#but I've had arguments with people over this so... What do the masses think

[sadrockandwaltzes]

Project k poll

[readychilledwine]

Size Kink

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

A Size Kink is a general term for being aroused by being smaller/larger than your partner. It can be height, muscle mass/weight in general, cock size, ect. This is generally a kink we associate with subs having, but in my humble 5'1" experience, I've met more Doms with this kink than subs (hence my 5'11" baby daddy who thought he'd never have someone short enough to enjoy this kink with.) This kink has several subgroups that fall into it and sex acts that fall into it, but my personal favorite to write is height difference and body frame difference. So tall muscular male, short female (curvy or lean.)

What I love about size kinks is that it's so focused on specific aspects, and ANY body type gets to play with it. Little hands? Little legs? Luscious curves? Member of the Itty bitty titty committee? There is someone out there with a size Kink who is into your body and thinks you are a piece of artwork and sexiest thing on the planet. It's so beautiful because it is a body type kink that does not discriminate, and as a sex positive and body image positive person, I think that's super important and comforting for some people.

💕Peep the Valentines Day list here💕

As always NSFW below the cut

Azriel x short!reader

Warnings - reader is VERY petite, smut, p in v, slow stretching

A/N - So, I actually have a request for a size Kink with Cassian sitting in my drafts as well from before I decided to do Valentines Day Bingo. Since I picture Cassian as an absolute unit, I used a more Megan thee Stallion vibe for that reader (tall and thick) so I decided to go very short and thinner built for this one to ensure they'd be different. I apologize if that bothers anyone. I will try to get that Cassian request finished asap to post it and make up for this 💙

Ps- with how quickly I am cranking some of these out, and how.... spicy some of them are getting, I don't have my normal outside editing all of the time. Baby daddy proof read this one. Before staring at me and going, "that wasn't fair." So, I apologize for any errors, as always, I will catch them on my fresh reread after it's posted 🫠

Azriel was slowly losing his mind as he watched you use a chair to be closer to Cassian's height and argue with him face to face.

You were just so… small. So little compared to the two Illyrian males. They towered over you. They dwarfed you. Hell, he and Cass had discussed several times how easy you'd be to manhandle, considering they were both so sure their large hands could almost touch if they were wrapped around your waist.

At 6’8” and 7’ it wasn't hard for him and Cassian to own a room or be the tallest males, but Gods when Azriel stood next to your 5’ frame, when he saw Cassian pick you up like you were no more than a doll. It did something to him. It made him feel like a God, like he was powerful, possibly invincible.

He had been further spurred on by over hearing you and Nesta yesterday. She had asked you about how, if the opportunity presented itself, you would manage to fuck an Illyrian, and you, you with your never back down attitude had told Ness, “Mountains were made to be climbed.” He did not know if you had meant that in regards to him, but his hand found his cock quickly that night.

Azriel walked over to where you and Cassian argued over cereal. The fight wasn't serious, but he just needed to remind you that even with a chair below you, you still fell a few inches short.

“Get down before you fall and hurt yourself, angel.” He put a hand to you, offering to help you down. You glared, but put your hand in his.

Offering to help you was a mistake.

He felt the blood rushing to his cock as your little hand sat in his.

He shared a knowing look with Cassian when you looked away to step down and get back on the floor. The argument resumed instantly, your hand still in his.

It stopped as soon as Nesta walked in. Her mate and you going silent and agreeing to disagree.

Well, at least you thought you had agreed. Until Cassian turned around, Nesta in his arms waiting to fly into Velaris. He looked between you and Azriel before smirking. “You know, y/n, you might have shit taste in cereal, but at least you're the perfect height for some things.”

You didn't get it until you turned to Azriel, plush lips parted to ask what Cassian meant.

The blush that spread your cheeks was sinful.

Another image Azriel would save when he imagined it was your mouth around his cock tonight.

Azriel's room was across the hall from yours, so he knew you were being subjected to the same torture he was.

He was sure all of the Night Court could hear Cassian and Nesta. He rolled over to his back, throwing an arm over his face and sighing.

You were so small, so sneaky, he hadn't noticed you come in and shut the door until you were sitting on his bed.

And fuck being in his custom made oversized bed made you look so little. “Hello angel.”

He made room for you, welcoming you under the blanket you laid facing him, watching him. “Do you all never.. get worn out?” He chuckled. “Because humans do. Males typically finish, then they're like, done, and asleep.”

He looked towards you, laughing and smiling so hard his dimples were showing. “Is that your way of telling me you didn't enjoy rolling in the sheets while you were human?”

That blush spread your face again. “I had plenty of fun before Hybern did this to me. Thank you very much, sir.”

You had done it. Azriel shut his eyes, growling at the nickname as he did. “You cannot call me that when you're laying in my bed, y/n.”

You looked at him, snuggling closer to him. You knew what you were doing to him. You had known for a while. You always tracked his eyes when he'd watch you take your heels off, biting his lip thinking no one was looking. You noticed him hide his arousal behind a mask of indifference when you would climb things around the House of Wind. You had also noticed Azriel and Cassian taking every chance they could to lift you.

You had even know Azriel was so sneakily listening to you and Nesta the other day, and you had meant it. Azriel was a mountain you intended on climbing. “Of course, sir. Wouldn't want you to have to use those big hands to keep me quiet.”

The growl that echoed through the room had your thighs clenching. He was on you in an instant arm between your breasts, so it rested on your neck. The other hand sat on your hip, inching forward. “Do not tease me.” You could feel him pressed against your back, mind immediately lost in how that would fit.

You may have been biting off more than you could chew.

But fuck it.

You had never backed down from a challenge. Why start now?

You wiggled further into him, grazing his cock with each movement. “What if I'm not teasing? What if this is an offer, sir?”

“You're going to regret that, little one,” Azriel's hand immediately was in your shorts, his other hand squeezing your throat. A thick finger ran your soaked core, pulling a moan from you. “Going to have to go slow,” Azriel ground his hips into you, needing that friction on his aching cock. “Don't want to hurt you, angel.”

That one finger entered you without warning. It was already a stretch, but one you welcomed.

You loved how everything about Azriel was so big. His hands, his muscled chest and arms, his wings. Of course he'd be big there too. Anticipation began to replace the fear. You relaxed into him, tilting your head and pulling him into a heated sloppy kiss.

Azriel swallowed your moans and cries as his finger opened you up for him. You were tight, so damn tight. His hand moved from your throat to your breasts, loving how they weren't even a handful for him. You were so petite and slim, he reminded himself. He pulled your tank top off, maneuvering the best he could to get you fully below him. He pushed in a second finger, watching as you squirmed so helplessly below him. “So fucking little,” he moaned. “Mother above you're perfect. Just perfect.”

He leaned back, fingers increasing speed the best they could with your shorts in the way while he toyed with your breasts, pinching your nipples and smacking the tender flesh as he saw fit. “Cum for me so I can sit you on my cock, angel. You can do it, y/n. Show me how tight you'll be squeezing around me.”

You felt like you were floating as you came, whimpering Azriel's name as you watched him rut against the mattress for some friction, hazel eyes damn near lost in lust.

He pulled his fingers out of you, wasting no time ripping his sweatpants off and using those juices to coat himself. Your shorts came next, torn to shreds as he pulled you to the edge of the mattress and rested one leg on both sides of his chest.

He was as perfect as you imagined. His cock was long and thick. He was running it along your folds, soaking up at the slick he could before smacking the head of it against your clit.

Azriel could help but to stand with his hips flush against yours, admiring how it looked like his cock would be damn near in your stomach. “Gonna go slow,” he mumbled as he positioned himself at your entrance. “Can't risk hurting my little angel.”

He pushed the head in, keeping an eye on you as you moaned out a long fuck before relaxing into his bed. He sat there, only a few inches inside of you, feeling as your walls stretched out to accommodate him.

He pulled out and slowly reentered, pushing a little more inside of you. Your back arched off the bed, a whimper of pleasure ripping through your throat. The burn of it felt so good. You felt yourself drooling already, mind numb, and lost to anything that wasn't Azriel.

He continued his motions over and over until he was flush against your hips, and you were screaming for him. You had cum just from him slowly getting inside of you, and now he could see the bulge he had created, the slight swelling inside of you as your body made room for him.

Azriel put a hand on the bulge, feeling himself inside of you as he began thrusting. You were squeezing him so tight, hand struggling to find him to hold on to something.

He felt himself losing control, pace growing faster and faster as he watched you squirming and moaning below him. His arms went behind your hips and back, lifting you off the bed and manhandling you in the air for a little while. He brought you to his chest, moving you to be against the wall that shared his room and Cassian's.

A silent brag, and message, that he could now accurrately inform Cassian how easy you were to toss around like a doll.

Your hands found purchase on his shoulders as you became a babbling mess. Your silky core was twitching and tightening around him all over again, indicating to him how close you were, how ready you were. “Az,” you panted. “So fucking big.”

“Yeah,” he kissed the top of your head. “Bet it feels so good stretching you out, doesn't it, baby?” You couldn't respond as a certain angle had you becoming pliant in his arms. “Fuck I know it does.” He was practically lifting you on and off of him, watching as you stretched around his cock. “You're close, aren't you, angel?”

You nodded, eyes glazed over and jaw fallen open to the perfect o. “Gonna cum.”

“Then cum. Squeeze my cock. You wanted to climb the mountain, right y/n? Fucking climb.”

You hit that peak on his command again, clinging to him tightly as he continued using you and stretching you out.

It took Azriel a few more moments, but he stilled inside of you, head thrown back in a loud growl as he came inside of you. He pressed you back against the wall, panting slightly as he stared into your eyes. He lifted you easily, allowing his cock to fall out of you and you to whine at the sudden emptiness that took place where he had filled you.

“This can't be a one-time thing,” his voice was almost desperate as he moved to set you on the desk, forehead finding yours. “I need more of you. All of you.”

You couldn't help but to bit your lip, nodding so quickly with a growing smile. “I like how little you make me feel. How safe you make me feel.”

Azriel's eyes almost rolled back completely as they shut. “Gods you are perfect.” He leaned in to kiss you, only to be interrupted by his door slamming open and Cassian and Nesta barging in.

A massive wing snapped between you and them, blocking your body from their view.

Cassian cleared his throat before speaking. “We want to know how exactly that worked. Show us. Please.”

“Show you?!” Your voice cracked as you turned to a smirking Azriel.

Azriel kissed your forehead. “Bend over the desk, angel. Gotta give him a show since he asked so nicely.”

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb  

@justasillylittlegoofyguy

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[starlightomatic]

I understand the argument people are making about the ways that grief is politicized, and compassion racialized. As in, I do understand what people are saying when they point out the media humanizes Israeli death and normalizes Palestinian death. And I see how Palestinian death is normalized, and depersonalized. And abstracted. I see images of individual Israeli victims, smiling, posted by family; I see images of rubble in Gaza. Mass destruction, in its way, depersonalizes the victims.

And.

I do not think those who point out these dynamics understand how it comes off when you are reading it and you are Jewish. They look at this only from the big picture; how does media manipulate? Who do we humanize and mourn? Whose deaths do we expect, or worse, accept? How do race, power, and empire, play in? And end up saying what are actually very, very callous things about Jewish and Israeli death and pain.

There's an element here, also -- and I think I've heard this outright -- of "I cannot, and in fact refuse to, feel any sympathy for Israeli death and pain when the world does not show sympathy for Palestinian death and pain." As though it is the fault of the Israeli dead that this is the case -- because they are Israeli (or migrant workers who live in Israel, or Bedouins who live in Israel) -- and Israel is in many ways a tool of US imperialism -- and both Israel and the US have vested interest in the dehumanization of Palestinians. Your response, then, is to dehumanize everyone.

I know you are already fashioning the criticisms the I am a hand-wringing liberal begging you to consider "both sides" with no understanding of power dynamics, or imperialism, or settler colonialism. I could repeat the aphorism that moral consistency is not moral equivalence but that is not, actually, the point I want to make here.

When Jews in your life, and on your dash and social media feeds, publically mourn Israeli and Jewish death, it is not a ploy of the "Western media." When we express fear and alienation when people defend or deny violence against Israelis and Jews, it is not a PR stunt. It is not a demand that you care more about certain lives because they are "white." Jews in mourning are, right now, tools of empire and colonialism. We are not, ourselves, empire and colonialism. That you cannot separate us from the US military-industrial complex and the US media says more about you than it does about us.

And: I do not think you understand why we are mourning. Why millions of us are in grief, pain, and fear. Why so many of us have not gotten a full night of sleep since before October 7th. It is not only because many of us have lost friends and family members, or friends of friends. It is not only because a few days ago our news feeds were covered in picture after picture of missing people posted by their loved ones with a phone number to call if anyone knows anything, but now our news feeds are covered in picture after picture of people confirmed dead.

It's because this is beyond the individual. When one member of the Jewish people dies, it affects the whole. We have lost over 1300 people, a number that includes mostly Jews as well as the Thai migrant workers, Nepalese students, and Bedouins who live alongside us. This is the largest number of Jews killed at once since the Holocaust. We are not a large people; we number about 16 million. Every Israeli knows someone who died or was kidnapped, and many American Jews do as well. It affects us all. When 11 Jews were killed in Pittsburgh, the entire Jewish world shook and was shaken; sleepless nights and fear and horror. And now 1300. More than were killed in the Kielce progrom, a brutal massacre of Jews in Poland who had just returned from the death camps. More than were killed in the Farhud, a massacre of Jews in Iraq in 1941 on Shavuot, one of our holiest days (as in this attack, which happened the morning of Simchat Torah).

Ancestral trauma lives in our bones and memories. The knowledge of attackers entering house after house, going bed to bed killing residents from the youngest to the oldest, sparing not even the most defenseless, who could not have posed any threat to an armed fighter... it ignites our deepest fears. Makes them a reality. Jews have spent the past seven decades trying to convince ourselves we are safe in our beds; that no armed men will burst in. When hundreds lost their lives in just this way... it rocks the basic core foundations of Jewish felt safety. Anywhere in the world.

You are already formulating arguments that Hamas, no matter what they have done, is not Nazi Germany, and I know this. You are telling me that Palestinians have less power, are the ones being brutalized, colonized, killed by a military regime. I know this as well. You are ready to lecture me about the right to armed resistance, taunt me that rocking Jewish safety was exactly the point, or perhaps announce that none of this really happened at all, because a slide you saw on instagram told you it didn't. More than anything, you want me not to center myself in this; you want to imagine that it had nothing to do with Jewishness, that it's only a coincidence that Jews are the ones colonizing Palestine.

I am asking you to stop. To pause. To think for a moment that what you are framing as either a ploy of the Western media or the excuses of colonizers is something else. That people in deep collective grief and fear and trauma actually have a right to feel that grief. Trust, I know and see the ways that grief is being instrumentalized, how it is used to justify horrors in Gaza. I know. But it can only be instrumentalized because it exists.

Consider, for just a moment, that there is another narrative here beyond that of Western Imperialism, or resistance to colonization, or even of Zionism itself. And when you see Jews in pain as at worst an enemy and at best objects to feel nothing towards, you yourself participate in ugly dehumanization.

[jetii]

Few Fates Worse Than Death

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 13,780

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, platonic Rex x Reader, kissing, found family stuff so that makes it better right?

Summary: You refused to believe that Wrecker would ever hurt you, but on Bracca, his nightmare finally comes true.

A/N: I've written angst to some degree for every member of the squad except for Wrecker, so I decided to change that. This is the first and probably only time I pull quotes/scenes directly from the show for a one-shot.

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The moment Rex told you about the inhibitor chips, everything fell into place. A cold, icy dread filled you, even as the others insisted that the chips held no power over them. Everything that had happened since Kaller, since Crosshair and Master Billaba's men tried to kill you... you saw it all through a new lens, and the galaxy spun dizzyingly before you.

Like the others, you’d barely paid attention to Omega’s explanation of the chip. The idea that the Kaminoans put some sort of mind-altering device inside every clone was beyond the pale, so absurd that, even if it was true, you never thought to give it much attention. And Tech was so confident that his own research proved the chips had no such abilities. It was easier to trust Tech, who had always been honest and open with you, than to question your own instincts.

But Rex was different.

The others protested, but Rex had seen something, experienced it himself, and he wasn't willing to risk any of his brothers falling prey to it again. You can hear his fear in his voice, feel it radiating from him. His insistence that the chips be removed, one way or another, was unshakeable.

Rex looks over at you, as if expecting you to back him, but you can only look away.

You feel like you can't breathe, can't think. You take a step back and settle down on one of the barstools, your hand gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your stomach churns with dread. What do you do? What can you do?

You’d felt it, the moment Jedi across the galaxy were cut down, like a thousand tiny shards of glass stabbing into your mind. The pain had been nearly blinding, and it had taken every bit of concentration you had to keep from screaming. But you hadn’t seen the images. Hadn’t witnessed the slaughter. That had been a mercy. You hadn't been there, hadn't seen them fall, but you still feel the echoes of their deaths in the Force, a dull, aching pain that never goes away.

The thought of what Rex had seen, what the other clones had experienced, sickens you. Being forced to witness the death of someone you care about is awful enough, but to see your own hand, your own blaster, murder the very people you are sworn to protect? You shudder, the horror of it too overwhelming to contemplate.

The others are talking now, and the argument is escalating. You watch them in a daze, barely able to focus. Your thoughts are running away with you, and you have to fight back against the urge to panic.

The clones were made to be obedient, but not this obedient. There was no way the Kaminoans, or the Jedi, or anyone would have created them with the ability to commit mass genocide at the push of a button. It couldn’t be real. It couldn't.

Could it?

"The chips make you a threat to everyone around you," Rex says, and it's like being doused in cold water. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak.

Rex's jaw tightens. "You're all ticking time bombs." 

And you realize then that he's right. Even if the inhibitor chips really do hold no influence over the clones, you can't ignore the potential threat they pose. Not after what happened on Kaller, the horror of it still fresh in your mind. You hadn’t been there after, but you’d heard what happened. If Crosshair had really wanted to kill those refugees, if his chip had made him turn on his brothers... how could the others be so sure their own wouldn’t do the same?

They're all still arguing with Rex, telling him he's wrong, but they don't understand. None of them understand.

Rex turns to you, and when he sees your face, he falters. He knows. He has to know what's running through your head, because he takes a step forward, and you hold up your hand.

"Don't—"

"She's not safe with you," Rex says, gesturing to you. His face is stony, his expression hard. "Any of you. How can you protect her from yourselves?"

Wrecker's eyes dart between you and Rex, and when his gaze settles on you, his brows knit together in a worried frown. He looks distraught, and you wish there was something you could say, something you could do to ease his fears, but you can't get your tongue to work. 

"What are you talking about?" he demands. "We'd never hurt her."

"No, you don't understand. It's not—" Rex pauses, and his expression goes from pained to resigned. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his shoulders drooping. "What's in your head is more dangerous than you can imagine. I've seen what happens when the chip activates, and I don't want to bury any more of our brothers."

Rex meets each of the Batch's gazes in turn, then his eyes settle on you, and you know that you won't like whatever he has to say next.

"You can't keep her. She's not safe with any of you," he says quietly.

He's not saying anything you haven't thought before, but the way he phrases it sends a sharp stab of hurt through you, and the ache is only exacerbated when he continues.

"I can protect her."

"We can protect her!" Wrecker snaps, taking a step toward Rex. He glares down at the captain, looming over him, and for a moment, you're reminded of just how much larger Wrecker is than him. But Rex doesn't back down, doesn't flinch. Wrecker glances back toward you and Tech, a desperate look in his eye, and his voice goes soft. "Right?"

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Tech doesn't speak either. He just stares at Rex, a deep furrow in his brow.

"She'll be safer with us," Hunter argues. His voice is firm, but you can tell from the way he avoids meeting Rex's gaze that he's not nearly as certain as he seems.

"It's not the same," Rex says, and he's clearly struggling to hold onto his patience. "Trust me. It is not something you can control. I couldn't. It's a risk you do not want to take."

You've heard enough. Your throat is tight and your stomach is roiling, but you can't let them continue like this. You swallow back the bile and rise unsteadily to your feet.

"Enough," you say, your voice thin.

The others turn to you, and when Wrecker looks down at you, his expression is heartbreaking. You take a deep, steadying breath, then glance up at him.

"It's okay," you whisper, and force a small, reassuring smile. "Everything will be okay."

Your words don't have the desired effect. Wrecker's brow furrows and he takes a half-step toward you, reaching out his hand. He hesitates, and you close the distance between you, reaching up to take his hand in yours. His hand engulfs yours, and his fingers close around your hand gently, like he's afraid he might hurt you. His grip is warm and reassuring, and for a moment, everything is okay.

But it doesn't last.

“General, please." Rex's voice is soft, imploring, and when you meet his gaze, there's a pleading look in his eyes. "You know I'm right.”

“I’m not a general anymore, Rex," you say, shaking your head. "And I’m not a Jedi."

He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

"You can't ask this of me," you say, and a shiver runs through you. You wrap your free arm around yourself, wishing desperately for the security and comfort of the cloak you left behind. "Please. Don't."

Rex closes his eyes, and for a moment, the two of you are silent.

"Alright."

The others look relieved. Wrecker's face scrunches up and you think he's going to cry, but he's also smiling, and he wraps his arms around you and picks you up off the floor. He buries his face against your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing as tightly as you can.

"We'll figure this out," you say, and pray the others don't notice the way your voice wavers. "It'll be okay."

Wrecker nods, but his voice is thick when he replies. "I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise. "I'm not leaving."

But Rex's words are stuck in your head, echoing relentlessly. It's a risk you do not want to take.

Wrecker sets you down, and when he steps back, there's a wet sheen in his eyes. He rubs at his face and laughs nervously. You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it lightly, and offer him a smile. It feels forced and unnatural, and Wrecker must notice, because his expression falls, and he looks almost guilty. He drops his gaze and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

You look past him to the others. Tech is standing by the door, his arms folded tightly across his chest. You can see his hands are clenched, the muscles in his arms tense. His eyes are fixed on the floor, and when he senses your attention, he lifts his gaze and meets your eyes. His brow is furrowed, and you know he wants to say something. You can see the words forming in his mind, but whatever he's thinking, he keeps it to himself. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, then looks away.

Hunter and Echo are standing together, watching you. When you meet Hunter's eye, he gives you a curt nod.

"It'll be alright," he says, and his tone is oddly final. He turns back to Rex. "How do you suggest we get them out?"

"Good question," Rex replies, and his gaze falls on you again. He frowns and tilts his head. "You're sure you don't want to leave?"

"Yes," you reply, but your voice sounds thin, even to you. You clear your throat and repeat the word more firmly, and the others all look at you. "Yes. I'm sure."

Rex hesitates. For a long moment, he just looks at you, as if searching for some sign that you've changed your mind. Then he sighs and nods, his expression grim.

"Alright. I'll be in touch."

He leaves without another word. The moment he disappears up the stairwell, Wrecker tugs you against him, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you against his chest. You squeeze him back, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his chest. Your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your temples, and your head is throbbing.

"It'll be okay," you repeat, trying to sound reassuring, but there's an uncertainty in your heart that you can't ignore. You're not sure who you're trying to convince, yourself or Wrecker, but you both need to hear the words.

You're not sure what comes next. You've only just got back to the Batch, and now this...

It feels like you're standing on a precipice.

You're not sure which way the wind will blow.

Wrecker's headaches are getting worse, and they come more frequently.

He can barely sleep, and his temper is short. More than once, he's lashed out at the others, and you can tell that it's eating him up inside. He's ashamed and frustrated, and all the more upset because there's nothing he can do. When he does manage to rest, it's fitful. You're not sure how long it's been since he slept properly, and it worries you.

Your own rest is fitful as well.

Ever since Rex's revelation, there's been a tension between you all that was never there before. It's like you're all just waiting for something bad to happen, and every day that passes is just more time spent in anticipation of a nightmare you can't stop.

It's hard to shake, and sometimes, it's all you can do not to cry. You miss the Jedi, the people you thought of as family, and the knowledge that the clones were responsible for their deaths is like a knife through your heart. It was easier when you didn't know the truth, when the deaths felt more distant. Now, every time you think about the Jedi, you can't help wondering how they felt in those final moments. If they knew.

The pain in the Force is still there, but it's different. A constant ache, a reminder of all the lives lost. Sometimes, it's too much, and the grief overwhelms you.

The worst part is knowing that the others are keeping their distance.

It's subtle. Just little things, but you can tell.

You and Omega are still spending most of your downtime together, but when you go to spend time with the others, it doesn't last as long. You've barely seen Echo and Tech, and Hunter is avoiding you like the plague.

And Wrecker.

Wrecker is pulling away, and he's doing it so slowly that you didn't notice at first. At least, not until you woke up one morning to find the bed empty. He hasn't slept beside you since that night with Rex, and he's not spending much time with you outside of missions. And the longer this goes on, the harder it is to break the ice.

When you do manage to talk to him, you try to offer support. You want to reassure him, to comfort him, but the pain in his head makes him recalcitrant. It's like he doesn't want you to know the truth of what's bothering him, and the more you press, the more agitated he gets.

One night, you try to help him with his headache. He's sitting on his bunk, leaning over and clutching his head, and you can't stand by and watch him suffer any longer.

You sit beside him and rest a hand on his back. His skin is slick with sweat, and his muscles are tense, his entire body shaking with pain.

"Can I help?" you ask, keeping your voice soft. "Will it help if I massage your temples?"

Wrecker's answer is a muffled groan, and it's impossible to tell whether it's a yes or a no, so you tentatively begin to rub your fingers in slow circles. You start at his temples and work outward, hoping that some of the tension will release.

You keep rubbing for a while, and it seems to help, a little. When his head finally slumps forward, you pause.

"How's that?" you ask softly.

"S'good," Wrecker grumbles, but the tone of his voice makes it clear that he's anything but pleased. "Thanks."

He doesn't move, doesn't relax. You're not sure what else to do, but you don't want to leave him like this. It feels wrong.

"Is there anything else I can do?" you ask, and you try to keep your voice gentle.

Wrecker shakes his head. "I'm fine."

“You’re not.” Your words are quiet, but they feel like a shout. Wrecker freezes, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. You sigh and move so that you're kneeling in front of him, and you place your hands on his knees. "Please, talk to me."

He doesn't answer. He doesn't move, his head bowed.

"Why are you shutting me out?" you whisper.

"I'm not," Wrecker mumbles. His hands come up to cover his head, and you have the feeling that the action has less to do with his headache and more to do with his reluctance to meet your gaze. "I'm just..."

His words trail off, and a tense silence falls between you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, and now your voice is wavering. The tears you've been fighting for days are threatening to spill over, but you hold them back. You take a deep, shuddering breath and lean in closer. "Wrecker. Please."

"It's nothing," Wrecker mutters, and his shoulders hunch. He doesn't look at you, and his hands clench into fists.

"It's not nothing."

You hesitate, then gently rest your hand on his cheek. He flinches, and for a moment, your stomach tightens with fear. But then his eyes flick up to yours, and when he sees your face, a pained look crosses his features. His eyes soften, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.

"You're not sleeping. I can tell."

"Neither are you," he grunts, and he tries to pull away.

"I'm worried about you," you whisper. You reach out and touch his hand. "Talk to me."

Wrecker looks away. He wipes the tear from his cheek and clears his throat. "Don't be."

"I can't help it." You reach out and touch his hand, and when he flinches, it's like being stabbed through the heart. You draw back and look away. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pressure you."

"I know."

"Just... if you need anything. I'm here."

"I know," he whispers. He looks down at his hands, and the tears are back. He wipes them away, but not before they start rolling down his cheeks. He shakes his head. "I'm a fuckin' mess."

"It's okay."

“It’s not okay,” he snaps. He glares up at you, his brow furrowing, and the pain in his expression is so raw that it takes your breath away. His voice is thick with tears. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't," you insist, but your stomach twists and knots at his words. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Wrecker—"

"What if Rex was right?" Wrecker asks, and his words cut straight through your heart. "What if he's right? What if—what if something happens, and I..."

His voice trails off, and when he looks at you, his eyes are wet. He blinks and swallows, and when he continues, his voice is strained.

"What if the chip took control, and I hurt you? Or Omega? I couldn't..." He chokes and shakes his head, looking away. "I couldn't live with myself."

"Nothing is going to happen," you insist, and when Wrecker doesn't answer, your heart sinks. You climb up onto the bed and wrap your arms around him, pulling him against you. He rests his forehead against yours, and the tears are streaming freely down his cheeks. You kiss his cheek and reach up to brush away the tears, but there are too many. You wipe away a few, but the others just keep coming, and Wrecker lets out a soft, miserable noise. "Oh, Wrecker."

He doesn't answer. He turns his face into the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and buries his face against you.

"I can't lose you," he whispers, his voice thick. "Not again."

"You won't," you murmur. "I promise. You won't lose me."

You can't be sure that's true, but you don't know what else to say. Wrecker holds you tightly, and you wrap your arms around him and kiss the side of his neck, and then his cheek, his shoulder, his chest, his lips. You want him to know how much you care, how much you need him. How much you love him.

"I'm not going anywhere," you say as your own tears spill over. You squeeze him tight and bury your face against his neck. "You won't lose me."

"If anything happened to you..." Wrecker shudders, and his grip on you tightens. "I couldn't handle it. If something happened, I couldn't—"

He stops and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He presses his face into your hair and squeezes you tightly. His voice is small, almost lost in the darkness.

"I love you."

You freeze. For a moment, your heart stutters, and you feel like your lungs have stopped working. He's never said it before. Not in words, anyway. You’ve known it for a long time, but to hear him say it, even in a moment like this, is something else entirely. It makes you ache.

"I love you," Wrecker repeats, and then his face scrunches up and his words spill out in a rush. "I've loved you for so long. I love everything about you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and the thought of hurting you, or losing you, is too much. I can't. I won't."

"Wrecker." You pull back and take his face in your hands. "Look at me."

"I should have told you earlier," Wrecker mumbles. His words are so slurred together that they're almost unintelligible. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your eyes are filled with tears, and it's hard to see, but you know you need to get close to him, to offer him the same reassurance he's given you countless times. So you slide onto his lap, wrapping your arms around him, and rest your forehead against his.

"I'm not. There was never a good time, not really. But now, right now, I'm glad I heard it." You cup his cheek and brush the tears away. "And I'm glad I can tell you now. Because I love you too. So much. And I need you to know that. I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

You press your lips to his, and he responds instantly, returning the kiss with a hunger that catches you off guard. It's intense and overwhelming, and he pulls you tighter against him, like he's trying to merge the two of you together. His hand slips beneath your shirt, his fingers splayed across your lower back, and he groans into the kiss. It's the most intense and passionate kiss the two of you have ever shared, and it leaves you gasping for breath.

"I love you," you repeat, and when he looks at you, his eyes are bright. He leans in and kisses your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispers. "No matter what. I promise."

"I know." You press a soft kiss to his jaw, then rest your head on his shoulder. "And I won't let anything happen to you. We're in this together. I'm here, no matter what."

Wrecker doesn't reply. He just nods and wraps his arms around you, leaning back until the two of you are lying down. He pulls you on top of him, and when you shift, the movement is enough to send a shiver through him.

He presses his face into your hair and holds you close, and for a long time, the two of you stay like that, holding each other. It's a little awkward, with your legs tangled together and the bunk too small for the two of you, but it feels right. It feels good. Safe.

 "I love you,” you whisper again, and Wrecker's arms tighten around you. He kisses the side of your neck, and his breath tickles the hairs on the back of your neck. You snuggle deeper into his embrace and close your eyes.

"Love you," Wrecker mumbles. 

The way he says it is so soft, so full of adoration, that your heart breaks a little. You love him. You love him so much. You never thought you'd get to say the words, never thought it would be possible, but now that it's out there, the words come so easily, like they've always been waiting to come out. And the relief of hearing him say them back is almost dizzying.

You stay there, wrapped up in each other's arms, and you listen to the sound of Wrecker's breathing. He falls asleep eventually, and his grip loosens, but he doesn't let go. When you're sure he's sleeping, you shift, resting your head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

You close your eyes, and for the first time in a while, you feel safe.

For the first time in a while, sleep comes easily.

As soon as you arrived on Bracca, things took a turn for the worse. You'd all managed to dodge the Scrapper's Guild, but traversing the wreckage of the fallen Venator was a trial in and of itself. There was debris everywhere, and you could hardly breathe in the thick, oppressive air. Every step felt like it could be your last, and you and Hunter couldn't stop sensing something in the murky water below. Something lurking, waiting. And when Wrecker fell in...

He'd nearly drowned. He'd nearly been devoured by that dianoga. You'd thought you'd lost him.

You can't think about it.

He's safe now, and that's all that matters. He's safe, and you can finally breathe again. But the tension is still there, coiled tight in your stomach, and it's not just because of Wrecker. There's something else, something more. 

It's been there since Kaller, a feeling that something terrible is looming. You've felt it before, and it's never been wrong. The Force is trying to warn you, but the warnings are growing more frequent, more intense. Something big is coming, and there's no telling when it will happen, but you're sure it's not good.

You're standing in the back of the medbay, trying to keep out of the way as Tech works on Wrecker. He's running scans and taking readings, and the whole time, he's muttering under his breath. You cast a glance at Rex, who's standing next to you, but his attention is focused on the scene in front of him, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped behind his back.

"You've been quiet," he murmurs, his gaze shifting towards you.

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You hesitate. There's no point in keeping it to yourself, and maybe it'll help to get it off your chest.

"The Force is warning me," you say quietly, and Rex nods. "I don't know what it is, but... I can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming."

Rex frowns. "Do the others know?"

You nod, and he turns his gaze back toward the medbay. "Have they said anything?"

"Hunter knows," you say, and the words catch in your throat. "But... he's been keeping his distance."

Rex glances at you. His expression is unreadable.

"They all are," you whisper, and the admission is almost painful. You look away, unable to meet his gaze, and you have to fight the urge to cry. "I don't know what to do."

"You're worried," Rex says. It's not a question.

"Yeah," you reply, and a chill runs through you. You wrap your arms around yourself, hugging tightly, and take a shaky breath. “But it’s not just that. The Force is warning me. They... they could be in danger. All of them."

You swallow, and when you speak again, your voice is quiet.

"All of us."

He studies you for a moment, then looks back at Tech. He's still working, but now he's talking, and whatever he's saying is enough to pull a groan out of Wrecker. Rex watches them for a moment, his expression thoughtful, then looks back at you. His expression is grim.

 "How bad is it?"

You don't answer at first. The truth is, you're not sure. But Rex waits patiently, his gaze never leaving your face. Finally, you take a deep breath and force the words out.

"Bad," you say at last. You can't hide the fear in your voice. "Whatever it is, I think it's really bad."

Rex doesn't reply, but you can see the worry on his face. He knows what you're capable of, and he's seen firsthand the things you can do when the Force moves through you. If you're afraid, he's got every reason to be scared, too.

The two of you are silent, and when you can't bear it any longer, you break the silence.

"Do you believe in fate?" you ask.

Rex raises an eyebrow, surprised. He looks back at Tech, then shakes his head.

"Not really. I mean, maybe. Sometimes," he admits, and there's a hint of a smile on his lips. "But I try not to think about it too much."

You nod. "I can't help it."

"Why's that?"

"Because... sometimes, I think it's meant to be. Like, everything that happens is part of some bigger plan, and I can't change it,” you mutter. Your eyes drop to the floor. "All is as the Force wills it, and all that. But I don't know. It's... scary. It makes me feel helpless."

Rex doesn't reply at first. His brow furrows, and for a moment, he seems troubled. He looks over at the others, then back at you, and his expression softens.

"I know what you mean," he says, his voice is gentle. "But whatever it is, we'll handle it."

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and you look at him. His face is serious, and the look in his eyes is reassuring. But he can't give you the answers you want, and the feeling of uncertainty lingers. You turn, pulling away from him, and your gaze falls on the others.

"Yeah," you say, but the word comes out sounding weak. Your eyes meet Wrecker's, and the concern in his expression is enough to make your heart clench. You don't want to worry him. You can't. Not after everything he's been through. You force a smile and say the words you don’t mean, knowing he can hear you. "We'll be fine."

It sounds hollow even to your own ears, but Wrecker relaxes, and the look of worry fades from his eyes. You look away, unable to bear the guilt gnawing at your stomach, and the smile fades from your face.

You know that if something happens, if something goes wrong, he'll blame himself. You don't want that. You don't want him to feel guilty, but the truth is, you're scared. For the first time, you're genuinely terrified. And not just for the Batch.

You're terrified for yourself. For the first time, you have something to lose. Your life, your happiness. You've never had that before.

And you don't want to lose it.

But the truth is, there's nothing you can do. You have to face the future, whatever it may bring, and pray that things turn out okay.

Rex's gaze flicks between you and Wrecker. He can see the concern in Wrecker's face, the worry in yours. His eyes are filled with sadness. Regret.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About before. I didn't..."

His voice trails off, and his brow furrows.

"I should have been more tactful," he says finally, and the corners of his mouth twitch up. He looks away, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. "It's not an easy thing to talk about."

"No," you agree. "It's not."

He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. You both know there's nothing to say. There's no point in arguing or talking about what might happen. No point in making promises or predictions. There's only the present, the future unknown. So instead, Rex just squeezes your shoulder once more before letting his hand fall away. 

He moves to stand near Hunter, and the two of them start talking quietly. You watch them for a moment, but they're too far away for you to hear, so you turn your attention back to Wrecker and Tech.

Wrecker is groaning and wincing, his face contorted with pain as he hunches over. He looks miserable, and you want to comfort him, but Tech is moving him from one piece of equipment to another, and there's no room for you. 

Omega is hovering nearby, a look of concern on her face. She's wringing her hands, and her gaze darts between the two of you. She wants to help, and she's doing her best, but there's only so much any of you can do. You walk over to place your hand on her shoulder and try to give her a reassuring smile, but it feels forced.

You hate seeing him like this. You hate feeling helpless.

"Relax," Tech says as he prepares the surgical laser. "This won't hurt a bit."

Wrecker glares at him, and the look on his face would be amusing if not for the circumstances. Tech gives him an apologetic smile, then looks back at you.

"Could I trouble you to assist?"

"Of course," you say, and step closer.

"Hold his shoulders, please."

You do as he asks, moving to stand behind the bed, and hold Wrecker's shoulders firmly. He looks up at you, and the misery on his face is clear. It's hard to see him like this, but he needs you. So you do your best. You smile down at him, and when he smiles back, the tightness in your chest loosens, and the fear recedes, a little. You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

"It'll be alright," you whisper. "You're going to be okay."

Wrecker takes a shuddering breath and nods, and you feel his body tense as Tech steps closer. You let out a slow, steady breath, and close your eyes, trying to impart as much calm through the Force as possible. Wrecker's shoulders relax, and his breathing slows.

Tech is talking again, and the sound of the laser whines, then there's a flash of light. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the air around you fills with static.

"You're in direct violation of Order 66," Wrecker growls, and your eyes snap open.

He lurches forward, his face contorting, and the force of him breaking from your hold sends you stumbling backwards. Wrecker grabs Tech by the throat, the laser slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. Tech tries to grab Wrecker's hand, but Wrecker is stronger, and he shoves him backwards, slamming him into the wall hard enough that it dents.

He's staring at his brother with cold, empty eyes, and you're frozen, unable to move or speak. There's no sign of the man you love, no trace of the gentle, caring, passionate man who's loved and cherished you since the moment you met. His face is devoid of emotion, his eyes blank and dead. There's no recognition, no hint of compassion or mercy. 

Nothing but a cold, empty void.

Your blood runs cold, and your stomach lurches. This isn't him. This can't be him.

"No! Stop!" you shout. Your voice cracks, and when Wrecker's gaze snaps towards you, a cold sweat breaks out across your skin. His eyes are dark, and there's something else in his expression. Something that scares the hell out of you.

Wrecker's lips curl into a snarl, and the anger is so fierce and sudden that it catches you off guard. You take a step forward, but Rex catches your arm, stopping you. You don't look at him. You can't look away from Wrecker, from his eyes. 

His grip on Tech's throat tightens. Tech's hands scrabble at his hand, and his feet kick uselessly against the wall.

"Please! Wrecker, stop! You're killing him!"

For a moment, you think you've gotten through to him. For a moment, you see something in his eyes, a flash of recognition, a spark of life. But it's gone as soon as it appears, and he throws Tech across the room with a snarl. 

You jerk your arm free from Rex's grip and rush forward, but Echo catches you around the waist and pulls you back behind cover. You struggle against him, desperate to help, but he's too strong.

"Wrecker!" Hunter cries. "Stop! Fight it!"

Wrecker is beyond hearing. He grabs his blaster and fires wildly, narrowly missing Rex as he dives behind the crates next to you, Hunter and Omega close behind. Your heart is pounding, and you're shaking so hard your teeth are chattering. Omega is trembling too, and she's staring blankly ahead with wide, frightened eyes. She looks like she's on the verge of tears.

"He'll destroy the equipment if we don't get him out of here," Echo says, his voice strained.

"You're all traitors!" Wrecker bellows.

He keeps firing, and it's a miracle no one's been hit yet. Rex pops his head up, ducking back down just in time to avoid being shot.

"You need to run," he says to you. "He's not going to stop until he kills you, and I don't think any of us are going to survive if that happens."

You shake your head. "I can't leave him."

"There's no other way. We'll distract him, but you need to go. Now!"

"No!" You shove Echo away and lunge towards Wrecker. Hunter is in front of you in an instant, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you back.

"Stop," he says. "Listen to Rex. Please. He'll kill you. Do you understand? You have to go."

"He needs me." You can feel the tears coming, and when Hunter sees them, his face softens.

"He does," he agrees. "But right now, he's a danger to you. He's a danger to everyone. You have to go. I'll keep him safe. I promise. But right now, he's going to kill you."

He holds your gaze, and the pain in his eyes is so raw and intense that you feel like your heart is breaking.

"What if you can't stop him?" you demand, your voice cracking. "What if you die? I can't let him do this."

Hunter doesn't answer. He's not even looking at you anymore. His attention is focused on his rampaging brother, and he's getting ready to strike. You can see it in his body language, the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

"Omega, stay with Tech," he says, ignoring you. "Make sure he's alright. We'll handle Wrecker."

Omega nods, and the two of you exchange a long, sorrowful look.

"It'll be okay," she whispers. "He'll be okay."

"I... I hope so."

You're not sure how much of that you believe.

"Go," Hunter urges. "We'll find you. I promise."

"Hunter—"

"Go."

You swallow hard and nod, and then you're running, narrowly dodging the blaster bolts thudding into the doorframe as you dash out the doors. You hear Wrecker's howl of rage, and then the sound of blaster fire as the others charge him, and the sound makes you sob.

"No," you whisper, and then you're running.

You're not sure where to go, and the ship is a blur around you as you dart down the halls, tears streaming down your cheeks. You run until you can't run anymore, and then you stumble, your chest heaving and your lungs burning. Your legs are weak, and the muscles in your thighs are aching, but you push on, determined not to give up. 

You have to get away. You have to stay alive. If you're alive, you can help him.

But the further you get from Wrecker, the more you feel like your heart is being ripped out. You want to be with him, to save him, but Hunter was right. You have no chance of defeating him without killing him, and the thought of you dying, of leaving him alone, terrifies you.

So you run.

You don't stop until the sound of his blaster fire has faded, and even then, you don't dare stop moving. You're sobbing uncontrollably now, and it's hard to see. Your vision is blurred, and the tears are pouring down your cheeks. You have no idea where you are, and every corridor and door looks the same. It's impossible to tell which way leads out, or even if there is an exit. All you know is that you're lost, and for the first time in a long time, you’re alone.

You finally come to a stop and lean against the wall, gasping for breath. You feel sick, and the walls are spinning. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the wall, willing the world to stop.

But it doesn't. And it's not just the room that's spinning. It's everything. Your whole world is spinning out of control, and you’re helpless to stop it. You've lost everything. You've lost your home, your friends, and now you've lost the man you love. He's been taken from you, and there's nothing you can do.

You're powerless.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest is tight, and it feels like your heart is shattering. You can't breathe. You can't think. You just stand there, crying and shaking and feeling completely, utterly useless.

After what feels like hours, the tears begin to slow. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and the knot in your stomach loosens, just a little.

There's still a chance, you tell yourself. They'll stop him. They'll get him out of there. Wrecker will be okay. Everything will be okay. It has to be.

And then you sense him.

Wrecker's warm presence in the Force is gone, replaced by something cold and empty. He’s always felt warm, bright and strong, but now there's nothing there. Nothing but a cold, hollow void. A darkness so intense that it makes your skin crawl.

Your head snaps up, and you can feel him, a shadow looming in the corridor behind you. His presence is like a black hole, sucking the life and warmth out of the room, and you can't move. You can't breathe. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

Your instincts are screaming at you to run, but you can't. You won't.

You don't know if it's stupid or brave, but you turn to face him.

You move slowly, terrified of what you'll see, and when your eyes meet his, a shiver runs down your spine.

He's standing there, his breathing labored and his body tensed, and he's staring at you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. In the dim light of the wrecked ship, his face is barely visible, but his eyes are shining with a cold, cruel light. There's no recognition in them, no hint of the man you love, and for a moment, you can't believe what you're seeing.

But the hatred radiating off him is real, a tangible thing, and it's enough to make you sick. It's worse than any injury or torture. Worse than anything you've ever experienced. It's a raw, visceral hatred, and it's directed right at you.

You stand your ground, your hands shaking, and you clench them into fists.

"Wrecker," you say, and the words sound small and weak. "I'm sorry."

His brow furrows, and his jaw tenses.

"I should have done more," you continue, and the words catch in your throat. You're choking on the lump that's formed there, and you swallow, fighting back the urge to sob. "I should have protected you."

Wrecker doesn't answer. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in your tear-stained cheeks and the fear in your eyes. You can feel his hatred, the cold rage coiled tight in his muscles. He's barely holding himself back, and the tension in his body is palpable.

"Please," you whisper. "You have to fight this. This isn't you."

He doesn't reply. He takes a step towards you, and you tense, ready to defend yourself. You don't want to hurt him. You don't want to hurt him. You can't.

"Wrecker, please. Don't do this." Your voice cracks, and when he doesn't react, the tears start flowing again. "I love you. I need you. Please, don't do this."

Wrecker pauses, and his eyes widen. The hatred in his eyes wavers, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that you've reached him. But then his lip curls, and the hatred comes surging back. It's stronger this time, fueled by a rage so intense that it takes your breath away.

"Traitor," he growls, and then he lunges at you.

He moves so fast that you barely have time to react. You dodge out of the way, barely avoiding his grasp, and his hand closes around empty air. He snarls and whirls, his eyes burning with hatred. You take a step back, and the tears are streaming down your face.

"Stop this!" you cry. "Wrecker, please! I don't want to hurt you!"

He doesn't listen. He moves with a speed and grace that belies his size, and he's on you in an instant. You manage to avoid him again, but only just. He slams into the wall next to you, and the impact makes the metal buckle. The sound is deafening, and it sends a shockwave through the room. The walls creak and groan, and dust and debris rain down from the ceiling.

Wrecker's head snaps towards you, his eyes burning with a cold, cruel fire, and your stomach lurches. His lips curl into a snarl, and then he's coming for you again. 

You turn and run, darting down the corridor, and he's right behind you. You can hear the pounding of his boots on the floor, and the sound of his ragged breathing. He's gaining on you, and you don't know if you can keep ahead of him without hurting him. 

Your eyes are wide and desperate, and your heart is racing. You're terrified, but you force yourself to push that fear aside, to try and remember your training. You can't let it control you. You can't let it consume you. 

If you do, you'll never save him. You'll never get him back. You have to stay focused. You have to stay calm.

But it's so hard.

Wrecker roars, and you feel the air rush past you as he grabs at your arm. You jerk free, and his fingers close around empty air. You twist and slam your shoulder into his side, and he stumbles, hissing with rage. You reach out with the Force and shove him back, giving yourself just enough room to move, and then you're running again.

"Please," you sob. "Please, stop."

He doesn't.

You dodge around a corner, and the floor suddenly disappears beneath your feet. Your eyes go wide, and you cry out as the world drops out from under you. You tumble down the sudden drop, landing hard on your shoulder, and the breath is knocked from your lungs. You gasp, pain lancing through your shoulder, and for a moment, you're too stunned to move.

The sound of boots pounding on the floor above snaps you out of your daze, and you roll onto your back, pushing yourself to your feet. Your head whips around, taking in your surroundings, and it only takes you a moment to realize where you are. You're in the cargo bay, and the doors leading out to the planet are mere meters away.

Your heart leaps. You can get out. You can get help.

But you hesitate, and the feeling of his presence in the Force is enough to make your blood run cold. You dart behind a stack of crates just as Wrecker lands on the floor in front of you. He hits the ground hard, and the impact is enough to make the floor underneath you shake.

Your hand clasps over your mouth to hide your surprised gasp. Your chest is heaving, and your heart is racing. The tears are still falling, and you're trembling so hard that your knees are shaking.

The sudden silence is almost deafening, and the only sound is the distant hum of the ship's engines. You don't dare to breathe. You can't make a sound.

"I know you're here," Wrecker says. His voice is low and menacing. "You can't hide forever."

He steps forward, his boots crunching on broken glass. His footsteps are slow, methodical, like he's stalking his prey. He's close. So close. Too close.

"Come out, traitor," he snarls.

You shrink back against the crates. Your heart is pounding so hard that you're sure he can hear it. Your palms are sweating, and the crate next to you is slick with condensation. You have nowhere to go, and no way out. If you try to run, he'll catch you. And if you try to fight, you'll have to kill him.

"I'll find you," Wrecker growls. His voice is low and menacing, and it sends a chill down your spine. "You can't hide from me."

He moves closer, and the sound of his footsteps seems to grow louder with each passing second. You hold your breath, and your hand drifts toward your lightsaber on your hip on instinct before you clench your fist and drop your arm. You can't. You can't use it. You won't.

You won't hurt him.

You'll die first.

Wrecker moves around the crates, and his shadow falls across the wall. You can see his outline, and the hatred emanating off him is like a physical thing. It's palpable, suffocating, and it's enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You hear a thud, and a crate falls to the floor with a loud crash. You flinch, and your hand goes to your lightsaber again, but you stop yourself. You can't use it. You can't. Not against him. Not like this.

Another crate topples. And another. And another. Wrecker's getting closer. You can hear him breathing, and your heart is pounding so hard that your head is spinning. You can't see him, but you know he's there, lurking just out of sight.

He's so close.

So close.

He stops, and the room is deathly silent. You can't hear his breathing, and he's motionless, as if he's waiting for you to make a sound. The seconds tick by, and the tension in the air is so thick that it's almost impossible to breathe.

You can't take it.

"Please," you whimper, and the word comes out as a sob.

He freezes, and for a moment, everything is still.

And then the air shifts. You sense a sudden movement, and a fraction of a second later, the crate above you explodes. You yelp and dive to the side, rolling out of the way, and the crate is reduced to splinters.

 Your scramble to your feet, your back slamming against the wall, and you look up. Wrecker is standing over you, and his eyes are cold, dark pools. His hulking form trembles with rage, and he rushes towards you, his hand curled into a fist. You duck under the blow, and your hand flashes out, connecting with his chin. He stumbles, but he doesn't stop. 

He lunges at you, and you dodge, his hand catching your tunic and ripping the fabric. The sound of it tearing is deafening, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he growls.

"Stop!" you plead.

He doesn't.

"Traitor," he hisses. He's on you again, and this time, you can't avoid him. 

Wrecker hits you in the stomach, and the breath leaves your lungs in a rush. Pain blooms through your torso, and your knees buckle. He swings again, and you throw up your arms, blocking the blow. The force of it knocks you to the ground, and your head smacks against the hard floor.

His fingers wrap around your throat, and he lifts you off the ground with one hand. Wrecker pulls you up close to his face, and the look in his eyes is terrifying. It's pure, unbridled hatred, and it's directed at you.

"Wrecker," you manage to croak. Your eyes search his desperate to find any sign of the man you love, and he growls, his grip tightening.

"Wrecker, please." Tears stream down your face, and you claw at his hands, struggling to breathe. Your lungs are burning, and the pain in your head is almost unbearable. He's going to kill you. He's going to kill you, and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

You know that your next breath will be your last, and you feel a strange sense of peace wash over you. There are worse fates than dying by his hands. Worse things than losing your life. You're not afraid. You're not angry. All you feel is sorrow, and a deep, aching love for the man in front of you. The man who's been your whole world, your heart, and the only home you've ever known.

If this is how it ends, so be it. At least you got to know him.

"Wrecker," you choke out, your voice barely audible. "I... I love..."

His fingers tighten, and everything goes black.

Your eyes flutter open, and the world swims back into focus. There's a dull ache in your skull, and the air feels strangely thin. Your chest is heaving, and it takes you a moment to realize that you're not breathing.

No, you're hyperventilating.

Wrecker.

His name is on your lips, and you gasp before a terrible, aching pain lances through your skull. You try to move, but your body is heavy.

You're lying on your side. The ground beneath you is hard, and the air is thick and heavy. There's a bitter taste in your mouth, and your throat is burning. You try to take a deep breath, but it's like someone's squeezing the life out of you.

"Hey. Easy."

The voice is familiar. Soothing. But it doesn't register.

Someone rolls you onto your back, and the movement sends a jolt of pain through your body. You gasp, and the air burns. You can't see anything, but you feel something cool and wet being pressed against your face. It hurts, and you try to pull away, but a gentle hand holds you still.

"Shhh. Relax."

The voice is familiar, but your mind is too fuzzy to place it. Your head is throbbing, and your throat feels like it's on fire. You can't focus. You can't think. All you can do is lay there and try to breathe.

"Stay still. I'm trying to clean you up."

You try to open your eyes, but everything is blurry. A pair of dark brown eyes stares down at you, but it's not the mismatched ones you're looking for.

Rex.

He's holding something cold and wet against your face, and the sensation is painful, but soothing. You take a few shallow breaths, the air finally starting to reach your lungs. You cough, and it's like sandpaper being scraped against the back of your throat.

"Don't try to talk," Rex says. "You need rest."

Rest. The word echoes through your head. Your thoughts are jumbled, and you can't seem to focus.

"What... What happened?" you manage to croak. Your voice is hoarse, and your words come out sounding more like a growl than anything else.

"I think it's better if I don't tell you," Rex says. He's frowning, and the look on his face makes your heart clench. "Just focus on breathing."

You take another breath, and this one is a little easier. The pressure in your head is fading, and your vision is starting to clear.

"Wrecker," you rasp. "Is he...?"

"Yeah," Rex says softly. "He's... He's okay."

"Where is he?"

"We got his chip out, and the others," Rex tells you. "Tech is treating his injuries now."

There's a catch in his voice, and you can tell that something is wrong. Something terrible. You feel a sharp stab of panic, and you try to sit up, but the room spins. Rex grabs your shoulders and eases you back down.

"Just stay still," he says. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine," you argue, but your voice is weak, and the effort of talking makes your head spin. Rex shakes his head.

"No, you're not." Rex sighs and presses a damp cloth to your forehead. It's cool and soothing, and the pain begins to ease a little. "Just give it a minute."

"Rex..."

"He's okay. I promise." He smiles at you, but it’s forced, and there's a sadness in his eyes that makes your heart twist. "But he's not doing well. We're all gonna need some time."

Your heart sinks. You know what that means. Rex is telling you that Wrecker needs space. That he's not himself. That he's ashamed and guilty and doesn't want to face you. It hurts. More than the physical pain, more than the headache, the exhaustion, and the fear, it's a deeper, sharper kind of pain. The kind that cuts to the bone, and you can feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

"I understand," you say, and you hate the way your voice cracks.

Rex's smile falters, and the sadness in his eyes intensifies.

"Hey, now," he murmurs. "It'll be okay."

"No. It won't." Your voice is thick, and the tears are flowing freely now. You can't stop them. You don't even try. Rex pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing.

"He tried to kill me," you choke out. "He... He was going to..."

Rex holds you, and he doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The pain is written all over his face, and he knows exactly what you're going through. He was there. He watched Wrecker lose control, and he had to watch him almost kill the woman he loves. He had to watch him almost kill his friend.

"I'm so sorry," Rex whispers. He holds you close, and his hand moves gently up and down your back, soothing you. "I'm so sorry."

You cry until your throat is raw and your lungs are burning, and when the tears finally stop, you're exhausted. Your body is limp, and your head is pounding. You lean against Rex, and his arms tighten around you.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get you up."

He helps you to your feet, and you wince. Every muscle in your body is aching, your throat is sore, and the wound on the back of your head is throbbing. You feel weak, and the ground seems to sway under your feet. Rex holds you steady while the feeling slowly fades.

"I've got you," he says. Then, slowly, he leads you towards the medbay. You lean against him, and with each step, you can feel the guilt and shame and anger radiating off him in waves. It's overwhelming, and it makes your heart ache.

"Rex," you murmur. "Are you alright?"

"No," he admits. "But I will be."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper.

"It's not your fault," he says, but you can hear the bitterness in his voice, and the resentment. He blames himself for what happened. He's taking the weight of the entire situation on his shoulders.

You want to tell him that it's not his fault, either, but you're too tired. So you lean against him, and let him guide you to the medbay.

The door is open, and Tech is inside, tending to a  cut on Hunter’s face. Echo is helping, and Omega is sitting in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looks exhausted, tears staining her cheeks, but her face brightens when she sees you. 

She scrambles to her feet and rushes towards you, throwing her arms around your waist. The impact sends a shock of pain through your ribs, but you bite your lip and hide your wince. She's clinging to you like a lifeline, and you can feel the tremor in her body as she tries not to cry. You hold her close, stroking her hair, and the ache in your heart deepens.

"Hey," you murmur. "You alright?"

Omega nods against you, her fingers digging into the back of your tunic.

"Are you?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you lie. "I'm okay."

"You're not," she says, and the hurt in her voice is enough to make your throat tighten. "But it's okay. We're here."

She hugs you tighter, and you lean into the embrace, your heart aching. You wish it was as simple as that, but nothing is. Nothing will be. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. You hold her close, closing your eyes, and her presence in the Force is warm and bright, just like always. 

You let yourself get lost in it, and the pain begins to ebb, if only a little, before you open your eyes again.

"Where's Wrecker?" you ask. Your voice is soft, but everyone in the room hears it and the tension is palpable. They exchange glances, their expressions grim.

"He's resting," Tech says carefully. "His injuries are relatively minor, and the surgery was successful, but his mental state is... concerning."

You swallow hard. You knew it was bad, but hearing Tech say it out loud is different. It makes it real, and the weight of that reality is suffocating. You take a shaky breath and nod, but the tears are threatening again, and your voice is unsteady.

"Can I see him?"

"He doesn't want to see anyone," Echo says. His voice is low, his words measured. He's... He's not himself. Not yet."

"I know." Your voice cracks. "I just... I want him to know that I'm here. That I care. That I..."

"Give him time," Hunter murmurs, his expression pained. "He's not in a good place."

"But I—"

"No." Rex's tone is gentle, but firm. "It's not a good idea. Trust me. He needs space. He needs to figure out how to live with what he did."

"It wasn't him," you protest, but even as you say it, you know that it's not entirely true. It was him. Just not the him you know.

"I know," he says. "But it was his hands that almost killed you. And that's hard to come to terms with."

You swallow hard and nod. You know he's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't ease the pain in your chest or the ache in your head. You want to see him, to talk to him, but you know it's not what he needs. It's not what you need.

You let out a shuddering breath, your shoulders sagging. You're exhausted, and the world is spinning, and all you want to do is collapse into a ball and cry.

Tech approaches, and he hesitates for a moment before his hand settles gently on your shoulder. His eyes are sympathetic, but the frown on his face is deep, his expression troubled.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"I'm okay," you answer. The lie comes easily, almost automatically. It's a reflex. One that has been well-honed over the years, but one that's not very convincing. Not anymore.

He nods and studies you for a moment. Then, he glances at Rex.

"Help her onto the cot," he says. "I'll do a quick examination and treat her injuries."

"No," you protest. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep."

"You're not fine," Rex counters. He's not unkind, but his tone leaves no room for argument. "You were attacked, and you have a head injury. We need to make sure that you're okay."

"I am. Really."

"We need to make sure," Tech insists.

"I'm not—"

"You're getting checked out," Rex says firmly. "And that's final."

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your lips. You know he's right. Your entire body aches, and every breath is painful. You're not fine. You know it. But the idea of hearing it from someone else is too much. It's too real.

Rex gently guides you towards the cot, his arm around your waist, and you let him. There's no point in fighting, not when the others are worried about you. So you let him help you onto the bed, and Omega sits next to you, her small hand finding yours.

Tech begins his examination, and Rex hovers nearby, watching closely. You feel small and fragile and weak, and it's a strange feeling. You're used to being strong, to fighting your own battles. But now, you can barely stand on your own. It's a reminder of how fragile you really are, and it makes your chest tighten. No matter how good of a Jedi you can claim to be, it's impossible to ignore that the only reason you're alive is because Rex stepped in and saved your life.

"You have a mild concussion," Tech reports, and his words pull you out of your thoughts. "Several bruised ribs, and multiple contusions." He pauses, and his gaze shifts to your throat. "And those bruises will need time to heal."

Your hand reaches up, and you touch the spot where Wrecker had been holding you. The skin is tender, and the contact makes you wince.

"Yeah," Rex says, anger clear in his voice. "That's going to be a tough one to cover up."

You look away.

"It could have been worse," Tech points out.

"It was bad enough,” he snaps. When you flinch, Rex's eyes widen, regret flickering across his features. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It’s okay." Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. You swallow, but the lump in your throat remains. "I know."

Tech moves to examine the bruise on your stomach, his touch gentle.

"We can apply bacta to the worst of the bruises," Tech offers. "That will help with the healing process."

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You close your eyes and try not to think about it. About the way Wrecker had been staring at you. The coldness in his eyes. The rage. The hatred. The way his hands had tightened around your throat. The way he had been intent on killing you.

"Can I help you?"

Tech's voice is soft, and he sounds unsure of himself. It's such a stark contrast to his usual confidence, and it makes your chest tighten. This is hard for him, too. Hard for all of them.

"I'm okay," you murmur. "Really."

"You don’t have to be," Tech says. His tone is gentle, but there's an edge to it. “We understand, and we'll do our best to make sure that you're taken care of."

You open your eyes and look at him, and the sympathy in his gaze makes you want to cry. You don't want to be the one everyone's worrying about. You don't want to be the helpless victim, the one who needs to be coddled and comforted. You're a Jedi. You're supposed to be the one taking care of others, not the other way around.

But there's nothing you can do. Nothing you can say. So you nod, letting the tears spill down your cheeks, and Tech places a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you," you whisper, and the words come out sounding more like a sob.

"Of course," Tech replies, and there's an unfamiliar warmth in his voice. "You're one of us, and we take care of our own."

He turns back to his instruments, and you lay down, resting your head on the pillow. The medbay is quiet, save for the soft beeps and whirrs of the machines, and the familiar sounds are oddly comforting. Tech continues to examine and treat you, his movements careful and precise. He works silently, and the others are gathered nearby, their attention focused on you. It's strange, but it feels nice, being the center of their concern. It makes you feel safe, and it eases some of the pain and fear and uncertainty.

You're surrounded by your family. By the people who love you and care about you. And as the exhaustion overwhelms you, and the pain fades into a dull ache, you realize that's all that really matters. You may not be fine, but you're alive, and you have people that care about you. And that's more than some can say.

It's been three days since the chip incident, and things are... strained. You've barely seen Wrecker, and when you have, he hasn't said a word. He won't look at you. He won't even be in the same room as you. It hurts, but you're trying to be patient. Trying to give him the space he needs. But it's hard, and every day, the ache in your chest grows a little bit stronger.

You'd hesitated to say goodbye to Rex, and he'd again offered to take you with him. To keep you safe, to give you a place to heal. And again, you'd refused, promising him that things would be okay. And they would. You're certain. They had to be. 

But the entire time you'd spoken to him in hushed whispers, you could feel Wrecker's eyes on you. When you'd finally pulled away from Rex to board the Marauder, Wrecker had turned on his heel, disappearing into the ship without a word. He hadn't so much as glanced at you, let alone said anything.

The pain of that had cut deeper than the bruises on your throat, but you'd hidden it, plastering a smile on your face for the others, even though they all knew better.

The daring escape you'd made from Bracca had only served to complicate matters, and the entire team was on edge after encountering Crosshair again. The tension in the air is thick, and it seems like everyone is walking on eggshells, afraid of setting someone off. 

It's a far cry from the usual banter, teasing, and camaraderie that's typical aboard the ship, and the only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional beep from the instrument panel.

No one has spoken in hours, and the silence is oppressive. You haven't left your bunk since that morning, the high vantage point allowing you to see everything without having to interact with anyone.

It's lonely, but it's also safe.

No one bothers you, and you're free to let your mind wander. You watch the others, and the sight of them fills you with a strange mixture of emotions. You're proud of them, and the love you feel for them is almost overwhelming. But there's also a sense of loss.

What happened was a reminder that everything could change in an instant, and you're not ready for that. You're not ready to lose any of them. Not when they're the only family you have left.

You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and let the feeling wash over you. It's a bittersweet sort of sorrow, and it makes your heart ache. You know that they're not going anywhere, that the five of them are a force to be reckoned with, but you can't help the anxiety that lingers, the fear that something might go wrong. You've already lost so much. You can't lose them, too.

The sound of footsteps approaching the bunk pulls you from your thoughts, and you open your eyes, expecting to see Echo. But the figure in the doorway isn't him.

"I'm sorry."

Wrecker's voice is barely a whisper, but it's loud enough to startle you, and you sit up, wincing as your ribs protest. He’s standing below, looking up at you with his mismatched eyes. His eyes are wide and pleading, and he's fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You can tell he's nervous, but there's a hint of something else, too. Sadness. Guilt. Shame.

"It's okay," you say automatically, but the words feel hollow.

"No. It's not." His voice is low, and there's an edge of desperation to it, and his hands squeeze into fists. You can feel the anger radiating off him, and it makes your blood run cold. He looks like he wants to punch a hole in the wall, and you have no doubt that he could if he wanted to. He could tear the whole ship apart. He could tear you apart.

You swallow, but your throat is dry, and the fear is starting to build.

"I could have killed you," Wrecker continues, his voice shaking. “I... I wanted to kill you. I was gonna..."

He trails off, unable to finish the sentence, and his shoulders slump. The anger fades, and the shame is so intense that you feel it like a physical blow. Wrecker closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, his shoulders trembling.

"I tried to kill my own brothers," he says, and his voice cracks. "And I... I almost..."

He takes a shaky breath, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and he shakes his head. You're at a loss for words, and all you can do is watch him struggle with the weight of his emotions. You want to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but you can't. You're just as broken as he is.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and his voice is thick with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Wrecker..."

He looks up at you, and the raw anguish in his eyes makes your heart twist.

"Wrecker, please, it's okay. I know it wasn't—"

"No. It's not." He shakes his head, his expression pained. "It wasn't me. But it was."

You open your mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand, cutting you off.

"I remember everything. I remember wanting to hurt you. I remember how good it felt. How right." His eyes darken, his lips curling into a snarl. "I'm a monster."

"No, Wrecker," you insist. "No. You're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You're not," you repeat, more firmly this time. You haven’t used the Force in days, but it flows through you now, warm and reassuring, and you can feel the conviction in your own words. "You're a good man. You're not a monster. I saw you try to fight it. I saw the struggle. I know what's in your heart. And it's not evil."

"I should have fought harder." His fists clench, and he hangs his head. "I'm supposed to protect you, but I... I'm the one who tried to..."

"Wrecker."

Your voice is sharp, but he doesn't respond. He's lost in his own guilt, his own self-loathing, and the weight of it is crushing him.

"Please, Wrecker, stop." You slide off the bunk, landing lightly on your feet, and you approach him, reaching for his hands. He pulls away, and it feels like a knife in your heart. "You don't have to apologize. I'm not mad at you. I'm worried about you."

"You should be." His voice is flat, his words coming out in a growl. "I tried to kill you."

"But you didn't."

"I would have." He turns away from you, his jaw clenched, his shoulders tense. "If Rex hadn't stepped in, I would have."

You reach out, laying a hand on his arm, but he flinches, jerking away from your touch. It's a rejection, plain and simple, but it's not unexpected. He's pulling away, both physically and emotionally, and it's tearing you apart.

"Don't," he says. "Just don't."

"Please," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "Please, talk to me."

"What's there to talk about?" He sounds bitter, defeated, but he doesn't pull away this time. "I'm a monster."

"No, you're not," you insist. "You're my hero."

"Don't say that," he mutters.

"It's true. You are.” He starts to speak again, but you’re faster, and your words cut him off. "You saved my life. Over and over again. You've never given up on me, even when the odds were stacked against us. You've always been there for me, no matter what."

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell that your words are affecting him. His shoulders are hunched, his body tense, but there's a tremor in his muscles, a slight shudder. You step closer, pressing yourself against his back, and you wrap your arms around his waist. You hold him tight, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and you rest your forehead between his shoulder blades.

"I trust you, Wrecker. I know you'd never hurt me willingly. And the truth is, I could've fought back. I could've stopped you. But I didn't. Because I trust you. I trust you with my life. And I always will."

He stiffens, his breath hitching.

"You're not a monster," you continue. "You're not a liability. You're my boyfriend, and you're my best friend. And I'm not afraid of you."

You press a kiss between his shoulder blades, lingering there for a moment. Your throat is tight, your heart racing, and you're filled with an overwhelming sense of affection and devotion. The feelings are strong, almost overwhelming, and you don't try to push them down. You don't try to hide them. You just let them flow through you, let them fill the space between the two of you. 

You've held them back for so long, afraid to show your feelings, afraid to let yourself be vulnerable, but now, the dam has broken, and you're drowning in the intensity of your emotions. There's a warmth spreading through your chest, a kind of peace that you've never felt before, and it's almost euphoric. It's like the first breath after surfacing from a deep dive, and the air is sweet, filling your lungs.

"I love you, Wrecker," you murmur.

"Don't," he growls, but the tension is gone from his body, his muscles relaxing under your touch. He leans back against you, his head dropping forward, his eyes closed.

"I do," you say softly. "I love you. And I'm not afraid."

You hold him, the two of you locked together, neither of you willing to move, afraid that the moment will end. He's trembling, his breathing shallow, his fingers curling around your arms, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't reject you.

"I trust you," you whisper. "I love you. And nothing will ever change that."

There's a long, heavy silence, and then, finally, he speaks.

"I love you, too."

It's barely a whisper, but the words are clear, and the weight of them makes your heart soar. You tighten your arms around his waist, burying your face in his back, and you feel the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You’re so happy that it almost hurts, the emotions swelling in your chest, making it difficult to breathe. It feels like you're floating, the weight of everything finally lifted.

“I love you so much,” he mutters. “More than anything. But you should be with someone else. Someone safer. Someone who won't..."

"Wrecker, stop." Your voice is firm, and you squeeze him, making him gasp. "I don't want anyone else. I want you."

He takes a shaky breath, his hands moving down your arms until his fingers are laced with yours. He squeezes, his grip gentle, and you squeeze back.

"I don't deserve you," he says.

"Yes, you do."

Wrecker lets go of your hands, turning to face you, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes are wet, tears streaking his cheeks, but there's a softness in his expression that you haven't seen in a while. He reaches out, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing," you chide gently, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I told you, it's okay."

"But—"

You shake your head, placing a finger over his lips.

"Enough." Your voice is soft, but stern. "No more talking."

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features. Then, he gets it, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nods, leaning down, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss is soft, almost tentative, but there's an underlying hunger, a need that makes your skin tingle. You press closer, your arms winding around his neck, the kiss deepening, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip.

He tastes like salt, the tears still drying on his cheeks, and the familiarity is comforting, soothing the ache in your heart. He's home. He's safe. And he loves you. Nothing else matters.

The kiss ends, the two of you gasping for breath, but you don't pull away. You stay close, your foreheads touching, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"I missed you," he murmurs.

"Me, too." You nuzzle his nose, your hands stroking his cheeks. "So much."

"M’sorry."

"I know.” You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, your fingers caressing the back of his neck. "But you're not responsible for this. None of us are. The only person to blame is the one who put the chips in your heads. You can't be held responsible for what they did."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing," you say, your tone firm. "You're a victim, Wrecker. Just like the rest of us."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping, the tension draining from his body. He's still upset, the guilt is still there, but you can feel it ebbing, the darkness fading.

"I don't blame you. None of us do,” you continue. "We're all just happy that we have you back. We're a family. We take care of each other."

Wrecker gives a small nod, the sadness in his eyes fading a little, replaced by something else. Something warmer, more hopeful.

"You're my family," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "My brothers. Omega. And you."

He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. "And I will never stop taking care of you. No matter what."

You bury your face in his shoulder, squeezing him tight. You can feel the tears building again, but they're different this time. They're not a product of pain or loss or fear. They're tears of happiness, of relief, of love. You close your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you, letting yourself get lost in it. You've come so far, endured so much, but here, in his arms, you're finally home.

Wrecker's fingers curl into the back of your shirt, his breathing shallow, his face buried in your hair.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me."

You pull away, looking up at him, a smile on your lips.

"Never."

He smiles back, the expression brightening his entire face. You can't remember the last time you've seen him look this happy, and the sight fills you with a warm glow. This is where you belong, where you've always belonged. With him. With your family.

You kiss him, long and slow and tender, and when the kiss breaks, the two of you are both gasping for breath, the flush high on your cheeks.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice rough.

"I love you, too." You reach up, tracing his jawline with your fingertips, your eyes meeting his.

"More than anything," he continues. "And I promise, I'll never let anyone hurt you. Never again."

His voice is thick with emotion, and there's a fierceness in his gaze, a protectiveness that makes your heart skip a beat. He means it. He'll keep you safe, no matter the cost. And knowing that, believing that, fills you with an overwhelming sense of comfort. It eases the pain, the fear, the anxiety, and for the first time in weeks, you feel... whole.

You're safe. You're loved. You're home. And no matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, that will never change.

"I know." You lean up, brushing your lips against his, and his arms tighten around you. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @floofyroro

[goldenhickeysandramen]

Evolution of their narrative

I admit it. I also get confused as to what kind of couple Tae& Koo is supposed to be to their shippers.

When I first joined the fandom they were the “hidden couple”, and jikook was “fan service”, cause is what the masses demanded from BH/Bang PD.

It didn't take me long to realise that the "masses" in this fandom are actually the taek00kers (humaluvre is bigger than the majority of the most famous JK's focus accs) … So I've never really understood who the masses-asking-massively-for-"jikook"-content were 🤷‍♀️

Then, I read them that the big proof that taek00k was real was, precisely, that they couldn’t do all the things that jikook could do so well (you know, travel together only the two of them, stare at each other in rapt attention, sucking ears and necks, treat each other as a married couple, support each other to the fullest, holding hands whenever they have the opportunity…). The reason of them not doing all of these things was South Korea, since it is an homophobic country.

That’s why the company edited the content and didn't let them interact. It was all cuts and so on. Everything they did was private, and that's why there was no evidence, other than some witnesses of people with telescopic sight and facial recognition (maybe they were androids?)

I had more or less understood the narrative, until the LOVEGRAM era started, and that's when it all blew over!

Their insta accounts were no longer professional accounts (like twitter or weverse), but personal… and from then on, their selfies were some short of engagement pics or couple confirmation and their funny comments about boxing hooks were actually whipped messages of love.

Btw it seems South Korea was no longer homophobic at that time.

INSTAGRAM WAS THE LAW

When JK closed his Instagram account (forced by the company 😌) we were already in chapter 2. The lovegram didn't matter anymore…because Jungkook hanging out sometimes with Tae and wooga became the confirmation of what Instagram -in reality- failed to confirm. Never mind that their hanging out concentrated during some months when they both had more free time or that they actually just did what good friends do: having fun at the movies, bowling or skiing together with other friends… but hey, those tiny details don't matter in the great love story that is told.

And from there we move on to the part where the CHAOS really started, when the COMPANION SYSTEM news dropped

And guess what? Korea became homophobic again

Some said that they were forced to part ways (the company, the government, themselves because they wouldn't last a second without f?….). Gays dont enlist together they said.

Another line of argument was that Jimin had asked JK to enlist with him… I guess because he was going to be terrible at the military. LOL

But we all can sense that the most extended opinion was "I can't understand this plot twist for shit".

(Maybe the problem is they never understood their favs but that’s for another post)

And in the midst of CHAOS it was no longer possible to think of a new narrative...that's why the strategy became "attack". If they can't prove that their favourites are a couple, they'll go and debunk the rest.

At this point they don’t seem to care if ta3k00k is real or not… they simply choose not to surrender and ignore some facts. If they freaking ignored Jennie during a year, they will do the same with jikook being glued for 18 months.

So in the next months, we'll probably see part of fandom (solos and tkkers) attacking jikookers, and another part trying to ignore us. I fear the chaos will continue… pretty sure some toxic ones will watch the travel show just to diss jikook..

But we shouldn’t care too much because as we have seen, Jimin and Jungkook will never stop taking their decisions and behaving with authenticity

The boys have chosen their own path this year, not to please the majority of their fandom (jikookers are not the mass), but because they wanted to.

At the end of the day, they care about their fans, but we don’t own their lifes and they have shown us. And I applaud 👏 them

And yes, maybe their country and the careers they have chosen dont allow them to be fully free…. but they dont prevent them to stay one next to the other. They know how to choose the battles worth fighting for.

Don't you think it's beautiful and says a lot about the quality of love and respect that Jimin and Jungkook have for each other?

I think so

"standing in the fire next to you"

💜💛

[genericpuff]

With LO being done, a mass layoff apparently happening recently, and high profile creators like that of Bugtopia bailing from them, do you think Webtoons is gonna last much longer?

So I had heard about the layoff through the grapevine (as in, pals that I know who are aware of the situation) but honestly, I don't think this is the end of Webtoons as an app... I think this is definitely an end of a version of Webtoons that we were all familiar with as both creators and readers. I've been noticing this shift over the past couple years and now it seems to be coming to a head, a status quo shift from Webtoons being an earnest "anyone can find success with us" community of readers and indie creators to just another enshittified corporate platform that's only interested in churning out content to keep up its bottom line.

Before I continue, obligatory reminder that I am not an Originals creator, just a former Canvas creator and avid webcomic reader. None of this post is to accuse Webtoons of foul play or spread misinformation, these are simply my opinions based on my own experiences with the app and its staff, research that I've done into Webtoons' practices and history as a company, and firsthand + secondhand accounts of experiences on the backend from various Originals creators who have willingly spoken up on the matter. Take the following dissection and rant about Webtoons with mountains of salt.

The biggest sign of this shift I've seen has definitely gotta be the reduction of greenlit Canvas series in favor of imported Korean series. Now I will say there was a time that there genuinely were too many greenlit series, back when they used to do their launch weeks, and I think scaling that back isn't necessarily a bad thing to prevent oversaturation, but oversaturation is still very much happening, it's just through imported series now.

Though I will say a counter argument to this is that Webtoons' own audience has a habit of believing that EVERY piece of work needs to be read and kept up with. This is surely a side effect of Webtoons going from being a smaller platform with only a few select Originals series to suddenly launching hundreds more over the course of the last couple years, there WAS a time you could genuinely keep up with most of the series on the platform if you wanted, but now that's no longer possible, and while some would argue that's a flaw, I'd argue that greenlighting so many series isn't necessarily an invitation for you to read them all, it's just to buff up their library with more choices for those who are more particular about what they read. Do you enjoy isekai but don't like the one about the girl being reborn into her favorite medieval romance book? Well there are 50 other isekais set in medieval times for you to choose from.

That said, the ratio of greenlit Canvas series : Korean imports definitely feels like it's skewed more towards the latter over the past couple years, as we're now seeing them simply opt to import and translate series from their Naver platform. Some people don't really care or notice the difference, and there's certainly lots to be said about the popularity of many Korean works, but many other readers are now feeling iced out by the platform's sudden shift in art styles and storytelling tropes because Korean webtoons and manwhas do generally aim for a different audience than what a lot of veteran Webtoon users are used to. Plus from the creator side of things, it's undoubtedly making the playing grounds feel uneven where greenlit Canvas series now have to compete with the webtoons from overseas that are made in studios with teams of people and seem to also be paid far better than what NA creators are being paid. Webtoons already severely limits what series they choose to advertise and that's only gotten worse over the years with the ongoing oversaturation of the app's library.

That's only regarding quantity though, as there's surely lots to be said about how a lot of the higher quality stories are ones here made in North America, and a lot of that I feel has to do with the benefit of them being comics written in English by people who natively speak English. Unlike Korean manwha/webtoons, they don't have to go through the process of translation and localization which can unfortunately cause an otherwise well written manwha to lose its subtleties and specific writing choices due to rushed or poor translating (people who read scanlations of manga and manwha or who even just watch dubbed vs. subbed anime can certainly attest to this.)

With all that in mind, my own personal theory (*again, this is my opinion and tinfoil hat suspicions, not fact) is that Webtoons/Naver has essentially been outsourcing to North America to build up their app through titles like Lore Olympus, and now that that audience has been built, they seem to be bringing in their Korean series to benefit off that audience while reducing the amount of NA Canvas series they greenlight, particularly their most popular genres like Romance, Fantasy, and Action. How much they'll benefit, I can't say for certain, considering this is a company that has been operating in the red for years and IIRC they even practically admit to this in their IPO proposal (it's actually really funny to read if you're familiar with legal jargon and Webtoons as a company)

Fact of the matter though is that despite Webtoons building up that audience through legacy NA titles, they seem to have forgotten one fundamental thing - most of the people in that audience just don't seem to be interested in the content they're now trying to sell. Credit where credit is due, the aggressive marketing campaign surrounding Lore Olympus for the last 5 years did a great job at pulling in new people to the app, many of whom never read webtoons before. In all its flaws, Lore Olympus is very beginner friendly for people who are new to Webtoons, with guilty pleasure romance writing that a lot of NA readers enjoy nowadays and an art style that was very unique at the time.

But out of all those people who were attracted to the app through series like LO, how many do you think are reading Korean manwha? I don't have the numbers to back up this argument 🧂🧂🧂 but I personally doubt it's very many if all the complaints about Webtoons becoming 'samey' over the years is anything to go off of (right alongside the complaints of LO being marketed way too much lmao)

So no, I don't think Webtoons as a company is going anywhere. They've made it this long operating at a loss, mostly in part to their parent company Naver injecting them with funds (and for anyone unaware, Naver is essentially the Google of Korea, they're a massive tech company that owns Webtoons as a separate venture, not too different from Google owning Youtube in a sense) and now they're turning to public funding.

I do think Webtoons as we know it is dying and changing, for better and for worse however you may define it, and regardless of which way it goes, it's going to come with the consequential shift in both audience and creators that such a transformation brings. I was there when it happened to Tapas, I was there when it happened to DeviantArt, and now we're seeing it in real time with Webtoons all over again. Whether or not they rise from the ashes reborn anew or simply fester like a dying animal, that remains to be seen, but considering this is the same company that's currently exploiting and underpaying creators to keep their bottom line afloat, developing AI tools, and running an app that's held together with staples and glue and doesn't even have tagging implemented, I'm not holding my breath for the best case scenario. The company and its app may live on but the Webtoons that we knew for years is long gone and may never return again.

And that's my many cents on that.

[acourtofthought]

Something I'm confused by is when Elriels insist that the twins are Elain's found family and their friendship is proof of Elriel being endgame.

I mean, I'm not saying Elain isn't friends with the twins because she is, but if they're meant to be her found family, why would they, and their friendship with Elain have been introduced already?

I've only read ACOTAR, so it might be different in other Mass books, but doesn't it make more sense for Elain to meet her found family in her own book? That way, the readers can see the love/trust develop between everyone from the very beginning instead of starting us in the halfway point, where Elain apparently already has her found family set and is only missing her endgame guy?

If the twins are Elain's found family, it just feels like the readers are missing out on a lot of possible key moments and information since they're all already friends before we've even had Elain's pov.

Your anon is very much in line with a conversation I was having with @acourtdelaluna that I had in my drafts and that I'll post screenshot of below.

The friend argument is similar to it. These are not contemporary romance book where a FMC starts off with her core group of girls that remain her core group as the series continues. Where she doesn't need her friends as anything but a sympathetic ear. In a fantasy books a FMC might have friends at the start of her journey but those friends are not the ones she's going to adventure with, to grow with. Take Hunger Games for example, Gail was Katniss's closest friend yet she grew closer to Peeta, to Finnick, to Haymitch (sort of?? haha) as the series progressed. She might keep the old friends but they aren't typically the ones who drive her character growth. Think of Fourth Wing. It was about the relationships the FMC made along the way that made the story what it was even outside her romance.

That e/riels are so distraught over the thought of Elain growing and meeting new people outside her sisters, the wraiths and Az is disheartening. They'd rather what her character is canonically known for (easily making friends) to have no part in her story because they know if Elain's world / friend group doesn't stay small, there's the chance that she'll want more than her current life.

Also if we're were supposed to care about the wraiths, why were they completely absent in SF when Elain was around? Why was Lucien at Solstice and Starfall but they weren't? Why was their only "appearance" when they brought Gwyn and Emerie tea (an off page appearance at that)? Why does Az fail to mention them at all? Why have we never witnessed a single conversation between them and Elain? Hell, we even had Amren and Nesta share dialogue in ACOWAR. We had Mor and Elain share dialogue.

It's not difficult to understand which people are meant to be important to a FMCs story because the author will make you care about them, she'll flesh them out and make them multi dimensional. We've had multiple books that feature N & C yet we know nothing about them outside the work they do for Rhys and Feyre.

This is especially true in a Sarah J Maas book. She puts as much time and care into the developing friendships as she does their endgame person. The only reason we won't see this setup for a Gwynriel book is because we've already witnessed the Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie friendship play out in real time in Nesta's story. We don't have that for N & C though. We're told they're Elain's friends but they have no development outside of that so it shouldn't be shocking that people feel meh about them.

Regarding Elain being perfectly settled and content with the relationships in her life, this is where my conversation with acourtdelaluna comes in. Because the argument is never just that Elain already has her found family but she also already knows exactly who and what she wants -

[ophthalmotropy]

what's happening in argentina?

I don't fault you for the broad question because I'd ask too, but I need you to know that as a non-smoker I've never felt so strongly the need for a cigarette as I did just now thinking about answering this question. But I'll do my best.

In November of last year, the country elected Javier Milei as president. He would swear into office the next month. Javier Milei is a self-identified anarcho-capitalist and libertarian, although he states he is a minarchist in the short term (meaning he thinks the only functions the State should serve are those of law enforcement: no public education, social development, market regulations, etc etc). Some of his most controversial campaign statements included projects to legalise the free and unregulated sale of organs, and, along with his vice-president Victoria Villarruel (who in her youth organised visits to Jorge Rafael Videla in prison), apologia for the 1976 military dictatorship by revindicating the theory of the two demons (fair warning that from what I skimmed that article is biased in favour of the theory) and casting into doubt the estimated 30.000 victims of state terrorism (torture, disappearance followed by death) (also warning that that article uses the name the military junta gave this process) during its duration.

Since he took over six months ago, the population's purchasing power has dropped by 38%, plunging millions of people below the line of poverty. In stark contrast to this, Milei has been travelling around the world using public funds to visit his ultraright idols; most notably, Trump, who is not the political leader of any country at the moment (making his trip to see him a personal visit and not a diplomatic one, thus invalidating his arguments for using our money to go there).

On the subject of diplomacy, his government has been swinging quite a lot of bats at hornets' nests, accusing China and Brazil of communism and insulting the wife of the president of Spain. All of this is an international relations nightmare that will take endless apologies to undo.

Another interesting resolution deregulates the operations of foreign companies, SPVs, and offshore companies (article in Spanish), with the stated goal of attracting investments. Those types of companies have historically been used to conceal illicit activity, so resolutions in that vein pave the way to effectively turn Argentina into a fiscal paradise. This isn't the only problem they pose (offshore companies don't pay taxes, so there'd be a loss in the public sector, for example), but it is the most worrying to me because they also eliminated restrictions for Sociedades de Acciones Simplificadas (simplified stock companies), most of which have historically been used to commit crimes among which is the drug trade. Once you have narcos in your country, there's no taking it back--Argentina would be at real risk of ceasing to exist as we know it.

This administration is also slashing public spending, resulting in some universities suspending their activities temporarily. They also failed to deliver oncological medicine, depriving cancer patients of assistance the state is obligated to provide. As a result of this, several people have died already. In this climate of extreme poverty, soup kitchens have been shutting down en masse due to the withdrawal of state funding, and laws that protected tenants' rights and regulated rent prices have been severely modified to the detriment of the tenants.

The violent decrease in public spending also resulted in thousands of state workers being fired overnight. The attack is especially centred on state organisations that promote the arts or whose purpose is to fight discrimination. On this subject, 10% of the transgender and travesti workers who had their positions guaranteed by the law were fired illegally, and government members are outspoken about their opposition to this law--which isn't surprising. Diana Mondino, the current chancellor, has compared same-sex marriage to "the right to having lice" while she held a position in Congress. Ricardo Bussi, a current legislator, compared homosexuality to disability in October 2023. Coming to this year, Francisco Sánchez, the Secretary of Religion, said that the laws protecting the right to abortions, divorce, and same-sex marriage "seek to pervert our children and damage society". Milei is also on record describing abortion as "homicide aggravated by the bond".

Also recently, Milei's biographer, Nicolás Márquez, gave a one-hour interview in which he characterised homosexuality as a disease, claiming that when the State "promotes homosexuality" (as it allegedly did before Milei came to power), it is aiding a "self-destructive" conduct, supporting these claims with unfounded statistics about the correlation between STIs and homosexuality; he also denied the existence of homophobia and described lesbians and gays as being "against nature". For the sake of full disclosure, I will say he explicitly freed Milei and his government of responsibility for his declarations--but I think it's really important to point out the kind of people and rhetorics this government is giving a platform to; after all, nobody knew Nicolás Márquez before he started writing for Milei. In approximately the same time frame, and in response to a horrific hate crime that resulted in the death of three lesbians, Manuel Adorni, the presidential spokesman, said that he "doesn't like" to talk about a hate crime because men suffer violence too--and he said this in a press conference.

I'm probably forgetting something important--so much has happened in the past months--but I hope this is enough to give you an impression of the changes our society is undergoing. Please let me know if you have follow-up questions. <3

[ritchiepage2001newaccount]

WHY UNIVERSAL BACKGROUND CHECKS ARE JUST AS UNLIKELY AS EVER, UNFORTUNATELY

I'm a leftist (Libertarian-Socialist), who votes progressive, because I live under an "elected" government, and I had thought I had purged the MSNBC/CNN Nation from my friends list, but apparently not, as my timeline is just chock-full of media-driven hysteria over current events, so here's a primer:

"Liberals" who think their arguments are clever or relevant to the Second Amendment are exhausting.

They are not the left; they are just one half of the good cop/bad cop act of the corporate owned fire-hose of bullshit that is the corporate media, and corporate America's governing criminal cartel/duopoly.

Both cults "I like simple and ineffectual 'solutions', because they make me feel like I'm doing something, and I'm just stinky with fear."

There are over a hundred million legal gun owners, who some want to punish for somebody else's crime.

Well, there are some things to consider.

We've been a heavily armed country since 1621, and yet the epidemic of daily mass-shootings didn't begin until 20 April 1999 (Columbine), at a time when gun ownership was at an all-time low, and five years after Clinton's assault-weapons ban, so maybe guns aren't the variable.

Worth noting: One of the first things the "Pilgrims" did when they betrayed the Native Americans, was disarm "King Phillip" and his men.

Maybe, just maybe, dead school-children are the price of the neoliberalism practiced under the "Washington Consensus" of BOTH right-wing authoritarian parties since the 1980's? When your country offers you no prospects, and you become terrified of the future, what then? Fear can make unstable people do desperate things. Add to that a culture of celebrity, and what could possibly go wrong?

Another factor that goes completely unexamined, is the way Ronald Reagan and Tip O'Neill emptied our state hospitals onto our streets, and onto families ill-equipped to deal with the sometimes violent mentally ill.

Thank God, the "solution" is so simple…

Also, 84% of NRA members support universal background checks. The problem is, every time a bill comes up for a vote, Democrats add poison pill amendments guaranteeing defeat in the legislature (and the courts), and then they proceed to tell the TV cameras that "once again the GOP and the gun lobby have voted down background checks and defied the will of the people", or some such nonsense.

If you want to watch Dems sabotage universal background checks (while Republicans roll their eyes and face-palm) in real time, go here:

P.S. You can probably guess which one of these three groups I belong to (Hint: It's the one that's growing and actually decides elections):

LaborPartyNow!!!

P S The line, "You don't need 30 rounds to shoot a deer!" is not clever.

The Second Amendment has nothing to do with hunting tools, toys for hobbyists (target shooting), or even weapons for self-defense.

It's about ARMS!!!

It's about the individual citizen's right to arms, so they'll be prepared to join a militia, not the other way around. ‘Well regulated’ at that time, simply meant, ‘efficient.’ In other words, in order for a muster to be efficient, civilians needed to be already armed.

So the "collective rights" argument has a couple of problems that make it quite unhinged from history and reality.

1) As I've mentioned above, Americans have always been relatively heavily armed. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

2) Contrary to what you were probably taught in school, by the time of the Confederate artillery barrage on Fort Sumter, the war over slavery had already been going on for over six years, and was fought entirely by independent volunteer militia's. Fort Sumter was just the beginning of official involvement by government troops. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

3) In what universe do government forces need to have their right to arms protected?

4) Since when do National Guard members keep National Guard arms (Hint: they're kept at the armory, and have been since colonial times)?

5) Obviously, "Liberals" are stupid.

Again: #LaborPartyNow!!!

P P S That was ENTIRELY the point of the first fruits of dissent, the 10 Amendments we've come to call the BILL OF RIGHTS (which have become a beacon to aspiring democrats all over the world), to protect INDIVIDUALS from the government they had just created. #TrueStory

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hey hey hey I have had a hell of a day (Actually Hell) because I did too many fun things (a problem apparently) and then also we put up the christmas tree leading to the inevitable christmas tree installation arguments (they pop up every year like clockwork!)

anyway i have been overstimulated and stressed (just want to emphasize that there is NO pressure here whatsoever! id like to avoid any semblance of that actually and I know you're already working on 12 days so take your time) and it would be very cathartic to see chris dealing with similar issues (the Wonderful guy. we are pretty similar.) thanks a lot for reading this, even if you don't write anything !

Sorry this took so long, Anon! I swear I've been trying to get this written for literally almost two months now

CW: Some references to Chris's past, overstimulation, anxiety

"Hey, where did Chris go?" Laken blinks and looks around, but the living room of the house they rent - filled with laughing, happy people - shows no sign of Chris's telltale lavender hair with its new-penny copper roots.

One of Brit's friends just shrugs at them and gestures, vaguely, in the direction of the kitchen. "Dunno. He wandered off a while ago, maybe that way?"

"Oh, okay. Huh." Laken steps back, the circle of laughing people closing up tight as soon as they do. Their dark eyes scan the room, but there's no sign of him.

He'd been doing great - all but holding court, one of the most popular people at the party. He's sort of famous, since the Olympics, and people had been peppering him with questions and compliments, crowding around wanting nothing more than to be friends with the ex-pet who stood up to the bad guys on live TV. They'd seen him dancing, too, the music loud enough to nearly make the walls shake. The easy, unselfconscious dancing they loved in him the most.

He'd seemed to be enjoying himself, at the time, but...

Where has he gone?

They weave around people, stopping to pick up an ornament that has fallen off the tree. The scent of pine is subtle and ever-present, and they carefully work the ornament's little loop back over a branch, ruefully watching a couple of pine needles come loose and drift down. The damn thing is already starting to turn a little brown around its edges, thanks to Laken's roommate having insisted on buying it literally the day before Thanksgiving.

Laken doesn't even celebrate Christmas, not since they stopped going to Mass on Christmas Eve years and years ago. Still, in a house they rent with three others, they're the only one who doesn't at least pay lip service to the holiday.

And even if they don't give a fuck about Christmas, they do like having an excuse to throw a party.

The tinsel wrapped in spirals around, over, and below the ornaments glitters in the light, and the look makes them think of Chris, and how his eyes have always looked just the same, to them, when they're out at night and the moon hits the green of his irises just right.

Their search leads them to Ben, contentedly sitting on the couch, a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, quietly reading something there while the party is in full swing around him. He glances up and then instinctively, immediately, uses a finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Laken. What's up?"

"Is Akio not coming tonight?"

"Oh... no." Ben blushes - it's adorable, and Laken can't help the smile playing around their lips. "He's got some kind of meeting with the gymnastics team, or his coaches? Or... something like that. He said sorry, though."

"Nah, no problem. But, hey, so. Uh, have you seen Chris, like within the last ten minutes or so??"

Someone puts Christmas music on and Laken shudders as they hear that damn 80s pop song start up again. If they have to hear that fucking song one more time...

"Nope. Not in a while." Ben shrugs, taking a drink. Whatever he has in that cup is pinkish-red and probably far more alcoholic than it tastes. Laken's roommate had insisted on a signature cocktail. "You could check outside? Sometimes when there's a lot of people, to Chris it's... too much."

Laken nods, still scanning the crowd, but their stomach knots a little with the first hit of real anxiety. Ben is right, Chris can get overwhelmed by too much noise and movement, but also he's been drinking tonight - they saw the same red punch in a cup in his hands earlier - and he has a tendency to get... hazy, when he drinks. Flirty in ways that aren't natural to him. Willing to let people hug him that he doesn't like, unable to bring himself to stop them. Sometimes his stammer smooths out, which makes people who don't know him feel more comfortable and people who do know him nervous. He starts tipping his head to the side in a way that makes the sweep of his growing-out hair hide the scar on his forehead, biting his lower lip when he smiles. It makes Laken feel a little sick to see it happen and realize Chris doesn't even notice when he's doing it.

The last thing they need is to have to come up with an explanation for Chris losing track of himself again, or why he's eating olives off the charcuterie board Brit brought knowing damn well he'll just go to the bathroom and get sick all over the place again, or... fuck, what if somebody hits on him and he's too drunk to stop it?

That hasn't happened since college, but...

They pull their phone out, uneasily checking for a text, but there's nothing. If he went outside, he'd text, right? He does, he always does. Texts can be easier and Chris is always a little nervous about being outside alone.

He insisted on coming tonight, said he was feeling good lately, but-... what if-...

They flinch when fingers touch their arm, only to see Ben must have stood up when they weren't looking. He slips his own phone into his jacket pocket and looks Laken over more closely. "Hey. It's okay, he's probably fine. You know he gets weird when parties are really going. It's like a light switch, enough to too much, I totally get it. It's why I'm on the couch fucking around on Kindle instead of, you know... talking to people." Ben says it like talking to people is literal hell, and... okay, Laken can see how that might be the case. "He probably just needed to get away from it and wandered off."

"Uh, yeah. I know." Laken rubs at the back of their neck, fingers moving through the soft, shorn undercut beneath their longer black waves. "I'm sure that's it. Just... you know, sometimes he... when he gets nervous..."

"I got you." They adore Ben, sometimes, for how often they don't have to finish the sentences they don't want to say. He knows what words haven't yet spilled, unwilling. Sometimes he acts like he belongs to us, not like he loves us. Sometimes I can't trust him to find his way back on his own. Sometimes I feel like Jake, and I hate feeling like Jake.

Words die in their throat.

Ben squeezes their arm, gently. "Let's split up and search around. I'll go outside, you go around the house, okay? We verify how he is, then whichever one finds him tells the other. Sound good?" Ben smiles, and Laken relaxes a little, finding a smile for him in return.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Ben."

"No problem." Ben has always understood Chris, thanks to his little brother being similar in some ways. He understands Laken's worry, too, because better than anyone else here - he knows how Chris sometimes gets lost in his past, especially if he's drinking, worse the maybe twice Laken's ever seen him try an edible or a pill.

What if he got drunk and someone offered him something and he took it? Drunk Chris sometimes isn't a Chris who can easily turn down anything he's offered.

This party was a stupid idea.

Laken takes a deep breath and squares their shoulders.

Chris is not a child.

He is a goddamn grown man and Laken is not his keeper. They're not his parent and they're not a babysitter. They're definitely not his fucking... owner or whatever the bastards that hurt him would have called it. They're his partner. He can handle himself, better than they could if they'd lived his life, and they need to trust him to either know his limits and to get away if he can't say no, or to come to them if he wants to ask for help. Otherwise, they're not any better than the bullshit he's been buried in for longer than he's known them.

Ben goes to check outside, slipping silently out the sliding door onto the back porch where a small crowd has congregated in a cloud of skunky smoke, while Laken heads upstairs, peeking their head in to room after room with no sign of him anywhere. They see some movement under a pile of coats, but that's... definitely not Chris, based on the very female voices who yell at them to give them some fucking privacy, please.

"Sorry, Brit," Laken calls, closing the door tightly. "And, um, Leigh. Just looking for Chris-"

"Well, he isn't in here or we'd have kicked him out already," Brit says, cranky but without any real anger in her voice. Laken doesn't recognize the redhead whose eyes pop up from beneath the pile of coats next to her. "Check a different room."

"Yeah, I will. Uh... keep having fun, I guess-"

"That's the plan! Now leave, please!"

The door latches as they close it, and they exhale. There's one room left, at the end of the hall, and they can hear a familiar murmuring from behind the door when they press their ear up against it.

Laken knocks, rapping gently with their knuckles, and turns the knob when they hear no answer - but no demand to stay out either. The murmuring goes silent. They sigh, and the door swings open, light cutting across the carpet until it reveals their wayward boyfriend.

No one has claimed this bedroom yet, so it's bare and empty except for a couple unpacked cardboard boxes, Brit's exercise bike by the window, a couple of her yoga mats, a laundry basket with a few folded towels, and a bare mattress the last housemate had left behind on the floor when they moved out.

Laken's lips press together, eyes scanning the room. Chris's phone is on the mattress, along with an empty beer bottle, but Chris isn't. "Chris? Cariño?"

A muffled rustling makes them jump, heart in their throat, and then they realize the sound came from the closet, where the folding doors are closed. Laken pulls them open to reveal Chris curled up, knees nearly to his chin, an open bottle clutched in one hand, his chewy necklace in the other. He'd chosen the bat one tonight, and his hand is closed around it in such a tight fist Laken can tell his knuckles are white even in the dark.

Chris doesn't look at them. He's swaying, rocking forward and back, his eyes focused on something far, far away from them. There's red lines on his left wrist, where he's dug his nails in, scratching not quite deep enough to draw blood, but close. Laken takes a deep breath, shifting into a crouch.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"No." The answer is flat, and they watch his thumb rub over the little nub of the silicone bat's nose, the points of its tiny ears. "No, no, no. No."

At least he's saying it out loud.

That alone makes the knot of anxiety in their chest start to loosen. If he can say no, he isn't gone, maybe just... standing a little farther back, inside his own head, than the surface.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. No talking, that's fine. Are you okay, baby?" Laken keeps their voice just above a whisper and lays their hand on the wood trim that frames this shitty excuse for a closet, the floor creaking under them. "You... kind of vanished on me, there."

Chris's eyes flick to them and then away again. "Loud," He manages, and he sounds like he's forcing the word out between gritted teeth. Maybe he is. "Too, too, too... too loud. Too much, too... many."

"I guess Ben called it." Laken sighs, pulling out their phone and sending Ben a quick text that they found Chris and everything's fine. they get a thumbs-up in reply almost immediately. Ben must have been as anxious as they are, if he was just watching for their text to come in. "Do you want me to call Jake to come get you, or..."

"No!" He snaps it, and Laken tries not to wince. He's just struggling with the noise of the party, they tell themself, he's not actually angry. Chris almost never gets angry, and even then it's only at himself. Which... is worse, somehow. "No. Just... Quiet, it's... it's it's quiet."

"Right. Do you want me to stay with you? Be quiet with you?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else. His mouth moves, but no further sounds come out.

"Chris, did..." They want to ask, did someone say something to you? Sometimes people said things, referenced pets or something in a way that set him off. But even if someone had... he probably wouldn't tell them, at least not now, not when every word seemed to have to filter through layer after layer of self-protection in his mind. "Never mind. Is there anything I can do for you? Water, or..."

He shakes his head. "No. Just. Um. Quiet... quiet, now. Please?"

"Yeah." Laken leans over and presses a kiss to his hair. He tips his head against their lips and they exhale in relief. "I love you, Chris. Come back if you can, but if you can't, that's okay, too. Just don't hurt yourself, okay? Things should start winding down in a couple hours." They take the little plastic bat and push it against the hand that's still scratching at his shoulder, until he takes hold of it again, pressing it against his mouth and running it back and forth, back and forth.

Chris is quiet, but as they open the door to head back into the hallway, they hear a quiet, "Love, love you," from Chris, barely audible.

They smile as they close the door. Down the hall, the sounds of the party hit them like a brick, beckoning them back to the noise and the cheer and the awful fucking Christmas music still blaring at top volume. Someone yells something out and the whole damn crowd cheers, making Laken wince at it feels nearly deafening.

Maybe Chris has the right idea.

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Interlude 15.x Live Reactions

(This is going to be a very - no, insanely - long post)

As I noted, after this I'll be trying (ha!) to read faster, and on my phone more so I can just get this done.

This is gonna be an interesting read. Purportedly, after all, this is where we're supposed to get the idea that Amy raped Vicky. Though supposedly Wildbow had to do a line by line analysis to make that point on reddit (which I have not read) and I feel like if you have to do that for something like rape, you've kind of failed your task as a writer, at least in terms of conveying what you meant.

I wish, even more than usual, I could be coming into this fully blind but I'm not. I know the 'official' interpretation of this scene is rape, and that the text of the sequel makes it canonical that Amy raped Vicky here, but I also know large numbers of people never got that take, and Wildbow somehow spent years not noticing massive swaths of his readership didn't realize rape had happened... supposedly.

We'll see if I come away convinced that rape is the best reading that can be constructed from this scene, though from what I gather, it's more that a rape reading in this scene feels wildly out of place with all of Amy's other stuff.

It's certainly hard to reconcile the Amy we just saw in Arc 14 with Raping Vicky, though 14.10 makes it not impossible.

Of course, since I'm not coming in blind - I'm aware of the official version, and I've seen some people make the arguments in support of that reading and I've seen a bunch of arguments against that reading, etc - it's not like that all won't be hanging over all of this.

And the thing is, on a certain level, it doesn't actually matter. In the context of the universe itself, it certainly matters, but from the perspective of all these characters not actually existing in the real world, it doesn't really much matter to me.

On the level of Amy's actions: What she does do to Vicky that everyone agreed on (changing her brain, then mind controlling her in 14.6 and 14.10, not immediately removing the 'love me' change from Vicky's brain, wretching her - intentionally or accidentally or a mix or w/e - and not fixing her brain at any point there, and so on) is a gross and horrifying betrayal and a deep, deep violation of Vicky's mental and bodily autonomy. Making actual, real rape a thing that happened here as well is just icing on a cake, really, in a lot of ways, in the context of Worm. (Ward can and will be safely ignored for the rest of this post - in just a moment anyway)

For another, while it appears a lot of readers and fans did turn on Amy - her popularity in the fandom and in fics and stuff purportedly took a bit of a nosedive after the rape was made clear in Ward and in Wildbow's various WoG, though apparently there were still people who read Ward and missed that rape was made clear (Maybe use the word? Apparently Wildbow doesn't even use that word in Ward), it wouldn't actually change much for me.

(Now ignoring Ward)

See, some of my favorite fictional characters have comitted rape.

Damon Salvatore? Mass murderer and... though the narrative doesn't really linger on it, he rapes Caroline Forbes in early Season 1, and his girlfriend that he gets at the end of S2 (I think) and is dating in early S3 is a relationship so full of Compulsion (mind control ability vampires have in TVD verse) that it's moved well past dubcon, I'd say. And there's probably other shit like that in the man's past. Again, the narrative doesn't linger, but it's fucking rape. Still love Damon, amazing character, my trash son, but yeah, committed rape. Absolute monster, by any reasonable standard.

Regina Mills - again, mass murderer, tyrant, and... at the very least, she raped the Huntsman for possibly up to 38 years. (Again, it's never clearly stated, but she ripped out his heart - which in OUAT verse is a thing dark magic allows that lets the holder of the hard dictate commands to the person and also just kill them if they crush it - and then commanded her guards to bring him to her chambers. Ten years later, she casts the dark curse, and the Huntsman's cursed persona is having sex with her about once a week, at least, for the next 28 years, though given the nature of the curse, only Regina and later her son Henry are aware of the passage of time.) Regina is my favorite OUAT character, has an amazing redemption arc, and is unquestionably a hero to the point where she's crowned the 'Good Queen' in the series finale by Snow White (i.e. the girl she became evil while chasing revenge on). The narrative doesn't really linger on it, I'm not even sure the writers quite realized that it was rape, but I never believed it anything else. Still love her, because she and the Huntsman are both entirely fictional. Not real people.

On BtVS, Faith attempts to rape Xander, and basically does rape Riley while in Buffy's body (Riley is Buffy's boyfriend and thinks it's Buffy he's having sex with. Also she also effectively rapes Buffy by having sex with Riley while in control of her body). I still love her, one of my favorite characters. Again, the narrative doesn't really linger on this (the show in general has a bad habit of not lingering on female-on-male sexual violence or sexual harrassment).

Also on BtVS, Willow wipes her girlfriend's (Tara) memory so she forgets a pretty serious argument they were having, and then they have sex the next day, which Tara would probably not have had if she was still angry with Willow. While the show never calls it rape, I and large parts of the fandom consider it as such. (Tara never calls it rape either, though she is incredibly furious with Willow when she finds out, and they break up - and then get back together 12 episodes later, buuut :shrug) Still big fan of Willow, Tara/Willow is still the biggest ship for willow and one of the largest ships in the fandom.

Now, it's true that in all four cases, the writers either didn't realize it was rape, or didn't care and never really address it, but the key point is that I am perfectly capable of being a huge fan of Amy and wanting to see her redeemed/get better/etc (which I am and do) and accepting that she committed rape. So it's not like I'm going to just insistently refuse to see rape

Now, apparently part of the argument against the 'rape happened' reading is also how 15.x fits into the rest of the work, both before, and after, with regards to the fact that (apparently) Amy doesn't really talk about Vicky with any sort of sexual element, just a worshipful adoration, etc, (and the fact that rape never comes up and so forth) which I won't know until I get that far. But again, it is worth noting that large numbers of people didn't get rape as the intended reading, which again, seems like a pretty big detail to fail to convey to the reader. It's worth nothing that the comments for 15.x on the actual worm website mention 'mindrape' and that it felt 'rapey' but not 'rape' full on.

Now, with a much larger preface than intended, let's actually read this godforesaken Interlude.

Actually, having done the live reaction below, I'm gonna put it all below a readmore

Some of that was fatigue, some of it was hunger, some was thirst.  She had no idea how much time had passed.  She might have been able to guess from her period, but her body had decided such would be a waste of precious resources.  It hadn’t come, and she had no idea how many weeks or months it had been.

You only keep a Kidnap victim for weeks or months if you think there's a chance of a ransom. The fact that Carol's parents refused to just fucking pay the goddamn ransom for that long says a lot about how shit they were. Carol absolutely sucks as a mother, but she did have a pretty shitty starting point (though, somehow, somehow, Sarah managed to be at least halfway decent, so Carol could have come out better, but now I'm trying to compare traumas here and that's pretty sucky, but remember this is a Carol Dallon Hate Blog)

“Amy has always insisted she couldn’t heal brain injuries.” Alan winced.  “I see.  The worst sort of luck.” Carol smiled, but it wasn’t a happy expression.  “So imagine my surprise when, after weeks of taking care of my husband, wiping food from his face, giving him baths, supporting him as he walked from the bedroom to the bathroom, Amy decides she’ll heal him after all.”

Love how she just glosses over the part where Bonesaw actively did even more, possibly eventually fatal, damage to Mark's brain. Even when she does Mention Bonesaw invading the house below, she doesn't mention that part.

I feel like Mark would be able to mention that, so I'm sure Carol is just conviently ignoring the part where Amy was faced with 'Mark fucking dies if I don't break my rule'

“Oh, I imagine she was.  Victoria went looking for her after she ran away, returned home empty-handed.  I think she was even more upset than I was, with Amy taking so long to heal Mark.  She was almost inarticulate, she was so angry.”

So that would suggest that at least at first Vicky doesn't tell Carol what Amy did to her. Which would fit with Vicky saying she hadn't told anyone back in the early parts of Arc 14 (don't remember which chapter she said it) but the context could have just meant 'didn't tell the Protectorate/PRT' Though, it does still leave the open question: Amy was running around the city for fucking DAYS, a week possibly? between Interlude 11h and when she shows up in Arc 14.2 or 14.3. Did Carol even look for her? Why isn't she looking fucking now? She's your daughter, right, and Slaughterhouse Nine is looking for her too?

Is Sarah looking? Mark? Crystal?

Even if you don't love her or care about her, you shouldn't want S9 to have ahold of her, so maybe look for her rather than FUCKING FILE PAPERWORK?!

Carol fidgeted.  “Oh, that wasn’t even the worst of it.  Victoria’s been flirting with the notion of joining the Wards, and she went out to fight the Nine just a few days ago.  Apparently she was critically injured.  She was carried off for medical care and nobody’s seen her since.”

Ah, so this is now happening post-S9 leaving the city (though there's still no mention of Carol looking for her) and she's... not even looking for Vicky?

Like, okay, big city, might not be able to find her, but I feel like if I had a kid that I purportedly loved (as Carol does supposedly at least love Vicky, in her own horrible abusive sort of way) and said kid was missing and I had superpowers making it safe to go looking, I would be looking, damn the goddamn paperwork.

This woman just can't actively not suck.

Also, of all the people to be talking about this to, why the fuck is it Alan Barnes. Just a weird character to use for this. Is it supposed to be a juxtaposition - Carol was a neglectful bitch and Alan a too supportive parent and both ended up screwing their kids up?

“Or dead,” Carol said.  She blinked a few times in rapid succession, fighting the need to cry.  “I don’t know.  I was patrolling, searching, and I felt my composure start to slip.  I feel like shit for doing it, but I came here, I thought maybe if I took fifteen minutes or half an hour to center myself, I could be ready to start searching again.”

Okay, so there's that, so she was looking and just (understandably) needed a moment, but again - did you look for Amy at all earlier? Did fucking anyone? Somehow no member of New Wave actually showed up anywhere during Arcs 12 or 13 or 14, apart from Amy and Vicky.

He’d tried to attack them?  Carol couldn’t understand it.  He was the one who’d taken care of them.  When he’d appeared, she’d been happy.  And now it felt like that had been ruined, spoiled. She felt betrayed and she couldn’t understand why.

Stockholm Syndrome is a hell of a drug. But trigger trauma isn't much of an excuse, Carol, really fucking isn't.

“We didn’t know where you were.  But let’s not fight again.  The important thing is that Tattletale pointed us in the right direction.  We think we know where your daughters are.” Daughters?  Plural? Carol couldn’t put a name to the feeling that had just sucker-punched her.

Right, because with what little you know about the situation, you shouldn't actually have much reason to be that worried.

Technically, you're right this time, which I really kind of hate on the 'Carol Sucks' level of my personality, but you have no valid basis, because your paranoia was not actually well-founded.

The Brockton Bay Brigade closed in on the man who stood by his leather armchair, wearing a black silk bathrobe.  He held his ground. “If you’ll allow me to finish my wine-” he started, bending down to reach for the wine glass that sat beside the armchair.

Marquis really is the textbook fucking definition of classy, isn't he? :rofl:

 It meant she didn’t fall on her rear end, and she could pick a more appropriate posture as she snapped back into her human shape.

I mean, falling on your ass in a fight is just bad from a tactical standpoint, but also, I mean, you can't go losing style points, right?

The needles retracted.  Marquis rolled his shoulders, as if loosening his muscles.  “Broke your foot?  How clumsy.”

If nothing else, he's fun.

Well, only in a sense.  They still hadn’t touched him, and two of their members were out of commission.  Three, if she counted Fleur being occupied with a wounded Lightstar in her arms.

And so let's use his child against him! Great move!

Let's invade someone's home without checking to see if there's any innocents around! GREAT PLAN!

Was he distracted?

Maybe ask yourself why.

Though, I will say - Marquis didn't have to play Coy. He quite literally could have just said 'my daughter's in that closet'. They might not have believed him, but it wouldn't have been hard to show them.

I'm not saying I don't get why he didn't, but technically Marquis didn't make the most optimal choice here.

But that... happens.

“Careful now,” Marquis chided her.  “Don’t want to get decapitated now, do we?”

*giggle*

Instead, she turned and charged for the closet, creating a sword out of the crackling energy her power provided, slashing through the plates of bone that had surrounded it, then drawing the blade back to thrust through the wooden door-

I dunno. I know it's Amy - we all know it's Amy, at this point, even people reading Blind - and we're inclined to dislike Carol anyway at this point, again, even people reading Blind, I assume - but this just seems incredibly foolish.

Like, I guess maybe leaping straight to 'there's a kid there' might be a bitch much, and Carol in particular probably would have a hard time imagining Marquis as caring about another person because she's projected her issues with her kidnapper onto him for... reasons, but I mean, he could have a wife (or husband, I suppose) or girlfriend or all manner of things in there you may not want to hurt, and like... I dunno, I'd at least fucking open the closet before swinging in there? Maybe?

Fic idea - Marquis is a little too slow, but instead of killing her (I have read one fic where that happened. Marquis, understandably, kills Carol right after) he like, maims Amelia or something, cuts off her arm, or gives her a major scar or something.

That could be a really interesting story. Especially if Marquis still gets beaten, or Carol gets away and has to look at her daughter after having done that.

(I may hate Carol, but I can't imagine she'd be blithe about having maimed an innocent child, even Marquis kid, in the middle of a fight.)

*ads the fic idea to the list, which won't stop growing*

She stared down at him.  That long hair, it was such a minor thing, but there was something else about him that stirred that distant, dark memory of the lightless room and the failed attempt at ransom.  Her skin crawled, and she felt anger boiling in her gut.

This is so insane and then you take that projection and add a second layer onto Amy and like what the ABSOLUTE FUCK is wrong with you sick little woman?

“What were you so intent on protecting?” Manpower asked.  “This where you stash your illegitimate gains?”

Because Marquis didn't just say he didn't really care if they destroyed his expensive home a few minutes ago. Jesus Christ Manpower really is a dumb brute, isn't he?

“Her mother’s gone, I’m afraid.  The big C.  Amelia and I were introduced shortly after that.  About a year ago, now that I think on it.  I must admit, I’ve enjoyed our time together more than I’ve enjoyed all my crimes combined.  Quite surprising.”

Is that actually a thing anyone does? Or ever did? Is that a Canadian thing? Or a new england slang? 90s Lingo? I feel like no one has ever called Cancer 'The Big C' before.

That feels like something a writer - not necessarily Wildbow - invented and people just ran with even though it wasn't actually a thing people did.

If Marquis had realized how fucking terribly Carol would have raised Amy, I have to imagine he'd have settled for foster care instead. :rofl:

The idea disturbed her.

Why? Maybe get some fucking therapy for that, bitch? Seriously.

WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS DISTURB YOU?!

Maybe ask yourself that question?! But then, I suppose if you were capable of a single iota of self-examination, you would not have been such a shit mother and indeed, shit human.

That cultured act, the civility that was real.  Marquis was fair, he played by the rules.  His rules, but he stuck to them without fail.  It didn’t match her vision of what a criminal should be.  It was jarring, creating a kind of dissonance. That dissonance was redoubled as she looked at the forlorn little girl.  Layers upon layers, distilled in one expression.  Criminal, civilized man, child.

Right, and how dare something not line up with your view of the world? How DARE?! Surely the problem is with the thing, and not you?! SURELY!

“Then you take care of her,” Brandish replied, even as she mentally prayed her sister would refuse.  There was something about the idea of being around Marquis’ child, that uncanny resemblance, having those memories stirred even once in a while, even if it was just at family reunions… it made her feel uneasy.

*shakes head* jesus christ.

I wonder what Amy Pelham's relationship with Aunt Carol would have been like. A lot of 'why doesn't Aunt Carol like me?' I imagine. Which might have led to Sarah berating Carol into getting help sooner, because I can't imagine Sarah wouldn't have loved her daughter Amy as much as Eric and Crystal.

Though who knows. May just be grass is greener.

“You should.  Amelia’s Vicky’s age, I think they would be close.”

*nervous, awkward, darkly ironic laughter*

“I’m sorry to bring it up,” Brandish said. “But it’s relevant.  I decided I could have Vicky because I’d know her from day one.  She’d grow inside me, I’d nurture her from childhood… she’d be safe.”

And you did a bang up job with her! Two thumbs up! /s

“That child deserves better than I can offer.  I know I don’t have it in me to form any kind of bond with another child if there’s no blood relation.” Especially if she’s Marquis’. “She needs you.  You’re her only option.  I can’t, and Fleur and Lightstar aren’t old enough or in the right place in their lives for kids, and if she goes anywhere else, it’ll be disastrous.”

I can't believe I'm saying this, but: Sarah, Sarah, look at me.

Listen to Carol. For once in her life, she's actually right about something.

Look at me Sarah. Listen to your sister.

You could grow to love and trust that little girl, too.”

Truth is, she probably could have, but it would have required Carol getting over herself, and that, as it turns out, was borderline impossible.

I don't believe it would have been completely impossible - people always have a choice - and that's why, at the end of the day, I will never let sympathy for Carol rise beyond the barest of minimums, because she had a responsibility to be better, to get better, not just for Amy, but for Vicky, and she didn't, and so again, This Is A Carol Dallon Hate Blog.

Was the girl in shock?  Carol couldn’t muster any sympathy.  Amy was stopping her from getting to Victoria.  Victoria, who she’d almost believed was dead.

See, this is just...

I mean, I'm glad Carol didn't kill Amy here, but Carol has not even an iota of concern for Amy, and yet, once she sees the state of Victoria and supposedly finds out that Amy raped Victoria, she suddenly has enough sympathy for Amy to not kill her?

I -

Seriously. Absolute bizzaro world shit here, Wildbow.

“So I thought I’d put her in a trance, and make it so she’d forget everything that happened.  Everything that I did, and the things that the Slaughterhouse Nine said, and everything that I said to try to make them go away.  Empty promises and-“

Okay, so like, you can Amy's lying here, but all we have to go on is what she says, you know? If Wildbow wanted us to get the takeway that Amy's lying here, he kind of needs to make that more clear.

Like, far from done, and I am kind of biased against WB at this point, to say the least, but it's just really fucking hard for me to see this girl acting like this if she just raped her sister.

I mean, really, man, if that really was your intent, you did a REALLY bad job of conveying it, and when you fail as a writer you don't fucking take that out on the readers.

(Right, sorry, I said I was ignoring Ward. Back to doing that)

She could never be my daughter because she’d never stopped being his.

She doesn't even remember him, you crazy psycho!

Amy kept talking, her voice strangely monotone after her earlier emotion, as if she were a recording.  Maybe she was, after a fashion, all of the excuses and arguments she’d planned spilling from her mouth.  “I wanted her to be happy.  I could adjust.  Tweak, expand, change things to serve more than one purpose.  I had the extra material from the cocoon.  When I was done, I started undoing everything, all the mental and physical changes.  I got so tired, and so scared, so lonely, so I thought we’d take another break, before I was completely finished.  I changed more things.  More stuff I had to fix.  And days passed.  I-“

I'm having trouble seeing it. I really am.

I get that we're supposed to see 'break' as like... Amy raping her or something but -

But that -

no.

 It might even have been something objectively beautiful, had it not been warped by desperation and loneliness and panic.

Everything about this scene just paints Amy as pathetic and pitiable. She really is a sopping wet poor little meow meow here.

I'm not saying a rapist can't also be pitiable - someone can be victim and victimizer, of course they can - but if you want the pitiable character to be seen as a rapist, or, you know, hated, for what they did -

Especially when it's from fucking Carol's POV, and Wildbow just got done explaining how little regard Carol actually has for Amy, how she has no sympathy for the girl and everything.

If there's any POV that should not be painting Amy as pitiable, but as the rapist we're supposed to believe she is, it's Carol's right?

Then I’d go and spend the rest of my life healing people.  Sacrifice my life.  I don’t know.  As payment.”

Wildbow makes the most woobifiable character in the world, and then gets self-righteous when people woobify her.

News at 11.

And with everything laid bare, there was not a single resemblance to Marquis.  There was no faint reminder of Brandish’s time in the dark cell, nor of her captor.  If anything, Amy looked how Sarah had, as they’d stumbled from the house where they’d been kept, lost, helpless and scared. She looked like Carol had, all those years ago. The weapon dissipated, and Brandish’s arms dropped limp to her sides.

All this does is make Carol look narcissistic in the weirdest and worst way. She can only give a shit about someone who reminds her of... her?

But I mean, the whole reason she supposedly loved Vicky is because Vicky came from her, so she should have that take priority over...

I'm sorry. I'm just not seeing it. I'm not -

And Carol's actions here, even with the 'she looked like carol had' just...

No. This is weird. This is confusing. This is nonsensical. And I'm sure as shit not getting a 'Amy Raped Vicky' takeaway here.

Even allowing for Jack's comment about 'indulging' in 14.10. When Amy didn't agree or anything, and Jack would have no way to know what Amy did or didn't do when he wrote that letter we see in 14.11.

Like, if I squint and force myself to twist my brain into nots I can... pretend I can see it... but even then...

I mean, maybe Amy's lying, and characters lie and misrepresent and so on, true, but unless the text gives us a good reason to believe they are, which it hasn't yet...

I mean, it's the official version, the official narrative, that it's Rape. That's the WoG. And like...

Even if I didn't have my, admittedly largely unfounded, suspicions that Wildbow is just flat out lying about his original intent or meaning, I do believe that WoG should be an enhancement to and addition to the text, not a direct contradiction.

It really does seem like WB ended up falling into the trap of figuring he could just let his WoG paper over mistakes in his writing rather than getting it right the first time?

Carol stared as Amy shuffled forward.  The cuffs weren’t necessary, really.  A formality.  Amy wasn’t about to run.

I mean, this is another thing I don't get. Amy haters harp on Amy 'running away from responsibility/consequences' but I mean... quietly going to the Birdcage, an unaccountable black box of a prison where (IIRC from what I've heard) 2/3s of the prisoners ended up dying by the time of the breakout is sort of the opposite of running away?

I mean, Amy should have fixed Vicky before going, this is true, but it seems clear she wasn't sure she could, and would Carol and Sarah have even let her?

As if she could convey everything she wanted to say in a single gesture, she folded her daughter into the tightest of hugs.

I -

I mean, I suppose stranger things have happened, but of all the times to actually suddenly start giving a shit about Amy, it's here and now?

Yeah, I can't reconcile this with Wildbow's official narrative of things.

“Victoria is gone.  There’s nothing of her left but that mockery. 

Yeah, okay, back to Carol just sucking 100%. That's more familiar ground.

The day I cease seeing her as his daughter and see how she could be mine, he takes her back, she thought.

Well, no one to blame but yourself, Carol.

Yeah, my official verdict is: if this is supposed to be the scene that convinces the reader Amy raped Victoria, then...

Yeah, I'm not seeing it. I'm not seeing anything that makes that implied even with a tortured reading. Even with the most hostile reading, I don't -

I don't see it. I really don't. I'm trying to have as open a mind as possible, I tried to look for it -

This isn't me questioning a victim in the 'was it really rape' way or whatever, I'm questioning whether the writing of a scene conveys the idea that one character committed the physical/sexual act of rape on another, and this scene does not. Maybe there's another scene later on (In Worm) that will convince me, but...

This one sure doesn't.

[alliluyevas]

Have you ever posted about what about Mormonism first caught your interest and why its stuck as such a major interest?

I've been asked this before, but not for a while, so I'll answer again.

I've always been pretty interested in religion and religious history, I think part of this comes from growing up with a few very different religious perspectives in my extended family. I was raised Episcopalian and so was my dad, but my mom was raised Catholic and my dad's older sister and her husband are born-again evangelical Baptists. I was very much a type of kid who paid attention to and noticed stuff like this, so when I went to Catholic mass with my grandparents I would pick up on both similarities to and differences from what I was used to at the church my immediate family went to, and have questions about that. And my mom talked with me when I was still pretty young (late elementary/preteen) about why she left Catholicism and issues she had with it, and I also remember talking with her about how my aunt and uncle are creationists and what that meant and creationism versus evolution versus intelligent design and how to avoid arguments about this when we visited them. So I definitely grew up navigating having very divergent religious experiences and perspectives in my family and how to engage with people respectfully about that, and I was always curious about how different groups worship and define themselves.

I had a couple different phases as a kid where I was very interested in researching religious topics, like I got very into Ivanhoe in fifth grade and read a lot about the crusades and medieval Catholicism for a few years, and then later in middle school I first became interested in religious extremism and cults and I used to watch 19 Kids And Counting and read a lot of Time magazine special editions about Heaven's Gate and similar topics. 

I didn't really know a ton about Mormonism until I was an adult because I didn't know a lot of LDS people and I don't remember learning anything about Mormonism in my US History classes in school. When my brother and I were in elementary school, one of his best friends was a boy whose family was LDS so I had been over to his house several times and played with his sister and stuff, but I don't remember him or his parents really talking about their religion at all and I don't think I asked any questions either of them or of my parents. (Though I do remember my mom explaining that his parents didn't drink because of their religion, and I also remember reading the titles on their living room bookshelf and seeing a lot of books about Brigham Young and assuming he was my brother's friend's dad's historical blorbo essentially because my dad had multiple biographies of Abraham Lincoln and I thought it was a similar circumstance.)

About three years ago when I was living in Boston I was reading a fair bit about the Nation of Islam because a) Louis Farrakhan grew up in Roxbury where I worked and there's a main street in Roxbury named after Malcolm X, and I remember thinking that it was ironic that Farrakhan was the local but the street was named after Malcolm X and wondering if that pisses him off b) the Nation of Islam is fascinating to me in general. So I watched this Hulu documentary about the Nation of Islam and then Hulu recommended me a documentary about FLDS and I watched that too. I felt like the documentary didn't really go into enough detail about the historical context for modern Mormon fundamentalism, so I checked out the book Under the Banner of Heaven from my local library, and then I wanted to know more about early Mormon history in general, so I checked out a few more books, and then I got hooked and started ordering some of the ones the library didn't have online.

I can't entirely explain why my interest in Mormonism has stuck around, because I do tend to be very fixated on special interests and sometimes that kind of feels a little arbitrary, especially when that sort of hyperfixation intersects with and becomes genuine investment in academic scholarship (which it doesn't always for me, but here it did). I am interested in women's history in general and always have been, so I initially really found polygamy fascinating, and wanted to learn more about the dynamics of polygamous households. Specifically, the fact that early Mormons created a very controversial social order that wildly diverged from the norms of their culture, did this essentially from scratch, and were able to maintain it for roughly 3-4 generations of polygamist families despite significant external pressure and initial internal opposition is really interesting to me. I also think Mormonism is a very American religion that has also sometimes been at odds with American mainstream culture despite that and that's a very fascinating dynamic to investigate. I think I've also often been interested in attempts to create a new, utopian community or culture and the ways in which these experiments often fall short, which has been a constant in a lot of my historical interests like the American Revolution, the Soviet Union, and Mormonism as well.

[esther-dot]

Daenerys destroy everything she touches. It’s just INSANE just how much damage and chaos her incompetence, stupidity and entitlement has done to Astapor.

She took the city’s entire defense force, the Unsullied, with her when she left, with no real thought as to what will happen when you leave a power vacuum, and set up a council to govern the city that had absolutely no means to enforce its will or its laws. One of the men on the council is specified as being a “priest,” but since the clergy of the Ghiscari Harpy religion are only ever described as female (the Graces), it seems quite likely, if not outright definite, that she appointed someone to govern a city wherein he had zero cultural, social, religious or political authority.

She doesn’t leave military support to the council she leaves behind to rule and it was overthrown very quickly after she left, and the new king, Cleon, a tyrant, promptly reinstated slavery, kidnapping noble children and attempting to turn them into new Unsullied (this didn’t work, for obvious reasons).

Astapor ends up ridden with disease and famine the minute it falls under siege of the slavery-restoration alliance led by Yunkai, with competing claimants killing each other and trading power until they’re subsequently replaced. Daenerys learns about this once she’s set up in Meereen but doesn’t commit any forces to help, fearing that she’ll lose Meereen if she goes back to Astapor. Meanwhile, the Astapori practice cannibalism by lots and many eventually commit mass suicide. The pale mare plague wipes out a huge number of people (even refugees who make it to Meereen die of it in camps outside the city), and most of the rest are displaced refugees, killed when Yunkai eventually sacks the city, or re-enslaved. By the time Quentyn Martell arrives, it’s functionally ceased to exist. (A lot of people skip over Quentyn’s chapters in the fifth book, and in so doing miss how APPALLING the Astapor situation is.)

Astapor is a ghost town except for dead and dying people and enemy soldiers. A total blood bath. It’s absolutely obliterated, just on a longer timeline than a one-off firebombing.

The criticism of Daenerys’s actions in Astapor is not that she freed the slaves, it’s that after freeing the slaves she just left and abandoned them to their bloody fate. You cannot destroy a city’s government and economy and then walk away. Even if it is a terrible government, with an economy built on slavery, you have to stabilize things afterwards. Daenerys have a responsibility in kickstarting new industries and find a new form of PAID work for these people. And there’s also the fact that Daenerys herself is a slaver but that’s a discussion for another day.

(I know that GRRM has said that his books are not allegories for the Iraq war but the parallels and similarities are truly unsettling.)

Yeah, I’m gonna have to forbid talk about Quentyn. I just got teary eyed at the mere mention of him. 😂 I got attached quick and was horrified by his death. But yes, I agree, it was meant to show us how horrible the situation is. Absolute hell.

I actually thought Martin had compared it to Iraq because I've seen people say that, but you're right. This is the quote I found:

Q: A Dance With Dragons spends quite a lot of time in Essos, which is kind of the analog to Asia and the Middle East in the world the story takes place in, as opposed to Westeros, which seems to owe a lot to Western Europe. When I was reading about Dany, who has become a light-skinned, foreign ruler of an exotic land, it reminded me of The Man Who Would Be King, the Sean Connery and Michael Caine movie that is based on a Rudyard Kipling story. Do you think about these parallels — colonialism, the "white man's burden" — when you're writing? A: I've said many times I don't like thinly disguised allegory, but certain scenes do resonate over time. Other people have made the argument, which is more more contemporary, that it might have resonances with our current misadventures in Afghanistan and Iraq. I'm aware of the parallels, but I'm not trying to slap a coat of paint on the Iraq War and call it fantasy. (link)

I'm not sure how reliable this source is, but I also found this:

Finally, in a stunning revelation, when an audience member put the ridiculous question, “JRR Tolkien strenuously denied that his books were in any way an allegory for World War II, have you ever been accused of writing about climate change by proxy? You know, it being a bit of a thing in your works, the long Winter?” George replied, “No, I haven’t, not until now,” and continued, “Like Tolkien I do not write allegory, at least not intentionally. Obviously you live in the world and you’re affected by the world around you, so some things sink in on some level, but, if I really wanted to write about climate change in the 21st century I’d write a novel about climate change in the 21st century. Sometimes things happen that are hard to believe. You have to remember I’ve been writing these since 1991, in a couple of the recent books Daenerys Targaryen wielding the massive military superiority offered to her by three dragons has taken over a part of the world where the culture and ethos, and the very people are completely alien to her, and she’s having difficulty ruling this land once she conquered it. It did dawn on me when George W Bush started doing the same thing that some people might say, ‘Hmmm, George is commenting on the Iraq War’, but I swear to you I planned Dany’s thing long before George Bush planned the Iraq War, but I think both military adventures may come to the same end, but it’s not allegory.” (link)

This isn't about ASOIAF, but it feels relevant to this ask and some of the other anti Dany asks I've been getting. He said this after he saw Spielberg's War of the Worlds:

I kept thinking of the story as a metaphor for our invasion of Iraq… regular people trying to live their lives and survive as a technologically superior invader comes in and smashes their world all to hell. (That metaphor is very much implicit in the novel. H.G. was talking about the British imperialism of the Victorian Age, of course, not the American imperialism of the 21st century, but one of the strengths of science fiction is its ability to transcend the specifics of time and place and culture and assume new meanings for new audiences). (link)

So, I think just because he didn't have a specific invasion in mind, doesn't mean he wasn't criticizing the result of these actions or the ideology behind it. He writes a lot of material to showcase the horror of war, each generation has one that looms large in their minds, so we naturally relate it to that. He knows this, other writers do this, he as an audience member does it!

[sol-consort]

I actually would like the concept of being the only human in a crew for a Mass Effect game (maybe a smaller standalone game instead a full on main story one) but that may just be because I always preferred the alien characters over the humans in Mass Effect. No clue what the plot would be but for smaller game maybe hostile creature on board like Alien but I’m just thinking that because I’ve binged the Alien movies

But outside plots what would be your top three alien species in Mass Effect you’d want to be stuck with on a ship? I think Quarian, Asari, and Krogan would be mine

Dude, that's an absolute nightmare combo—for the quarian, at least. They're 100% getting sick every other day.

Krogans have heat and ruts, so....there is that. Oh, and the asari is 100% boning them, like you and the qaurian are going to be thirdwheeling 90% of the time.

It's going to like one of those drama reality tv shows, not one of those people gets along.

I mean, I do like humans a lot. Half the human kink stuff is stuff I genuinely find attractive in other humans. I am my own main source of filth, I would absolutely hate being the only human in a ship.

But if I had no other choice...hmm. My brain is just turning this into a list of aliens I want to bone rather than thinking about the logistics.

Well, I don't want to be charged with involuntary manslaughter, so turians and qaurians are off the table. The knowledge I could accidentally poison one of them by my mere existence is too haunting + I'm a curious creature with grubby fingers and will touch all of their stuff and food.

I would actually enjoy being stuck with a hanar on a ship. Toning out people trying to convert you into their religion comes naturally to me. Not to mention how refreshingly polite and well-behaved they are! Hanar forbid animal fighting sports in their entire planet because it lowers empathy! I love the hanar so much, aaa. I wanna get close enough to one to learn their soul name. They're so pretty and pink and jellyfish, my beloveds <33

A drell, though? No. I don't want them to feel subservient to the hanar, but also, I don't want to get drugged each time I used a spoon they haven't washed properly. It's a shame, I adore their raspy voice, but even touching one will give you a rash, so yeah.

I've always wanted to kiss frogs since I was a little human, not in search of princes but because I found frogs pretty and felt bad that people would only kiss them in hopes of them turning into something else rather than kiss them for them, so i swore to kiss any frog I saw. Now I'm older and realise the health complications and risks—that what living with a drell would be like, kissing a frog every day.

Elcor absolutely yes! They're big majestic elephants and I love elephants and I love their clear way of speech and I find them so adorable and I wanna be friends <33

I'm still not over the asari being an eldritch abomination that alters your perception of reality, so absolutely not. Plus, most of them aren't as nice or humble as liara. Instead, they're snotty and often look down on humans for being the youngest, newest species. I'm not bunking with one! They freak me out.

Salarians? Absolutely not. They only require one hour of sleep and have a perfect memory. They can't be gaslight into thinking it's their turn on the chores. They will be up ALL NIGHT every single day. They will wake me up at 3am. to continue an argument from 2 weeks ago. Plus they really dislike the eclor and I don't want them being mean to my favourite guys :( or else I'll slap a bitch.

Korgans? Fuck no. Anything with any heat cycle is not stepping foot in my world. Go deal with your rut elsewhere! I don't even wanna think about it. otherwise they'd be so chill and nice...albet too strong. Krogans need to go I'm sorry.

Angara? No, because I'd feel too bad separating them from their family. BPD and other emotional constipation things make me the worst person to deal with to an angara bc I would legit rather die than acknowledge any feeling ever. They're too emotionally intelligent and open for me, It will be frustrating for us both bc I will look for hidden bad meanings in their sincere worda and kind actions, and they'll take all my impulsive words and actions to heart. Also, I'm very touch repulsed, hug me, and I'll claw your eye out.

Now, you'd think, okay, there are no species left??

AND YOU'D BE WRONG.

The best roomates! The geth!

They're built helpers! they take care of the chores, they stay in a dark room like a hermit connected to the web, you barely hear a beep from them.

Besides the risk of shattering my skull if I accidentally bump into them in the middle of the night in a dark hallway, everything else is very dandy.

So here you have it:

Hanar

Elcor

Geth

That's the realistic version.

Now if we're talking about my fantasy ideal alien foursome roommates dating sim:

Turian

Drell

Angara

[supremechancellorrex]

Now, I gotta say, I find it interesting how there are some people that target you for stating your opinion on fiction. I've had this same Jedi-stan user sending me tens and tens of comments which are based on denial and opinion rather than any logical argument. Now, they're telling others not to read my arguments because... what, it's too scary? They literally reblog my post with a quite insulting argument and then quickly block me because they don't want me to respond.

Well, too bad.

This isn't even an argument based on logic. You just stated your opinion and acted like it was a fact, anyone else who believes differently is doing so "foolishly", more "foolishly" than a child apparently. Because despite much evidence to the contrary in children's media, apparently 'villains' never have any depth or say the truth ever, according to you.

Slick: "Yes, she offered me money. But she offered me something more important, something you wouldn't understand: freedom!"

You know the one thing Slick doesn't actually have? It's freedom. Because, he is a slave, that is a fact. Let's go through the fact that slave isn't a title you award but a state of existence and being, a slave by definition is: "a person who is forced to work for and obey another and is considered to be their property; an enslaved person." That is the clones to a T. Just because Slick was selfish doesn't just invalidate he described a situation which still has not been refuted and instead has been only proven over and over again.

Now, you say "the clones are property of the Republic", and they are under the command... of the Jedi, who are generals and part of the Republic command structure. Legally, the Jedi may not have a say in the fate of the clone troopers other than being in charge of their daily actions and organisation for years, but illegally? Are you claiming that the Jedi could not even think to organise a mass desertion? When the law is unjust, you challenge it, you break it. Now, you try to absolve them here by saying that they had no choice because the Separatists were a threat to the Republic, an institution that supports slavery for its own ends. You may hate it but "Cool motive, still slavery" still applies here. Any institution that supports having an enslaved army does not deserve to exist, and that includes the Jedi Order's support of the Republic.

As for your non-sequitur on the placement of the episode, this is just pointless. There is no basis to discount an episode just because it wasn't in Season 4. This adds nothing to your argument and is just a complete fallacy.

You can't really make this argument on a number of basises. One, the writing intentions have clearly changed since that initial George Lucas' quote decades ago. Not only this, but George Lucas doesn't even own Star Wars anymore and Disney are now in charge, with Dave Filoni and a number of other writers making significant contributions.

Dave Filoni: "So I think that trying to draw these paths of the Jedi and the choices they make and how they wind up good or bad … Yoda isn’t afraid in the prequels to say the Jedi are flawed and that they’ve become greedy and self-interested and arrogant. That helps you understand why they’re going to lose the Clone War and why they’re so ripe for the picking."

I think this quote speaks for itself. Also, I think it was very clear that George Lucas, a man well-known for changing his mind and who was still the executive producer, was on Ahsoka's side in the Wrong Jedi Arc. Otherwise at some point the narrative would have refuted her assertions on the Jedi Order, that's just basic storytelling.

Now, onto the clones. You essentially admit that the draft is essentially slavery in the clones' case. The clones are property and are referred to as such, they can't leave, they can't vote, they have no rights and this has been the case since they were fetuses in tubes. Let's look at Umbara again.

Fives: "We did it. We took Umbara."

Captain Rex: "What’s the point of all this? I mean, why?"

Fives: "I don’t know, sir. I don’t think anybody knows. But I do know that someday this war is gonna end."

Captain Rex: "Then what? We’re soldiers. What happens to us then?"

Considering the fact that the Senate are voting on whether to "decommission" the clones like a product in the Bad Batch, I think it's safe to say that Captain Rex's fears were confirmed. Senator Riyo Chuchi, an actual good person in a bad system, is literally fighting to give the clones any rights at all in the Bad Batch, and she is a lonely voice.

Riyo Chuchi: "[The Clones] are not droids to simply be shut down. These are soldiers who defended us, defended our worlds"

Meanwhile, when the Jedi wax on about the end of the War, they just assume they'll be fulfilling the same duties they did before the war. This is because the Jedi are privileged and are treated as citizens during the War, able to walk around completely uncumbered and engage on a conversational level with the elite. They can also leave the Order, especially if they break the code, which is not something allowed for the clones. They may be servants, but they aren't property, and they have more tools to push back and fight the Senate, which they can walk around freely in a venerated position. You practically say this throughout your argument. Over all, the Jedi are drafted, the clones are slaves. There is a difference in the power dynamic.

The Clone Wars waived the right to be dismissed solely as "It's just a superificial kids show, don't criticise" when it decided to deal with dark, serious topics, including the Republic's growing authoritarianism, political maneuvering, slaughter and murder. All those cases of the Jedi challenging their leaders simply make it more egregious that the Jedi never advocated for the clones to the same level. The fact Mace Windu is willing to fight tooth and nail for the Zillo Beast, however demonstrates no passion to fight for the clone rights, who are slaves soldiers under his command, is actually a pretty bad look. There are also clones that died around the same time as Even Piell, yet they get no rites either.

It's funny you mention Qui Gon Jinn because his opposition to the Jedi Council has been noted previously and it is a critique of the Jedi Order.

Dave Filoni: "I think Qui-Gon in a lot of ways represents the kind of path the Jedi are supposed to be on. He’s the one that’s the most compassionate. But he has no ambition to be part of the council. He feels he can’t do what he needs to do if he’s a part of that. That thinking and that philosophy is from what Dooku taught him. Dooku was a free-thinker and was looking out for people."

Oh, you know Dooku too? The guy who said "The Jedi blindly serve a corrupt Senate that fails the Republic it represents." Looks like he imparted some spirit to his Padawan. Ultimately, this actually supports my arguments that the Jedi Order have lost their way as an institution. Now, earlier you say it "sucks" the Jedi can't allegedly speak out because of the draft, at the same time you... have Jedi speaking out on every topic that isn't clones. Hmm.

Well, mademoiselle-cookie, you have crossed into antisemitic territory here and it's shockingly disgusting of you. The Jedi should not be considered an expy of Jewish people, because that would be really racist of the writers and very misrepresentative. Jewish people are not a fictional order of magic monks that wave lightsabers around, fighting wars with state-owned clone slaves, believe it or not. Going through your argument until now has been bearable, but this really takes the cake. I've warned people to stop using real-life minority groups as meat-shields for their fictional favs, however it seems that privileged people will often use minority groups instinctively for their benefit. The fact you accuse me, a mixed race gay man, as being the type to fall for Nazi lies because I critique the Jedi Order is just the icing on the cake.

Also, you argue "it's a kid's show" and then it's a direct allegory for the Holocaust, one of the darkest periods in human history, at the same time, huh? If this were the case, it would mean it's portrayal is even more important to critique without exception.

But, moving on from your just completely inappropriate allegory. So, the Jedi have a "choice" as you just state. That's much more the clones ever had and that is a privilege. You're essentially arguing for the Jedi to stand back and do nothing by choice while earlier you also argued that the Jedi had to do something in regards to the War as it was the moral choice but also that they 'don't' have a choice. Meanwhile, the Jedi were shown to be willing to overthrow Palpatine given the 'proper motivation', but due to their lack of compassion I guess the enslavement of millions of men such as the clones just wasn't important enough. Your argument falls apart because the Jedi did try to overthrew Palpatine in the end, just not for the slaves.

Using the "Bad guys lie" trope in an absolute capacity is also not an argument. You're just stating your opinion as a fact again and it's very 'convenient' your metric. I could reply "Good guys can be wrong and don't always tell the truth" and we'd, like your point, get nowhere.

Finally, an interesting point. There's no denying that Ahsoka did not make the situation as squeaky clean in her desperation, however ultimately my point still stands that Mace Windu, and I quoted him, said "I understand your sentiment, Obi-Wan. But, if the council does as you suggest. It could be seen as an act of opposition to the Senate. I'm afraid we have little choice."

At the end of the day, the Jedi do have a choice despite what Windu says. The choice was political. The ruling isn't unanimous, because doubts are expressed, but as Mace Windu says what they view as important in response to Obi-Wan saying things don't add up regarding Ahsoka is to focus how it looks to the Senate, a Senate that supports authoritarianism, corruption and slavery. The Jedi arguably lie to themselves and say they support justice, but they don't ultimately. As Jedi Master Dooku, the described "free-thinker", says: "The Jedi blindly serve a corrupt Senate that fails the Republic it represents."

Hmm, you don't seem to understand what an "unreliable narrator" actually is. With your use especially, every single character ever could be described as an unreliable narrator, I can describe Mace Windu as an unreliable narrator or Obi-Wan. I could literally flip your argument and claim the Jedi are unreliable narrators who only think they're doing good because they were raised in an environment which told them this from a young age and ultimately they were propping up a failing, authoritarian, corrupt 'Republic'.

I don't think you realise that Ahsoka's story would not have been presented the way it was in Season 7 if the narrative was not on her side. There were key cues in its structure and quotations that were critical of the Jedi Order, who were mostly in opposition to Ahsoka narratively.

Ahsoka: "This is why the people have lost faith in the Jedi. I had, too, until I was reminded of what the Order means to people who truly need us.” 

What a coincidence that Obi-Wan, a man gifted with the gab, fails to counter this criticism as well. Just like Slick.

We literally see the Jedi propping up the Republic system for the near entirely of the War. They allowed "the destruction of innocent life-forms", the clones, men brainwashed and forced into combat. They also conducted military investigations, deferred to the Senate, and I think it's very telling that Rex did not reveal Cut Lawquane's location to either the Jedi or the rest of the Republic. As Generals, they are a part of the hierarchy, and they support the Republic, a hegemony of laws and demarcations. Also, last I checked, Satine isn't a slave, I only wish Obi-Wan had gone out of his way to protect the clones as people, but I guess he only does that for citizens.

As for Order 66, again, this isn't an argument on your part. I'm well-aware of events, nor did I say they deserved to be murdered. The Jedi Order, specificially their leadership, made "poor choices" and it screwed them over. I also find your Nazi allegory more disgusting personally, but whatever. Now, let's see what the Jedi are actually doing.

Dave Filoni: "They’ve, as an institution, existed for a very long time. It doesn’t mean they’re evil or bad, but they’re making a lot of poor choices, and they can’t get out ahead of things in part because they’re desperately attempting to do things the right way and take an even stance.”

The centrist stance the Jedi take on most matters clearly contributed to their downfall. They made "poor choices" and I am critiquing them for it because allowing slavery at the heart of the Republic is not just a poor choice, but a stupid and immoral one. They are 'desperately attempting to do things the right way', but they don't, and this is why actual criticisms are levied at them. Again, I never argued the Jedi were evil, I argued they should be held accountable for their flaws and mistakes, like everyone should be.

I like how you completely misunderstood my point here despite many other people getting it. The problem is that the Jedi do have a choice, it's just a difficult one. However just because doing the right thing is difficult does not mean you shouldn't do it. The problem with the Jedi allowing countless clones, who are slaves, to die for years and that not prompt them to confront, combat or even overthrow the Republic is it makes them very morally bankrupt. As soon as the Republic said it was going to utilise slaves, the Jedi should have realised the Republic was the enemy of human decency itself. But, as we know from just watching Star Wars media with basic critical thinking or this exchange in Rebels...

Ezra: "Master Yoda, you’re powerful. You must know a way to destroy Vader and his Inquisitors.”

Master Yoda: ���Padawan, thousands of Jedi once there were. Then came war. In our arrogance, joined the conflict swiftly we did. Fear, anger hate. Consumed by the dark side the Jedi were.”

I think you need to add more depth to your idea of "good". The Jedi were complicit in their own downfall. The fact you have to jump through so many 'logical' hoops to 'explain' and 'absolve' them is evidence enough. The fact you also dismiss all criticism of the Jedi as anti-Jedi propaganda, even when coming from its own members, from Yoda to Ahsoka, who clearly the narrative sides with. Now, as for your 'the citizens did nothing too' whataboutism argument? Yep. So, if you're arguing the Jedi are as bad as Republic citizens who also enabled clone slavery, then sure, a little 'harsh' of you, but that's what you're actually saying here. Plus, you keep both stating the Jedi have a choice and don't have a choice when it suits you throughout this argument.

And, regardless of whether the SW writers verbally acknowledge the word slavery, it is the story they present by saying the clones are "property" who "have no representation in the Senate". You should watch the Riyo Chuchi episodes in Bad Batch again, because this should be impossible to miss in the discussion of "clone rights". Your attempted use of 'rhetorical' questions instead of an actual argument is also pretty uninspired.

You literally didn't "debunk" anything, mademoiselle-cookie. As usual, you used ad hominem attacks, misused terminology, made antisemitic allegories, and now you're upset someone expressed an opinion you dislike. The fact you warn other people not to read my opinion as if you're the guardian of Jedi stan tumblr and they couldn't bear having someone make a post they don't agree with is also hilarious, I would hope people are full of sterner stuff. After all, people always have a choice, whether to read or not.

[thisonelikesaliens]

20 questions tag game

tagged by @cankersoregirl (thank you friend! love chatting mxtx with you 💙)

1. why did you choose your url?

i started drawing mass effect aliens and then one day @thievinghippo dared me to draw hanar in lingerie and then my old blog became all about hanar. they use "this one" instead of "i" when referring to themselves

2. any sideblogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

nope. just my old blog i sort of had to abandon when i thought it might've been compromised (aka people i knew in real life might've found it)

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

2014

4. do you have a queue tag?

nope

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

probably heard about tumblr from one of the dragon age fics i was reading? don't remember exactly

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

deep in mxtx hell. also shameless self promo of my own doodles. will probably go back to the hanar waving pride flag at some point

7. why did you choose your header?

more shameless self promo (i didn't think i would ever touch my sketchbook again so allow me this self-indulgence)

8. what is your post with the most notes?

hanar positivity. posted this at 1 am and woke up to 700+ notifs on my phone. to this day i'm baffled this got over 5k notes. but that was 9 years ago the tumblr landscape was very different

9. how many mutuals do you have?

uh...don't know? too many old mutuals have left tumblr over the years. wherever they are i hope they're doing well

10. how many followers do you have?

more than i expected

11. how many people do you follow?

3 digits

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

who hasn't?

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

depends on how focused i need to be for work

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

no

15. how do you feel about 'you need to reblog this' posts?

my blog my rules

16. do you like tag games?

sure, just might take me some time to get to it since i'm mostly on mobile and i don't even turn on my laptop every day now

17. do you like ask games?

sure, same as tag games

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

what even counts as tumblr famous?

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

no

20. tags?

kinda feel like i've been tagging a lot of people lately so...not this time