to help they shut me down so this is the only way to help you. Please forgive me.

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labelleizzy · 1 day ago

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PROUD

Repairing my battered Pride flag to get ready to hang it again.

Feeling Some Feelings.

I'm proud of myself for knowing how to fix things so they can last longer, be put to use again.

Repaired, not perfect. Good enough, not perfect. Defiant. Proud. Enduring.

I won't back down.

youtube

#izzy writes #Izzy's photos #izzy makes things #visible repair #diy repair #pride 2024 #the only way out is through #Youtube

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ahmuseme · 24 hours ago

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He made a noncommittal sound, his expression betraying nothing, though Octavia wasn't wrong in the slightest. As both a Duke and a senior officer in His Majesty's Navy, he was accustomed to being the one who offered help—not the one who sought it. There were few he could turn to for assistance; when he did, it was usually for matters of the utmost importance. To ask for help for something as mundane as getting dressed seemed beneath him, a blow to his pride he couldn't easily accept. Yet his injury had left him with little choice. Anders could only bring himself to accept Edmure's assistance because of the trust they had built over years of military service. The former subordinate had proven himself, and their friendship allowed him to endure the humiliation. From what he had observed, Octavia seemed kind and sincere, and her offer was not born from pity but the thought of her helping him—no matter how genuinely intended—still unsettled him. Anders wasn't ready to trust her at his weakest, not yet.

"Not just in the evenings," he replied. "I take an injection every few hours—four to six times a day, depending on the pain. The physician used to be my primary caregiver, but with such a large staff, I couldn’t justify taking up so much of his time. Now, he focuses on managing my pain and monitoring my overall health, while Edmure has taken over as my primary caregiver, which is mostly overseeing the exercises that keep the atrophy at bay and picking up things off the floor for me."

The Duke listened quietly and once she finished, he regarded her with a soft, understanding gaze. "It’s not stupid to cry about it. Sometimes anger needs a release, and tears are just another way of letting go of what’s been bottled up. What he did to you, how he treated you—it’s not something you can just forget, but it'll become easier to look back on as time passes. You're stronger than he ever gave you credit for, and he’ll come to realize that. In the end, he’s the one who will look foolish. I’ll be sure to emphasize how well you handled our discourteous guest and established the boundaries as my future wife and duchess to my mother—I'm certain she's flustered by what she saw and hasn't yet taken the time to consider what actually transpired between you two."

Reminded that they would have to return to the ball soon, Anders let out a weary sigh and leaned his head back against the chair. The lingering nausea from the injection made his stomach churn, leaving him with little appetite for the dinner bell that would ring shortly. "I think we've had a rather productive first meeting, wouldn't you agree? Is there anything you'd like to ask now, so we can get it out of the way?" he asked, trying to divert his attention from the nausea while also filling the silence as he waited for Edmure to return. He needed to escort Octavia back to the ball without causing a scandal—though, truth be told, they were already in one simply by being alone in the room.

"I can't imagine that to be true," Octavia replied, actually managing a smile as she tried more successfully to match his tone. She also wasn't stupid. Even when his coat was fastened, she could see that Anders had somehow managed to remain in good shape and with it unfastened, she could see it more. She couldn't help but let her gaze linger. If he was the grotesque monster he kept claiming to be, she could think of worse monsters to be married to.

Octavia shook her head quickly, realising her mistake, "No, no. I am not uncomfortable," she said, "I wondered if you needed help but you seem like the type to not like help that could be misconstrued as pity," she explained, "Which it wouldn't be. Not from me," she added after a moment to ensure he knew, "And also if you are nauseous perhaps it is still not best to," she continued with a small smile, "Do you get this injection every evening?" she asked curiously. If she was to be the lady of this household, it would be better for her to know more about what happened within it.

When he asked why she was crying again, Octavia sighed, her perfect posture melting into a slightly exhausted slouch. She finally met his gaze, "I do not care for him anymore but I did care once and it occurred to me once more that he never did about me. He does not care that he almost ruined my life. All he cares for his position and power," she paused, "And I fear, despite his own engagement, he will not leave me alone," she shrugged slightly, despite it being unladylike, "Or perhaps, I am just reminded of how foolish I was to ever believe him in the first place. It's stupid to cry about it, I know, but that is just how my anger is coming out now."

#gctawaygirl #c: anders #anders : octavia

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