#anyways ALSO do not worry about the “”unpleasant people“” thing. i may or may not be hiding where i live from a group of people BUT

[somesecretpie]

I am looking for a human host!

Are you bored?

Are you lonely and bored?

Do you have a lot of time on your hands?

Do you have hands?

I’m offering you a proposal, with potential financial compensation for your troubles. It may sound off putting at first blush, but hear me out. I am looking for a human host. And I mean a “willing” human host who might be willing to give up some of their time to help out an odd fellow that doesn’t have hands or blood.

Am I asking to control your body? Yes. Sometimes. You’ll still be there, but taking the backseat. Now you’re probably thinking “That sounds no fun! I don’t want to spend all my time riding shotgun.��

And that’s valid.

But you all spend about half of the day unconscious anyway. Your body is just there, doing nothing—a complete waste. As for me, I don’t sleep (haha), so we could have it so that during the day, I will graciously let you do fun human things, and at night, I’ll do whatever. And by whatever, I mean perfectly safe, perfectly reasonable activities.

I don’t drink, and I rarely go outside.

I enjoy baking, I look at pictures of birds online, I’ve been getting into neuroscience lately. Very interesting stuff. You’re all very interesting.

And maybe you’re still thinking “Hey now, I don’t want some random mind-controlling thingy hauling my body around in my sleep, “Weekend at Bernie’s Style” to which I say, you’re no fun and you’re not the kind of person I want to live with anyway.

“But I’m a light sleeper!” you say.

Don’t worry! I can isolate your somatosensory cortex so you can’t feel anything.

“But my family will think it’s weird!” you say.

Don’t worry! You don’t have to tell them.

Actually, I would prefer that you don’t tell anyone. Please.

And should anyone question me, I’m not bad at impressions. I’ll get really good at a “you” impression, it’ll be the first thing I do!

I know this all sounds very strange and potentially unpleasant, but remember the financial compensation that may or may not be happening. Hell, I’ll even do some of your chores if you like, while you sleep. You can wake up and the dishes will be done, laundry folded and coffee made. Doesn’t that sound nice? And then you open the fridge and oh, what’s this? Someone baked banana bread last night (that was me, I baked banana bread last night.)

Now I should say, I don’t have a lot of standards, I really don’t. But I do (unfortunately) have some, so let’s just get them out of the way before I waste your time.

Please do not contact me if you have any of the following:

- Anemia: Sorry, it’s just not going to work out. I can pay for iron supplements, but I can’t work miracles.

-A weak immune system: I don’t like getting sick, I’m sorry. It’s gross, sick people are gross. I mean I know it’s not your fault, but healthy folks only please.

-A strong immune system: Yes, I know what I just said, but I also don’t want to be attacked by your immune system. So maybe you’re not the picture of health, but you’re just kind of okay. I’m looking for someone who is just kind of okay.

-A penchant for alcohol: It makes me feel strange…

-A name that starts with a P: I’m not the greatest at “speaking.” It’s hard, moving air through your throat and moving your tongue and your mouth at the same time. You all do it so easy—can’t say I’m not envious! I’m the worst at making the “P” sound.

I intentionally avoid any "p word" in conversation, and get by well enough, but I’ll look pretty foolish if I’m cavorting about, pretending to be you, and I can’t even say your name!

Those are my standards, but really, other than that, I’ll take anyone.

I don’t care if you’re male or female or anything in between.

I don’t care if you’re gay.

I don’t care if you’re smart.

I don’t care if you don’t have a lawyer.

There are so many things that I don’t care about.

Now, I’ve specified all the ways in which I could compensate you and how our relationship will be not in any way problematic, but I want to stress that, above all things, I am looking for a friend.

Someone I can spend quiet evenings with.

If you want to hang out with me during the day, that’s great! I can give you fun hallucinations. Or you could have hallucinations the normal way, like by reading, like what you’re doing now. I love to read! I love doing funny voices. I wonder what you think I sound like?

I hope I sound nice.

And one of the best things about me is I’m very quiet. No one else will be able to hear me except you. I’ll be like your own personal friend that only you know. Like a secret friend. And you don’t even have to talk to me because I can read your thoughts.

I suppose I should tell you a bit more about myself, since you’re still reading.

I was born in the Everglades, I think. It’s been awhile.

But I remember being so cold…

And so alone...

But then I met this sweaty man in a colorful tee-shirt, with a camera, and half a granola bar, and with blood so hot.

So yeah, he was my first host, and I’ll admit, we weren’t the best of friends. It was a confusing time for both of us. I was confused. He was confused. What happened was really both of our faults, you could say…

He was a bird watcher, if I recall correctly. Just watched birds all the time. I thought it might have been out of jealousy—watching those little things flying around makes you feel kind of stuck. I felt stuck.

So I decided to be a bird for a while to see if it was really all it’s cracked up to be. Squished myself into the body of this lovely American crow. We settled down, built a nest, and laid several nice, healthy eggs with a man-bird by the name of “Richard Baxter.”

He was a very proud bird, very large. And he gave me so many wonderful gifts. Like children, and also small pieces of plastic.

I still have all of them.

The plastic, not the children.

I’d never been so happy, all these hormones had me consumed in the joy of motherhood, but the crow’s health was failing. I could not sustain myself—it’s pathetic little heart beat weaker and weaker.

I tried starving, I tried everything I could, I wanted to be a bird so bad. But it just wasn’t working out.

The bird stopped working.

The other crows held a funeral service for me, even though I was still alive. I tried to tell them, but I’m not good at speaking, you remember.

It was all just a big mess.

I haven't seen Baxter since, but I still think about him a lot.

Is that weird?

I’m totally over it though, haha.

After that incident, I got kind of depressed... I possessed a lot of trash animals—gulls, racoons, and salespeople. I did what I could to survive. That’s kind of where I am now.

I am currently living in Miami florida—been body surfing almost every day (haha). Right now I’m using a library computer and a librarian. She does not like being possessed, boy howdy are these fingers twitching. But you can thank her for my halfway decent grammar.

I’m tired of feeling like a parasite.

I want to try a different approach.

I want to be friends? Like with Richard Baxter except I also live in your brain and drink your blood sometimes. But I’ll make you bread in your sleep, so it’s okay.

It’s been really hard finding someone willing to put up with me.

I’ve tried everything.

So I thought I would put up an advertisement online, why not?

Can’t say the P word in real life, but you can hear it in your head loud enough I hope.

I know I kept saying that I would compensate you financially, but I’m going to be real with you, I don’t have much. I’ve got like twenty bucks, some small pieces of plastic and a book about...finance....

But I’m a real hoot! ;D

So,

(P)lease,

If you are interested, leave your comments below. I would love to get to know you :)

I need to go now, the library is closing soon, but I’ll get back as soon as I can.

[syncrovoid-presents]

I return for a bit and then the shadow realm calls me back. I am packing all my stuff up and moving!! Yesterday I got to hang out with the friend I'll be roommates with and it's all very exciting!!

This is also hmmmmmm... the 5th(?) time I have relocated myself in the past year. Part of it was staying elsewhere for surgery healing (i heavily advise you all not to do at home surgery if you can avoid it!! It is a very long story why I had to haha) and general finding a place to live. BUT I have avoided the threat of homelessness AND gotten away from some Not Very Kind persons so this is a big

YIPPEE

moment!!

I am. Not dead. BUT will be gone for a like a day or few because the stuff at work did not! want! to! work!

Which I'd another way of saying that I finally was able to get free after working 34 consecutive hours in a row. The day prior I got 1 hour of sleep and that is all after 5 days of 10 or 11 hour work days.

I am so sleepy. I am taking tomorrow off and probably going to sleep right through it. Anywho cheers everyone!! I am going to go to the shadow realm now @:P

[damianbugs]

in remembrance of that anon that i tragically lost, here are some recs for THE most underutilised duo in the batfam. i could write ridiculously long essays about the tragedy of these two characters, and how they could become something great, if dc would get a grip a let tim grow up, preferably in the next decade. no complaints about damian. he is perfect.

this is also a cry for HELP. PLEASE write more big brother tim fics i am literally on the verge of collapsing as i ask. he is so unprepared but well meaning big brother so let him carry out his duty towards damian and duke PLEASE.

right then, anyways:

TIM AND DAMIAN FIC RECS ON AO3

miles and miles (in their shoes) by JUBE514

Where is Damian? Why can’t he see anything clearly? Where is the little brat? Damian had been by him in the cave when everything had exploded, they had been arguing like always when the two of them had gotten the punishment to go clean the trophy room, stop yelling at each other, stop being at each other's throat for two minutes and go clean the goddamn trophy room-

They had been cleaning, got into another knock out drag out argument, and it had come so close to blows and they had been screaming more than cleaning and-

The stupid fucking shoe, in the magical section- exploded out-

--

Tim and Damian switch bodies, the two of them realize exactly why the other does the things they do.

MY NOTES: i know body swap aus can be a little worrying, but this is a phenomenal fic on not just the complicated relationship between tim and damian, but also their own individual struggles and how that brings them closer together in an unspoken yet profound way. a must read if you appreciate the characters in their entirety.

Biphasic Reaction by renecdote

People may have allergic reactions all the time and be fine, but they can also die from them. He has a flash of sudden, morbid curiosity about what the exact statistics for fatal allergic reactions are.

MY NOTES: secretly protective big brother tim u mean the world to me. they are so fun in this, even with the medical emergency occurring alongside the sillies.

i only sink deeper (the deeper i think) by call_me_steve

Drake clicks his tongue and tilts his head off to the side. “This really isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

Oh, really? Damian starts furiously finger spelling, just to be annoying. You know, I thought the floating platforms would be of the utmost excitement.

“I caught a solid half of that and I think you’re making fun of me.” Drake goes to shift before remembering that he can’t - his face beneath his domino contorts into something unpleasant. “My legs are falling asleep, dude.”

You move, signs Damian, for real this time, and I go under.

“You talk,” Drake shoots back. “And I go under."

MY NOTES: it wouldn't be a real saki fic rec post without at least one kidnapped and almost dying in order to escape fic. i think about the conversation about love and danger at least once a week at random intervals and do not know how to be normal about it. at all.

The Wound Begins to Bleed by audreycritter

Now that Tim’s moved back to the manor, he just wants a few afternoons a week without Damian around.

Funny how getting that was the catalyst for him becoming a better big brother.

MY NOTES: okay so maybe i've read this a billion times and maybe it's my favourite tim and damian fic ever to exist but isn't that just proof you need to read it too? such a real fic. so personal. can't think of anything else but u must read it

picture perfect memories by Fandom_Trash224

“I… require assistance with something. I believe you are best-suited for it.”

Tim raises an eyebrow, but motions for the younger boy to enter his room. As Damian does, he slowly closes the door behind him, and Tim notices a small piece of what Tim assumes to be paper in Damian’s hand. Then, he realizes it’s not just a piece of paper: it’s a photo.

Damian approaches Tim, holding out the photo at arm’s length once he’s close enough to do so, saying, “I would like you to explain this photo to me.”

Tim glances down at it, and to both his surprise and mild horror, he recognizes the photo.

MY NOTES: oh... oh. Oh i am on the ground dead forever. damian and tim bonding over the shared fact that they got a version of bruce they'll never, ever meet. finding a common ground in grieving something they never had. oh.... how marvelous.

The Study of Birds by MaskoftheRay

Tim and Damian have hated one another since the day that the youngest Wayne arrived in Gotham City. A few years later, that hatred has cooled into a mutual disdain and somewhat-wary tolerance. If necessary, they can even work together— though neither likes to. Then Tim discovers that Damian enjoys bird-watching too.

Or: sometimes the difficult things are the most rewarding.

MY NOTES: truly something so special about stories where tim and damian find comfort and something to cherish in animals. a middle ground born from compassion and empathy perhaps. so sweet.

[lieutenant-teach]

Meeting Cyare’s father (or Anakin Skywalker doesn’t like his new son-in-law very much)

(Anakin doesn’t go Dark, everyone lives, everyone’s happy. No Sequels, rehashed Heir to the Empire instead of the OT. DinLuke, minor Anidala, CodyWan, HanLeia)

Din was really relieved about his helmet on, but then he remembered that the Jedi can feel other people’s emotions. No luck, then.

His cyare’s father’s eyes were trying to burn a hole in his head.

– Let me get it straight, Luke. A Mandalorian bounty hunter. – The voice could cut the stone better than a lightsaber.

– Mum likes him, – Luke was smiling, but Din saw him tensing for a fight. A cybernetic hand squeezed his.

– I didn’t raise my only children to give them away to some criminals, - Skywalker-senior stood up from the couch and started walking back and forth. – First I have to agree to allow my princess marry some smuggler…

– Han did help us to stop Thrawn.

– … and then my son wants to partner a bounty hunter, - Luke’s father wasn’t listening to him, anger coming off him like waves – Din was certain he wasn’t Force-sensitive, but one may not be to feel the Dark Side emanating from Anakin Skywalker at that moment.

Din remembered Luke’s words before ‘meeting with father’s half of the family’: ‘My Dad will become angry, I’m sure – he didn’t react to Han well, too – but don’t worry, he’ll cool down’. The warning rang in his ears when he saw Skywalker-senior for the first time: tall, with a rich mane of greying curls, but still very handsome former Jedi assessed him and made up him mind immediately. ‘Not worthy’. Now they were sitting on the softest couch Din’s ass had ever been on, in the richest living room Din’s eyes ever seen, and ‘officially’ letting Din into a very branchy Skywalker family tree. Or, trying.

– Dad, I’m almost thirty, I can decide for myself. And Din’s a hero of his own – he kept Grogu save and sound, stopped Moff Gideon, and also saved the town of Mos Pelgo from the krayt dragon…

– But a bounty hunter! – Skywalker-senior cried exasperatedly. – And, to add to it, a Mandalorian! It is all your fault, Obi-Wan! – he suddenly turned to Luke’s uncle, quietly watching all this until this moment.

– Wait, why? – the man was older than Luke’s father, gray hair and beard and mischievous twinkle in the eyes. So far he hadn’t said anything, but Luke had said his uncle would be supportive. Now it was time to find out. – My fault Luke fell in love?

– With a Mando! – Skywalker raised his voice. – Who in this family has a thing for Mandos?

– Do not speak about Satine like this, – Obi-Wan’s voice became steely, – and anyway, Cody is not a Mandalorian.

– He is a clone of a Mandalorian!

Din started to lose the thread of the conversation. He even wished he had a Jedi ability to speak telepathically and could ask Luke what the kark was going on. He shifted his head, trying not to be very obvious in his confusion, Luke caught his gaze and shrugged.

– Do you really think I taught Luke… - Luke’s uncle sighed. – We have been here before, Anakin. Luke is an adult, he can think for himself. If he brought young Din Djarin here, then he is certain in him and his own feelings. Did your fits of reality rejection change Leia’s mind?

Luke’s father breathed in and out heavily, clearly holding himself from harsher words, but reluctantly accepting the truth.

– Maybe, you should just talk to Din? – Luke’s uncle didn’t look happy, but so wasn’t Din hearing this suggestion.

‘Let me talk, – Din remembered Luke’s words. – When Dad started being… um… not very nice to Han – critical of sorts – Han started talking back. It escalated, some chairs were flying around, Dad and Leia exchanging angry remarks – Dad said she deserved better, Leia insisted she loved Han – and Han himself wasn’t making everything easier. It took two professional negotiators – Mum and Uncle Obi-Wan – to calm them down. Still, Leia and Han are happily married and have a son. So it’s just an unpleasant procedure you have to endure’.

– Maybe, he would take the helmet off for starters? – Poison in Skywalker’s voice could kill a bantha. No, a herd of banthas.

– I cannot, - Din was glad his voice didn’t tremble. He wasn’t afraid of the man, but watching a family drama, and, worse, being the reason of it didn’t feel well. He didn’t want to cause a rift in Luke’s relationship with his father. – My Creed prohibits me to.

– Veery convenient, - Skywalker smiled a tight and unpleasant smile, ignoring pleading and exasperated eyes of his son. – We’re a family now, you don’t show your face even to your family? Luke, have you seen his face?

– Dad, now it’s rude. Of course, I did. – It was obvious Luke was holding well, but his patience wasn’t infinite, too. – It’s only for immediate members.

Technically, after realizing the existence of different Mandalorian Ways, Din wasn’t sure he couldn’t do that. After all, taking off helmets didn’t make Bo-Katan Kryze or Sabine Wren less Mandalorians. But even if he would – not for this man.

The door slid open, a man quietly entered the room and stood behind Luke’s uncle’s armchair, resting his elbows on the chair back. Could he be Boba Fett’s relative? Because he was a carbon copy of Din’s friend, albeit much older. An intricate scar was winding its way from his temple down around his left eye.

– I am being quite nice! – Skywalker protested, dragging all attention to himself. – I can’t believe Padmé actually said ‘I like this guy, let’s take him in’.

– You know, I agree with you, - the probably-Boba’s-relative suddenly said. Luke’s uncle turned to him with puzzled expression. Luke looked disappointed. – The kids take after their mother in their bad choice of life partners.

Skywalker seemed about to blow up. He grabbed something from his belt that appeared to be a black respiratory mask and pressed it to his nose and mouth. The mechanical labored breathing sounds filled the room, Skywalker was drilling the man with burning eyes.

– Now, Cody, that was harsh, - frankly, to Din’s mind, Luke’s uncle didn’t look apologetic a lot. Luke sighed, his shoulders relaxed.

– I thought you were serious! – he even laughed a little, then gather himself again. – Dad, you do realize your approval or disapproval won’t change anything?

– Unfortunately, - Skywalker’s voice also sounded mechanical. – I believe no one in the galaxy or farther is worthy of my children. – He signed. – I guess I have to work with what we have here. – He shot a look at Cody, who smiled in return, and this smile was ‘I know you know I’m right, and I unashamedly love it’.

– Very well, - Obi-Wan clapped his hands. – Now as everything is settled, - Din clearly heard ‘Anakin is settled’, - we can share some stories and know each other better, right, Din?

Luke looked at Din with shining eyes. Din signed quietly. This look was worth all these awkward minutes.

[peggy7447]

Connect skin and soul

Soo, after my first art piece, here's my very first fanfiction!

This tells the story of how my beloved Marshal Commander, and my cheery little Jedi medic OC have first met!

To see my art of them, click here :3

I hope to bring more about these two because I have soo many ideas in my head (and in my notes) about them, only I tend to overdo things :D (This fic meant to be around 2k. Yeah.)

(Also there's an illustration in the works for this one, so stay tuned! Note: I also tend to overdo art, so it may take a while, but it is in progress, I swear!)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, please keep the feedback coming even if it's about mistakes! I'm always open to being better at something! (Just be kind please <3 )

Huge thanks to @electrikworm for being the beta for this one!

The beautiful divider is from @saradika

Tagsies! @lonewolflupe @tentakelspektakel

Summary: The day was a usual long one for the medic. All she needed was to get some well deserved sleep at the end of it. Only, the Force had another idea, and decided to surprise her

Rating: Teen and up

Tags and Warnings: SFW, some fluff, medical procedures, mild blood, needles, some medical jargon, attempted medical accuracy (not perfect, sometimes on purpose)

Word count: 8.666

The day was a particularly long one, stretching well into the night, but at least it was not one of the hardest. Lasha, the togruta Jedi sentinel was currently cleaning up her cozy little “doctor’s office”, her white and beige lekkus swinging after her as she was moving around and about, her violet hands efficiently putting all her instruments, medicines and wastes of the day, away. She lived on the middle levels of Coruscant, running this small medical facility. She was a healer, but not like the ones in the Jedi Temple. She was much more of a practical kind: she used the equipment the civilians did, while also wielding her talent with the Force. She liked to combine those two - felt it was the most effective way of healing. Not every little wound or injury even required the use of her special talents. 

As for the location: well, there was much less help down here, than on the upper levels of the planet, and the people needing help were more in numbers, too. She was always drawn towards the ones in need, that’s why she became a sentinel in the first place. She wanted to live among those who needed her, not above them, like most of the Jedi did. Not that those were despised by her, this was just more her way of seeing and doing things. 

As most days, this specific one also went as smoothly as it could have. There were a lot of patients, but majorly only cuts and bruises, and simple illnesses like a cold or a stomach bug. She had not even come across any clones. 

The Coruscant Guard was pretty well known to her by now. As the war had started, clones began to appear here too. They were also patrolling the lower levels, and wounds did not appear to evade the boys.

She was placing the last half-empty bottle of disinfectant on the shelf, when she felt something strange. Her stomach constricted, her brow furrowed as this unpleasant feeling crept from her gut up to her throat. It was like, worry? She was not sure. She felt worry before, of course, but somehow it was deeper; while still her own, it came through the Force. Suddenly she felt the urge to go outside into the alley beside her office.

As she stepped out of her backdoor, the usual smell of filth assaulted her nose. I am never going to get used to this, she thought disapprovingly and reached to rub the offended sensory organ on her face. She looked around in the barely lit pathway, only seeing the ever present boxes, bags and the trash container. She couldn’t see anything out of place, so she listened for a few seconds instead. Still nothing out of the ordinary: just the scurrying steps of people from the streets, the whirring of flying speeders on the airways, and the hurried hustling of small animals. She would have retreated into the clean smelling office if not for her increasing worry, so she followed her feeling and decided to check behind the container.

As usual, her instincts did not fail her: in the cover of the metal bin, slumped into the corner was a clone on the ground, unmoving. She quickly got down onto her knees beside him, and in a probe of consciousness asked him “Trooper! Are you okay?” but she got no answer. She didn’t have to search for injuries for long, because on the left side of his white chestplate blood was steadily flowing to the ground, painting it a matching red as most other parts of his armor. 

With practiced hands she went to remove his bucket. On first note, without even a thought, she sucked in a breath. She had seen this one before. This specific face had regularly presented itself in her dreams. She quickly blinked and concentrated back on the task at hand - the face underneath was pale instead of the telltale tan of the clones, making his big scar across his nose pop, his otherwise dark, but graying curls stuck to his sweaty forehead, eyes closed. She was going to have time to think about the strangeness of the situation after he was surely safe. 

As a first step she reached for the carotid, right under his chin, to check for a pulse. It was there, strong, but a bit fast, the same being the case with his breathing. Relieved that he probably won’t die in the next two seconds, she went ahead and positioned herself on his side, so she could pick him up in a bride's carry. She laid his head on her shoulder, put the bucket into his lap, then, with the help of the Force, she lifted and carried him inside. 

With the commander (assuming from his kama) safely laying on a medical bed, she went ahead and got rid of the upper set of his armor, and stashed it safely away in a closet kept for such occasions. Finding the source of the bleeding was no big task after cutting away the blood soaked undersuit. There was a neatly circular slugthrower wound on his left armpit area, steadily oozing. She grabbed a handful of bandage sheets and pushed them on the wound, slowing the flow. Next she grabbed the clone’s upper arm, and rolled him onto his right side, so she could check for an exit wound - and found one, just as perfectly circular. Grabbing another bunch of sheets, she basically clamped him like a vise between her hands. 

Now, with the bleeding controlled, she shut her eyes and reached out with the Force to map out the extent of the injury. The man had been very lucky, she had only found torn flesh, no shrapnel, and a small scrape on the brachial artery. That was the source, but the damage was luckily not big enough for a full blown arterial bleeding, thus causing the heavy, but steady flow. With the help of the Force she willed the muscles of the artery to close the small gap, and the cells of the wall to divide at a bigger than natural rate to keep it that way. Purely healing with the Force was a talling task, but in this case, it only drained her a tad bit, making her tired, but not entirely useless.

With the bleeding now mostly under control, she disposed of the bandage sheets, and went to obtain a pair of gloves, her suture kit, and an ampulla of lidocaine. Firstly she injected the anesthetic, then put her gloves on, prepared the suture and needle, and disinfected the area. With the amount of times she had to close up such wounds, she made quick work of it, only needing a few stitches per wound. 

After cutting the last bit of suture, she wiped off the remaining blood from his - surprisingly - strong shoulder, arm and chest, and inspected her work. Subcutaneous stitches with absorbable sutures would have been more preferable but with such small wounds interrupted stitches were much more practical. The clones always preferred the former ones given there was basically no further bother with it - but these kinds had to be removed. Either by herself or by their own medic. Now that was absolutely up to them - both were common occurrences. 

Making sure everything looked alright, Lasha placed two bacta patches on the wounds, and layed the still unconscious man back into a supine position. She then turned and grabbed a scanner to make sure his vitals were okay. Now that the bleeding was fully taken care of, everything should have been mostly back to normal but instead his HR was still elevated so as his breathing, and also had hypotension. She frowned - something was still going on. She adjusted the settings on her scanner and instead of just a simple vital check she had run a more thorough examination. 

“What, by the Force, have you done to yourself?” Lasha whispered out as her brows climbed up on her forehead reading the results. The clone on her cot was severely dehydrated and so fatigued like - with a slight exaggeration - he hadn’t slept in a week. “You’re definitely staying the night, Commander” she firmly told him, pointing at him with her free hand for good measure, and then moved to retrieve an IV kit, an 18 gauge catheter (He’s a big, strong boy, he’ll deal with it), two bags of sodium lactate solution and some midazolam to make sure he’ll sleep through the night. 

Getting back to him, she examined his right arm for the small procedure and found that he had such strong veins she wouldn’t even be needing a tourniquet. She smiled to herself at that revelation. Every medic likes a good vein. Before inserting the catheter she calculated the amount of sedative for 5 hours and injected it into the two bags of fluids. Her biggest volume on stock was a 1000ml one, so she would need to change once during the night - resulting in 10 full hours of peaceful sleep and rehydration. 

With the IV set up, the drop-rate checked, an alarm for herself set, and the clone comfortably tucked under a (maybe unnecessarily) soft gray blanket, satisfied, Lasha herself retired for the night. Only, her mind was full of her patient’s face. Skin like honey, the thick scar across his nose, the soft smile he almost always wore in her dreams. Those deep chocolate brown, shiny eyes full of tiredness but love. Those perfect dark curls speckled with gray strands. She had seen him so many times before, it was hard to will him away when he essentially was dropped on her doorsteps. She had the strong suspicion before, that she should have some business with this man. But he was a clone. He had hundreds of thousands of brothers. And it was always just his face - no armor, no background, nothing that could’ve helped her find him. So she just waited for the Force to guide them to each other some day. Well, she could’ve guessed that their meeting would be something like this given their professions, but still… It was so unexpected. 

The more she had thought about this topic, the more content she was. She felt a soft and soothing warm enveloping her insides: it was like the rising sun on a spring morning - the cold and crisp night slowly warming up to a just perfect light sensation of warmth on one’s face, making them feel content and happy and secure. They hadn’t even exchanged words but she felt so safe knowing he was there, just a room away. 

“Oh, kriff!” the Jedi whisper-shouted as she shot upright in her bed, scaring the beige and white fluffy tooka away, as the truth dawned on her. He kriffing got a bond from the Force. She was so shocked by this revelation, her mind just froze as it was and got stuck on “You have a bond. With a clone. A Force-bond. With a clone commander.” She was way too tired for this now. These bonds were super rare. She only heard about them just as a mention in one of her lessons as a youngling. There was probably no known example for centuries! And now it’s her! With a clone. 

She started to feel dizzy - she realized she was already hyperventilating. She needed to calm down. There was nothing she could do with this, least of all at this exact moment. She needed to meditate before she passed out. She tried to regulate her breathing: in for 4 through the nose. Hold for 7. Out through the mouth for 8, let the panic flow into the Force. Again. In for 4 through the nose. Hold for 7. Out through the mouth for 8, let it leave… At this point, the previously frightened little creature calmed down and climbed onto her lap, starting to purr. She continued her breathing exercise now complemented with the repeating motions of stroking soft fur. 

After about 5 minutes she was able to calm down mostly. She was still present with the fact of what had happened. Still felt the presence in the Force warmly envelope her, making the experience real. There was still excitement for what would come after such a discovery. But she was able to let go of her panic. There was no use of panicking. In the morning, after she had made sure that the cause of her current predicament was safely back with his brothers, she could meditate more on the matter, go to the Temple for some research. All in due time, not now.

“Sorry Boo” she offered to the tooka, who was now watching her intently with two, big brown eyes. “I’m okay now. We’ll figure it out in the morning. Come on, let’s sleep!” And with that, she tucked herself back into her fluffy blanket, momentarily lifting it up for Butternut to scoot under himself. After a few more minutes of stroking the soft fur of her companion (and the never leaving face of the Commander), she managed to fall asleep.

Not so surprisingly after the events of the evening, her dreams were, yet again, filled with a certain clone commander. Only difference is that now, they were a bit cleaner. She got a look at his armor, and she got the feeling that he was very high in rank and respect. And was radiating exhaustion. Like a lot of it. His whole being was utterly spent.

When the alarm had woken her, she herself felt like she had not slept at all. This kind of Force-plaguing fatigue had the trait of being infectious. She slowly sat up, trying to at least get functional for the few minutes of changing the fluid pack. Quickly throwing a robe onto her as a protection from the cold of waking, she made her way out from her personal room, and into the small patient ward. 

The clone, thank the Force, was still sound asleep on the cot right where she left him. His face was still pale in the dim white light, but was almost back to its natural color, his features relaxed and peaceful. She couldn’t regulate herself, and smiled softly at the sight, as the warmth in her belly flared up once again. She sighed, made a face palm at her impossible situation, then forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Again.

 As intended there was only a few more drops left from the first pack of fluids. Before changing though, Lasha got her scanner out to do a vital check. This time she took in the readings much more satisfied. He could still use that second dose of sodium lactate, but they were back within normal range.

Putting the device back in its place, she made quick work of the bag change. She did not really have to worry about waking her patient given that the light dose of midazolam was still actively keeping him under, but she couldn’t help herself and was more careful than actually needed. She just felt that she must be tender and careful, measuring all of her soft movements, her hands lingering a bit more on the clone’s arm than necessary.

I don’t even know this man! she grumbled in her head when she, yet again, became aware of her own actions. She sure would need a lot of time and meditation to figure this out and accept it. She had great trust in the Force, knew that it would not want her anything bad, but still. Her situation was absurd. This was a strange man, who she had found in an alleyway. Unconscious and bleeding out, and she just did her duty as with any other being, any other clones, for that matter! And yet here she was, feeling like she had always known him, and was the safest person she had ever met without even exchanging a word! 

As for the hundredth time in the last few hours, she let go of her confusion and anxiety with a deep breath, patted the arm of her patient and went back to bed.

The rest of the night had passed surprisingly quiet. Not even dreams had appeared, none at all. When Lasha woke up to her alarm yet again, she felt remarkably well rested. As she positioned herself on the side of her bed, she took a moment to think. Maybe the Force had decided to have mercy on her, sparing her both from the dreams and the overwhelming fatigue they brought with themselves. She smiled to herself content with this turn of events. 

Despite yesterday's happenings she felt strangely positive and excited. Naturally she was still stunningly confused and she knew she would need a lot of time and probably a long talk with her former master to process this fully, but somehow she felt energized and a bit rejuvenated. 

Preparing herself for the day, she made a big stretch with all four of her limbs and quickly made a mental plan for herself about the morning, going through her tasks, before actually enacting them. 

After quickly changing from her night clothes, she emerged into the ward to detach the, by now, almost empty bag of fluid, but she had left the cannula in, just for safety. She’d remove it, when the clone had fully woken - he was still deeply asleep. The effects of the sedative should wear down by the time she’d be done with her morning errands. Taking a quick glance on her patient, she happily noted that the color had now fully returned to his face, and the bacta patches had stayed in place. The poor man had probably not been moving around too much in his, well, not entirely natural slumber. 

Having her check concluded, Lasha went on and comfortably got her usual morning things done, while keeping an “eye” on him with the Force for the entire time. She did not want him to wake up with herself not being there and just leave. Yes, this had happened before with other clones. Sometimes she felt like those idiots would do anything to not come face-to-face with a medic. 

When she appeared out of her ‘fresher after taking a quick shower, Butternut was already waiting for her just outside the door. He knew exactly, that after the shower, came his favorite thing - breakfast (okay, all meals were his favorite, but the night was the longest time he had to go without food, so breakfast was his favorite of the favorites). It was a literal agility check to make the short way from the refresher when the little creature constantly wiggled around and under your legs, making the cutest of little begging noises in the process. As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, firstly she swiftly presented the oh so wanted meal, then much more lazily made herself a cup of warm tea. 

With the whole of her routine completed in the ordinary rhythm, with the mug in hand, she made her way back into the ward. The commander was still in the same position she had left him after getting him off the fluids, however, she could feel him very slowly getting closer to consciousness. Calculated she smiled to herself, carefully sitting on the cot right next to his hip, occasionally taking a sip of her warm liquid.

It took only a few more quiet minutes of drinking tea (she was just at the half of the mug), when the first wrinkles of wakefulness appeared on his face, and his calm and slow breathing started to pick up a bit. She did not engage, just sat in complete silence, mug loosely cradled on her lap, observing.

The first prominent movement he made was scrunching up his face, and lifting his right arm towards his injured shoulder, but let out a plaintive huff when he felt the cannula in the crook of his elbow, making his brow furrow further. He abandoned the movement and his arm plopped down onto his midsection. Which was still covered in the unnecessarily soft and fluffy blanket. There was a pause. Then a few stroking movements on the fabric. Then a brow that furrowed even deeper - now he was full on grimacing both in pain and utter confusion, which Lasha found so incredibly cute and funny she actually had to gather her strength in order not to puff out a laugh. 

After a good few seconds of grimacing he finally opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling, carefully inspecting, what looked like, every bit of imperfection or spider web, or anything, blinking slowly in concentration. The analysis of the ceiling did not get the preferable results it seemed, because in the place of the previous focus, the scowl of bemusement returned and after a second seemingly all his muscles tensed up. He probably figured out that he did not recognize the place where he was. It was time to intervene.

“Good morning, Commander” Lasha softly addressed her patient, to which he visibly startled and snapped his gaze into the direction of the voice - and found a stranger. His eyes widened in surprise, and his first instinct was to try and sit up (and presumably get out of here as fast as possible). The Jedi swiftly reached out with her left hand and by his good shoulder, gently but firmly, pressed him back onto the bed before so much as his scapulas could leave the sheets.

“Don’t get up yet!” She ordered him, which earned her a disapproving stare. “You’re safe here. You’ve been shot with a slugthrower yesterday night, while on patrol, I assume.” At that, he tried to sit up again, opening his mouth to speak, but Lasha, her hand still on his shoulder, did not let him. “Yes, you’ve slept through the night. You needed it. Really needed it. And that too” She glanced towards the cannula still securely in his arm, then up at the now empty fluid bag on the IV pole, next to the cot. The trooper followed her line of sight and made a face. “You have been as dehydrated as a desert upon the bloodloss.” She told him, looking into his face for a moment with narrowed eyes. 

“Who are you?” He demanded instead of any reaction to his current state, glaring first at her hand that still lingered on his bare shoulder, and then squarely in the face, intimidatingly. At that, the Jedi sighed guiltily, removed her hand from him and instead cradled her, now almost empty, mug of tea in her lap, looking down at it. 

“My name is Lasha Kahli. ” She answered her tea. “I’m a medic. I’ve had a few run-ins with your brothers before, so you may have heard my name before.” She looked up at his face. “You had managed to collapse a few meters from my backdoor, that’s how I’ve found you.” His expression was still stern, but she could feel through the Force, that he was no longer so worked up, as upon waking, now that he made sure no one was about to kill him in the next second.

She felt eyes on her, and noticed that he was watching her intently. Not really her face or so, but he was seemingly analyzing again, now her appearance. His gaze first got stuck on her robes for a few seconds, then started wandering lower, reaching her belt and, finally, it fixated on her bronze hilted saber, which was dangling at its usual place on the right side of her hip. After an embarrassing few seconds of medication clogged processing, his eyes widened for a brief second, then his professional mask immediately slipped into place, and he started to straighten up once more, but yet again, couldn’t beat the medic-jedi reflexes, and was pressed into place.

“Please don’t, you do not have to, I’m no part of the GAR. I’m not your superior, I’m just a civilian, who likes to help people” she smiled sheepishly trying to convince him that ranks did not matter to her at all. 

“With all due respect General, all the Jedi are generals” He answered, still in his professional mode, muscles rigid under her palm. Lasha sighed sensing her defeat. She did not give up on her goal, though.

“Then, Commander, my order is to relax, and treat me like you’d treat any other civilian.” She stated in a fake, too serious tone. She got a glare as an answer. “Please, this place should be one, where everyone can feel safe. Including you, and your brothers.” She begged as a last resort, squeezed his shoulder a bit, then let go physically. With the Force though, she tried to radiate calmness and safety, hoping that he could feel it through the bond.

After about a minute of silence, he finally let out a big sigh, and let his head fall back on the thin pillow of the cot, and groaned out a word she was not familiar with. She smiled to herself at her little win, and did not prod the topic further.

With his head now cleared a bit, he started to assess his situation. He carefully lifted his right arm again, now fully aware of the offending equipment in it, prodding at the bacta patch on his left shoulder. He made a small grimace in pain, and asked “How bad?”

“You’ve been lucky. Clean through-and-through, without much internal damage. Had to fix a small cut on your artery though. But nothing lasting. Using the patches, and making sure it won’t tear” she shot him a stern look right into the eyes, and emphasized the second half of the sentence “the stitches can be removed in a week, and you’ll be as good as new”. She finished.

“Removing the stitches?” he questioned with a narrowed look, a wave of displeasure radiating off of him, already opening up the patch to peak under it.

“The wounds were too small for subcutaneous stitches. Had to do it the traditional way. I know you guys prefer the former, sorry” she replied factly, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

After having had a look at the stitches, he gave a short nod and layed the bacta patch back into its place. Declaring this matter taken care of, he went for the next, and squinted at the cannula. “What about this?”

“Wanted to leave it in until you had fully woken” she informed him. “I can get it out now”. 

“Please” he affirmed, and she nodded in answer and got up from the cot to get rid of her now empty mug, and to retrieve some cotton pads, a roll of cohesive bandage and a pair of scissors. 

Upon arriving back to her patient, she reached her hand out, and the clone obediently placed his arm in it. While making quick work of removing the cannula, she told him “I’ve used a bigger sized needle so I could give you the fluids a bit faster. That means a bigger wound. So I’m gonna put a bandage on it. You’ll just have to leave it there for about 30 minutes. Good?” She could, yet again, feel a bit of displeasure in the Force, but he still nodded in affirmation. 

“Okay, that’s it, then.” Lasha had told him after finishing up the bandage. “I’ll fetch you your armor, I’m sure you would like to leave. But” she made an emphasis here “I’ll ask you to comm a brother to pick you up.” To that, he immediately opened his mouth to start arguing, but she held up a hand “I have given you sedatives for the night. You look like someone who can take care of themselves, but currently you're still under the influence of the med and that would give your opponent an unfair advantage. And we are not on the upper levels.” 

“I was in worse shape before and managed just fine. I don’t need an escort, sir” he argued anyway. Maker, clones are so incredibly stubborn she fumed in her thoughts. She almost shot back another reasonable and logical argument, when an idea struck her.

“You know what?” she asked and earned herself a half-raised eyebrow and a questioning look, so she continued “If, without any aid, you are able to reach that door” and she pointed to the entrance of the ward in the room’s other end “you are free to go on your own. If I need to catch or aid you, you call a brother. What do you say?” She presented her fabulous idea.

To that, a sassy, barely visible half smiley presented itself on the clone’s face, eyes glinting with determination. That’s it! They can’t say no to a challenge! she tried to conceal her amusement, managing to stop herself from slowly shaking her head. 

He hadn’t even answered, but started to sit up on his bed and tug the blanket off of himself.

“Wow, wait a minute!” She quickly intervened. “Let me at least put a sling on, before you tear my stitches.”  

“So I have only one working arm?” he grumbled, his legs dangling from the cot.

“You only have one working arm!” She shot back, starting to lose her cool. She nearly never lost it. Before he could put his legs down, she reached out her arm and called a sling to herself with the help of the Force and quickly put it around the neck of her patient, holding him in place with it for a moment of glaring. After a sigh, he tried to lift his wounded arm for her, and failed at it, frowning in offense. The Jedi just gave him a knowing look to that, and carefully inserted the arm into the equipment. 

Lasha took a step out of the way, but was concentrating with all her senses on the commander, to make sure he would not injure himself further by stumbling immediately. He had the intelligence of carefully lowering himself and using the bed as a stable point. He was probably much more dizzy and weak than he had let on. He was hiding it pretty well though, one must give credit for that. 

Being able to use only one arm, it took him a few moments to get fairly steady on his feet. Which were, of course, also significantly wobbly. He made a face of displeasure again, then carefully started to take a step, good arm still on the cot for support. With this method, he managed to reach the end of the bed, where he took a bit of time, most likely planning his next move, now that he had run out of additional support. After a deep breath he met the challenge head on and started to measurely put one booted foot in front of the other.

Lasha was watching still from beside the cot, arms crossed, instincts on edge, but she wore a quite amused expression. This one had a good amount of determination to himself, that's for sure. She almost started to worry that this hadn’t been such a good idea and he would easily overexert himself on this short track.

He was about at the half of his journey for the desired destination of the ward door, already panting, when suddenly his legs tangled and gave out, and his face started its way to meet with floor, but abruptly stopping, suspended midair, as there was a Jedi already being ready for something like this to happen. 

He was frozen in place just for that short time of quick strides Lasha had made to meet and help him stand steady once more. As she carefully guided him back to the bed, one hand across his back, the other grabbing his good arm in support, she whispered a barely audible “I won” which resulted in a disapproving grunt from the commander. 

When he was safely sitting on his butt, and she made sure he wouldn’t fall again, as promised, she started to get his pieces of armor out of the locker in the corner of the room, the first being the vambrace which had the comm unit in it. She had the thought that he could check on it while the remaining pieces of plastoid were being presented. 

“Oh, and” she suddenly called midwork, and turned a sheepish face in the direction of her patient “tell anyone who’s coming to bring another piece of upper blacks. I may have had to cut that into pieces” she delivered that kind of important info elongating the “I”.

His fingers froze above his communicator, frowned, made eye contact, then the question “You did what?” slipped out of his mouth following with throat clearing and a “sir”.

“Yet again, sorry, but a piece of cloth was not my priority when a patient of mine was actively bleeding out on my medical cot” she commented scrunching her eyes, pointing to the still present patches of blood on the cot, and started to wonder whether he was this clueless about medical protocols, the midazolam messed with his head, or he just liked to hold people accountable for every small nuance. Or all of the above. He was no simple case, that was for sure. 

His response was a very prominent huff of air this time. How talkative she mused and finished stacking the armor neatly on the bed beside its owner. Surveying the pieces she took note of the dried blood still present on them too, ruining the neat painting. Thinking for a few seconds, she came up with an idea. It was already her plan not to leave the clone alone until his escort arrived, and now she had just the reason for that. 

“Would you like me to clean the gear?” So she softly inquired with a kind smile. The question visibly caught him off guard, as he suddenly picked his head up from his work on the comm, making a face like he was not believing what he just heard: eyebrows slightly pulled up beneath the curls, and mouth just a tad bit open. 

After the initial surprise he promptly pulled himself together arranging his face and swallowed upon closing his lips. 

“That is not your job, sir, you’re a medic.” He stated, the previous surprise making his voice a little bit less serious than intended. 

“My job is to help and care. In any way. And I would like to. You only have one arm, we can do it together” She offered with a knowing smile. 

To this, came a sigh and a whisper of okay, as he gave his attention back to his comm, and, barely even noticeable, but the corner of his lips twitched into a shadow of a small smile just for a fraction of a moment.  Also, he radiated genuine confusion into the Force, which made Lasha become somber. How often did the clones get offered genuine care? The question filled her mind as she made her way into the kitchen to get some clothes for the cleaning. 

Upon her return, the commander was already sitting cross legged on the bed, leaning above and inspecting the first bit of plastoid, his white chestplate, that had suffered the most of the results of his bleeding. Clothes in one hand and a spray bottle of hyperol in the other, Lasha seated herself on the opposite side of the pile of gear, matching the clone’s stance. She handed him the rug, and grabbed the chestplate holding it out for him. 

“This” she placed the bottle at his knee “is hyperol. Great for getting rid of blood”. The commander nodded, and like this, they made their way through all the pieces that needed cleaning in silence. Lasha was helping to keep them in place, and was rotating them if needed, and he took care of the actual removal of the blood. It was not an uncomfortable silence though - they just did not feel the need to talk, concentrating on the task at hand instead. She was not bothered by this kind, and it felt like he wasn’t either. She could actually get the impression of contentment from him in the Force, and that made her feel comfortable as well.

They were in the middle of cleaning the last part when a ring interrupted them. 

“Oh, someone’s at the door” Lasha announced “I’ll be back in a minute” He responded with a “Mhm” so she got up, and hurried out of the ward and into the waiting area where the main door led to. She glanced at the display beside the entrance that revealed a Guard member with wings on his helmet. He got here fast! she thought and pushed the button that swung the door open with a whoosh.

“Hey there!” She greeted the newcomer. “Here for the Commander, I guess?” she smiled. 

“Ma’am” the clone saluted “Precisely. And good to see you in person! I’ve heard a lot about you!” he chimed in a cheery voice.

“Is that so?” she almost giggled a bit flustered.

“You’ve patched up a few of my men before. Commander Thorn at your service, sir” he saluted again, and stood at attention. 

“Ah yes, I’ve heard of you! Please, at ease, and come on in!” She gestured inside as she got out of the way, so Thorn could make his way from the street. He nodded as a thanks and made his way inside, though still in parade rest. 

The Jedi closed the door and followed him, while saying “Please, relax! I don’t expect formalities, especially here.” To that, he halted on his steps and turned back to her, tilting his helmeted head a bit. 

“I’ve heard that you’re not really into the military formalities, but I did not want to rush into things. Thank you!” He replied, his voice though modulated, it sounded kind and happy. “May I?” He questioned gesturing to his helmet. 

  “Why, of course!” She quickly encouraged him with a bright smile, so he went further with his gesturing hand and got rid of his bucket, attaching it to his belt. Underneath sat a bright and happy face, his eyes radiating joy. On both sides, on his cheeks were a pair of tattoos which depicted something resembling two red claw marks, stretching a bit with his smile. On his chin sat a small patch of beard that matched the color of his dark hair, that was held together in a bun on the back of his head, although a few escaped, and too short curly strands had given him a bit of a messy look. 

“Please feel comfortable, Thorn!” Lasha told him happily with a smile. 

“As you wish, sir!” He grinned and jokingly bowed. 

“With that. Lasha will do just fine I don’t really like the “sir” thing, I’m not your superior”

“Well okay, then, Lasha!” he chimed. Now at last someone who can ease up a bit! she cheered in her head.

“Come on, the Commander’s in the ward, back there!” She waved in the direction of the door and began to lead her guest. “Oh, and” she smiled up to the clone beside her, sheepishly “I hope you got the message about the destroyed blacks.” 

He kept eye contact for a moment. Then burst out laughing with his head tilted back, hands on his belly and everything, like she had just said the funniest thing he’d heard that day. Lasha’s cheeks flushed with red at that turn of events and embarrassedly rubbed at her neck the sheepish smile still on her face. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry” Thorn quickly reassured right after he could take a breath again. “It’s not you, I can just see Fox’s face at that info” he giggled again. “I’m sure he was so happy! I got the blacks for him” and he waved towards one of his red pouches

“That is for sure!” She calmed down from her bashfulness and made a small chuckle. “I almost thought he was angry at me, given his reaction.” She made a small pause, then added, a touch more quietly “Ah-hah, so that is his name” 

“Wait what” he stopped, a step away from the door “He hadn’t told you his name? I thought you preferred our names?” he looked at her, baffled.

“Oh, that is absolutely correct. He’d just never introduced himself. I assumed his rank from his kamas.” To this revelation, Thorn made a huff and said something in another language - mando’a, probably, but she did not speak that. 

“That is so him. I’m sorry if he was being rude. He can appear quite icey, but he’s a good man” he said apologetically, love radiating off of him in the Force. A gentle smile appeared on her lips at the feeling. 

“Yeah” she sighed and continued in her mind I can feel that he’s a good one. Unconsciously her hand moved to her belly that was still enveloped in the warmth of the commander.

“By the way, he is our marshal commander, in case he also forgot to mention that.” That honestly surprised her. She could feel, last night, that he was high in rank, but the highest ranking clone on the planet? That’s just. Wow

“Well yes, he certainly did not mention anything like this. I’ve been calling him “Commander" and he seemed fine with it.” She replied, astonished. After a few moments of processing this information, moving on from her surprise, she chuckled “Well it is a good thing he decided to collapse before my door, then! Let’s not make him wait though, I think he’s grumpy enough already!”

Thorn nodded with a grin, and took a step out of the way, and gestured to Lasha to be the first one through the door, so she opened it with the panel, and stepped into the room, the clone trailing right behind her. 

Fox - as she’s just been made aware of - was still sitting on the cot in the same position, only now he was trying to make the final touches on his pauldron keeping it mostly in place with his shin and wiping it with the rag in his right hand. At the sound of the door whooshing however, he paused in his work, and lifted his glance at them, one of his eyebrows climbing up on his forehead. 

“This place is much bigger than I’d initially thought” he commented, eyes scanning both of them. 

“Good morning to you too, brother!” Thorn completely ignored the remark and heartily greeted the commander, beelining to his bed. “How are we feeling today?” 

“Just give me my shirt!” the other grunted in response. 

“Okay, someone’s really grumpy this morning” Thorn noted but reached into his pocket and handed the black top piece to his brother, who snatched it out of his hands and promptly started to peel his sling off. And immediately scrunched his face at the attempt. 

“If you clones could be just a bit less stubborn, my life would be so much easier” Lasha grumbled as she swiftly made her way to interrupt the commander in his stupidity. “Let me help you with that, by the good Force, please!” She begged, her voice gradually shifting from annoyance to softness with each word, the last merely being a sigh.

This seemingly made her patient soften, at least a bit, as he stopped with his struggling, his shoulders dropped, and he made an audible exhale. 

“May I?” She queried kindly, and reached out with her left hand, signaling Fox to scoot over to the edge of the bed. After a moment of hesitation - or because of the increased processing time due to the sedative - he did oblige, and made himself sit in front of Lasha, legs dangling. “Thank you” she mumbled as she gently got hold of his left arm, holding it in place while she slid the sling first off his arm, then from around his neck, finally she laid the cloth next to him on the blanket. 

Next, she carefully let go of his bad arm, and pointed his attention to the bandaged other. “I’m gonna see if I can get this off” she announced the nature of her actions and tenderly took hold of said arm in his right one, the left slowly removing the cohesive bandage, then waiting for a good handful of seconds making sure there was no more bleeding from the small wound. Satisfied, she let go and concentrated back on the original task.

“Give me the shirt!” She instructed him sternly but tenderly, to which he, yet again, complied. “First I’m gonna put your left arm in, then around the neck, then good arm. Okay?” He silently nodded, and let her go through the process, aiding when necessary but not interfering with her, and together they made quick work of putting the garment on. 

“Now, wasn’t it better this way?” She smiled at him, a bit cocky. He did not respond, but she could catch that small twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. And actual gratefulness in the Force! The warmth spread from quietly sitting in her belly to fully enveloping her whole being, with such intensity it took a great effort not showing it (however she was almost positive that her cheeks went red which put an additional layer of embarrassment on top).

“Need help with the armor too?” She asked, hurriedly changing the topic before the situation became even worse. 

“I can..!” He instantly started the protest, but a knowing look from the Jedi made the words die in his throat. She did not even have to utter a single word, a few seconds of intense glaring made the clone slump again in submission. 

To this twist, Lasha felt a wave of utter disbelief hit her through the Force from the back. By the vibe of it, Thorn was actively trying to figure out if he was dreaming or not, or something very similar could have been playing in his head at that moment. The feeling almost made her laugh out loud, but at least it boosted her confidence a bit - it was probably much harder getting through the stubbornness of the commander on a normal day.

Once more, putting the pieces on went in a silent and compliant process thus making it easy and fast apart from the few pauses due to the moving of painful areas. Even with this slight hindstep she knew that it was much more efficient and comfortable with her help than it would have been without and that made her more than happy. As a last step, she went ahead and placed the sling back in its place on her patient, kindly smiling at him as a hint of displeasure reached her.

“I know you do not like the restriction, but if you use it for a few days, you will heal much faster and will be able to return to active duty sooner, which, I guess, is what your goal is” she addressed him with a squeeze on his - now mostly armored - right shoulder. He made a silent nod as an answer. “Okay” she mumbled, then turned around and went for the medicine cabinet grabbing some mid-dosage paracetamol tablets and a zip bag she could measure them into. He counted the amount needed for the next week (and a few extra, in case) and scribbled “Fox’s painkiller”, and the active agent and dosage (in case their medic asked) on the bag with a matching-red pen, and also grabbed a pack of bacta patches. She walked back to the clones (Fox was now standing, helmet readily in her hand, beside Thorn, who looked ready to catch him, if he even made a strange move), and extended the little bag of pills and the pack towards Fox. 

“This is some painkiller. Take one each morning for a week, and there are a few extras if it becomes worse. And the others are bacta patches - change those daily!” Then she turned to Thorn. “Watch him on your way, not even half an hour earlier his face almost met with my floor” she warned him light heartedly, which got a snort of suppressed laugh out of the other commander and a cheerful “Yes ma’am” with a salute. To this interaction Fox only grimaced, which made Thorn’s smile grow even wider. And that, of course, had earned himself a stern look, so he cleared his throat.

“Thank you for scraping our Marshal Commander off the ground, Lasha. I’ll make sure he stays in one piece” he said half jokingly, but she could feel the honest appreciation and sincerity behind those words, which made her smile from her heart. 

The said marshal commander let out an annoyed huff and determinedly started to stride towards the exit, when he, yet again, staggered on his feet, but Thorn was expecting something just like this, and was ready to catch his CO. As he was stable, Thorn gave him a look, made a gesture to balance him into place by squeezing both of his arms, looked at Lasha with a grateful smile, saluted, then walked out of the ward door, leaving the two of them alone. 

Now this she could not place. She looked questioningly at Fox, who was currently intently watching his boots and rubbing the back of his neck with his unscathed hand, but after a long minute in silence he lifted his gaze in her direction. 

“I really should be grateful for you” he admitted “I’m sorry. You did save me, and I was a ” And he used mando’a again, that she did not understand. I need to ask them to teach me, next time I meet a clone. He really was radiating regret, so in order to counter that, she sent calmness and lightness towards him. 

“It’s okay!” She assured him, taking a step closer, now standing face to face (though she had to be looking up because of the height difference between them). “You had woken up in a fully unknown place with a stranger, while being vulnerable and full of sedatives. I do not blame you, I would have also been pissed, probably.” She made a joke to ease his nerves a bit, however, to give more emphasis on her sincerity, she gently took hold of his right bicep.  “No harm has been done. And if it had been, you’ve certainly made up for it with you honesty”

He straightened into attention, the mask of professionality slipping into place and spoke “Thank you, sir!” Lasha could only sigh at that. 

“Just promise me that you’ll take care of your wound and my stitches, and take it easy before they are removed. And I told you to ease up, I don’t even know where this suddenly came from.” She gestured to him, made a pause, then added, smiling “And please, let me escort you to the door”

He did manage to relax a bit, though his face stayed in the same blank expression. If I see him again, I’ll make it my life goal to get him to relax! she thought, and after a confirming nod they strolled to the door, where she made sure Thorn was still there when she said her goodbyes.  

To her surprise, the warm feeling had stayed with her long after he was gone. A bit less intensely, she was able to feel the distance, but it became a steady and reliable source of warmth and security in the broody middle levels of Coruscant.

PS: Naturally, on their way back to the headquarters, Thorn had scolded Fox for being a shabuir to the nice lady, and had teased him for weeks because how easily she had “tamed” him, which Fox, of course, just blamed on the drugs, and absolutely ignored the strangely good feeling that had arisen in his gut on that day, and was there ever since. 

[fandomworld9728]

Dance With Me, Kiss Me:

"Oh Alastor, stop hiding in the corner and come join the party."

The party in question was a celebration for their victory against the Exorcist Army and had been the princess' idea. A way to thank those who helped in the battle and to raise moral.

Alastor had to admit, it wasn't a half bad idea. The residents' moods had improved tremendously after the rebuilding of the hotel and during the process of putting together this clam bake. It had even turned into an impromptu bonding activity for some of them.

Which is the reason the radio demon was standing in a corner away from everyone, nursing a drink. He had found himself getting a little too close to the King of Hell. Most sinners would give anything for that chance. Alastor on the other hand? It scared him.

Once they started to have an actual conversation, it was frightening how easily Alastor had spilt his guts to the other man. As if they had been close for years. Charlotte was correct in her insistences that the two were similar and would get along if they just gave it a chance.

Their distaste in modern technology, mainly television, was one of the main bonding points. The other... had been their lack of interest in romance and carnal desires. It had led to the deer demon confessing to the fallen angel how much he hated kissing and his horrible experience with the action.

"Then how do you know for sure?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How do you know for sure if you dislike kissing? All you have to go off of is that one bad experience."

As much as Alastor hated to admit it, and he would never say this out loud, Lucifer had a point. Not that he was eager to lock lips with someone. However, their talk got him thinking. And not just about kissing.

"I am contemplating my next move. Tell me, my dear, what is your stance on our king? Do you believe him to be trustworthy?"

If there was anyone's opinion he valued down here in Hell, it was Rosie's. She was an excellent judge of character (not counting her many ex-husbands) and had a talent for reading people.

"Well now, what a surprise. Finally making a move to add the other member of Hell's royal family to your plans? Let me see."

Getting her teasing out of the way, Rosie let her eyes scan the room for Hell's King. She knew something had been up with her friend since she saw him. And if he was coming to her about it on his own, she wasn't gonna mess with him about it. Not too much anyways.

Finding her target off on his own, Rosie took a few moments to watch him before turning back to her fellow Overlord.

"I may not know a lot from personal experience about our lovely ruler, however, if there were anyone here in Hell to trust... honestly it would be Charlie. That being said, do remember who raised that sweet girl."

~

Leaning against a wall, Lucifer lightly swirled his drink in his hand and took the chance to people watch. It's something he's enjoyed since he first came into creation. Now, the fallen angel was usually the life of the party, but that was because those parties were with the other Sins and upper-class Hellborns.

He didn't want the guests to feel like they had to walk on eggshells when they should be having fun. So, he stayed as a wallflower and made sure no one caused any trouble. One less thing for his little girl to worry about. This also gave him time to think about his conversation with Alastor.

Turns out talking to the radio demon was easier and surprisingly enjoyable when he wasn't intentionally trying to piss the king off. So much so, that the two openly discussed their experiences with intimacy.

"So, you had not so great times with that kind of stuff too?"

"Indeed. A former friend of mine, Vox, showed me how unpleasant and repulsive kissing can be. Not to mention the time I grew up in."

"Oh yeah. Dating culture was a lot different back then. What had he done to make kissing so gross to you?"

Lucifer knew as soon as Alastor hesitated that a line had been crossed. That seriously pissed him off. He had half a mind to go find that piece of scum and handle the sinner himself.

No one deserved that. Not even murderers who cannibalized their victims and seemed to love to poke and pick at the devil to get a reaction out of him. Who has done other horrible things in his life and afterlife. Before he could get too spun up from the memory, a hand came into view, outstretched to him.

"Care to dance, majesty?"

Next >

[karamazovposting]

On Ivan and bipolar disorder (part two)

Before continuing from where I left off in part one I have to say something: I go over some heavier stuff in here. Nothing that isn't already present in the book and that I haven't seen mentioned in other people's metas, but I still want to give you a heads up: the main focus of part two is suicide/suicidal ideation and childhood trauma. I mean, this is a The Brothers Karamazov meta about a bipolar coded character so I think you all already knew these things were going to be in here, but I think that if you have bipolar disorder or are close to someone who has it some things could be upsetting or remind you of some unpleasant (to put it mildly) experiences. Writing certain things hits me at least (though not in a triggering way), but I think it's important to touch certain topics as they are core topics when it comes to bipolar disorder and it's impossible to talk about it without going over the ugly stuff. I've also been on meds and in therapy for years and I'm doing fairly well in life now so that's all in the past. Anyway don't worry, this is the only part of this essay that includes these topics.

This said, here's what I'll go over in this post: mostly what Ivan says in The brothers get acquainted, Rebellion, and The Grand Inquisitor, focusing more on the former two than the latter, as I personally find a particular passage of The brothers get acquainted to be one of the most beautiful and bipolar things I've ever read and we need to talk about Rebellion to further understand Ivan's inner world. The Grand Inquisitor isn't really that useful in this case but there's one thing that caught my attention.

As I already said in part one, The brothers get acquainted is the chapter that made me decide that Ivan is bipolar coded. I've even written a specific part of it down and read it to my therapist because I am, in fact, clinically insane. At this point I don't think I can hide how biased I am anymore, not that I ever really tried anyway, so I'll start by saying that this is my favorite part of the whole book. It may seem strange because it seems like such a small and simple chapter: it's not The Grand Inquisitor, it doesn't have the dreamlike atmosphere of Cana of Galilee or the chaotic passion of Delirium; it's not the courtroom scene or the epilogue. No one's getting murdered or hallucinating the devil or getting falsely accused, just Ivan talking about himself and letting us see his humanity like we had never before. We get to know him in the same way and at the same time his own brother does.

Why is this, in my opinion, the most crucial passage? What does it tell us? This is the first window on Ivan's inner world we get and the first thing it tells us, through Alyosha, is that there's a significant gap between how other people see Ivan and how he actually is. I mean, we already had a glimpse of that in the previous chapters through Miusov, Dmitri and even Fyodor, but Ivan was never there. The difference here is not only that Ivan is present, but also that Alyosha managed to see right through him in a way the others didn't, and it's telling that Alyosha asks Ivan if he'll get angry and feel insulted after hearing what he picked up on, considering that it's just that Ivan is after all a regular twenty-three year old. Alyosha even tells him he's nice! The thing is that Alyosha thinks that to Ivan the offense wouldn't be in what he managed to see in him, but in the fact that he managed to see it in the first place. I think I'll go over this and the other characters' perception of Ivan in part three because it doesn't really fit with this part's themes and also I have a feeling this post will get long even without it (sorry!).

Ivan is not angry at all though, he's amused and he takes this opportunity to open up; after all he did say he wanted Alyosha to get to know him (and viceversa!). I think it's important to note that he ends up pretty much monologuing for three chapters straight, almost as if he's used to bottling up his feelings and keeping his thoughts to himself (I'm pretty sure it's actually stated somewhere that he does, I had some little notes I wrote in my phone mentioning something like that but my notes app crashed before I could save them and I can't for the life of me find it in the book, but I swear it's there).

Here we get to see Ivan's rather unusual attitude towards life: he's not actively suicidal in that moment, but he doesn't exclude the possibility of suicide later in life, and not only this is a very bipolar feeling on its own, but the origin of this feeling and the way he explains his reasons also are. Ivan is very tired, both physically and mentally, it's stated multiple times through the novel, but he doesn't necessarily hate life even though he has mixed feelings towards it; on one hand he says there is no kind of misery, no matter how deep, capable of making him want to stop living (after all, bipolar disorder is all about bouncing back up no matter what), but on the other hand he's repulsed by life and that's why he describes his lust for it as inconvenient and against logic. He wants to live but he hates that he wants to live and he knows he'll eventually get tired of it and just quit, and it's something he feels very strongly, all of it. The thing that really sticks out to me and that struck me is that his passive suicidal ideation is very thought out (unlike Dmitri's which feels more impulsive to me but that's another story for another post), like he's gone through miserable periods of his life several times (I mean, the narrator does also say it) and he came to the conclusion that yes, this is bearable, but only for a limited number of years. He says he asked himself a thousand times if it's worth it and after a thousand times he gave himself the illusion of choice: I will kill myself but I won't succumb to my misery, I'll just be too tired to keep living, it will be my choice. With Ivan (just like with bipolar disorder in general) it's all about control and it's something that hits very close to home to me to the point I had to stop reading to stare at the wall and go he gets it. He really does, this is a very common sentiment and experience among people with bipolar disorder and that's why it's sadly one of the mental disorders with the highest suicide rate (and most historical figures with bipolar disorder I know about actually did die by suicide). The constant up and down is exhausting and that's exactly the feeling Ivan's words gave me, he describes the bipolar experience so well I was genuinely impressed considering The Brothers Karamazov was written and is set in the second half of the 1800s, when psychiatry and psychology were just starting to be born. I think it's also important to mention that he doesn't really give himself much time either: he's only twenty-three and he set his own life to end at thirty. It's only seven years, but seven years can seem like an infinite amount of time when you have to deal with what we have to, especially if we consider my interpretation of Ivan and his childhood. What do I mean by that? I mean that this is about to get interesting (and kind of personal).

Now, in the past almost two-hundred years, no one has still figured out the exact cause of bipolar disorder as the exact mechanism behind it is still unclear (to the point we don't even know why the meds used to treat it work, we just know that for some reason they do) but it mostly comes down to two factors: genetic and environmental. It's usually a mix of the two and it's most likely that once again it varies between individuals, but a very common bipolar experience is the one of a traumatic and overwhelming childhood: many of us had to deal with a mentally ill parent growing up due to the genetic factor and many of us went through so much stress and trauma that the end result could be nothing but bipolar disorder. And this is where Ivan's character stumbles in: I think his protectiveness towards children and his impossibility to accept their suffering stem from his impossibility to accept his own traumatic childhood. Let's be clear, all four brothers had a traumatic childhood, but Ivan seems to be the one who's most impacted by it. Dmitri was abandoned by his mother at the age of three and his father forgot about him (just like he forgot about Ivan and Ivan also seems deeply affected by that considering how he reacts when Fyodor doesn't remember Aleksej's mother was also his own), Pavel never got to know his due to her death in childbirth, and Aleksej's only memories of his mother are fuzzy and dreamlike, which leaves Ivan as the only one who actually has clear memories of his mother: an ill woman who probably couldn't take care of him and his little brother properly because of that and who died young (very traumatic for a child); he probably still remembers her screams. There's a very well written post about how each brother was affected by their respective missing mother figure so I won't go into that because there's no need and it doesn't really fit in here, but I think this is a very important part of Ivan's life that also obviously reflects in his adulthood (again, I'll talk about it in the future), and that we have to take into consideration as an example of what kind of pain a child has to go through to turn out a certain way.

But why am I saying this? I'll be honest with you: mere projection. Ivan's words on the injustice of children's suffering resonated with me so much, especially in relation to his refusal to accept God's existence in a world that allows such things to happen. As you probably figured, I'm an atheist myself and I am for the same reasons he is. There's a quote by Sylvia Plath, who also had bipolar disorder: I talk to God but the sky is empty. I won't elaborate because I don't feel like this is the place, but I relate to it a lot and I think it's applicable to Ivan as well. Mind you that I'm not here to talk about religion, I mean no disrespect and I wouldn't have mentioned my atheism if it hadn't been relevant, so please don't say anything unnecessary about that.

My projection went even further when I realised that Ivan is young (we're the same age actually!), what business does he have to be talking like that? Why does he talk like that but his brothers don't? But I also talk like that so here's that and here's connecting the dots, as I started doing a couple paragraphs ago.

Symptoms of bipolar disorder on average start manifesting during early adulthood, which checks out because Ivan is twenty-three. But he already seems to have a lot of experience "on the field" and it's unusual for someone that age, so it got me thinking a lot, mostly about my own experience. I was "lucky" enough (I still haven't figured out if I'm being sarcastic or not, as it can be both a blessing and a curse, how ironic) to develop symptoms way earlier than the usual onset age of twenty-five, which led me to being diagnosed and starting treatment as a teenager (blessing, the earlier you start treatment the more effective it is on the long run), but which also means I was a terrified child fighting for my life on a daily basis (curse, for obvious reasons) and I thought that maybe Ivan's background could be similar to mine considering what I said earlier about his very strong feelings towards the suffering of children; it's still projection but at least it makes sense. I genuinely don't know how common this experience is, apparently cases like mine are quite rare (I've had this disorder for most of my life), so I guess I also take some sort of comfort in Ivan's character due to this.

And with that, we're done with both The brothers get acquainted and Rebellion, so where does this leave The Grand Inquisitor? As I said earlier, there isn't much to say about it in my opinion when it comes to the point I'm trying to make, but there is one particular thing that I noticed: Ivan thanks Alyosha for listening to him, he thanks him for caring. I found it very sweet but also quite sad and I think it's useful insight about how Ivan lives his life and his relationships with other people. If everything goes as planned, part three should be mostly focused on that and Ivan's particular (and partially self-inflicted) loneliness (which is also tied to how other people perceive him, I already mentioned that, I know) so I won't talk about it now. I also want to highlight that Ivan makes a joke! It's not the usual kind of joke he makes though, as we previously see that Ivan's humor consists mostly of taking the piss out of people he doesn't particularly like or agree with, this time he makes a lighthearted joke about his poem that isn't at the expense of anyone ("that's plagiarism") and he's even described as being delighted in that moment. I personally found that cute and I think we don't talk about this side of Ivan enough.

I'll stop here because I think I covered everything I wanted to regarding these particular parts of the book. I'm not completely satisfied with this, but I got stuck for days because it was a little hard for me to write this part, I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible because I had to treat matters I'm sensitive about (hence the slight change of tone between this and my other posts, I noticed and I hope it wasn't too depressing, I tried throwing in some humor here and there), so I wrote in as little sittings as possible and I barely gave this a couple rereads, sorry. It feels more emotional than part one, which is something I am not a fan of but I'm not surprised and there isn't much I can do about it (other than fix my own discomfort with human emotions I guess but I'm working on it). I wanted to write this but at the same time I didn't but there was no way for me to completely exclude my personal experience as it's the main reason why I saw what I saw in Ivan and I'm writing this essay in the first place, but please don't dwell too much on it. I managed to edit most of it out anyway but still.

I wanted to go over Ivan's implied problem with alcohol as well and also the comparison with Dmitri (I mentioned him at the beginning for this reason) because I see the two of them as being two sides of the same coin, but I didn't really know how to include them (I think I'll briefly talk about the former in one of the next parts but I'm not sure how or when) and then I realised these topics can be treated together (as I think they're related) in a separate and more elaborate post that is not part of this essay, so look forward to that (and the rest of this long ass thing).

[generational-atrophy]

(Hetalia Main 8 x Reader) Fighter S/O!

(Gender Neutral) Headcanons ~ A/N omg thanks :33 anon if ur good at fighting thats literally so cool. sorry that this is shorter, but i didnt have many specifics-

Trigger Warning: Swearing, other than that none! Just fluff!

YES YES YES ALFRED WOULD LOVE THIS.

As soon as he learns you’re good at fighting, he suggests that you two spar. 

Now that he knows you’re not breakable, he is going to treat you differently. Throwing things at you with his full strength (which is more than humanly possible-) and nearly tackling you with hugs.

The two of you make quite a (TERRIFYING) power couple. No one’ll be a dick to you guys now!

Arthur wouldn’t care that much, but he’d be a little intimidated.

But he’s keeping that information in his back pocket. He’s a rather scrawny guy, so knowing you can back him is very useful.

He asks you where and why you learned immediately. Of course, no judgment whatever you say, but if it’s for some more… unpleasant reasons he’d like to know.

Definitely encourages you to get better! It’s becoming a more and more rare skill these days!

Francis would not care that much personally, but he would totally admire you a lot for it!

Learning a skill like that would either take a lot of struggle or a lot of effort, either way, respectable.

As long as you don’t beat up people in front of him, he generally doesn’t care. He considers fighting for stupid reasons very uncivilized.

You can try to drag him along when you work out, but I’ll tell you now, he is not doing anything. He’ll run alongside you, but that is the extent of it. If you want him to help you practice, he’ll do it while complaining.

Yao would like this quite a lot! In his younger years, he was a fighter as well, so maybe you two can teach each other some tricks!

Of course, the way he learned to fight is very traditional, so he may get on your ass about “wrong posture” or whatever.

Also, he can’t go for very long without getting tired anyway. He loves you for your energy but he cannot keep up-

Surprisingly, Yao would be pretty supportive of you getting in random fights though. Even if the reason is stupid, he’ll still be cheering from the sidelines.

Oh boy! Ivan may not be much of a fighter, but he’s strong as well! Maybe you two can work out together?

He won’t say anything at first, but he definitely worries about whether you had to become good at it.

Normally he’d beat up people for you, but now maybe you could do the same for him?? He’s swooning so hard.

Like America, you two are gonna be the most intimidating people in the room. Power couple (with mostly good intentions. you may be a bad influence on him to start solving more problems through violence)

Oh thank god, Feliciano cannot put up a fight to save his life. But now that he has you, he doesn’t have to!

Wait, you’re good at fighting, so you must be strong right? Can you pick him up?? Please??

But he does worry about you getting in fights… you may be tough but you’re still his darling! He does secretly love patching you up though

He prefers words, but that just means you two balance each other out! Weak and strong, a perfect match!

Ludwig is also quite a formidable fighter as well, so you two have something fun in common!

He’d definitely appreciate someone who can hold their own. He thinks it says a lot about your character! Very encouraging and supportive.

Definitely brings you along to the gym so you two can practice together. If you’re better at specific styles, you can always teach him.

Just… don’t get in any street fights, won’t you? It stresses him out immeasurably.

Oh cool. Kiku is not very strong, but he knows a lot about the art of fighting, so he finds you quite interesting for it.

Give a little demonstration, won’t you? Even if it’s awkward :}

He’d love for you to teach him. He’s always been just average physically, so maybe with your motivation, he’ll finally be more like Ludwig!

But he’d hate you getting in fights, just think of the attention it’ll attract! Please, try to keep your sparring in the gym.

[manaofflame]

This is some pre-canon one-shot fic practice that may be implemented into the comic. I only made this because of the new art I did, which is below. Some art note, I am just trying out various color profile view thing that the digital art application I used have, because I'm not sure if I'm bad at coloring and choosing color or it's the color profile, I don't know, just trying things out. Siffrin is not a good candidate for this, since his color palette is black and white, oops, but I'm trying stuff out and improving... I hope... Uh, I hope you enjoy!

(Warning: Nothing morbid like blood or worse, but just for people who likes good grammar. I'm bad with past, present and future tense, so, sorry about this. Also, I am bad at remembering some vocabulary, even some basic words! So the writing can feel... simple. Anyway, that's all!)

Sorry for another interruption, this is just in case some technical error happen. You see, some times, when I tried to create some paragraph spacing in the middle of all of these words, some of the paragraphs just straight up vanished and never came back, at least in my screen it doesn't. So I'm not sure if when I post this, those paragraphs will pop out of nowhere. If it does, I will see if I can deal with it. Not sure if this is a common problem, but it happened to me.

Mirabelle is feeling very anxious and nervous. Recently, they had retrieved the fourth orb after a hard battle with the sadness that guards it. With one left to go, their journey is nearing to it's end.

She hadn't been able to sleep, so she decided to take a walk around, to calm herself down.

She stopped suddenly when she spotted Siffrin, looking up at the night sky, looking at the stars again (she's not sure why he likes to do it. She supposed it's pretty, but she felt that there's more to it than simple observation).

She shouldn't be surprise or startled to find Siffrin in the dead of night, and seeing no one is awake right now (or outside like they are), she...

"Siffrin." She softly called out to Siffrin, trying not to startle him, though it seems he already noticed her presence. He's very good at sensing presence amongst the party, it's what allowed him to find Bonnie that time when the rest of them didn't noticed the child.

"Mira, shouldn't you be in bed?" Siffrin asked.

"I should, but I can't sleep. And so should you. I know you like being up at night, but... it's not healthy, being up at night all the time, and we need to be ready and good to go to keep journeying, and... and..." Mirabelle tries to find more answers, but she ran out of it.

"...Mira, you are worried... Why?" Siffrin asked, looking concern. Mirabelle feels a bit jealous that Siffrin is not feeling anxious or worried about this journey at all. She wished she had that kind of confidence. Still, despite that, Mirabelle knows by now, from the time she journeyed with him alongside with everyone, that he's a kind and caring person.

Despite her initial worries due to his mysterious aura and other factors when he first joined, Mirabelle is glad to asked him to join her and help her to save Vaugarde when he saved her and everyone from that powerful sadness.

"I'm.. just worried. We are closing in the end of the journey, there's only one orb left to get before we head to Dormont to get to the House Of Change to defeat the King, but... what if something happen?!"

"Mira."

"What if... one of us die? What if they are crippled permanently for life? What if... What if..."

"Mira, stop. Listen to me."

Mirabelle stops, looking at Siffrin, who's looking at the stars with pained expression, as if thinking of some unpleasant things like memories or something else. He then turns to Mirabelle with a reassuring face.

"It will be alright, Mira. I won't let anything happen to anyone. I won't. Isa, Odile, Bonbon, and you. I won't let anything happen to you." Siffrin declared with a small smile.

...She knows. Siffrin would look out for everyone, and lead everyone to safety, disarming traps and looking out for enemies, making sure nothing bad happen to them.

"..Thanks, Siffrin. I suppose I should stay positive! No need to bring down the morals." Mirabelle replied with a smile, feeling a bit better.

"No problem, I hope it helps." Siffrin hides beneath his hat. Is he being shy again? Cute!

Mirabelle hopes nothing bad will happen to her or anyone, and of course, Siffrin. He's her and their friend after all! She now feel like she could go back to sleep now. She hoped one day she could hug and group hug with Siffrin, but due to his weird aversion to touch as Odile called it, she sadly could not. She hoped one day she could though.

[noisytenant]

I want to break up with my boyfriend but I'm worried about him because he doesn't have many friends outside of me and I'm not sure I'll be able to maintain a normal friendship with him after we break up 🤐

🫂 it's a tough situation to be in... perhaps you can take comfort in the fact that many people have tread this path before. i hope you can find resolution soon...

unsolicited advice:

i've seen too many relationships where people feel responsible for their partner's social life, or general wellbeing. many of those relationships were mine, lol.

we are all interconnected, but when we start to ignore our own feelings (like, "get me outta this relationship!") in an attempt to anticipate or control outcomes outside of ourselves, we enter unhealthy (at the very least unhelpful) territory.

let go of the idea that you can control how he behaves after a breakup...... you can do your best to set things up for success, but whatever happens is gonna happen.

you can't make friends for him, but you can express a desire for him to have friends outside of you. if you have the energy, you can make some suggestions and nudge a bit, but remember, you can bring a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

--

Also, to anyone reading this--If your partner is your only friend, or one of your only friends, please consider diversifying!! This is for everyone's sake... Even the most perfect partner, who you feel completes your soul, is still unable to provide you with the spectrum of experiences and relationships that a richer social network can.

I also need to make more + closer friendships so I'm saying this with the full personal knowledge that this is not easy, but it is important. Ask yourself what stands in the way of your relationships and see if you can start to make some movement.

--

Anyways... I have somewhat strong opinions about "maintaining a normal friendship after we break up"--I personally think people should really not try to be friends right after a breakup. You need time and space to recenter yourself in your newly single life!

I have occasionally met people who have become friends (again) after breaking up, and I think it's super cool when it happens. But don't rush it. You have to fully disentangle yourselves from each other. Otherwise, many of the potentially unhealthy or unpleasant patterns from your relationship will remain in your friendship.

I don't like putting numbers on the grieving process, but I think at least 1-2months at minimal to no contact is good for rebuilding your life. Do as you wish, but that's my perspective.

--

While you're sorting out how to end things, consider if there are boundaries you can set to make the relationship more bearable. do you need to curtail certain conversation topics? spend more or less time together? there may be ways to ease some of the stress and burden on you. if you set a boundary, expect to need to reinforce it. people often break them without meaning to.

--

like i said, it's not easy, but i hope you will find your way through it. And hopefully my advice can provide you some energy or guidance ^^

an encouraging anecdote:

i had a codependent friendship in early high school with a friend who was dealing with a lot of stuff. i encouraged him to look out for himself in certain ways, and took on a lot of responsibility for his well-being, in the clumsy ways a teenager does.

but he had big problems, bigger than ones i knew how to manage on my own, and i felt like more and more i was fretting about him without thinking about myself (in part because of how painful and shitty my own situation was!). i wished i could fix everything for him, but i didn't have that kind of power. nobody did! eventually i reached a point where i said i needed space from him, because i felt like our friendship wasn't healthy.

of course he wasn't happy, but he accepted and we stopped interacting for a while. and within a few months, i watched him really start to flourish. he made new friends, he started new hobbies. he got really into exercising (which isn't always strictly healthy, but i think it was good in this case and helped him feel better in his body). we were never close like we used to be, but we were able to talk and be friendly.

i think if i allowed our relationship to continue, he might not have tried to branch out like he did. i do wish i could have modulated our relationship better and set boundaries early so i wouldn't end up cutting him off, because that really sucks. but despite the pain of the friend-breakup, he seemed able to make meaning of it and move on.

So, if you can respectfully end the relationship while expressing your honest desire and belief in his good qualities + ability to be part of the social world, i think there is a high chance he will move on + be okay. and if he isn't, that isn't all your fault or responsibility. there are so many factors at play, and sometimes things need to get worse for a bit before they get better.

In Summary

Good Luck Out There

[missamyrisa2]

Hi Amy, I have a strange question and you don't have to answer if you don't want to! Do you have any advice on (safely and secretly) finding an irl tickle community in a given area? The safety concerns go without saying, and I really don't want anyone I know to find out I have this kink, but I want to be tickled so bad. I've also heard the kink community at large can be a little mean and dismissive toward people who like tickling, so that worries me. But I've been kind of lurking around the tickle community on Tumblr for a while and I've seen people like you talk about irl tickle experiences they've had and I'm always like, "where is everyone finding other tickling people? It's not like you can just go around asking" I'm also not a very social person, I don't go to clubs and stuff so it's possible that's why I'm so sheltered about it. I don't mean to dump on you, I honestly am just looking for some advice if you have it, and if you don't have any/don't want to answer then thanks anyway and I still love your content!

Oooh thank you sooo much cutieee~ and it's definitely not a strange question, that's like ~THE~ question isn't it, how to find your ticklessss and your tickle people ~

Soo first, my really loooong answer to this.

I'm very similar, I am a very private person especially with my kinks and I had some rather unpleasant experiences trying to make friends through various kink communities. Boundaries not being respected, people being too pushy, too demanding, and so forth. I've been pretty open and honest the Fetlife did not give me a real great experience neither in the tickling side or other communities. It's tough to navigate those communities if you don't swing a certain way and/or don't have your toes in the BDSM lifestyle. The cutesy loving tickling is a bit rarer to find in community. I don't do clubs or going out much either~

I did connect for a few sessions through Fetlife. And unfortunately they weren't the best. The one session I did enjoy was a little soured when I learned after that my tickler had charges filed against them for aggressively tickling someone in the workplace, and it only got worse with some comments they started sending me via email until I finally cut them off. My one experience with a tickle video producer was when one of them posed as two of the models they had worked with previously and was trying to I don't know, catfish me into having a session with them by supposedly relaying talks these ladies were having with the producer to me.

As you may have read, I did have a positive experience in meeting with a massage therapist for tickle therapy. That took years to build the mutual trust and friendship, and I'd say it was cosmic happenstance rather than a good method for finding a tickler. A majority of tickle and tease and other sessions I've ever had were all grown out of friendships and relationships. I had to find my bravery to come out of my comfort zone and ask for it from people who weren't into tickling and many times had never done much kinky stuff.

I will say though, asking someone to tickle you is like the softest blow to give if you start by saying you'd really love to try something kinky with them. Most people immediately assume whips and chains such. Saying oh you just mean tickling, and especially if it's you being tickled, all but the most uptight of people will be willing to at least try it out.

The soft approach has worked for me. I don't go in with hey could you tickle me because I actually run this tease tumblr and there's like hundreds and hundreds of people who send me requests to tickle them and oh also here's the gazillion tickle videos I've acquired over the years and a pile of artwork of scenarios of me being tickle tortured. It's a bit deceptive to play it up like there's this thing I always wanted to try, but I can't think of any way to do it otherwise.

Soo~ the shorter version of all that is, I don't have a specific method buuuutt~ for me what has worked is to find a local person or people you connect with personally, and introduce tickling. Sometimes people have no idea about it and absolutely adore the tickles even if they don't have a fetish or want to call it a fetish. It's wonderful if you can meet someone who not only has a tickle fetish but also has a tickle fetish with aligns with your specific version of it. You might stumble into them here, you might not. Most of all though don't give up~! Set up your little corner and love yourself and don't let anyone who isn't respecting you stay in your space. There are people who will definitely take advantage of knowing you're desperate for tickles and you do not have to stoop to that.

Hopefully my rambling is of some help~<33

[fromtenthousandfeet]

I'm going to write a lot of meaningless words because I really want to talk. Sorry author, your blog will have to suffer. I apologize in advance for all the grammatical errors, I haven’t practiced my English for a long time, and it was not good to begin with

We are all worried about what is happening to Jimin, what he is thinking about and what he is going to do. I know a lot of people hope that he didn't sign the contract, but I'm inclined to think that he did. Unfortunately, Jimin loves the group very much and from some of his words in 2023 I conclude that he does not see himself outside of it (the show with Yoongi, for example, and all the "we are family" bs)

To be honest, Jimin's situation can be understood. Despite his strong spirit and hard work, Jimin was practically not allowed to show himself as a solo artist (his only solo work within the group was in 2016 - Lie). Moreover, there were cases where Jimin has taken an active role in composing melodies but was not credited. In general, his artistic vision was always present and should have been developed, but was shadowbanned for the benefit of the group and the company (also lets not forget the narrative where only the great and mighty rap line members write group songs)

However, even in such conditions, Jimin’s inner star shone. The growth of his popularity began with the red-haired Perfect Man, while the peak occurred in 2018-2019. After which the group entered the global market and Jimin's focus was blurred between the maknae line (and to some extent Yoongi). Not only did Jimin lose his dominant role, but he also gained a colossal number of haters, primarily among the crazy shippers who took the helm of the biggest fan accounts

Pandemic, scandal, Jimin's departure from social networks... A chain of unpleasant events happened since Dynamite and then hiatus. It seemed that everything was bad-bad. But no, Jimin was reborn as a phoenix and so did his personal fandom (I mean pjms). Yes, there was a free fall, there were some shitty paid articles, there was Jungkook, carried in the arms of the whole company, but Jimin’s light was bright

Enough of history. Now my true thoughts

Each member was developing himself as far separately as possible from the group. Of course, none of them named their own fandom out loud, as Lisa did, but each was focused on his own brand and media portrait. Some were especially smart and made "new friends". That's what Yoongi and Taehyung particularly did. I think these two have the greatest chance of leaving the group with the least losses in the future. Of course, except for Jungkook, who already has everything planned by the company. Unfortunately, Jimin didn't make new friends, working with the same group of people he'd been working with for the past 10 years. It’s good, of course, when people know you, but it also slows down your further development. If Jimin ever leaves the company, he would be left with nothing (btw he worked on CTT with Ayo and SGMB with Tommy and... Well, I hope he'll never work with them again)

I don’t know how much Jimin fought for himself, but in the end he was deprived of what the whole world knows him for, namely powerful performances and Western influence. Considering that he will be in the army for a year and a half, and when he returns, he will be back in the group, and before the army he practically did not appear in public for a year... In total, at least 3 years down the drain. He may find himself in a situation where his peak value is lost

Last but not least. I don’t really like to talk about the members, but they all showed their true colors in the solo era. Each of the 6 use each other to achieve their goals and get maximum profit from what their fans buy. Many pjms believe that by saying such things you are projecting yourself onto Jimin, but I will say it anyway: Jimin, it’s time to stop being everyone’s punching pillow. Open your eyes. Members can love you, you can love them too, but you need to love yourself more. On Instagram you need to promote yourself, not others. You should write songs not about the group, but about yourself (ah, this f..ing movement in SGMB). You need to go to your own meetings, not to the promo of others. Phew. I said it. I said it out loud

All in all, only when Jimin starts fighting for his rights, something good will happen. Pjms are strong and love him to no end, but no one will fight against the company forever. Sooner or later we will be mired in negativity if Jimin doesn't show that he loves himself and is willing to defend what belongs to him. If he chooses the path of the shadow in the group... He is finished

Anon, amen to all of this. Let's hope that Jimin is able to assemble a team of good managers, a decent social media person, and highly skilled and creative songwriting/producing team that have nothing to do with HYBE. Let's also hope he comes back from MS with crazy high self esteem and doesn't take any shit from anyone at that stupid company, including, but not limited to, his fellow team members. Call me crazy, but I have a lot of faith in him.

P.S. OMG! Your English is amazing. You write so much better than the average American. I take my hat off to you and your English instructors.

[krysmcscience]

Intro post I will prolly edit later, lol

Figured I needed to make a pinned post at some point for people checking out my page.

Here's my ko-fi - And yes, I do commissions. The prices are based on the time and effort it takes me. If you want something cheap and fast, I offer '$2 per minute' sketches. I can do more with that time than you might think. (Granted, I also worry way less about pesky things like anatomy and outfit details.)

Here's my Ao3 - My stuff is dark and unpleasant, because my life has been dark and unpleasant, and thus what I write is not meant for either children or people who think censoring dark and unpleasant things helps anyone. :) My stuff is also Pretty Dang Queer.

Here's my original art tag - I tend to stick to just a few hyperfixations, and rotate between them, sometimes with overlap. Current hyperfixation is Breach, and a bit of Heavenshine. On hold is The Spirit Marauder, Starlight Killer, and Bleached Canvas, among other stories that I may or may not have posted about. Sometimes I forget to tag character and story names and such, though, because I am bad at tagging.

Here's my fanart tag - Again, I tend to stick to just a few hyperfixations, and rotate between them, sometimes with overlap. Current hyperfixation is Gravity Falls (specifically Billford). I may sometimes still draw for Cult of the Lamb, Among Us, Pokemon, Zelda, Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball, and Tokyo Mew Mew, among other things, but most of my older stuff doesn't have the fanart tag (because again - I am bad at tagging). I no longer draw for Homestuck, though I may still reblog posts about it that I find funny, and while I don't think I ever posted art for it here, anyway, my InuYasha hyperfixation died the moment my comfort character was turned into a pedophile. It is liable to never recover. u_u

Here's my art reblog tag - I very rarely reblog other folks' art. Not because I don't like it, but because if I reblogged every bit of art that I liked, I would probably overwhelm all my followers' dashboards. 8|; If you want to see all the stuff I like, anyway, my likes are public.

Here's my everything else tag - I'll usually stick this onto my ramblings, or on reblogs of stuff that isn't other folks' art.

Quick n' dirty deets about me: Filthy socialist (meaning ACAB, fuck MAGA, terfs can GTFO, from the river to the sea, and so on). Also, gendervoid aro-ace aegosexual with rampant AuDHD.

FAQ:

NO, I do not do drawing or writing requests. I do not have the time or energy. I may do random gifts for other artists or writers if I get the inspiration for it, but that's at my own discretion.

NO, I will not mark any of my posts as mature. I do not post smut art, I make clear what my writings contain in both the writings and posts themselves, and the internet is not a safe space for children. If you're a minor, best to steer clear of my page, and if you choose not to - because goodness knows I would have done the same at that age - then heed the provided warnings and proceed with caution. I am no one's parent or babysitter, and no one on the internet should expect me to be.

NO, I will not turn on anonymous messages. The moment my InuYasha comfort character was turned into a pedophile and I spoke out about it, I was harassed en masse by the grossest part of the fandom. If you want to be an asshole at me, you can do it with the full knowledge that I'll be outing you for your assholery the second you do. :)

YES, you can message me, provided you've been following me for more than a week. I don't always know what to say, though, so if I don't reply, that's on me and not you. (It tends to take me a while to reply to things, anyway. I am consistently tired and overwhelmed, plus a massive introvert.)

YES, you can draw or write stuff based off of what I've drawn or written! Of course you can!! Please do!!! Just share it with me first!!!!! OuO

YES, you can spam me with likes and reblogs, I do not mind at all. I don't even care how old the post is, so go nuts, my dude - like and reblog to your heart's content.

Krys is pronounced the same as "Chris", not "cries". If we start chatting and get to the point where we start talking over mics and you call me "Cries", I can promise that I while I WILL roll with it, I will also NEVER let you live it down, so if it's easier for you, just call me Terri. It's pronounced like normal, but short for Terrible.

I know it says 'she/them' in my bio, but gender is a nebulous void for me, so I don't actually care what pronouns you use for me.

As of June 17, 2024, I am 36. And yes, I feel fucking old.

Don't bother me with pro/anti-shipping garbage. I do not care about shipping wars. I cannot possibly care about shipping wars, not when half of my own ships are toxic garbage. What I do care about is whether or not a toxic garbage ship is framed correctly, especially when it's aimed at a young and impressionable audience. (LOOKING HARD AT YOU, YASHAHIME.)

If you know me from DA, NO YOU DO NOT. I just went through all my old posts on there, and good GRAVY was I fucking annoying. I should show all that shit to my mom and be like, 'Are you SURE I didn't have ADHD growing up??? Cuz it sure READS like I had ADHD growing up!!!'

I don't know what else to add here at the moment, so I'ma go back to recovering from weeks worth of working on comic stuff now. <:]

[copperbadge]

hi, I just came across your grocery post on how your ADHD task coping mechanisms don’t align with performing the task while medicated. Do you have any thoughts/advice for adjusting to doing work/job tasks when your previous coping mechanisms don’t work while medicated? As someone who was diagnosed after I finished undergrad, my coping mechanisms for finishing schoolwork tasks are to intentionally trigger RSD to trick my brain into making the consequence of failing the task greater than my executive dysfunction. This is 1) not healthy for me and 2) difficult because Adderall softens my RSD and emotional dysregulation. So where unmedicated I would panic and make an entire presentation the night before it was due, my medicated self sits there anxious the night before my work presentation but still incapable of starting the work. I’d love to hear your ideas on this if you have a moment (no worries if not, have a great day either way)

I hope it's okay I posted this! My readership may also be able to offer suggestions. (Readers, remember to comment or reblog, as I don't post asks sent in response to other asks!)

So, as the kids say there's a bit to unpack here...I do have some coping mechanisms to offer, although I have a strong policy of "do what works for you" so if these aren't helpful, please don't feel as if you've somehow failed -- these are just what works for me. If they don't work for you, that may be a good jumping-off point for thinking about what would, but they simply won’t work for everyone. 

First, I want to say that while I'm not a psychiatrist or a doctor, it sounds like it's possibly an issue with the medication. If it's working well enough to help with your RSD but not well enough to help with the action paralysis you're describing, it could be you're on the wrong medication or the wrong dosage of it. So above all I would strongly recommend talking about this with your prescriber to see what they say. This may be as simple as a tweak to your prescription. My psych has me on 10mg immediate release at 8am and 1pm, but after discussing the rhythm of my day he has also given me permission to occasionally take 20mg at 8 and no second dose. 20mg is an option if I’m tired or struggling and gives me a little extra push to get stuff started and/or completed, and it helps a great deal, but it’s not always needed. 

As for solutions to the actual issue...so, I know that with ADHD it's often the case that once you start something, you may be able to focus deeply on it and bang it out very quickly, like you have been doing. Also can I say, using the RSD to kickstart the executive function is a wonderfully imaginative workaround but sounds super unpleasant to do, so I'm sorry you've had to do that. Anyway, I think people who are capable of doing this, of kicking into action and completing a very complicated task all at once, tend to think that's the only possible way to do it, because it’s the only way that has worked in the past. So I have two suggestions.

The first is to try and reframe the project as something you can work on before the last minute, now that you have medication helping your executive function along. You can try, for example, saying “I’d like to get some work done on this thing that’s due a week from now” and just see how far you get. This can be tricky and can lead to a lot of guilt if you can’t manage it, which I want to stress a lot of people can’t. But if you are capable of saying to yourself “I’m just going to work on this a little”, every time you do that, it gets slightly easier because you know you’re not starting from the beginning. I have sometimes set alarms to be like “Okay, I’ll take my meds at 9:30. At 10am, as they’re kicking in, the alarm will go off and I’ll work on the project a bit.” It could be that you are now capable of spreading the work out over time, but you haven’t been doing that simply because you’re so accustomed to being unable to. 

In some sense it’s a matter of identifying what the medication does for you and adjusting that to help you in your life. ADHD meds can have varying effects -- they can help you start stuff, they can help you focus, they can keep you from running around full of excess energy, but they don’t always do everything for every person. So if you know that your meds help you focus but don’t necessarily help you start on something, maybe you need someone to body-mirror you to help get started. If the meds calm you down, maybe use the calm time to set up your workspace and arrange everything so that it’s easier to get started later. Identify the changes the meds make and try to strategize around those changes. Like how without meds at the grocery store I have trouble finding things, whereas with meds I tend to get stalled out taking in all the information. So maybe I need to be at the tail end of a dosage period when I go, or maybe I need to make a list that includes BRANDS so that I’m not label-comparing, and tell myself I will not browse. Or give myself extra time so I can do those things! 

The second suggestion may be more helpful, but it too involves doing preliminary work early on. This is one I do when I have something I’m not feeling confident about, but you can do it about anything even if you WANT to do it but can’t seem to get going. 

As early as you can, set up some time to sit down and make a list of all the granular parts of a project, rather than doing the project itself. This isn't universal, some people stress out about lists, but it can ease the path towards starting if you think you don't have to do "a project" all at once. If you're making a power point presentation, your list may be something like

Open Powerpoint. Open prompt for presentation. Open research website or get out research books. Read research (just one!). Read research (another). Repeat until finished. Review and develop ideas for the presentation. Make an outline for what the presentation should be. Pick out a template for the slides. Begin entering text into slides.

Et cetera. I've found, and you may too, that once you've started making the list, or once you've gotten to step 3 or 4 of actually doing the list, you're on a roll and the rest comes naturally. Like, I can't do this fucking project! But....well, okay, I am capable of just....opening powerpoint. And once I've done that I can start knocking down the rest, a little at a time. I think it is very hard for people with ADHD to learn how to segment out work that they feel “goes together” over time, like we are always under the impression we have to do The Whole Thing Right Now. Learning to orchestrate smaller steps, with the help of medication, is one way to spread the work out. 

But yeah -- all of this is predicated on the idea that the medication can help you get started and focus enough to keep going. If it can’t do that, then the problem is not with you but with your meds. Learning how to observe your medications’ effects, and learning how to use those to your advantage, will be more helpful than any tips or tricks I can provide, in any case, but making sure they’re actually doing the job is first and foremost. 

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Red Coat, Red Eye

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 1, 147

Summary: I’m pretty sure everyone has done a Dieter at the Met Gala fic so here’s my version. As usual, it’s cute and wholesome. Also got a bit inspired by this awesome artwork!

Warnings: an unpleasant pregnancy so loads of vomiting but plenty of cute fluffy stuff

Check out masterlist here

The weather may have been starting to warm up, but you were huddled under a protective layer of blankets. The first trimester of pregnancy was not being kind to you. Instead of morning sickness, you were suffering from all-the-time sickness. Your way of coping was curling up in bed or on the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket and not moving unless absolutely necessary.

Dieter was working a bit more than usual so you wouldn’t have to work when feeling so under the weather. Currently he was in New York to film an ad as well as attend the Met Gala. He didn’t like being away from you and he really did not want to be taking a six-hour flight, but you insisted, and he would only be gone a few days.

You were going to facetime him today before he attended the Gala. Huddled up on the couch, hugging a box of Fruit Loops you put in the call. The screen came to life with a very clear picture of your husband’s nose. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, but you need to back up a little bit.” Finally, his face came into frame. “Hi Dieter! Wait, is that a lip ring?”

He touched his painted nails to the new piece of jewellery. “Don’t worry, it’s fake. I may get a fake nose ring put in but anyways, how is my beautiful wife?”

“Not too bad. I wasn’t violently sick this morning so yay!” you weren’t entirely convincing in your delivery.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” your mouth was somewhat muffled by what you were popping into your mouth.

“Are those my Fruit Loops?”

You stopped your chewing, “It’s the only thing I can manage at the moment.” He sighed understandably so you changed the subject, “So how’s New York?”

“The same as last time. I went to that bagel shop you fell in love with and got a baker’s dozen worth which are already packed in my bag.”

“I love you and I want to have your baby.” You looked down at your barely visible bump, “Oh wait, already doing that.”

He laughed, “So do you want to see my Met Gala look?”

“Yeah!” you clapped your hands in eager anticipation. He stood back from the screen, and you could see that he was decked out in black and red.

“Oh, I like that coat.”

“It’s nice and cosy.”

“Do you get to keep that?”

“I hope so.”

“I hope so too.”

He flicked his long red coat back to reveal he was wearing shorts. “Do you like the shorts?” he ran his hands up his hips to emphasise the shorts.

“I do like the shorts.”

“Do you like the legs?” he strut his leg out in a sexy pose.

“I do like the legs.”

“Do you like my slutty little knee?” he bent his knee out in a sexy manner.

“I do.”

His voice lowered, “How about we..?”

You interrupted, “Dieter stop trying to seduce me when I’m eating.”

“It’s not as sexy over screen anyways. But look, I managed to do my tie on my own! Only one take!”

You gave him a little round of applause. “You look very handsome and I’m sure you’ll be the prettiest there.”

“I wish you were here.”

“Do you really want me to travel with you on the six-hour flight while trying not to do my best Regan impression?”

“Okay, scratch that, I wish I was there with you. Then I could be holding you in my arms and making you feel better.”

You were hit in the feels, “Oh, now I wish you were here!”

“I’ll be back in a few days.”

“I know. I think we’ll survive. Will you survive all the people asking about where I am?”

“Well, the plan is to just avoid questions altogether. If I time it right, all I’ll be able to do is show up, flash my slutty knee a bit and run off into the gala.”

“Good plan. Well you have a good night.”

“I’ll try. What have you got planned for tonight?”

“Oh, I’m going to spend a lovely evening with Mike.”

“Mike?”

“Flanagan!”

“You’d totally leave me for him, wouldn’t you?”

“No! Never! It depends.”

You both fell into laughter but that soon trickled into sigh of longing. He pressed his fingers to his lips and touched the screen. You did the same and you said your goodbyes.

*****

The rest of your evening was spent with haunted houses and Fruit Loops. At some point you reached for another handful of sugary cereal but came up with air; you’d eaten the entire box. Disappointed to be without a comfort snack, you went to bed. At some point in the night, your stomach rumbled in a bad way, so you blindly made your way towards the bathroom, but your pathway was blocked by a figure. The shock reached your stomach, and you emptied its contents, and a familiar sound came from the figure in front of you.

“Dieter?!” but you couldn’t ask any more questions and you still had your stomach to empty so you finally rushed to the bathroom and hugged the toilet.

You were too preoccupied to witness the comedy scene that Dieter performed around you. His t-shirt was covered in vomit, so he made his way into the shower to wash it off. But then that made the jeans he was wearing also wet, therefore clinging tighter to his legs. But his socks were also wet so he was slipping around the bathroom, thankfully not falling and causing serious injury. He managed to remove himself from his wet clothing and into something dryer and came back into the bathroom and by then you had completely emptied all contents.

“What are you doing here Dieter?”

“I missed you, so I got a red eye back.”

You sniffed and wiped your mouth, “You didn’t sit next to someone who pulled you into an assassination plot?”

“What?”

“Nothing” you sipped at the water Dieter brought you. “I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

He rubbed your back, “It’s not the first time I’ve been covered in vomit. And good thing I took my new coat off.”

“You got to keep the coat?”

“I think so,” he gave a look that said he probably forgot to ask first before taking the coat, but he shrugged and moved on, “I should’ve known better than to surprise my wife who watches way too many horror films.”

You leaned into his embrace, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too. Now let’s get you back into bed.”

You gladly returned back into the warm embrace of bed which became better with the addition of your lovely warm husband.

“I’m sorry I ate all your Fruit Loops.”

“All of them?” you mumbled an affirmative response.

“That was a big box. No wonder you were sick.”

Films referenced: The Exorcist (1973), Red Eye (2005), The House on Haunted Hill (2018)

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @brilliantopposite187 @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic

[baronessofmischief]

Steven Grant is not a doormat

I don’t venture into characters tags very often because there’s a lot I don’t like to sift through but I’ve seen a lot of 🎶 timid and shy and scared are you 🎶 takes on Steven that are just… blatantly inaccurate lol

I don’t know how much is infantilization and how much is just a lack of basic character analysis, but Steven isn’t afraid to socialize or deal with conflict. While he may not solve conflict with violence, it doesn’t mean he lets people walk all over him without some form of speaking up or pushback. There are things he wants and has shown initiative in pursuing. Steven Grant is a unique mix of assertive but polite.

He’s also unaware he has DID which means there are situations and complications in his life outside of his control, and people react negatively to that which continues to make life harder for him to handle as well as he’d like, but that doesn’t mean he’s pathetic or inept— Those are adjacent issues I’ve seen in a lot of fan portrayals and interpretations.

Steven is an active protagonist. He doesn’t have to be pushed to further the story because he takes initiative to do things that further the story itself.

Even within just the first episode, “The Goldfish Problem” was devoted to showing us who he was before his knowledge of Moon Knight, and even the smaller moments are evident of who he is as an assertive character.

He calls his mom to talk on the phone and update her about his life even though we get the impression she doesn’t answer and that’s something he’s accustomed to, but he still calls anyway

He points out to the guy setting up his stall outside the entrance to his building that oh yeah, you’re still doing that inconvenient thing (that annoys me) aren’t you, well, good for you, thanks for that, (wish you wouldn’t do that but whatever I won’t make a fuss because that would be rude) cheers

He greets his coworkers by name even when they ignore him

It’s great to see a character politely and effectively correct a kid’s behavior without actually making the kid feel bad because so many times when adults do that they effectively block any possibility of the kid listening to what they say afterwards, even if it might be something the kid would be interested in. We can see that Steven wants to have a teaching moment where he gets to share his interest with someone who may not care about Egypt yet, but because he took the time to engage with her she shows interest (and will likely show more respect for the exhibits moving forward)

He firmly corrects Donna when she gets his name wrong, pointing to the name tag

When the tour guide comes over to confirm their date for that weekend, the reason he hesitates is because he’s caught off guard. Anybody would be confused about a date they have no recollection of having a conversation about

There’s an important distinction between who a character is vs what other characters say about them: when Donna says she didn’t think he had it in him (to ask the tour guide on a date), and accompanies it with the question about him being vegan so what’s he planning to get at a steak place, she’s being critical even while trying to engage him in a conversation, and from how we saw her introduction (unpleasant tone criticizing Steven and getting his name wrong upon his entry), it’s understandable for Steven to bite back a bit with the clipped “I dunno, salad? Bread?” He’s not unsure about himself in regards to the date, he’s telling her to mind her own business. They don’t have a good working relationship and Steven doesn’t owe her his personal life. Someone who’s a doormat would have just rolled over and made excuses to try to get a critic like Donna to like them to keep the peace. Steven doesn’t snap at her, he’s just mildly irritated, and when her moment of good humor drops she leaves with another criticism as she goes. He’s not worried about Donna liking him because she’s already shown she doesn’t respect him.

When he’s doing inventory he purposefully brings up the fact that the marketing poster is inaccurate because to him, this is a museum, so having things be accurate is important even if it’s just to visually draw people in, and when Donna makes the remark about him not having the chance at tour guide, that does stop him and he voices how disappointing that is to hear, actually. He doesn’t necessarily keep his feelings in to avoid further conflict

He apologizes for being late and for the fumble with the box of stock, but he continues the conversation instead of meekly trying to please his boss and spend a bunch of time trying to get her to pity him

Though the street performer doesn’t speak to Steven, Steven still apparently likes talking to him, which I think is a lot more symbolic than people realize

He’s blunt with the lady at the pet shop because he rightfully doesn’t understand what the fish is going on with his magically able-bodied goldfish and that’s reason for him to be determined enough to go out hunting for answers. He knows he’s sleep deprived but Steven knows his pet: this is bizarre

The reason he doesn’t call the tour guide ahead of time to ask about the date they’re supposed to have because 1. He’s running late and 2. It’s evident he wants to be there so he’s taking the time to make sure he does everything correctly, but he still takes the initiative to reach out to her first, instead of making up some excuse to himself as to why she’s not there

It’s interesting because even outside of discovering Marc, the show plays on the idea of Steven “talking to himself” when the reality is that the people he’s talking to just aren’t listening to him, and that has overarching thematic implications further down the line when Harrow uses the idea of Steven / Marc talking to himself as a way to discredit him/the system (which would also further isolate them). There are numerous examples of Steven being shown asking for help and being denied that or ignored.

One of the running themes in the show that’s especially apparent in the first episode is that Steven is alone, but not for a lack of trying. Steven talks to a lot people/things that don’t talk to him (his mom, Gus, his coworkers, the street performer), in addition to initiating conversations with people who are antagonistic to him in one way or another. It does Steven a disservice to strip him of a very clear aspect of his character by making him this meek, trembling wallflower of a character just so you can have rough-assertive-confident-cocky Marc Spector as a contrast (while also not taking into account Marc’s own complexities).

Because of his willingness to push back and ask or demand answers, Steven is able to connect with Marc and start figuring out what the rest of his (and by extension Marc’s) life entails. From what starts to be revealed it appears that Marc has spent a long time pushing people out and pushing people away, but it’s Steven’s stubbornness, kindness, and resolve that helps the two of them connect and find balance in the end. The idea that neither of them is actually alone, whether by choice (Marc) or not (Steven) is important to the series and characters as a whole.