#*FANON HAS PRESCRIBED
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☕ + pickles, and also indrid cold!!
(for the ask game)
this has been sitting in my inbox for an embarrassing length of time 🙈
(premise: give my opinion)
my opinion on pickles is that i really like them on my veggie burger :]
my opinion on indr*d cold is that i think i would appreciate him more as a whole now that i’m not super involved in taz anymore bc imo when amn*sty was Happening he fell a bit too hard for me into “fanon takes hold of this character and then gets up in arms when it isn’t canon” which like. full honesty was partially me being kinda annoyed and partially me being a hater because my other complex abt him was i saw like one or two people be super insistently like “d*nbrey is boring and irrelevant it should be replaced with indr*ck” and so indrid was kinda ruined for me bc d*nbrey was like So Big for me. and also i think ship wars are stupid + my previous grievance abt fanon vs canon. however as a character???? i think indrid is so cool, his theme is great, i loved his entire role, and honestly yeah i think it would’ve been fun to see more of him but i’m happy w/ what we got (esp w/ the entire style of amnesty and how griffin really showed that the character decisions justin/travis/clint made we’re going to Actually decide which characters do and do not show up) !!!
#i’m an amnesty enthusiast <3#but yeah my overall grievance was the pitting of mlm vs wlw as if there can only be one#+ the fanonification#which like. pot calling the kettle black lord knows we all do it#but a personal pet peeve is when characters not being what canon has prescribed is cited as ooc or bad writing#*FANON HAS PRESCRIBED#i don’t feel like retyping that tag 😭#answered
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Hello people who are getting into Danny Phantom through dpxdc!
I am not a dpxdc blog, but I am a gen dp blog. Here's a few things you should know about us:
👻 Most of us do not like Butch Hartman, the executive producer. We typically ignore him now. What you may not know is that while he was the "business guy" and the one who pitched the show, beloved artist and character designer Stephen Silver is actually the one who designed the characters for Danny Phantom (and, presumably, his team). Not only that, but he has also designed characters for many other shows of that era, including Kim Possible.
👻 Yes, we call ourselves the "phandom." We also, jokingly, sometimes put a ph in front of other things, like calling a fic a phic. It's a bit—don't take it too seriously.
👻 Yes, we have a subgenre of our fanfiction dubbed as the "dissection fic." While I may be a bit biased (as I've written a few), I think it's pretty good. You may enjoy it too if you like angst, who knows.
👻 No, you did not miss an episode, we collectively "made" an OC named Wes Weston who had the same character model as Danny but with a different color pallet. We just thought it was funny. You can read about his story here. The tl;dr is that he's the town crazy conspiracy theorist, he's the only one who knows Danny Fenton is Phantom, and he is constantly trying to prove it but nobody believes him. You remember Dib from Invader Zim? He's like Dib.
👻 On the contrary, you remember the finale of the show? That's okay, we don't either. Phantom Planet who? Never heard of her.
👻 But on the topic of adding things to fanon, the show's been off the air for decades. We're still around. Naturally, we've added things and made different AUs overtime. Different creators have different AUs they like, but you don't have to prescribe to any of them if you don't want. If you're confused about anything you see, feel free to pop me or anyone else an ask and we'd be happy to explain!
👻 There's also different bits of lore that were hinted on in canon that we've expanded. Things like ghost cores, half-ghost biology, worldbuilding with the ghost zone, ghosts having obsessions, dynamics at the school, etc. You're free to adopt or ignore whatever you'd like.
👻 The show is no ATLA, and it's a bit dated for its time, but overall it's a fairly fun background show you can throw on while you're cooking. If you've never seen an episode, I highly recommend watching at least a few fan favorites. I made a list here a while back, and I think it still holds up pretty well.
👻 We host a LOT of events. There's a full calendar of them here. You can assume these are crossover-friendly unless the event coordinators state otherwise (like in the case of phic phight). Feel free to join some!
Welcome, and have fun!
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how has no one asked for Shane/harvey..
I think because it’s pretty popular, but that’s alright I abandoned the pretense of actual rarity a long time ago in this challenge lol.
I am definitely corrupted by existing fanon of these two getting together since Harvey helps Shane with his addiction. That’s the obvious route to take with this one. So for me it’s not so much figuring out how they would cross paths, but what is it about each of them that resonates with the other person. Why are they good for each other? What do they have in common? What differences complete them?
Abandoned Dreams
Harvey resigned himself to a different life than he’d imagined. But he’s happy.
Shane, on the other hand, is still grieving the loss of his dream.
Harvey devotes his life to being a productive member of society, even to his detriment.
Shane pointedly devotes himself to nothing, also, to his detriment.
Harvey fidgets.
Shane is stoic. He gets into position on his barstool and might as well be another piece of furniture until he takes a drink of his beer.
The fidgeting annoys him. Harvey’s foot keeps hitting the bar and though he’s several seats away he can feel it reverberating. “Stop,” he says testily.
“I’m sorry?” Harvey blinks up at him from over a crossword puzzle.
“Stop fucking hitting the bar.”
“Oh! Right, sorry,” the doctor gives him a sheepish smile and shifts his foot away from the bar.
“You know, maybe if you traded out a few of your coffees for beers you might mellow out some,” Shane grumbles.
He is being rude, but Harvey doesn't care. Actually, he's excited. Because you see, this is the first time Shane has ever spoken to him unprompted. It is incredibly hard to build a rapport with him as a patient, closed off as he is. This is an opportunity to amend that.
“You’re right about too many coffees,” Harvey responds with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Although I'm not sure trading one vice for another is exactly the wisest choice.”
“Suit yourself,” Shane mumbles dismissively, returning his focus to the critical tasks of Nothing and Appearing Standoffish.
Harvey takes a chance and decides to pick up his coffee and crossword to move next to him.
Shane glowers. “What.”
“I don’t suppose you ever do the crossword, do you?”
“No.”
Harvey is already floundering, but now he is sat. So he hums in thought and focuses on the empty crossword spaces, head empty while he slowly gets more nervous.
Maybe Shane pities him, though that's unlikely, but he speaks up again. "Bringing a crossword to a bar is weird."
Yeah, probably not pity.
"I don't think so. How do you keep busy here then?"
"I just drink, like a normal person."
"Only drink? Isn't that boring?"
"Life is boring. Can't be bored if you're sloshed."
"That's... mildly distressing. Also, untrue."
Shane just levels a droopy-eyed stare at him. "I've had plenty of practice, and I can tell you it's impossible to be bored wasted."
Harvey laughs at that. "No, no I believe you. I meant about life being boring. It's understandably boring if you think just sitting and drinking is entertainment."
"Oh and I'd be having more fun if I was doing puzzles? Are you gonna prescribe me puzzles now, Doc?"
“Oh they aren’t quite so bad as that. Puzzles are just brain games.”
Shane narrows his eyes at him before leaning over and snatching his newspaper to inspect the crossword puzzle. The doctor makes a small sound of protest but clamps it down, squeezing his hands together nervously. Had the saloon been this warm the whole time? Shane reads the crossword for an uncomfortably long time, and all Harvey can do is pretend drinking coffee and sitting still and quiet is enough.
“I think this one’s ‘bevel’,” Shane finally says, handing it back to him and pointing at a space where he only had the first letter filled, B.
Harvey checks it and it seems to work, but he’s more focused on how Shane seems to really be engaging with him now. If he had a tail it’d be wagging like crazy. “I think you’re right,” he says with a pointedly restrained smile.
“Are you gonna leave me alone now?” Shane grumbles into his bottle before taking another drink.
“What if I’m comfortable here?”
Shane almost smiles, his upper lip tensing like he might, as he shoots him a sideways glance. “Suit yourself.”
They continue to meet like this. It’s never planned, but Shane is always there after work and on the occasion that Harvey stops in he makes a habit of sitting next to him.
He’d never admit it, but Shane looks up to Harvey. He finds him impressive. Most of the time he doesn’t even know half the words in the crossword puzzle, and he likes to watch him think, as his own mind is drowning and half-dead.
Harvey originally sets out to develop a rapport with his patient, but finds himself basking in Shane’s attention and admiration. Shane is aloof and cool and the opposite of Harvey, and though he’s far past the point in his life where he cares about gaining the approval of the cool jock, there’s still a part of him that revels in it. Makes him feel like a kid again, but in a good way. It also feels special to get small moment of happiness out of him. Making a man laugh, who hasn’t smiled all week, that’s something. It feels good. Almost like solving a puzzle.
One night Harvey asks for what Shane’s drinking, instead of his usual coffee.
“Rough day at the clinic, Doc?” Shane asks.
“Oh no, nothing like that. Just thought I’d join you tonight. Thanks, Emily,” he says as she hands him a beer.
Shane watches him closely as he drinks, half- expecting the man to gag or something. To his surprise, he doesn’t.
“What?” Harvey asks with a small smile, noticing him eyeing him.
“I just… didn’t expect you to like it, I guess.”
“I don’t really. I still prefer coffee or a nice ginger ale. But beer is alright in moderation.”
Shane scoffs but it isn’t particularly biting. “There he goes, the doctor is back.”
“Hard to turn off I’m afraid.” He takes another swig of his beer.
“Eh, we’ll see about that once you’ve caught up to me,” Shane smirks, and there is something pointed in his eyes that Harvey can’t place, but he likes it. He likes the weight of his eyes on him.
"I'm sure you would drink me under the table, Shane, I'm not even trying that."
But he does order another beer after he finishes the first, and through talk of college and high school parties Shane eventually learns that it was not Harvey's dream to become a doctor.
That changes everything. Somehow it makes him touchable, real. Like over these evenings spent together, he had built Harvey up on a pedestal. He was a man who did things right, who would never be in any way like Shane. But he was like him. He had given up, too. And yet, he was successful. Everyone loved him. He was reborn in his failure through perseverance.
A last wall comes down then that he hadn’t realized he was keeping up: the fear that he would corrupt Harvey. That he would drag him down with him. (Or that he simply wasn’t good enough for him)
He decides to walk out with Harvey that night instead of staying till close like he normally does. Saying goodbye is sweet and a little awkward, like how dates ended in high school. Neither is sure if they should hug each other, and they don’t.
Both realize there is something more to this. They want more to this… but that’s a problem.
This would have to be a meaty fic because for one, Harvey is still Shane’s doctor, and two, Shane is not in a healthy place for a relationship. He would demonstrate immaturity and not listen in arguments etc because of his untreated anger and addiction issues. And Harvey for his part would have issues committing anyway because of his intense workload.
I think after a tumultuous and angsty ride though, they would get their happy ending. Harvey would find Shane another doctor and Shane would make enough progress with his addiction that Harvey would accept being in a relationship. Shane would influence Harvey to be a little more selfish and be more strict about office hours and such. I could see Shane becoming a coach for a rec league and also putting his chickens into competitions sometimes as a hobby.
This ask is a part of the (now closed) SDV Rarepair Challenge! Check out the other answers here, and make sure to boost your favorite so it can appear in the final fic poll! More info on that here.
#stardew valley#sdv#answered asks#send asks#fic writer#ao3 writer#rarepair#shipping in the valley#rare ship#rarepair challenge#ficlet#fic idea#lily speaks#sdv shane#sdv harvey#shane x harvey#harvey x shane
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So I’ve seen so many times that people speculate sexual orientations of transformers, especially Optimus and Megatron. Their logic is: since Optimus has romantic involvements with Elita-1 in canon, and has suspicious tendencies to develop romantic relationships with several other characters portrayed as male (Megatron, Prowl, etc), he is bisexual. And since Megatron is only shipped with male characters (like Optimus, Starscream), he is gay.
I cannot tell how bizarre I felt the first time I saw judgements like this. Now I understand. It’s the weird compulsion to label things that made me uncomfortable. Not to mention the shifting allegiance to the canon and fanon in this conclusion.
Talking about the allegiance first. I mean, actually in all the “relationships” used as evidence for the said transformers’ sexual orientations, only one is confirmed in canon as an established romance, rather than a ship promoted by the fandom— that is Oplita. So if you’re following the official narrative, Optimus is not bi, or gay, but heterosexual. Because the only relationship he has is with a girlfriend. And if you admit all the fandom ships are true, why do you even care about the canonical heterosexual relationship of Optimus and the canonical “lack of heterosexual relationships” of Megatron?
Actually, I want to stress again that from the logic and worldview of transformers, there should really be no distinction of sex. And therefore the distinction of sexual orientation becomes quite unnecessary. The logic goes like this:
They don’t reproduce sexually —> they don’t have sexual organs/ everyone has the same set of energy transmission system resembling sexual organs (“spike and valve” as we already see in fandom) —> sex (biologically “male” and “female”) doesn’t exist —> sex is not a decisive factor in finding a partner —> there’s actually no such thing as sexual orientation, and it really doesn’t matter .
So analyzing transformers sexual orientation is really meaningless work for me. Why would you constrain your imagination in such a weird way? Why would you presume their sexuality when they don’t really need to be assigned to a binary sex? Why can’t they just be completely flexible in who they date and how they want to express themselves?
It feels like trying to label the sky “blue” because you happen to see sunny days more often. But the sky can also be orange or yellow or pink sometimes. And by the end of the day the sky doesn’t really have any color. The color you see is only how light is reflected into your eyes.
The only reason I can think of for people to insist on labeling these alien robots is because—worst case scenario— they’re trying to ship the said characters with some characters they love, but they don’t care to explain why.
E.g.“Since he’s bisexual, he could be dating my favorite character and another character at the same time!”
But you know, in reality, bisexual people don’t click on with every single person they meet. It’s quite a stigmatizing impression. You fall in love with a certain someone because this person feels special. They attracts you as a whole: their personality, hobbies, the way they looks or talks, etc. So you wanna make your ship real? Tell us something more. You can’t explain love by prescribing the character’s sexuality. Plus, it’s really sick to put labels on everything, sicker to label gender-fluid alien robots.
If you think I’m trying to say “I don’t want Optimus to be bi”or “I don’t want Megatron to be gay”, that’s not even close to what I mean.
#transformers#my thoughts#maccadam#megatron#optimus prime#megop#elita-1#oplita#speaking from the plot areangements I think gay couples should outnumber heterosexual couples in their world#because if as the plots say women are a special kind#then Cybertronians with same gender have bigger chances of hanging out together#gender critical#shipping
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Sorry, Wrong Comms! : Hunter x Medic!Reader [Chapter 5]
Warnings and Information: Intended audience is 13+ (18 if you squint). We cry like men in this house because we’ve learned (slightly) better coping mechanisms almost a year after Order 66 in this AU!! Mentions of medical stitches and paraphernalia. Writing love letters is tricky business. Fluff. Angst. Pining/Hunter having a slight panic attack if you squint. Mostly Star Wars swearing. Use of Mando'a. Occasionally jumping character-focus with no show of Medic!Reader since she’s gone home for the night, so it’s “Oops! All Batchers” Hours with passing mentions of Medic!Reader.
As this bantha has been beaten to death by now, “RIFE with my headcanons” really applies here in this chapter: Lots of my headcanons about unofficial “Clone Culture” on Kamino are gonna show up briefly (one line is suggestive of masturbation and another is suggestive of toxic masculinity standards). Tryin’ real hard to avoid certain fanon characterizations of the Batchers. Intentional and unintentional trickery; only 50% of these siblings are getting any decent sleep tonight. Maybe grab some tissues?
Word-count: 5,022
Echo's told me that Wrecker's told you that I-
No, this was just going to get messy and long-winded if he dragged his vode into it on how he found out into his fifth draft... Erase.
Guess I should cut the chatter: I've been made aware that you now have an idea of how I feel about you when I was under medical observa-
On second thought, that wasn't necessary to bring up, the medic would know the "when". Erase.
-of how I feel about you. Echo encouraged me to tell you the full truth myself. So that's what this letter is meant to do, [____]. It'll be easier to lay down a foundation for a later conversation in a letter first… if that's what you want.
He gingerly eased his back up higher along the headboard of the bed with a tray of salted crackers in his lap and tried thinking back to the results from the Holonet while everyone else had dinner at the time, earlier in the evening. Something about removing the pressure being asked to have a verbal conversation with someone by proposing the option to find an alternative method of communication if desired… Tech had been pretty thorough in finding several wordy, but helpful articles. Pretty quick to find them as well, come to think of it.
If not, then maybe we can communicate this way for the time being. I'll leave that up to you. But it's important that-
Crosshair or Tech had interrupted his train of thought as he deliberately typed out each word. "Hunter; I don't hear you eating."
"Not hungry, vod."
"You're going to remain in a state of nausea even with the anti-emetic tablets if you do not eat anything while you are taking the medicine that was prescribed to you as per the warnings on the label." Crosshair didn't talk like that. Only one brother it could possibly be.
"Just come in, Tech…" The goggled Clone entered the room quickly, an assortment of items in a crate under one arm. Things [____] left with them from her medbag to pad out the Batch's medical arsenal until the shops opened in the morning. Snap-activated cold packs. A new temp reader. Gauze and bacta. "I brought a few nutrient paste tubes with me to leave them by your bedside in case you woke up in the middle of the night; no mess and nothing to chew. Well come to think of it, perhaps the reason you haven't and don't feel like eating is a sore jaw after all the… No matter. Here."
Tech offered Hunter one of the more palatable flavors of nutrient paste, and he quickly realized that as Tech held this one out to him (the way he'd seen several Regs pass back General Skywalker's lightsaber to him after another of his infamous shenanigans), all of the tubes were the most palatable flavors to Hunter.
Hunter's exclusive line of nutrient products! Omega joked once. Tech had been teaching her what he knew of the various manufacturers that produced these types of rations while they were deep in hyperspace to keep her occupied. Crosshair, who had been a royal grouch after lying in the mud banks for hours in wait for their quarry to acquire some credits, could be heard chuckling in his rack at Omega's joke (and didn't deny doing so when Echo dared to tease him). That'd been the mission that made the Marauder's exterior hull muddy and the eventual reason they'd hosed it down with [____]'s help after being splashed with the hose when Wrecker had become distracted by the rare bird.
"Thanks, Tech…"
"You're welcome. I'll put these away." Tech swept up the tray with untouched crackers after Hunter moved it to his bedside, and was ready to slip out of the room before he was stopped. "Uh, wait. I'd like your help with something because I trust you won't tell anyone."
"Except, if it was your stitching, I would tell [____]. That was a promise earlier, if you recall; not a threat." Tech reminded him, careful to keep his cadence neutral and gentle. Hunter reluctantly, hesitantly gave his word that he would reach out to the good doctor, or Tech so he could, if anything happened to his stitches before she stepped out into the street and went home for the night, one of Crosshair's many pistols tucked into her waistband as a compromise when she insisted she'd get home just fine without an escort. (She'd first have to stop by her clinic and finally close down the building, anyways; she didn't think it would take long enough to warrant the company and insisted that everyone stay home.) "And since you do not appear to have torn any, I would hypothesize it has to do with more research." Tech concluded, eyes darting over every un-inked inch of the gauze on Hunter's shoulder longest.
Together, before the grown woman went home, Omega and [____] had added one doodle each to the medical wrap with the fabric marker. Omega's was a big butterfly to sit on top of an exotic flower from Kashyyyk drawn by the medic. A perfect, complementing addition, even if the species wasn't native to the homeworld of the Wookies; a fact his sister realized too late, but decided that she'd ignore the matter of accuracy in the end. It mattered far more than Hunter had sat still as stone with his eyes closed so sister and friend could surprise him with the collaboration, and had warned both they'd have to wave off the nearest art exhibits soon enough with a teasing tone but sincere smile. That he was honored to wear the artwork.
Tech had already taken several pictures of the joint-effort "doodle" for the days to come that someone inevitably dreamed of the day's dreadful "what if we lost Hunter?" experience as a happier reminder.
We didn't lose him, and here's the proof.
Hunter sighed after the long silence between them, rousing from his thoughts at last. "Partly. Do you have your datapad?" Of course Tech would, they both knew that. Hunter gestured to his own equipment, sighing. "It would make this go a lot faster if I had some help figuring out how to write this karking thing. I've tried writing about five different versions and I swear each one sucks more than the last. I don't know what to say."
Tech blinked, quietly puzzling out some thoughts before speaking. "You're writing a romantic confession."
Got it in one, as usual. It was hardly surprising to Hunter anymore, just a comfort to know that Tech often had him figured out so well in times like these. "Yes… But," he paused, considering, "I may want a proof-reader, secondary to the company and help." Maybe if Tech was simply just there with him for the most part, Hunter could stall less if he had someone to find the right answers for the best possible outcome. He would tell [____] the truth about how he felt, and how he could be rather avoidant at times when he was uncomfortable, and just hope for the best. There was a chance she may not return the same feelings or the desire to remain friends should she not after such a serious declaration was laid bare to her.
Hunter didn't believe she would cut their friendship over that, but it was a real possibility he had to keep in mind. Something like that wouldn't be enough to stop her just because she got along with all of the Batch fairly equally. She was personable and nurturing, she had found the perfect profession for her out in the galaxy. She would always have some place to help, someone who needed her, somewhere to go and do the grisly work that came with the occupation…
She… would always make new friends if a confession was not reciprocated and he made her so uncomfortable she... She…
"Stars, Hunter… you're in quite deep for her, aren't you." The half-question hung heavy on his shoulders, feeling the weight of it around his neck, and the warmth of his brother's hand as it carefully clasped his upper arm once he'd joined Hunter on the bed. His eyes burned with the threat of tears in the anxious silence before Tech's tender gesture of comfort. "K'uur… take a deep breath, now. I'll just take the nutrient paste and set it here for the time being so it doesn't burst open. You're going to be alright, brother."
A promise, a reassurance, a mantra. The "analytical babbling" would be inappropriate to offer Hunter right now when he just needed the silence, but not the solace, to take as long as he needed to cry for perhaps the first in a very long time since they were… cadets. Tech just silently sucked in his teeth and surmised his brother was still so overwhelmed and out of sorts after the ordeal of raiding a prisoner transport ship with Captain Rex went terribly wrong. The bomb that had gone off when Hunter got in-range was not one of their own, and the injuries… Tech didn't want to make mental comparisons to the gory detonation injuries he witnessed in other soldiers of the GAR, when there had been such a thing. Now it was the Imperial-something.
Stop. Run a mental checklist.
Modified Omicron-class attack shuttle. The Havoc Marauder. He needs to pay for the docking fee in the morning. More urgent than that, make sure that Hunter gets sleep tonight using one and a half of the sleep inducers at minimum. More urgent than that still, by the time Hunter was settled, help him with the fifth draft to give him some peace of mind. Just a few minutes would probably suffice as Hunter would have been thoroughly spent… using energy he didn't have. Oh he'd be an exhausted shell in the morning, strictly prohibited from using adrenaline stims by [_____]. Smart woman. It would force him to rest.
Let's have a peek at his datapad.
The first draft had strong undercurrents of typical Clone psychobabble that standard, nat-born citizens of the galaxy found… concerning. But there was a good snippet in there about a quarter of the way in about explaining his enhancements (and Tech paused to memorize his brother's words regarding him) before copying this selection into the bottom of the fifth draft that would probably prove helpful to their friend. The second and third were almost nothing but poetry and half-formed thoughts. With some careful sentence surgery, Tech could tell Hunter was now watching as he forged his brother's style of wordsmithy impeccably.
"I've been practicing." Tech admitted softly, mindful of how close the shell of Hunter's ear was to his face. "It's a long story for another time. Here," He reached out beside him to the bedside furniture and plucked the tube of nutrient paste off the immaculate surface before carefully tearing away the perforated edge with his teeth to open it for his brother.
Hunter was tiring fast, curling in on himself, into Tech's side, with the fatigue, but he should have at least half of the tube before he succumbed to the inevitable crash. "Just half of this will be enough for now. Stop me if at any time you want me to splice the sentence differently." Hunter's head was now planted under Tech's chin, cheek resting on his chest as he nurses the ration.
Tech could work through however initially uncomfortable this was for him for however long it took. With obvious exception of Wrecker among their tight knit squad, he didn't typically consider himself or his brothers to be especially strong in the love language of touch like this. Like children. Not anymore. With acceleration in age and growth and the desired obedience for an army of their scale, they don't exactly get the childhood a nat-born has. Growth jars, training, blasterfire. That was their "childhood". He was grateful for his ability to stay calm when faced with these emotions, otherwise a rocketing heartbeat would have tipped off Hunter and interrupted his peace. To soothe himself, Tech habitually resituated his goggles, and for good measure, adjusted the crisp new bandana Hunter had donned since losing the other with a feather-light touch. Hunter bristled, uninjured shoulder curling to his ears.
"K'uur… easy, Hunter." It sounded like a mumbled apology under Hunter's breath before another stripe of nutri-paste was applied to his tongue and the gradual droop of his good shoulder. "Don't be: I should have warned you. My apologies. Now… let's see what this fourth draft holds." Stars, it was rife with material. Perhaps even some of his best, in the sense of great emotional appeal. Why Hunter loved [____]. The trust, the respect, and… the guilt. Shame. Guilty of fearing the clinic and the shattered cross that indicated healers. Feeling shameful for not being explicit in his words and using those 'I trust you, burc'ya' or 'I have a great amount of respect for you despite my discomfort with the profession' phrases; or the other ways he'd thought of thanking her for helping him and his family at every odd hour they came to her and never did and felt guilty for it phrases.
He'd read it over later, realizing that when he had used the hand previously around Hunter's shoulder to adjust his goggles and brother's bandana, he'd never removed that hand from the top of Hunter's head and had mindlessly been stroking the first two fingers through richly textured hair. (If he drifted his middle finger just a bit lower than it was now, he'd find the soft ridge of the scar from the process of removing their inhibitor chips.) He'd sent Hunter to sleep without the drugs, feeling the start of the sleeping 14-breath cycle typical to him against Tech's own body.
Tech supposed he'd be kept in place with a sleep-adhered brother for some time now, and picked up his own datapad once Hunter's tube of nutrient paste (seventy-five percent consumed, he noted) was plucked from sleeping fingers and his drafts backed up and individually saved. He wanted to look over the schematics of the transport ship he'd nabbed in the meantime until he felt it was the right time to wiggle out of this arrangement and leave his brother to sleep. Might as well. Leave too early, before he reached deep sleep, and he may inadvertently wake Hunter.
Tell Hunter now while he was largely undistracted and turning on the amber-toned screen setting so he could study those schematics. "Sleep well, ner vod."
May he stay asleep…
Tech had gone to check on Hunter nearly two hours ago. Crosshair had no illusions that after fifteen minutes, Tech was not likely coming back to finish their game of Sabacc, so he'd grabbed his weapons kit and taken to tending to his 773 Firepuncher. There wasn't much to clean, as usual, but it killed some time just in the event Tech might be coming back and excused himself for being a while and rejoined him.
Maybe he'd just forgotten and gone to bed after he'd tended to Hunter, off in his own galaxy. It was known to happen, no matter. Crosshair would say something in the morning once he was back from paying the docking fees and making a run for more blue milk, once Crosshair scribbled down a note on Tech's notice board.
'Easy to keep track of our necessary supplies and goods as they deplete if we have a centralized location in our housing for writing these things down. It can also serve as our chore rota.' Tech religiously checked it every morning and every night, even when no one had added anything of importance beyond a silly doodle or removal of an item from the running list.
Nerd: Two blue milk along with the med supplies, don't forget. Credits: counter under my helmet. Took care of laundry. - C
That would do it. He'd go check on Hunter, then turn in for the night. Echo turned in earliest of the Batch with his strict early-fall-early-rise sleep regimen, and Omega and Wrecker were bunking together in Omega's room so she could hopefully get distracted enough with Wrecker's help to make falling asleep far easier… so she wouldn't dream about hearing that explosive going off around the corner of the ship and-
Taking care to soften his footsteps down the hall, he gingerly eased the door to Hunter's room open and peered in. Well, looks like he found Tech. And just under the crook of his arm, curled tight like a sick child in a parent's bed, was Hunter, his head planted on Tech's chest. Fast asleep. He'd probably had Tech trapped long enough that he'd fallen asleep upright in Hunter's bed while keeping him company.
Two 'odd-vod' just… cuddling, dare he say.
It was an endearing sight, honestly, if he had to give it a word. Two of his brothers huddled together like groups of worn out cadets in the halls of Kamino after hours spent in the training centers, too tired to make it back to their pod rooms or the mess halls or wherever they had to be yet. Vod looked out for vod. Youngest cadets were always afforded a little more time to do things and older batches of Clones stalled the long-necks as necessary. Creative, believable excuses for the cadet team's tardiness by their "Den Brothers". Encouragement during battle sims. Mock espionage or stealth missions to distract from especially violent surges in the perpetual storm outside the cloning facility. Secret rounds of group trivia during lights-out. Older brothers finding ways to show the mischievous youngsters how to be more subtle, more sneaky, if they were going to view prohibited material for natural urges. A series of rota across the whole of the cloning facility for who would be 'Feeling a little blaster-happy, boys… Think I'll log another hour or two at the artillery range to get it out of my system. Someone buff up my helmet for me, yeah?' and not easily missed or suspect in order to help the cadets refine their skills. Captains and Commanders holding unofficial lessons on the down-low.
Manage your credits smartly.
Listen to me, little brothers… The reason the medics keep taking down your fitness posters in the training centers is because they're trying to look out for you. Those models are dehydrated and on crash diets. Unhealthy. Don't aspire to be like them. They're not taking them down to be cruel, your brothers are just trying to make sure you're healthy. A bit of fat on those bones is good; you shouldn't look a vac-sealed ration.
Yes, the Force really does work in mysterious ways, but sometimes General Skywalker is full of bantha fodder. "A disturbance in the Force" my left ass cheek… sometimes the place just has a bad vibe that has nothing to do with the Force!
Here's what I think we should have done differently to capture the Seppy's outpost in the xxxx system. … Yes I admit I complained about this to General xxxx already but what's done is done.
Vod looked out for vod. Deactivating the bedside lamp bathed the room in total darkness, and with his sharpened sense of sight, the jarring lighting shift was quickly adjusted to with a couple of measured blinks. Crosshair scooped the light blanket Hunter had flung across the room from his bed in an episode of overheating (it had hit the wall he shared with Crosshair) just last week, and draped it over slumbering siblings with a feather-light movement. He picked up Tech's personal datapad and captured an image of the two of them using night vision, being sure to hear that muted klic! of a successful capture before carefully navigating it back to the main HUD and laying it beside Hunter's on the bedside.
Vod looked out for vod. Crosshair, careful to hold his breath as he hinged at the waist, bent forward and loosened the strap of the goggles to lessen the friction of removing them from around Tech's eyes. Setting those neatly on the proper datapad, Cross next straightened up the bandana and tucked away more unruly sections of hair before he would feel the first tugging, instinctual urges to breathe from his lungs.
These two were typically light sleepers after the really bad missions; today was certainly one of 'em. It didn't look like Hunter had needed to take the short-term prescription to induce a night's sleep, so perhaps he was truly that exhausted, and that unwell, still. When [____] would come to return his DC-17 in the morning before she opened her clinic for the day, Cross would decide if he'd tell her not to be surprised about the 'extra' capsule in the canisters when it came time to return them then, or later.
Smart thinking to sign them up to use the clinic's durasteel use-and-return canisters, Tech. No canisters to be found by those snooping around trash collection units in this dodgy spaceport that might use them to make the Imperial Army aware of their location for a large sum of credits.
Vod looked after vod, after all… a mantra he'd eventually come to be grateful for since Kaller. The ordeal of nearly losing Hunter today put a lot into perspective for Crosshair suddenly. Things he'd buried away and compartmentalized for a very vague idea of "another time" that more meant "never. ever."...
No time like the present, he supposed. Cross bid his brothers a whispered goodnight and ducked from Hunter's room, stepping into his own for a moment with the intention to shed half the mock-civvies, change into his nightshirt and plant himself at the foot of his bed to begin contemplating, but he was struck with another thought as his eyes skimmed the calendar tacked to the wall above his tidy desk.
Uh oh. The end of the week may not be the best time in case Hunter's little assignment went sour…
"Echo… Echo!" The ARC was slow to turn over in his bed, trying to figure out what had woken him. Maybe he was just imagining the monolithic, but paradoxically gentle aquatic beast with a gaping maw calling his name as some falsely-concocted feeling it was one of his brothers waking him for… something from his subconscious. "Echo!!" Nope. Not the water creature he was just swimming with in the undertow of an ocean planet. It was Crosshair.
"Oh, stars. What is it now…?" he moaned. He was in the middle of a damn good dream for once in a long time, and all of the Domino Squad had been there, swimming alongside him and this giant of the deep seas. Feeling so fluid and free and… Fives. He'd been dreaming of Fives. Fives wanted to tail this creature with oar-like fins and bioluminescent spots and Echo had yearned to follow Fives. Follow his brother. The other half of the Domino Twins since they lost Droidbait, Cutup and Hevy at the Rishi Moon station when they were all just Shinies.
And the white-hot fury flared and burned in those pale eyes beneath squeezed brows for a moment, a sharp look the sharp-eyed brother wouldn't have missed even in the dim light of the room. Clone Force 99 had long ago learned that they did not wake Echo without good reason when they had downtime and shore leave. Before Crosshair made a carefully calculated statement he was waved to stand down, and against all his impulses, Echo swallowed down that venom and the weary sigh took its place.
"What's wrong with Hunter?" Something had to be wrong. The others had probably tasked Crosshair with waking him so he could get up and either stay with Hunter or go retrieve help. A torn stitch? Was he refusing to take the medicine again? Was he even supposed to take any at this time? "Wh-what time is it?"
Whatever time Crosshair gave him didn't completely register with Echo, but what did was the reassurance that Hunter was fine. "Tech's got Hunter handled; fell asleep on the bed with him- real cute and all, but listen: I'm sorry to wake you, but I need your help with something. About what you said earlier to Hunter."
Echo bit back a yawn and propped himself up on his good elbow just slightly. "What about it…?"
"Why does he need to tell [____] by the end of the week?"
That did nothing to abate the worry or answer his question. What was the marksman getting at? "Look, if I didn't give him a hard deadline, he'll stall-"
Cross balked, interrupting him. "You don't know?"
"Know what?" Echo snapped, sitting up now and carefully peeling back the weighted blanket [____] had gifted him several months ago. (Every bad night he looked at it, he would recall the way Wrecker boomed "It's like a permanent hug?! Tha's awesome!! That'll help Echo so much!" as she explained why she thought the way-too-kind gift would benefit Echo's insomnia and myriad of other nocturnal troubles after a week of bruise-like dark circles under his eyes. He'd been dreaming of Domino Squad: horrible, dark dreams that time that led him to be afraid to sleep, something his immune system could not afford like it once did…)
"That's her birth-day!" came out in a whispered hiss, "So I'm not sure giving him until the end of the week is a good idea!"
[____]'s birth- Oh, no. Kriff kriff kriff! He'd forgotten that!
Seeing that Echo now had the same violent realization he did, Cross gave a jerky, nodding gesture in a silent 'see?!' to his brother. "I think we need to consider another time. Or, you need to help me find a way to scope out how she feels about him before then. If she doesn't feel the same way he painfully does if he's putting what I think he's putting in that little letter of his I saw him writing while he sat out on the game after dinner… it would make for a very uncomfortable rest of the day. We can't do that to the kid on her birth-day, Echo."
They needed to come up with a plan. "No… no we shouldn't, that wouldn't be right." Echo agreed. "Just… give me a minute to collect myself before we start talking, please."
"... Right. Right of course." The younger man with tight gray curls of hair looked so guilty; often interrupted eye contact, curling and uncurling fingers, the tight, shallow inhales.
"I know you're sorry, it's o-"
What was interpreted as an excuse was cut down with a clipped voice. "Don't give me that shit, Echo. You're right to be angry at me. Allowed."
Well, he certainly still was, but the reasoning was different now. "Don't worry, I don't need your permission to be angry, Crosshair. But as I was going to say it's okay, you don't need to let your guilt get the best of you and treat me like kriffing glass." He was a damn ARC, made of sterner stuff that made the little brothers on Kamino look like they met a celebrity from their favorite pieces of holo-media they'd managed to get their hands on. That starstruck glimmer in a cadet's eyes seeing older brothers, decorated and painted war heroes, coming back for a taste of home before their next assignments and campaigns.
Did Crosshair ever look at an older brother, a seasoned soldier, like that when he was a cadet? Or did he regard those men with envy because he didn't think the likes of him would ever get to be like them? Like him, Echo?
A regular Clone cut from the largest damn bolt of cloth the galaxy had ever seen; up until the Citadel, at least.
He knew Crosshair was still looking at him with a lot of guilt as Echo mentally braced himself to get up out of his bed he wasn't terribly fond of, and he wanted to do something about it. Maybe, if he could be convincing enough… he could find a believable excuse to give Crosshair the embrace he felt the brother needed. "Awh! Kriffing hells…" when he was "ready" to get up, he faked the seizing grind in one of the bolts of his right hip. A bolt he knew needed lubricant soon. He grumbled darkly for good measure, playing up the unsteady hobble as he pretended to fail at finding his feet flat underneath him. "Dammit not now!"
Steady hands and strong fingers caught Echo as he anticipated, an arm of the marksman flung around his chest to keep the cybernetic soldier from falling forward and a firm grip on the residual limb of his right arm came around from behind so his scomplink wouldn't smack into anything in the panicked flail. "I've got you, brother." Crosshair was allowed to believe he helped Echo find his footing before Echo slung his good arm around his younger brother and held him close, feigning the pause to gather his nerves. If he was too bold, too impatient, Crosshair would catch on and Echo would lose the opportunity. "Th-thanks."
"Don't mention it." There was no dismissal or downplaying undercurrents to the coolly given reply. It was just Crosshair for of course I'd help, you're welcome that the Bad Batch came to know and understand and move on from without a second thought.
But not after today, and not before they would set a plan in motion together in the dead of night, like old times in the Clone Wars. So the trap was sprung; with both flesh and cybernetic arm, Echo carefully fit his limbs against the warmth of the brother of another squad and only rumbled in a fond and careful voice the words similar to ones he had once spoken to the brother he had been closest to so many times it was forever etched into the fleshy tables of his heart and tongue.
"Heh. Don't think I will. Just doing what any good brother does, Crosshair. Vod looks after vod."
Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @ladytano420
Note from Frost: If you would like to be added to the taglist that is currently just specific for Sorry, Wrong Comms!, (I may start a taglist for all Star Wars related fanfiction projects that will be marked accordingly with #frostfics in the near future if there is interest) don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask or a comment loves. 🩷
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#frostfics#Sorry Wrong Comms!#sw tbb fanfic#tbb x reader#tbb hunter x reader#tbb hunter x you#hunter x reader#x reader#tbb hunter#hunter tbb#tbb headcanons#sw tbb#star wars au#star wars fanfiction#star wars x reader#tbb crosshair#tbb tech#tbb wrecker#tbb echo#tbb omega#the bad batch#tbb#Script Writers Mention Fives In Season 3 of TBB I Double Dog Dare You Challenge#(can you tell I got fed up/in my feels and said ''Fine! I guess I'll do it myself!'' and let Echo think about his twin?)#the domino twins#arc trooper fives#tcw fives
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Hagai El-Ad is a Jewish Israeli Human Rights and LGBTQ Rights advocate. He has directed the Jerusalem Open House for Pride and Tolerance, The Association for Civil Rights in Israel (ACRI), and until recently B'Tselem בצלם, one of the foremost NGOs documenting human rights abuses in the West Bank. I have long admired his work. This week, he published a column in Haaretz that resonates with me stronger than but a few I've read in the past months. What distinguishes it is its nuanced treatment of history, its complex engagement of the post-colonial paradigm, and overall, its fundamental humanity. It will not make you happy if you ascribe to a straightforward de-colonization discourse. It will not make you happy if you ascribe to the idea that a Jewish state that privileges Jews above others is a historical and moral imperative and a transhistorical moral right. It will not make you happy if you see this land as only Israel. It will not make you happy if you see it as only Palestine. And yet, it also refuses any facile both-sideist kumbaya "why can't we all just get along?" primary colored peace banner. And that's why it resonates with me. It does not prescribe or imagine or envision a solution. It proposes an honest and urgent discursive space that could offer us a starting point in the ashes of an old reality that must be replaced with a new one.
Please read. Every word.
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'Decolonization' of Israel or 'Decisive Defeat' of Palestinians: Are These Our Only Options?
Atrocities are etched into the historical memory of both peoples. Leaders speak in real time about the "destruction of Israel" and of the "2023 Gaza Nakba." How much blood can this Earth absorb before it vomits us all out?
The political philosopher Frantz Fanon wrote that "[t]he settler's feet are never visible, except perhaps in the sea." On the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, Zionist settlers tried very hard to ensure that if footprints were to be left in the sand, it would be of their feet only. Tried and succeeded: After the Nakba, only one Palestinian village remained on the coast, Jisr al-Zarqa. Before 1948, it was possible to walk from Jisr, perhaps in bare feet, a short distance north to al-Tantura, or south to Qisarya. These Palestinian villages, as well as the rest of those on the coast, were destroyed and the large Palestinian coastal cities were emptied – from Acre and Haifa in the north, through Jaffa in the center to Majdal (now Ashkelon) in the south: Majdal, whose last Palestinian inhabitants were deported to Gaza only toward the end of 1950, when the war was long over. Or perhaps, it never was.
Today, one walking north along the coast from Jisr will have to make his way out of Israel/Palestine, through the blocked railway tunnels and the blown-up bridge between them at Rosh Hanikra/Ras al-Naqoura, and continue for about 20 kilometers toward the southern edges of Tyre, in Lebanon, to reach the first Palestinian coastal footprint: the Rashidieh refugee camp. And heading south? He will have to make his way into the Gaza Strip, of course – reaching the northern outskirts of the city of Gaza and the Al-Shati refugee camp: Shati, literally the "beach" camp, whose name indicates not only its location on the Mediterranean coast, but perhaps also bears the memory of lost beaches, those that no longer have villages (except one) and cities by their side, but rather refugee camps, the places where Palestinians will surely "die anywhere, from anything" (Fanon).
Battle tanks, and not only feet, can also leave marks in the sand. Israel captured Rashidieh in the 1982 Lebanon War (in Operation Litani in 1978, the camp was encircled) and occupied it until 1985. Whereas Shati, like the rest of the Gaza Strip, was under direct Israeli occupation from 1967 until the 2005 disengagement, and then went through repeated "rounds" of military operations – and one continuous blockade – all the way until the horrific October of 2023 when the army returned to Shati, as it did to almost the entire northern half of the Strip. What is now left of the camp? In mid-November, Haaretz reported that "[w]hen the APC stops, the hatch opens onto the Shati refugee camp. A look around reveals something that was once a street... After a short journey west, we once again have a view of the Gaza coastline. Its beauty is in stark contrast to the destruction along the entire length of the shore." At a distance of about 120 kilometers, Shati is no longer the first Palestinian community on the coast south of Jisr a-Zarqa. Truth be told, it is not clear when – if at all – it will be again.
In this manner we "replaced" – in Fanon's words – "a certain 'species' of men by another 'species' of men." History shows that when people are "replaced" by others – when colonization is carried out – atrocities are committed. This is not some theoretical, distant insight: In 1948, during that "replacement," we committed atrocities: from Deir Yassin (after the replacement: Jerusalem's Har Nof neighborhood) to Tantura (after the replacement: Moshav Dor and Kibbutz Nahsholim). And as decolonization is "quite simply" the reversal of the above, quite a few people – disgustingly – hold the opinion that the massacres, rape and other horrors of October 7 expressed such a moment of "decolonization" – and therefore are, essentially, justified.
I suppose that it is possible to accept – resignedly or resentfully – a historical fate that embraces a worldview that between the River and the Sea everything, absolutely everything, is a zero-sum game. And that forever it will be exactly so, and if not forever then until – until when exactly? Until the "decolonization" of the Jews, or until the "decisive defeat" of the Palestinians? Either possibility entails a superficial – and cruel – reading of history.
Yes, it is good to read Fanon, hear the echo of his ideas, recognize them in our local context – and to recognize, with a measure less of automatic superficiality, the differences: Palestine is not Algeria, and we are not (speaking of feet) pieds-noirs; "Who can dispute the rights of the Jews to Palestine?" (as Jerusalem Mayor Yousef al-Khalidi wrote in 1899, in a letter delivered to Herzl); Jews came here while "leaning on the British Mandate" (Jabotinsky) but we also came here as refugees while fighting the Mandate; and, above all: No other home awaits us anywhere else in the world. Jews have been walking here, sometimes barefoot, for many a generation. On this land, the seashore is not the only place where our feet are visible.
Of course, not only our feet. Decisive defeat? Operation Yoav (October 1948) resulted, in a short period of time, in the emptying of the southern coastal plain (and the northern Negev/Naqab) of Palestinians, thus doubling the population of the Gaza Strip and transforming it into a place where most people, to this very day, are refugees or their descendants.
Seventy-five years later, and the current Israeli military operation is already emptying another parcel of land of Palestinians: this time, the northern half of the Strip, while doubling the population of the southern half – and who knows if, when and to exactly where Israel will allow them to return. Indeed, it is possible to continue all this. To "fold" even more Palestinians into even less territory – not only in Gaza but everywhere: also in the West Bank and the Galilee, in Jerusalem and in the Negev. To kill even more Palestinians: In 2014 we killed hundreds of children in Gaza, now they number in the thousands. Continue to carry the "violence into the home and into the mind" of Palestinians, and to remind them (and ourselves) again and again, "that the great showdown cannot be put off indefinitely" (Fanon). All this is possible.
And indeed, the current Israeli war plan – as announced almost daily – is, definitely, to continue until "the elimination of Hamas" is completed. With respect to this plan there are those who remind us that Hamas is a Palestinian movement – an idea – and that ideas cannot be destroyed. This is, of course, true, but – and the same people often neglect to mention the following – this insight applies not only to certain ideas that are nationalist or violent, but to ideas in general. Humanistic ideas too cannot be destroyed, even if human beings who hold them as a worldview are killed.
These are dark days for millions of people. Here we are, over 15 million of us, reeling within an unending horror of death and violence. Not a single day goes by without tears. Humanistic ideas may perhaps be indestructible, but are they even relevant in such a reality? Truthfully, they are more relevant than ever – not as a means of indulging in some naive moralism, but because they genuinely express a different moral perspective, desiring of life, at the heart of which is also a measure of sober realism that was formulated as early as 1948, in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: "Whereas it is essential, if man is not to be compelled to have recourse, as a last resort, to rebellion against tyranny and oppression, that human rights should be protected."
Anyone with eyes in his head knew that reality was heading, God forbid, toward a terrible implosion. This is how B'Tselem, the Israeli human rights organization that I directed until about six months ago, put it in 2017: "The situation wrongly called the status quo ensures one thing, and one thing only: a continued downward spiral into an ever more violent, unjust and hopeless reality. Unless a nonviolent way out of the present situation is found, the violence of the past half century might be just a preview of much worse to come. The effort to achieve a different future here is not only an urgent moral imperative, it is a matter of life and death." B'Tselem repeated these words over and over again, also in May 2021 (during Operation Guardian of the Walls): "A reality that is based on organized violence is not only immoral – it is a danger to us all… We all desire life. For every single one of us."
And no, within this realistic perspective, there is no justification for the atrocities of October 7. Yes, it is possible to engineer a reality rooted in dispossession and oppression, of a regime based on supremacy and violence, and pretend that none of this leads to an implosion – and even blame those who warned of the inevitable outcome as if they were justifying the violence. But this is hypocritical: Warning against the impending abyss is not a priori apologism for the expected crash. Rather, it is an attempt, perhaps a desperate one, to prevent it.
Humans can make choices. Therefore, we have moral responsibility. The Israelis bear responsibility for (among other things) the consequences of the long-standing policy that made it clear to Palestinians that Israel had no intention of granting them freedom or equality, a policy that sought to trample any nonviolent channel through which Palestinians tried to resist their dispossession. Israel is the one that decided that everything – except Palestinian surrender – is "terrorism." Demonstrations? Popular terrorism. The ICC in The Hague? Legal terrorism. The United Nations? Diplomatic terrorism. Sanctions? Economic terrorism. This is a continuous, arrogant, immoral and irresponsible approach, which made it clear every day anew that any attempt at nonviolent resistance was prohibited, and that Israel would act against it by force. The completely predictable outcome of all this was, and continues to be, more violence.
And even though the violent implosion was the ever-approaching abyss that was visible to all, there is a terrible and unequivocal responsibility that is shared by anyone who decided to step beyond the abyss' threshold. This is the Palestinian responsibility (among other things) for torching homes with their occupants still inside, murdering children, raping women, kidnapping families and all the other atrocities of October 7 and since that terrible day. Against such crimes there has always been and will forever be an absolute moral prohibition. The shock, the rage, the unending terrible sadness and the tears that never stop, are the human response to the trampling of the most basic norms. The shock is even more painful when there are those who try to deny the bloody facts, or when there are those who are unable to say simply that this is an atrocity, that this is a crime, that these are absolute prohibitions that have been violated time and again in Be'eri's safe rooms, on the lawns of Kfar Azza, between the houses of Nir Oz, in the fields of Re'im and the streets of Sderot and Ofakim.
The Israeli paradigm, for years now, has been to control the entire area while managing most Palestinians by way of two subcontractors: the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank and Hamas in Gaza. There have long been those who have said that since the establishment of the Oslo regime in the territories, Fatah, the "Movement for the Liberation of Palestine," may still be a movement but that it is certainly no longer doing much liberation. Therefore, the best thing it can do is to rebel against the paradigm and "return the keys" to Israel. At the end of the day, it was actually the other subcontractor, Hamas, which upended the paradigm. As Khalil al-Hayya, a member of Hamas' politburo, told The New York Times, the group's "goal is not to run Gaza and to bring it water and electricity and such... It did not seek to improve the situation in Gaza. This battle is to completely overthrow the situation."
Yes, the old paradigm was rotten to the core. Whoever kicked it did so with appalling cruelty. The price paid in blood is skyrocketing. And now we all live in a post-October 7 world. In Israel it is still not possible to identify all the bodies. In Gaza it is impossible to count all the bodies. Throughout all my years in B'Tselem, I kept in my heart the fear of the day when the horror would overflow, and the so-called conflict would transform into a phase so violent that not all victims could have a name or a grave. We have reached this stage. We live this horror. Deir Yassin and Gush Etzion, Sabra and Shatila, Be'eri and Gaza. Atrocities etched into the historical memory of both peoples. Leaders who speak in real time about the "destruction of Israel" and of the "2023 Gaza Nakba." How much blood can this Earth absorb before it vomits us all out?
We all desire life. For every single one of us.
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Hi pookiebear bbg♥️ the kids miss you..
🍌In your opinion, what's the funniest joke/ reference/pun you've made in a fic? (I cant wait for this answer)
🍎Is there anything you straight-up won't write?
🫐What's your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there's almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn't been written yet, etc.)
LOVE YOU ♥️♥️♥️
Pookiebear?! 🧍🏻♀️ Now, listen here schnookum—
Also goodness, it’s been so long since I’ve been writing that it’s going to take me a minute to dig through my dusty memory!
And as always 🩵🩵 thank you love! Can’t wait to be less busy and get back to writing!
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🍌 In your opinion, what’s the funniest joke/reference/pun you’ve made in a fic?
It’s funny to me cause at this point in my writing experience (pretty fresh), I was still a little unsure about writing smut. I’m not sure what came over me, I almost didn’t include this part but felt like the humor really matched the ridiculous rom-com theme of the story. There’s a moment in Things I Hate About You where I interrupt the smut with a magazine quote about bj’s. 🤣
“You’re just full commando here?” He smirked arrogantly, “I am a machine, what do I need underwear for?” Gossip Weekly’s top three ways to wipe the smirk off of your average male android? Tip number one: our experts conclude that nothing pleases the deviated male android more than watching their human partner serving their phallus (that’s suck him off, for you primates).
🍎Is there anything you straight-up won't write?
Hmmmmmmmmmm. Besides the typical list of non-con, incest, and other extremely dark themes…
It’s not a won’t write, but more of a not interesting to me anymore: a typical canon rewrite where the story follows the game canon but what if reader/OC was in it. I know I’ve done it before and as the first fic I’d ever written, it was great for experimenting with finding a writing style and relying on canon for character voice.
However, now, I find it less interesting to stick super close to canon and much prefer AUs cause I find that the focus will be about the characters as they are and the theme of the story, rather than being stuck on a prescribed plot line.
🫐What's your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there's almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn't been written yet, etc.)
So I wrote Sixty first but then I really thought it this (and will keep the part about Sixty cause I love him). Markus is kinda underrated in some ways. In comparison to Connor, he’s got a lot less art and writing unless it’s Markus paired with either Connor or Simon.
I’d love to read a story that captures the gilded cage, humbled machine journey of a broken (literally) machine rise from the ashes to become a guiding force of a civil rights movement. Screw David Cage’s bland writing, I’m talking about how I’d love to see the side of Markus that is burdened and tempted by power.
I want to see a story that explores how Markus isn’t infallible, perfect, and selfless because “the power feels good.” People like to say North is the violent and unfeeling one, but I blame David Cage’s poor writing on that. Markus is just as capable of being calculated and brutal. I’d love to see a Markus that understands the hatred and anger in his people’s hearts and his own struggle to be objective and fair as a leader.
Ok. Now to Sixty.
Sixty!!! The boy needs more love. He has actual screen time, so much potential to juxtapose against Connor and yet, it’s Nines who has barely any screen time and no voice but all sorts of fan created works!
It’s such a tragedy cause you can input as much fanon as you want in either Sixty or Nines but Sixty is never picked. 😭🩵✨
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🍉 Ask me anything! Writer fruit ask! 🍉
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I feel my soul as vast as the world, truly a soul as deep as the deepest of rivers; my chest has the power to expand to infinity. I was made to give and they prescribe for me the humility of the cripple.
Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks
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#dont mind me#this is abt the magicians but i’m not clogging the tags w this post#anyways i can’t believe fanon has prescribed quentin and eliot as a cancer and a scorpio. respectively.#no i’m fine i’m not going a lil insane#for ref the only dates i could find was july 20 for q and oct 30 for el#as a scorpio but also a quentin i am 👁����👁
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sucks ass when the most popular ““““agreed upon”””” fanon is set by a work that is so off the mark that the characters are barely recognizable like?? Are you proud of yourself? You took a perfectly good fandom and ruined it. Look, it’s got migratory slash fandom disease. Terminal.
and then when you reach a certain threshold of assholery, when the poor characterization of that one seminal work actually overwrites the canon characters in peoples’ minds, you get fuckers spewing their nasty bullshit all in the comments of anyone who doesn’t prescribe to the “““agreed upon”””” fanon. Come off anon and say that shit with your whole chest, jackass
This is just to say: sometimes the most kudosed fics in a fandom are good and deserve all the praise they get! And sometimes they really, really aren’t, but they follow a formula that people know, or they luck out in when they’re posted, or the author already has a following — and the trends in that fandom suffer for it.
#fandom wank#mar posts#anna m darling i’m going to kick your teeth in#get the fuck out of the ao3 comments and go back to the wattpad bog from whence you came#dickwad#vent
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wait which version of sansa is fanon sansa is?? i feel like the sansa of sansa stans has a lot of conflicting traits. is she ice queen sansa, who is all politics and cunning? or is she disney princess sansa, who is kind and the perfect lady?
I don’t know I hate all of them.
I hate showborn ice queen Sansa who decries her father and brother as honorable but stupid, I hate perfect impeccable princess Sansa who is held up as some sort of bullshit ideal model of feminine power as opposed to her sister, I hate shipping bait Sansa who is only defined by whatever dude the author is throwing her at.
That is not Sansa. Sansa is sensitive and spiteful and kind and ignorant and artistic and narrow minded and imaginative and brave and insecure and angry and observant and polite and vicious and clever and funny and wild.
She is not your model of ‘actually, going against prescribed gender roles is bad and you should feel ashamed!’ she is not some generic girl boss ice queen destined to live and die alone, she is not the walking talking conscience of any man, she is not the pure heroine to Dany’s villain or the cruel villain to Arya’s hero.
Sansa is someone who grew up chasing her sister around Winterfell and having snowball fights, who taught Jon how to compliment a girl, who played games of pretend with Robb, who comforted Bran when he was afraid of the dark.
She is desperate to please and anxious and hates change and is easily overwhelmed and she’s the introvert to her sister’s extrovert and she can say the meanest things but also is willing to put herself on the line for a perfect stranger like Dontos.
She is every bit Ned’s daughter right down to how she responds to trauma and she is much tougher and fiercer than her stans or her detractors give her credit for. She smuggles knives to secret meetings after dark and runs when someone tries to force her into marriage.
She evades guards and sneaks out of her rooms countless times. She remembers little details and she can think on the fly. She stands up to Sandor and calls out the men who harm her at Joffrey’s command. She learns to love riding and hawking with Margaery and in the Vale she befriends two outcast girls, Mya and Myranda, she’d never have even considered associating with back at Winterfell.
She lets her cousin sleep in her bed at night even though he wets himself and tries to suckle at her. She comforts him when he is sad and sick and keeps him calm during a perilous mountain climb. She talks circles around Harry Hardyng and runs around through the castle with Myranda just to blow off some steam.
Anyways I love Sansa because she’s a flawed human character who I can relate to, not because she furthers some shipping agenda or my specific brand of girl power.
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this is just a reminder that i do not prescribe to the fanon that kylo ren is the leader of the knights of ren. he gave himself that title. it is canonically recognised that the knights do not have a leader. they follow the direction of the ren, the pull of the shadow within themselves and the chaos of their own minds. the original ren was their spokesperson. he was charming and sociable and had the uncanny ability to trick others into trusting him. thus, it made sense for him to be the face of the group, the person that other’s felt comfortable approaching. but he was not their leader. they were directed by their own chaotic nature; things were decided upon as a group. they are equals in every way. thus, to my knights, if you imply they are being lead by kylo ren, they will not react kindly. they are from unprivileged backgrounds; they had to fight for their place amongst others just like them. they are not owned, they are not lead by one, their voices are not silenced. you are welcome to suggest as much, but my knights will not respond well to the implication that their choice has been taken, that they are doing what they do out of some obligation to a leader rather than their own free will.
personally, i believe the act of them kneeling after the death of the original ren was something of a ritual conducted upon each new initiation. a way to respect the gravity of the price paid and to honour the life given. the good death. the sacrifice to allow another a place within the galaxy. they were not kneeling to a new leader, but a new member, a new brother.
#「 ✶ 」 » KEIR » HEADCANON ━━ ˗ˏˋ MONSTERS AREN’T BORN ˎˊ˗#「 ✶ 」 » LUMIYA » HEADCANON ━━ ˗ˏˋ UNDERNEATH IT ALL WE’RE JUST SAVAGES ˎˊ˗#this is my interpretation of the canon facts we are given about the kor#others may view things differently and that is fine#but my knights will not immediately follow each 'order' from any kylos#they will question his supposed authority because that is not a role they see him as#he may call himself the 'master of the knights of ren'#but the kor do not HAVE a master#that goes against literally every core motivation we've been given#thats very much something kylo has decided himself and it is not true for my knights#obligatory fuck tag#in the hopes personals don't find this
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If you don’t mind, can I ask what’s problematic about the grid dad thing?
umm okay so i don’t think it’s like “problematic” in the cancel culture sense, but i do take issue with several facets of the term, and i was omw outside and annoyed when i made the original post so. brevity took precedence over nuance. discourse under the cut eeee
we hear it all the time about seb. seb with his grid kids, grid dad this, and grid dad that. on the surface, i suppose there’s nothing insidious about it—after all, the man IS a father, and it’s not a stretch to think he’d feel some paternal-esque emotions about the younger drivers, particularly any he might see himself reflected in, like charles. god knows i feel similarly about my friends who are younger than me at uni. however, it’s when you think about the implications of the term, as well as how it’s been used most frequently, that it starts to rub one the wrong way.
the thing is: sebastian vettel is not the father of anybody on that grid. he is not a chaperone at a birthday party. he is a driver in his own right with his own ambitions. he is more than a one-dimensional father figure in a fictional world. he doesn’t owe any of the younger drivers anything. also—he’s not that old?? daniel is a couple years younger, lewis a couple years older, and nobody is calling them “grid dad” with the same fervour.
the closest comparison i can think of is that the term is doing to him what cars 3 did to lightning mcqueen, but if u haven’t watched cars 3, that might not make sense. it’s like, it’s the prescribed cottage core pacifist aesthetic that bugs me and whenever people use it, it’s almost always to fit their characterization that he’s already stepped aside and wants to see others win more than himself. which, if u have seen any of his race weekend interviews, is not true. i’m constantly disappointed over the blatant fanonization, uwu-ificiation, what have you, of this man. from shit like “sebu is SO CUTE” (and can we talk about how that contributes to infantilizing east asian language/culture at large) to this grid dad stuff, it’s like people don’t see him as a grown fucking man who is his own person. it’s dehumanizing: “grid dad” makes him a caricature and a combination of fictional tropes.
the biggest point of contention, i think, is when it comes to mick, charles, or max, but mainly mick, just because of the history there. in general, i dislike pigeonholing him into a fatherly role for the Kids Who Need A Dad. he’s not a stand-in for michael. charles would never dream of replacing his father. we don’t know jack shit about max’s childhood situation except what he’s chosen to disclose. tbh the way people make grief porn out of these three is quite frankly discomfiting. like maybe it’s just me but i don’t think their lives are some toy story 3 tearjerker to poke and prod at insensitively?? i’m getting off track.
seb being touted as mick’s adopted father considering the actual situation with michael is disrespectful at best to both of them imo. mick, because his father is still alive and still his father, and seb, because he’s not some retired driver wanting to pass on his legacy. he’s there and he’s racing and he wants to win. barbi wrote a good post about this specifically that u can find here: https://brawn-gp.tumblr.com/post/664851672503336960/wait-let-me-explain-myself-a-bit-better-because
anyway i hope this clears some things up and adds some nuance to my previous statement! the fact that the f1 channel has actively decided to perpetuate this idea is. offputting, like they’ve also decided he’s washed and are only paying lip service to what they think will get clicks. but that's just an opinion from an obnoxious seb stannie :)
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Hey! Love the Tale of Years series so much! I have been following your ideas for a long time 😁 I came a cross one of your post where you had given an AU if Bella died in BD. Though I like the idea that Edward could grow to love Nessie and would choose to stay alive for her sake. However, Edward would never ever fall for anyone else. It really goes against canon Edward, I think?
Thank you so much! :)
(discussion of suicide here, naturally)
I agree, this scenario is pretty unlikely. It definitely isn't what SM had in mind with her worldbuilding or her Bella/Edward endgame—but I think it's in the realm of possibility. Vampires aren't designed to recover from the loss of their mates, but canon notes the exception of having a vendetta: Maria, Victoria, Vladimir, and Stefan are there in the books to represent that group. And Marcus was forced to stay alive via Chelsea's gift. If those external forces were removed (ex: someone actually achieved their vendetta), would their grief once again drive them to suicide?
We know the intervening years wouldn't dull their grief, and they're not capable of healing from it the way a human would. But at the same time, they've had new experiences, met new people, etc. I honestly think the outcome would depend on the person; the lore isn't strictly designed for that, but SM's worldbuilding has always been a little... bendy... so we've got some wiggle room if we want, and there are plenty of individual differences between vampires in several other areas. Marcus would probably die ASAP, but we don't know the others well enough to guess, I don't think. Even the Guide doesn't say that all bereaved vampires are driven to suicide or that they can't love again. Both are kind of implied, I guess, and they're both commonly accepted fanon.
In this AU scenario, Edward is delaying the inevitable for Renesmee's sake. And while he wants to just sit on the floor and be a sad puddle, he knows that would be missing the point, so he does his best to at least pretend to be happy and interested—again, grief notwithstanding, I don't think it would take too long for him to truly love Renesmee and enjoy raising her. He experiences some degree of real happiness and love during that time, and of course he still loves the others—bonds that most vampires supposedly don't have. So he doesn't have the luxury of letting his heart wither away or burn with anger because there's no "murderer" out there to hunt down, no drive for vengeance other than the usual self-loathing x 1,000.
The Edward-loves-again scenario most likely to succeed, I think, would be for him to somehow meet another bereaved vampire; she’s been staying alive for some reason or another and the Cullens push Edward at her in desperation. Maybe her eyes are already golden (It’s a growing movement post-BD), or maybe Carlisle and Esme have a feeling she would be willing to switch. She and Edward bond over their similar situations, complete with grim half-jokes/half-plans for a suicide pact for Later On. Eventually, slowly, they realize they’re falling in love. It’s a quieter, restful, second-marriage kind of love, but they can’t deny the change. They're both discovering a new reason to live. Edward is naturally horrified (“Wasn’t my love for Bella earth-shattering and absolute?!") and requires a few talks with family members to let himself be happy. He never does recover from his grief, but that’s okay, because our OC is in the same boat. Their love is just as much about shared pain and comfort as it is about their newfound happiness with each other. But it’s more than enough.
TL;DR: This is very, very unlikely to happen. See this sad one-shot by @gisellelx for a more canon-prescribed scenario. But even canon is full of the characters being surprised by twists and turns in the lore they thought they could depend on, so you never know.
#inbox#AU#Edward/OC#vampires in love#suicide#Cullens#i may not have answered your question re: Edward *in particular* would be more or less likely to love again than other vampires#...probably less likely but he also loves being Different so he might actually talk himself around to it#anyway this would make a great fic#at the very least I'd love to see who in the family helps Edward Let This Happen
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“I feel my soul as vast as the world, truly a soul as deep as the deepest of rivers; my chest has the power to expand to infinity. I was made to give and they prescribe for me the humility of the cripple.” – Frantz Fanon
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can i request an imagine where the reader is there when oikawa first hurts his leg and goes through his process of healing until the karasuno practice game? I hope that's not too much but I really like your style 🥺👉👈 please and thank you
A/N: hello!! I wasn't sure if you wanted a full on story or something in bulletpoints but I was feeling a bit burntout so I went with the ladder, I hope you don't mind!! Anyways, this is such a cute idea!!! Oikawa is one of my favorites so I hope i did him justice hehe
Healing with Oikawa
So it says at the karasuno practice match Oikawa suffered an ankle sprain but for Dramatic Effect I'm writing him with a knee injury bc this is fanon!! Just in case anyone is confused
As a friend of Oikawa's, you'd often stop by practice whenever you were free. You weren't a manager, per say, but you liked to help out
That day, Oikawa (as usual) decides to practice late. Iwaizumi asks you to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't work himself to hard, and you are so glad he did
It's just the two of you in the gym, but he doesn't mind. In fact, it makes him show off a bit more
He goes for a jump serve. You watch his magnificent form, and the way he pulls his shoulders back and seems to hover in midair. It's incredible
You've seen it a million times, but it's never any less incredible.
And then he hits the floor.
That's...not normal?
Quickly realized somethings wrong, you rush over to him to see him gripping his knee. He must've landed wrong
"Tooru, oh my gosh, are you okay?" You're at his side immediately, trying to figure out what you can do to help
"I'm just..." he winces, "busy falling for you, [Y/N]."
If your heart wasn't already racing, now it certainly was. But this wasn't the right time for that
You get him sitting up straight and call Iwaizumi for help. Eventually you get ice to his knee and Iwa drives the two of you to emergency care
The whole time you're incredibly nervous so Oikawa tries to laugh it off and make you smile. You appreciate it, of course, but you're sure he must be scared. A bad injury could threaten his whole career.
The doctor explains that it's not terrible, just over use. He prescribes rest and some painkillers to help and tells you and Iwa sternly to keep that boy off the court
Iwaizumi is busy being on the volleyball team, so suddenly you're spending much more time with Oikawa
It's starts the first day back after he injures himself. After a weekend of rest Oikawa was good to walk, slowly, but he wasn't allow to play
"So..." you ask him in passing. "If not volleyball, what are you doing after school?"
"I've decided to go to phsyical therapy so I can heal as fast as possible." He sends you his signature smilem "can't leave my cute Kouhais waiting."
"Are you going on your own?" You know both his parents work during the day.
He shrugs nonchalantly. "Unless you want to join me?"
You never could say no to him.
Thus starts your routine of joining Oikawa afterschool for PT
Sometimes his therapist would ask you to help out, showing stretches where you needed a partner's help
Occasionally, you'd get ice cream afterwards, too
Occasionally turns into a daily routine. Sometimes, you grab dinner if it's a particularly tiring session
You're ecstatic to watch him heal, and awfully happy that he trusts you to go through it with him. Although you don't mention it, you'd seen him struggle through lots in the past few weeks
A tiny part of you, however, wishes the two of you could stay stuck in your routine. Of course you want him to heal, but you think about how you got to share this special time with him
Suddenly, it's his last day in therapy
He grins at you as you split a popsicle. "So I'm all healthy now, huh?" He pops you his signature smile
"Yeah. No more PT..." your voice trails off
He smirks at you. "Aww, are you gonna miss me?"
You try to brush him off. "Pfft, you wish. I'm just going to miss free ice cream." You take a bite out of your popsicle
Oikawa laughs, unphased. "Maybe one of these days I'll just have to take you on a real date, then."
You freeze.
Am I dreaming?
"If you want," he adds nervously.
You smile back at him. "Yeah, I'd like that," you assure him.
The next day, Oikawa asks you to watch the practice. He has one last check up with his doctor before he's cleared to play, but he promises you he'll be alright on his own
You're frustrated seeing Seijoh lose. Even if it's not a real game, you imagine how it'll feel for Oikawa to walk in and see them like that
And then, he does
The crowd erupts with cheers and you're quietly reminded that your affection towards him doesn't make you special
That is, until Iwaizumi walks up to him.
"Don't get distracted by the girls, stretch before you get hurt again," he scolds him.
Oikawa laughs and your heart flutters. He looks up at the stands, straight as you. "There's only one girl in here I find more distracting than volleyball."
#oikawa tooru x reader#oikawa torū#oikawa tooru#oikawa toru x reader#oikawa x reader#oikawa headcanons#oikawa imagine#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x you
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