[Jason and Steph hanging out at Jay's apartment]
Jason: So you and Tim are like, done, right?
Steph: Oh yeah, it's definitely over. It was pretty mutual, too.
Jason: Oh, thank God. I didn't wanna say it, but it was a bit annoying whenever I invited you over, and you dragged Tim with you.
Steph: yeahhh sorry about that
Jason: It's just nice spending quality time without the rest of the bats butting in. I already have enough to deal with whenever I visit the manor.
Steph: Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm gonna be 100% batboy/Robin-free from now on!
---
Steph showing up to Jason's apartment 1 month later with Cass in tow: So here's the thing-
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you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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As High Marshall Commander, a title foisted on him by the Galaxy’s fakest bitch aka Chancellor Palpatine, Fox theoretically has privileges and authorities like no other clone. In practice, he has a headache and gets ignored more obviously than before.
What he also has is a fancy new function on his personal comm unit modified to broadcast GAR-wide to all commanding officers, up to and including Jedi. It gathers dust next to his own modified button that sees much better use - a private channel to Stone, the only vod that will let Fox bitch at him to his heart’s content without hanging up (Thire) or bitching right back (Thorn).
It’s been a long shift of 72 hours, the maximum Stabby allows him to do without a well-placed hypo to the neck, when Fox finally collapses on his rickety cot in the Command quarters and hits the private comm connection to Stone without looking. He’s already rolling his eyes so hard it tweaks at the migraine that’s been building since hour 18 and heaving a put-upon sigh.
“Everyone is stupid, Stone, and asking to be thrown face-first from the Dome balustrades”, he begins, settling into a low, dead tone of voice to warm to the building monologue. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. “I swear to haran I’m going to wring Amedda’s stringy neck one of these days. I don’t know what magical Force gods his mother pissed off, but they made sure to punish her and the Galaxy at large a hundred times over. He sucks the joy and competence out of every room like a black hole of stupid. I’d call him a has-been, but I trust in the power of nepotism and also just don’t believe he ever was. I swear he’s doing it on purpose and - oh, kriffing Sith-damned hells, you know who’s definitely doing it on purpose?! The kriffing Chancellor, that wrinkly ass-faced ballsack!”
Taking a deep breath, Fox lets that sit in his chest for a moment, indulging in the feeling of bright weightlessness. “I swear he’s trying to keep the war going - no one man can be that incompetent and still draw breath, not even Amedda or Taa. Goddamn Taa - but anyways, kriffing hell, Stone, either the senility isn’t an act or he’s a bad cartoon villain from Dooby Scoo. Yes Sir, sending Senator Amidala to a Seppie-infested planet for negotiations is a great idea after her fourth bomb threat of the week. No Sir, I can’t hear you cackling evilly with Count Dooku under your lame two-credit robe as you’re definitely not colluding with the Republic’s enemies. What, you have a red lightsaber?! Oh, of course I don’t know what that means, I was dropped on the head as a tubie!”
Barely pulling in a harsh breath, Fox continues, palms pressing into his eyeballs hard enough to cause sparks. “And speaking of lightsabers and senile fucks, haran smite my ass off but who the kriff thought it’d be a good idea to give absolute tactical and military authority to the kriffing eldritch space monks! The Force didn’t bless them with the collective good sense it gave to a kriffing rock, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise! Has anyone kriffing read the Theed Convention of Sentient Rights in Wartimes?! NO?!! Well, color me UNSURPRISED, because war crimes ARE NOT! GOOD! BATTLE! TACTICS!!”
“They run around in crop tops, Stone, in crop tops! Oh, the Force provides - WELL I’M GOING TO PROVIDE MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS, AND IT’S GOING TO HURT BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT WEARING KRIFFING ARMOUR!”
“Sure, let’s send the preteens into active warzones under heavy artillery in kriffing party wear! Surely nothing will ever go wrong! And give them commanding positions equivalent to CC-clones, WHO WERE LITERALLY GENETICALLY CREATED FOR IT! WITH A DECADE OF INTENSE TRAINING! LET’S DO THAT, BECAUSE WE’RE ALL KRIFFING STUPID!”
He’s gesturing wildly at the ceiling now, face heating up as his blood boils beneath the surface. “And you know what really gets my lowers in a twist, apart from the preteen commanding officers and blatant kriffing high treason and war profiteering?! Is it the complete lack of recognition? Gratitude? Basic sentient rights?! No, Stone, no, I would take all that in stride if it meant I never had to see Skywalker and Amidala kriffing canoodle right in front of me again, and pretend like it isn’t the galaxy’s worst conflict of interest case in the making!”
“By all levels of Sith-hell, what the kriff is wrong with that woman? You have it all, you could have anyone, and you choose that twatwaffle?! And then they have the gall to lock themselves in a broom closet for twenty minutes straight and have me guard it! ‘Oh yes, Senator, naturally we all go rattling brooms with our good friends! Nothing dodgy happening at all! I definitely believe you were looking for detergent and have used a washing machine before!’ The absolute nerve on those two! And then last week - you’ll never believe this - High General Windu passed by, and I swear he looked like he wanted to throw himself off the roof! I’ve never been less impressed by anyone in my life, and I’m batch-mates with Bly!”
“Speaking of Bly, that little bitchtit - if I have to edit one more, one more kriffing propaganda piece of him staring at General Secura’s bits, I’m going to stab my eye out! And if I have to edit one more of Secura staring at his bits, I’m going to stab the other one out! The only good thing I have to say about them is they’re more subtle than Skywalker and Amidala, which means nothing really. I will never understand that woman - but then she’s worked with Jar Jar Binks for a decade and not had a nervous breakdown, so she either has nerves of steel or is on some good-ass drugs.”
“Girl, your choices. And you know what else is a choice? Kote kriffing roundhouse-kicking heads off droids when he has a perfectly good blaster right there! I don’t know what the Longnecks put in his tube, but I hope to kriff it’s not contagious. I’d say I’m glad he has Kenobi to keep him in check, but that man wouldn’t know common sense if it punched his nose clean off his face. Flirting with General Grievous, ugh. I’d say he can do better, but honestly, they deserve each other.”
“And Wolffe - “, panting, Fox pauses, considering. “Well, Wolffe is an asshole and stupid, and I hate him because he’s stupid and has a stupid face. Also he keeps drunkenly submitting adoption paperwork on General Koon’s behalf - I wish I could say something mean about that, but honestly, his existence is roast enough. Anyways, bitches are trying me today, and by bitches I mean everyone. Commander Fox signing off to go not commit treason, unfortunately.”
Thoroughly powered out, Fox sinks into his hard mattress with a deep sigh. Several seconds of silence reign, and then his comm unit starts blaring in alarm.
Somewhere in the Jedi Temple, Mace Windu is knocked flat on his ass by a gargantuan shatterpoint exploding.
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Neopets Users: Half of the website is bungled and sitting on top of 90's spaghetti code that is circumvented by having about 50% of the pages to load in the old website format, we can't change our Usernames since they act as our User IDs that are inexorably tied to our accounts, and the only way we can get some apparel is through a loot box that costs real money, sometimes upwards of 10 bucks for a 25% chance of getting what we want. That's ok tho, my favorite neopet has a custom outfit that looks really nice :] Sucks when the clothing that costs realass money doesn't show up on my pet though. I hope they fix that soon
Flight Rising Users: If the staff releases one more dragon breed with 4 legs and 2 wings we're going to file a class action lawsuit and scream forever
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