#they had No Clue actual therapy would work in therapy

[kindnessoverperfection]

Please, if you can, take a moment to read and share this because I feel like I'm screaming underwater.

NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) stigma is rampant right now, and seems to be getting progressively worse. Everyone is using it as a buzzword in the worst ways possible, spreading misinformation and hatred against a real disorder.

I could go on a long time about how this happened, why it's factually incorrect (and what the disorder actually IS), why it's harmful, and the changes I'd like to see. But to keep this concise, I'll simply link to a few posts under the cut for further reading.

The point of this post is a plea. Please help stop the spread of stigma. Even in mental health communities, even around others with personality disorders, in neurodivergent "safe" spaces, other communities I thought people would be supportive in (e.g. trans support groups, progressive spaces in general), it keeps coming up. So I'm willing to bet that a lot of people on this site need to see this.

Because it's so hard to exist in this world.

My disorder already makes me feel as if I'm worthless and unlovable, like there's something inherently wrong and damaged about me. And it's so much harder to fight that and heal when my daily life consists of:

Laughing and spending time with my friends, doing my utmost best to connect and stay present and focused on them, trying to let my guards down and be real and believe I'm lovable- when suddenly they throw out the word "narcissist" to describe horrible people or someone they hate, or the conversation turns to how evil "people with narcissistic personality disorder" are. (Seriously, you don't know which of your friends might have NPD and feels like shit when you say those things & now knows that you'd hate them if you knew.)

Trying to look up "mental health positivity for people with npd", "mental health positivity cluster bs", only to find a) none of that, and b) more of the same old vile shit that makes me feel terrible about myself.

Having a hard time (which is constant at this point) and trying to look up resources for myself, only to again, find the same stigma. And no resources.

Not having any clue how to help myself, because even the mental health field is spitting so much vitriol at people with DISORDERS (who they're supposed to be helping!) that there's no solid research or therapy programs for people like me.

Losing close friends when they find out, despite us having had a good relationship before, and them KNOWING me and knowing that I'm not like the trending image of pwNPD. Because now they only see me through the lens of stigma and misinformation.

Hearing the same stigma come up literally wherever I go. Clubs. Meetings. Any online space. At the bus stop. At the mall. At a restaurant. At work. Buzzword of the year that everyone loooves loudly throwing around with their friends or over the phone. Feels awesome for me, makes my day so much better/s

I could go on for a long time, but I'm scared no one will read/rb this if it gets too much longer.

So please. Stop using the word "narcissist" as a synonym for "abusive".

Stop bringing up people you hate who you believe to have NPD because of a stigmatizing article full of misinformation whenever someone with actual NPD opens their mouth. (Imagine if people did that with any other disorder! "Hey, I'm autistic." "Oh... my old roommate screamed at me whenever I made noise around him, and didn't understand my needs, which seems like sensory overload and difficulty with social cues. He was definitely autistic. But as long as you're self-aware and always restraining your innate desire to be an abusive asshole, you're okay I guess, maybe." ...See how offensive and ignorant that is?)

Stop preventing healthcare for people with a disorder just because it's trendy to use us as a scapegoat.

If you got this far, thank you for reading, and please share this if you can. Further reading is under the cut.

NPD Criteria, re-written by someone who actually has NPD

Stigma in the DSM

Common perception of the DSM criteria vs how someone may actually experience them (Keep in mind that this is the way I personally experience these symptoms, and that presentation can vary a lot between individuals)

"Idk, the stigma is right though, because I've known a lot of people with NPD who are jerks, so I'm going to continue to support the blockage of treatment for this condition."

(All of these were written by me, because I didn't want to link to other folks' posts without permission, but if you want to add your own links in reblogs or replies please feel free <3)

[hookedonhuge]

Coach's Special Massage

Getting your big, beefy pecs groped by your coach was not how you imagined your Tuesday night. 

You were the star player of your team. You were a natural born athlete and you had the body to match it. Every muscle in your body was huge; balloons of cements that were hard as steel and looked ready to burst. It was all thanks to your dedicated exercise routine that you followed religiously for years on end.

But one day, your coach approached you and insisted that you needed a massage therapy session. Something about trying to alleviate your stress after the scandal that came to light. Something about cheating on your girlfriend with other girls. No clue which ones they were talking about. The number ‘three’ kept coming up but your team and coach must have known it was way more than that. 

To be honest, you weren’t stressed one bit, but you weren’t going to turn down a massage, that is, until you found out that it was your coach giving you the massage and not some hot masseuse. Of course, he didn’t tell you that until you were already lying down on the massage table fully naked except for a small towel that barely covered your large package. You protested but your coach was stern, he was, after all, the only person you ever listened to (and that was only some of the time). His deep voice was commanding yet calming, just the right combination to be able to get you to give up the argument. You supposed your muscles needed a good cooldown after your killer workout that day anyway.

You had never met anyone as strong as yourself, and were certain you never would. However, coach was actually quite strong too, and it was perhaps why you showed at least a little bit of respect towards him. However, having your chest fondled by his large, calloused hands was quite the role reversal for you. He pressed deep into your muscle tissue with his thick fingers, uncovering all sorts of knots in your expansive chest. It hurt but it felt amazing. 

After coach had given your pecs a thorough rub down, he moved onto your giant tree-trunk legs. It was when he was massaging your inner thigh that coach pressed down on a particularly sensitive spot in your muscles that made you wince in pain. For the first time during the session you opened your eyes and you met coach’s firm gaze by accident. Sweat dripped from his prominent brow and he was panting from exertion. You never realised how big he was. Those veiny arms, those meaty pecs, those sculpted abs, he was just a coach but he could have passed as an olympian. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that someone as strong as coach was needed to give someone as big as you a proper massage. 

Coach continued to knead your thighs like dough. He was able to make your hard muscles soft, as if he was unlocking some hidden strength inside of them that made them expand. Like a loaf of bread rising in an oven, your muscles were becoming large and fluffy in response to coach’s special massage.

He continued working his magic on your body, as he did his hands made their way further up your inner thigh. Coach’s intensity never waned and his forceful and methodical strokes continued to cause you pain. It was a beautiful, deep, healing pain that exposed a feeling of vulnerableness that was buried within you. It was uncomfortable to feel that vulnerability yet as soon as his fingers released their tight bind a reassuring warmth flooded in to replace it. That cycle of comfort and discomfort, it was overwhelming and at the same time made you completely content. 

By this point, coach was completely in control of you. You anxiously anticipated his every touch, your entire being yearning for his return whenever his hands left your body. Your emotions were connected to his fingers, as if he were a puppet master, and he graciously continued to pull your strings instead of leaving you hanging.

As coach’s hands made their way up even further up your thigh, they reached parts of your muscles that were unbearably tender. Having those spots massaged, it made your skin glisten with sweat and it laboured your breath. You felt like you were burning; you were hot, coach was hot, it was all hot. It wasn’t just hot, it was sensual.

You hadn’t realised, but the towel that was covering your crotch was ever so slowly being lifted up by some great force underneath. It was only when it slid down and landed on your impeccably toned lower abdomen that it dawned on you the effect that coach’s massage was having. 

“It’s only natural.” Coach said to you in a hushed tone. “Nothing to be ashamed of.” It was all the reassurance you needed at that moment. Coach’s hands were so far up your thighs that they were almost brushing against your heavy balls. His massage was reaching a new level of pain, and to accompany it was an equal level of pleasure.

When coach’s knuckle grazed the underside of one of your nuts, it was as if a circuit had been completed. You were electrified. The feeling of pressure on your deep muscle tissue, the feeling of the humid air blowing across your nipples, the feeling of coach’s sweat falling from his face onto your sculpted abs; it was all too much. Your manhood pointed directly to the ceiling, now displaying the full extent of its impressive length and girth.

Coach grabbed it.

His hand, a man’s hand, grasped firmly onto the base of your shaft. It was heaven. Heaven for a sinner. That’s what made it so great. The fact that it was wrong, all wrong, but right, undoubtedly right. Boiling hot skin against boiling hot skin. The fires of hell met the fires of hell, and it was heaven.

He was so slow at first. He wanted you to feel every crease and callus on his hand. Enough time for you to understand the anatomy of his hand; understand the size, power and function of each muscle in it. You learnt how each tiny pore on his palm absorbed sweat and the amazing texture it created. You might have failed biology in the past but at this moment you understood it all.

Then it got faster. It started at the head, the head that was sensitive, swollen, and begging for release. Then down every countless inch, tracking along the thick, serpentine vein that ran its length. Finally, it slammed into the base, pummelling into the spongy balls below and sprang all the way back up. It was one step performed one after the other, and it was also all at once.

Then it got even faster. It was a whole body experience. All the training, all those years in the gym, it led up to that moment. Every muscle working in unison to stop you from exploding. Your breath stopped. Your thoughts stopped. Coach stopped.

The massage resumed. It was his other hand now, and it was your balls. Your balls that were completely filled to the brim, so much so that the skin had no ability to stretch any further. Yet, coach still massaged. He pressed, he squeezed. His thumb glided to one side and the mass displaced into the other side. He was an expert.

“Your past.” His voice. Deep, calming, instructive. His words were all you needed. “Can’t be forgiven, but we can move on from that.” He tightened his grip on your balls. “You are far too good to give up on.” He started stroking the length of your shaft again. “So let’s just put all this girl stuff behind us.” He started slowly. “Instead, focus on your team. Your team of men.” Then he picked up his pace. “Men. Strong men, like me and you.” It became faster. “Men who will support you, fill all your needs.” And faster. “All your desires.” You couldn’t hold it in much longer. “Men.” You were on the very edge of your climax. “Just men.”

For the first time in your life you moaned. You moaned loud and shamelessly. It was completely contrary to the person you were before. Luckily, the person you were before is gone. When you erupted like a volcano, like a burst pipe, like a fire hydrant; nothing was left behind. Your brain had melted into a white, creamy liquid and it was shot out of you. Then it rained back down on you like a tropical shower; hot, humid, and sticky.

You were on a better path now. A path towards becoming a bigger person, both morally and physically. It was all thanks to him. Coach. He showed you the power of men that you foolishly thought you already had. You learnt that night the power of men coming together, and what a wonderful feeling it is.

[idontknow-andyoudonteither]

Toji the softie

What if Toji actually wasn’t so brutal in bed? What if he was tired of being a big meanie all day and just wanted some softness in his life? And you were the softest person he knew.

“Tojiiiiii! Get off I gotta pee!” You whined, as you tried to push the giant teddy bear off your lap. “Fiiine,” he groaned sitting up slowly, “but I’m cuddling you as soon as you get back!!” You giggled as you got up to go to the restroom. As you walked down the hall you could feel him pouting behind you. “I’ll be quick I promise!” you called as you pulled your pants down. You felt yourself in a good mood, soothed by the cuddle therapy session. You finished up washing your hands just as Toji started grumbling again.

He pulled back the blanket as you tucked yourself back into your little love pouch on the couch. He smiles as you wiggle into place beneath him on the couch. “I’d go crazy without you, you know that?” Toji says as he wraps himself around you and lays his head on your chest. You meet his gaze, and believe every word despite the lack of vulnerability in his eyes. “Well it’s a good thing I’ll always be here.” You say pulling him closer to you and stroking his scar softly with your fingers.

You had been doing this for three weeks now. He wouldn't come over every day, but at least half the week he was there. Cuddling up on the couch with Toji had quickly become a favorite activity for you. You had been hanging out and fell asleep during a shitty movie. Toji was so tired himself, he didn’t mind and decided to join your nap. Ever since he’d text you a couch emoji and you’d hear a knock at the door a couple minutes later. You worked from home so you didn’t mind your downstairs neighbor popping by. Sometimes you would just work and eat snacks while he laid in your lap. He loved head scratches and neck rubs. This of course made your cat jealous, until he too discovered how great Toji was to cuddle with. It was so cute seeing the big scary man cuddled up with a little kitty purring on his chest or lap.

You enjoyed your time together, and it never felt rushed. There was never any pressure to be more than what you were. Just two beings showing each other kindness. “You’re so little and warm.” Toji cooed squishing you harder. “And you’re so big and heavy” you cooed back, squeezing him tighter. Toji reaches for some grapes, and pops one in his mouth. You were watching some comedy, and they were out for a night on the town. As he chews you can feel his muscular jaw moving against your chest. He pops another grape in his mouth and leans up with it between his lips. You look at him and see the first flames of excitement burning in his eyes, as he leans closer touching the grape to your lips.

You touch your lips to his around the grape and he kisses you around it holding it place with his tongue, as his lips rub against yours. He's caught you so off guard you don't even think to reject him, lips softly molding to fit his, as they dance around the sweet grape. While you kiss him back, he pushes the grape further into your mouth, as if paying you for your affection. Once it's all the way in he lays back onto your chest, and you try and calm your heart, because it must be punching him in the head right now.

Voices carried from the TV and Toji laughed with them, but you had no clue what was even on. Toji popped another grape in his mouth and winked at you. He continued to eat, and cuddle you while your mind tried to catch up to what was going on. By the time the movie was finished the grapes were too. Toji squeezed you tight again. "Well I'll be back to bother you tomorrow, I've gotta go work out." He said as he sat up and stretched. "Of course, I'm going to the store in the morning, but afterwards I'll be here." You said as you walked him to the door. Once he left you felt so conflicted. What was that kiss about? Did he really like you? Maybe he just wanted a hook-up? Toji was too tempting for you to ever survive just a "hook- up" with him. UGHH it was only a kiss maybe he didn't even mean it? Maybe he'd never even do it again? Maybe you weren't what he thought you would be?

The next day while grocery shopping you get a text:

Hey you still out at the market?

Yeah what's up?

Grab some more of those grapes :)

Will you eat them all again?

You can have some......... if I can feed them to you.

Suddenly you realized grapes were your new favorite fruit.

*I wanted to write something cute for Toji where he isn't abusing/ assaulting someone, because he fine af and deserves love. Also I think I wanna write things that make people horny, but I don't wanna straight up write porn*

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Of Honeysuckle and Haiku [Tech x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: This is my submission for an event hosted by the wonderful @cloneficgiftexchange, written for @apocalyp-tech-a. I hope you enjoy my first Tech x Reader! 2nd Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader who works as an analyst/researcher for the GAR. Minor AU changes (no missing and/or dead Clones here (but Echo is still part of CF99)!). Prompt sentence/s will be orange to keep in line with the color scheme of the graphics. Tech has a “secret” crush on Reader that she knows about. Flirting is stored in the info-dumping/poetry. Star Wars and real-world swearing is as naughty as it gets. Some Mando’a. Brief references and allusions to injury and other canon-typical violence, and a small flashback where Reader’s senior colleagues are (implied to be) behaving like jerks to Tech, but nothing explicit. Use of stylistic and narrative italics. Fictional flowers. 

Prompt: Can't we ever go to a nice place? | Oh, that's what that button does.

Word-count: 8,270

Another Primeday, another pile of notes in your locker. 

That's how the weeks always started. 

You worked closely with the Grand Army of the Republic as something of an analyst and unofficial bookkeeper, going on for two years now. Colleagues and work-friends would slip scraps of flimsiplast in the ventilation grooves of your locker as a way of non-electronic communication.

The old fashioned way, older department heads joked. 

The flimsi stacks contained a mishmash of written comms. Inside jokes. Recipe trades. Reminders to get CT-6922’s helmet serviced for the video feed you needed for Jais in the Reverse-Engineering Department if they're ever going to find out how that new Separatist spider droid worked. 

And a poem, written in spidery Aurebesh lettering from your “secret admirer”. Always the top of the pile that collected at the bottom of your locker. 

You knew full well who it was after a while, piecing together all the clues he'd strung along for you. Game recognizes game, as they say. It took cracking a complicated cipher in order to- 

Nah, who are you kidding? 

You got impatient and asked Jais in R.E.D. to help you with scrubbing the security footage for the last person to stop by your locker one morning, finding a haiku waiting for you. A haiku regarding subject matter you had just been discussing with a colleague the other day who had a grueling day of carefully dissecting a Flame Beetle from Kashyyyk ahead of them, and you were slated to assist them. 

The shimmering shell  That conceals a beetle’s wing Is called elytra  - I wish I was a beetle 

Mild alarm that someone was messing with you turned to curiosity soon after; it had been Tech of Clone Force 99 who dropped the poem into your locker some weeks ago. 

He'd been helping the analysts while he got his leg in working order, having broken both the tibia and fibula of his left leg in a skirmish. (That's about as much as you knew at the time.) Tech would be returning to fieldwork sooner than later; between check-ups and some physical therapy work, the genius and navigator of CF99 kept himself busy here, so he would still feel useful to the GAR while recovering. 

Of all the analysts Tech assisted, you seemed to be his favorite given that you actually liked letting him help you, and didn't saddle him with a dull day of deskwork like some of the senior analysts who wanted him out of their hair. 

You felt it was incredibly unfair to Tech, but there was nothing you could say to change their minds. You'd tried. 

Instead of reading this week's new stack of flimsi notes from your weekend off at your locker, you decide you'll read them at your desk for a change. The smell of Tech’s typical caf blend is particularly inviting this morning. It’s been raining since last week, this morning the hardest yet. Thank the Maker you had a rain repeller in proper working order for the walk to the research center from the speeder cabs. 

“Good morning, Tech.” 

Sitting down, from around the other side of the desk, you can see he's in a walking boot now. An improvement from when you last saw him just two short days ago. 

“Hey, that's a good sign! Think you'll be back with the rest of the Bad Batch soon?” 

You take no offense when his eyes do not lift from the screen of his datapad. “Good morning. I suppose, yes…” He doesn't sound entirely enthusiastic like one might've expected, but you have enough of a grasp on his mannerisms by now to know that Tech is eager to return to his brothers in due time. 

You've met the rest of his squad on a handful of occasions as they've come to check on him, making sure he's not missing all the action by keeping him up to speed on their exploits. 

Smiling, you slide a cup of caf you believe to be Tech’s closer to him as you leaf through the notes from your locker. 

“Don't let your caf get cold.” 

The datapad drops away. “That is for you,” he explains, “if you desire to try it, that is. I recalled you expressing interest in the last blend of caf I brought in, saying that it smelled good last Taungsday.” 

You blink, surprised he remembered those details. Well, not that surprised; you understood Tech had a remarkable memory that allowed him to recall obscure details. It’s saved you from a few headaches, like that same Taungsday when a visiting representative from Glee Anslem insisted upon having the innocuous bouquet of Nabooian Honeysuckles sent off for allergen testing. Whatever it was that provoked the Nautolan’s (thankfully minor) allergic reaction, it was not the flowers, though they were refused return. 

Shame… the delicate white, orange and cream blossoms were such a thoughtful gift from Senator Amidala to the visiting representative and now they look so out of place on your desk, still in the elaborate ceramic vase they came in. You’re going to need to find a way to return it to Ms. Amidala once the flowers have shriveled and lost all their silky petals. 

Thanking Tech for the thoughtfulness behind brewing you a cup of caf, you give it a careful taste and find the flavor far more robust than the instant mix the breakroom keeps on hand while you read the first of the notes. (Looked to be a heads-up that a commando had some grisly footage to be analyzed because Trandoshan pirates were involved and the credits were on Delta Squad being responsible.)

“Mmm… That’s nice. Thank you again, Tech.” 

“You are welcome.” he replies, half-ducking his head back down into the datapad, though his eyes remain on you. 

Framed by the yellow lenses of the black-strapped goggles he wears, there is an observative nature to those brown eyes. The phenotypic eye color for all Clones is brown, he explained to you once. Though yes, there were a few aberrations in physical traits among his brothers in the GAR, just not quite to the same scale as the experimental squadron that Echo from the 501st Legion (once thought to be dead) joined not long ago. Echo still keeps in contact with the 501st, Captain Rex and a brother named Fives the closest of all. You figure what he must have been reading off his tablet before he came in this morning were more messages from his brothers. 

Setting aside notes as you read them, you’re careful to keep the scrap of poetry for last as always. Wonder what it’ll be today. A sonnet? Free-verse? Acrostic or maybe a limerick? Another haiku? Tech seemed to love leaving you haikus most of all. 

Still finding his eyes upon you, you lay aside the last note about keeping an eye out for a missing label-maker and delicately clear your throat. “Yes, Tech?” You’re careful to offer him a friendly smile, a quiet measure of assurance that you’re not annoyed or disturbed by his watchfulness. 

“Senator Amidala sent a letter of apology to the center regarding the honeysuckles and vase,” he begins, explaining the letter was forwarded to everyone who worked in the analysis department, “and since she feels terrible about the situation inadvertently caused for both her guest and the center, she suggested someone is welcome to keep both, if they wish.” 

“Well that’s very kind of the senator.” you reply, giving the flowers on your desk a look of consideration, one that prompts a strange expression out of the genius you generously share your desk with. 

You ask what the matter is with another swig of caf. 

“I hope you don’t mind too terribly that I… accepted on your behalf.” Tech confesses, aware he’s more than likely crossed a line by doing so. You and Tech do not know each other all that well, but he’s strung together enough clues to have some idea of what you like. He’s noticed what you give the most attention to, and you had secretly been admiring the Nabooian bouquet for some time on Taungsday… 

Cautiously, Tech adds, “You could always give them to a friend.” 

Casting a third glance over the tri-colored flowers, Tech is assured that won’t be necessary, and he’d been correct in his assessment all along. “I don’t mind at all; thanks for saving me the trouble. I was secretly hoping to take these home, I’ve been obsessed with Naboo for a while now…” you admit, dropping your voice into a near-conspiratorial whisper. 

There was an often sunny windowsill back home with plenty of space for the vase and flowers that would make for the perfect spot to show both off. Maybe it’d inspire you to finally take that trip to Naboo you always wanted. Naboo sounded like a nice place, nestled in the Chrommell system of the Outer Rim Territories. 

Idyllic, picturesque, it was often described. 

All this analyst-work had you in a position to see the glorious, the gory, and everything in-between in the adventures of the Grand Army day in and day out. Compiling reports near and far was beginning to instill a sense of longing for adventure in you; nothing grand was necessary, just something different. Something beyond the walls of the GAR research center here among the Core Worlds. 

I’ll be satisfied with a taste of adventure. Just one bite. Just one, I promise. 

The yellow-lensed goggles are adjusted. “What fascinates you so much about Naboo?” Tech asks, curiosity burning at him. 

“Oh… I dunno,” you say with a shrug, smiling, “it’s hard to put it all into words.” And you wouldn’t exactly have the time, either, with your shift due to start soon. While you’ve still got the time, you should finish as much of the caf as you can before it grows cold, and finally get around to this new poem Tech’s left for you. Maybe he can already guess that you know these are from him, but a part of you finds it fun in some way to pretend you don’t. 

Fixing an errant strand of hair back in place, you unfold the note and read. Another haiku, today, lamenting the dreary weather. 

To simpler splendors  Like summer's gentle breezes and honey most sweet - When will the rain stop?

You find it curious and strange - this possible complaint - given you know Clones come from the storm-cloaked world of Kamino. Surely this weather feels just like home for him; familiar, maybe even comforting. But maybe it’s not his complaint, it could have been your own off-handed remark from some time ago that he’s echoing back to you now. 

Tech’s level of observation was truly incredible, sometimes. You already felt yourself missing his knowledgeable presence once he was healed up and returned to the Bad Batch. That wouldn’t happen until he was rid of the walking boot and cleared for active duty, which was mildly comforting to you, selfishly speaking. Logically you know this arrangement is temporary, and you will not always have your willing assistant. 

A willing assistant who has given his attention to closing off communications with Wrecker, from the sound of things as CF99’s genius reads the messages under his breath. Tech is trying very hard to appear like he’s not taken notice that you’ve read his latest haiku. 

You set the poetry aside along with the other locker notes, and pick up your clipboard full of the day’s tasks. “Take your time, Tech.” you promise, chuckling warmly as he flashes the famous pointer finger in your direction, requesting just an extra moment. “I know Wrecker misses having his big brother around.”

Tech says nothing in response to your teasing quip, only offering an appreciative if distracted smile before he’s ready to help you with your tasks for the day. 

On Primedays, the first item of business on the list is often the most nerve-wracking of all your assignments, today no exception.

“Dammit, I grabbed the wrong screwdriver… Would you mind handing me the… the, uh…?” Tech takes the incorrect screwdriver from your fingers and replaces it with what you need while you struggle to think of the name for the correct type, much to your relief. “Oh, thank you Tech. Will you need this back when I’m done?” 

Tech nods, a silent promise it was no trouble. “I will not. I’m finished with what I needed it for. Feel free to use it as long as you need.” He does not need to remind you to go slowly. 

Your first research assignment of the morning involves dismantled bombs, and the additional Clone tucked in one corner of the room clad in the bright orange of ordnance specialists serves as an eye-catching distraction rather than a precautionary measure. Nicknamed Reddy, this Clone trooper is only doing his job, of course; he’s supposed to be here as part of the protocol. This facility has gone one thousand and twenty-seven days without an explosive incident, which is a comforting number, but there is no room for complacency. In the unlikely event a bomb somehow reactivates, Red Wire is here to snuff it out for good. 

(Or tell everyone to evacuate and seek shelter if he somehow can’t.)

Helmet clipped to his utility belt, Reddy is reading the printed report, bobbing his head in time to some jaunty tune he’s got stuck in his head. “Disarmed and partially dismantled by… CT-9903. That’s your squadmate Wrecker, right?” 

“Correct.” Tech replies tersely, hoping not to prove himself distracting to you. He’s only standing as close as he is to give or take tools as you need them. 

Reddy nods his head in approval of the work scattered over the examination table. “He did a good job. Definitely has the gentle touch needed for bomb disposal.” Yes… Wrecker certainly had steadier nerves than yourself right now. You would prefer not to have shaking hands, no matter how incapable this bomb is… should be… of going off. 

“Reddy…”

He catches the warning. “Sorry, ma’am.” 

You just need to pull off a particular durasteel plate, and take detailed pictures of a unique section of wiring to enter it into the GAR database of known bomb constructs and find close or exact matches. Then Reddy has the pleasure of disposing of the remnants for you. Fewer distractions while you remove notoriously fiddly screws, the better. 

So why are your hands still shaking now that you should be able to focus again? 

“... dammit…” You’ve worked yourself up about the unsteady nature of your hands now. Stress will only worsen it, prolonging the tremble. Setting the screwdriver aside is the best course of action until you can find your nerve. 

Rational thoughts, you remind yourself, everyone has had this happen to them at one time or another. 

“May I?” Tech offers, voice softer than you ever remember it being before now. 

He is careful in offering to help without immediately trying to take over your work. Tech recognizes you are capable in all the various aspects of your job, and he does not wish to undermine or blow off your expertise. He understands from experience how that can be frustrating, even disrespectful.

And Tech aims to be very respectful of you. He's been very careful in how he's hinted his interest in you thus far. (Maybe too careful.) The haikus in your locker had been because he heard you liked poetry, and he proactively accepted the honeysuckles Senator Amidala offered for the trouble because he thought you might like them. Sharing his favorite blend of caf was a decision more premeditated than the other two.

You step to the side, accepting the offer. 

“Thank you, Tech...” you say, gesturing to the tools in an unspoken measure of please, by all means. Tech takes position where you previously stood, and begins to work on the dismantled explosive. Long, dexterous fingers make the process of loosening and extracting the remaining screws look deceptively easy. 

“You’ll want your datapad soon,” Tech suggests helpfully, soon down to just two more corner screws to remove. 

“Oh, yes…!” 

Scooping the tablet off of the examination table, you habitually skip your fingers across the reactive transparisteel and pull up the camera function, priming everything to capture the colorful chaos of wiring and circuitry inside once Tech has removed the panel. Once it is lifted out of the way, Tech side-steps to allow you in front of the bomb once more so that you can capture records for the GAR database. 

However, the camera will not focus.

“Strange…” You tap the center of the screen, hoping perhaps the datapad will behave like your modern comlink and auto-focus, but it does not give you the result you hoped for. You chuckle somewhat bashfully. “Sorry, it’s… been a while since I’ve used this old datapad for taking pictures.” 

“Press the red, center button on the top row twice.” 

Taking the advice of the bespectacled Clone beside you, the image on the screen comes into crisp focus, not a detail lost. “Oh, that’s what that button does.” This tablet is an older generation, but the facility keeps it because it's sturdy and reliable. No sense in replacing perfectly good technology so long as it continues to work. 

“Been using these tablets for ages and I never knew that. How'd you know that?” Reddy asks from the corner, safely voicing his curiosity now that the hard part is behind you. “Just real tech-savvy, I take it. That how you get your name?” 

Tech smiles knowingly. “Learning the ins and outs of each machine I use is crucial to my effectiveness in service of the Republic. Much in the same way you're here to assist the researchers, analysts and reverse engineers in bomb identification, in some cases.” The second question goes unanswered, you notice, but Reddy seems to let it go. 

“Hah, can't argue with that comparison!” he says agreeably, his smile sunny. You’ve always liked that about this particular member of the bomb squad; Red Wire has an optimistic disposition and general attitude despite the nerve-rattling nature of his job. He’s not terribly jaded or gruff like some of the other Clones on rotation at this facility. 

Once you've collected all your necessary pictures, you are promised that he'll take it from here. “Good work as ever ma'am. I'll clean up while you get started on the search.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate the help as always from both you and Tech.” you say, patting him on the shoulder before you follow after Tech, who’s already making his way back to your desk, neck craned over his datapad. Stepping past the blast doors to catch up to Tech, you breathe a sigh of relief while Red Wire begins the disposal process, the hardest task of the morning behind you. 

“Glad that’s over,” you say, finally feeling your quickened pulse slowing at last, “Thank you for the help once again, Tech.” You’re certain he heard the first thank you, but extra gratitude never killed anyone. 

Tech’s deliberate stride slows to match with yours. “It was no trouble. I thought you might want the help.” A polite smile breaks the veneer of the usual expression of thoughtfulness and concentration you’ve become accustomed to in the time Tech’s been here. 

You’re very familiar with how he appears when he’s concentrated: the furrowed brow, his shoulders rolled forward, the subconscious setting and unsetting of his jaw as he mulls over a million thoughts. Wowing your colleagues with how he could extrapolate info from separate, complex datasets within multiple windows on the screen of his datapad without error. 

The way his brown eyes, deep and dark, looked like honey when framed behind his goggles…

Sitting down at your desk where you fire up the database you’ll be working with, already you see the slight furrow of his brow as Tech takes his seat on the other side, trading messages with his squadmates while he elevates his leg to alleviate the pressure of the walking boot. Tech misses being out there in the field more and more with every passing day. 

“Tell ‘em I said hi.” you request with a soft chuckle before allowing him to concentrate on keeping himself in the loop. You just have to hope his handsome face painted in deep concentration doesn’t prove too distracting for you as you cross-reference your wire samples. The squad leader of the Bad Batch, Sergeant Hunter, had teased Tech once a few weeks ago, when he dropped by with Echo, on the depths of Tech’s concentration. That’s when you’d truly taken notice of it for the first time.

Tech, utterly embroiled in some “little” project he’d created for himself here at the research center, was staying long after your scheduled hours, repeatedly promising that you really don’t have to stay here. 

You turn another page in your holomag. “I’ll be fine staying here a little longer. I want to make sure none of the senior analysts bother you. Again.” It was a slow Zhellday afternoon you had no other plans for, and a couple of people a little further up the chain of command really had a bug up their ass about Tech’s presence here today in particular, continually complaining about an incident with his crutches.

Someone hadn’t been looking where they were going and bumped into the mobility aids propped against a wall, knocking them over this morning. Unfortunately, there had been a tray of glass instruments set aside nearby that did not survive the crutches’ sudden descent. The senior analysts, most of them much older than you, wanted him thrown out of the facility and have the agreement with the GAR that Tech would be here until his broken leg healed nullified. 

“He’s got a broken leg! Is he supposed to just hobble around the lab without his crutches? It was an accident, but I’m starting to suspect you’re looking for excuses to get rid of him because you’re feeling threatened by his intellect!”

Clone Force 99’s second-in-command hums shortly in delayed response, a frown marring his otherwise concentrated expression. Tech adjusts his goggles as he pours over some reference. The man with partial skull iconography inked across his similarly tanned face next to Tech carefully nudges him with his elbow. 

“Tech, this is when you’re supposed to tell the nice lady thank you.” Hunter warns him, teasingly of course. He’s gotten back from a long deployment, and rather than going to the nearest mess hall with Wrecker and Crosshair, he’s come to check up on Tech, finding that he’s still at the GAR research center. He’s too tired to give any kind of reprimand just for the sake of appearances. 

“Especially after this morning… Don’t make me do the nat-born thing, vod.”

Tech sort of scoffs, the threat of referring to him by his CT number, like a misbehaving natural-born child hearing the use of their middle name, by his brother having little effect. 

“No thanks necessary, honestly.” You turn the page to your holomag, skimming the article to see if it’s worth an in-depth read, then meet Hunter’s eye. “It was honestly a bit cathartic to have a go at those jerks.” Decrying them as jerks to the squad leader of the Bad Batch was putting it real mildly given your true thoughts of them right about now. 

Echo gives you a knowing nod. The sergeant smirks, and this is what gets Tech to break his silence. 

“Don’t, Hunter.”

“Glad you made a friend, Tech.” Hunter says it with complete sincerity, so far as you can tell. Leaning back in the borrowed lab chair, Hunter kicks his feet up for a moment on a corner of the desk to adjust some parts of his armor. “Wrecker might get jealous.”

“I think we all would.” Echo says with a kind chuckle.

“Plenty of me to go around,” you promised the three of them, “I love making friends with the GAR.”

A few hours later, now four items deep into your checklist for the day with the wire cross-referencing behind you, you lean back in your chair and stretch your arms above your head, feeling something pop with great satisfaction. “Mmm! That felt good. Hey, Tech?” He nods to show he hears you, at which point you continue. “I’m thinking of running home real quick during lunch to take the honeysuckles home so I’m not wrestling with those on top of everything else I’ll have to take with me tonight. You gonna be okay on your own for a bit?” 

“I will be fine.” he assures you, sliding the clipboard from “your” side of the desk over to his. “I may need the password to your desk-mounted computer terminal, however.”

“It’s ‘naboofields’. All one word, no capitals, special characters or letters.” 

You root around your desk for one of the seemingly innumerable sticky-flim pads you possess, scribbling down the password - just in case - as neatly as you can before removing the top flimsi-note and hand it over to him. Honeyed eyes blink once in mild surprise after he inspects your handwriting. 

“Not very secure, I know.” you laugh bashfully, straightening a few sheafs of flimsiplast before gathering up the stack of locker notes to tuck them in your pocket. Busywork to avoid any kind of lecturing look. But when you meet his eyes for the moment before wondering how best to pick up the ceramic vase full of beautiful tri-colored honeysuckle, you find no disappointment. Only more curiosity. 

“Have you ever been to Naboo?” Tech asks. He’s noticed this particular topic has been cropping up a lot between the idle doodles on flimsi scraps of the bulbous Shaak grazing through lush emerald fields and little reminders you’ve written to yourself scattered across your desk lately. Ticket prices. Best time of year to go. Popular festivals. Fashion. You were weaving a curious pattern.  

Tech doesn’t do this very often, but he hazards a guess. Could you perhaps be… homesick?

“Were you born there?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t born there, and I’ve never visited before. Naboo’s just some… silly dream of mine lately.” 

“Why do you say ‘silly’?” The question is earnest and sincere, and Tech sits forward off the backrest of the lab chair, posture straightening out. “Has someone said something unkind about your desire to see Naboo?” He couldn’t imagine why someone would disparage this; many galactic citizens express some level of desire to visit this planet in the Chrommell sector at least once in their lifespan. 

He’s assured there’s no one being unkind to you when you wave him off, sliding the vase across your desk carefully. “No one other than me, I guess. I dunno when I’d ever have a chance to go visit between the work I do for the GAR, plus being in the middle of the Clone Wars for stars’ sake…” You’re considering if it would be worth telling him about your developing case of wanderlust, your craving for a taste of adventure. (Just a taste… just a taste!)

What Tech was supposed to do with that revelation, you weren’t sure. Did you want his help planning this whimsical trip? Or did you just need to confide in him with this harmless little secret? 

“Would it be impolite to presume you don’t have many vacation days accrued in order to enjoy a short holiday?” Tech assumes you’re well aware of labor laws the GAR has to comply with for civilian staffing, like yourself, but he has no means of knowing how much PTO you have stored up without rooting into the system.

“Karabast, I- I hadn’t even thought of…” Your thoughts trail off as you look out one of the rain-spattered panes of transparisteel and determine you need to stop by your locker to gather your weather wear and rain repeller. When was the last time you had some extended leave from work that wasn’t a sick day, anyways? “I have some PTO I’m owed, but I try to be smart and save it for emergencies… I, uh, think I have more than two week’s worth.” Truthfully it’s been some time you looked at the amount of PTO you’ve accrued. It very well could be less than you remember, or more than you imagine. 

Tech makes a quiet murmur of agreement that saving the time off for emergencies is rather smart, shrugging after a stretch of clearly contemplative silence. “I was merely curious.” The statement makes it tempting to tease him in return, say something like aren’t you always? but he has something more to say before you work up the nerve, gesturing to the clipboard. “May I watch the helmet footage for you while you take the Nabooian Honeysuckles home?”

“I was warned it was grisly.” you caution him out of kindness, thinking back to one of the locker notes. “So, as long as you don’t mind or won’t be bothered, I suppose you can look at the footage for me… Credits are on it being sent from Delta Squad.” 

Scrutinizing the datadisc, Tech finds RC-1207 etched into it. Commando Sev, he tells you, went missing on Kashyyyk for a month early in the war… (Thank the Maker, his pod brothers had been fortunate in finding him.) Sev has never spoken of the experience. 

“This should prove to be fascinating, in some regard.” Tech speculates, slotting the disc into an external inspection device to set everything up to complete this in your absence. Goggles are adjusted every so slightly, changing the way they are seated on his face. “I’ll leave the notes for you on your desk by the time you return.” he promises. 

You make sure you’ve gathered the last of your things, saying that you better get going now that everything’s agreed upon. Carefully cradling the vase in the crook of your arm, you arrange the bouquet slightly with your free hand to avoid bruising any of the velveteen petals as you carry it. 

Turning on your heel, you head for your locker to collect your rain repeller. “Appreciate it, Tech, thank you. I’ll catch you later.” 

“Watch out for the deeper puddles, don’t slip.” Tech calls after you. 

He’s overheard many of your colleagues using this phrase the last couple of days to warn one another; the longer the rain’s gone on, the deeper the areas of rain retention have become since the water table is oversaturated. There has been no break in the weather, but the end is in sight. 

‘When will the rain stop?’ Soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

Habitually, you call back that you’ll be careful and another farewell, flashing him a sunny smile as you head out the door for the speeder cabs, the honeysuckles in one hand, repeller in the other. You don’t expect to be gone long.

Taking the vase full of honeysuckle home is your highest priority, right along with making sure the flimsiplast scraps in your pocket remain dry. Flimsi, while conveniently reusable, was hair-thin, had a slight transparency to it, and dissolved in water. (Why some disposable gowns for med centers were made out of the acrylic material when it was kriffing semi-transparent you had yet to figure out.) If you were careful of the shifting winds before you got to a speeder cab, Tech’s poems would stay safe and dry in your pockets, joining the others in a box of precious keepsakes at home. 

Maybe you could put them all in a scrapbook one day, able to read and admire them all at leisure, or whenever you miss having new haikus show up in your locker once Tech’s broken leg is fully healed and he rejoins his brothers. Tech’s been careful not to voice how much he’s come to miss his brothers - else he risks sounding ungrateful for the research center agreeing to let him assist there after much back and forth - but you know he’s getting somewhat impatient. 

“If I had known a second BX droid was around the boulder, I wouldn’t have tried to kick the first over the precipice…”

“That’s how you broke your leg?”

“Had it broken for me when the commando droid grabbed me, more accurately. Better me than Echo…” 

He’d return to his brothers in time with the whole of hyperspace at his fingertips. Hunter would get his second-in-command back. The Havoc Marauder will have both of her pilots and it won’t be Echo spending time alone in the cockpit. Wrecker and Crosshair will once again have their brother to parse through factitious scenarios and the complicated mathematics necessary to pull it off relating to their enhancements to help one another in staving off hyperspace hypnosis. 

And you’d go back to dreading Primedays and dreaming of clover covered plains on Naboo between every string of data you analyze for the GAR once Tech left. You’d miss the extra pair of capable hands and his talented, dare you say exceptional, mind. You’d miss the presence of yellow-lensed goggles and the steady, red light of the cylindrical camera attached to them that sometimes followed you around the analyst lab, that were as much a part of Tech’s face as the rest of his features. 

You’d miss him and the harmless little crush Jais teases you over since helping you find out who your secret admirer was. 

“Swing by your locker lately?”

“You have better eyesight than a Mynock but all the subtlety of a Reek, Jais. Yes I saw he left me another haiku.”

“What do they say?”

So much by using so little. 

Tech has just seventeen syllables to work with, but boy does he make them work. 

They will last far longer than any tender blossom, tucked carefully on the windowsill and lovingly arranged to fill in the gaps in the bouquet during transport. Home only for a short time, you settle for tucking the new haikus and other notes on the low table in the living room to sort through later tonight while eating dinner. 

Come to think of it, maybe you should invite Tech over for dinner sometime, while he’s still here. (While there’s still time to leave things behind in order to remember him by.) He’s been staying in temporary accommodations in the unofficial research district since the nearest GAR barracks are an hour away, and the district isn’t too far from your place. You’re not sure what the protocol on this is (or if there’s any), and he’s more than welcome to turn you down, but-

This harmless crush has gone beyond only going one way. 

You’re going to miss Tech when he leaves, not just because it means you'll lose an eager assistant who shares what he learns while you work. You've grown to like him in ways you haven't devoted proper time to exploring why with the nature of your work, but you like Tech too. And you don’t want just a vase full of honeysuckle that will one day wither and a smattering of haikus to remember him by. 

You want something more. Something meaningful before he goes back to making mayhem for the Separatists. 

And maybe it can start today, if you're clever enough. 

It's time to stop daydreaming.

When you return to the research center, you first put your rain repeller away in your locker and collect the few notes that appeared while you were out. No new poems, only warnings that one of the senior analysts had a bug up their ass the size of a mynock (scratch that, a bantha) again over something minor, and it's best to stay out of their way until they cooled off. 

“Hey, Tech, I'm back.” You announce your return from the lockers to avoid potentially startling him, finding him fiddling with a part of his vambrace. “Got some cryptic notes in my locker. Feel like I missed some excitement while I was away.” 

“Yes… You certainly did.” One of the analysts lost their temper with the ‘newfangled’ caf-pot in the break room, Tech explains. Nothing newfangled about it in truth, it just wasn't working because it had been unplugged for cleaning and someone just forgot to leave a note. 

“Speaking of notes,” he says as an aside, procuring a printed message from Lieutenant Waxer of Ghost Company in the 212th, “This came in just before you arrived while I was at the copier.” 

Giving the lieutenant’s request a once-over, you find a general greeting after the Grand Army of the Republic’s letterhead, asking if someone would mind helping him locate the origin of a particular word in the language of the Twi’leks. Printed requests are deemed non-urgent, but it’s simple enough that you don’t mind adding his query to the bottom of your daily checklist, on which you find only the helmet footage crossed off. 

“Thought you’d have gotten more done than this.” you say, chuckling as you take a seat at your desk. 

Tech adjusts his goggles and meets your eye. “Felt it would be impolite to take your work from you when we had an agreement for just the footage.” He returns to fiddling around with his vambrace and his datapad, perhaps trying to sync something up. 

His concern of taking further work from you without asking is very kind, and rather touching. You feel warmth in your face disproportionate to the heating system warming the labs on this rainy day. “Oh. Well, I wouldn’t have minded too much, but thank you. What’d you do instead until I got back?” You figure it didn’t take all too long to study the commando’s footage, finding the notes Tech’s took for you pinned underneath the datadisc the feed was stored on. Lifting the high-tech paperweight, you give the notes a glance. 

It’s the same thin lettering as the haikus. 

Tech tuts in thought while snapping a part of his vambrace back where it belongs. “General research. Nothing important.” He does not immediately elaborate on what he had researched, thinking you may want to take a moment to mentally prep yourself for returning to work and start on the next task at hand. 

They were not concerns he (often) had to keep in mind with Hunter, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair because he knew them so well compared to other people, compared to you. They spent the most time together and could give him a playful ribbing for overstepping boundaries, or starting detailed explanations when it wasn’t the best time. No one cares! was often said in-the-moment, and apologized for in ways that did not involve the words I’m sorry - and that was normal with his brothers. 

So when you break into a big, friendly smile and draw out the word “Liiiike…?” while you continue to settle in, Tech knows it’s okay to elaborate. That you seem interested in what he has to say. 

“It was the origin of halliksets. I became distracted when I learned they were quite popular on Naboo, and spent some time looking into that instead.” As he expected, you perk up with the mention of Naboo, interest piqued. “They’re made with seven strings, and the ore commonly used to make them comes from Kreeling, a mining planet also within the Chrommell sector.” The ore seems to be used to decorate the rounded body of the instrument, from what he had been reading. Ornamentation rather than function. 

“Huh,” you say politely with a smile to match, “I had no idea. That’s really neat.” 

You thank him for sharing before agreeing that perhaps you should get started on some of your work when he warns you that he can hear someone from another department coming, and it may be wise to appear busy. 

For the next fifteen or so minutes, you and Tech are careful to appear focused on tasks from the clipboard. Something about figuring out why a standard caustic compound utilized by the GAR didn’t work. Tech casts a subtle glance over his shoulder while you muse over the specs, wondering just like you why someone from another department is taking their sweet time to leaf through all the disposable pipettes in the storage cabinet of all things. Trying to eavesdrop? Just really particular about their lab supplies? Who karking knows. 

While looking into the humidity record on Felucia the day of the recorded equipment failure, you take a moment to open the system you submit your time-off requests to and look at the amount of paid time off accrued. Two and a half weeks. That’s not bad. 

“Good to know….”

“What is it?” Tech asks.

“Oh, just poking into weather records,” you hum, hiding the portal, “Seems the caustic compound failed because of higher than average humidity that day. It was under six months old, so I don’t think it was a product age failure.” From the flashpoint of the Clone Wars on Geonosis, much of the equipment utilized barely sits on a shelf any longer than six standard months after its production and purchase for the Grand Army. 

Clones were clever. Well trained. They knew how to account for things like planetary climate, weather conditions and equipment age out in the field, but you’ll always have the occasional fluke. Things beyond your control, beyond what you trained for. (Some things you could never train for.) But the Grand Army of the Republic could be trusted to give it their all, no matter the occasion, no matter the challenge. 

You trusted men like Red Wire with your life here in the labs when you had to work with disarmed bombs, never doubting his ordnance training for a second. The same goes for the man sitting on the other side of your desk from you now, the injured leg in the walking boot propped up in a spare chair. You trust Tech too. 

When the personnel from another department finally leaves, they’re grumbling something venomously about the missing label-maker under their breath, the word “di’kut!” loudest of all. 

You recognize the Mando’a. Pronunciation DEE-koot. Multiple meanings. Idiot. Useless. Waste of space. (More accurately a waste of their time… Pretty sure someone already said the label-maker wasn’t in there.) You wonder where they know the word from. 

Speaking for yourself, you’ve picked up a smidgen of the language from working as a researcher and analyst, and you’ve added a few more words to your repertoire from Tech’s uninterrupted correspondence with the Bad Batch that he’s allowed you to see some of. 

And speaking of them… Now that you and Tech are alone, this might be a good time to try putting your plan in motion knowing how much PTO you have to work with now. You want to go to Naboo, and you want to see if there’s any way you can convince Tech to go with you. Maybe even meet you there with the rest of Clone Force 99. Make bumping into them look like a coincidence. 

“Hey Tech, when you return to your brothers, any plans or ideas on where you’ll go first?” 

A pad of sticky flimsi-notes is pulled from one of the many drawers of your desk, and you root around for a working pen while you wait on an answer. Calling upon courage from the very heart of the cosmos, you hope you can pull this off. 

Tech answers the break in relative silence with a quirk of his eyebrow. “None that I’m aware of, but I suspect we’ll be going wherever we are needed.” There is a long contemplative pause, eyes flicking to his trusty tablet more than once as a few new messages from Wrecker come in. 

“Is there some reason you’re asking?” He pushes the datapad aside now, giving you more of his attention, which is appreciated. 

Shoulders bounce. “What if I said I was just curious?” You don’t expect him to buy that, he’s too clever. But you need a moment of quiet contemplation on his part to count out the syllables without messing up. Once you’re certain you have five, then seven syllables, you flash him an easygoing smile. “Being curious isn’t a crime, is it?”

“On some planets it is. Some rather… ridgid, often self-isolated cultures across the galaxy view curiosity as a sign of an idle mind and fear it will inspire mischief. Free thinking. Rebellion.” 

The question had been rhetorical, and you don’t mind that he answered, but you find the fact quite sad. You also don’t want to begin to imagine how that sort of “crime” is punished. Curiosity is a natural part of life to all, to criminalize it is… frankly ridiculous.

“Well good thing we’re not in one of those isolated cultures.” you say, now thinking how you’ll finish penning this poem. Should you add your reasoning for why you wrote this at the bottom? (Would you even have room?) Maybe you should just tell him after he’s read your poem instead. 

“Agreed.” Another message comes in from Echo this time, but Tech ignores it, continuing to hold eye contact with you; almost like he’s performing an inspection. “So I hope it does not feel like an accusation when I say I don’t believe you are ‘just curious’.” 

“I did have an idea…” you admit, fiddling with the pen in your hand for the moment, “Since I heard Clone Force 99 isn’t keen on following every little order…” This is when you choose to slide the haiku you were working on over to “his” side of the desk, waiting in nervous silence as brown eyes scrutinize every Aurebesh letter laid bare before them. 

Can't we ever go  to a nice place, verdant fields  of spring eternal? - Feel like breaking a few rules?

Tech’s eyes lift from the flimsiplast note, looking surprised. He didn’t take you for the sort of person who’d encourage breaking certain GAR protocols, let alone… Your name falls from his lips, asking what this is about in the same tender tone. 

“I thought about what you asked regarding how much time off I have, and I found out I have two and a half weeks…” You explain, fiddling with the pen some more to occupy your nervous hands while he continues to monitor you. “I thought… Maybe once your leg heals up, and you’re cleared to return to active duty, you could find an excuse to spend some time on Naboo. Get to know each other better, perhaps?” He clearly has some kind of feelings for you that are in the earlier stages of reciprocation, and if you’re away from the lab, and he finds the time or the excuse to nip down to the Chrommell sector and meet up with you on Naboo, then neither one of you have to worry about behaving quite so professionally. 

Looking down at the haiku once again, Tech takes in your explanation, your invitation, and offers a mild chuckle at long last.

“You know what my brothers will say if I tell them about this?”

You swallow nervously. “W-what?”

“That it almost sounds like you’re asking me on a date.” 

You do what you can to keep your jaw from dropping, but there’s little to be done about the fiery feeling building in the apple of your cheeks that suggests there may be color blooming there. If you’re blushing, Tech certainly does a splendid job of politely pretending he sees no such thing while he gives your poem another look. 

You do the same in kind when additional color builds in his own face and crawls up his neck from under the top of the body suit. “I take it you figured out who was secretly leaving you the haikus.” His smile is timid, but not quite as nervous as your own. 

“I did. A while ago, actually.” you confess, confirming his suspicions. “I had help checking the cameras to see where the first one came from. I didn’t see a reason to say anything, or stop you.” You add that you’ve kept every single one, too, to some surprise of the computer and weapons specialist sitting across from you. 

He sits forward now, carefully easing the walking boot to the floor. “You really want to spend time with me on Naboo?” Your earnest nod surprises him further. You do. Out of millions of Clones in the galaxy, you’re asking Tech (and his brothers by proxy) to join you in visiting the idyllic planet. 

You carefully carve out a little portion of your PTO and submit the request as the very first step in the planning process, and while you await approval you and Tech will continue to work together as normal. You still have to behave professionally in the meantime. 

Well, as professionally as possible when Tech decides he can now confess he has a backlog of haikus for you, enough so you could have one waiting for you in your locker every day until he’s cleared to return to fieldwork in a few weeks, in theory. 

“Poetry every Primeday, honeysuckles today, and now you’re offering daily haikus? Maybe I will be asking you out on a date if you continue to spoil me like that.” you warn him, chuckling. Of course now you get the feeling Tech will make sure the weeks leading up to your time-off would consist of honeysuckle and haiku to ensure that you would. 

And those were going to become some of your best weeks working as a researcher and analyst for the GAR, whether you got that time off or not, because it would be spent making precious memories with Tech. 

That was what mattered most.

First time I've ever participated in one of these events, and I don't think I did too badly, considering I completely restarted this at one point! (Apologies for how long this ended up being, too, haha.) I hope you liked it, Tech-a! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

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[seat-safety-switch]

For a couple years, I worked in a video store in a small town. In many ways, this was the culmination of a childhood dream: routine, unchallenging labour. If you were a particularly annoying labour analyst, all I actually ever “did” was ring up rentals, restock returns in the morning, and clean the windows. Customer service has its own way of filling the space left by the actual work, though.

People who have worked retail are a sort of elite corps. For one thing, you’re never rude to another retail employee for the entire rest of your life. You’ve been in the trenches, too, and even if you somehow managed to escape, you’d still have had that shared trauma to know how bad that shift could get for that shelf-stocker at Maybe’s Drugs off I-40.

I have all the usual complaints, but there’s something else, too. My unique problem is this: I had this one customer who came in every Monday morning, asking for the same movie. We never had that movie, which is the crux of our conflict. He – and I can’t remember his name anymore, even if the electroshock therapy had been effective – never took “no” for an answer, and would come back the next week. He’d ask for the same thing, by title. No other details: no barcode, no publisher, no actors. Not even a description of the plot (he hadn’t seen it yet, obviously.) Now, this was before broadband internet was widely available, so I’d have to dial up after hours to America Online, and see if the movie had been added to their database. It never did, except one night I saw some folks talking about it in a video store chat room.

Their customers, too, were asking for this film. Insistently. After talking about it that night, we decided that we would form a bit of a trade union group. If any of us heard anything on this mysterious VHS, we would share the knowledge with the rest of the group. That retail-worker camaraderie at work again, you see. Nothing ever came of it, but I did end up becoming good friends with a manager at a Hobart’s Movies in Ames, Iowa, and we were even roommates for awhile before he got a new job at Seaworld. I moved on, too, making my slow, but inevitably in retrospect, drift towards the coast. Still, the whole thing bothered me. For years afterward, I would turn on my computer every Monday night, long after I had left the job, and search for any clue as to the existence of this film.

Once, on a day off, I called a librarian, who got pissy at me for even asking about it, and demanded to know who had put me up to calling her as a prank. I hung up in a panic, but she called back for hours. Obviously, she was also undergoing the same situation, and I felt shame at having brought a momentary pain to another proud Retail-American.

Now, video rental stores are a thing of the past. Even in small towns, they have been reduced to just a fond memory and an abandoned corner of a strip mall. Maybe my customer’s quest doesn’t matter anymore. The aggregation of the world’s knowledge into one hissing, unseen beast at the centre of our collective technological hallucination is complete. If they don’t have it, pick a different one. All I know is that, one day, someone will find a copy of this movie, and I’ll be able to go back to that town and shove it in the ground where the video store once stood. On that day, I can finally rest, freed from the slavedriver that is Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol.

[ailithnight]

A few notes:

I originally planned to have this one have a couple of povs like the first, but then u got carried away writing feral Danny so, just Tim today.

I hope to get the next one out sometime this weekend cause it's harder to write when I have work.

Also, everyone thank @cursedzucchini for writing the comment that gave me the executive function to take these words out of my brain and put them in my phone. Reading that there was someone out there checking the tag for updates every day really motivated me.

Now, without further ado

Chapter 1

A King in Arkham

Chapter 2

Tim sighs, rubbing his temples and attempting to will away the sleep deprivation headache currently pounding on the inside of his skull. Pushing 80 hours awake, the last 38 of which have been spent combing backwards through any and all Arkham documents pertaining to one Daniel James Fenton.

He moved his hands away from his head, placing them on the fresh cup of coffee that had materialized while he was massaging, giving a cursory "Thanks" the retreating body. Normally, Alfred would have cut Tim off from caffeine yesterday. But it seems even the old butler was keen on something being found to justify pulling the kid out of Arkham.

Or maybe that was Jason fueling Tim's addiction. Man had been hovering since Batman called him back at the last break out. At least Dick had been able to reason better with the most volatile of the Wayne siblings.

"Picking him up and running won't do either of you any favors, Little Wing. It'll just put him and Hood on wanted posters. If you want him to have any shot at a life out here, you gotta let Bruce take it through the proper channels."

That had at least prevented Jason from snapping on anyone immediately, though he had seen fit to warn everyone that of they didn't have something by the next break out, he'd be doing it his way.

Which is why Tim had spent the last day and a half poring over every medical record, therapy session, schedule, action report, and discipline slip Arkham had on file that even mentioned Patient 26B.

Meanwhile, Oracle had her hands full trying to find any background information on the young ward. A task which itself was proving challenging because the place the kid came from seemed to have no digital presence at all. None. Not a Facebook or Twitter or MySpace pinging from the area. Not an email address or YouTube account. Not a single god damned website. Not even a .gov! Hell, the only reason they knew the city's name is because it was listed in the CPS paperwork from Chicago.

In other places, small towns and communities in the middle of nowhere, this wouldn't really raise any red flags. But Amity Park was not actually a nowhere town. It certainly wasn't a Gotham or Metropolis. But it was big enough to have formed a conurbation with the nearby city of Elmerton. Which had a perfectly normal digital presence. So Amity Park's lack of digital presence screamed Communications Blackout. A frighteningly strong one to still be giving Oracle the run around almost 2 days later.

Once Tim was finished reviewing Arkham reports, then the 3 weeks of documents from Daniel's stay in Chicago, he'd probably offer to help her. Though she might tell him to go the fuck to sleep instead.

For now. Tim was nearing the beginning of the kid's Arkham stay and; on top of not yet finding any clues as to why the kid was in Arkham, nor anything that could possibly exonerate him; the kid just made no damn sense!

His therapy sessions were all the same dead end.

The therapist would ask he he was feeling. The kid would apparently shrug, or sometimes mumble something the therapists could never quite catch.

They'd ask the standard suicide questions. "Any thoughts of wishing you could go to sleep and not wake up?"

A shrug.

"Any thoughts of wanting to take your own life or wishing someone would take it for you?"

Vehenement refusal bordering on a panic attack.

Move on to the hurting people questions.

"Any thoughts of wanting to harm other people?"

"No." According to the doctors, his tone here is immediate, calm, confident. Truthful. If the Arkham psyches are to be believed.

"Any thoughts of wanting to harm yourself?"

"No." Slower, quieter, meeker. Noted as a clear lie, citing the injuries as evidence.

"Then why do you, Danny?"

"I don't."

"Then where did your injuries come from."

"The ghosts," said with a sigh

At this point, it seems Daniel shuts down. He says nothing else for the rest of the session. Shows no outward response as the therapist tries to convince him there are no ghosts and Daniel must be giving himself those injuries.

2 and a half months. Daily therapy sessions. And every single one is the exact same script. The only differences are some minor notes as Daniel is passed around between therapists as they all inevitably get frustrated talking to the emotionless block of ice.

Outside of the therapy sessions and medical reports documenting the frankly horrifying amount of injuries Danny accumulates, there's not much in his file. He follows all instructions to the letter; never causes trouble for guards or other inmates; and every single locks malfunction, he has afterward been found lying on his bed in his cell staring at the ceiling. If he was somewhere else when the malfunction happened, security footage catches him walking there himself. If he was already in his cell, footage keeps him there the whole time.

Tim sighs again, clicking out of the medical report detailing the nasty bruise that had appeared on the kid's lower left back, then opens up the next file up without reading the name fully expecting it to be another tedious therapy session report.

Instead, he finds a discipline slip with the relevant security clip embedded at the top. The first frame is of the cafeteria. Daniel is sitting alone at a table in the top right. Tim's breath catches in his throat as he recognizes the demented clown in the center of the frame. Hastily, he plays the clip.

There is no sound but Joker appears to say something to the room. Daniel is suddenly standing, whipped around to face the clown. The Joker turns towards him. Daniel tenses. The Joker tenses.

In the next second, Daniel is on the Joker. He's kicking, scratching, biting. Absolutely feral as he just reigns fury upon the most feared and hated rogue in all of Gotham. Surrounding inmates are fleeing to the sides of the room as the Joker seemingly tries to get away from the kid, only succeeding in moving the "fight" around the room. It's hardly a fight. More like a vicious, brutal assault. Inmates cheer as blood appears on the floor. Guards move in, pulling the feral 15 year old off of the Joker; who stays down, potentially unconscious. 2 guards go to help the one currently attempting to restrain Daniel. 6 more converge on the Joker, blocking him from view. As soon as he can no longer see the Joker, Daniel seems to go limp in the guards hands. Then he tenses again, though not struggling. Tim just catches the beginning stages of what seems to be a panic attack before the clip ends.

Tim stares dumbfounded at the screen for several moments. When he snaps out of it enough to actually read the incident report, it is a basic transcription of what Tim just witnessed with confirmation that Daniel had a panic attack immediately after. The report also notes that other than the panic attack, Daniel seemed to sustain no harm. He was disciplined with 3 days without cafeteria privileges, so his meals were brought to his cell, and 3 days without Crafts room privileges.

A note at the bottom of the report reads "To prevent further incidents, Patient 26B and the Joker are no longer permitted to be in the same room or yard."

This makes Tim click out of the discipline slip -without closing it, just moving it to a different section of the batcomputer's massive screen- and scan the rest of the files. There are 2 more. One from a week prior and one from Daniel's first dat at Arkham. He opens both, placing them at points on the screen so that all 3 are visible.

The one from the week prior shows the Crafts Room. Danny is again in an upper corner. Time plays it. The door opens. Joker walks in. Seems to look at Daniel, then rushes him. Daniel looks up before the Joker makes it half way across the room, then in the next second meets him there. Another feral fight only broken up by the guards when the Joker stops moving. Again, Danny goes limp as soon as the Joker is out of sight. The rest of the report confirming a panic attack but no injuries. 2 days lost privileges.

The report from Daniel's first day again shows the cafeteria. This time, Daniel is center frame. Joker comes up behind him. Daniel tenses but doesn't turn yet. Joker seems to be saying g something, then laughs. Daniel hunches in on himself, seeming to mumble a response. Whatever he said makes the Joker laugh harder. Then he leans down over Daniel's shoulder, talking. Daniel seems frozen for not even half a second before he suddenly pushes himself out of his seat, straight in to the Joker, twisting as he goes to begin the attack. Since it's obviously the first time, the rest of the cafeteria freezes. No one reacts for a solid 6 seconds. Then guards are moving in, hauling the teenager away. The Joker stands unsteadily then takes a knee. He has to be led limping out of the room. Guards struggle to restrain Daniel until the Joker is gone, whereafter Daniel goes boneless, then begins panicking. Report confirms panic attack and no injuries. 1 day lost privileges.

Tim stares at the batcomputer for several minutes, trying very hard to process what he has just learned. His brain feels like soup. He rubs his eyes, looks at his coffee, grabs a comm to put in his ear. His voice is strained as he speaks.

Anyone nearby who can come to the cave for a minute?

Jason responds instantly.

Upstairs. Find something?

I don't... know. I just. Someone come confirm I didn't just hallucinate what I just watched and read.

Red Robin? What did you find?

Not saying until someone else can confirm it.

Red Robin

On my way down.

.

"What the actual fuck?"

[theweirdwideweb]

Apologies in advance if this comes off as rude- I just can't figure out how to word it right.

What is the point of getting diagnosed with ADHD or anything similar as an adult? How did it help you?

I strongly believe that I have either ADHD, autism, OCD or some combination of them. (Or possibly even something else I haven't considered. The one thing I'm certain of is that something is Off with me) But I feel like it's too late, since I really needed to be diagnosed as a child and have specialized assistance to help with my schoolwork and train me in coping mechanisms to help with my adult life.

But now I feel like it's too late to do anything because I've already spent my entire life unconsciously masking and having to do 5x the work just to appear "normal" and I believe it's too late to unlearn these things that have been hardwired into my personality my entire life. The one place that would've been beneficial to have a diagnosis is school, but I'm out of school and I don't plan on going back.

You would think work would be the one place that having a diagnosis would actually help, but the management at my job is very toxic and I feel like they would take advantage of my new diagnosis. Even though that is not legal, I fully believe management would find a way to fuck with me or take advantage of me without making it obvious.

There is a small part of me that would like to be diagnosed just to have the satisfaction of being like "holy shit I KNEW there was something wrong with me" but that satisfaction would last like 10 seconds and then wtf do I do?

(I don't know why I was never diagnosed as a child. My mom has several stories that clearly illustrate classic neurodivergent symptoms and regularly nags at me for being "difficult" for never showing emotions, having aversion to too many textures, not picking up on social cues, being too agitated by unwanted noises yet never put 2 and 2 together)

A couple thoughts: I was diagnosed at 34, but had no clue until that point. A diagnosis helped me understand many things about myself, both past and present. As a kid I was constantly humiliated for my symptoms by parents and peers. Now I can look back and know I was doing my best, even though I was diagnosed "lazy" and "bad" and "ungrateful" by my parents. I'd chalked my school difficulties, social problems, and uncoordinated body up to a moral failing. Now I understand so much more.

On the more practical side I started taking stimulant medication. Everything got easier. In therapy I started to understand what's my CPTSD and what's neurodivergence (and what's both!). I have gained tremendous self understanding. It helps me navigate the world with less discomfort.

I've also been going to group and individual DBT therapy for the past 7 months. So much of DBT is aimed at trauma survivors and neurodivergent people. It helps bring your awareness to unhelpful thought patterns and gives you practical tips on how to snap out of an obsessive thought or sensory overload state.

tl;dr Medical help is available to you in many forms once you receive a diagnosis. I'd much rather know. It's shaped my understanding of myself both past and present. I've never regretted getting tested. As a matter of fact tomorrow I have my 1st round of Bipolar testing. Know thyself!

[onceuponapuffin]

My Good Omens Season 3 Predictions

Based on the Amazon Playlist and Established Patterns in S1 and S2

I’ve been listening to the songs on the official playlist that Amazon released in December, and I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. It’s been long enough, and now I feel like I have a solid enough footing to have ideas about season 3 based on the information given to us by the playlist (especially the songs Neil provided). Keep in mind that this is my speculation only. I may be entirely wrong, this post may age poorly, but I am okay with that. At the end of the day, I know for absolute fact that I will be THRILLED with whatever season 3 actually brings (But please – for my sanity – let there be a happy ending for Crowley and Aziraphale).

First of all, we know the season was outlined back in 2005, and I would assume (for the sake of this post if nothing else) that by the time the s3 announcement came, Prime had the general outline. And so, in the spirit of how this show does things, the playlist is full of Clues.

GIF by fuckyeahgoodomens

I’ll put the songs in parenthesis as I go.

Between “Before the Beginning” and “In the Beginning,” i.e. Flashback 1:

We’re going to start the season with Crowley’s Fall (Midnight Rain). Neil has said that he’s not going to ever tell us Starmaker’s name, so I’m not expecting that. But we know that each season starts with a prologue, and we also know that these flashback mirror the current events. Crowley’s Fall makes a lot of sense to start with because it is the first thing that pulls him and Aziraphale apart. And where are we starting from in present day? The Divorce.

How Are Crowley and Aziraphale Doing?

Bad (I’m a Mess). Crowley presents fine to the world, but we, who know him, can see he is struggling. I don’t know if he’ll actually go to therapy, but I would adore it if we got a glimpse of Crowley trying it and being like “NOPE” when it got too hard. He keeps expecting Aziraphale to walk around every corner, and keeps replaying the divorce in his mind (Just My Imagination).

Aziraphale isn’t doing well either. The Kiss, and by extension his last conversation with Crowley plays on his mind all the time (Could’ve Been).

Very soon after the playlist was released, one of my Good Omens friends on Discord (I forget who it was, I am so sorry), suggested that maybe Aziraphale is communicating with Crowley through his dreams. Honestly, I am so on board with this. With the number of songs that mention dreams and daydreams in this playlist, there is no way that Crowley’s dreams and/or imagination won’t play some kind of role in this season (In Dreams, Just My Imagination).

Minisodes

The Titanic

I think the most interesting thing is that we’re going to have at least one minisode about them alone through time. It’s something that we haven’t seen before, and it parallels their current journey.

That being said, I think one of these will be the Titanic (My Heart Will Go On). Here’s how I see it happening:

Crowley is the one on the ship. He’s not there to sink it, he’s just there to enjoy himself. Maybe he plays around with the kids a bit, maybe he makes friends. Point is, the humans have built this supposedly-unsinkable ship of dreams and he just has to see it. He’s there when it sinks. Maybe he even tries to save people or get the other ships to come faster, but he can’t save everyone.

Heartbroken, he returns home to his dark flat. He doesn’t turn on any lights. There are two envelopes waiting for him. He sits at the table to read them in the dark. The first is a commendation from Hell:

“Great job sinking the Titanic! Downstairs are Very Impressed with your work, as always!” He scoffs and tosses it aside. The second one is from Aziraphale.

Oh great, he thinks, Just what I need, a little ‘oh how dare you drown all those people you evil demon you.’ when I’m already feeling like shit. He opens it anyway. The first lines read:

“My Dear Crowley,

I heard that you were aboard the Titanic when it sank. Are you alright?”

Crowley breaks down and cries. ~End Scene~

1941

The playlist has Heart and Soul on it, but not a recent version – it’s specifically one that was recorded in 1939. So we’re almost definitely getting 1941 Part 3.

GIF by mimisempai

We’re going to find out what happened to cause their huge shift in dynamics from Date Night to 1967, and I think it’s a kiss. Maybe a kiss on the cheek? I’m not entirely sure. I do hope they get to slow dance to A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square though.

The Reunion

My friends, it will not go well. This is one of the songs that Neil chose – Cry Me a River. It just reeks of Aziraphale coming back and Crowley being (understandably, and rightly) being bitter towards him. Aziraphale will, eventually, I’m sure, get back in his good books, but he’s gonna need more than an I Was Wrong Dance to do it.

(Actually?) Saving the World

Okay so being perfectly honest, the only reason either of them are the lead characters in this series is because they’re so freaking loveable. They are very bad at their jobs. Anathema, Newt, and Adam saved the world in S1, and although the Husbands gave Adam a little pep-talk, I think he’s smart enough that he could have managed it on his own if he had to.

So, this time they actually need to save the world and have an actual plan. This is where I think a second body swap will happen – hear me out! First of all, remember that no one aside from Gabriel (who is Someone Knows Where), none of the angels or demons have figured out their trick from the first time. So I don’t think it is the plan, but I do think it will be part of the plan. Where am I pulling this idea from? The Show Must Go On, another one of Neil’s choices. It sounds like it’s from Aziraphale’s perspective, but Queen songs are usually associated with Crowley. Seems odd, right? Maybe because it is. Maybe because they swap.

The Book of Life

I think we’re going to see The Book of Life, and I think it’s going to basically be The Book of Love. I think this is where we’re going to get the Main Thesis. The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything, if you will. Love. It’s supposed to be Love.

The Book of Love – another of Neil’s choices.

Epilogue

I predict they get their South Downs cottage (Neil said “not yet,” which implies it’s coming). And there’s also a wedding, though I’m not sure whose it will be (The Book of Love). I REALLY hope that it’s Crowley and Aziraphale, because they deserve that kind of happy ending, and Neil is too much of an Ally not to realize how important it is that they get to Live Happily Ever After.

One Last Thought

I still have no idea what to make of I’d Rather Go Blind. That’s it. That’s the last thought I wanted to share that doesn’t really fit in anywhere else.

Thanks for going on this journey with me. Let’s make our Bingo cards and see if I managed to get anything right in 3-4 years.

[nerdieforpedro]

Those Damn Hot Dogs

Chapter One of Therapy for the Well-Adjusted

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Word Count: 1859

Warnings: Nerdie doesn’t know how the FBI works (despite watching all the crimes procedurals), one gun shot, insulting hot dogs 🌭, random book reference, a wee bit of blood, yelling & cursing

Summary: Marcus Pike was mandated to go to therapy. His journey there was very bumpy. We meet Dr. Mint and Vernon! (both OFCs)

Notes: I started this because I wanted Marcus to be a bit unhinged. Like why not? 😀

But also because I’ve had some bad experiences with therapy and some very positive ones.

Plus I enjoyed the doctor’s names way too much. I’m on my mess with puns. 😉

If you feel you need therapy or counseling, you should research the best cost effective options for you and make sure that your therapist is someone you feel comfortable with. Vibes are important in this case.

Main Masterlist/ Marcus Pike Masterlist/ AO3 Link

Marcus is talking with his therapist, Dr. Mint. He never thought he would need to see one. Not that people don’t need to see them or take their mental health seriously, they should and he does. He has to. He’s an FBI agent. Although he is in art crimes, there’s still quite a bit of shady characters, deals and crazy crap that people will do to have their art or hide how they got it.

The journey to Dr. Mint took Marcus two months from the incident to now.

The incident in question was something he never expected. Marcus Pike prided himself on being able to roll with life's punches, no matter how gut-wrenching they might be. Prior to ‘the incident’ his team were investigating possible pieces of art that were thought to have been smuggled into the country. Supposedly from California over to the East Coast. That should have been his first clue, the mention of that state. He was briefed about two consultants coming to assist since they had dealings and information of the particular ring of smugglers.

Patrick Jane and his wife Teresa Jane.

The amount of time Marcus had put into this case had been the last few months. Tracking leads, making connections, reviewing financials, flights, etc. He implored his superiors that they didn’t need their help. They’re making headway toward busting these guys without these two, especially one of them’s penchant for causing property damage and being a PR nightmare. The higher ups said that his team had enough time to find these guys and they haven’t so this case needs to be closed now. Pike didn’t understand the urgency, these were typical smugglers, not traffickers or people or drugs, but he had to back down. He would take many deep breaths and interact with them as little as possible.

Of course Patrick Jane asked to be on my team. The vest wearing, tired brown shoes having hot dog water looking bastard.

Agent Pike knew he’d have to grin and bear it. He’s a professional and a special agent. Unlike this prick, he can’t just do as he pleases. There are rules, regulations and he would like to stay gainfully employed at a job he loves. Patrick Jane nor his hot dog water loving wife Teresa will make him lose it.

The first two weeks went fine. Limited interaction, and all about the case. The third week was when they finally caught the smugglers at their warehouse. A mix of Marcus pulling up prior maps of an area outside of DC on the outskirts of the state of Virginia and Patrick seeing a pattern in pieces they were taking. The bust was running smoothly, all of them were caught except one. Marcus was chasing him and the idiot ‘not an actual agent’ Patrick decided he was somehow going to help chase the perp as well in those slippery ugly brown shoes.

It was his own fault.

Not Pike’s. He called in that he saw the suspect, let them know he was in pursuit and was chasing them. It was Jane that called himself trying to be some action hero popping out from a nearby alley to chase the same perp. Pike yelled at him to move, Patrick chose not to listen. His ass paid the price. Literally.

Some might have thought Marcus did it on purpose, especially if they knew the extremely sorted history between Patrick, Teresa and Marcus, but he truly did not. The suspect had pulled a gun and was trying to shoot Marcus, he dodged and shot the perp in the calf, disabling him enough for Pike to run over and clap cuffs on him. He then called for an ambulance.

Pike heard Patrick cursing as he was laying on the ground. Marcus thought maybe he just fell, but there was blood, not from the suspect. Jane was bleeding from his ass, the bullet had grazed him before hitting the suspect. Before Marcus could hold it in, and remain professional he laughed. Not a chuckle or snicker but a full, down on both knees next to the perp laugh. Which made the smuggler laugh as well. Teresa and the other agents made their way over and wondered what an agent and criminal could find so funny. Mrs. Hot Dog became hysterical that Patrick was bleeding so of course he leaned into it, shaking where he hadn’t been before.

Marcus and the suspect watched and looked at each other, “That’s some bullshit my guy.” Pike agreed. Standing up holding the suspect in front of him, he took him over to be booked and processed.

Patrick was taking his sweet time getting off the ground and Teresa was beginning to yell at Marcus, telling him that she’d have his badge for harming her Patrick.

Marcus Pike had enough. He requested to not have them in this case, asked to be reassigned, and has kept interactions to a minimum. He didn’t ask Patrick to chase a suspect. He’s a consultant. He’s not supposed to be doing it anyway!

Uncharacteristically, Marcus yelled and told Teresa to “keep her hot dog water looking man out of the way of FBI business. Had he not been here, the suspect wouldn’t have shot him. Jane needs to stay in his lane and keep all his hot dog foolishness over there.” Teresa was going to say something else, “You don’t say shit to me. You left me then, how am I supposed to know you’re going to do your damn job in the field if you didn’t even have the backbone to tell me no face to face or over the phone. You didn’t ask what actually happened! Put a bun on him to soak up his blood and hot dog water.”

Everyone was silent, even Jane.

No one expected Marcus to say anything, let alone admonishing Patrick and Teresa’s behavior. Everyone knew it was a lot but Pike had been a consummate professional during their entire time here.

Teresa was mortified and started to cry. Jane finally got up and limped over to the supervising agent who just told him to go over to the ambulance to get checked out.

No one directly addressed it, not until the Jane’s were gone and they threw a party. Marcus was invited but he declined. He’d been put out on administrative leave and was at home tuning his bass guitar. Wondering about what they said. They suggested he take some time off, cool his head and could come back after some counseling session.

Marcus had tried to go to the FBI one but it ended on a weird note. The initial meeting went well, but the small older woman asked for a hug. She said that Marcus resembled her former husband. He politely declined and told his supervisors that it wasn’t going to work with the FBI’s counselor.

Pike now had two weeks to find one he could see and clear him. His colleague Mark, suggested one that had helped him and his wife during a rough period in their marriage:

Dr. Mint of “Mint and Julep Counseling: Helping therapy go down smooth.”

The name and the tagline made Marcus chuckle and highly suspicious so he researched them, Mark vouched for the group of counselors and doctors. It’s worth a try. It had to be better than the last one.

Marcus wore his red flannel shirt, open exposing his white t-shirt underneath. Rubbing his hands on his dark wash jeans, getting the sweat off them, he opened the glass door leading into the reception area. The colors were neutral: white, tan, gold and gray. There was a friendly older gentleman at the desk who wore and striking green sweater and had bi-focals, peering at Marcus upward, maybe trying to look through the upper half of the glasses.

“Good afternoon sir, here for an appointment?”

“Yes I am. New patient for Dr. Mint. Marcus Pike. Nice to meet you sir.”

“Oh! You’re early, that’s nice. Wait there. Did you want some water? I’ll let them know you’re here. Should be finishing up with the previous patient shortly.” The gentleman informed him and Marcus took a seat on one of the black leather chairs.

He waited about ten minutes, he’d been fifteen minutes early. It was easier to find than he thought and it was in a stand alone building rather than in a strip mall. It was near a Panera and a Dunkin’s so Marcus had some landmarks for it.

Dr. Mint has sepia bangs which seems to be their natural hair color. The rest of their hair is cut close and is dyed a deep plum color. Normally Marcus might have taken a pause given that they’re also wearing a cream sweater that looks one size too big for them with black slacks and loafers, but they shake his hand and have a strong grip. Pike respects this and follows the good doctor to his office. The agent figures it can’t be worse than the last therapist. Dr. Mint is a few inches taller than Marcus but thin, willowy he might say. Something about him invokes trust, could be their sharp jaw and or that once they sit and Marcus begins talking about what happened with the two hot dogs, he sees something in their dark brown eyes that he didn’t with the other therapists. Dr. Mint didn’t think he’d lost his mind.

Pike’s luck has finally changed.

The doctor thanked Marcus for coming to see them and hoped that he would make a future appointment. They also stated that given the pressure he was under and the specific circumstances, they weren’t sure there was a right way to approach the situation.

“I mean, it is kinda funny. If you think about it, Dr. Mint.” Marcus departs their office and makes an appointment for later in the week with Vernon, the front desk gentleman. On his way out, he held the door for a woman in a cobalt dress, she thanked him and smiled. Pike felt his eyes linger on her for a few moments as she went to the desk and checked in with Vernon too. She sat down, crossing her legs at her ankles after setting her black tote back in a chair next to her. She was on her phone for a few and then pulled her bag into her lap, making herself smaller despite the waiting room being empty save for the man behind the desk.

Marcus wondered what brought her to this place, it could be anything. Her blue dress stuck out in his mind and he remembered there was a book about a woman in a blue dress, what was it called? He stopped to grab a salad and soup from Panera before heading home.

“Wait…” Marcus pulled into his parking space outside of his apartment building. “Devil in the blue dress, I think it’s by Walter Mosley. Wasn’t that a movie too? Maybe I should watch it tonight.” As tonight’s feature was decided, he set about trying to find which streaming service it would be on.

Marcus felt he made a good choice today.

Hot dog haters 🌭: @megamindsecretlair @jessthebaker @avastrasposts @jeewrites @josephquinnswhore

@bishtrouille @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @morallyinept @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @rosecentaur1916 @rulexofxnines @inept-the-magnificent

Chapter Two

[moony-2001]

How I would’ve constructed the 10 year time skip

✨Brought to you by my deep loathing for Lore Olympus✨

•warnings: super long post (I’m not joking), death, kidnapping, violence•

What The Fuck Happened

There was so much potential for the punishment arc. We could’ve seen a lot of character development, fleshed out storylines, reconciliation between certain people. We could’ve seen both Hades and Persephone going to therapy instead of claiming that one therapy session has fixed all their problems and then never going again.

Instead we got horny Persephone, pretty much no clue about what happened to Demeter OR Persephone during that time, and an easy plot device (sorry Cerberus) for Persephone to be like “I’m a big girl now harrumph harrumph, time for me to go reunite with my crusty ass bf who I’ve only know for a month”.

I hate the way she reunited with Ares. Ares is just a bonafide creep throughout the whole comic (although I liked when he attacked Zeus lol). I guess what I mostly hate about Ares and Persephone’s interaction is, yet again, it’s another example of every guy in the comic going AWOOGA over Persephone. Also Athena’s design is so fugly. I guess Rachel is completely incapable of drawing masculine presenting women as actual women.

The whole Kronos plot line is stupid. I hate it so much. Imo the whole “the titans are trying to escape so they can rule Olympus again” is overdone and not particularly done well. The fight between Kronos and Persephone is lame as shit. Like what, she gets big for all of 20 minutes, burps out a bunch of bees (which aren’t even aggressive creatures), and then does her version of the Wuxi Finger Hold from Kung Fu Panda and has Tartarus spirit Kronos away, magically fixing all of their problems (except it doesn’t and nothing is actually fixed).

Also I might get a lot of flack for this, but I don’t think the addition of Morpheus’ character was necessary. I like Morpheus. I think she’s cute. But she’s a) slowly turning into another version of Hecate and b) not really vital to the narrative imo. We already have so many other characters and plot lines that take away from the central “romance” the story is SUPPOSED to be focused on. I just don’t think we need ANOTHER character whose arc is probably not going to go anywhere.

So yeah, overall very L writing, L plot, and L characters.

What I would do differently

The first thing I would change is that the whole punishment arc would be an entire season unto itself. You’ll see why it has to be a separate season.

The second thing is (and this literally pains me to say) in order for me to rewrite this portion of LO without rewriting the entire comic, I kinda sorta have to throw the entire timeline of Greece out the window. If I try to follow a timeline based on the history of Greece, the entire timeline of LO has to shift massively. I’m already getting a migraine trying to think about how I could possibly make it work.

I do know this: Instead of 10 years I’d do somewhere between 1,000-3,000 years. 10 years is a joke. When you’re a god, 10 years is a trip to the time out corner

For now, let’s just say (assuming LO takes place in the Ancient Greece era) and Ancient Greece spanned ~1500 years, Persephone’s punishment would’ve needed to have been established near the very end of the collapse of the Late Bronze Age, spanned the entirety of Ancient Greece as we know it today, and ended some time in the very early Byzantine era. So like what, 1500-2000 years? Fine. I can work with this.

The Famine

You know how the first 400 years of Ancient Greece was deemed the “Dark Ages” and it was a time of war, famine, and loss? I want to start the punishment there. It would make sense for what we know about the characters thus far:

Demeter has had complete control over the growth of the flora and fauna on earth. She’s the goddess of the harvest after all. But we also find out that while Persephone has been in Olympus, Demeter has also been carrying out her duties as the goddess of spring. Plus Demeter has been around for forever and a day. She knows what she’s doing

Persephone doesn’t (at this point in the comic) really have control over her powers. Even in her fits of rage, she ends up doing more harm than good (i.e. her act of wrath, turning Minthe into a plant, etc.). In comparison with everyone around her, she is a literal infant. I mean shit, she’s only been alive for 20 years compared to the fact that everyone else has most likely been around for a minimum of 500 years.

If Demeter is stripped of her status as a goddess (and thus her powers) it would make sense that there would be a lot of death and famine and war over territory/food. Persephone would be left with nothing: no guidebook, no how-to. Of course a lot of people would die while she’s trying to figure her shit out. It could also be a very interesting tactic for psychological warfare on Zeus’ part. Zeus KNOWS Persephone doesn’t know what she’s doing. He knows people will die. And he knows that since life is precious to Persephone (or at least that’s what she claims), it would punish her further.

We can see episodes of Persephone struggling to provide for humanity. We could have real world examples of the affect of famine and depopulation. We would see her struggling with her powers, her mental health. We could get an episode that explains how her hands got destroyed from trying to mimic her mother’s powers. We can see what the fuck happened to Demeter in Attica.

Now obviously things will eventually go on the up and up for Persephone and her compatriots. The whole 1500-2000 years isn’t just going to be one big clusterfuck. As time progresses and chapters pass, we could see real character growth for Persephone not just mentally, but in almost every aspect. Since she will have been alive at that point for over 1000 years, the readers would be able to see her newfound maturity. We could also see her build strong female support systems and strengthen her friendships, something we NEVER saw in the OG comic (or at least they never happened without Hades somehow being involved). You get the point.

What’s Old Man Hades up to?

I have big plans for Hades and none of them involve him going into a 1000+ year coma or getting possessed by his creepy-ass dad. He is an asshole though. I kinda wanted to portray him in this the way he is in the original myths (which for those who don’t know or haven’t read it, it’s not good).

So in Greek mythology, Hades actually had a wife before he even met Persephone or Minthe. Can you take a wild guess as to who?

Bingo! It’s Leuce. Contrary to popular belief, Leuce is actually NOT a home-wrecking POC version of Persephone (don’t @ me we all know the nymphs represent the lower class and POC). In mythology, Leuce was Hades’ first wife/lover and she died sometime long ago and I believe was turned into a white poplar tree. No she is not a cousin of Thetis and Amphitrite. She is not even remotely related to them. And Thetis and Amphitrite are sisters, not cousins. Do your fucking research Rachel.

Unfortunately, Greek Mythology doesn’t really mention all that much about Leuce outside of the fact that she was a daughter of Oceanus, she was kidnapped by Hades, and when she died (for unspecified reasons) she turned into a tree. Which means I’m going to be taking a lot of creative liberties for this portion of the post. Sorry to all you diehard fans of Greek myths out there. I shall try to do her justice.

In my head-cannon Hades and Leuce had been in an arranged marriage for thousands of years. Leuce was offered by Oceanus as a peace offering after the War and Hades, not really having any other viable options for a wife, agreed to take her to the underworld (much to her dismay). Over time, they grew to have a mutually loving/caring relationship. Unlike LO Persephone, Leuce was a good queen and she worked hard to make sure the denizens of the underworld respected her and that they were well cared for. Unfortunately, they got divorced because Hades starting having an affair with Minthe. Even though she loved her kingdom and the people of the underworld, she divorced Hades because she couldn’t stand to be around him, which, y’know. Fair.

A few notes: in my head-cannon, Leuce is still around leading up the the trial and punishment. Her portrait would still be up, we would see signs that Hades and Leuce still interact (more in terms of business, not romance), etc.

Also, unlike Persephone, Leuce would not take her anger out on Minthe or turn her into a plant or destroy her apartment. She would simply wish her good luck. She would be mad at Hades for cheating and for taking advantage of Minthe while she’s at her lowest. But I’m going to be straight up: even though Leuce is meant to be the better Persephone, she still has her flaws. She’s not going to feel inclined to help Minthe in any way. Would you want to help out the person who your partner is cheating on you with? The answer is no and if you say yes, you’re lying.

Anyways, during the Punishment, Hades and Leuce reconnect and Hades finds out Leuce is dying. He tries to convince her to leave the underworld and return to her father, but she insists that she is going to stay, even if it means she dies away from everyone she loved. She won’t abandon her kingdom, her people, or her ex-husband (although that’s much better than he deserves). They move in together and Hades begins to take care of her, even as she begins to deteriorate. They also begin to rekindle their past relationship and (with the help of a therapist) work through some of their past problems together.

Note: their relationship rekindles a couple hundred years into the punishment so by the time the punishment ends, they’ve been back together for a minimum of 1200 years

The aftermath and the Rape of Persephone

Before any of you go gaga over me for the title used above, the original title used for the myth is The Rape of Persephone (or if you want to be really original, The Rape of Proserpina). In the context of the title, the term “rape” means to be taken/kidnapped rather than having sexual violence inflicted upon you. Rape stemmed from the traditional Latin word “raptus” which means “to be seized” or “carried off”. Okay? Okay.

So after the Punishment ends and Persephone feels like she has thoroughly improved herself, she goes to find Hades and talk with him about their relationship. Mainly that she feels they rushed into it, and even though she does like him she wants to take things really slow (kind of like how she wanted before getting married 3 episodes later).

Upon arriving to the underworld/Hades house, her worst fears are realized: not only has Hades (seemingly) moved on, he has found someone else. Or rather, he got back together with his ex-wife.

Persephone freaks out (“who is she?”/“I’m his wife!”)

Persephone, throughly upset for getting her hopes up, flees back to mortal realm. Hades goes to leave Leuce, but not before she tells him that if he leaves her for Persephone, she will never forgive him. Hades leaves anyways, much to the absolute despair of Leuce, who is left wailing as he runs off.

Persephone returns home and finds Demeter and they hug. Demeter is initially horrified to see what happened to her hands, but is proud of the work she did during the punishment. Persephone cries to her mother about Hades, and Demeter tries to comfort her but it inadvertently comes off more as “I told you so” rather than “I’m sorry you had to experience that” (although Demeter is sorry that Persephone’s heart is broken). Persephone, already feeling incredibly emotionally distressed, lashes out at Demeter and they start to argue. This is when Hades arrives.

Hades sees Demeter and Persephone arguing and inserts himself into the situation. Persephone becomes more upset after seeing him and Hades (assuming that Persephone is upset about the fact that Demeter is getting in the way of their “relationship” and not the fact that Persephone discovered Hades went back to his ex-wife after saying he loved her) whips out the the “one personal question, no exceptions” card and proposes to Persephone. He insists that he loves her and only her and that they should spend the rest of their immortal lives together.

Persephone says no.

Hades, not taking no for an answer and not wanting to leave the mortal realm empty handed, kidnaps Persephone, much to the dismay of Demeter, Artemis, and the nymphs. Hades returns with a traumatized Persephone to the underworld to find that Leuce has died and turned into a white poplar tree. While Persephone is sobbing on the floor, Hades weaves a mock crown from the branches and leaves of the tree, places it upon Persephone’s head, and tells her she better get used to their life together.

Thus ends the season and the punishment arc.

Afterthoughts

Thank you for sitting through my ramblings. I officially joined the anti-LO community about the time the trial happened and had been wanting to make a post like this for a reaaaaally long time. Besides the fact that the trial in of itself was completely unethical (@genericpuff made a whole post about that) the punishment arc just really pissed me off. Like go girl, give us nothing!

Anyways, I may or may not do a whole timeline reconstruction of LO depending on how much I feel like offing my sanity with the amount of research that would have to go into that. Until then, I hope you like this post and look out for other anti LO posts coming your way :)

[not-eli]

Some peeps asked for Heather character analysis and that's literally what I live for so let's go

pay attention this is long.

Heather is portrayed since the very beginning like the perfect example of the word brat. Her literal first line is, "I'm calling my parents, you can't force me to stay here!"

Even though this could hint that she has a very close relationship with her parents, at the same time in the extra clips for the parents from home we understand that her parents aren't really so caring for her, since they were celebrating at the thought of her leaving.

Even if this can seem controversial, there's a perfect explaination for this kind of behaviour:

As an example, my cousin is a goddamn brat (so glad my family doesn't know about my blog), always whining and asking for my aunt's phone, even cussing in front of his parents, and he's about 5. The thing is, due the desire of not hearing him protest my uncles tried to please him in everything, giving him what he asked so he would stop crying.

i think that Heather's parents kind of did the same: They complied with her every request so as not to hear her complain, not because they cared about her but because they wanted her to keep quiet. Heather of course got used to this and that's literally all she knows. She knew that if she conplained, she would get what she wanted.

We also know that her parents used elettro shock therapy on her in order to "make her nicer" which also hints that they didn't have a goddamn clue of what to do with her.

Furthermore, in tda when she thought she was about to die she wrote her will where she left most of her possessions to her mother. Plus, when Chris offered the team a chance to talk to the person they were closest with, who was the person suggested to Heather? That's right, the mother.

When she "opens up" a little to Harold she asks, "do you think it's good to be hated by everyone?"

I think that her bratty behaviour, maybe even in order to gain a little of attention from her parents, led people to stay away from her and to cope she became even worse, trying to convince herself that it wasn't her, it was them.

In an extra clip (cannot find it) we learn from her younger brother that she was used to be seen as "unattractive" when she was younger, which adds to the whole "no one likes me but who cares" thing.

I have the feeling that she closed herself off for so long to avoid being seen as weak, someone who can't provide for herself. We know that her number one objective is winning and only winning, she wants the money and for what? To start a life of her own, show the world that she's Heather and she's so worth it.

However, we sometimes caugh some moments of weakness: When she broke down while teaming up with Harold, when she looked upset when Lindsay and Beth stayed away from her (who, to remember, were the only friends she made on the show), when she comforted Courtney after the whole cheating thing and lord, even when Sierra the creepy crazy girl got hurt she showed to care for her. Also, did you see how happy she looked when Cody called her "the good guy"? (well not exactly but you get my point) or when she won?

And when she fell for Alejandro, she probably thought that was stupid - why falling for a boy that will just slow you down, break your heart?

Heather is hated by everyone, it's true. But deep inside she's just a girl that never understood how the world really worked. She never got how she had to actually behave in order to be liked. When she and Alejandro had that lovey dovey honeymoon phase she genuinely looked so happy because he was treating her like a literal queen. In my opinion, she finally felt respected and that was enough for her. Until Chris mentioned the money that is.

She deserves to win again :(

@math-is-math

@cass-hector-simp

[raisedbythetv89]

I feel like Logan’s death really commandeers the conversation about how terrible season 4 of Veronica Mars is (understandably so it is horrific) but there’s literally SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT 😭

Veronica isn’t Veronica and Logan isn’t Logan (really NO ONE is truly in character anymore). Rob Thomas clearly has NO IDEA what healing actually looks like so Logan becomes this pop psychology stereotype with no depth or emotion and like Veronica literally says A POD PERSON. And he describes his therapy as controlling his anger so it doesn’t consume him. That might have been the move as a temporary band-aide immediately to stabilize his life after season 3 but what like 12 years later???? When season 4 starts? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Fire that therapist immediately 😭 He should be WELL into the source of his anger. Healing isn’t about control it’s about surrender and acceptance of your feelings and developing healthy coping strategies to process your newly uncovered feelings so you can live WITH them not in spite of them. There’s a reason so many “good guy” characters are so one dimensional and boring it’s because the male writers writing them literally have NO CLUE what a healthy well adjusted men act like 😭 - (Ted Lasso was so rare because we had good men writing good men)

And yes we know Logan punching people does it for Veronica but that’s because it is ALWAYS in defense of her but his safety and well being is always her number 1 priority (he pulls a gun to save her in the Fitzpatricks bar and she screams at him because she doesn’t want him to get hurt or killed in his attempt to defend her and she’s terrified). Him just punching a kitchen cabinet in rage and frustration is NOT the same thing at all and she would show concern in that situation not immediately instigate sex ROBERT.

The idea that Veronica did ZERO growing/healing/processing in those 12 years is so insulting and just not realistic - once she got space and distance she would have come out of fight or flight and been assaulted with all the repressed emotions from seasons 1-3 before law school yet somehow she’s WORSE than she was when she was younger with less stability and support and capacity to handle everything she was dealing with.

Especially after everything established in the movie!

“Are you gonna ask me if I did it?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did”

THE AMOUNT OF GROWTH THAT SHOWS IN VERONICA IS ACTUALLY INSANE. Miss never trusts anybody, suspect EVERYONE until your can verify the truth - believes Logan and Weevil AT THEIR WORD. Trusts THEIR CHANGE implicitly and picks helping Logan and Weevil BECAUSE SHE CARES not because it’s a fucking addiction as Rob tried to frame it in the movie 💀💀💀 Veronica always helped because she’s SOFT because she has a good heart and can’t help but help when she knows she can which is classic of parentified children - you believe everything is your responsibility to fix if it’s in your capability to fix. Does she get neurotic trying to solve cases? Absolutely! But that is trying to control and fix external problems as a distraction from her own. It was a coping mechanism and taking that coping mechanism away in the 9 years between season 3 and the movie would have caused serious problems for her that would have forced her to confront her issues.

Season 4 could have been Veronica having a complete break down from her always too full plate coming crumbling down trying to help and fix too much combined with logan being gone and always at risk when he is gone, Wallace bringing new life into an increasingly corrupt neptune she can’t seem to save, Mac working for Jake Kane?!!?! I would have loved If instead she was helping Mac deal with the swapped at birth thing they NEVER touched again. Combined with her dad’s health problems and Weevil falling back into his old habits. She is someone who feels responsible for everything and everyone around her because everyone blamed her for EVERYTHING when she was younger and eventually that catches up with you and THAT is what I wanted to see her strength crumble forcing her to be truly vulnerable and instead of asking for favors asking for HELP allowing her to stop acting like a woman written by a man and act like an actual adult woman BY women who actually understand that experience. Rob was SO out of his depth - his portrayal of Leanne in earlier seasons already proved that.

But that’s just one of literally 1 million possibilities that would have been better than the direction Rob chose. He managed to strip away everything we loved about ALL of his characters until they were ghosts of themselves and it makes me SO UPSET 😭 because he literally revived a show just to finish the destruction path he started in season 3, that had started to be corrected in the movie because it was so controlled by the fans.

Rob and Joss - two men who’s success was built upon a largely female audience and then their misogyny caused them to try and destroy everything their audiences loved 🙃🙃🙃🙃

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Who do you think would be friends with whom between the Fatui and the people from Guili Assembly?

Say, the Tsaritsa and Labolas 'coz they're both Childe's mother figures.

What about Arlecchino, Guizhong and the others?

you're probably right about the tsaritsa and labolas, but i think the tsaritsa and guizhong would also get along rather well. also the tsaritsa and morax. that woman will adopt literally everyone that looks younger than her. arlecchino in this au is Actually A Good Parent to the orphanage kids, so she'd probably end up being all like "go spend time with your boyfriend, Tartaglia, i'll take care of the kids" and all the children of the assembly would immediately adopt her as their wine aunt from a different world. she'd also get along great with skirochka. i think you can add pulcinella to this as well. i think columbina and sandrone would get along nicely with madame ping, and sandrone would be like... fondly exasperated of guizhong's needling about how her wheelchair works. capitano would probably get along rather well with morax and depth claws. and like. zhihao. it'd be funny. i think moon carver and mountain shaper would inadvertedly adopt pierro and pulcinella into their old coots club. pulcinella would enjoy chatting with them while pierro just sits there wondering what his life has become. he'd never admit he actually finds the topics of conversation interesting. as for the rest, i honestly don't know. i think pantalone and guizhong and morax would have quite a bit to talk about, but i find it kinda funny to think that pantalone would get along like a house on fire with urth (sal vindagnyr's princes). i know she was hardly in the story but i had a bit of personality thought up for her and she'd get along great with pantalone. they would bully dottore to hell and back together. i'd also like to think he'd take a liking to nadezhda.

i think scara and trail clearer would get along well. also aspasia. like i think if you sit scara down to just chat with a pair of normal, kinda quiet, kinda lowkey ladies without any expectations he'd rather enjoy himself. free therapy. dottore would NOT let him live it down though.

i have no idea who dottore and signora would get along with. signora i could see ending up with moon carver and mountain shaper in the old coots group just to bully pierro with pulcinella and share gossip with them.

dottore i still got no clue. i guess like. genuinely? if he finds out about ajax' planning to see how he can bring about the blorbos' existence? i think he'd get overly invested in that. like run the calculations make the science do the maths kinda invested. he's a researcher at heart, and if he's not a piece of garbage in this au, then he's not doing reprehensible stuff on the sidelines. ajax comes in one day to visit and offhandedly mentions his idea to arlecchino, who comments it to dottore without really thinking much of it. when ajax next drops by the madman finds him and sits him down for a five-hour presentation on genetics and science and probability and the maths behind the entire operation. he saddles him with a backpack full of folders and papers that ajax can hardly read bc dottore's handwriting is absolute dogshit, and sends him off back to teyvat. ajax has no clue wtf happened. guizhong finds the entire ordeal hilarious.

[ipsomaniac]

Just reread Middlemarch. Thoughts, in no particular order:

Boy was I unqualified to read this aged 17. I think I wrote about it for my (dismal) first ever uni essay on the realist novel? Laughable. You're not gonna fully grasp the pathos of this book until you've lived enough to understand that the boundless potential inside you is not awaited by some corresponding perfect mission out there in the world. Like most kids about to start uni - like the characters at the start of the book - I still believed, on some level, that I would find the Thing to channel my own greatness. I don't think I had a clue what Middlemarch was really about.

Lydgate and Dorothea are of course parallels; Lydgate's fate is much harder because he is a man with a man's ambition and self-belief. As a gentleman he has not been brought up to submit to fate or the will of others. He doesn't bear it well and his disappointment is greater in proportion to his greater ambition.

On the other hand Dorothea's goals are always qualified: even as a supposedly outspoken/opinionated woman the extent of her ambition is to encourage and help the men around her to undertake great projects, be a daughter of Milton etc. She never really imagines achieving greatness for herself, even when it is within her grasp: as the widowed Mrs Casaubon she has, literally, more wealth than she knows what to do with, a highly respected status within the community and freedom from husbandly or paternal control. She could have done anything - could have been a philanthropist in her own right! But she is simply too uncomfortable with holding power, over others or herself. She is desperate to cast away the burden of self-determination as soon as she has it and flees again into the refuge from responsibility that married life and poverty represent. Her little tragedy is that she clearly does in fact have the emotional drive for greatness - she is not a middling soul like her uncle Brooke, she yearns for a grander scope of life and has a quality of greatness about her that people recognise and respond to. But she is unable to manifest this for three reasons: one, she read too many pamphlets and too much bible and got radicalised into a trad christian pick-me-girl; two, she is unfortunately just not that smart. she is highly empathetic and articulate with a strong moral sense BUT she is scared shitless by business and finance and practical organisation. she wants to go on some grand evangelical mission, she does not want to figure out how to fund and execute a big charitable project in her local neighbourhood that will actually have an impact. And three: she was just born in the wrong place, wrong time. 1830s small town some random place in the Midlands, doesn't have a railway yet, a single newcomer to the town is the most socially disruptive event to have happened in decades, there's like 2.5 pretty girls and 4 eligible gentlemen within a 10 mile radius, the peasants have it pretty shit but they're not like dying of plague or anything spectacular. There's just not much scope for ardent endeavour.

(Personally I love Dorothea because she has the power of emotional fervour and can use it occassionally to provide super-therapy to people but is quite ineffectual and shirks responsibility for her own life. And this is relatable to me. I am also having a lot of dark sneaky thoughts about the prospect of marriage and having a kid and the likelihood of my career being curtailed by this due to childcare being a disaster in the UK, and how that would be convenient because it would free me from the responsibility of finding some kind of meaningful work to do with the semi-decent mind I've been given. Such things the wisps murmur as I wander the perilous marshes of hetero partnership. Don't follow the lights!)

[starrbee]

NEW LMK OC!!!

HENG TAO

Species: (Half) Water Demon

Age: 21

Pronouns: They/He

History:

[TW: ABUSE AND SUICIDE, SKIP TO THE END IF U WANT TO READ THE REST OF THE LORE!!!}

Technically, they are a reincarnation of a demon from the journey to the west (That I made up but oh well), see the original demon was a child who grew up in a human village after being left on a riverbank by their mother when she was running from some kind of wind spirit/celestial. This village believed that with strict rules and strict punishment their 'Demonic' urges would be hindered(That are not real, and is simply misinformation on demon culture spread by humans :P ). These thing actually made the child grow resentful and after years made them give up on ever living normally due to the negative biases the people had towards them. One day one of the villagers tried to hit them and so, they hit back... or technically bit back. The villagers demonised them and left them locked in their house.

While the JTTW gang is traveling, Sha Wujing is sent to get to get food from the village to the others can rest and protect Tripitaka. When he gets closer to the village he finds a woman crying, this woman is the person the child lived with for most their childhood. she realises that Wujing is also a water demon and explains the situation. Wujing asks to see the child and she takes him to them. at this point the child wishes to have a second chance through death, and when they meet Wujing they ask him to help or watch over them to make sure nobody interfered. no matter how much Wujing tried to help them see that they had time to leave and make a new life somewhere else, they knew that this trauma would always follow them, so sandy promised to give them a proper burial, which he did.

this is slightly mirrored in their current form, but luckily, therapy now exists. (The only reason the previous life couldn't go on is because of the limited knowledge of mental health and the fact that they had no clue of how demon society actually worked, therefore they couldn't of escaped and if they left they would live a very lonely life) (the next life is kind of like a chance for Sandy and Tao to have the relationship they could of if Tao's previous life had lived, and sandy had of offered to help them and they joined the group on the JTTW for a little while.)

[TW ENDS HERE]

Nowadays Tao lives near Sandy, who has taken on a parental/brotherly role to them! they work as an influencer/streamer, which is how they know MK and Mei, as both Mei and Tao met each other through streaming and Mei introduced them to MK. (It's funny when Pigsy and Sandy realise their families already knew of each other without anyone's knowledge.)

Throughout LMK Tao struggles with self doubt as their the only one who doesn't have a proper ancestor to learn from, leaving them left out a lot of the time. however they do learn to use water magic after S5!

Ref Sheet:

Fake screenshot:

TAO IS OPEN FOR ASKS!!!! PLEASE ASK ME ABOUT THEM!!!

[mollywobbles867]

I am writing this on my laptop so you know I'm srs

So, I am going to out myself as a former hardcore real people shipper. OGs remember. @ginasaurrr, @gleefullysupernaturalpop, @risti7, @wholove

It was 2009 and my dad had died two years prior. I was a fucking mess. I was a teacher when he died, two months into my first teaching job (that I started a month into the school year so I was fighting for my life when it came to lesson plans). I went back for two weeks after he died, but I was experiencing heavy suicide ideation and was fighting tears through every class. (Note to alert bots, I am okay now after a lot of therapy and medication). I was of no use to those kids and I am so sorry that they had such a shitty teacher that year. My principal was extremely unsupportive, so I went to my union rep and got out of my contract post haste. I started having panic attacks on the regular (figured out much later that I have PMDD so that's why it came in two week cycles).

Anyway, I was unemployed, living with my mom, and extremely lost. Then one night in 2009 my sis was over and insisted on watching American Idol because she was obsessed with Adam Lambert. I loved his voice so I started watching every week and grew to love a few of the other contestants too. I paid attention to the American Idol posts on ONTD on LJ. There were soon posts shipping Adam and Kris Allen, even though Kris was married to a woman.

ONTD got annoyed with all the posts, so someone started ontd_ai where we posted to our heart's content, a good many of them about shipping the two singers. We broke the fourth wall way too much for sure. (#gokeyisadouche). I have actually blocked out a lot of the details, but one thing I remember is that soon there was an AIM chat (yeah I'm old) dedicated to talking about our ship. And unfortunately, we also talked about Kris's wife's mental health struggles. No idea how we ever even knew about them. While I expressed empathy for her in the chat as did most of us, someone took screenshots and said we were bashing her. It blew up and made it to fandomwank. At some point we started our own LJ community too. We put tinhats on our profile pics, etc. We were tinhatters instead of delulus. I wrote Kradam rpf as well as flashfic for other fandom ships. Astolat herself wrote Kradam fic! (shout out to the cowboy fic, that hurt my feelings).

All this is to say that I know how you can get obsessed with solving some sort of story you have invented, looking for clues in song lyrics, performances, interviews, etc... and ignore reality. Really what you're searching for is answers for your own life.

Through post after post saying how it would be totally okay for Kris to come out as bi, I finally came out to myself, then my bff, then my sis, then my mom and nephews, and now whenever I feel safe with someone and online strangers.

After a year I applied to grad school and got my life back on track; went back to therapy, got on meds, found other hobbies, made new friends, eventually started working again even if it was just retail.

What are you searching for?

What are you struggling with?

What about Luke and Nicola's interactions or as individuals draws you to the ship? Are you projecting your own insecurities and identity struggle onto her? Are you projecting someone who hurt you onto Luke? I promise that Nicola is not crying herself to sleep every night because she's not with Luke or because he's with a thin woman. Luke is not a fuckboy or disingenuous just because he's with a thin woman.

I encourage you to take a step back and self-reflect because you are the ones who are doing the hurting.

P.S. We tinhatters were always publicly nice to Kris's wife on his and SM pages and when we met him after concerts and she was there. Why? Because she's a person too and I honestly hope they are the happiest they have ever been. Kris still makes (great) albums and they have kids (two unless they had another and I didn't know). Adam has been touring with Queen and I have no clue about his love life. It's nice.

However, I do think our fourth wall breaking made it so they stopped being public with their friendship. Just sayin'.

Look at the beauty we deprived the world and weep.