#these are the difficult decisions i have to make

[help-esraa7]

I am a weak and oppressed woman living in Gaza, struggling every day while everyone ignores my suffering. I have no income, no food, and no clothing. Please, I am desperate and willing to clean your shoes or do any work in exchange for any help you can offer. I just need to survive😭💔.

🚨 Urgent Help Needed 🚨

Hello friend 🍉🇵🇸,

I’m Esraa Mounes Al-Kafarna, a mother from Gaza. My youngest needs milk, and my other child requires treatment for a skin disease. The conflict has made survival extremely difficult 💔.

Your support can save their lives. Any donation, big or small, makes a difference.

Please donate and share: [https://gofund.me/e6cd83a9]

Thank you for your kindness.

Esraa Al-Kafarna

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This powerful image captures the face of a wounded Palestinian woman whose hijab is soaked in blood—likely her own or that of a loved one. Her eyes tell a story of unimaginable pain and strength in the face of loss. She stands in a chaotic hospital hallway, surrounded by others in distress. As an oppressed and weak woman from Gaza, I see myself in her. I, too, have suffered greatly—my baby, Qais, was injured in the war, and the hospital refused to treat him because we cannot pay. Please, I beg you to help us. Your donation can provide the medicine and care Qais urgently needs.

Life in Gaza is unbearable for women like me.

1. I wait in line for two hours just to bring food back to our tent - food that is never enough.

2. I clean the shoes of strangers on the street-just to earn a few coins for Qais's medicine.

3. We were turned away from the hospital-they said no money, no treatment, even for a child as young as Qais.

I carry this pain in silence, but I cannot bear it alone anymore. The woman in this picture used her hijab to try and save her son's life. I am doing everything I can to save mine. But without help, I fear I will lose him too. Please, Donate anything you can-no matter how small. Even a few dollars could mean a meal, a medicine dose, or a chance for Qais to live. Share this, speak up, and help us survive.

Donate Now Here

Please donate for Qais's treatment, Donate Here

Please stop ✋🚨 you're the only hope to save a child😔😭

Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #64 )🍉🇵🇸

[bonsubear]

You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#4

#1, #2, #3, #4, #?

CW: ooc, violence, mild gore

WC: 8k

You tried to use the Invincible variant that was holding you as a stepping stool to give you a jumping leap, but he quickly acted as he grabbed a hold of the heel of your foot.

You yelped in surprise, not expecting a quick reaction as you slipped and fell downwards. Not wanting you to fall, he used his free arm to wrap around your leg to catch you.

You were now dangled upside down in the air, pressed against the variant's muscular body.

You grunted, straining your neck to lift your head away from Mask’s legs so you wouldn't be smothered against them. You pressed against his knees using your hands to create more distance from the lower part of his body, extremely displeased at this bad positioning.

"Wait, wait a minute!" He stumbled; his voice was close to a begging tone as he had a firm but soft grip on you. It was evident that Mask didn't want to hurt you, though you didn't care as you thrashed wildly against his hold, wanting nothing more than to get away from the man.

Trying to loosen the grip he had was strenuous with how this positioning actively worked against you, making it hard to get out of.

It felt like you were a fish caught by a hook—no matter how much you struggled his grip didn’t let up. Hell, it felt like the more you did the more he made sure to hold you even tighter.

"Fucking shit! —Let go of me!" You yelled through gritted teeth as you tried to look up as you kicked your legs wildly, though it was difficult to do so with how close your two bodies were.

"Just listen to me, I won't hurt you—I want to help you!"

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. "I am not finding out what your sick definition of help is!" You retorted, refusing to even play with the idea of hearing what this blue and black variant had to say.

It would be a very stupid and bad decision to spend one more second with this Invincible variant, especially with how "great" the previous interactions with the others were.

It was really absurd, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely infuriated you to your core. Being caught off guard and captured, then thrown into a dingy prison basement, and then to top it all off being used as an asset against your will was already upsetting.

But it didn't just stop there—your supposed opponents that the G.D.A told you to fight were some deranged, mentally ill freaks that wanted nothing more to push their delusions onto you because they apparently had a relationship with—well, you?

When you went searching for Invincibles to kill and find the perfect murder method for your own Invincible, you were expecting a fight. A brutal, disastrous fight where you were crowned victorious in the end.

That’s how all fights go—how all fights should go. It was the basic formula known to man.

Instead, it was some big reunion where they all drooled over you like a bunch of slobbery dogs looking at their long-lost favorite toy.

You would’ve rather been beaten to death then ever go through that again!  

Each fiber of your being wanted to run away and come back with a flame thrower to kill each single one of them, exterminating their annoying asses to guarantee you’ll never see them again.

Especially that black and yellow degenerate.

"Okay, okay!" He panicked, "I can see how this looks but you have to trust me!" Mask desperately pleaded, a whine scratching at the back of his throat as you continued to fight against him. "I got you away from the others, they're way worse—"

"Oh!" You rolled your eyes, a scoff quick to escape your throat. "My hero, my hero! Thank you so much for rescuing me!"

You clasped your hands together, each word dripping in sarcasm. "Say, what do you want as your reward? Money?" You asked before pausing for dramatic effect. You let out a wild fake gasp. "Oh, of course not! Me, right?"

Mask was taken aback with that witty response, defensive words choking in his throat as his cheeks heated up underneath his black mask. "No! (Y/N)—No, I—that's not what's happening!"

You furrowed your brows, digging your fingernails in his knees. "Either way, I don't want to fucking know what is happening!" You replied, spitting out the curse word with venom.

You brought your head close to his leg, opening your jaw wide. You clamped your teeth down hard, making sure to make it hurt as much as it can. Your teeth sunk into his skin through the thin layer of spandex, the soft sensation yet sturdy muscle meeting your mouth.

The Invincible variant gasped in shock, not expecting the sharp sensation of your teeth to dig inside his leg. His grip loosened, allowing you to finally wiggle out of his grasp.

Even though his mind didn't know how to react to this, his body certainly did. His foot jerked to your face, and before you could raise your hand to block it his foot already contacted the top of your forehead.

It was immediate, and your head swung backwards from the kick.

It didn't take you long for you to hit the ground, the road splitting in half as you were smacked to the ground—rolling like an unstoppable boulder.

You crashed into a fire hydrant that stopped your momentum, but at a consequence of it busting open and water gushing out everywhere. The water sprayed on the ruined road, the cracked sidewalk, and onto you.

Your prison jumpsuit quickly became soaked with water from the broken fire hydrant, the loose fabric sticking to your skin making it hug your silhouette.

At first, Mask didn't realize what he had done—watching you crash into the fire hydrant not registering that he had been the one to be the cause. When he finally realized, he was fast to descend down.

"I'm, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick you like that, I don't even know why I—are you okay?!" He hurriedly rushed to your side, crouching as his eyes looked at your forehead that was forming a noticeable bump.

Water still escaped from the fire hydrant, but it turned into a light lawn spray as he looked at you.

Your eyes hazily opened, pushing yourself up using your elbows. You slapped a hand on your forehead, your brain feeling like it shifted with how hard the kick was. You winced, jumping at how there was already a bump forming.

The variant next to you was repeating apologies, reciting them like scriptures. You couldn't really pay attention, your blurry vision taking their time to adjust as your hearing made everything around you, particularly Mask's voice, sound like white noise.

"—let's get you somewhere safe," Mask hurriedly looked around before landing his eyes on you again, "someone might've heard that. We have to go." He spoke with urgency, placing a careful hand behind your back.

Your blurry vision quickly became clear, and hearing returned to your ears, your healing properties finally kicking in and fixing the damage that had been done to you. The bump that was rapidly swelling on your forehead also died down, returning to the same level as the rest of your skin.

You blinked, your eyes finally trailing to the Invincible variant.

He was too close for comfort, and you tensed as you felt the hand that was cupped on your back. Your gaze moved to his face, and his goggles were completely void of glass besides the small remnants that edged the outline.

His brown eyes were on full display, and they looked deeply into yours as if they were the only thing worth peering into. It was clear as day how much blind affection, softness, and worry filled those eyes.

It made your skin crawl to be viewed with so much tender emotions for so many reasons, one of them being that you knew it wasn't directed towards you. It was someone else who was a different version of you that got to experience another life than the one you have currently.

You felt like a second rate to some weaker version of you that died. A version of you that didn't even have powers.

Though you guess if you had to admit you were a speck jealous. Those versions of you probably had normal lives, normal hobbies, normal jobs—normal everything. Even if their life wasn’t that pretty, it probably was better than what your life was right now.

Although that small trace of jealousy disappeared as soon as you remembered they had the misfortune of dating Invincible. The Invincible variants were whack, crazy, and probably made their lives a living hell.

You grimaced and shrunk away as he reached a hand out to you, aiming to caress your forehead with his blue gloves. Your face contorted into a glare, your hand flying to secure his wrist and fling him behind you like he weighed nothing but a grain of salt.

Mask was flung inside an empty cafe, breaking through the brick wall and through the marble counter. A pot of cold coffee that was abandoned at the workstation during evacuation fell on his shoulder, pouring out and staining the side of his suit.

You pulled yourself up, the soaked clothing making you shiver uncomfortably. I need to change out of this.

You looked around to see where you were. Even though the surrounding buildings and structures were decimated and resembled more of an apocalypse than a functioning city—you thankfully were able to recognize what part of Chicago you were in.

You squinted, trying to jog your memory. You had made secret deserted spaces that people and the city itself forgot existed as hide outs, places for you to retreat and hide from whenever you were finished doing your routine destruction and "rough housing" with civilians.

That's how you were able to run and disappear so fast whenever superheroes tried to capture you during your "hobby". It was funny hearing them frustrated and angry when you slipped away, their muffled voices coming behind the entrance of one of your many hideouts whenever they walked past one.

At least, that's how it used to be. Other superheroes seemed to have moved on from you, the only super showing up to stop your reenactment of Godzilla movies on the city before being locked up behind bars was Invincible.

...

It was odd, honestly.

To totally toot your own horn, even though you were a regular menace and an everyday pain in the ass that everyone became "use" to—you were still that, a menace.

You knew that the secret organization sent any hero near your vicinity to deal with you before you could cause any more indirect casualties—but they seemed to have changed their mind one day and only sent Invincible.

Sure, he stopped you each time—but it must’ve not been efficient to send him every time with how quick you were to get to wrecking. There was no way he was the closest to you every single time with how you made sure to pick different spots to remain unpredictable.

If you didn't know any better, it felt like he called dibs on you.

You couldn’t help but think that because there were multiple times where he unknowingly stood near a concealed hideout you were in. It was easy to eavesdrop him conversing with himself, overhearing mutters and incoherent whispers.

His mutters were always along the lines of hoping you were okay, that you'd heal and recover quickly, that he hoped he made a good impression this time, and something about how he should stop running to you?

You got a slow, sinking feeling form into your stomach as you thought more about this world's Invincible.

He was always weird, treating you differently from other villains. You always chalked it up to be a potential hero complex, all superheroes having some mild form of it. That’s what you theorized, anyway.

Saving the city, saving civilians—it's inevitable that a shiny new hero thinks they can save a villain from the mess they are.

It wasn't the first time a super thought they could change you, "fix" you for the better. You always spat out a harsh refusal over and over again until they finally gave up. It was easy, just be an insensitive prick and they wished the kind words they spoke to you were punches instead.

Invincible was the longest, being stubborn about offering you redemption and friendship no matter how much you drilled it into him that you won't budge.

You literally beat it in him with each encounter, but he would show up once again with a smile whenever you were out and about.

You became used to seeing him, even with how annoyed you were each time. It became familiar to just randomly turn around and see him staring at you while you were punching holes inside a building, like a shadow waiting to be acknowledged.

However, he was still a good guy—at least, you think. Experiencing these different versions of him made your head wonder if he had more interest in you than he should have beyond just the potential hero complex and annoying moves for friendship.

It seemed like all his variants so far did, having some sort of romantic relationship with your counterparts. You didn't want to think it but—did your Invincible hold some sort of affection for you?

Of five variants of five realities, Invincible liked you in each one of them.

What's to say this reality was any different in that regard?

What's to say that he didn't view you more than a criminal?

What's to say that your Invincible wasn't like them?

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to snap out of your train of thoughts.

That just wouldn't make sense, Invincible viewing you in a romantic way. It just logically wouldn't. You treated him lower than dirt more times than you can count—he'd have to have his own form of delusion to form lovey dovey thoughts for you.

You had to hold out hope that your Invincible was a good, weird, but normal superhero. If the Invincible variants were searching for you—you needed help getting them off your back until this war blows over somehow.

"Don't fucking touch her!" You heard Mask shout, and you turned around to see what he was screaming at. As you did, you were met face to face with an Invincible variant that had sneaked up behind you. They wore a similar get up to your Invincible's suit, but they had washed out colors and bigger goggles.

Your eyes widen, looking behind the newly appeared variant to see Mask approaching fast with his arms out. You were fast to sidestep, the newly appeared variant getting pushed to the ground where you previously stood.

You heard someone land behind you, and you turned around in a defensive stance to see that another Invincible variant had shown up.

Before he could get the chance to say anything, you jumped at him—socking him in the jaw. Twisting on your heel, you used the small momentum to kick his side. The variant was kicked to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

You jumped backwards, your back hitting someone else's. You looked over your shoulder to see that it was Mask, his fists raised ready to fight the variant he had roughly pushed aside.

Shifting your head to look at the sky. There were two more variants that were preparing to throw themselves at you, both having different versions of the yellow and blue Invincible suit that strayed far from the original.

You clicked your tongue, pressing your back further into Mask's as you knew if you fought them all by yourself, you'd be in deep shit. "If you're serious about helping me—then you'll help me get out of this alive. Then you'll fuck off and leave me alone."

"I can do the first one but..." His voice was muffled behind his mask, hesitance clear in his voice. His brown eyes flickered behind him, your hair in his view and the press of your back sending shivers down his spine.

Mask breath wavered, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from you to refocus on the Invincible variant that was picking themselves up from the floor.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mark huffed, trying to fight off the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake his body. He didn't know how long he was fighting these evil versions of him, but it must've been less than an hour with how the sky didn't shift to a different hue at all.

They were doing a number on him and to each other with how they were all strained in some way. Ragged breathing, minute slower movements, and taking any opportunity to catch themselves before jumping back into the chaotic fight.

The only variants that didn't seem completely worn out were Viltrum and Sinister—but even then, the two seemed out of it like the rest of them were.

"Are you kidding me with this bullshit!" Mohawk Mark screeched, his snarky voice making every variant pause. "Why the fuck are you fighting us?" He pointed, hovering next to Omni-Mark whose red cape was half torn.

Mark jumped, not expecting everyone to collectively stop fighting to look at who Mohawk was pointing at—which was him.

They all took in Mohawk's words, being interested to know the answer to his question. Either that or they were taking advantage of the rare stillness.

"What, what do you think!" He stuttered out, his voice squeezing as his body became more agitated than it already was. Mark felt on edge, like each nerve of his body was exposed. "You all think that you can just kidnap (Y/N)! She doesn't belong to either of you!"

"She doesn't belong to you either." Omni pointed out, his eyes narrowing at Mark with haughtiness. "Please, remind me again, what relationship do you two have?" He quipped, tilting his head in amusement.

Mark felt a lump form in his throat, his whole body feeling like someone had just ripped off his skin. Being reminded that these evil versions of him had something that he didn't have was painful—like he was being punished.

To add more salt to the wound that the red and white variant had opened, Mohawk jumped at the opportunity to rub it in Mainstream Mark's face on what he didn't have and ever got to experience—you.

"She was my girlfriend—got together senior year of high school and continued dating when she went to college." He let out an airy laugh, gesturing at the lower part of his body with both hands. "Suck it."

Viltrum took the surprise pause of the fight to add in his own relationship with you, tone flat but lighthearted—an invisible smile on his lips. "She was my wife. I met her the first time I went to Earth on the rooftop of her apartment complex."

His eyes flickered to the punk-style Invincible, the mention of college making him remember something. "... It was after she dropped out."

Sinister laughed, a playful grin gracing his lips. "Pfft, those are stupid. My bunny was an inspiring journalist who wanted to bring me to 'justice'—oh, how it was practically destiny that she landed herself to be my plaything." His hands twitched, thinking back on the first time he met you.

A smug, almost shit eating grin danced on his lips. "I could tell it made her feel alive, even through her senseless wailing. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, that bitch enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed her."

Omni shook his head, waving his hand as if all the words that the others spoke were meaningless. "She was my pet, the only perfect thing that could be my wife.

His lip quirked upwards, recalling the first time he saw you. "It was a long process to domesticate her, but it was worth everything." He chuckled before his smile faltered, transitioning to a frown.

"Oh, and we had a child together." He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, speaking casually like it was nothing too extraordinary.

He seemed displeased to have remembered that fact, his expression turning sour. "Shame there wasn't much use for it. Got in my way more than being convenient."

Mark choked on nothing when he heard that, his soul feeling like it got kicked out of his body as he tried to recover from the shock.

He burned his stare in the variant that resembled the suit his father once wore like he had just grown two heads.

"Child? —Child?!" He screamed, shaking his head as his mind was swirling with all this information that hit him at once.

Viltrum huffed hearing that, avoiding looking at Omni. "(Y/N) and I would've produced a child eventually." He murmured, defending himself like it was some sort of competition to who hit more milestones with you.

"Ugh, that's pointless! Why have a child?" Sinister rolled his eyes, thinking that it was absolutely absurd that his counterparts would think of having an offspring. His posture was relaxed as he voiced his thoughts. "Her body should only be available to me, not something else."

He hummed, as if agreeing with Sinister, "It was a good enrichment for a while, then the thing got annoying." Omni explained. "Didn't want to keep it around anymore."

"Anymore? The fuck that's supposed to mean?" Mohawk questioned, both hands settled on his hips. With how he phrased it, he didn't think it was farfetched to assume that his counterpart did something horrible to the child.

Omni-Mark stayed silent, not responding as he crossed his arms. That earned a raised brow from Mohawk, suspicion surfacing through his sharp features.

Mark finally snapped out of his shell shock, interrupting the variants' small conversation. "Fine, maybe I don't have a relationship with her like you guys had." He began reasoning, his eyes blinking fast behind his lens.

"But that doesn't mean I don't care about her, that doesn't mean I don't want her just as much as you all do—probably even more!" He gestured, shaking his head frantically as he raised the volume of his voice the more he continued his speech.

"I want to be close to her, I want her to be mine, I want her to..." His voice died down, closing his eyes before opening them again, "to feel for me like I do for her." Mark confessed in a hushed tone.

The words escaped from him faster than he could think of them. "I like her." He admitted, the complicated feelings that he had dealt with for so long surfacing brightly without being pushed down into the void of denial.

It was like a wave of clarity washed over him, crashing down on him so unexpectedly.

The first time he saw you, intense feelings bubbled up in him that he never experienced before. It only became worse the more he saw you, being consumed with the feelings that overtook his thoughts.

Mark Grayson began secretly begging the world to let him hear that you're out there so he can chase after you—the light at the end of the tunnel that only shows itself every once in a while.

Whenever he was with you, it was like his whole body was alive. He never felt like he ever truly lived before meeting you, each part of him waking up as soon as your presence basked his soul and body like sunlight.

It didn't make sense, there was no rhyme or reason why he felt this way. It was so wrong, but so endearingly right.

It felt so right just to be near you, look at you with so much affection and adoration that it was unmeasurable.

He drowned in thoughts about you that hijacked his mental space, each nook and cranny of his mind tied to you somehow. Each time he resisted and pulled away; he rushed back in with a tighter grip than before.

This pull never happened with Amber, his first girlfriend and the first person he'd ever been intimate with. As well as confess his superhero identity.

He liked her—loved her, cared for her and had feelings for her, but it wasn't the same. She just wasn't you.

Amber didn’t make him feel like his whole life purpose was fulfilled by just watching you do whatever, tracking your movements like he was writing them down in the folds of his brain. The physical contact he received from you, mostly violently, didn’t cause his body to soak up each centimeter of it like it was starved for it.

That subconsciously seeped into their relationship. He put so many things above Amber, missing so many places that she wanted him to be present because he was her boyfriend. He put their relationship on pause countless times to be a superhero, saving the world and saving lives—it was hard to drop it for her.

Though it came easy when it was for you, not for Amber.

Then there was Eve. She was a great person, helping Mark to understand what it truly was to be a superhero. She was there by his side and understood the hardships that the world relentlessly threw at him, giving him an open shoulder to talk about his problems.

It made sense their natural friendship blended into something more. She pulled him in—but not in the same way.

Eve didn't compare to you, not even close. Mark wanted her to, grounding himself and swallowing down this claim that she was the one—his girlfriend, his everything, his.

Everything else came secondary when it came to Eve. That was until he heard you were out there again instead of safely locked away, and suddenly it became easy to leave Eve behind when he was so adamant about staying with her.

He was so immersed in so many things and with Eve that when you were in that cell made by the G.D.A, his mind didn't wander to you so frequently anymore.

Mark didn't have to worry about the next time he'll see you again, always constantly on his feet ready to fly over to you.

Mark didn't have to worry about whether the last time he saw you was the final one, paranoid that you'll suddenly disappear without a trace, the chance to earn a mutual connection with you completely gone.

Mark didn't have to worry because he knew where you were and knew you were okay, safe, alive, and waiting. When things slowed down, he planned to visit you and show you that it was okay to give him a chance.

He wanted—no, he needed to earn your trust, earn your interest. That he could change your mind about rejecting him, even if it meant being a broken record that was on repeat.

Since, in truth, he wanted you to be his from the start.

It was unreasonable, illogical, but it felt more right than wrong. It was stupid, fucking pathetic even just like how Cecil said—but Mark couldn't help it. He tried to deny it for so long, but he couldn't anymore. It was impossible to.

It was love at first sight with you, and he wasn't going to let you get taken away. Mark wanted you to be his, and he'd push everything and everyone aside to get that opportunity.

He raised his voice again, stern and firm. "And I'm not going to let any of you take her just because you all failed at your chance. You don't get to have do overs with my (Y/N)."

"Aw, cute!" Mohawk mocked, lifting a hand to form a mouth puppet. "Practiced that speech of yours with good ol' buddy right hand?" He let out a forced coo, turning his mouth puppet into a circle—going up and down in a slow motion.

That earned a hearty chuckle from Sinister, but not Viltrum or Omni. It also didn't get a peep out of Mask either, not a single word coming from the masked Invincible variant.

"You almost sound as corny as—" He whipped his head around, searching for Mask who seemed to be not present. His mischievous grin dropped, and the others followed suit in looking around to spot the missing variant.

There were supposed to be five among them, yet there were only four. The yellow and black variant's relaxed posture disappeared as soon as the absence of one of them was brought to his attention, spinning around to confirm that the other's presence was truly not there.

"Jesus, where the fuck is the other one." Sinister growled, snapping his head to the direction of your body. He zoomed past, the others lagging behind to search for your unconscious body.

Mark drifted behind, his heart leaping to his throat.

The place where you were supposed to be—empty. Dried blood and the broken metal fragments of the collar were the only things there, greeting their eyes.

It didn't take a genius to piece together what happened, and it enraged Sinister how foolishly easy it was to sneak off with you.

Sinister fists clenched, screeching at the top of his lungs at a random direction. "You're dead!" His growly voice carried out, dragging his words across the distance.

Viltrum's hand grabbed a hold of the end of Omni's cape, draping it over his neck and pulling it towards him tightly. "Where did he take her." He spat out, eyes darkening as he tugged at the red cape he was using to strangle the variant.

Omni had quickly dug his fingers in between the space of the cape and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't be asphyxiated. "Your guess is as good as mine." He grunted, bringing his head forward before swinging it backwards—smacking Viltrum's face.

The white uniformed variant let go of his hold, and Omni-Mark whipped around to punch him in the chest, knocking him a few inches away.

"There goes the 'alliance!' Not that it was going to last long anyway. Ugh! He could be anywhere in this shithole." Mohawk grumbled; displeasure written on his face with how a deep frown embedded itself on his lips.

Suddenly, all the variants had something thrown at them, pushing them to the ground. A large wall from the collapsed building nearby was on top of them, the heavy weight grounding and crushing them.

Mark floated above them, having gone and grabbed a fallen chunk of a structure to pin them down. It wasn't going to delay them by much, but it gave him a running head start.

Each second counted to go searching for you and find the Invincible variant that stole you from right under his nose.

He propelled himself forward, flying in a random direction. His hair was pushed back as the wind howled against him; his forehead furrowed. Mark brought his hand to his ear, holding the earpiece that Cecil had given him.

"Donald? Donald are you there?" He asked while looking down, flying above structures. The city had been bulldozed by his evil counterparts, making it look more like a salvage yard rather than an international hub.

"-Uh, yes. I've—I've been here the entire time." Donald jumped, clearing his throat. He was surprised at being suddenly addressed, having been silent this entire time.

He had been observing safely at headquarters, watching through the screen. While the cameras themselves didn't have audio, Mark, having an earpiece, allowed him to finally listen to something.

Donald had been overhearing this entire time, and he had begun to think that the superhero had forgotten he was there. He felt out of place, and he couldn’t possibly interrupt him to remind Mark of his presence. He was saying vulnerable things that seemed rude to cutoff.

"Can you try and find (Y/N)?" Mark queried, scanning the streets below him for any sign of you.

He could care less that Donald may have overheard everything he said—it didn't matter. The time was ticking, and he was not going to leave you alone with your kidnapper nor let some other Invincible find you first.

"Mark I-" Donald shook his head, beginning to speak before being brashly interrupted.

"I don't give a shit what you have to say Donald! Just tell me if you can try and find her or not!" He snapped, his question shifting more into a demand.

Each letter of his words was as sharp as a blade, coming out of the blue which shocked the older man.

A static silence overcame the intercom, and Mark back tracked on his words. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh. "I'm—I'm sorry Donald that's not what I meant. I didn't mean to-" He sucked in an unleveled breath, "Can you try and find her? Please?"

"... Sure thing, Mark."

You hissed, pulling your hand out of the esophagus that you had forcefully slid your hand into. You ripped the tube out, throwing it aside as the Invincible variant fell on his knees—clawing at the gaping hole in his neck.

The blood gushed out like a geyser as you took a step back, your chest rising and releasing a huff.

Your hair was a mess, tangled and mangled together from fighting the Invincible variants that tried their hardest to take you down and submit to them. They were relentless, and you were grateful that Mask mitigated the fight—doing his part and killing two eviler versions of himself.

You looked over to Mask, the variant lunging a rusty metal bar that he got from a hanging sign inside the chest cavity of his opponent. It hit straight to his pumping heart, a gritted gasp escaping their throat before the light in their eyes disappeared.

Small muscle memory jerks remained, but it died down as Mask dug the metal bar harder—twisting it for good measure. He then pulled it out effortlessly, a string of thick blood and cartilage following as he threw it aside.

Comparing yourself to him, you probably looked like absolute shit. There was hardly any blood on him, the only liquid there being was the dried coffee stain and the damp areas of his suit from the fire hydrant.

You, on the other hand, were covered in sticky blood. Your neck was painted in a deep shade of red, it dripped down from your neck to the collar of your prison uniform. It looked like a badly botched tie dye job, minus the metallic smell that made your skin crawl.

The tips of your hair were dipped in the liquid of death as well, the affected hair forming clumps at the end and hardening.

You hated killing—not because of a moral compass, merely because of the smell that made your stomach feel absolutely sick. You could never avoid making a huge mess, so your face was always met with the waft of blood exposed to oxygen.

You breathed heavily as you blinked to look around. All four variants who tried to jump you and Mask were dead, the one you just killed on the ground—the blood gushing out of his throat formed a puddle.

You swallowed, putting your hands on your knees to catch a breath. The odor of blood seeped into your nostrils, and you gagged as your stomach was not taking too kindly to that smell. It felt like you were going to throw up with how it twisted and swished.

“Do you feel sick?” Mask softly asked, hopping off the variant he had just shoved a rod through their chest.

He surveyed the slaughter you both caused, mentally noting the splattered blood along the concrete. “It’s because of the blood, isn’t it?”

You gagged once again, bringing a hand to pinch the tip of your nose. “Kind of.” You replied bluntly, not elaborating more on it.

“The odor I’m guessing?” He continued, and you gave him a funny glance. Mask rushed to explain, “In my world, you also hated the smell of blood. It always made you feel nauseous—I got good at not getting too much on me because of that." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ding ding ding." You clapped lazily. "Never been a fan of it. It makes me want to projectile vomit everywhere."

"You did one time. It was on me though." He joked, but not really. It did actually happen when he rushed to the hospital after a fight because he promised to visit you at a specific time.

Mask had forgotten to change out of his blood-soaked suit with how panicked he was to arrive on time. The moment he appeared by your side from entering the window, the metallic smell hit your nose, and you puked all over him without sparing a second to register to face somewhere else.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mask's words echoed in your mind, and you mentally rolled your eyes at the reminder. The only reason why he wanted to stick around was because he wanted to project the variant version of you onto you—all of the variants did.

It was annoying. However, with how more docile and suppressed he was compared to the others, you had the chance to break this illusion of his. It wasn't the first time you've successfully pushed someone away.

You bit your tongue, feeling a dry laugh threatening to escape. "Guess all I did there was be sick and puke on you. Very romantic." You sarcastically responded, looking over to see how the masked variant would react to what you're going to say. "With how weak she was, she should've died sooner."

"..."

"Honestly, she managed to pull the short stick of our childhood." You bitterly mentioned, a small flashback to your childhood played in your mind. "If whatever illness I had didn't take me immediately, I would’ve just done it myself. That would've been the best option."

"..."

"Not only was she weak, but she was also stupid too apparently." You added, continuing to watch how he'd react to your words. His eyes were boring into yours, and you didn't peel away from them as you simply glared.

You were ready to dodge anything he threw at you or came at you with, expectantly waiting to move your legs to dodge an incoming fist.

A second passed, then another, then another.

“... Haha!” He suddenly burst into a small fit of giggles, raising a hand to cover his mouth. Startled, you flinched, your eyes turning wide at this unexpected reaction. You couldn’t gauge if this was some kind of ploy to catch you off guard so he can hit you by surprise, but the more he laughed the more confused you got.

“Is something wrong with you?” You asked annoyed, not understanding why he was laughing. His giggles were dying down, and he brought his hand back down to his side. “You found that funny?” He shook his head frantically, taking a few steps towards you.

“No, no. I just—even though your different from my world you’re still the same.”

You scoffed, taking his statement as a lie. “Bullshit.”

“No, you are! When we first met,” Mask took your hand, cupping it into his. You jumped, but didn’t pull away as you were curious to what he had to say. “You said something so similar about yourself. Looking back on it, you were trying to drive me away.”

He sighed, “You thought that if you pushed out all the worst traits of yourself, no one would want to stick around.” he said in a low voice, almost recalling it in a fond. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

The smooth texture of his gloves sent goosebumps down your spine, causing you to tense. I’m not listening to this. You thought, but his gaze held your body firmly into place, like a nail driven in wood.

"You were wrong, though," he whispered. "It just made me stay longer."

Your breath hitched, your heart squeezing at those words.

You yanked your hand back instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs in an uneven rhythm. "Don't say shit like that," you snapped, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "You don't know me."

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!” You screamed, shaking your head. You stepped away from him, needing the distance like air in your lungs, "I'm not the same as her, I’m different," you muttered, your voice quieter, heavier now. "I'm stronger, I’m powerful—I’m worse."

He tilted his head, the smile slipping away from his face, replaced by something that looked almost like sadness. Not that you could tell with the mask that covered it, but his eyes expressed it. "Maybe you are," he agreed after a moment. "But I’m happy to learn.”

Shut up.

“I love each part of you, even the worse ones."

You stood there frozen, caught between cursing at him and lunging at him—but you did neither. You just stared at him, words caught in your throat and your hands flexing not knowing what to do.

Finally, you turned on your heel, going to the direction of the nearest hideout you owned. “Come on, we need to go.” You called out, walking without checking to see if he was following.

“We?” He repeated, hope filled in his voice as he quickly trailed behind you. Not bringing attention to the fact you dismissed everything he had just said, not bothered by it.

“Don’t misunderstand anything! This is momentary. I’m tired, exhausted, and clearly can’t think straight with how I’m even letting you tag along!” You grumbled; eyes stuck stared ahead. “You’re protecting me from whatever lunatic of an Invincible we come across.”

“I—”

“And don’t talk.” You whipped around, causing him to halt in his steps. “It lessens the chances of you saying stupid crap,” you hissed, referencing his whole cringe speech, “oh and, ten steps back when you’re walking with me—I don’t want you humping my leg.”

“Got it!” He happily chirped, overjoyed just to see you were allowing him to be with you without telling him to fuck off.

“Ughhh, shut up!” You swiveled back around, walking in a faster pace than before. You heard him begin walking at the distance you commanded him to follow, and you dug your nails in the palm of your hand.

This was stupid—you were going back on your word about how bad it was to spend one more second with this variant, yet here you were letting him follow you to your hideout. You wanted to pull your hair out with how you should be telling him to screw himself and to get lost, but you bit your tongue as you merely continued strolling.

Even worse, your cheeks were a tad warm. You hated what he said seemed to affect you. You tried to ignore how your heart was softly rattling against your chest, taking deep inhales and exhales to calm it.

Maybe the forced proximity of being near crazy variants were beginning to rub off their lunacy onto you, making your headspace cloudy.

At least it was only down to one.

An Invincible was standing on the roof of a building, peering down the alleyway that you and Mask were walking in.

He wore an exact replica of this world’s Invincible suit; the one small difference was the fact his gloves were blue at the end of his knuckles. The male also didn’t have the mask on, blood scattered on his face and chest.

His eyes were downcast, his hand over the other, holding it as he stared at you.

It was a way to self-soothe himself, no longer having his favorite person in the whole world to hold his hand anymore. His heart ached at that, breaking more than it already was.

His eyes burned thinking back on how his partner was forever gone—he’ll never see that handsome face ever again, the witty personality, and the easygoing jokes that always made him feel better.

The Invincible would’ve started crying if he hadn’t already squeezed out each tear already. He didn’t think he’d be able to produce any more with how hollow he felt, completely dried out.

He continued to watch intently, having witnessed the brutality you caused minutes prior. He didn’t mean to come across the scene, having been just wandering around aimlessly after doing the orders that Angstrom had instructed him and many others to do.

The variant had stayed silent, watching from a safe distance. He hadn’t expected to find you here, but he supposed it made sense.

The Invincible had been preoccupied thinking about his special one that his mind didn’t think to remind him about you until now.

You were special too. A good, dear friend. You were the second person to truly understand him and be by his side through everything. Accepting who he was and supporting him.

Guilt and grief swelled in his chest as he found himself hovering to you just a few feet away. You were completely unaware of the presence that was stalking you as you silently fumed at the predicament you were in.

Finding you made the emotional weariness drag him down further, like weights were placed upon his chest.

Seeing you made him think of—

“... I miss William...” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used for such a long time. He whispered out the name William like it was something sacred, holding the name of his dead lover with so much tenderness.

William was his boyfriend and his first best friend, the person he cared so deeply about more than himself.

You were his second best friend, the only other person in his life that he relied on. The three of you were a great trio that protected each other, being brought together by the wonderous work of his late boyfriend.

You died while trying to protect Wiliam, Nolan determined to kill the boy Mark was in love with—saying that having a big of a distraction as William would only hinder him from doing what his life’s purpose was.

There was only so much that you can do against a viltrumite while having the capabilities of being human. You were completely butchered, the overkill that Nolan did was unfathomable. William’s death was less severe, you stood between him and the painful ending he would’ve originally received.

He lost the two most important people in his life that day, dying next to each other.

All three of you promised to be together in the future, live in the same neighborhood so that every day whenever you and William wanted, you’ll all get together and hangout. Him and William would live in a cozy house just for the two of him, and you would be the next-door neighbor with the key to let yourself in anytime.

That’s what you three had promised—before Nolan ripped and tore that promise apart like it meant nothing.

Maskless Mark eyes shifted to the variant that had his face completely covered, squinting his eyes. He was too late to protect you and William, but he wasn’t going to repeat that same mistake with this dimension’s version of you.

William would’ve wanted him to protect you too—protect you from a stranger. He could practically hear his boyfriend’s nagging voice on how he shouldn’t leave (Y/N) alone with a guy, talking about how creeps would take any opportunity to snatch you away simply because you were a beautiful girl.

He would say that you didn’t have the privilege like him and Mark did to just wander around because of the absence of a dick in your pants.

His body was suddenly energized, pacing closer behind you both above the tall buildings. For the first time since the death of you and William, he felt something other than sadness and grief. He felt happy.

It was... nice to be reunited with a friend.  

yawns me when I have to write plot progression🥱🥱

I blinked and suddenly two weeks passed 💀 I ain’t going to get into this habit trust 🤞🏽

UHH BUT BEING FR I LOST TRACK OF TIME MY BAD YALL… feel embarrassed LOL posting this with my eyes closed idc 💔

anyway we ALL CRACKING WILLIAM

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[violetasteracademic]

Generative AI Can Fuck Itself

I am one of the AO3 authors (along with all of my friends) who had their work stolen and fed into a dataset to be sold to the highest bidder for training generative AI models.

I feel angry. I feel violated. I feel devastated. I cannot express enough that if you still do not understand the damage that generative AI art and writing has on our planet, our society, and our artists, I don't know what else there is to say. How do you convince a human being to care more about another humankinds ability to create than their personal need to consume?

Generative AI, when it comes to art, has one goal and one goal only. To steal from artists and reduce the dollar value of their work to zero. To create databases of stolen work that can produce work faster and cheaper than the centuries of human creation those databases are built on. If that isn't enough for you to put away Chatgpt, Midgard, ect ect (which, dear god, please let that be enough), please consider taking time to review MIT's research on the environmental impacts of AI here. The UNEP is also gathering data and has predicted that AI infrastructure may soon outpace the water consumption of entire countries like Denmark.

This is all in the name of degrading, devaluing, and erasing artists in a society that perpetually tries to convince us that our work is worth nothing, and that making a living off of our contributions to the world is some unattainable privilege over an inalienable right.

The theft of the work of fic writers is exceptionally insidious because we have no rights. We enter into a contract while writing fic- We do not own the rights to the work. Making money, asking for money, or exchanging any kind of commercial trade with our written fanfiction is highly illegal, completely immoral, and puts the ability to even write and share fanfiction at risk. And still, we write for the community. We pour our hearts out, give up thousands of hours, and passionately dedicate time that we know we will never and can never be paid for, all for the community, the pursuit of storytelling, and human connection.

We now live in a world where the artist creating their work are aware it is illegal for it to be sold, and contribute anyway, only for bots to come in and scrape it so it can be sold to teach AI databases how to reproduce our work.

At this time, I have locked my fics to allow them only to be read by registered users. It's not a perfect solution, but it appears to be the only thing I can do to make even a feeble attempt at protecting my work. I am devastated to do this, as I know many of my readers are guests. But right now it is between that or removing my work and not continuing to post at all. If you don't have an account, you can easily request one here. Please support the writers making these difficult decisions at this time. Many of us are coping with an extreme violation, while wanting to do everything we can to prevent the theft of our work in the future and make life harder for the robots, even if only a little.

Please support human work. Please don't give up on the fight for an artists right to exist and make a living. Please try to fight against the matrix of consumerism and bring humanity, empathy, and the time required to create back into the arts.

To anyone else who had their work stolen, I am so sorry and sending you lots of love. Please show your favorite AO3 authors a little extra support today.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Six: Restless

Chapter WC: 10,464

Chapter Tags/Warnings: fluff, but this is VERY hurt/comfort heavy and i did make myself cry multiple times writing it so beware

A/N: These two will do literally everything but tell each other they love each other smh (i say as if this isn't my fault). Btw I changed the Lieutenant's name bc I decided I'm keeping him.

Have to plug this art of Goldie @ghostymarni made for me today too. LOOK AT HER!!!

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Duro, 20 BBY

Dawn breaks, and Dash and the engineers are no closer to fortifying the shield generator than they were when you arrived. It's been hours since the power to the main generator came back online, and there's still no sign of an attack. And while you're grateful for the time to prepare, it's hard not to be suspicious, and more than a little wary. The shield only allows so many dropships in per hour, but the longer you wait for the droids to attack, the larger the force must be.

It's not as if you've done nothing with your time, however. You and Snap had spent the last few hours crawling the city with Screwball, noting choke points and potential weak spots and doing a little sightseeing.

Screwball had found evidence of tunnels below the city, and while you hadn't found any access points yet, they would provide an excellent secondary route should the droids break through the main gate and flood the city from above. Your only concern is whether they're stable, and how extensive they are. There could be a dozen access points, or none. You simply have no way of knowing.

The streets are filled with clones as your squads move from block to block, each passing minute bringing more troopers and more supplies into the city. The footprint of Urdur is chaotic, a maze of streets and alleyways that weave through the ancient buildings making navigating the city difficult, even with a map. It didn't help that the structures were crumbling, with half-collapsed floors and missing staircases, leaving you to take detours and double back often. 

But as difficult as it was to navigate for you, it will be worse for the droids. And that's exactly what you're counting on. The narrow roads and sharp corners make for perfect ambush locations, and with the help of the 882nd, who had arrived a short while ago, the entire city will be a deathtrap.

And though you're sure it'll all go to hell the moment the fighting starts, you also have a plan.

After hours of searching, the three of you returned to the generator and joined the others, sharing the information and brainstorming strategy. There was some debate about how to deploy the men, and you and Rex ended up butting heads a bit over how best to defend the city, with the Captain advocating for a centralized position and you suggesting a more distributed approach.

In the end, you had won the battle. The 882nd as the 419th's heavy infantry regiment would be posted up outside the walls, while the 501st would man the walls, keeping the enemy from entering the city. The 103rd regiment, which were comprised of the 419th's scouting, demolitions, and recon regiments, would be spread out throughout the city, covering the key points of access and providing a flexible response should the droids break through the wall. Malestrom Company, led by Snap, would stay at the shield generator site as a last line of defense.

And you? Well, you were going to do what you did best. Hunt down the enemy and take them apart.

With the plan in place, there wasn't much else to do but wait.

And wait you have.

You've been pacing the perimeter of the generator for hours, a nervous energy driving you forward. It's not the waiting that bothers you. It's the lack of information. You have no idea where the droids are or how big their forces could be, and every minute that passes brings with it the fear that you're unprepared for the coming fight.

You know you should be patient. That this is the right decision. The only option. But the longer the silence stretches, the more on exhausted and on edge you become, and you know you're not the only one.

You'd commanded Dash to take a break and let Fuse and the others take over for a bit, and though he had protested, he hadn't argued for very much longer. He'd collapsed onto the nearest cot and was out like a light within minutes, several of the other members of Maelstrom spread out around him. The rest were scattered throughout the room, most asleep or close to it, a quiet murmur of voices the only sign that they were awake at all.

You, on the other hand, are too keyed up to sleep, the adrenaline in your system refusing to allow it. You watch them from above on a catwalk overlooking the generator, leaning against the railing and scanning the space for anything out of place. But all you see is a group of soldiers who have worked themselves to the bone in order to make this mission a success.

It's been months since your men were able to truly rest, months since they'd stepped foot on a planet not actively trying to kill them, and the reality of the war is wearing on them all, not just you. You've always known the toll the conflict would take, but the constant fighting has made it easier to ignore, to push away the thoughts and emotions and focus on the mission. But seeing your troops like this, so tired and worn, has reminded you of just how bad things are, and how far you've all come in such a short time.

More than anything, you wish they were all back on Coruscant. Back home. Safe.

But they're not. And the war won't end anytime soon.

You sigh and push the guilt away, letting go of the anger and resentment that comes with it. The only thing you can do is resolve to speak to the Council when this is over, and stand your ground until they agree to let the 419th take a vacation, a proper break from the war and the violence and the death. It's the least you can do for your men. For your brothers.

Your hands tap a restless rhythm on the railing, and your gaze drifts around the room, watching the steady rise and fall of the troopers' chests and the subtle twitches and shifts of their bodies. It's almost mesmerizing, and you find yourself zoning out, letting the world drift away and your mind wander.

You know you should sleep. You promised Snap you would, and you don't intend to draw his ire again. But you also know that the echoes of your vision will come if you do. 

You can already feel them waiting, the faintest whisper like an itch at the back of your mind, one that will come to the fore if you dare close your eyes. A city burning, Rex holding a blaster to your chest, his eyes filled with grief and pain, and the two of you pulling the trigger together, your fingers entwined. The feeling is visceral and painful, and no matter how hard you try, you can't shake the memory.

It's not a new sensation, nor is it the first time it's plagued you, but the visions are stronger now, and more frequent. It's a premonition, and you know it. A glimpse of the future.  One shrouded in a heavy layer of some meaning you've failed to yet grasp. 

Or maybe you're just being stubborn, refusing to believe it will come true despite everything telling you otherwise. You don't know. All you know is that the thought of losing your friends—of being the cause of their deaths—is too much.

Your hand drifts up to your neck, slipping inside your robes to grab hold of Yaddle's pendant. The feeling of it between your fingers is soothing, a small comfort that helps keep the shadows at bay. You're not sure how much time passes, the seconds bleeding into minutes and beyond, but the pendant remains firmly clasped in your hand, the familiar weight grounding you in the present.

"Hey."

You look over your shoulder to see Rex approaching, his helmet tucked under his arm and a cup of caf in his free hand. He offers the mug to you with a raised brow, and you feel a flutter in your chest at the sight. It's a small thing, a kind gesture, but the thoughtfulness of the act isn't lost on you.

"You're my hero," you murmur as you accept the mug, your fingers brushing his in the process. He huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

"Don't speak so soon. I couldn't find you any sugar rations."

The corners of his mouth lift as you take your first sip, and your nose wrinkles as the bitter liquid hits your tongue. You force yourself to swallow, a shiver running through your body at the acrid taste, and Rex chuckles at your expression, his eyes twinkling.

"It's not that bad," he teases.

"You're right. It's worse."

Rex snorts and rolls his eyes. "Well, if you don't want it..."

"I didn't say that," you grumble, clutching the mug protectively and holding it to your chest. Rex shakes his head in mock exasperation and leans against the railing next to you. "Thanks. Really. I can use the energy."

"You could use sleep," he corrects, giving you a pointed look. You shrug and take another sip, grimacing again. "You know I'm right. When was the last time you slept? A real night of sleep?"

"I don't know. When was the last time you did?" you retort, and Rex sighs. You both know the answer. Neither of you have had a decent night's rest in weeks. But you can't resist the urge to poke at him anyway. It's a habit at this point.

"That's not fair, and you know it," he scolds, giving you a disapproving frown. You raise an eyebrow and take a drink of caf, ignoring the way the caffeine twists your stomach into knots. "This isn't a joke."

"I didn't say it was."

"You're acting like it," he mutters.

"How's the perimeter?" you ask, changing the subject. 

Rex stares at you for a beat, clearly not impressed by your tactic. His jaw works as he debates whether to press the issue or not, before he finally sighs and shakes his head, his shoulders dropping.

"We've got sentries posted every five hundred meters, and we've set up motion sensors and mines around the perimeter," he explains. "I've got the rest of the boys doing the same at the choke points we identified earlier."

"Good," you nod. "Any word from Ahsoka or Anakin?"

"Nothing," Rex replies with a frown. "Long range comms are still down."

"Damn," you mutter, your hand tightening around the mug. Ahsoka should've been able to locate the signal jammer by now, and the fact that she hasn't is a bad sign. It could mean anything, and none of it good. "We're on our own, huh?"

"For the time being," Rex confirms, a note of unease in his voice. You glance at him and see a flash of worry cross his face before he schools his expression back into a neutral mask.

"And the scouts?" you ask. "Have they found anything?"

"Nothing to report yet. They've been moving in a grid pattern and haven't seen anything unusual," he replies as he leans against the railing next to you. He braces his elbows on the metal bar and lets out a heavy breath, his gaze fixed on the ground far below. "And the general in charge of this operation is dead on her feet, despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise."

"You're a pain in the ass," you mutter into your cup, and Rex smirks, his gaze darting to you and back.

"And you're avoiding my question."

"Which was?"

"When was the last time you slept more than a few hours?" he asks again, and you groan, shaking your head and taking another drink. Rex sighs and gives you a look. "C'mon. We're stuck here until the Seps decide to attack. No point in pretending."

"Rex..."

"Please." 

The pleading note in his voice is your undoing, and you deflate, the fight going out of you. You sigh and turn to face him, leaning your hip against the railing.

"I don't know. Probably..." You trail off and sigh again, running a hand through your hair, your fingers tangling in the messy strands. You don't have the energy to be coy or avoid his question. "Probably after that night at 79s. Maybe. It's hard to remember."

"That was months ago," Rex says softly. You shrug and give him a small smile, but he doesn't return it. Instead, his frown deepens, his brows furrowing as he studies your face. "Are you kidding me?"

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, the words coming out sharper than intended, and the cup hits the railing, a splash of caf sloshing over the edge. "It's not like I have much choice, Rex. I sleep when I can, but the visions, they...I just can't seem to get any rest. So I try to meditate instead."

"And how's that going for you?" he asks dryly.

"It's going great," you growl. Rex snorts, and you scowl at him. "Why are you even asking me these questions if you're just going to mock me?“

"I'm not mocking you," he insists, his expression softening as his voice drops low. He shifts closer to you, and his hand drifts down to the railing, his fingers finding yours and gently prying them from the mug. You relax slightly, your body responding to his touch despite the frustration, and he sighs. "I'm sorry."

You watch him for a second before you release the breath you've been holding, your shoulders sagging as the anger drains away. You can't stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he continues, his voice low. "I'm just worried."

"You're always worried," you point out, and he smiles, nodding.

"I am," he agrees. He lets go of your hand and lifts his fingers to your cheek, brushing the hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His touch is warm, his fingers lingering against your skin, and you lean into the contact, his thumb stroking the line of your jaw. "But can you blame me?"

"I guess not," you admit reluctantly. He gives you a knowing look and drops his hand, and you bite back a sigh of disappointment. "But it's not like I can just...sleep. I've tried. It doesn't work."

"I know," he murmurs, his expression softening. "But if you can't sleep, at least try to rest."

"I am resting."

"Yeah, sure you are," he snorts. He reaches out and grabs the cup, setting it on the railing behind him. He takes a step forward, his hand finding yours again, and he gives your fingers a light squeeze. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Where are we going?"

"Just outside," he replies with a shrug. "Away from all of this. For a minute."

"Is that an order?" you tease. Rex rolls his eyes and pulls you towards the stairs. You follow without protest, your fingers laced through his.

The two of you move quickly and quietly, your boots barely whispering against the metal grates as you descend the staircase, careful not to wake the others. Most of the troopers are already asleep, sprawled out across the cots and the floor, their armor piled neatly nearby. The only ones awake are those manning the generator itself, and their attention is too focused on the controls and machinery to notice you and Rex slipping through the room and out the door.

Urdur is less gloomy in the daytime, the shadows cast by the towering buildings not nearly as ominous as they had been in the dark. Rex doesn't let go of your hand as he pulls you down the street, and you let him, too caught up in the feeling of his fingers wrapped around yours and the soft glow of the sunrise to care.

He leads you through the city, empty and silent save for the occasional squad of clones patrolling. Rex takes a winding path, avoiding the major thoroughfares and sticking to the smaller streets and alleys. It's almost peaceful, the two of you wandering through the ruins, and the further the two of you get from the generator, the lighter the burden on your shoulders becomes, the weight of the mission and the war fading away, if only for a while.

"Rex, where are we going?" you ask again, breaking the silence that has settled between you, and he shrugs.

"Does it matter?" he replies as he lets go of your hand and drops back to walk next to you. You give him a wry smile and shake your head.

"No," you chuckle. "But you have to admit, this is a bit strange."

"What is?"

"Us, taking a leisurely stroll through a ghost town." You gesture at the empty streets and cracked pavement. "I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but it feels like we should be doing something. Like we should be preparing."

"We've done everything we can," Rex points out. "There's nothing left to do but wait.”

You hum reluctantly in agreement, and he shoots you a small smile.

“Besides, it’s not much different than the time you showed me around Coruscant,” he says as he looks away.

Your cheeks heat at the reminder. He'd said the words lightly, casually, but there's a hint of something else in his tone, a note of fondness that catches your attention. And you can’t help but smile at the memory of the two of you walking through the city and talking for hours, the war and your stations forgotten in favor of each other's company. 

He'd been so nervous then, so unsure, and the sight of him fidgeting and shuffling his feet had been a welcome distraction from the turmoil raging inside your own mind. That day had changed something between you, a fundamental shift in the relationship that had grown so slowly over the past nine months, and the thought of it is almost overwhelming.

You never would've guessed when you sat across from him and told him about your past, about Yaddle and what you'd gone through, that it would lead to the two of you here, side by side. Perhaps you knew then that you were attracted to him, but the depth of the connection, the bond that's formed between you, has come as a surprise. And while you've both fought it, the two of you have only managed to dig yourselves deeper, until the feelings have become too big, too strong, to deny any longer.

Yet, you're still dancing around the subject, neither of you ready to take that final step and acknowledge the feelings aloud, or risk the consequences of a confession. But it's there, a constant presence between the two of you, a connection that grows stronger each time you're together, even if neither of you are willing to say it out loud.

And in the silence, the truth remains unsaid, though the feelings remain.

"It's a little different," you tease, and Rex rolls his eyes. You bite back a grin and bump your shoulder against his, earning a huff and a sideways glance. "Sadly, no Dex's waiting for us this time."

"Shame," he quips. "I've been looking forward to that nerf burger for months."

A quiet, breathless chuckle slips from your lips before you can stop it, and Rex looks over at you with a soft smile.

"I missed that."

"What?"

He looks away again, his cheeks coloring, and he clears his throat.

"Your laugh,” he says quietly. “I haven't heard it in a while."

Your heart swells in your chest, the words washing over you and leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You want to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat, and all you can manage is a soft, "Oh."

He nods, his eyes flicking over to meet yours for a second before dropping away again. He's still blushing, and a foreign giddiness wells up in your chest. It's a strange sensation, the sudden urge to laugh and cry at the same time, and you take a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on the ground.

Rex’s words are sweet, but they also remind you of how long it's been since the two of you had a day off, a moment to just sit and relax and enjoy each other's company, without the threat of death hanging over your heads.

All the promises you’ve made to meet up on Coruscant when you both have downtime seem to be getting further and further away. There's never time. Never an opportunity to actually act on them. The war seems like it's only getting worse, and the distance has been wearing on the both of you, more than either of you would care to admit.

You've always been a solitary person, a loner by nature with only Obi-Wan and occasionally Anakin for company, but since Rex, Ahsoka, and the rest of the men have entered your life, you've found yourself craving the closeness, the comfort, the love that comes from having others around who care for you. 

It's a weakness, and the Jedi are taught to resist the pull of attachment, but it's impossible to deny the truth of the matter: you're lonely, and you need them. You need Rex. 

And not just because of the visions or the darkness that haunts you. You need him because of him. Because he's kind and brave and smart, and he has a dry humor and wit that never fails to amuse you. Because he's always there for you, no matter what, and because he loves you. All of you, every piece and part, no matter how broken or flawed. And because you love him too. So much it hurts.

The thought is sobering, and the giddiness dies, a melancholy sadness taking its place. You feel Rex's gaze on you, but you can't look at him, the emotion too raw, too close to the surface.

"I hope we'll get the chance to have another day like that again someday," you finally say. It's not what you want to say, not the words that burn in your throat, but it's the closest thing you can manage right now. It's the truth, as painful as it is.

"I do too," Rex murmurs. You glance up at him, and his expression is so achingly gentle that your breath catches. "More than anything."

You smile despite the ache in your heart, and you reach out to take his hand, lacing your fingers through his and giving his hand a squeeze. He returns the gesture, and the two of you continue on in silence, lost in your own thoughts, each wrapped up in the memory of that day and the promise of more to come.

Eventually, Rex stops walking. The main gate of the city stretches above you, the massive metal doors closed tight and covered with thick layers of dust and rust, and the sight is oddly familiar, a nagging sense of deja vu tugging at the edges of your consciousness. Before you can think too much on it, he tugs on your hand and leads you toward the steps lining the wall, nodding at the guards stationed nearby as he passes.

The two of you take the stone stairs two at a time until you reach the top of the battlements. He doesn’t stop, guiding you to the base of one of the guard towers, and he lets go of your hand as he steps up to the door, pulling it open and gesturing for you to follow him inside and up the ladder.

Rex reaches the top first and offers you his hand as you reach the last rung, and you take it, letting him pull you up and into the room above. It’s small, no larger than your quarters on the Oracle, cramped and filled with crates stacked haphazardly against the walls and corners. A series of small windows line the far wall, the glass clouded with age and neglect, but you can see the barren landscape beyond.

You walk over to the window and lean against the frame, resting your elbows on the rough stone. The white and gold figures of the 882nd regiment are spread out below, and you can see their speeders parked in neat rows near the city gates as they move through the abandoned factories and warehouses outside. Beyond the walls, the ground stretches away, flat and empty for miles, dotted with the occasional spires and domes of half-buried structures. It's desolate and bleak, but beautiful, in a tragic sort of way.

"It's quite the view," you murmur, and Rex hums in agreement as he joins you, his hands resting on the sill beside yours.

His shoulder brushes yours as he leans forward, his gaze sweeping over the horizon, and you steal a glance at him. The light plays across his features, his dark skin glowing golden in the dawn's rays, and you find yourself mesmerized by the sight, the shadows and scars and the worry lines all fading away, leaving only the man beneath the armor.

He turns and catches you staring, a crooked grin tugging at his lips, and he raises an eyebrow.

"So," he drawls, "how do you feel about sleeping now?"

It takes you a moment to register the question, and once it does, you groan and drop your forehead onto your folded arms, shaking your head in exasperation. Rex chuckles, and you peek up at him, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

"You can't be serious," you grumble, lifting your head. "This is your master plan? To drag me to an abandoned guard tower and hope I fall asleep?"

"No," he says innocently, and he crosses his arms and leans his hip against the sill. "It's my plan to keep an eye on you and make sure you actually rest."

"Rex..."

"You know I'm right," he interrupts, his tone firm. "And I'm not letting you leave until you at least try."

"I'd like to see you try and stop me," you challenge, and Rex raises an eyebrow, his mouth twitching as he bites back a grin. "You know you wouldn't stand a chance."

"If this is your way of goading me into sparring with you, it's not going to work this time," he replies dryly. You pout, and Rex shakes his head, a fond smile playing across his lips. "We're not fighting today. That's not what this is about."

"What is it about?"

"You. And the fact that you're barely holding it together," he answers softly. You blink at him in surprise, a cold chill settling over you and seizing your heart, and he continues before you can respond, "You can't keep going like this. I can't. Not if...if you're not okay."

He pauses, and the two of you stare at each other, a tense silence filling the space between you. You want to deny his words, to insist that he's wrong, but the concern in his eyes and Snap’s earlier words about taking care of yourself stops you. Instead, you sigh and dip your head, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

"I know," you finally admit. "I'm not trying to be stubborn. I just don't know what else to do."

"That's why I'm here," he says gently. "I'm not asking you to sleep, just try."

You nod, a flush creeping up your neck and staining your cheeks. You feel exposed, vulnerable, the confession pulling at the cracks in your facade. It's been so hard lately to hide the darkness, the fear and the uncertainty that lingers beneath the surface. So hard to ignore the nightmares and the visions and the memories of the pain. It's almost overwhelming, the constant pressure, the weight of it all, and the urge to break is nearly too much to bear.

You know he's right. You know you need to rest. But the thought of sleep, of slipping back into the depths of your mind and finding nothing but torment and anguish and death, is more than you can handle. 

But Rex is patient, his eyes never leaving you as he waits for you to gather your thoughts. And you love him even more for it.

"It's not easy," you say as you meet his gaze, the words coming out strained, your voice rough. "Sleeping."

He nods, and you continue, "It's not like the visions are new, but they're different now, more frequent, and it's harder to keep them at bay. When I sleep, I'm...lost. And alone. And I'm afraid that I won't find my way back."

Your eyes sting as the truth slips past your lips, the emotions rushing forward like a dam breaking, and you press your palms into the sill to keep them steady.

Rex doesn't speak, doesn't offer empty words of comfort or false promises of safety, and for that, you're grateful. Instead, he steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder, the weight and warmth of it grounding and soothing. You lean into the touch as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, and the two of you stand there for a while, his chin resting on the top of your head and his breath tickling your hair.

"What if I stayed with you?" he suggests quietly. "If you were...not alone."

You freeze, your mind racing at the implications, and you turn to face him.

"What are you saying?" you ask, though the answer is already there, the idea taking root and blossoming.

Rex blushes and shrugs, but he doesn't step back or release his hold on you, his body a solid line against yours. "I could stay. If you wanted. I could sit with you, or...hold you, or...or whatever you need. Whatever would help."

His face is burning red now, his gaze fixed on the ground, and your chest floods with affection. It takes everything you have not to reach up and cup his cheek, to brush your thumb over the curve of his bottom lip. Instead, you slide a hand down his chest, stopping just above his heart.

"You would do that? For me?"

"Of course," he murmurs, finally looking at you, and his expression is so soft, so sincere, that you feel like you might melt. "Anything."

The words are a balm to the ache inside you, soothing the pain and easing the weight of the darkness. You smile and press your forehead against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

"Okay," you murmur, your voice barely audible. He gives you a soft squeeze, and the two of you stand there for a minute, simply breathing each other in. Eventually, you pull away, and Rex releases his hold on you, his hand lingering on the small of your back. "I guess we should get comfortable."

Rex nods, and the two of you spend the next several minutes moving the crates around and creating a space comfortable enough for the two of you, large tarps spread across the wooden slats to pad the hard floor. You sit down and scoot back until your shoulders hit the wall opposite the windows, and you wait for him to join you.

It's awkward, the two of you sitting side by side, the air filled with a strange sense of anticipation. It's far from the first time you've slept next to someone, platonic or otherwise, but it's the first time you've done so with Rex.

He's not just anyone. He's not a random fling or a drunken night with a stranger. He's your closest friend, and the man you love. He's the one who holds your heart, and the only person who truly knows and understands you. You trust him with your life. And more. So much more.

The thought is exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, and you feel a wave of trepidation wash over you. You can't lose him, and you don't know what you'd do if this somehow went wrong. If it somehow drove a wedge between the two of you. But at the same time, you can't deny that you want him. All of him.

As if sensing your nerves, he turns to you, his face serious.

"You sure?" he asks quietly, and you chuckle, the anxiety fading away at the sincerity in his eyes.

"Are you?"

"I'm asking you," he counters, his lips quirking. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and Rex's expression softens, a hint of vulnerability flashing across his features. "It's just...I don't want to pressure you."

"You're not," you assure him, and the truth of the words settles between the two of you. He's never pushed you, never forced anything, always giving you space and time, and the realization fills you with a deep sense of gratitude. "I wouldn't have said yes if I wasn't sure."

Rex nods and looks away, a hint of color returning to his cheeks as he shifts closer and leans back against the wall next to you. There's still some distance between the two of you, a gap neither of you is quite willing to cross, and you sigh as the silence stretches on.

"This is stupid," you mutter. "I'm too old for this."

Rex glances at you in surprise, a question on his lips. Before he can say anything, you sigh and undo the clasp on your belt, tossing it to the side before you work on removing your outer robe. The motion is quick, and you try not to notice the way his eyes widen as you move.

Once the heavy fabric is off, you fold it into a pillow and lay down, scooting until your head is in his lap. Rex tenses under you, and you turn onto your side, facing away from him and tucking your legs close to your body. You can feel his gaze on the back of your head, and his breath comes out in a slow, shaky exhale, but he doesn't move.

"Is this okay?" you ask after a beat, looking up at him. His eyes are wide, the blush from earlier spreading down his neck and across his ears. "Are you alright, Rex?"

"Yeah," he chokes out, nodding his head vigorously, his hands twitching where they're pressed against his thighs. He clears his throat, his voice still hoarse as he continues, "I'm good. I'm great. This is fine."

"Just fine?"

"More than fine," he replies, a nervous edge to his tone, and his gaze drifts down to your face, his expression softening. "How are you? Is this...are you comfortable?"

"Yes," you murmur, and Rex relaxes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you. For doing this. For staying with me."

"It's nothing," he insists. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers gentle against your skin, and the feeling is soothing. You nuzzle his thigh, and his breath catches, his hand stilling before he continues stroking your cheek, the touch light and careful. "It's the least I can do."

"It's not nothing," you say, looking up at him. His gaze meets yours, and you take a deep breath before speaking again. "It means a lot to me. And...it means a lot to me that it's you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Rex nods, his expression thoughtful, and the two of you settle back into silence. His hand doesn't stop, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw and the curve of your ear, down your neck to the collar of your tunic, and back up again. It's a gentle caress, an intimate touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake. You close your eyes and hum contentedly, relaxing into the sensation and savoring the feeling of his hands on your skin.

After a while, his touch moves down your arm, his fingertips dancing over your shoulder, and his palm rests on your hip. His thumb rubs circles across the bone, and you squirm at the tickling sensation, a giggle bubbling up in your throat. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his hand lifting away, but you reach back and grab his wrist, keeping it there. He hesitates, and you open your eyes, turning to look up at him.

"It's fine," you assure him, smiling softly. "I was enjoying it."

His brow furrows, his gaze darting down to his hand on your hip and back up to meet yours. There's a question in his eyes, and you nod, giving his hand a light squeeze before releasing him.

Rex exhales slowly, and his hand returns to your waist, his touch tentative and gentle. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching for any sign of discomfort, but when he finds none, his hand molds to the curve of your hip again, resting there. You smile and close your eyes again.

"Do you remember that day in the city?" Rex asks, his voice low.

"Of course," you murmur, turning your head so your cheek rests against his thigh. The plastoid of his leg plating is hard and unforgiving underneath the pillow of your robes, but you ignore the discomfort, focusing on the heat radiating from his body and the weight of his hand against your side. "How could I forget? That was the day you finally realized I wasn't just a crazy Jedi."

"You're not crazy," he retorts, giving your hip a light pinch. You yelp in surprise, and Rex chuckles, the rich, throaty noise filling the room and warming your heart. "Just a bit unhinged, is all."

"Unhinged?" you protest as you roll onto your back and open your eyes to glare up at him. His expression is teasing, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, and you narrow your eyes. "How is that any better?”

"You're right," he laughs. "Not unhinged. A little eccentric, maybe."

"Eccentric?" you repeat indignantly.

"What? I think it suits you," he says, grinning down at you, and you groan, burying your face in his thigh. He snorts a laugh and nudges you with his leg. "It's not a bad thing. I like it."

You don’t move, trying to hide the grin that threatens to spread across your face. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that to you, and it’s not the first time you’ve gotten the feeling that he genuinely likes the less conventional aspects of your personality, even the ones you've spent most of your life trying to hide from everyone else. But it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing, and it doesn't stop the flush that spreads up your neck and stains your cheeks pink.

After a second, Rex sighs, his hand rubbing your hip soothingly. "I meant what I said. You're not crazy, and anyone who says you are isn't worth your time. And the men will agree with me."

"Yeah?" you ask, peering up at him. He nods, his expression sincere, and you bite back a smile, your gaze falling away from his face. "I'm glad I have their support."

"They'd follow you anywhere," he says softly, his fingers trailing down your side, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. "And so would I."

You close your eyes, a lump rising in your throat as his words wash over you, and you reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His words are like a balm to the ache inside you, and you squeeze his hand, holding onto him like a lifeline.

It's a simple thing, the two of you sitting together, talking quietly, his hand holding yours, and yet, it feels like everything. Like more than either of you can say, but also like everything you need. A safe place. A sanctuary. A refuge from the chaos of the war and the darkness of the visions. A home.

You bite your lip, a sudden swell of emotion rising inside you, and you take a deep breath, forcing the tears back before they can spill over. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed, and Rex's hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand gently.

"What is it?" he asks quietly, his voice breaking the silence. You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. How to put your feelings into words. "Hey. Talk to me."

"I just..." 

You trail off, the words catching in your throat. He waits, his eyes never leaving your face, and you take a deep breath before continuing, the truth tumbling out of you.

"I had a dream, when I was healing that boy on Nadiem," you confess quietly. Rex’s brow furrows, but he nods, encouraging you to continue. "The Force showed me what could be, the future I could have, and..."

Your breath catches, and you swallow hard, trying to regain your composure. The emotions welling up inside you are overwhelming, and you squeeze his hand again, drawing strength from the warmth of his touch. He doesn't push you, just watches you, his gaze fixed on yours, and you find the courage to keep going.

"It wasn't the first time I'd had a vision like that," you explain softly, your voice trembling. “It's become something like a haven for me, I think. I thought it was a manifestation of the Light side of the Force. Something my mind latches onto in the darkness. But now, I'm not so sure. I think...it's real. Or it could be."

"What was it about?" he asks, his voice low, the words barely more than a whisper. You blink away the tears and give him a small smile.

"A field," you murmur, and you look away, trying to remember the details. "A field of golden grass and flowers, and the sun was shining. I could hear kids playing, and birds, and insects, and...I felt safe. And happy."

You pause, the memory flooding back to you, the sensations so vivid that you can almost taste the sweetness in the air, and your smile widens, a single tear rolling down your cheek. You wipe it with the heel of your hand, and Rex's grip tightens, his fingers entwined with yours.

"Sounds nice," he whispers.

"It was," you reply, your voice wavering. "I've had similar visions before, but this was the clearest, the most real. I felt like I was home."

The two of you fall silent as Rex watches you intently, his expression unreadable. He’s waiting for you to continue, but you can't bring yourself to speak, the weight of the confession threatening to break the dam, and so the two of you sit there, neither saying a word.

“What else?” he finally prompts gently.

Your eyes meet his, and you take a shaky breath. You look away and focus on the feeling of his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, and the words slip out, a quiet confession that lingers in the air between you.

“You were there too. With me."

Rex doesn’t respond. Doesn't move.

He simply stares at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief, and you let out a soft, breathless chuckle that breaks the silence. His lips twitch, and he looks away, the blush creeping across his cheeks and ears again. You nudge his leg with your head, earning a quiet grunt.

"I'm serious," you insist.

Rex huffs a laugh, still not meeting your eyes.

"You're…you’re sure it was me?" he asks after a beat. You nod, and he gives you a half-smile, the corner of his mouth curving up. "What was I doing?"

You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. You can feel him watching you, his gaze burning a hole into your forehead, but you don't look at him, trying to figure out how to describe what you saw. What you felt.

"We were just standing there. Talking," you start slowly, your voice low, almost a whisper. You close your eyes, the image filling your mind. "We hugged. You said you were looking for me. That I'd run off."

"Run off?"

"You seemed worried, but not surprised," you say with a small smile.

"Of course I wasn't," he murmurs. You turn your head and open your eyes, meeting his gaze. His expression is thoughtful, a hint of sadness lurking behind his smile. "I know you."

"Yeah, you do.” You swallow hard and look away, the emotion building up in your chest, raw and aching. "You told me you were always going to find me."

"Sounds like me."

"It did," you laugh as you wipe your cheek again. "And you did."

"Always will," he vows quietly, his voice thick with emotion, and you close your eyes again, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "If that's where you are, that's where I'll be."

The room falls quiet as his words steal the air from your lungs. You can't breathe, can't move, can't speak. All you can do is lie there, the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, and hope that the silence between the two of you says what you can't. What you don't have the words for.

Because if the vision is true, if the future you see is the same as the future Rex wants, it changes everything. It's more than the two of you can possibly comprehend, more than either of you are prepared for.

It's everything. Everything the two of you have ever wanted, everything the you have ever dreamed of. Everything that's been missing in the lives you've lived for far too many years.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

“I’m grateful for it. That the Force would show me a place like that. A home," you manage after a beat, your voice hoarse. "But...it was also cruel. To give me something like that only to take it away. I can't...I don't think I can..."

Your voice cracks, the sentence trailing off, and you turn away, covering your face with your hand. You can't keep going.

The answering silence hangs over the two of you like a shroud, a heavy weight that settles on your shoulders. Your fingers play with the robe folded underneath your head, picking at a loose thread until the pressure building inside you becomes too much.

You sigh and push yourself up, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. You can feel Rex's gaze on you, the concern and worry emanating from him almost tangible, but you keep your eyes on the ground, too ashamed to look at him.

"It's a lot," you admit quietly, your voice muffled by the fabric of your pants. "The whole thing. It's a lot."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "It is."

"It didn’t used to be like this. I don’t know why the Force is showing me these things, or what it means," you sigh as you glance up at him.

He's staring down at his hands, his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed into a thin line. The sight is familiar, a look he's worn so often in the past several months that it almost feels like a second skin. A mask.

You wish more than anything you could wipe the expression from his face, but you know you can't, and so you continue, "I know I'm supposed to be better at this. Stronger. I don't understand why I'm failing."

"Failing? At what?"

"Being a Jedi," you reply, a bitter edge creeping into your voice. You take a deep breath, and the anger and resentment drain away, replaced by a weary resignation. "I used to think I was terrible at it. That the only reason I wasn't expelled from the Order was because Yaddle took pity on me. But now...I feel like maybe I wasn't a failure, or a lost cause, and that...it's worse."

You pause, a sudden exhaustion settling over you, and the words come out before you can stop them, spilling from your lips in a harsh, ragged whisper.

"It means I could have been more."

The room is silent save for the thud of your heart in your ears, the words hanging heavy in the air. They're true, though you've never said them out loud before, and the truth stings, a deep ache that radiates through your chest.

After a beat, Rex speaks, his voice soft and gentle, but firm, the conviction in his tone leaving no room for argument.

"You are more."

You look up, the tears welling up and threatening to spill over, and he holds your gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce determination.

"You are so much more," he continues. "You're kind and caring and loyal, and you're a good friend and an amazing Jedi. The best. And even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter. Not to me."

"Rex..."

"I'm not a Jedi," he interrupts, his voice low and rough. "And I'm not saying this because I'm trying to be the voice of reason, or because I think that's what you want to hear. I'm saying it because it's the truth."

He pauses, the emotions rising to the surface, and his voice wavers, a note of sadness and longing creeping in. "I know how much it means to you, being a Jedi. And I respect that. But...you can't keep pushing yourself like this. You can't keep tearing yourself apart trying to live up to some impossible standard."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are," he says, the words cutting off your protests, and he reaches for your hand, holding it tightly. "You're not a machine. You're not invincible. And the war isn't going to get any easier."

"I know."

"Do you?" he asks, his brow furrowed. "Because it doesn't seem like you're giving yourself a chance to rest. To process."

You hesitate, the truth of his words hitting you, and you let out a laugh, a harsh, bitter noise that echoes off the walls.

"I guess I've just been hoping I'd eventually figure it out," you admit, your voice catching. "That somehow, if I just kept going, it would all make sense. And it would work. It's always worked before."

"Maybe it's time to try something new."

You snort, and he raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his gaze.

"Like what?" you ask.

"You could start by not being so hard on yourself," he replies, his tone matter-of-fact. "Maybe stop trying to fix everything, or take on the burden of the whole galaxy, and give yourself a little bit of room to breathe."

"Rex, I can't—“

"Yes, you can," he says softly, and his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and gentle, his thumb brushing the skin just below your eye. "You've given so much already. And you don't have to do it alone. You've got me, and the men, and General Kenobi. And General Skywalker and Commander Tano too, if you let them. We'll help you through it, no matter what. You can lean on us."

The words are kind, and the sentiment is touching, but you shake your head, the doubt and fear lingering just beneath the surface rising up and choking the air from your lungs.

"No," you croak, and you pull away from his touch. "You don't understand. I can't...I can't rely on others, or ask them to carry my burdens. It's not fair."

"Fair?"

"I've caused so much pain and suffering already," you say quietly, the guilt and shame heavy in your gut, and you hug your knees tighter. "I can't drag everyone else down with me."

Rex sighs and shifts closer, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him. You fight the urge to push him away, to hide, and allow yourself to lean into him, the warmth and solidness of his body a comfort against the storm inside you.

"I know what it's like," he murmurs, his hand resting on the side of your neck, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, "to feel like you have to be perfect, or strong, or unbreakable. Like you have to keep all the pieces together and not make a single mistake. And I know how exhausting and lonely it can be."

You nod, and the tears well up, spilling over your lashes and streaming down your cheeks. Rex doesn't hesitate, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you, cradling the back of your head in his hand as he holds you tight against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against the crown of your head, his breath tickling your hair.

"I've felt it too," he whispers, his voice hoarse, and you squeeze your eyes shut, the sob building in your throat. "I still do. It's been...hard. Especially lately. It's not easy, and it's not something we can just fix overnight. But it's also not something we have to do alone."

You sniffle and nod again, clutching the front of his chest plate as the tears fall faster. The words hit deep, piercing the shell of your heart and filling you with a warmth that spreads through your chest, radiating out to the tips of your fingers and toes. The feeling is familiar, a sensation that's followed him since the day he rescued you, a connection that's only grown stronger with each passing day, and you can't help but press yourself closer, desperate to feel the comfort of his presence.

Rex sighs, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his lips brush against the top of your head. The gesture is tender and affectionate, and it only serves to intensify the ache inside you, the desire to be closer to him, to hold him and be held. To feel safe. And loved.

"You're not alone, and you're not broken," he continues softly, his voice strained, his grip on you tightening as he speaks. "You're just tired. And overwhelmed. And hurting. And that's okay."

The last word catches in his throat, and you pull away, looking up at him through watery eyes. His expression is pained, a raw emotion written across his face, and his gaze darts away from yours. He tries to mask it, but you can see the tears clinging to his eyelashes, the redness in the corners of his eyes. And the sight breaks your heart.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, wiping his cheeks roughly with the back of his hand. "I'm not trying to make this about me. It's just...seeing you like this, it...hurts."

"I know," you whisper. "I know, and I'm sorry. For worrying you. For not being able to handle it. I just...I'm not..."

"It's okay," he cuts in, his voice soft, the pain in his eyes melting into a tenderness that nearly steals your breath. "We're in this together, remember?"

You give him a smile, a small, trembling thing, and Rex returns the expression. The two of you lean back against the wall again, and he tucks his arm around you, drawing you back into the safety of his embrace.

"You're not a failure. Not by a mile. I don't know anyone else who could do what you do, or deal with everything you've dealt with, and still be standing," he murmurs, and his free hand reaches over to touch yours, his fingers ghosting along the scars that stretch across your palm. "You're amazing."

"That's sweet," you mutter, your face burning at his praise. "But you're biased."

Rex snorts a soft laugh and squeezes your hip. "Maybe. But I’m not the only one who thinks so. Ask the men. Ask anyone who's served with you. They'll all tell you the same thing. Hell, you can ask Lieutenant Price. The boys told me he has an impressive poster collection.”

“Oh, enough with the kriffing posters,” you grumble, burying your face in his chest.

He chuckles and rests his chin on top of your head, his arms encircling your waist. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying the feeling of being close to each other, and the weight that's been sitting heavy on your chest lifts, allowing you to breathe again.

"Thank you," you mumble, and Rex hums, the noise rumbling in his chest. You look up at him and add, "For...all of this. For listening. And for being here. For not giving up on me."

"I'll never give up on you," he promises, and the sincerity in his voice brings tears to your eyes. You quickly look away and press your cheek against his chest again, blinking furiously as you fight back the emotions. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," you say hoarsely, your voice muffled by the plastoid of his armor.

"I never do," he counters, and his hand moves to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair. He presses his lips to the crown of your head, and his breath is warm against your skin. "Not to you. I'm here, cyar'ika. Always."

Tears sting your eyes again, but they're tempered by the warmth of his words, the feeling of his breath on your head. The sound of the Mando'a rolling off his tongue sends a shiver down your spine, chasing away the cold dread that's been gnawing at the pit of your stomach and replacing it with curiosity. You've heard him say the word before, wrote it in a message once or twice, but he's never offered a translation.

You pull back and look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What does that mean?"

Rex blinks at you, a look of confusion passing over his features before his eyes widen, a flush creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. He clears his throat and looks away, his gaze darting around the room before settling somewhere over your shoulder.

"What does what mean?"

"What you just said," you prompt, and his blush deepens, the color reaching the tips of his ears. You bite back a grin and poke him in the chest, trying not to laugh at his embarrassment. "You've said it before. What does it mean?"

"Uh, it's a...it's a nickname," Rex stammers, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. "A term of endearment."

"Oh," you reply softly. You duck your head, a smile spreading across your face, and you look up at him through your lashes. "Well, that's...that's nice."

Rex laughs nervously and nods, still not looking at you, and your grin widens.

"Do I get to know what it means?"

"I'll tell you later," he mumbles as he looks at the ceiling.

"Later?" you prompt, nudging his shoulder. "When is later?"

“After you rest," he replies firmly, finally meeting your gaze. Your lower lip juts out, and Rex shakes his head, his lips twitching as he tries not to smile. "No. I'm not falling for that this time. Now come here."

You huff and turn away, crossing your arms and glaring at the wall, but he doesn't give up. He pulls you into his lap, tucking your legs across his and resting his chin on the top of your head. You resist at first, but he's persistent, and eventually, you relent, allowing him to maneuver the two of you into a more comfortable position.

Rex shifts until his back is pressed against the wall and his legs are stretched out in front of him, and you curl into him, tucking your head beneath his chin and resting your hands on his chest plate. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, and you nuzzle his neck, inhaling deeply as his scent fills your lungs.

"Are you going to keep sulking, or are you going to close your eyes?" he asks after a beat, a teasing lilt to his voice. You sigh dramatically, and he snorts, the warm puff of air tickling the shell of your ear. "Fine, but I'm not moving until you do."

"I guess I have no choice, huh?" you grumble, though the smile is still on your face, a fluttery, giddy feeling swelling in your chest. "I suppose you win this round, Rex."

“I’ll mark the occasion in my calendar," he drawls, and you elbow him in the ribs. “On this day, General Anathorn gave in to Captain Rex. A glorious victory for the Republic."

"Asshole," you mutter under your breath. He snickers and tightens his arms around you, pulling you even closer. "You're lucky I'm too tired to keep arguing with you."

"I'll count my blessings while they last," he deadpans, earning another elbow. "Hey, watch it."

"Oh, sorry," you reply, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Rex gives a long-suffering sigh, but the arm around your waist remains where it is, his thumb stroking the fabric of your tunic. "Are you comfortable?"

"Very," he murmurs. "Are you?"

"Yes," you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips. "This is nice. Being like this, with you. It feels...safe."

"Yeah," he breathes. "It does."

You hum contentedly and close your eyes, a yawn stretching across your face, and Rex chuckles, his nose nuzzling the crown of your head.

"I'll wake you if anything happens," he whispers as he grabs your outer robe and drapes it over the two of you.

You nod and press a light kiss to his neck, snuggling closer. Rex stiffens at the contact, his breath hitching before he relaxes, a pleased rumble emanating from his chest. The two of you fall into silence, his fingers tracing patterns along your back as your breathing begins to slow, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the chill that lingers beneath your skin. 

It's easy to forget, wrapped up in his arms, the soft light of the rising sun painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Easier than it should be. But you don't fight it, the comfort and security of his presence a balm to the fears and worries that plague your mind. 

For a brief, fleeting second, everything is okay, and you're simply a man and a woman, lost in the warmth and affection between you. Nothing else matters. Not the war. Not the visions. Not the darkness that haunts you. Just this. Just the two of you. Together.

"Sleep," Rex murmurs, his voice a quiet whisper. "I'll be here."

And so you do.

taglist: @cyaretra @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @dustmusings @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @cw80831

[the-impulse-to-love]

so. house veridian and feathered host

ive been thinking more n more ab the "divide" betwen house veridian and feathered host. and with the two songs off of EIA about the consequences of fame, i'm inclined to believe it relates to that.

more specifically:

house veridian represents the desire to push forward with the band; they must "endure" feelings of burnout

vessel (and the others ofc) care about the fanbase. this much is evident from the music and rituals. something something damocles something something him apologizing for not always being able to deliver his best. he wants to deliver out of love and care, but it's difficult since he's ultimately a person who struggles with his own problems and stress. nonetheless, he's trying to endure.

"the house" can also refer to the fanbase and community. collectively, we have to endure any setbacks or incidents within the fandom (such as. the whole thing with caramel) by reflecting and improving our behaviour as fans. for instance, respecting the band's boundaries which is something they explicitly asked for in caramel. hell, the house might collapse if we can't get our shit together.

the idea of fight (fight vs flight). fight is actively engaging with the issue at hand and figuring out how to beat it/work around it.

so, "enduring" is more so figuring out how to overcome negative thoughts and make the whole process (songwriting, touring, etc) more healthy for everyone involved. bc it's clear with damocles and caramel that it is taking a toll on vessel (and the band).

whereas

feathered host represents the desire to stop; the desire to "break the cycle"

the cycle in this case likely refers to what vessel described in damocles: "and i play discordant days on repeat / till the tape runs out on me," or he has to replay his struggles in his mind to adequately write about them. this is obviously draining.

it can also refer to music industry itself and consumerism, in which artists are often treated as a mere tool to pump out content and generate revenue. we know that sleep token also has some sorta exclusive licensing deal with rca, likely meaning they have more control than the standard artist with their work. (good for them!)

however, it's still a cycle of consumerism and the band is expected to pump out songs and go on tours and whatnot, both by the fans and the music industry.

so, breaking the cycle could either mean stopping the band altogether (which. i honestly don't think will happen for the foreseeable future. this would be in a very literal sense). rather, i think it is finding a better way to navigate making content in which the tiring cycle is broken, or at least minimized so it takes less of a toll on everyone involved. breaking a cycle doesn't mean the extreme option has to be taken.

as for tying into the idea of "flight" (fight vs flight), it would mean escaping the problem at hand which. isn't a bad thing. it's alright to take a step back and take a break, yk?

and i don't think either of these are ultimately Bad Decisions, you know? it wouldn't really make sense to have the fans vote like that for either as well...

instead, i think it's a struggle to find balance between the two ideas.

how do you sustain something you care so deeply about even if it drains you? do you stop altogether? do you take a break? do you just push on and hope it gets better?

if this idea is true, i don't think there will be a clear "winner” with the two sides. rather, they're two ideas that can coexist, but it's just a matter of how.

how can the band and community be sustained/endure while breaking the cycle of consumerism and creative exploitation?

and it's a collaborative effort. we, as fans, have to sorta realize how to be more respectful towards the band and understand that they're ultimately People.

so. basically i'm inclined to believe this might be the theme of EIA. obviously, we still have seven songs left (maybe even the bonus tracks) but. Just A Theory

[mousepatta]

Sharks and Minnows

What could be worse than waking up in a dangerous, magical world with no idea of how to get back home? Waking up in said world to find out that your perfectly average height apparently translates to about four inches tall in this world.

Yuu is nothing if not industrious. However, their decision to live in Octavinelle dormitory's walls may have backfired.

· · ─────── ·.· ─────── · ·

Chapter 1: Unfortunate Circumstances

Next

· ─────── ·· ─────── ·

Azul had a problem.

It had started off small. So small that he almost hadn't noticed.

Little things would go missing here and there. Nothing valuable, just a stray button or ink cartridge. Maybe a small amount of food would go unaccounted for from the kitchen. At most, it had been annoying. Azul had assumed it was simply Floyd misplacing things. But then things had taken a turn.

Suddenly, students were coming into his consultations a tad more… informed than they should have been. They would nit-pick clauses he had discussed only in private. Of course, he could “roll with the punches” as one might say, but it sure made his job harder. He had to stay on his toes when making deals with what should have been naive little first years. It was as if someone was feeding them knowledge they should not have been privy to.

Azul had already embarrassed himself by prowling around his own office, searching for some sort of hidden recording device. For how else could these people have such exact knowledge of the lounge's inner workings. Exhausted from ranting to Jade, Azul steeled himself to attempt to get help from Idia. Though they weren't exactly the best of friends, Azul would garner that he was likely one of the few people on campus who interacted with the reclusive housewarden, so gaining his favor shouldn't be too difficult.

“So, like, what d’ya want me to do about it?”, Idia stared blankly.

Azul had confided in him during a meeting at the board game club.

“It is a matter of technology, is it not? I've been unable to find any sort of recording device, but you may be able to find one with your more advanced methods, no?”

“Yikes, getting dragged out of my room again in one day sounds like a major L.”, Idia muttered to himself.

“I would not seek your assistance if this was not a serious matter. I'm sure I can offer something in exchange.”

Azul reached into his bag, pulling out a boxed figurine.

“Omg! That's totally a collector's edition doki club figurine from the fast food tie-in! How did you get your hands on that?”

“Worry less about how I acquired it and more about how you can. Just one little favor and it's all yours.”

“Geez, this guy can't say anything without sounding sus. But I guess I'm in!”

“It'll be a pleasure doing business with you.”

After these stressful few weeks, Azul's spirit finally began to lift.

…

Yuu rushed forward. They didn't have much time. Waking up in an unfamiliar, magical, world without any clear way to get home was stressful enough. Adding onto that, the fact that their perfectly normal height apparently translated to about four inches in this world, Yuu had been having an unpleasant experience.

In the aftermath of a stressful orientation, the headmaster had allowed Yuu to stay in Ramshackle dormitory along with their “familiar”. Though, most students would not know Yuu was even there, which they were perfectly fine with. What was not fine was the state of the dorm they had been given asylum within. It was decrepit. If they had been the appropriate size, they were sure they could pretty it up a bit, or at least clean it enough that the dust didn't irritate their eyes and nose too much. Alas, with that not being the case, Yuu had no choice but to search for alternative solutions.

The other dorms were all well-maintained. Yuu was sure that no one would even notice if they were to slip in and stay in secret. That just left them the decision of which dorm to choose. They couldn't find much information about Diasomnia, just that many strong mages were there. Maybe they would be able to sense an unwelcome presence? In the same vein, Savanaclaw housed most beastmen who might be able to sniff them out. Ignihyde was supposedly full of hermits who would stay in the dorm too often. Heartslabyul and Pomefiore had rigorous rules and standards that would make any evidence of Yuu's existence harder to ignore.

That left them with Scarabia or Octavinelle. The scale was tilted the moment the prefect discovered that Octavinelle housed a restaurant, the Mostro Lounge. Getting food would be a breeze. After thoroughly convincing Grim to give them a ride over, using the promise of free food stolen from the Mostro Lounge, Yuu got to work. They made the risky, but rewarding, move of carving out their home base in the walls of the VIP room of the lounge. It kept them far enough away from the rush of customers, but close enough to food and other supplies.

Which led them to where they were now. Yuu rushed through the walls toward a dorm room. They had taken too much food from the lounge itself lately and the Octavinelle housewarden, Azul Ashengrotto, had taken notice. An added bonus of their chosen place within the walls was that they could hear any grievances and quickly course correct. For now, they would switch to finding food within the dorm rooms for a while. Just until any suspicion died down.

If Grim hadn't gotten greedy, there wouldn't be any suspicion in the first place, Yuu thought bitterly.

Their steps were hurried, keeping in mind that students would be filing into the dorm soon. If Yuu didn't have the added responsibility of attending classes in secret despite their size, the time to forage would be plentiful. They internally cursed Dire Crowley for his borderline hazardous requirements.

Their mood lifted as they reached their favorite dorm room. A smile traced their features as they popped their head out of the secret entrance they had made through the wall. Just as expected, three different bags of chips were left open. The prefect wasn't sure what sort of person would leave so many snacks open without finishing any, but they wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

The dorm room was split down the middle, with one side staying tidy and the other side being a mess. Yuu would mostly ignore the cleaner side of the room as it never bore any fruits. At most, they could pick off some of a mushroom from one of the terrariums placed on the shelves, but they didn't know enough about fungi to know which were safe to eat. Accidently poisoning themself would be a pretty embarrassing way to go. They would stick to their pre-packaged goods, thank you very much.

Just as they had finished packing up a variety of chips and a bit of candy they had found on the way, they heard two sets of footsteps approaching the door. Yuu slipped down and under the bed of the messier side of the room, heading toward the safety of the wall. Before they could get there, the door opened and someone flopped onto the bed above them. Yuu jolted. The stress on the springs almost made them think the bed would collapse. The second set of footsteps calmly pulled out a desk chair.

A bag crinkled.

“Wha- Jade, ya haven't been eating my stuff have ya?”, a voice lilted.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”, a deeper voice replied.

“Well something has been. Should tell Azul to quit holin’ up in his office while we get mice out here.”

“I sincerely doubt a mouse stole two chips from you and left without a trace.”

“Well, what else could it be? Don't think anyone here would sneak in and steal from me. That's just askin’ for a squeezin’.”

“What indeed?”

Yuu had heard enough. They quickly and quietly slipped back into the walls, drowning out the rest of the conversation. Something about the tone that “Jade” had used unnerved them.

They had little time to dwell on that matter as Yuu made their way through the walls and back to their home base. As much as they appreciated the dorm they were in, the housewarden was a bit… much. He often tricked students into signing contracts, luring them in with false promises before ultimately striking. Yuu rolled their eyes at the thought. It wasn't as if he couldn't fulfill the promises he would make, he simply refused to. Taking advantage of students in exchange for “favors” that took little to no effort on his part. Yuu could understand not wanting to be constantly helping others, but if he really did have the power to help his desperate peers, why not just do it?

With these thoughts in mind, Yuu had taken to giving out their own scraps of advice. Their position gave them insider knowledge on certain terms and after hearing so many consultations, they had acquired quite the knack for finding cracks in different clauses. Knowledge in tow, Yuu would anonymously message students before and occasionally during their meetings with Azul. Though some simply dismissed their warnings, those who would heed them were ultimately able to gain more bargaining power at the very least. It may not have been foolproof, but it was the least they felt they could do.

Yuu peered out through a small hole in the bookcase. Azul seemed to be in high spirits. Likely because of some scam going well, Yuu thought bitterly. He was humming to himself, happily scrawling away on whatever paperwork needed attention. Yuu eagerly flopped into their jewelry-box-turned-bed, ready to enjoy some well-earned rest.

· · ─────── ·.· ─────── · ·

[first-time-tma]

Episode 185

Wow

This was... heavy

The statement was incredibly well written omg.

I am lucky enough that I have never had to deal with police violence myself but reading through the comments and listening to Jonny's intro hit HARD.

I understand why Jonny apologized and said that this was too much of real world trauma included in the lodcast but honestly I think its good and important to include issues like these as well.

About the rest of the episode:

I think it was good and important that Martin got to make the decision about the victim this time. And I completely understand why he chose this way.

But it must have been incredibly difficult for him and i feel really bad that he had to choose.

Its so interesting to see more avout how much in power they really are. Jon, obviously, but especially with being able to change the watched to watcher is such a great responsibility.

Overall, this was an amazing episode but it also hit VERY VERY hard.

And next is Martins domain... and Jon is GONE

YAY

[dollypopup]

Truthfully, I knew the show had little care for respecting Colin and Penelope's friendship when they had her so disappointed at his 'You are my friend' line in Season 2, and they really showed it when she dropped the 'I was pretending to be your friend' in the church. My mouth genuinely fell open when I heard it. It seemed to me that the writers didn't have a respect for the fact that Colin truly, genuinely, wholeheartedly cherished his friendship with Penelope. It was seen as a failing that he saw her as a friend and appreciated her as such instead of viewing her immediately 'as a woman'. And as a friends to lovers fan, and especially one who was just so moved by how much care he really had with her outside of a sexual and romantic context, it crushed me.

That lack of respect on the writer's part projected onto Penelope. Her hopes for Colin as a romantic partner dimmed the importance she placed on their platonic relationship. To me, it seemed more as though every milestone of friendship between them was a stepping stone to an eventual romance, and thus was resented when it didn't ring out as romantic. I think this is what made it so clear that Penelope's respect for Colin was fragmented, that there was an uneven dynamic.

Where Colin always showed how he loved Penelope through honesty and vulnerability, Penelope showed how she loved Colin with secrecy. She made decisions for him by withholding the truth. I agree with you that Penelope doesn't trust Colin's level of care for their friendship, and I think it stems from the fact that the friendship itself is not something she herself knows how to value. Penelope's relationship with relationships itself is fractured, and so she struggles to connect with Colin in meaningful ways because of it, especially when gender dynamics get mixed in, and further difficult because of her romantic hopes for him. She struggles to be vulnerable with much of anyone, but especially Colin.

In a lot of ways, her primary reaction to him is to push him away. The offer of annulment, the 'Goodnight Mr. Bridgerton', cutting off their letters with no explanation, the article she wrote about him.

But Colin is a safe place to land. She doesn't get to express that anger at others in a lot of ways, not without burning the bridge. Not as herself. As Lady Whistledown, yes, but as Penelope? Eloise didn't take it, her family wouldn't take it: the only person who would and did was Colin BECAUSE he values Penelope and their friendship and wants to make that clear. Penelope lashes out as a way to push him away, and Colin takes it and then shows her he values her by staying and, metaphorically and literally, chasing after her. All the ways Colin has loved her has been by giving her more agency and looking to bridge their divide.

When he finds out she's hurt because she doesn't feel like she can navigate the world, he offers to open it for her through lessons. Women with husbands have more freedom, so he offers to help her find a husband. He asks to enter her carriage instead of immediately hopping in. When he breaks her dance with Debling, she has the choice to tell him no. When she tells him she's most comfortable in the Bridgerton drawing room, he sets it up for her to put her at ease. When she shows him what she wants, he JUMPS to provide it for her, to open the doors that she thought were closed.

But, save for when she exposed Marina and gave Colin the truth, Penelope often closes doors for him instead of opening them. She doesn't confide in him, she doesn't let him close, when he wants to know her, she shuts down. When he wants her to open up to him, she deflects. And because he is who he is and he sees her in such high esteem, he doesn't take this as her failing to trust in general- but that he himself is untrustworthy. Which, again, does not make her a bad person. It's interesting as hell to explore! But doesn't get explored. It makes me so upset that it's all just. . .done. There won't be any character development about that.

Also, you're right that her constant projection is reflected onto Colin!! I didn't notice it about when she accused him about his secret dealings, but I did in the 'Goodnight Mr. Bridgerton' scene. When she tells him off, she projects her own insecurities onto him. That she embarrasses him and how he looks down on her. His apology addresses how that's not true, but that fight in front of the modiste doesn't have a similar mirror to earlier. It would have been such a good opportunity for her to do as Colin did- to address his fears and then offer to repair the harm like he did with her, but instead we got a 'Colin I love you!' and then a kiss to wrap it up, all whilst she never really built him back up after tearing him down in that article.

Unpopular opinion is unpopular, but everything inside of me so so badly wanted to see Colin push back more when Penelope told him she loved him the night before the wedding. He has been in knots for AGES thinking she was just settling for him, that the thing she wanted to tell him is that she doesn't return his feelings, that for him, it's a love match, but not for her. He spent the entire engagement ball thinking she was avoiding him and wanting to call it all off. She didn't tell him she loved him after they were intimate, or before. He told her he loved her, and she didn't say it back. Of course he's insecure about their relationship. She'd ghosted him over the summer, he spent the majority of part 1 earning himself back into her good graces tthrough a variety of love languages, she was about to marry Debling and HE was the one to call it off, not her. Tell me YOU wouldn't be insecure and doubtful too?

So after he found out she was hiding the fact that she was LW, and they were out of sorts, idk, I just wanted that "Then what good am I to you?" "Colin, I love you! I love you!" to be followed up with "I don't believe you!"

And I get it. He WANTS to believe her. He caves so fast because he loves her and he wants her to be telling the truth. But his trust in her has been broken. She lied to him about other things: why not about that, too? That's the part of the LW reveal and fallout that I think was missing for me: not that she was endangering herself or wrote about XYZ, but the fact that she lied to him and how badly THAT hurt. That she kept lying to him. He's been told "I love you" before as a diversion from the truth, he carries trauma from that blow up of an engagement with Marina. Why couldn't we explore that, more?

I wanted to see Penelope SHOW him that she loves him, not just SAY that she loves him.

[practicalsuccubus]

Incorrect Quotes part 10!

(As a reminder, feel free to draw these! Just tag me so I can see them! Im also writing an extreme angst piece and feel bad so Im hiding it with humor) Chase: Just left the doctor's office. I'm up to 198 lbs. I'm going to eat 2 lbs of nachos so I can be 1% Nacho. Nox: Chase. Stop. This is a relationship. We make reasonable and intelligent decisions together. I need you 100% committed to be mine. Chase: 99% yours. Nox: What? Chase: 1% Nacho man - Nox, complaining to Violet: So you can say "Have a nice day" and that’s considered polite. Nox: But when I say "Enjoy the next twenty-four hours" apparently i'm being "extremely threatening, Buddy". - Chase, answering phone: "M'yello?" Deacon: "What. Did you do?" Chase: "Okay… but you can't get mad." Deacon: "WHAT. Did you do." Chase: "Okay, first… I was minding my own business-" Deacon: "BULLSHIT!" Chase: "I waaaas!" - Deacon: Why do you mess with Buddy so much? He's threatened to kill you at least twice today. Chase: Because at this point it's a game, and if he gives in then I win. And he knows it. - Chase: So if you have ten chocolates, and someone takes away half of them, what will they have? Nox: A broken hand. Chase: … n-no. - Chase: Don’t go picking a fight with me. I could make your life difficult! Nox, sarcastically: Wow. I wonder what it’d be like to have a difficult life. - -in a book- Nox: Sorry I was late, I was doing something important.

rapid, approaching footsteps. door slams open.

Chase, disheveled: HE PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS! - -a book goes off-script- Nox: Bing bong, hey what's up, you're doin' a bad job. Chase: I KNOW I'm doing a bad job! - Nox: I think I'm gonna start gaslighting you. Chase: You're gonna start gaslighting me? Nox: That's not what I said. - Chase: Sometimes Deacon says, “Chase, what do you think you’re doing?” But that just means stop. He doesn’t actually want to know my thought process. - Prunella: Don't worry. chase likes your butt and fancy hair. I know. I read his diary. Nox, touching his hair: He thinks it's fancy? - Nox: Wife? Why am I the wife? Chase: Because you're attentive, sweet, and look good in white~ Nox, blushing and turning away: Y-You can't just say stuff like that, Chase -

And finally, since this is #10, Deacon and Chase present "I'm at Soup"~! Chase: Hello? Hey, What's up?

Deacon: I need your help, can you come here?

Chase:….I can't, I'm buying clothes.

Deacon: …Alright, well, hurry up and come over here.

Chase: ….I can't find 'em

Deacon: What do you mean you can't find 'em?!

Chase: I can't find them, there's only soup.

Deacon: ….What do you mean 'There's only soup'?!

Chase: It means there's only soup!

Deacon: WELL THEN GET OUT OF THE SOUP AISLE!

Chase: Alright! You don't have to shout at me ;_;

...

Chase: There's more soup!

Deacon: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S MORE SOUP?!

Chase: There's just more soup!

Deacon: Go into the next aisle!

Chase: There's still soup!

Deacon: WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?!

Chase: I'M AT SOUP!

Deacon: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE 'AT SOUP'?!

Chase: I MEAN I'M AT SOUP!

Deacon: WHAT STORE ARE YOU IN?!

Chase: I'M AT THE SOUP STORE!

Deacon: WHY ARE YOU BUYING CLOTHES AT THE SOUP STORE?!

Chase: FUCK YOU!

(plz give me more incorrect quote Memes like I'm at Soup I wanna do one that's StarGoth)

[laursdomain]

ridoc gamlyn as your boyfriend...

pairing: ridoc gamlyn x fem!reader

synopsis: sfw & nsfw boyfriend headcanons for ridoc

warnings: nsfw, mdni, 18+

ྀིridoc gamlyn masterlist

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sfw 𐦍

Talking. Most of the time you two are together, it is spent with Ridoc talking. He is a D1 yapper. Even when you are slowly drifting off to sleep, his voice is a constant lullaby for you, his stories of his day or whatever thoughts are in his mind comforting for you.

Banter. Before you two got together, you two had a lot of banter with one another. The snarky comments and jokes to each other across the quadrant didn't go unnoticed by the cadets in Fourth Wing, and you two most definitely didn't notice them making bets on how long it'd take for you two to get together. Even in a relationship, you two still keep up the banter, though it is more flirtatious now, earning multiple groans from Imogen.

Protective. Ridoc may only be 5'6, but he is not afraid to throw himself head first at anyone who messes with you. Even though you most definitely can handle yourself, Ridoc loves messing with them, annoying them to the point they walk away grumbling. He may not be all height like Xaden and Liam, but he knows how to annoy someone to a T.

Putting you first. We know this man definitely puts you first with the way he did so with Violet. He's always team you, supporting every decision you make, but still making sure you are mentally and physically okay. He'll only intervene if he feels a decision or thought-process of yours is compromising you.

PDA. Ridoc comes off as the type of person to love PDA to the maximum level, but he definitely is more chill than expected about it. Yes, he'll constantly have a reassuring or possessive hand on you at all times. He also gives you a kiss every time before you two part before every class. Before climbing your dragon for flight maneuvers? Kiss. Before he has to go study with Sawyer? Kiss. He laughs every time one of yours or his friends groans at you two, enjoying being able to annoy them and kiss you at the same time. His two favorite things.

Physical touch. As said before, he always has a hand on your body. Mostly because he needs to be touching you, it helps ground him while in the middle of a war. Although, being able to show off that you are his is his favorite plus. Though, he knows when the touching becomes too much, not wanting to overstimulate you.

Dates. Going on dates in the quadrant is probably the most difficult thing to do at a war college. That doesn't falter Ridoc, who finds creative ways to have dates with you. His personal favorite is using his ice wielding to create a makeshift ice skating rink, holding both your hands as you two glide around. Your personal favorite is when you two fly together, landing on an abandoned cliffside as you watch the sunset or the sunrise, cuddling together as you bask in each others presence.

Jealousy. Ridoc is the last person to get jealous of someone else trying to take you. Because, the truth is, they should be more worried about you than him. He'll watch with an amused look on his face as you either yell at the man or simply fight him until he yields, giving the other man an I told you so look. He turns his head with that same look on his face when you stomp away, grabbing Ridoc's hand as you drag him to your room.

𖤓 nsfw

Switch. I will die on this hill, but Ridoc is a switch. He loves being the one in control, being the one to bring you your pleasure as you tip over the edge, time and time again. But, he wouldn't be lying if he said he enjoyed it just as much being under your control, being forced to keep his hands to himself as you use him for your pleasure. The few times you're in control is when you are overly frustrated and in need of release, jealous, or simply because you want to. He would never tell you, but Ridoc secretly looks forward to whenever your in charge.

Kinks. Ridoc's favorite thing to do when he's the one in charge is ice play. The look of absolute ecstasy on your face as he pinches your nipples, the feeling of them hardening under the feeling of his ice-cold fingertips absolutely mesmerizing for the boy. And when he fingers you? You come faster when he uses his ice wielding from the sheer feeling of it.

Oral. Ridoc loves going down on you. He loves sinking his fingers inside of your dripping cunt, curling his fingers as he feels your spongy walls clench around his digits. He'll leave bite marks all over your inner thighs, letting you know that you are his. You beg him, every time, to suck your clit, loving the way he lightly nibbles on it, giving you the stimulation you've been desperate for.

Jealousy. After you pull him away from the man who attempted to hit on you, he's in for a treat. He'll let you do whatever your pretty face wants to do, and knows he's in for it when you push him onto the bed. You straddle his hips, bringing him in for a searing kiss that is hot and messy, but everything Ridoc loves, as you grind your clothed cunt against his. Ridoc loves and hates your teasing, simply because you take too long to remove your clothes but the feeling of your cunt grinding against his cock is perfect.

Weakness. Ridoc's weakness in the bedroom is your noises. When you first slept together, you weren't as noisy, but the moment you did when you were getting close to your high, Ridoc immediately folded. Now, every time, you never hestitate with your sounds, loving the way Ridoc drops his head into your neck when you do, marking the skin there. The other alternative, though, is your sounds will spur him on to go faster and deeper, making your sounds even louder, sending Ridoc tumbling over the edge with you.

Marking. Ridoc marks you up like it's nobody's business. He doesn't care that you'll scold him the next morning when you notice your neck is littered with mouth-shaped marks, ones that suspiciously looks like his. A shiver goes down your spine and settles into your core when you hear him say, "I want everyone to see who you belong to." You ignore the cocky smirk on his face when you proudly wear the marks on your neck like a patch on your flight jacket.

Positions. Ridoc doesn't care what position you two are in, as long as he's able to give you pleasure. Your go-to positions are missionary, cowboy, and doggy as you both thoroughly enjoy the feeling you receive in that position from Ridoc's cock. Though, it doesn't take a lot of convincing from Ridoc to let him take you against the wall, the desk, the chair, or literally any other piece of furniture.

Aftercare. Ridoc isn't overly-crazy with aftercare like the other boys, but he still does it! Once you two have finished, he'll lay there for a couple of minutes with you until your breathing calms, soothing your hair down and rubbing circles into your back. Once you're back with him, he gets up despite your protests, getting a warm wet rag and cleaning you both up. He keeps a pile of clean underwear just for you in his room, giving you one of them and one of his shirts to wear as he cuddles you to sleep.

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[artbylittlebug]

it’s been a really intense year for me so far (realised I’m trans, splitting up with my partner of 13 years) and your art is giving me hope that things will work out 💜 thank you for sharing it with us, I hope you’re doing well and that life is treating you kindly

I'm so sorry to hear 2025 has been rough so far... you are doing amazing by pushing through it all and showing up every day. I'm really glad to hear my art is helping you in some way, this makes me so glad :') I'm so proud of you for allowing yourself to make the choice to embrace your true self. I can't imagine how difficult that decision was to make, but you have made the right choice 1000% and you deserve to find happiness in your life. This pain will only be temporary. Hope you don't mind me sharing your ask publicly as it may help other trans people to see they are not alone. I hope the rest of 2025 is much kinder to you and I will be wishing you all the best <3

[tranakin-guywalker]

That's all valid and true, but I still think they could have made the codependency work for them and it was at least kind of a dick move for Frodo to make that decision for Sam... It shows how he does still see Sam as less mature and needing him to make difficult choices so he doesn't have to.

But anyway they could work on it if they wanted.

I don't think a lot of people realize how complicated the situation with Samfro really is... Sam is Frodo's employee, to start, and they are not friends, because they are not peers. They get along and they have a good relationship, as one might have with a very cool boss and an eager servant. Sam takes pride in his service and Frodo appreciates him, but he also doesn't know him very well. He underestimates Sam and sees him as well-meaning and good, but also very foolish (he is not wrong here, but he fails to see how clever Sam can be.)

Until the "conspiracy" comes out, Frodo doesn't really think about what Sam is capable of, or consider that he would act against his wishes. I think he doesn't even realize how much Sam adores him (typical Frodo behavior.) It's after they meet Gildor that Frodo first begins to really look at Sam, and maybe the first time he is impressed by him and sees that he is clever in his own right. He is very proud of him later when he points out Sam's poetry and it's clear Frodo has begun to think very highly of him.

But they are not a couple. They are still a master and his servant, and there is love between them, but it is not romance.

Flash forward to Frodo's flight from the Fellowship, when Sam almost drowns himself just to get back to Frodo. Frodo scolds him and Sam holds his ground and tells him it was cruel to leave him and that leaving him would be the same as dying. Frodo calls him "dearest of all hobbits" and this is when the relationship begins to change... Sam has disobeyed in a big way, now for the second time, and has proven that he is Frodo's friend before his servant (this is huge I can't even tell you.) This is the point when the relationship develops beyond the bounds of service and into one of peers.

They are equal in their quest, though Sam continues to refer to him as his master and carries on tending to him. This is just the way they understand things and are most comfortable and it doesn't detract from what they have built - it's a willing service given freely out of love.

But this is also the sticking point, because Frodo will always have this power over Sam, or at least, he perceives it that way, knowing Sam would literally die for him and do anything for him (except let him go into danger alone.) But this is tricky, and especially for Frodo, who understands the power dynamic and feels responsibility for Sam.

How could Frodo ask anything more of him? He can't.

From Sam's perspective, how can he ask anything of Frodo at all? He can't.

Thus, we enter the queer stalemate, where they are both in love and attracted to each other, but bound by social obligations to remain "just friends" (if you can call what they have just friends.)

As an aside, I don't believe anything they do can or should be considered strictly "gay," but these two specifically are factually in love and gay for each other, even though they don't know how to be together.

[gia-carangi-86]

I really want to share my thoughts about the scene in SG season 2.

When In-Ho asks Gihun if he can handle it on his own and if it's worth going with him, I think In-Ho confidently thought that Gihun would definitely take him, him, who supported Gihun in everything, protected him from aggressive players, followed him everywhere, showed himself to be on the good side in terms of of physical strength and mental abilities, he supported Gihun with his crazy idea of rebellion and shot his own guards for him. He literally gave Gihun the version of the friend that Gihun always wanted to have, because Sanwoo, his childhood friend, betrayed him, he realized this after the second game, then tried to kill him in the end for money, all this still traumatizes him, and even Chongbe, who is so good-natured, too, to some extent betrays him when he chooses a zero instead of a cross, everyone around him does not believe him and betrays him. And then there's this perfect Yong-il, who, using first-class methods of manipulation, pleases Gihun in everything and strongly binds him to himself... and who does Gihun choose..... he, in such a difficult moment, where if you make a small mistake, you will die, still prefers his old friend, not In-Ho, but this idiot, in In-Ho's opinion, who betrayed him. I'm so perfect, I gave you everything you wanted, I'm much better than Sunwoo, Jongbae, why don't you choose me. And it literally tears In-Ho apart from the inside. This is how manipulators behave, they want to be at the center of the universe, they want you to choose between close people, relatives, and best friends, choose only them and consider only their opinion, belittling others. Gihun is doing the right thing, after all, he chooses a person he has known for a long time, yes Yong-il is good, but he has only known him for a couple of days, even Chongbe asks in disbelief, "why am I not Yong-il?", hinting that he is much better and you have become closer to him, and What does Gihun say, "you're still my close friend." And this truth is killing In-Ho, it makes him so angry.

He understands that Gihun is gullible, naive, but far from stupid.

Yes, maybe he doesn't have the same analytical mindset as In-Ho, and a lot of what he does is very stupid, but still, in the end, he acts like the same manipulator, pursuing his own goals. You're good, so you'll stay and buy us valuable time by killing the guards, and I'll take my close friend with me, I'll trust my back to a man I've known longer and I'll protect him myself. That's why I think In-Ho killed Jongbae so viciously in front of Gihun. Saying "if it's not me, then it's nobody, look at the consequences of your decision, dear"

In-Ho is literally a psychotic rejected girl.

It's not just jealousy, it's anger, the anger of a typical manipulator who has been tricked into using his own weapon against him.

Gihun, I'm proud of you, you managed to piss off our princess, but unfortunately, it led to another injury to you, baby 😣

P.S. English is not my native language, I apologize for the mistakes

[bougiebutchbinch]

clicked on ur blog from the awesome surgical theatre post and saw that u don't practice as much now adays bc of disabilities! if u ever want to write about it, i'd be interested in hearing what it's like to be disabled in the healthcare field bc i don't see it being feasible for me but it's lowkey a dream

Healthcare is honestly an AMAZING career!

For... some disabilities.

If you're autistic and have adhd but aren't SUPER sensitive to Lots Of Sensory Stimuli (it is. very noisy. and very bright. and everything stinks) it is the best field I have ever found for getting into the hyperfocus zone while also flitting between a million tasks at once!

But on the physical side... it's gruelling, ngl.

I have a million Reasonable Adjustments in place. Half the time they get ignored because of understaffing, and I have to put my own very fragile body at risk to help patients. That's entirely because of shitty management, but I've heard it's a pretty endemic problem.

Also because of understaffing, if you have a lot of sick days, it's a problem. It shouldn't be your problem, but it winds up being that - again, because of shitty management.

I'm very, very lucky in that I am incredibly driven to do the ridiculous necessary amounts of physio/take all my meds/do everything 'right' as a patient. It's kept me working in the field far longer than I would've been able to, but it's also Very Fucking Difficult and does require, for want of a better word, a grindset.

I have a specific five-year plan that will get me into what is essentially a desk job, but where I can still make all the diagnoses (and hopefully still have some patient communication T^T) that I love. I've been told by my specialists that I might not even have five years where I'm able to walk even at a stagger and use my arms, but uhhhh. We'll worry about that when we get to it, lol.

If all else fails, I will become The Enemy (a manager) and pray that the hospital I'm moving to is more accessible to staff than my current one. Where the managers' officers are all up a steep flight of stairs and you literally cannot reach them by lift. Because fuck disabled people I guess.

All in all: yolo attitude mixed with reasonable expectations and strong ambitions/drive will get you far! But like. It's difficult. Really fucking difficult. I won't lie. I don't regret it, and I genuinely LOVE working in healthcare - it energises me and I have a passion for it that I've never felt for anything else except writing!

But if you're considering this career as a disabled person, I think you need to be very realistic with yourself regarding not just your own physical capabilities, but what reasonable adjustments will actually be put in place and how management will try and skirt around them. Shit sucks but it's reality, and at the end of the day, the patients are your priority.

You shouldn't be put in a position where you have to choose between your health and theirs, but you might be. What decision would you make in that scenario? I think that's a good question to ask yourself, before you take the plunge!

[halo-stylinson]

Hii, I just thought I would share my opinion on all this closeting stuff. Maybe it’s not even accurate anymore because I just read a post from few days ago and I’m too lazy read all the post since that. I’m not even like a Larry fan or whatever, so it’s probably doesn’t even make sense that I’m saying something (I definitely think they had something going on when they were younger tho). Anyway, I think that people definitely don’t choose to stay closeted, but sometimes they are just not ready to open up yet. Like, like Lou said, love is only for the brave. They are both famous and when they would come out it would definitely like break the internet. Especially with what is going on now in the us. There are still so many people against the lgbt community (which is terrible btw) and I think they both just want privacy. Just imagine they would like come out and all the larries would go crazy. Also, I’m not even sure if Zara and Lou are stunt. I kinda think they look cute together. Also, English is not my first language so this might be totally weird. Next I’m just gonna point out that I love James cordon and Harry’s friendship. And personally hate kid harpoon. Hope this didn’t sound disrespectful or anything, just saying my opinion. And like I said, I just read a few days old post, so this might be already spoken about.

Have a great day<3 (or night in my time zone)

hi, i have some thoughts and since you sent this to my inbox im gonna explain my point of view.

when i, and many other queer people, say closeting isnt a choice, what that means is that there is never a situation in which closeting is a genuine decision somebody makes for intrinsic reasons. its always external- be it for safety, or out of fear, or because of politics in someone's area, or family pressure, ect. while they may make the literal "choice" to not come out, its not a REAL choice. the illusion of choice is either stay closeted, or put yourself in a difficult and very often unsafe position.

if the world wasnt so homophobic right now, coming out wouldnt even be a thing. thered be no such thing as closeting, because a man dating a man would be seen as normal. you dont ever see people keeping their heterosexuality or cisgenderness a secret, do you? its normal, which is why they dont have to "come out" or "stay closeted," they have the luxury to simply exist as they are. until the world reaches that point for queer people, closeting will exist, and it will never be a real choice.

a choice made to keep oneself safe is a coerced decision, not one made of organic intrinsinc intent. for example: if youre being chased by a dog and you start to run, you didnt "choose to run." you were forced to, for your safety. does that all make sense?

i cant expect to change your mind on louis and zara being "cute together" because thats an issue of you not seeing whats in front of you. louis is visibly uncomfortable in every single photo with zara, i feel like thats clear as day.

i dont like james corden as a person but i dont know enough about him to comment further. i agree with you wholeheartedly on hating kid harpoon- he literally groped harry at the 2023 grammys, and far too many people have moved on from that for some reason.

anyway, i really appreciate that you read and enjoy my blog (i saw your other ask!) and im glad you felt comfortable telling me your opinions even if we dont necessarily agree. i think its good to be able to have conversations with people who have opposing viewpoints, on anything. i hope you have a good day/night too!

[kendrysaneela]

I agree with everything you’ve said here. And I think it’s impossible to know Helena’s true character until we actually see her by herself unsurveilled unmasked making decisions of her own volition. (I think the closest we’ve gotten to seeing Helena when she’s not masking is when she’s watching the kiss over and over again but considering she looks around to like check if she’s being watched while doing that so she’s still masking a bit and still probs on a security camera) but yeah we literally have no idea what Helena’s true character is cause we’ve legit never seen her truly unmasked and then even the one decision we see her make of her own volition (to sleep with Mark) was initiated by Mark (he kissed her first and came into her tent) so even that wasn’t fully her making a decision she just went along with it. We can make guesses of her character based on Helly’s actions but Helly doesn’t have Helena’s cult conditioning so we still don’t really know what Helena’s character truly is. I don’t think she’s mostly bad or mostly good I think she exists somewhere in the middle more of a moral ambiguity.

And yeah in terms of Mark I don’t think she knows him well enough yet and has spent enough time to be in love with him yet. I think she feels a devotion and a curiosity towards him and a need to be near him because (i assume) he is the first person she ever felt love from. But she also understood by the end of the ORTBO it wasn’t for her it was for Helly. Which is why she went and tried to replicate it for herself outside with Outie Mark.

And in terms of Lumon I do think she wants to get out of there but yeah as you said. Leaving a cult is very difficult if you have no connections on the outside. Not to mention she’s probably famous so that makes it harder. And we know from the Lexington Letter Lumon doesn’t hesitate to kill people who try to leave or expose them. Tbh I agree they would’ve gotten rid of her already if they felt one of the other heirs were good enough. I think her being the only legitimate Eagan is what’s keeping her alive. But I also think there’s another side to the coin. Helena may not have much executive power but I do think her name gives her some power. She tried to use that power with Mark even her lie about being head of the company her saying they’ll make sure the OTC never happens again etc. If she leaves Lumon she could lose all that power. And I think because she’s grown up with such little autonomy a lack of power terrifies her. Which I think is another reason she hasn’t left. She likes what little power she has by having the last name Eagan.

A lot of the discussion I've seen over Helena Eagan either frames her as "an evil liar who pretended to be her innie and stalked mark to manipulate them and gather information for lumon" or "a poor precious baby who's trapped and wanted to be her innie so bad she tried to become her and fell in love/became obsessed with mark"

and to be honest I think both arguments are pretty shallow. I think it's something more complicated and I don't want anyone to forget the ways helena's showed innocence OR the ways she's been an antagonistic force.

like, she obviously did look down on the innies, didn't have respect for their autonomy, and went along with her father's will and she should be held accountable for all that. and yes, she's also a victim trapped in a cult, but that doesn't make her a baby. We need to take her seriously because for all we know she could have done much worse. I don't think we have to water down characters or come to premature conclusions in order to love/appreciate them. It's okay to say we don't completely understand a character and still be able analyze them. The nuance is what makes helena so compelling!

I have a lot of things to say and I WILL make a full post breaking down all of helena's appearances if people will hear me out lol