#i am so tired of being the one who cares more or at all
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I keep thinking about all of the disabled activists and people before me who stranded themselves on the 4th floor of buildings for weeks and crawled up stairs and fought with airline staff and schools and doctors and refused to stop existing in the face of injustice and bigotry no matter how big and scary and hopeless it seemed. Every time I get angry and scared the protests that lead to the creation of the ADA pop up again and remind me that disabled people are so much fucking stronger than anyone has ever given us credit for, and I can't help but be proud of that. And I know not all disabled people feel like we should take pride in our disabilities and have flags or whatever, but I think not just living, but thriving, in spite of a world that wants us dead and gone, in the face of both illness and persecution, and how we've not only bought ourselves forward, but uplifted the disabled people around us, secured more equal futures for everyone who will come after, and truly changed the way so many abled people have seen us for the better is something to be damn fucking proud of.
We have always been here and we always will be, there will never be a world without disabled people because being disabled is not bad, it's a natural part of the human experience and yeah it sucks some times but even when it sucks we have fought to build beautiful, unique, happy lives with people, both like us and not, and that should be celebrated.
The first sign of human civilization is the healed femur. The body of the profoundly disabled person who would have needed help to even just eat being carefully laid to rest after decades of a full, happy life. The medicinal plants showing even before we were entirely human we were doing what we could to not just survive, but alleviate suffering while we're at it. Above everything, evolution selected not the baby who can walk and eat and be quiet, but the one that can ask for help.
Disabled people are not just angry cockroach motherfuckers who refuse to die, we are proof of humanity's HUMANITY. Proof that natural selection selected a species that takes care of each other. From healed femurs and medicinal plants to vaccines and IVs and insulin to now, we are driven to help one another, we are at our strongest when we don't leave our most vulnerable behind. And I am living proof of that. My mother is living proof of that. Every disabled and chronically and/or mentally ill person I know is living proof of that.
And I don't know about the rest of you, but will carry that shred of humanity's true nature inside me like it's my fucking soul. I am scared and angry and hurt, but I have a lifetime's experience being scared and angry, and I can shake off the kind of pain that would make Atlas crumble to dust like it's nothing but a stiff fucking breeze. Disabled people have always been here, turning fear and anger and pain into joy and beauty and connection, and I'm not going to let everyone who came before me down. I'm not going to give up. Not now, not ever.
It's okay if you're disabled and you've hit your limit, you're too scared and tired and hurt, I won't blame you. But I won't abandon you, either. I might not be able to right all of the wrongs in the world, but I'll be strong, I'll carry all of you with me, I will not give up.
As I've said before, society hates a cripple who won't die, so we must spite them and live anyway.
Please, live anyway. I know if anyone can, it's us.
#there that's my thesis about all this hope it helps#abled people can reblog this btw#pls support the disabled people in your lives they need you#us politics#us election#just for the blacklist#current events#cripple punk#cpunk#disabled#disability justice#disabled liberation
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Early voting to beat the lines... the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.
So... yesterday was quite the day.
After being stuck in bed for the past 6 weeks with some mystery slump, I was finally feeling better. So I decided I would try to cram as many errands into my day as possible. That works better for me when I drive out into the world because I end up only having to do one big recovery instead of a bunch of little recoveries.
My to-do list...
Go to the doctor
Vote early
Return oxygen machine to FedEx store for scammy eBay guy
Return Amazon package to the UPS store
Get gasoline for my whip
Go to Discount Tire to get my tires filled for free
Drop a check off for my lawn guy
Mail a secret package to Katrina at the US Post Office
It would have been nice if I could have gone to just one shipping place instead of all three, but the universe has a sense of humor and likes to do shit like that to me on a regular basis.
So, I get my checkup, it goes quick, no long wait, I'm feeling good.
As I get in my car, it starts to rain. It was an ugly day and it actually has not stopped raining to this very moment a day later. Just gray, windy, chilly, and wet. I look up the voting place and start the GPS.
Wipers and music on full blast, it's time to get my vote on.
When I reach my destination, I realize early voting is at some kind of private golf club. And at the center is a recreation center—which is a public building.
So it's like this private/public turducken situation.
I was expecting this errand to take 20 minutes. Because early voting always seemed like a way to get in before the crowds of election day for a more convenient voting experience.
But the parking lot was packed and I feared my expectations were about to be subverted.
As I walk through the parking lot I see a bunch of signs in the ground.
And a particular one caught my eye.
This is bullshit.
Like, just a straight up lie. No truth to it whatsoever.
Amendment 3 in Missouri basically restores abortion rights in the state. And Republicans have taken issue with the following language...
"The Government shall not deny or infringe upon a person's fundamental right to reproductive freedom, which is the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions."
They claim the phrasing "but not limited to" means you can give an 8-year-old kid "sex change surgery."
This is how their online flyer puts it...
It could also include a free puppy.
Or a zillion bucks.
Or a clown will come to your house after the abortion and honk your nose.
It's ridiculous and desperate. I honestly don't know how it is legal for them to put a lie like that outside of a polling location, but here we are.
The organization "Missouri Stands with Women" is run by... a man.
It was set up by a lawyer named "Edward Greim" on behalf of the Federalist Society.
His law firm has a lovely biography about him. And a bunch of publicly available contact information. I say that for no reason whatsoever.
The Federalist Society funds all kinds of shit like this. Their main thing is installing conservative judges all over the country who will reinterpret or negate legislation. And they do it all to "stand with women" by taking away their reproductive rights.
Here is the board of directors of the Federalist Society.
Ya know, before I looked this up, I said to myself, "I bet it's going to be a sausage fest." I am psychic.
I think it would be more accurate to say they stand with A woman.
Just one.
And she sucks.
Nicole is a law professor at Notre Dame. She chose her Catholicism over her right to choose. The Catholic Church will fuck your rights and your children and Nicole will help them do it.
Anyway... back to my quick and easy voting experience...
So as I'm walking in to vote I keep passing a ton of these awful signs. I notice an older woman standing next to the aforementioned "child sex change" sign and she says, "Can I talk to you about Amendment 3?"
At this point, I'm pretty angry. I look her dead in the eyes and say with my most assholish tone, "NO." as I walk past her.
And then she finishes her sentence...
"...to protect the reproductive rights of women."
Ah, dammit.
I thought she was an old Karen but she was cool as heck. Standing out in the rain telling people the sign is bullshit. I wanted to turn around and apologize but I was stuck in full social anxiety mode so I just kept walking.
If that old lady happens to have a Tumblr and follows me and is willing to read this giant story... I just want to say I am sorry. I thought you were awful and I should have let you finish your sentence. You're super cool and I'm happy there are folks like you fighting for what is right.
I get inside and a young woman greets me. She tells me the line is in the next room and points. I still wasn't quite sure what the situation was. The parking lot being full gave me pause, but I was still hopeful I could have a swift early voting experience.
But I walk through the doors and into a huge gymnasium and my heart sinks.
It's hard to represent in pictures how long this line is.
It goes all the way to the end of the gym, loops around, and comes back. At first I was not too discouraged, because there was a nice gentle ramp at the start of the line.
But then I notice several sets of stairs at different stages of the line. And I'm just thinking how hard it would be to stand in this line and then also having to go up and down several sets of stairs.
So I go back to the young woman working there and ask what their accessible voting options are. And she told me I could do curbside voting and points outside. I then notice a line of cars wrapped around the parking lot. I don't know how I didn't see them walking in, but I guess I was too busy being a jerk to elderly progressive women.
My biggest concern was time.
The longer this takes, the more energy I use up, the longer my eventual recovery will be.
They tell me the car option is the slowest. And I could be in line for 2 to 3 hours. And then an old man who seemed to be in charge walks over and tells me the fastest option is to stand in line.
So I walk back out to my car and grab my cane and decide to try the long serpentine gynasium line.
I start walking up the ramp and some of the other folks see how slow and labored I'm walking and they start encouraging me. "You can do it! You got this!" Which I suppose was meant to be a positive helpful thing. But I found it to be embarrassing.
I get to the end of the line and notice most of the line has bleachers directly next to it. So I decide to sit down and rest and figure out how I am going to survive this experience.
It took me a while to recover from the long walk to this spot. I watched a bunch of people pass me by and the line was actually getting much longer as I rested. I was not really sure what to do. I was trying to problem-solve this situation but the answer that kept popping up in my mind was just... "go home."
But I felt this was too important and that wasn't really an option.
My best idea was to ask someone if they would hold my spot in line. Perhaps I could just sit in the bleachers and follow them around in the line, staying as close to them as I could. But my social anxiety was set to maximum and I was not finding the courage to ask someone.
After about 10 minutes of sitting, resting, and thinking, I basically say, "Fuck it, I'll try to stand in line."
I get up and start walking to the end of the line.
Then I hear a voice yell out to me.
"Hey, man! Come over here! This is your spot!"
A young man was waving at me. He was accompanied by his wife. Both of them were dressed in black and they had a sort of goth skater aesthetic going on. He had a competitively bushy beard, but with less gray. And she had very vivid purple hair.
I was a little confused and still processing what was happening. Then they both started waving at me to join them in line. They remembered I got there just before and told me I should be in front of them. I walk over and thank them. Then he suggests...
"Hey, why don't you just sit in the bleachers and follow us around the line."
He suggested my idea!
Without me asking!
I felt like he read my mind or something.
Can bearded people read each others' minds? Was this some beard skill I was unaware of?
"I got you, man. You just sit and we'll keep your place."
And his violet hair'd significant other agreed. "Yeah, we got you."
The kindness of strangers was more accessible than my polling place and I was just so thankful in that moment.
So I sat in the bleachers and watched them traverse the line. In the middle of the gym there were some teenagers playing basketball. And so I just rested and watched them play.
That young man in the red pants was like a goddamn Harlem Globetrotter. He was just embarrassing the others. He was bouncing the ball behind his back and through his legs and then he just danced around his opponents like a figure skater. It was such an unbalanced matchup. He might as well have been playing 4th graders. Not only was he significantly faster and more maneuverable, but he was consistently hitting 3-pointers.
And then during a break, he ran towards the hoop, jumped from the free throw line, flew all the way to the net, grabbed onto the rim, and proceeded to do several pull ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone jump that far and that high in real life and it was just a bonkers display of athleticism.
I spent the entire wait watching him humiliate the others—hoping he would get a full ride scholarship to some prestigious university.
And I hoped the other boys paid attention in school and got straight As, because basketball was not going to work out for them.
As my new goth skater friends progressed through the line, I would make sure to keep sight of them. Every once in a while I'd give them a head nod to acknowledge we were in this together. After an hour and a half they were at the final segment of the line, so I sat next to the wheelchair folks.
I probably could have argued to sit with them in the first place. But I really did not feel like making the case that I was just as disabled as them and needed that level of consideration. The old man running things seemed quite stressed and was putting out 8 fires at once. And my anxiety wasn't really cooperating enough to be assertive in my needs.
But it worked out in the end, so I'm not going to dwell on the lack of accommodation for people who weren't *visually* disabled.
My new bearded friend neared the end and waved me over. I thanked him and his wife profusely.
I joked, "Thank you for adopting a voter."
They seemed confused by my joke.
"No problem, man. Happy to help."
I told him and his wife they truly saved me. "I honestly don't think I would have made it through the line." And then I looked back...
I said, "As crazy as this is, I do find this kind of turnout encouraging." His wife agreed and said, "We were saying the same thing!" And then I thought, "Can the wives of bearded people absorb the mind reading ability? I hope she can't read my mind right now. Although, I'm mostly thinking that her hair is a really cool shade of purple, so she'd probably find that complimentary."
As I waited to get my ballot I could hear the happy couple behind me. They were very cute. They were making fun of each other in a very lovey-dovey fashion. I had high hopes they were going to grow old and gray and purple together based on their chemistry. And I was just so thankful they were able to recognize that I needed help without me asking. Because I probably would have just caved to my anxiety and not asked for help otherwise.
I got my ballot and sat down to fill in all of the appropriate squares. Thankfully I had prepared a cheat sheet on my phone.
It was an exact replica so I was able to copy it and finish quite rapidly.
Then I fed my votes into the vote-eating monster and they gave me a sticker.
My quick 20 minute adventure to vote early only took 2.5 hours!
And because I didn't want to buck tradition, I stood outside in the wind and the rain and took a voting selfie.
Yep, that seems about right.
Ah, crap... that was only the second thing on my to-do list.
Let's speedrun the rest of this story, shall we?
I drove to FedEx. I hauled a 40 pound box inside. I plopped it on the counter and said, "Man, this thing is heavy!" as I tried to catch my breath. The 20 year old working there then lifted it like it was a feather and I felt great about that.
I drove to the gas station because I was nearly on empty—that is both a metaphor and not a metaphor. I filled my ride with go juice.
I noticed I was a mile from the tire store and they fill up tires for free. So I did that and the guy was super nice and complimented my tires. I felt both weird and proud about having my tires complimented. Like, I had nothing to do with my tires being nice. But I accepted the praise on their behalf.
I drove to the UPS store. The last time I was there I made a scene. They refused to box up a return and I got upset and wasn't feeling well and they had to find a chair for me to sit in because I was going to faint. So I was hoping the same woman wasn't there, but she was. She didn't recognize me, so it was fine.
I drove to my lawn guy's house. He wasn't home. I dropped a check in his mailbox. My checks have corgis on them. My checks are cute.
I drove to the post office. I sent a secret package to my bestie, Katrina. I'd tell you what is in it, but it is an inside joke and you wouldn't get it. The woman noticed my voting sticker and I couldn't help thinking about what I just accomplished to get that sticker.
On my way out I noticed a miracle.
2 of the 4 doors were fixed!
I mean, I don't know why they couldn't fix all 4, but now the employees won't freeze in the winter. So I take that as a win. It only took a year and a half to accomplish and I'm sure all of my phone calls and emails did not help at all. But I'm going to pretend I saved the day regardless.
And then... I drove home.
5 hours of errands.
I was so fucking tired. My back was on fire with pain. I immediately collapsed into my bed. I passed out. And I slept for 14 hours.
The End
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EPISODE 23 ✦ PLEASE DONT SAY YOU LOVE ME
LOVE, MAYBE — A CHILDE SMAU
masterlist / prev / next / wc: 838.
with an ice cream already consumed, ajax is walking you home now. it was a silent walk; only the sounds of the leaves slightly rustling around you as well as both of your footsteps can be heard in the area.
you liked childe—it took you long enough to realize that. but it’s still a lot for you to process. you think it’s mutual, but how can you be so sure? maybe childe is just like that to the people he cares about, right? but god, it surely makes your heart drop to your stomach at the thought of someone else also receiving this treatment from him.
is this an effect of an eldest daughter who’s also a hopeless romantic? perhaps. romantic love was an unfamiliar concept to you, after all. no matter how much you read or consume media that consists of the theme of romance, it will never be enough to give you the understanding that you wish to grasp with the concept. before you knew it, you had already let your words slip.
"why are you doing this?"
"why shouldn't i be doing this?" he asks back, slightly tilting his head to the side.
"i don't get it, childe. why are you doing this?"
childe pauses for a moment, realizing that you are actually serious with your question. he doesn't reply immediately, finding the right words to say first.
"it's because... i love you," he says, only realizing it now as well. he had always liked you, of course, but ajax had only realized that he loved you. he had loved you for a while now.
"what?" you asked him in disbelief.
"i love you, (name)."
"but... why?"
"is a reason necessary?"
your breath hitched at his words. "i—of course it's necessary! i don't get it. i'm a difficult person. i refuse to communicate. i push people away even though deep inside i know i need help because, even as a child, i never got any sort of assistance to begin with. i pressure myself to the point it's way too overwhelming. i fear that one day i'll end up being useless in my own life. i can hardly even understand myself so what more if others would try? i... i find that i'm undeserving of love because there are others who need it more than me."
"so please, ajax. there's no use in loving me. you'll just get tired in the end. there's someone out there who's more deserving of the love you have to give."
please don't say you love me, because i might not say it back.
"no."
"what? didn't you hear what i just said? i'm difficult to love, ajax—"
"i heard it, but that doesn't change the fact that i still love you nonetheless," he replies, taking a step closer.
"(name), i love you with everything i am, everything i've been, and everything i hope to be, and i'll continue to love you even when you push me away. i will always find my way home to you. i'll be there to pull you back up before you sink any further under the pressure you give yourself. you'll never be useless—i'll make sure that you never feel that way. i will understand you no matter whatever it is that needs to be understood with you."
"you are not undeserving of love, because if there's one person in the world that i'd choose to pour my love on, it would be you," he finishes.
“i… no.”
“what?”
“no—i.. i can’t. i’m sorry, tartaglia.” the use of his last name stung for him a bit. “it’s fine if you can’t right now; i’m willing to wai—” you cut him off before he could finish the word. “don’t!” he flinches at the sudden raise of your voice and is taken aback. “why?”
“please… just don’t. there’s others who are better and more deserving of you than me. why me? you’ll just be wasting your time if you wait for me. i probably wouldn’t be able to give you a proper answer. i.. how are you so sure that you love me?”
“that’s fine with me, (name). it’s okay for me to go through all of that because i know i would be doing it for you.”
stop it. please.
“my answer is still no.”
i’d rather not risk it. i don’t want to take someone for granted, especially if that someone is you.
“but—”
this is for the better.
“go away, ajax.”
he could feel the weakness in your voice when you said those three words. he tried to get closer by taking a step further, but you took a step back. that was when ajax realized that you were sure of your words. “let me still walk you home, just for tonight—this will be the last one,” he says. as you were about to decline, he spoke again first. “i don’t want you to walk home alone when it’s dark.”
even if this might be the last time i’ll get to do this.
extra notes.
wow double update ?!?! watch me ghost this app again for 2 months ... kidding !
had this episode sitting my drafts for MONTHS. im pretty sure this episode has been written ever since i was still uploading ep 5 maybe? somewhere during the making of the early episodes LAWLZ
smau playlist linked here !! pls give it a listen it gives u the extra feels 😋 this episode is highly inspired by please don't say you love me by gabrielle aplin <3
taglist (open): @xianyoon @mitsvriii @kizakiss @kissingkzuha @aethion @phtogravi @ell1e2010 @esthelily @b4tm4nn @hcmay @ivvieene @morganadorodo @kaitfae @kentply @scaranthropy @kyon-cherri @kookiibun @kochothehoe @mekiiiii @ibyobi @iuspired @tetsuskei @kunikuzushis-darling @morgyyyyyyy @chluuvr @scaradooche @kissmiere @a1-ic3 @bubblegum-angelquartz @tiredjxnna @levlucs-kiru @angeilix @cerisescherries @saeskiss @a-talkative-corn @briluvspnk @kamisatoyato @bbysatoruuu @viviixoxosblog @bambisz @chemiru @eternal-dokja @bflyprincess @jamieexistss @monocerosei @enjisthings @jangyung @hahalame @cupid-spams @snzhrchy @ukinya @luciledreamz @bisatanica @bananasquash @almond-t0fu @thegalaxyisunfolding @jaguarthecat [1/2]
#( smau — love maybe ! )#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact#genshin imagines#childe x reader#childe genshin impact#childe smau#ajax x reader#ajax#childe#x reader
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The first cuffs against his chest, shoulder and face caught Benjamin unawares. Lifting his arms, he was quick to deflect Emma's irate blows, her growls akin to a trapped animal as she bit out her fierce warning.
“What is wrong with you?" she hissed. "Jesus H. Christ, do you have no shame?”
Face stinging with both embarrassment and the clip from her earlier strike, Benjamin fired back, "I could ask you the same question. As you'll recall, the only reason we have been remotely intimate is because of you. Am I suddenly wrong in thinking I have a claim?"
He knew he didn't. As a gentleman, just pretending to mean those words coiled sickeningly within his gut, weighing low and heavy as he swallowed. Never one to back down from a ruse, he continued, "The only shame I feel is having trusted you to be a lady. Throwing yourself at my associate -- to what, make me jealous? -- proves your precise caliber, and I'll have no part in this."
Just as he anticipated, Emma bristled like a furious feline. “I can pursue whoever I damn well please. You're not my father and you're certainly not my husband. So, if Mister Finnegan likes me, I don’t need your permission to reciprocate his affections."
"No, you don't," Benjamin crisply agreed, "but Finnegan is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and thus, he would never choose you over me. I'm afraid brotherhood extends far beyond the allure of getting inside your used mutton. And that goes for both Finnegan and myself."
His words were a cruelty. Benjamin wasn't certain if he genuinely believed Emma to be morally loose, but in this moment he was tired of putting up with her theatrics -- he was tired of searching for intelligence, and only encountering the bare minimum because of her damnable interference.
Emma, unfortunately, was far from through with her diatribe. She sniped and attacked for all she was worth, relying heavily upon blaspheming swears before she ultimately volleyed, “Or do you merely mean to stick your nose into this because you’re upset it isn’t you I’m flirting with?"
"I don't give a damn who you flirt with," Benjamin hissed. "But when it is at the expense of my best friend, that is an entirely different matter! You flatter yourself if you think I care for you beyond our business transaction."
Emma balled her hand into a fist. “Our agreement was that you behave yourself. That very same agreement is the only thing stopping me from giving you a matching bruise on the other side of your stupid face. Either follow the rules of the game, or the deal is forfeit.”
Benjamin's jaw tightened. "Hit me then," he challenged. "If only I must behave myself in these terms, then I think it only suitable that you show the world precisely who you are."
Finally at her wits end, Emma rose her voice to a clanging decibel, shouting about Caleb being the superior match, and how she would gladly consider marriage, should he propose.
“I might remind you that I gave you the chance to act upon your carnal desires, but you refused. You had the chance to kiss me, touch me, ravish me, and whatever else you please, but you thought your hand far more suitable for the job, so you don’t get to choose me now that your britches have grown too tight."
Benjamin balked at that, visibly stunned. This woman was confounding. She denounced him, insulted him, and in some cases, maimed him, yet willingly threw open the doors to her boudoir?
Mouth opening and closing, he tried to speak, but Emma was already charging toward the door. "I urge you to behave yourself, or I will match your immaturity. And I will do it far better than you."
"I'd say you already have," he gruffly bit back. "You are no lady, Miss Dunster. None at all."
“You flatter me, Mister Bolton.” She retorted in a dry tone. “But I have a feeling I’m not the only one who thinks poorly of you. I’m just the only one brave enough to do something about it. I'm not some arse-kisser who's going to lick your boots like the rest of your conquests might be eager to do. I, for one, despise you and I will not allow you to forget it.”
I told you to leave Finnegan alone. I told you, I told you, I told you. The more he told her things, the less she wanted to listen, but he didn't care. Emma knew that men like him were probably used to people taking his word as gospel. While the world bent to his every whim, she would stand her ground and remain resilient against his orders.
"What makes you think I'm inclined to listen to you? I told you I won't marry you, but you don't listen to me. It's awfully frustrating, isn't it?" Emma crossed her arms over her chest, knowing full well that she was being catty over the situation, but too deep into her ire to backtrack. “Besides, I enjoy the sea as well. I spend a lot of time on ships traveling across the pond. Perhaps, him and I might find ourselves married to it together. And far, far away from you.”
He gritted his teeth and Emma thought, for a split second, that he might raise his hand to strike her. She braced herself for the force of his hand, but when it clasps onto her neck and brought her closer to him, she froze. It took her a long moment to realize what was happening, in the moment and in her body as she resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him and tug at his clothes. His soft groan sparked a fire in her stomach and she nearly gave in until he tugged on her lip with his teeth and broke the spell.
“Get off of me!” Breathlessly, she shoved him away, batting at him with her arms like a feral cat. Her lips still tingled with the taste of him but she tried to ignore it. It scared to her to think that if she'd spent a moment longer kissing him, she might not be able to control herself. If she spent another second with his tongue in her mouth, she might end up begging him to take her virtue here on the barn floor.
“What is wrong with you? Jesus H. Christ, do you have no shame?” The words flew from her lips with a small spray of spittle, her own mind unsure of who the words were directed at. Shaking her head of the embarrassing thoughts, she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. It didn’t matter that she wanted to continue, that she enjoyed the way her body warmed at his touch. She didn’t want him. She couldn’t want him.
Ignoring the furious blush on her cheeks, Emma shot a quick, panicked glance towards the barn door. His friend could easily meander back in to witness such a scene. She doubted the man would be too offended by it, but it would certainly make it harder for her to continue her flirtatious charade if he caught her canoodling his partner. Or even worse, she realized, her father could decide to pay an impromptu visit to the stables and stumble upon this horrid scene. Then, she would have no choice but to marry him. Then, she would lose the game entirely.
“I can pursue whoever I damn well please. You're not my father and you're certainly not my husband. So, if Mister Finnegan likes me, I don’t need your permission to reciprocate his affections."
When he spoke, she bristled, fingers curling into fists at her sides. Her eyes glowed with anger as she stared up at him. I don't think it will be difficult to prove to him just what kind of woman you are. Emma gawked, brows furrowed in disbelief.
“And, pray tell, exactly what kind of woman is that? The type that is harassed and threatened by men with no concept of the word ‘no’? Or the type that is hunted and bedeviled and, now, accosted in the safety of her own goddamn home?" She perched her hands on her hips, a spark of defiance catching alight in her chest. “Or do you merely mean to stick your nose into this because you’re upset it isn’t you I’m flirting with?"
She found it harder and harder to maintain her composure around him and Emma was infuriated by how easily he managed to pester her. Belle had told her more than once that she was lucky to be an only child, but she was beginning to realize that having the practice of an obnoxious younger brother would've helped prepare her for such a thing. Normally, she considered herself unflappable, but the presence of this heinous mam had proved that perhaps she wasn't as invincible as she thought.
“Our agreement was that you behave yourself. That very same agreement is the only thing stopping me from giving you a matching bruise on the other side of your stupid face. Either follow the rules of the game, or the deal is forfeit.”
Taking a step back, Emma tried to collect herself. She wiped the sweat of her hand off onto the bodice of her gown, flattening out the rumpled fabric. Whenevr she was around him, she felt like a child. They argued like children, teasing and tormenting one another, and--not for the first time-- she found herself wishing they were children so that a swift kick to his shin wouldn't be considered uncalled for.
"Really, Mister Bolton, do you think behaving like a child will make me want to marry you? Because as far as I can tell, Mister Finnegan is twice the man that you are! And if he got on his knees and proposed to me right now, I’d be damned well tempted to accept!”
She didn’t mean to raise her voice, didn’t even realize she was shouting until she heard the echoes of her words reverberate throughout the barn. Gritting her teeth, Emma lowered her voice and spoke in an even tone.
“I might remind you that I gave you the chance to act upon your carnal desires, but you refused. You had the chance to kiss me, touch me, ravish me, and whatever else you please, but you thought your hand far more suitable for the job, so you don’t get to choose me now that your britches have grown too tight." The words were laced with more venom than she had intended, realizing only in that moment how desperately she had wanted him to accept the offer to follow her to her boudoir.
Huffing, she began towards the door, only pausing to toss a warning over her shoulder. "I urge you to behave yourself, or I will match your immaturity. And I will do it far better than you."
#quinnverse#within the lion's den#ben x emma d#//*caleb eating popcorn outside the barn*#tfw the americans lose cuz ben can't stop arguing with a tory
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I… feel… like… a… little… zombie!!!
#get ready for a vent… oh boy this will be fun to look back on#i am so tired of being the one who cares more or at all#it is a particular hell to get attached to someone who is incredibly emotionally unavailable#especially when said person made it seem like they were romantic and emotionally available in the beginning#and then u felt crazy for questioning them when all long they never planned on actually wanting anything with you#I have wasted so much time but can’t stop somehow#I just don’t care about other people the way I do for this person whyyyyyyyyy did this have to be how it was#he cares so much about his friends and work and family and just does not feel the way I do#I keep hoping he does deep down but I’m afraid to say it just doesn’t seem like it anymore#who invites someone over then tells them right before bed they have to leave at 9 or 9:30 for breakfast with their friends#after I took the freezing ass metro for him!! and he only invited me last minute cause he decided not to go out with friends cause the cold#like what on earth how did I end up in this????? this is not how it’s supposed to be#and I feel a little sorry for him that he can’t let himself experience something intimate and great he is emotionally shallow#i never would’ve imagined this is how it would be…#I never ever vent ever but I just can’t stop talking about it or this sadness will eat me from inside#I even told my mom!!!#im sick of this…#maybe one day he will regret it but maybe not he is so apathetic it’s so frustrating#it just hurts so much to see that someone you thought you were close to does not value you the same way or appreciate you very much#he meant/means so much to me and now I see I just don’t mean much to him#he doesn’t want to commit to anything and said I’m his friend after leading me on for a LONG time#i turned down other people for him cause he just kept making it sound like once __ happened he’d be ready for a relationship#i was so hopeful :(
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NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???
#personal#i am emotional yes#over the years ive had this blog I've made a few posts abt being femme#nd whether they're serious or jokey..... inevitably someone in the tags goes “ohhh yeah bc pink”#or in the case of what inspired this post: someone going “what about the pink ones” on my praying mantis post#and im just.#sick of it. im sick of femme being equated to pink and frilly girlie behaviors.#im sick of femme being equated to skirts and heels. to makeup. to skincare. to pristine nails exactly almond shaped.#im sick of ppl acting like All femmes aspire to this shit. im sick of femms being reduced to this shit.#and i love pink! i love pink! my phone theme is quite literally just black and pink all over.#im just. so tired of any expression of Femme identity being shoehorned into being a Specific type of femininity#especially as someone who DOES get dysphoric wearing skirts. wearing dresses. embodying the femme aesthetic yall are so set on making#if u guys wanna rb this i truly dont care#i just needed to scream#and this is one small thing#but the 2nd largest category of anon hate i have gotten since making this blog is str8 up homophobia from other “queer” folks#saying i cant be femme bc of how i present. calling me slurs (and using them as such) bc they cant understand femme as anything but that#my wife and i have our users in our personal discord server set as 2 different things of anon hate ive gotten#i have had OTHER FEMMES tell me i am not femme. femmes who Know im femme who still call me butch. femmes who ive corrected and been blocked#-by bc of it. the number 1 largest demographic of queerfolk who have me blocked rn is TME femmes who embody pink also#and i dont think its a coincidence at all. (and i know this bc i go to try and follow these ppl bc they get rbed on my dash & i cant)#and ik their blogs arent deleted bc some of them don't block my wife (tall. white. butch) and it cant be politics cause her and i rb#a lot of the same political shit (fuck. i think she rbs More than i do even. this is genuinely mainly a nsft blog)#and usually i don't say anything but im having a bad day so i get to be angry about this and if anyone fucking tries me i will block u#idc if we've been mutuals 4ever. im judt so tired of feeling like i am not Enough as a femme bc i dont embody this shit#im sick of this lameass lip service to he/him gnc femmes etc when the thin white 50s housewife femme is still what is preferred and loved#im sick of this lamesss lip service when y'all feel entitled to theorizing on other femmes genders bc u cant conceptualize a femme who does#wanna be hypetfeminine. im sick of it. im sick of it. im sick of it.#celebrity bun
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Don’t think I ever quite said what my LGBTQ+ headcanons are for the boys, so these are my current thoughts! Always changing of course but this is what I feel most strongly right now.
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt headcanons#rise donnie#rise leo#rise mikey#rise raph#donnie and leo’s sexualities being practically swapped was unintentional but it works way too well#same with mikey and raph tbh it was a happy accident#anyway I kinda hc raph as the type who doesn’t care about physical appearance just if you fight lol#Mikey’s more than happy with friends and family#Donnie is a BIG romantic but he needs time to sus a person out fully before he gets the hots for them#leo meanwhile isn’t keen on romance unless it’s with someone he grows to really really REALLY trust#I could go on and probably will later (knowing me) but it is late and I am tired haha#turtle art tag#curious as to what everyone else headcanons#the only one of these I’ll defend forever is Bi (female-leaning) donnie and trans leo#all the others can change over time but I really like where they’re sitting right now#I hope these are the right flags too because it was kinda hard to find them#went looking for transmasc flag in particular but I couldn’t find a solid agreed upon version 😭#ngl a big part of why I hc mikey as aro is because of a pun#my phone often misspells aromantic as aromatic and- and you get it- because aromatic herbs and- and Mikey is a chef do YOU GET IT#note that while I hc leo as bisexual (male-leaning) I still think he’s prob closer to demi in that as well just not as far into the spectrum#if that makes sense#headcanons are fun and hard to narrow down at the same time alas#I made this in like an hour can you tell djjdjd#I drew them all from memory so if there’s anything wrong…shhh#and if you’re wondering for April and Splinter#Both are Bisexual (female-leaning) but April is also Panromantic#I almost wanna make Splinter demiromantic too so Big Mama’s betrayal hits just a bit harder
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Hey, no worries! I understand life gets in the way sometimes, haha. Sorry to hear you're feeling under the weather, Maia! ❤️🩹 But hey, always a good excuse to curl up and do a bit of reading, at least~
I love that there's a clone grapevine and no one is safe from it. From the shinies all the way up to Fox, everyone's going to hear about what they've done!
Yessss. I took a bit of inspiration from things my brother told our family about during his time in the service. They called their rumor mill the "PNN", or Private News Network. (I was 🤏this🤏close to calling it the 'Clone News Network' in the fic!) Using a rumor mill felt like the perfect way to start the fic and explain how Wolffe would have heard about what happened on Coruscant.
Some inspiration for meeting Fox in a diner was taken from @the-bad-batch-baroness's heart-aching and amazing Where's Mommy? series; the idea for it being Dex's Diner in particular came a bit later in the pipeline.
But it became the perfect setting the more research I put into this fic for so many reasons.
Canonically speaking [depending on the sources used], Dex's Diner made for a good meeting spot for criminals because Dex is welcoming and doesn't believe in intruding in other people's business. (He's also got his own criminal past, so, who's he to judge?) FLO promising Wolffe no one would know what he was there for was very deliberate. It essentially ensured the discussion would never disrupt or change canon.
Pointing out that Dex is a Besalisk would become the PERFECT way to bring up not just Pong Krell, but the other (in)famous instance that Fives had a blaster turned on him by his own brothers. (Something that, again using the C.N.N., Wolffe would have likely heard about at some point or another.)
FLO scanning Wolffe was not intended to be dystopian, but I completely understand why it reads that way! Somewhere in my research I did into the WA-7s said they had facial-recognition software to identify regular patrons. I felt that was something Wolffe would likely be aware of and would fit perfectly into his hypervigilant nature. (Which would make him more likely to reflect on the style of the diner and the way things change around him all the time!)
And the unease. Every little fact about Fives' death would have caused Wolffe unease no matter what. But put him somewhere that is not affiliated with the GAR (or the Jedi) in any way, and it will be the perfect breeding ground for doubt and uncertainty to grow unchecked if Wolffe isn't careful. Coupled with the fact he hasn't seen Fox in a while?
You're right that Fox would be able to tell just how shaken, how stressed out Wolffe would be over this, no matter how much time they've been apart, too. No matter how little time they've been given to work together.
Even if Fox was tired. And I mean really tired.
I imagine (headcanon?) that after killing Fives, Fox would have thrown himself hard into Guard-work in order to avoid dwelling [read as: second guessing] on his call he had to make that night. The order he was given by Palpatine amounted to "ARC trooper Fives is a fugitive. He's armed and dangerous." and he had to act on his own authority from that point. And we know the rest from there.
But we'll still say it was Palpatine who made that call, because he's easier to blame. (Between the chip and his training, Fox never truly had a choice.) The Chancellor certainly won't need to know why he can't get ahold of the Marshal Commander for an hour or two while he and Wolffe get that nap.
Force knows they need it.
Woof. This took a couple hours to write on-and-off because I had so much (sorry lmao!) I wanted to share about what went into this fic; and I am incredibly honored to hear that you enjoyed it not just once, but twice. That means a lot, truly. 🩷
Hey Frost 💙! Happy 200 Followers 🥳!!
For the event I would love to submit an idea! What about an angsty Wolffe confronting Fox after he shoots Fives 👀?
Congrats!
The Tragedy of Level 1325 [Commander Wolffe Fic]
Warnings and Information: Clones killing their own kin is always an awful occurrence, more often than not a rare and accidental thing. So when Commander Wolffe catches wind of what happened on Level 1325, he meets with the other canine-themed Commander to get answers. And none of them will be easy to get, or, to hear. Set after the Clone Wars season six episode “Orders”. Lots of angst and heavy stuff in this one, folks! Heavy references/allusions to Fives’ death. Heavy references/allusions to canon-typical death, violence and injury. Reference to Pong Krell. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Minimal Mando’a. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. **This is not a cloneship/clonecest fic. Tag it as such and you will find yourself blocked.**
Word count: 4,287
How fast word travels in the GAR is both a blessing and burden.
Regardless of the distance, time of day, or paint color, brothers will hear what the others have gotten up to in-between their conquest to defeat the Confederacy of Independent Systems. A rookie’s foolish notion to prank his superiors that ends with him earning himself a month’s worth of latrine duty. The terrible pick-up lines learned from holomags (and their success, or lack thereof) used on other patrons of 79’s. Brave charges lead out of killboxes and ambushes.
Clones turning on their own kin - that bitter pill was hard to stomach.
Commander Wolffe found himself choking down one such pill upon hearing the events of the night before.
It didn’t make a difference how many times he consulted the datafile in front of him, the mingling of horror and disbelief settled just as heavily in his heart each time. The primary commander of the Coruscant Guard had been the one behind the blaster used to end a Clone’s life on Level 1325, and it had not been an accident either. This was not another case of some sleemo stealing and wearing a Clone’s full kit; it had been, without question, a brother.
Clones were less uniform than many nat-borns would like to believe. They may look the same from the texture of their hair, to their face-shape, and the warm-brown skin, but that’s often as far as the similarities go. They found their originality in names, speech-patterns, scarring, the way hair was cut (or bleached or dyed or styled), the addition and location of injected ink. There were the occasional (minor) aberrations, too, of course; like the brothers who ended up ocean-eyed, or blond.
(They at least knew where the blondeness came from; a dormant echo in the genetics of the man who served as the master mold for the Grand Army.)
Not to mention the paint, and the patterns. The paint job was perhaps the biggest, most important piece of their individualism (at least externally). Those working in tandem with the soldiers relied quite heavily on the personalization to their second skins when first introduced.
So when the datafile in Wolffe’s hands tells him the armor worn by the dead trooper was not his own, a sense of confusion as well as a wave of mild horror washes over the flint gray commander. The deceased was one of the 501st Legion’s cobalt crusaders, yet the ARC trooper had been killed in an unpainted, second skin that had been stolen from another.
Why?
So many why-s.
When asking if his brother would agree to meet with him, it had taken some convincing. Fox’s agreement ultimately came with conditions, which were thankfully simple. Find somewhere in CoCo Town - as he was due to patrol that near that sector in a few hours time - and find some caf that didn’t taste like droid oil.
There, Commander Fox would attempt to provide as many answers to Wolffe’s questions as he could.
Though he couldn’t promise there’d be answers for all of them.
Entering the eighth eatery, Wolffe tries putting a little more trust in this diner’s advertising than each of the establishments he tried earlier. ‘Best food this side of the Senate District!’ A tagline like that would have to do a lot of heavy lifting for a greasy diner in a dilapidated industrial area.
Inside, the diner has been furnished with several deep booths with shiny red seats as well as a long countertop that offers a glimpse into the kitchen through a narrow viewport. The decor is a mix of chrome and neon. While it’s perhaps not what Wolffe would call his favorite style, he had to give whoever ran the place credit for a cohesive, and constant, theme.
This place looks like it hasn’t changed in years. Too often, Wolffe finds once-favorite establishments rehauling their menus, revamping the theme, gutting whatever charm the place had between his deployments. It’s a damn shame. Corsucant changes too quickly top-side; all of it fueled on someone else’s pursestrings, no doubt.
Noticing his arrival, a WA-7 waitress droid, idly chatting with a pre-dawn client, pardons herself to welcome the prospective customer. Assuming he’ll be subjected to a facial recognition scan, Wolffe holds himself in near-militant attention until the droid speaks.
“Welcome to Dex’s Diner! What can I get for you, hon?”
The first question he has for the waitress is the state of the diner’s caf.
“Is your caf instant?”
The droid’s feminine programming and friendly inflection does its best to make up for an inability to smile. (He finds it a little unsettling all the same.)
“It’s brewed in-house, every hour on the hour.”
Wolffe regards a small chronometer on the wall, displaying what his body-chrono already knows. Just a half-hour before dawn. Perfect. Depending on how far away Fox is, it shouldn’t take long for his vod to find his way here. Coruscant had been under the watchful eye and capable hand of the crimson commander very shortly after the start of the war; if anyone knew their way around this massive labyrinth of a planet, it would be Fox.
“Good enough.” Wolffe says with a thankful nod. “Saves me the trouble of finding another place.”
“Looking for something to eat?”
“Not exactly. I’m supposed to meet with someone.” he explains, sending the name of the diner to Fox’s comlink while the WA-7’s back is to him, asking him to follow behind. She’s got just the spot for him.
She shows Wolffe to a booth in the back-left corner, where he can already tell at a glance that the padding under the seat material is worn thin and unevenly. (Well, he’s sat in worse seats.) It’s secluded, just enough, that it should afford him and his brother a little more privacy. He unseals his helmet as quietly as he can to avoid disturbing the other patrons, and sets the sunbonnet down on the table.
“Your business isn’t our business,” the droid promises to Wolffe’s great confusion as he works to seat himself as gracefully as possible with the kama, “so rest assured that whoever you’re meeting, we won’t tell a soul.”
“Okay… I appreciate that.”
Wolffe straightens out his modified phase two helmet on the tabletop, dismissing the waitress’s offer to get him something to start with while he waits. Glass of Jawa Juice, perhaps? It’s a house special.
A mash of bantha hide and fermented grain so early in the morning doesn’t sound particularly appealing.
“Nothing right now, thank you.”
The WA-7 nodded. “Suit yourself, hon. Give a holler when you’re ready.”
It wouldn’t be long from now. Fox had sown the seeds for a system the Corries called ‘Zeros and Fives’ when it came to meeting their vode for non-military matters. Seeking out Fox for answers wasn’t technically an emergency, but it should hopefully be treated with a little more urgency seeing as Wolffe couldn’t wait around all morning. With the General’s help, he had to fabricate time-sensitive duties to excuse his presence on Coruscant earlier than expected.
Some poodoo about retrieving something-or-other under the General’s orders. Records of research from the Chief Librarian of the Jedi Archives, Jocasta Nu.
Records of what kind of research, he wasn’t sure.
That comes later. Now, he was waiting for Fox. Wolffe checks his comlink for any response to his choice of locale, finding only a silent ‘Seen’ status. Well, he’ll take it to mean his vod won’t be waving down the suggestion.
With little more than his comlink and the datafile to keep him occupied, the flint gray commander settled in for what could end up being a long wait in the event Fox ran into trouble on patrol. How long he would end up waiting would be inconsequential, so long as he got answers and insight to the root of this tragedy. Something to rationalize the reality of losing brothers to something other than Separatists and their sympathizers.
He just had to ask himself why he was doing this. Why he cared so much, what he hoped to find. Maybe even who he was doing all this for.
Was it for Fox, hoping to get ahead of the inevitable boiling point the rumors might reach?
Was it for Captain Rex, finding some shred of information that may bring closure to the death of one of his best men?
Was it for Fives, given the death of an ARC trooper was no insignificant thing? Was he hoping to find reason, or just cause?
Or was it for his own morbid curiosity, given other details of the deceased’s service file?
Commander Wolffe couldn’t be certain until his brother was dragging his over-caffeinated carcass through the doors of the diner, and down to the last booth on the left. He couldn’t be certain Fox would be forthcoming with those answers, either. Or the state the other commander would be in.
Fifteen minutes before the next hourly pot of caf is made, Fox shuffles into the diner, quiet and wordless. Not in the sense of stoicism; rather fatigue. Ignoring the greetings of the waitstaff, he walks himself down to the booth once he’s found Wolffe in his visor. Like his fellow commander, Fox’s helmet remains over his head until he reaches the table, at which point he unseals, and drops it with a dull thud half an inch over the table.
“Good to see you, Fox.” Wolffe says.
That was a lie. Perhaps only partially. He wished if he was paying the crimson commander a visit here on Coruscant, it would have been under better circumstances. With better beverages as well. The last time Wolffe had seen his brother, he was promised a splash of spotchka and the opportunity to properly talk about the Abregado disaster when next they met. To mourn the loss of Wolffe’s men and the change to his armor. They started this war named after members of the Canidae and painted in beautiful shades of red.
Now they were just a couple of canines.
Fox makes no immediate greeting. With a tired grumble, he drops into the booth, a small betrayal to the tireless façade the Corries had come to be known for.
“Sorry to make you wait,” he says at last, propping his elbows on the table as he begins rubbing one bleary eye, “Patrol took longer to button up than anticipated.”
“That’s fine.” Wolffe replied, just relieved the other canine commander was here.
Doing her rounds, the same service droid as before approaches the brothers’ booth and asks if they’d like anything to eat while they conduct their business. (She doesn’t suggest Jawa Juice this time.) Wolffe takes her up on the offer for the freshest cups of caf that would be ready not too long from now. Just as the droid goes to send in the order to the back-of-house, she takes another look at Fox— currently in the process of falling asleep at the table —and thinks better of it.
“... I’ll tell Dex to make it a carafe.”
When the caf is prepared, instead of sending it out with the service droid, FLO, Dex himself brings it out from the kitchen to the front-of-house.
And Dex had certainly not been what Wolffe imagined him to look like.
Standing roughly 1.88 meters tall by the commander’s estimation, the owner of the diner was a heavyset Beskalisk who wore an ill-fitting, heavily stained white shirt and apron that had certainly seen better days. Making use of the four arms in his possession, Dex carried the carafe with the lower set, and a pair of mugs in a third, upper hand.
Wolffe hides any surfacing unease after meeting the owner’s eye by fixing Fox’s helmet beside his own to clear space on the table. He came here to question his brother about an ARC trooper’s death over a decent cup of caf; he didn’t expect to be reminded of someone who put his brothers of the GAR through a gruesome campaign on the lightless word of Umbara.
A Force-wielding Besalisk named Pong Krell had tricked the 501st and 212th into turning their blasters on each other some time ago. His style of leadership was firm, his fighting form aggressive. Krell’s war record boasted several successes at the bloody cost of countless Clone casualties; the highest of any Jedi. Having been seduced by the allure of rising power, he betrayed the Order, the Republic, and weaponized the absolute loyalty of the men under his command.
It would be Fives, Jesse, and Hardcase of the 501st’s bravest blue to defy orders and take stolen ships to cripple enemy forces. They proved successful, though only Fives and Jesse would return. Krell had tried to order their execution as a result of this disobedience. But brothers in blue and orange mutinied against the fallen Jedi, and attempted his arrest. Once they managed to capture him, Krell had been interrogated and his treasonous plot was brought into the light.
Fives had been faced with the business end of a blaster at the hands of his own brothers twice.
He only survived it once.
Wolffe could only hope Fives’ mortal remains were being treated with far more respect than whatever had been afforded to Krell.
One thing was soon clear at least, the longer the diner’s owner was working to serve them the fresh caf: Dex was nothing like Krell, save for being a Besalisk.
Dex was far kinder, friendlier.
He first poured out a generous portion for Wolffe, chuckling warmly as he spoke. “You’ll want to be careful, gentlemen. Quite hot. Should do a fine job of perking you right up, though!” Wolffe was sure to thank Dex before carefully kicking his brother’s boot under the table to stir him. Fox hadn’t fallen asleep, but he certainly was heading in that direction the longer he sat in the booth.
Tiredly scrubbing a hand over his face in an effort to wake up, Fox took hold of the mug that had been carefully pushed in his direction by the four-armed cook.
“Thanks…”
“Don’t mention it! Matter of fact, I’ll leave the rest with you two and let you get about your business.” Dex carefully set the metal carafe on the tabletop and lumbered back into the kitchen, as promised.
Together, the commanders would take their first sampling of the diner’s caf; Wolffe found it of decent quality, nothing more. There was nothing special that set it apart from other diners, but it was a step above the instant powder in his and his men’s rations.
Fox on the other hand drank like the caf was no milder than water. Maker. That couldn’t be healthy. Once the mug had been lowered for a suitable amount of time, Wolffe voiced the first of his concerns.
“When’s the last time you slept, vod?”
With a heavy exhale, Fox set down the mug and leaned against the backrest. “Same time as the rest of Coruscant.” he said, too focused on the patternless web of scratches in the table to see the displeased furrowing of his brother’s brow.
“Coruscant never sleeps. Are you telling me you’re running on empty?”
“No. I just don’t remember, cub.”
Wolffe grit his teeth, full lips pursing as his displeasure deepened. This was no time for the kit-and-cub routine they had developed fresh off Kamino, possessing a curiously bright-eyed quality that would be lost before long. This was serious. All of this was serious, and Fox is choosing now to be sarcastic and apathetic with him?
He has to stop and take a measured breath before acting on any kind of anger. Should he be short with Fox, Wolffe’s opportunity to get sensible answers might slip between his fingers. So instead, he nurses his mug of caf before saything or asking anything else. Maybe it’ll help him hold on to his tether a little longer if he combats his own budding fatigue. Crossing several galactic timezones in order to get to the heart of the Republic could make even the most tireless of men weary.
Settled, Wolffe begins again. “What do you remember about last night?” A glance is cast over their helmets; the thought of scrubbing through helmet footage flickers in his mind.
“Might need to be more specific,” Fox replies, wantonly tracing the rim of his mug with his forefinger. “What part of last night are you asking about?”
“The part that ended with a dead ARC trooper.”
For a moment, the other commander remained unnaturally still, and equally quiet. Now that the reason behind the visit Wolffe was paying him had been revealed, Fox felt the atmosphere of the diner tangibly shift. So that’s what this visit Wolffe was paying him was about. He was aware from the beginning Wolffe was coming all the way to Triple Zero to question him; not the subject matter of these questions.
It was time to establish a baseline for the brothers.
“What have you heard?”
Propping up the datafile, Wolffe presents the timeline as he understands it.
Alongside the Kaminoan Nala Se and General Shaak Ti, ARC trooper Fives had traveled to Coruscant from the Clone homeworld and met with Chancellor Palpatine at the Grand Republic Medical Facility. Shortly upon their arrival, Fives presented a potential Separatist plot that he believed responsible for the death of a trooper by the name of Tup to General Ti, the Chief Medical Scientist, and Palpatine. Agreeing to hear him out, Fives was granted limited audience with the Chancellor.
Per protocol, shock troopers and the Red Guard remained in the room when Palpatine requested to speak “alone” with Fives. This meant when the Chancellor was suddenly attacked, the response was almost immediate.
Under threat of apprehension, Fives would escape the Medical Facility, and remain unaccounted for for some time before making contact with a member of Torrent Company - namely their medic, Kix. Coordinates would be given to a location on Level 1325 with the request General Skywalker and Captain Rex meet him there, as soon as possible, and importantly, alone. His commanding officers would go to Hangar 18 in Sector I-9, where Fives had been spotted by a probe droid, and find themselves caught in a ray shield.
While effectively at his mercy, Fives would tell his commanding officers he had been set up, framed, before the arrival of the Corries.
“Did you hear anything Fives might have said when you arrived with the Guard?”
Fox, just about to take a drink, paused. “Not everything.” Once they had made it inside the warehouse, he and his men were more concerned with finding safe cover before moving into action.
A minor tell of annoyance, the twitching of the scarred brow over his brother’s cybernetic eye, did not go unnoticed by the red commander.
“Obviously. But what did you hear?”
“General Skywalker questioned why his ARC trooper believed the Chancellor was capable of orchestrating this… Separatist plot when an assassination attempt had failed. Said the Chancellor was incapable, though his soldier insisted.” Fox replied, considering the dregs in his mug for the moment before pouring himself another serving.
“At what point did you step in?”
Not long after, his vod tells him.
“His back was to us. Didn’t see us draw our DeeCees.”
“Why didn’t you stun him?” Wolffe nearly demands.
Fives had been declared a fugitive, the commander understood that. When he had taken part in the manhunt for Ahsoka Tano following the declaration of her own fugitive status following the bombing of the Jedi Temple and death of a suspect, Letta Turmond, it had been under orders. Tano had been a dear friend to General Plo; the Kel Dor often spoke so kindly of her… she had saved his life in the aftermath of Abregado.
But given the evidence at the time, he believed she was the primary suspect behind the blast that had killed Clones, maintenance workers and six Jedi, and left many more injured. A belief that would be buried once he heard General Skywalker had found and brought the true perpetrator before those who put the Togruta on trial. Firing upon someone he cared about, in his own fashion, while she was dazed and unarmed, would be the last time Wolffe ever saw Tano.
The guilt still gnaws at him.
Maybe if they had taken Fives alive, the real perpetrator could have been discovered. Like Barriss Offee had been.
“Why,” he repeats himself, determined to break Fox’s continued silence, “Tell me why, Fox.”
“We didn’t exactly have much of a choice, Wolffe. I ordered him to stand down, warned him not to do it; but he drew a nearby weapon. He was acting erratically.”
Fox had to make a split-second decision with highly volatile variables at play; the way he had been trained. The way both of them had been trained. Trained to make the tough calls that came with the lofty status as Marshal Commanders, before Wolffe had been stripped of such a rank. Robbed of the red.
It would be replaced with gray, to honor and remember the dead.
The innumerable, tragic dead.
Try as they might, the Kaminoans could never hope to train the sting of a brother’s tragic death out of the men of the GAR.
Following a break to use the diner’s refreshers and collect themselves, the commanders return to the table, making use of limited time before Wolffe is supposed to act upon new military-wide orders from General Plo.
“What orders?” Fox asks, brow pinched in confusion.
He hadn’t seen any such notification. Just a report from Thire and Thorn that more surveillance footage had been acquired of the events from last night; they now had an answer for how ARC trooper Fives avoided the shock troopers checking IDs in the Clone bar. A damn hat given to him by a corporal from another unit, of all things.
“I’m supposed to report to the nearest Republic med center to receive some kind of vaccination. For a parasite.”
Continuing to read the message on his comlink, Wolffe learns soldiers on other planets will need to await the arrival of the inoculation that was being mass-produced to protect every Clone, whether their deployment was peaceful, or on the front lines.
“They… think some kind of rare parasite native to Ringo Vinda was responsible for what happened to Tup. For the behavior Fives displayed before you-”
Something about this didn’t feel quite right.
This answer was too convenient. How was it possible that a parasite was missed by the Chief Medical Scientist during Tup’s thorough examination on Kamino, but discovered by the Chancellor’s personal doctors in a rushed autopsy? (They had been thorough, right?) How did invasive organisms cause these “aggression inhibitors” to decay? How many more men of the 501st Legion were potentially infected, and how did the organism spread? Something about this wasn’t adding up.
Maybe by asking the shock troopers who had been present during the conversation Fives had with the Chancellor, he could find something they missed; maybe they had heard something-
“ -ffe. Wolffe,”
Failing to get the flint-gray commander’s attention, Fox has reached across the table and taken hold of his hand just as he finds it beginning to tremble. Minor stress tremors such as these have plagued him since the ill-fated naval battle, though they’ve been dormant for a long time with a combination of strict rest and discipline. And typically, they’re almost unnoticeable.
But Fox has always had sharp eyes with even sharper ears.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
A slow burning behind his eyes—the feeling stronger on the right—served as an uncomfortable reminder that he had been unable to find much meaningful rest after hearing what happened in Coruscant’s sub-levels. Another brother’s tragic, untimely death. Resisting the urge to rub his eyes and rid himself of the discomfort, Wolffe instead returns the steady squeeze rather than pulling away.
Voice soft, he heaves a quiet sigh.
“Not recently enough, kit.”
Perhaps it was his own fatigue that had him jumping to absurd conclusions. The demise of an elite ARC trooper had reminded him of his own heavy losses, and his composure was beginning to suffer for it. That was unacceptable. He needed to sleep. Both of them needed to sleep.
But more importantly, Wolffe needed to leave. He had a set time to arrive at the med center by, and it would be imprudent to be late. Gathering the datafile, his comlink, and his helmet, Wolffe took one last gulp of caf before standing to bid his brother farewell.
Then, he had an idea.
“Maybe… after I’ve gotten the inoculation, we should both crash in your quarters for an hour if you’ve still got that shitty old couch stuffed in there since the last time I saw you.”
Fox chuckled, a lazy smirk settling over his features.
“It’s still there and shitter than ever,” the crimson commander promised, “Been too busy to remove it.”
Wolffe resealed his helmet so Fox wouldn’t see the grim smile, one grateful for the meager space to sleep and troubled by the responsibilities his brother has had to shoulder that have kept him so busy, he can’t rearrange a stained sofa.
It was no wonder Fox was sporting some silver around his temples prematurely. It probably wouldn’t be long before Wolffe’s own raven-dark hair did the same, given his own burdens and losses. This war would make old dogs out of both of them.
Assuming they lived long enough to see the supposed end of it. After all, only the dead will ever see the true end of war.
And that was a tragedy for the living.
Thank you for making such a uniquely heart-breaking request for this event Maia; I hope I did these canine commanders justice and made it appropriately angsty enough. I hope you enjoyed! 🩷
Fic taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636
[Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: OPEN]
#comment reply#(sorry for the essay Maia! I clearly had a lot I wanted to share haha)#thank you for reading! 🩷
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amab and afab, if they were used as shorthand for the actual full phrases that they signify, with emphasis on the "assigned" part, and an understanding that they are enforcements of normative (ie, dyadic and cisgender and binary) sex, would be like. really useful. but people took the terms and started using them as shorthand FOR normative sex instead of the ENFORCEMENT OF normative sex. so when other trans people (almost always dyadic trans people) ask for your agab they are almost always asking for your Original Genital Situation. your starting point, so to say. and the reason FOR asking is also almost always bc they are trying to also enforce a certain kind of normativity within queer spaces (which is stupid bc being queer is inherently non-normative but here we are). like, you cant be a lesbian if you're ftm, bc you ARE m, so if you ARE a lesbian, then that means you're lying about some aspect of your identity. does that make sense?
it is always always always incredibly.... i do not trust dyadic trans people that use cagab terms, even moreso than i do not trust dyadic trans people that just use agab terms. agab is also coopted intersex language, but the "coercive" part of cagab SPECIFICALLY refers to medical "intervention" of intersex characteristics, such as "corrective" surgeries and hrt. i am deeply fucking suspicious of any dyadic trans person that uses those terms exactly the same as described above, even moreso if they do so bc "all gender is coercive".
like. yeah. that's true. but you use these terms to erase and overtake intersex discussions on the medical abuse of intersex infants. and i cant help but wonder why you would feel the need to do that.
#iirc it was also common to tirf ideology and the baeddel group#< notoriously intersexist group#to say nothing of any other tirf beliefs#both of these misuses of agab and cagab come from the same source#but it is . deeply disconcerting with cagab#bc its like. that is such a lesser known term in the greater dyadic trans community#you would HAVE to have known what it originally meant#either YOU are misusing it INTENTIONALLY#or someone TAUGHT you to misuse it INTENTIONALLY#people that are cruel and bigoted always want to believe theyre good people#so its hard to convince them when they are being bigoted#esp as marginalized people#and especially as a marginalized people that is particularly affected by the same enforcement of normative sex#the more i learned about this the more i learned abt intersexism in trans spaces#the more i notice it. its so fucking pervasive#and like u should care abt intersexism on its own but its like#no surprise that the ppl misusing cagab terms usually are transandrophobic (as the discourse du jour) and exorsexist#these things go together and reinforce each other#anyways it sucks bc ill see a BEAUTIFULLY written analysis of transmisogyny but so often there will be#like one thing. two things maybe.#and ill go to ops blog search a few keywords and lo and behold#they are transphobic. they are intersexist. they are racist. they are aphobic.#all forms of exclusionist politic in the queer community just lead into each other ad infinitum#nauseating... and#i will read the theory of people who disgust me or who are fundamentally wrong abt other ppls experiences bc i think they still have#valuable things to say but i am SO FUCKING TIRED of running into the same goddamn problem EVERY fucking time#i think its just the posts that get circulated the most that are like that#bc i think the majority of people dont actively seek out and learn abt new queer theory as it rolls in#or other ppls experiences in general#so they dont learnt to recognize the red flags or even realize why its bad in the first place
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this isnt rlly a serious post more so than a thought I need to verbalize but like. there’s an INSANE difference between the fandom being like “hey what if jack was actually his age and got to be a little normal” vs y’all treating a grown ass man like he has to cover his ears when someone swears or sleep with a nightlight on because he’s afraid of the dark, and throwing the P word around to anyone who thinks he’s attractive. one of these things is not like the other.
#there’s a layer here about giving jack the childhood he specifically chose not to have#and ignoring his other choices because that’s just. idk a running theme with any character who struggles to have autonomy#but whatever idk#genuinely i think the past year or so that I’ve spent talking about this has burnt me out#either that or I’m just too fixated on VB to really care too much#like obviously I still care about it and wish more was done to help but it’s not really a warpath for me to walk currently#just.#I’m just tired dawg#it’s like talking to a deaf brick wall#please just do some research into infantilization I cannot keep having a one sided conversation with people who don’t care#spn#jack kline#baby jack#spn fandom#fandom critical#fandom ableism#tfw2.0#not even just ableism it’s the whole mischaracterization woobified bullshit all over again#and the using baby jack as a prop for everyone else but I digress#jack: *chose not to be a child and hates being seen as one and is more than willing to get violent if he thinks he has to*#y’all for some fucking reason: he’s just a widdle baby he can’t handle the scary movie he needs his daddies to take care of him#I’ve already said all these things before#i am tired. so tired
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Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:
She'd rebuild it—what she had been.
Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.
Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."
"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.
"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."
"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.
Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.
Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.
At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.
In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.
She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.
Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."
A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.
She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."
Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."
"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."
Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.
"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."
"I do know."
"And?"
"And what do you wish me to say?"
She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"
"If what?"
"If you wish it wasn't so."
His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"
She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.
It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.
"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."
She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.
"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."
She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."
"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"
"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."
"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."
"Then it is her choice, not yours."
Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."
"What did she show you?" A breathless question.
Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."
She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."
His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"
She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.
Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."
She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.
"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.
"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."
A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"
"We'll face it together," he swore again.
"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.
Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."
"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."
She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.
"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."
She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.
She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"
"I thought you might want to be asked first."
"That never stopped you before."
"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.
She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."
He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.
"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."
The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.
"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.
Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.
Together.
#Chapter 41#Kingdom of Ash#Sarah J. Maas#Aelin Galathynius#Rowan Whitethorn#Rowaelin#soulmates#mates#spoilers and notes in tags cause this chapter and also spoilers in post cause this chapter first read react with me read along#Rowaelin chapters scenes moments quotes#they want to make it possible bring that love to light#am I allowed to cry? — Again the word endured — finally the dream — the sand she still sees — he’s magic being steady — them talking time#again if Maeve could convince Rowan Lyria was his mate how bad was it when she convinced Aelin her actual mate was dead… this hurts me…#the fact Aelin stopped being useful because it destroyed her beyond belief but the dreams the dreams almost got her because its all she wan#again then both feeling sorry and the other not realizing and then consent and then comfort and love & I just wanted it2be U how could I no#I know you are tired Fireheart (ALL THE TROPES IN ONE LINE… UGH I MISSED THIS SHIP)#together. one soul in two bodies. their endgame like literally they are. I’d choose you too. even the apologies that were needed just heali#what it might have once been — together — not alone — not returning alone — the king and queen of Terrasen — I need u more — 2 whatever end#Aelin watched the boat until it disappeared trying not to stare too long at the clean unstained sand beneath her boots#always north — she didn’t care she just wanted far away — who knew — what she knew-the letters she sent-Valg-dark blood that had turned red#If it had been another dreamscape or some fragment that had blended into the very real memory of Connall's death. — always a plab&theory#all these things to deal with later-she’d rebuild all she had been-her match helper mirror-matched his piercing stare with her own-wait/res#A far cry from a queen's chamber or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin. — how far we’ve come-she had ENDURED she can do it#I'm your mate she said needing to voice it. And you are mine. — Lyria. — I do know. and?&what do you wish me to say?-this was perfect#If what? If you wish it wasn't so. His brows narrowed. Why would I ever wish that? — Aelin. she looked at him at the pain in his words#the way it's changed since Mistward... and grown... even in names like Whitethorn Galathynius together — the brain thoughts are back —#The kiss was gentle-light. Letting her decide how to guide it. So she did. — he’d do it all night if that was what’s he wished#Together we'll find a way their mingling breaths the crashing sea seemed to echo. Together. — mountains and oceans#Might’ve been before-thought snapped-the bond- u r my mate&I am urs-the world might have been burning for all she cared all he cared too#Together they would face this together they would find a way. — claiming him as he claimed her — a scar a marker a tattoo
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i think i mightve talked abt this a bit in my longpost about how insane phi as a character is to me but yknow what i really wanna point out? all the nonary game shit she has to go through happens in really quick succession to her - she doesn't really get a proper "break" in between VLR and ZTD for her mentally. junpei and akane at least have about a year between the two, and sigma has 45 years (not that either of those situations were particularly good either though, looking at how sigma and junpei especially turned out, and sigma spent years WORKING on the AB game, just not participating in it). but for phi? she has a matter of DAYS in between the two. the time sigma spends she spends in cold sleep, so mentally to her, her consciousness goes from the events of VLR's phi end to DCOM almost instantly. dcom only ends up lasting for about 5 days, and even then the prologue states that phi/sigma/akane spent most of it worrying about radical-6 and the future + the flashback with diana shows phi is just so Tired after everything after just that. and then the decision game happens. my point is just that i cannot imagine being in a death game like that (not to mention everyone had radical-6, so she went from a body that Did have it to one that didn't, which i can imagine would probably a pretty weird experience considering one of its symptoms is messing up your perception of time. and also she was on the moon.), spending 5 days like god how did the apocalypse start i can't let it happen this time and then being in Another death game that is much more gruesome and violent. not to mention both of them in a way HAD to happen because of her (2074 nonary game bc it needed to train sigma and phi's SHIFTing abilities to a good enough degree and decision game one of the reasons was to ensure she and delta were born). in summary: i would fucking die at that point if i was phi dealing with that All At Once. in the span of a few days. and with the memories of my + others' deaths. what the fuck
#trevor.txt#zero escape#zero escape phi#phi vlr#vlr spoilers#virtue's last reward#zero time dilemma#ztd#like. not that junpei/akane/sigma Dont also kind of go through it a bit in the space they're given#especially in sigma's case how LONG it is is one of the things that messes him up a bit#but phi gets like. a matter of days mentally#which is insane. what the fuck. i personally could not handle that she is stronger than i am#like i talked abt this in the post where i mentioned how the characters chsange from 999/vlr to ZTD but like!#it makes sense that phi's notably more emotional + doesn't really care if she dies or not. its all kind of Recent#just messes me up thinking about it. especially with the whole “going from a body with radical-6 to a body that doesn't” thing i mentioned#and the flashback with diana !!! Good Lord#who else up being known for being cold and unemotional but having a moment where you're just so tired after everything youve been through#that you allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of someone you don't even know that well#i dont know. im fucked up. does anyone understand this fucks me up a bit#phiposting#<- making a tag for this bc i talk abt her A Lot on here
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feels like the isolation is a gushing wound and going to the centre is just a small bandage. i think perhaps i am not really ever going to feel okay unless something miraculous happens. i am retaining some semblance of sanity now that I'm leaving the house and socializing with non-family more than once a week, but i am still hurting more than I can really tolerate and I don't know what to do about it. there doesn't seem to be a fix for this that I can enact.
#part of me wonders if going to the centre is helping or hurting more#but i think it's definitely helping more. however it is definitely also hurting/making some things worse#i just wish I could be operating at the same level as most of society#and i feel so egotistical when I talk abt this#but like. why am i always so fucking aware of every single thing going on#and everyone else is just painfully oblivious#I AM USING HYPERBOLE. ITS NOT EVERYONE. i know im not the only person ever lmao#when i got my autism diagnosis i thought oh good okay so THIS is why im such a freak#and now I've met so many other autistic ppl irl and um. no. no thats definitely not it still.#yes its probably part of it but im also just. so fucking traumatized i guess idk. i hate this so much#i just want to be the same and fit in and not be analyzing everything and be able to actually speak my mind#and not be so kind and polite and respectful all the time and be able to say shitty stupid things without thinking anything of it#im so tired of being the only one who seems to care so much about everyone else's comfort and feelings#but also at the same time i would hate if i acted like everyone else bc i know how shitty it makes people feel#and people are always so happy to see me because I am useful and make them feel good and comfortable and heard#and that matters. that means a lot to people i think. but also I am not a person. i am a tool.#and I'd really like to be a person#i somehow feel like im operating at a higher level/awareness than almost everyone irl and also way below everyone at the same time#like im so hyperaware of everyone else more than most ppl but im also so socially inept sometimes. and just... idk how to be a person.#i dont know i just want to not be like this. its so lonely and tiring and i want to matter to people#i want them to like me for more than just what I'm able to do for them. I want to be liked for Me i guess. but Me isnt likeable maybe#Me is uncomfortable for people. Me is a trembling cornered prey animal with a longing to tell stories but is too afraid to do anything#and so Me just exists in a hollow shell made out of people-pleasing and fawning and mirroring everyone around them#and then i get lonelier and more isolated and nothing really changes. but every time i try to crack open the shell a little it goes badly#like i genuinely dont think its my paranoia. i think it is not Safe for Me to exist properly.#i am too sensitive probably! but it does very much feel like a raw wound that peope jab aggressively at when i open up a little!#boy howdy i sound like such a wuss. i mean i probably am one fjfkdl#i just feel like I keep trying to fix things and improve and try new things and nothing ever really works well#my counsellors have always commented on how impressed they are at my willingness to try things#and its like ?? yeah ! ofc i am going to try things! maybe that will be smth that finally helps!
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I am so normal about all of us villains and all of our demise I am so normal about it ask me how normal I am about it I am so cool and causal about Alistair and Briony and Hendry and Reid and Gavin and Isobel and Finley and guys I am so normal can you tell I am so normal because I am. Normal I mean.
#guess who finished it 😀😀😀😀😀😀😀 completely normal guys completely normal#I literally have no thoughts left I am so tired emotionally that I’ll just go to sleep and cry about it more tomorrow#I know no one cared but I do and yaLL GO READ IT PLEASE I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS WITH SOMEONE#I NEED TO TALK ABOUT BRIONY AND HER WHOLE HERO SACRIFICE COMPLEX COMONG FULL CIRCLE#ABOUT FINLEY TRYING TO ACT COOL AND CAUSAL WHEN HE WAS BREAKING#ISOBEL AND REID KISSING AND BEING LITTLE RATS TOGETHER I LOVE LOSERS AND GIRLBOSSES#ABOUT GAVIN AND ALISTAIR LITERALLY BEING THE MOST SOULMATE EVER AND ENEMIES TO LOVERS AND HEALING AND I DONT WANNA FIX YOU ILL LOVE YOU AS#YOU ARE AND GUYS I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS AHAA PLEASE#all of our demise#book#all of us villains#all of us villains spoilers
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Shout-out to everyone who survived a "fun" easter with the family
#fucking hell#it started with finding out my dad smoked in my car when I picked up my sister#who was equally dreading the day#my mum turns into the world's tensest and judgemental presence. worsened by my aunt#then hell for autistic people (of which there are multiple present)#multiple deaf people means one uninspired conversation that isn't interesting in any way.#combinations of passive aggressiveness and people not saying a thing because they can't participate. voice volumes too damn high#weirdass food situations. Very full table. so many smells.#this goes on for over an hour. wishing for literally anything but being there. soul crushing.#then you still have to sit in that room for 2.5 hours. it just goes on and on.#my autistic deaf dad physically looks like how I feel. my mum and aunt keep piling on top of him to demand his mental presence#i leave the room once (to get my phone to show pictures to my uncle) and am immediately followed upstairs by my mum#who demands I don't leave the room (What's next. following me when I need the toilet?)#me and my sister are so bored we start throwing paper planes and fake fighting.#Which amuses the bored and the deaf#but of course my mum and aunt have opinions and this is not allowed. only soul crushing boredom allowed#they complain to each other over it while aggressively doing dishes#finally it ends because my mum and aunt start insisting my dad should go to bed if he's 'that tired'. *sprinkle on some additional ableism*#still sitting through a conversation about allergies one of my sister's friends has. my mum preaching that people should take that seriously#(meanwhile i had to cook for myself for 9 years because when my allergies were really bad no one bothered to check if i could eat something)#me and my sister go sit upstairs to discover our mum has made things we care about vanish in her room#and made things appear that should not be there#I've washed the interior of my car and hope the smell will go#you think it's over after that. but woke up with the realisation that even more things have disappeared from my sister's room.#i can't remember a time when things left outside of my room didn't disappear#I don't know why we do these family gatherings at all. no one has fun on days like that.#the housing crisis isn't making these things easy. my sister is losing her place to live again as well#she'll go hiking for a month and then work on a campsite over the summer#maybe I'll go house sitting again. idk.#can't make commitments a few months in advance like that because I'll cancel everything the second Sparks announces anything important
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#oh i am a bit tired tonight folks. had a nice time yesterday trawling through old pens forums and linking back some posts to here#(all with links because like - it's nice to share where you've found fun stuff right?) no point gatekeeping at all - we don't own content#and then the same old people once again somehow by chance post the exact same five or six photos 5 minutes after#and yeah. great minds think alike right? you were probably trawling a not touched since 2015 forum too at the same time. it's possible#and out of the hundreds of photos on there you decided to make the exact selection i did. it's possible right?#and truthfully i don't really care because i'm posting this stuff because my blog is MY personal archive and it's stuff I want to catalogue#but when you have blocked as many blogs and sideblogs as you can and people are still finding you and send you shitty anons for just...#daring to use the player tags? cataloging stuff by literally tagging the player's name? ughhhhh it's exhausting how can i block you when yo#are the tumblr equivalent of hydra regrowing a new fake sideblog pretending to be a different person every week.#sorry i know this ranting into the abyss is pointless but i have a few more posts scheduled for tonight and i know i'll wake up tomorrow#and miraculously the same ones will be posted on the same people's blogs 5 minutes after me and it's just so childish#but yeah. we all know who they are and i'm just a little tired of it and hearing the stories of people being harassed in their inboxes/dms#anyway anyway anyway. i think i shall just take a break from posting stuff because feeling a little disheartened! and uncomfortable#because i feel watched. please stop using other blogs to find me. please stop talking about me in your tags. touch some grass my friends
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