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#PTSD IS VALID AND THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE PTSD DESERVE TO FEEL SAFE AND HAPPY FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES

purpleartrowboat · 1 year

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happy pride month to people who feel left out from mainstream queer media or unsafe at pride

happy pride month to anyone who cant go to pride

whether its unsafe in the area, they physically can't, or have homophobic family

happy pride month to people who dont quite know their identity yet

to people who are unlabeled, or are questioning, or

happy pride month to poc queer

to black queers and asian queers and indigenous queers and latine queers

happy pride month to disabled queers

to queers in wheelchairs, with canes, with service dogs, with inhalers, with leg braces, with crutches,

happy pride month to queers in straight relationships or appear to be in straight relationships

to bi people dating the opposite gender, to pan people dating the opposite gender, to straight but with another lgbtq+ identity, to fem presenting people dating masc presenting people

happy pride month to queers in polyamorous relationships

happy pride month to all a-spec people

to all aros, aces, alloaces, alloaros, aroaces, loveless aros, aros in relationships, aros in qprs, to aroflux people, to demiromantic and demisexual people

happy pride month to all multi-sexual people

to bisexuals, pansexuals, polysexuals, to biromantics, panromantics, polyromantics and anyone else under this umbrella

Happy pride month to non binary people

to genderfluid people, genderqueer people, to transneutral, transmasc and transfem non binary people. to bigender, pangender people. to people who use xenogenders

happy pride month to people with "weird pronouns"

to people with multiple pronoun sets, neopronoun users, to cis guys who use she/her to cis girls who use he/him to cis people who use they/them or neopronouns, to people who use any pronouns, to people who use any pronouns but they/them or any but she/her or any but he/him or any but neos

happy pride month to trans people

to t4t people, trans men, trans women, transfems, transmascs, to straight trans people, to aro trans people, to ace trans people, to lesbian trans people, to gay trans people

shout-out to neurodivergent and mentally ill queer people

to queer people with anxiety, with autism, with adhd, with depression, with ocd, with schizophrenia, with bpd, with ptsd.

to queer people who hallucinate, who need noise cancelling headphones, who need fidgets, who have panic attacks, who are forgetful, who get hyperfocused, who have mood swings

happy pride month to everyone. you deserve respect and to feel safe, even if you dont now. you're valid. you deserve to be able to go to pride without fear. you deserve accomodations at pride. even if you don't want to go to pride events, youre still amazing and valid. stay safe

#pride #pride month #queer #a-spec #pan #bi #lesbian #gay #trans #non binary #not tagging all identities mentioned because noppe

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highlifeboat · 2 years

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last anon was a bit rude imo... like talking about how mia and dani are "unstable" and so he doesn't deserve sympathy for his chest scars like even if it messes up he's allowed to feel bad for how people react jesus...

Maybe

I will agree though, Daniela having occasional dissociative episode/hallucination, and Mia having PTSD/autism (and the anxiety/depression that come with either) doesn't make the unstable. They're perfectly capable. They just aren't surgeons. It wasn't gonna come out pretty and Max knew that going in. The scars are messy because the people who did it weren't trained, it's not a case of instability. It's equally dumb either way, but it worked out.

Also like... Yeah, he's allowed to be upset over how people react. It isn't any different than him getting upset over someone calling the scars on his face ugly or commenting they look/make him look fucked up. (Especially since he's aware. He's seen them, he knows they're messy)

It's not even really ABOUT the scars. He's gotten/gets comments about his other scars too. He's used to that. It's just the fact that the only thing he gets a comment on is the scars and how they look, when he just wanted to show everyone and be like "Hey, I'm flat now :)". Even if he doesn't always get along with the family, the castle is generally seen as a safe space for everyone and he was just kind of hoping for a smidge of validation or some positive feedback. And he can be upset when he just gets comments on how gross looking the scars are.

His feelings are valid and he's allowed to feel bad when they just wanna comment on the scars and don't acknowledge that this is a thing that made him happy.

#not that i'm saying you have to sympathise with max at all #but he's allowed to be sad over it #asks #anons #oc max

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cryptramesses · 1 year

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Greetings!

Hello new folks, I see that my one mini-vent caught a few eyes. Thank you for following this blog. It's pretty personal to me, unaffiliated for the most part from my other work (youtube and twitch). It's a much more personal place to reach out to me but also for me to just express myself as an individual.

I do post a lot of pagan and kemetic content, it's not my primary content however. I post about fandoms I'm in too, since this is a personal blog, and the things people like are just as important.

A few interesting things about me that I want to share:

I've been practicing this faith of mine for as long as I can remember

I am very well versed and currently solo in my practice, but wasn't always that way

I am accepting of all views, religious beliefs, philosophies, and moralities provided that they don't harm others

I love learning new things, and encourage interaction with my stuff so people can teach me things, just like I want to teach them things

This is a constructive space, and I am happy to keep it that way. While I may call out things that are problematic (not in the tumblr 2013 way, but in the 'this actually puts people in harms way and causes lasting damage to people' sort of way) I never make it a goal to rip people down or hurt others. It is true that some people should be de-platformed, especially when a cult of personality has formed around them, but I do not set out calling things out with that goal -- everyone deserves chances, and it is not my job to say whether someone is a good person or not. My only job is to bring attention to an issue so that way the people doing the less than stellar things are pressured into learning something that may not have been taught to them sooner.

If you are involved with the House of Netjer/The Kemetic Orthodox Religion, you are welcome to be on my blog. But know that I do not endorse, support, or condone the actions and opinions of Tamara L. Siuda for a multitude of reasons. I will probably make a deep dive about the House of Netjer on my Youtube at some point, covering all the general stuff including both all the good and all the messed up stuff that's going on there, so stay tuned for that if you want to see all sides and formulate your own opinion (you'd be surprised how hard it is to find information on this topic). Despite this, I welcome people who are involved with that organization, and even encourage the difference of opinion. Just please blacklist the tag #netjerrant to make sure it doesn't show up on your dash -- I'd hate for people to feel uncomfortable or unwelcome in any regard even if we hold different religious opinions.

Last but not least my blog is a safe space for people regardless of who they are. There are some key moral things that I'm particularly against, which I will disclose on a different post, but for the most part this blog is supportive and welcoming of all. This includes, but is not limited to, neurodivergent folks (I am autistic so of course), members of the LGBTQIA+ communities (I myself am Demi), members of BIPOC communities, people who struggle with disability (mental and physical - I personally struggle with EDS and POTS as well as work closely with people who have DID and PTSD so I am welcoming to others of similar issues), and those who are lost or struggling in this time.

What I mean to say is that this blog will never be a source for hate. Even when I disagree with something, it doesn't mean I hate those that hold opposing opinions. The world is never black and white, you learn that pretty quickly over time, so whichever shade of gray you fall into when it comes to questions and situations, know that despite the inevitable differences we have, you're always welcome to interact and share your opinions, experiences, and feelings. Those are valid, and my experiences will never be the same as yours, and I do respect that.

tl;dr thank you for checking out my blog, thank you to those who are now following, I post a lot of content to express myself and I hope you like what you see. Don't be scared away by my opinions if they don't match yours, tell me your feelings on a situation, this is a safe space and my opinions are anything but solid. No matter where your opinions lie, chances are you're welcome here.

See you around everyone: Senebty!

#ramessesrambles #greetings #queue

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

The counterpart to Uncle Ben and Little Luke (Original Post, Chrono)

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

This got... very long and detailed and I’m going to have to clean it up and post to AO3. As in, this was supposed to be 2-3k and is literally ten times that long. It crossed 25k. And the initial section actually glosses over a bunch, actual fic-style writing starts at “That, of course, is when things get interesting.”

Warnings: discussion of various canon traumas (most relating to being child soldiers), general PTSD, several scenes featuring dissociation or panic attacks upon being triggered, and canon-typical violence.

Rated T, gen.

I still want there to be de-aging nonsense involved so Ahsoka is physically a late teenager despite having a solid two decades of field experience behind her (we’re pulling her from Malachor).

Leia, much like Luke, is now six. She just came from being a rebellion general. She is not happy about being a child. She was already short, this is just mean. She’s a human espresso.

UNLIKE BEN, Ahsoka is not happy about this turn of events. Being seventeen-ish is not helpful in the outer rim. She’s a female togruta, young and healthy, and in the Outer Rim, caring for a small human child. Sure, she has her lightsabers and plenty of combat experience, and she can keep them safe, but she’s just one person, and a major target for those looking to make some quick cash. It doesn’t matter how good she is; she needs sleep at some point.

It makes my heart happy to treat Ahsoka and Rex as two halves of the same black ops specialist so you know what, he’s there too! He’s physically like... 10-12 in natborn, maybe. They’re not sure, because clones age weird. He’s moderately more useful than Leia (who is very competent but also physically six, and short for that age), but he’s still... very small.

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

Ahsoka has a harder time explaining WHY she has children with her, since she's barely more than a kid herself, and clearly unrelated by species. She sometimes just says “Oh, my adoptive brother’s kids” since it’s kind of the truth for Leia and she’s not touching the actual truth about Rex with a ten foot pole.

Ahsoka definitely knows about Leia being a Skywalker, or at least has suspicions that Bail never outright confirmed but was conspicuously quiet about. She does tell Leia about it, but it’s not like that means anything, right? Just, you know, your dad was my teacher! I don’t have to tell you he became Va--oh shit, you already knew that part. Well, fuck. What do you mean he had a son? OH SHIT, PADME HAD TWINS.

Alt take for explaining why she’s got kids: She’s my foundling, I know her name as my child (Leia shut up!!!)

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

That said, there is... significantly less gambling and significantly more theft to get to Coruscant.

As previously stated, Ahsoka is a black ops kinda gal, and more importantly, she looks like a fairly attractive young woman in the Outer Rim, with two children in good health. She’s a target, and also not the kind of person one generally gambles with. If she does gamble, people get upset when she doesn’t lose, in ways they don’t get upset about Ben doing the same, because she’s, again, a cute teenage girl. It’s exhausting.

As things go, she largely ends up stealing from people who deserve it and/or smuggling herself and her charges into someone else’s ship. They’re small, they can hide. Sometimes she can get them all passage by working as a mechanic, she’s good at that.

Once they’ve got a handle on when they are, they have to decide on Names. None of them have been born yet, so technically they could use their own names without anyone Knowing. Rex and Leia might not even be born, depending on how successful they are at, you know, stopping the war and everything. Ahsoka, though, she’s going be born in two years, and there’s no reason to prevent it, so... she doesn’t want to steal baby-her’s name. That would be mean.

Leia is already calling her “Auntie ‘Soka” when she can for reasons like “selling the bit” and “manipulating adults” and “making us both feel better after we had a mutual breakdown about Anakin being Vader.” Ergo, she decides that whatever new name she picks better include that in some way, and decides on “Sokari” because it sounds pretty.

Overall, they don’t... they don’t actually make it very far before there’s an Incident. Again, teenager with small children. They spend a lot of time hiding out in space ports looking for an opportunity.

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

She doesn’t recognize the armor. She does recognize the sigil, and thinks ‘well, they’re more likely to help than some,’ because from what she’s heard, the Haat Mando’ade are Decent People Overall. Her view is a little biased, mostly on account of the sheer level of grudge she has against Kyr’tsad. It’s fine! The True Mandalorians have the same grudge, right? And Mandalorians like kids and Ahsoka hasn’t slept in five days and it’s fine. It’s fine! IT’S FINE.

“Oh shit,” Rex whispers, before she can suggest anything. “Oh fuck.”

“Stop cursing,” Leia hisses, elbowing him. “People are going to notice.”

“That’s the Prime,” Rex panics, mostly quiet. Ahsoka’s heart drops, because fuck is right. “That’s Fett.”

Leia isn’t impressed. Ahsoka just angles herself between Fett and Rex and hopes that he doesn’t see them. That’s just asking for trouble.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is in fact running on none sleep with left trauma, and doesn’t notice Fett walking up and dropping into a seat across from them until he’s actually done so, removing his helmet to glare a little more efficiently.

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

Ahsoka later tells herself that he’s killed Jedi and that’s why he can sneak up on her, and that she can be forgiven some slip-ups with the exhaustion being what it is, and that she’s obviously going to be dealing with some emotional instability in light of the sudden return of teenage hormones and new forms of anxiety that are markedly different from those she was dealing with a few weeks ago.

What Ahsoka wants to say is “that’s kind of a long story,” or “maybe he’s a cousin,” or “kriff off, I don’t know you,” or maybe even “he’s a clone.”

What Ahsoka actually does is burst into tears, which is embarrassing for her, for Fett, for the kids, and for the entire rest of the bar.

It really is the straw that broke the eopie’s back. Even when she was actually this age, she didn’t exactly cry much. Objectively, Fett quasi-aggressively asking a valid question shouldn’t send her into a panic. She’s been through torture and worse. She shouldn’t be crying.

But she is, sobbing her eyes out with no control, and he’s just sitting across from her and looking uncomfortable while Rex wraps his little arms--oh Force he’s so small--around her, and both ‘children’ glare at Fett.

“So, I’m going to take it she didn’t kidnap you from a loving family or do something illicit with a blood sample,” Fett says, after it becomes obvious that Ahsoka’s not going to be ready to talk any time soon.

“She didn’t,” Rex says stiffly, with just the right emphasis for Fett to catch what’s implied. Ahsoka just keeps her head down, eyes pressed against the heels of her palms, trying to get her body to stop rebelling against her.

Fett’s eyes dart to Leia, who folds her arms and draws herself up, every bit the unimpressed princess. “My father claimed her as a sister, so she’s my Auntie ‘Soka.”

The man dithers a bit, the conversation clearly not going where he’d expected. “Right,” he says. “You--you’re all kids. I thought she was a little older, at least, but I didn’t have a good look at her face before.”

She is older, but actually admitting that is only going to make this worse, both for her pride and for her chances of making it out alive.

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

“You’re kids, you’re alone, and you’re clearly not okay if you were trying to hide the one with my face as blatantly as you did, and then... whatever this is, when I confronted you,” Fett explains. Ahsoka lifts her head to glare at him, but it’s probably not doing much with the way her eyes are rimmed with red and still wet. “Don’t give me that look, ad’ika, your kids looked as confused and horrified by that as the bartender did. They obviously didn’t think it was normal either.”

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

“And what do you mean by ‘blatantly,’ here?” Leia challenges. It’s adorable, but Ahsoka watched this tiny girl shoot a man last week, and wonders when people are going to start taking that seriously.

“There’s a lot of people in this galaxy, and I don’t exactly have the clearest memory of what I looked like at that age,” Fett says, slow and careful like he thinks they’re dumb. Ahsoka decides to chalk it up as being because Leia’s visibly six. “I would have thought it was just a coincidence if you hadn’t put in effort to hide him.”

Leia huffs, and Rex glares harder. Fett just sighs, like they’re all going to give him grey hairs.

“You can explain whatever the hell’s going on,” Fett says. “I’ll let you stay on my ship, there’s a spare bunk and you’re small.”

“For free?” Rex demands.

“A night on a bunk in exchange for information,” Fett clarifies. “We can negotiate from there.”

Ahsoka takes a few moments, notes that both of the others are waiting on her for the decision, and cringes. She doesn’t feel steady enough to carry that. She has to anyway.

“Rex?” she asks, voice rasping after the breakdown of the past few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

He looks up at her, eyes calculating, and grimaces. “We don’t want Order 66. A warning is better, even if we... share information.”

She nods, and turns to Leia. “Any premonitions, princess?”

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

“No, don’t tell, or no, you aren’t getting any vibes about sharing info one way or the other?”

“The latter,” Leia clarifies, huffy to the last.

“Right,” Ahsoka says, and then just... hesitates. “Fett...”

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

She bares her teeth in what could have, through a squint and perhaps a few drinks, been called an apologetic smile. “Just one, really.”

“Yeah?”

“No hurting, killing, or turning us in for bounties,” she says. “Any of us.”

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

She blinks at him, slow and careful. She hesitates. She reaches down, out of sight, sees him stiffen.

She unclips her sabers from her belt and puts them on the table.

His eyes are fixed on the weapons the second they enter his line of sight, and don’t move as he clearly realizes why she made the condition she did.

“I left years ago, because I couldn’t stay without it ruining me,” she says. Still slow. Still careful. She’s so tired. “But if I want to keep Leia safe, I have to get back to Coruscant.”

His eyes finally lift from the sabers, expression blank. “Just her?”

“Rex doesn’t have the same monsters coming after him,” she says. “If it were just me and him, I’d worry less. Leia’s a different kind of target.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith on the table by telling me that,” Fett says, voice flat and toneless. “Considering my occupation.”

“She’s a child,” Ahsoka says, feeling heavy and boneless. “Even with what I was and will be, even with what money you would get from the right buyer, you wouldn’t.”

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

They stare at each other for too long, probably, and then Fett jerks as Rex kicks him under the table. The boys glare for a moment, and then Rex says, “If she weren’t good, I’d still be a slave to those who grew me.”

Fett blinks, and then nearly growls the word, “What?”

“She freed me,” Rex reiterates. “While I was trying to shoot her.”

Ahsoka lifts a hand and puts it on his far shoulder, pulling him into her side. She doesn’t meet Fett’s eyes again, because part of her is back on Mandalore, dodging her own soldiers and crying out as her family dies across the galaxy.

Fett breathes in. Breathes out. He puts a hand to his head, visibly frustrated. “Fine. A good Jedi kid, and two smaller kids, one of which is apparently in some way mine.”

Rex makes a face, which is fair, but also not helping.

“To the ship,” Ahsoka says, putting her sabers back on her belt and sliding out of the seat. “I’m... I’m Sokari.”

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

---------------------------

Fett watches her like she’s a predator, which has the benefit of being accurate and slightly flattering. She lets other two take care of most of talking, and then Fett tells her to sleep first, and talk in the morning.

“You’re dead on your feet, jetii,” he snorts. “And that crying jag didn’t do you any favors. Sleep.”

So she does, and Fett doesn’t even wake her. He just lets her sleep. He watches her in the way of a guard. She sees him when she gets up to use the ‘fresher in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t even comment when she collapses right back into the mediocre cot she’s borrowed for the cycle.

Rex and Leia are safe, her hindbrain tells her, even in the depths of sleep. Her mind curls around theirs in the Force, and she trusts that they are here. They are not happy, but they are alive and unharmed, and that has to be enough.

When she stumbles her way to true wakefulness, groggy and loose-limbed, Fett greets her with caf.

“The kids wouldn’t let me near you,” he tells her.

“They’re good,” she says, cupping her hands around the mug. She feels wobbly, in every sense. Her body, her mind, her emotions, her connection to the Force. Nothing is on-kilter right now. “Did they tell you anything?”

“They waited for you,” he says. “But the little miss needed a nap of her own. They’re down in the other bunk.”

“I didn’t notice,” she admits. She should have. She’s Fulcrum. She’s a veteran of the Clone Wars. She’s... she’s supposed to be better than this.

“How long?” he asks, and then when she squints up at him, he clarifies. “How long did you fight?”

“My last fight--”

“No, whatever war you came out of,” he says. Her chest twists cold. “I don’t know if the Jedi sent you into it or if you waded in yourself once you left, but you move like a soldier.”

“I was,” she confirms. “But... but I don’t want to talk about the details. Not until the other two are here.”

He frowns at her. “Is there anything you can talk about?”

She shrugs and looks away, trying to take solace in the warmth of the caff she holds above the table, as if it can hide her, guard her, from the disgraced Mand’alor across the table.

“Jedi?”

“I’m not officially a Jedi,” she says, voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

“Then what do I call you?” he asks. “We’re not exactly close enough for names.”

“Torrent,” she says. “It’s not--I can’t claim my family name anymore. But I can claim Torrent, so I will. And if you want a title, I was a commander.”

“Bit young for that.”

“I got the rank when I was fourteen,” she says, and watches his face do something complicated and unpleasant. “Don’t. I know your own culture puts children on the field that young.”

“Not in command.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well... the soldiers were technically younger. Adults, but...”

Ahsoka can see the way he casts about to figure out what species grows at that rate. He guesses a few, and she shoots all of it down.

She won’t tell him. Not until Rex is awake.

This part of the story is his.

--------------------------

When Leia tries to sit alone, a foot away on the bench like a proper adult, Ahsoka refuses to let it happen. She pulls the younger girl to her side and quells protests with a glance. It’s a decent skill, but she’s not sure how long it’s going to work on her niece-in-spirit.

“Your body needs the chemical release of skinship,” she says, and Leia glares at her. “I spent way too much time with the boys to not know about this. Deal.”

Rex sits close enough to knock their knees together under the table, and his warmth is the old comfort she needs.

“Do you want the story you’ll believe, or the truth?” Ahsoka asks.

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them involves something so impossible that even most Jedi wouldn’t believe it,” she tells him.

Fett folds his arms and leans forward to rest them on the table, challenging but oddly open. “Try me.”

“Time travel.”

He blinks, just once, fully controlled. “That’s a tough one.”

“There were only three Jedi left alive when I died,” she says. “Or... whatever it is that happened to me. I think I died. All I know is that one moment, I was thirty-two and dying, and the next, I was... seventeen again, and had these two with me. All of us younger than we were. None of us have even been born yet.”

She refuses to look him in the eye. “They both outlived me by... six years, maybe. Got caught up while traveling instead of dying. Leia was twenty-two. Rex was thirty-five. I’m not technically the oldest anymore. I mean, physically I am, but that doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not exactly doing us any good, and--”

Rex bumps his shoulder to her arm. “I dunno, Commander. I’ve spent a long time looking older than I should. Nice to look younger for once.”

She shoots him a small, pained grin. “Could be worse, yeah.”

“Let’s say I believe you.”

Her attention snaps back to Fett, who’s looking damnably blank, and is showing even less in the Force.

He waits a second for her to relax back into her seat.

“Let’s say I believe you,” he repeats. “How’s ‘Rex’ connected to me? What’s so special about Leia there? And what war did you fight in that has you acting like a veteran?”

“Three years in the clone wars,” she whispers, glancing to Rex and forcing herself to not go for her sabers to defend against an attack that her paranoia says is coming and the Force says is not. “Then almost all the Jedi were wiped out at once, and I spent a year... drifting. Then black ops for the next fifteen.”

“Black ops,” he repeats, still damnably flat.

“There was a Sith Empire,” she says, and she can hear her own tone growing somehow emptier. “Glassing planets. Enslaving entire species. Committing genocides all over. Of course, there was a rebellion, and of course I joined it. I was one of the only people left with Jedi training. For all that I’d left the Order, I still had a duty to the universe.”

His eyes flit to Leia, who shrugs and tries to look prim. “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

“That why you’re special?”

Leia smiles, thin and patronizing. It doesn’t fit on her little face. “I’m special because my biological father was one of the most powerful Force users in history, and his Fall to the dark side and choice to become a Sith is why the Emperor’s rise was nearly uncontested. I do not like power, but it’s in my veins and I can’t change that. Force users are... a lucrative trade, and I’m still the size of a child, so I can’t fight back. I’ll be safer in the Jedi Temple, even if I don’t want to be a Jedi.”

Fett looks to Ahsoka, makes to ask a question, and then shakes his head. Not the time, maybe.

“So, that’s all... very complicated and I don’t know how much of it I believe, but it doesn’t explain...” he trails off, and sighs. “My kid, or whatever you are. I heard you mention clones.”

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

---------------------------

Ahsoka has no idea if Fett believes them. Either he thinks they’re telling the truth, or he thinks their delusional kids. Whatever the case, he offers to take them closer to the Core. Ahsoka quietly offers to take a look at his engine in return, and then pretends not to notice when Fett awkwardly drifts to and away from Rex.

“They put chips in our brains to make us kill the Jedi we respected, cared for, even loved. I tried to shoot ‘Soka, Fett. She was seventeen and risked her life to get that chip out of my head while I was trying to kill her. I have never hated myself more than when I woke up and realized what I’d almost done, and I was one of the few that were able to fight it. I heard the stories of dozens of brothers who woke with their chips having degraded and chose to eat their blaster rather than live with the guilt of the orders they’d followed without question because of a thrice-damned Sith slave chip in their head.”

“So no, I won’t call you father or acknowledge you as clan until you do something to prove you’re worth it, shared blood or not.”

What Ahsoka does get out of the arrangement, for all that Fett’s route mostly takes them on a meandering path that isn’t faster than their previous system, is sleep. She gets to rest. She gets to trust that Fett won’t kill Rex, out of guilt for something he hasn’t done, that he won’t kill Leia out of a worry that she’s just a delusional child, a real child, that he won’t kill ‘Sokari’ because it would ruin any chance of gaining Rex’s favor, ever.

She’s not safe, won’t believe she can be until she’s in the Temple and Sidious is dead dead dead, but she’s safer than she’s been in a long time.

Every night, Ahsoka wakes up and stumbles to the little galley, deaths and torture sparkling behind her eyes with the energy of a thousand lost Jedi, ten thousand mourned brothers and sisters.

She is not the only one of their little group to be a survivor of a near-total genocide, but Rex could not feel his brothers die in the Force, even if his nightmares featured what they heard of suicide missions by the emperor’s favored shock troopers, and Leia had... Alderaan had more off-world survivors than there had been Jedi at all.

It’s not worth comparing their pain. It’s stupid to even think it. Part of her can’t help but do it anyway.

“Caf?”

She feels a lek twitch in response to the voice of the only other person on board who can reach the top shelf. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

She doesn’t lift her head from her arms until the mug clicks down in front of her, ceramic on plastisteel.

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

She shrugs. “It’s hard to explain to non-sensitives.”

“Try me anyway.”

Ahsoka twists the Hoth chocolate in her hands, takes a sip as she thinks. “The Force isn’t just one thing. It’s... energy and philosophy and spirit, a sense of being that ties the entire universe together. Sentient and inanimate and living and dead, empty space and lush forests and stifled cities. For those of us who are sensitive to it, it’s possible to feel the life of everyone around you, theoretically possible to feel entire systems. If you have a Force bond, like a master and padawan, that can stretch across planets, even systems if one or both are particularly powerful.

“So just... just imagine, for a moment, what it’s like to feel the screaming of all those Jedi in the Force as their trusted men shot them down.

“Some of them were close enough that I could feel them die,” she manages. “I... it’s horrible. It’s horrific. It’s not something I can ever forget, and I want to. I want to forget what that moment was like. Not that it happened, but...”

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

“Don’t we all?” she asks, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Leia lost her entire planet, billions of people, and she was forced to watch. Rex... Force, I can barely imagine, and I was there for most of it.”

Fett watches her, measuring. “From what he said, they were as much your brothers as his, by the end.”

“No,” she immediately denies. “They could have been, maybe, but the ones I was closest to died earlier, and then I left, and by the time the Empire rose, all but a handful were... no. Rex, I will claim as a brother in all the ways that matter, but I don’t get to do that with the rest. I don’t have the right.”

“You’re hard on yourself.”

“Fate of the galaxy, my good bitch. Guess who’s got it on her shoulders.”

He snorts at her, and nods at the mug. “Drink your Hoth chocolate. We’re landing in eight hours, and you’ve got kids to look out for.”

---------------------------

There’s a twitch in the Force when they land, something pulling at her in a way she barely feels. She’s had her shields up so fully for so long that it’s natural to hide away what she is to the point where she can hardly tell what anyone else is, either. It takes more than a moment to remember how to let herself spread out across the world.

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

She doesn’t have an answer to Leia’s prodding question. “I don’t know.”

It’s almost familiar. Old and half-forgotten, not the same as what she remembers, but--

“This way,” she says, and wanders off into the crowd. Leia and Rex follow without question. Fett curses and rushes through the rest of his transaction with the docking attendant. The sound of him jogging after them is almost funny, with the armor, but she can’t focus on that.

Ahsoka slips between people with the ease of a career built on such a habit, children trailing like ducklings. She knows this feeling, she knows this person, what is she missi--

“Oh,” she breathes, going stock still. She knows that face. She knows those braids. She even knows the presence.

Younger than Ahsoka had ever seen her, but unmistakably Master Billaba.

“Torrent, what the hell?” Fett demands, finally catching up. “You can’t just run off like that!”

“It’s Depa,” she says, eyes still fixed on the woman parsing through a datapad with an irritated vendor. She has a padawan braid. It doesn’t feel like Master Windu is on-planet, so this might be a solo mission, a... oh. Senior Padawan, Knight Elect. This is the kind of mission taken to test if she’s ready to be promoted.

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

Fett waits for her to elaborate, but she can’t. This was Kanan’s master. This was a member of the High Council. This was a woman who died and--

“You need to sit down,” Fett says, not a touch gruff. He puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her off the main walkway. “I’m... going to talk to the woman in the Jedi robes. You three just stay there and don’t get kidnapped.”

Ahsoka nods, feeling like she’s not quite inhabiting her own body.

It’s Depa.

Her eyes track Fett without conscious control, and her montrals pick up the sound.

Depa looks up when the armor comes close enough, free hand tensed in a way that says she’s preventing herself from reaching for a saber in reaction to the heavily-armored individual standing several feet away.

“Mando,” the woman says. “May I help you?”

“Are you Depa?”

Depa doesn’t do anything so dramatic as gape or step back, but she does blink rapidly for a moment. She then folds her hands down in front of her, drawing her spine up ramrod straight. “I am Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, yes. May I ask why it is that you need to know?”

Ahsoka imagines Fett grimacing, or rolling his eyes, or maybe dithering. She can’t tell from this angle, and he has a helmet on besides. It turns his awkward silences into judgmental ones.

“I’ve had some Jedi kids on my ship, hitching a ride,” he says at length. “One of them recognized you and then just... froze.”

“You have our younglings in your care,” Depa says, carefully not accusatory, but close enough to be a warning.

“Not quite,” he says. “The one that actually came from the temple is seventeen. One of ‘em isn’t Force Sensitive, and the last one is but hasn’t been to Coruscant before. They’re trying to get the little one to the Temple for her own safety.”

Depa considers that, and then passes the datapad to the vendor. “Lead on.”

It’s surprisingly simple, really. Fett did all the talking.

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

“Like I said,” Fett sighs. “She froze up.”

“Hello,” Depa says, hands laced together inside her sleeves. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I know of you. I’ve seen you spar. You’ve never spoken to me.”

All true. A little misleading, but it’s fine, it’s all fine.

Depa waits a moment, and then says, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Sokari T-Torrent,” she manages. The words feel clunky in her mouth, the sound abrasive for all that it’s just her own voice, no different from usual. A little shaky, maybe. She can feel a cool breeze on her upper arms. Shouldn’t she have armor? She should have armor. “It... it’s been a long time since I’ve seen another Jedi. I’m having a hard time believing you’re real.”

“I see,” Depa says. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private? You seem a little unsteady.”

Ahsoka lets herself be led back to the ship, in the company of Mand’alor Jango Fett, Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, Princess-General Leia Organa, and good old Captain Rex.

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

---------------------------

Fett and Depa talk where she can hear, but they rarely address her directly. Both seem to realize that she’s not particularly useful right now. Leia and Rex are pressing up against her at the little table in the galley, and Ahsoka lets them.

This is real. She can feel Depa in the Force, recognizes her energy even if it’s not quite what it will-was-could-have-been. This is happening.

It’s a textbook Traumatic Stress Response case, one of them says.

Fett has his helmet off. Ahsoka’s sure that’s wrong for some reason. She thinks he might already be on wanted lists. Should she worry about Depa trying to arrest him?

Depa asks about Rex at one point. Fett tells her that someone cloned him without his knowing, but the kid is more comfortable with Ahsoka so they’re still working on what that means for him.

It’s more or less true. Rex squeezes her hand the one time someone suggests separating them. She’s not letting that happen unless Rex wants to leave for whatever reason. They’ve worked apart before. They can do it again.

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

Leia cuddles in closer, and Ahsoka runs a hand over her hair. It’s an absentminded motion, and for all that she knows Leia’s hair is fine as silk, it feels like plastic in the moment.

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Ahsoka announces. The words hang in the air like lead balloons, and she can feel Depa staring at her. “I haven’t been for a very long time.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Fett says. “Do you need to lay down, Torrent?”

Does she?

“No,” she says. “I... I don’t know what I need.”

“The spicy drink,” Rex tells them. “It’s grounding.”

Right. That.

Fett goes to grab it, and Depa continues to watch.

“How long ago did you leave your master?” Depa asks. “Or... did he die?”

Ahsoka closes her eyes and shakes her head. She can feel the shivers now, tremors in her biceps and a shudder she can’t control in the height of her ribcage. Her teeth grind together, jaw like stone.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Depa assures her. “I’m... going to recommend you see a mind healer on Coruscant.”

That was a forgone conclusion.

A cup clinks onto the table. Fett’s back. “Drink.”

She does.

Depa and Fett continue discussing it as “the adults” at the table. She’s older than both of them. Rex is older than all of them. Ahsoka follows about half of what they say. She agrees with most of it. Rex bullies his way into speaking when she doesn’t, without her even asking, because he knows her mind as well as she does. Fett rolls with it. Depa lets him.

She’s going to reach out to the Temple and see about getting them a ride back to Imperial Center Coruscant.

Fett makes Soka go to bed, taking Leia with her.

---------------------------

She feels more like a person come morning.

Depa’s sitting at the table, datapad in her hands and caff on the table in front of her.

“Good morning,” Ahsoka says, rough and croaking, and Depa’s eyes flick up to meet hers. She nods a shallow hello.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” Ahsoka says, and goes about gathering a breakfast. There’s definitely some dried meat in here. She can get something fresh when they stop by the market later.

“I was hoping to speak with you about your options,” Depa tells her, once she’s sat at the table. “Fett and your friend Rex took care of most of the negotiation, and I feel like I have an idea of what would work best for you.”

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

“There is a Master-Padawan pair a few planets away,” Depa says. “The Council informed me when I spoke with them about you and your wards. They’d be headed back to the Temple in a few days anyway, and the Council has agreed to extend an offer to Fett to handle the transportation. The presence of a Jedi Master on board will allow for him to get in and out of the Core unmolested, and we’d like for you and yours to have a Jedi escort, given what happened yesterday afternoon.”

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

“I understand,” she says instead. “I suppose Fett agreed because he’s still trying to get Rex to like him?”

Depa shrugs. “That part isn’t my business.”

Of course it isn’t.

“Rex can stay with me for a while, right?” Ahsoka finally asks. “I know it’s not exactly protocol, but I’m...”

“In need of a support system until you’ve seen a mind healer, and against all odds, the child is part of it,” Depa summarizes. “Yes, I recognized as much. I think the Council will be able to allow some leeway there. I don’t know if he’ll enjoy it, given that all the others his age are Initiates, but we can adjust as necessary. On that note... Do you know Leia’s midichlorian count?”

“No,” Ahsoka says, and hesitantly adds, “But her biological father was my Jedi Master, and I’m told his count broke records even as a child. Given what Leia’s shown so far... it’s why I’ve been in a hurry to get her to the Temple.”

Depa frowns at her, clearly working through the implications of a Jedi having a daughter and still teaching... and then visibly dismisses the situation, eyes closing to breathe in the steam of her caff.

Biological father certainly implies a child that was raised by her mother or adopted out so the Jedi father could remain in their chosen career without a conflict of interest or duty.

She’ll tell the council the truth, or... at least Master Koon. Master Kenobi is still a padawan, but she can tell Master Koon.

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

Her head snaps up. She hasn’t been a padawan in over fifteen years. It’s weird to hear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted some time to think it over before I presented the offer to Fett,” Depa says.

Ahsoka gets the distinct feeling that Depa is planning a report to the Council that has ‘needs a mind healer’ underlined at least three times.

“No, I’m--I’m fine. That sounds like a good plan.”

“I’ll speak with him, then. Would you like to come with?”

"No, thank you.”

---------------------------

Fett agrees. Ahsoka’s pretty sure it’s all to do with Rex and maybe Leia. It’s probably nothing to do with ‘Sokari.’ She’s a Jedi, an adult in mind and in body, or at least close enough to count. She’s a damn sight more ‘enemy’ to Fett than the other two are. Not as much as Depa, maybe, but Fett’s been playing nice with her for Leia’s sake.

He plays nice with Ahsoka for Rex’s. That’s all.

They’re only a few planets over from the meeting point, and they have a few days to hang around before the escort meets them. Depa hadn’t given them a name--apparently it could have compromised the opsec for the Jedi team--but Ahsoka’s pretty sure she’ll be able to identify almost anyone. She gets the feeling that the Force is going to send her a familiar face, just as it did Master Padawan Billaba.

Ahsoka lets herself feel the world around her. It’s dark and dreary, in the sense that the beaten-down port is full of petty crimes and less petty horrors, but it’s still lighter than most of the Empire had been. She sneaks away from the ship at night, ignoring Fett at her back, and performs a bit of vigilante justice while she can. She’ll be banned from doing so as soon as she’s reinstated as a Jedi, probably, but for now... for now, she can look at the drug cartels and ‘they’re not slaves, really’ workers and do something to help.

She doesn’t use her sabers. She doesn’t need to. It’s been a long time since she has, for small fry like these.

“What are you doing?” Fett asks her, landing heavily behind her back.

“Chip removal,” she says, hand pressed to the slave’s leg. Her eyes are closed, but she can hear him shifting. “Let me concentrate, I don’t have a meddroid for this.”

He’s silent until she finishes, and waits until the people she’s helped are on their way to the planet’s freedom routes. He doesn’t ask what she did with the owners.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

He doesn’t answer that, just ambles over to the the chains and stares down at them.

“Fett?”

“You go through this like it’s as easy as breathing,” he says. “It’s... impressive.”

“I guess?” she hesitates to continue. “I’m... I don’t think of it that way. This is the easy stuff. A time-waster that helps people. If I wanted to help for real, I’d been going after Jabba or Sidious or--”

“How old were you?” he asks, turning on his heel to face her dead-on. The vocoder of his helmet pulls the emotion from his voice. “When did this... these missions, the slavery battles, when did that start for you?”

“Fourteen,” she says. She’s not entirely sure, really, what counted as a mission for ending slavery and what counted as just a part of war, but she can round down. “Maybe fifteen. It’s a bit of a blur.”

“And you just kept doing it.”

“Of course,” she says. “If I have the time and the energy, if I need to do something and there’s nothing official on my hands, why not?”

He doesn’t answer her.

---------------------------

Rex greets them before she does.

Ahsoka, in her defense, is asleep at the time. It’s a restless sleep, but it’s enough that she doesn’t sense the nearing Force signatures until they’re almost at the ship.

She recognizes one of them.

“Auntie ‘Soka?” Leia questions, when she lurches to her feet and starts pulling on her boots with all the energy of a zombie. “Where are you going?”

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

Leia dresses to follow her, in a little coat that’ll withstand the chill of the outside air, and Ahsoka makes it to the cargo hold just in time to hear Rex saying, “I’m not shaking your hand until you put your gloves on, Vos.”

She laughs to herself, breathless with the knowledge of what she’s about to find. She jumps the railing of the upper walkway, drops down just in front of the Master-Padawan team, and keeps her back to Fett and Rex. “Hello, there.”

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

“Would you be Sokari Torrent?” the Master asks.

“I am,” she says, with a slight bow. She can tell there’s a bit of judgement for how she’s dressed, but they’re covering it well. A Shadow and his trainee know the value of armor better than most Jedi bother with. “I’m afraid Padawan Billaba didn’t inform me of your names before we met.”

“And yet your friend knew my padawan,” the Master says.

“By reputation,” she says, as smoothly as she can. “I’ve encountered Quinlan Vos before, though I doubt he remembers--”

“I’d remember someone like you,” Quinlan interrupts, with a grin she’s sure is meant to be charming and rogueish.

He’s... very young for her, and not her type. Mostly, she wants to pat him on the head, but that probably wouldn’t go over very well. She still looks like she’s younger than him.

“Anyway,” she says, turning back to the master, “I’m afraid I still don’t know who you are, Master.”

“I am Tholme,” he says, with the bow that a Master gives a Padawan. She feels a little slighted, but it’s fine. She looks the right age, it’s fine.

It’s not like they know.

“It’s nice to meet you, Master Tholme,” she says. “My charges are Rex Torrent, the young man behind me, and currently coming down the ladder is Leia Antilles. I’m sure you’re aware of Jango Fett.”

“The Mand’alor,” Quinlan volunteers, and Ahsoka can almost hear Fett’s teeth grinding.

“Don’t call me that,” he says. She’s sure he’s got a hand drifting for his blaster.

“There isn’t a whole lot of room on the ship,” she says before the men can get into whatever weird contest she’s sure someone might start. Her bet’s on Fett. “But Leia and Rex are small enough to share with me, so I’m sure we can make it work.”

“There’s spare rolls for anyone comfortable with sleeping in the hold,” Fett grunts. “Or on the floor in the passenger room.”

“Well, I guess I could ask for a little help fi--”

“Vos,” Ahsoka snaps, letting her voice take on the kind of ‘obey me or get fresher duty’ irritation that she’d perfected back when the rebellion still had her managing people, before they’d realized she was more use in the field. “Do not.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and Tholme looks unimpressed with that raised eyebrow, but the kind of unimpressed that’s split between his own padawan and the stranger before him.

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

“No,” she cuts him off. “No flirting.”

It’s weird and uncomfortable and she’d have maybe been okay with it if she was actually the seventeen-or-eighteen-ish(?) that she looked, but she’s not. She’s in her thirties and Vos is... what, twenty? Twenty-one? No.

He stares at her, and she wonders momentarily if she’d gone too far in the direction of judging his intentions in the Force and preempted actual flirtations.

“I’m sorry?” He offers, looking confused, but ashamed. “I, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

Ahsoka closes her eyes and breathes in. Breathes out. Opens her eyes. “Right. That was... I’m not sure how much Padawan Billaba told you about me.”

“Enough,” Tholme says. He moves forward and puts a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. Ahsoka has no idea if it’s to comfort him or hold him back. “I didn’t share most of it with my padawan, but I have a general understanding of what’s going on.”

Quinlan darts a look at his teacher, but Ahsoka doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Thank you for your understanding,” she says, and bows, and stiffly turns away to walk to the galley.

---------------------------

Leia squirms into the bench seat, shoving her way under Ahsoka’s arm like a particularly wriggly tooka.

“What was that?” Leia demands, the authority of a rebellion general rather useless in the squeaky voice of a child.

“What was what?”

“The whole thing with Padawan Vos,” Leia says. “You blew up at him before he even did anything.”

That’s pretty true.

“I felt the flirtation coming before it happened and reacted inappropriately because I panicked. I’m significantly older than him, but I can’t tell him that, so it’s just awkward and uncomfortable and... I’m not okay, Princess. I haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

“What? I need therapy too! Captain Rex needs therapy! I’m pretty sure Fett needs therapy! You, Fulcrum, you really need therapy. None of us are okay.” She huffs, wiggling impossibly closer. “I don’t like it, but it’s true.”

“I know,” Ahsoka groans. “I just... I just need to hold out until the Temple.”

“Will you be able to hold it together if you see someone you actually care about?” Leia demands. “What are you going to do when you see Kenobi?”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

“Leia, that’s enough,” she snaps. “I was fighting that war before you were even born, and I’ve dealt with the consequences since. I know the risks and I’ll thank you to remember who taught you to control your own mind.”

Leia stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath. “That was uncalled for.”

“You’re not the child you appear to be,” Ahsoka reminds her, not a little sharply. “You want to dish it out, be ready to take it. What will you do when we see Bail Organa? When we see the toddler that is Anakin Skywalker?”

“I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Ahsoka mutters. She isn’t surprised when Leia ducks out of the embrace and leaves the galley. She lets the girl go, guilt warring with the memory of how Master Kenobi had more than once spoken that way to Anakin at the height of the war. The fact that she’s an adult in the body of a child isn’t an excuse for poking at Ahsoka’s open wounds. It was cruel and unnecessary, and unbecoming of a... not a Jedi. A princess. A politician.

She rests her head on her arms and zones out. She should meditate, but that seems like... too much effort.

She can feel Vos and Tholme setting up in the room they’ve been assigned. Neither seems particularly angry. Most likely, Tholme’s given the absolute shortest explanation of ‘child soldier, dead master, highly traumatized and emotionally unstable’ to Vos to smooth over the incident in the cargo hold. Rex is with Leia; he’s agitated, but less so than Leia herself. Fett’s annoyed, in the cockpit, but he seems annoyed as often as not. There’s a shudder at lift-off, and a few minutes later, they’re in hyperspace, headed for the Core.

Fett finds her, falls into the other bench in full armor, and drops his elbows onto the table. The helmet clunks down a moment later.

She doesn’t lift her head. “What do you want?”

“Do I need to keep Vos away from you?”

“What?”

“Vos. He made you uncomfortable. Was that him being someone that hurt you in the future, or just the interaction being awkward?”

She lifts her head. She stares at him. “What?”

He leans back and crosses his arms. “Do you need me to tell Vos to stay the hell away from you?”

She’s gaping. “You realize I’m thirty-two, right? I can handle my own battles.”

“You’re also traumatized as hell and everyone can see it,” Fett argues back. “If Vos himself is a trigger, I can handle it.”

“He’s not,” she tells him. This is strange. Fett’s being strange. “He was actually a friend of my grandmaster’s. I’m just uncomfortable with the flirting because I’m a lot older than he realizes, and I can’t tell him that.”

He nods sharply, and then looks away. The silence sits.

“Thanks for asking?” Ahsoka says, well aware of how her confusion over the offer turns it into a question. “I mean, thank you for... caring.”

I guess, she finishes in the privacy of her own head. Or at least pretending to.

Fett makes a face, still not facing her. He eyes the galley instead. She can guess where his thoughts are going. The galley is... not very big, especially with six people on board instead of one, but she’s sure they’ve stocked up enough. On the off chance they do go through more than expected, because of how many growing bodies are in residence, they can stop off and buy more. They have those resources now.

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

“Who’s going to cry if I spice things properly?” he asks.

“Probably Leia,” she says immediately. “Vos will try to power through it even though he’s going to be overwhelmed. No idea about Tholme, but I think he’ll keep a straight face whether he likes it or not. Rex and I are fine, ‘hot’ was pretty much the only flavor of seasoning the GAR had.”

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

“You already knew I was a child soldier, Fett; don’t act surprised.”

“That doesn’t mean I like hearing about it.”

“I was fourteen. That’s old enough by Mando standards, Fett. Just think back, when did you get on the battlefield?”

“I take your point,” he says, lip curling unpleasantly. “It just hits different now that I’m old enough to look back and think of how damned young fourteen really is.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

“...closer to seven, by the end. Kamino was just making speedies at that point. Triple growth on the average instead of double, but averages in that case meant they’d been growing at double rates for six years and then got forced through four growth cycles in a single year to beef up the army when we kept losing men.” She looks down at the table, picking at a scratch in the plastipaint with her nail. “Rex and the rest of the ones from the beginning were basically twenty in mind and body, even if they’d only been decanted ten years earlier. The speedies... I always wondered. They’d gone from functionally twelve to functionally twenty in a year. That’s not... even in Kamino, that can’t have been normal. They didn’t act like adults, not the way the originals did.”

Fett rubs at his face, groaning. He swears under his breath in three different languages.

She pities him, if only because he hasn’t actually done any of this yet. He’s paying for the crimes of a man he likely won’t ever become.

She kicks him under the table. “Wanna make tiingilar and see how long it takes Vos to start crying while he insists it’s fine?”

---------------------------

Dinner is when the questions start. Some are relatively easy. Others, not so much.

“My Master was Leia’s biological father,” is an easy truth to share. “She inherited his power, so I need to get her to the temple for her own safety, because home no longer is.”

“Yes, her adoptive parents were unfortunately killed rather recently. We’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Rex is with me. Where he goes, I go, and vice versa.”

That one gets her an odd look.

“I thought...” Quinlan trails off, gesturing between Rex and Fett.

Fett keeps his face impassive, but his discomfort and guilt leak into the Force. “I didn’t know Rex existed until I ran into these three in a spaceport cantina a few weeks ago.”

Quinlan blinks at him, looks at Rex again, and then turns back to Fett with a grin that might have been described as ‘saucy’ if he were less smug about it. “Wild oats, huh?”

“Are you shitting me right now,” Leia whispers, and Ahsoka elbows her.

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

Quinlan’s grin fades as Fett just continues to eye him.

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

Darting eyes answer him, as Quinlan tries to gauge Rex. “Ten? Maybe twelve?”

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

Quinlan’s grin fades further as he does the math.

“I’d have been between fifteen and seventeen when he was born,” Fett says, tone flat. “Between fourteen and sixteen at conception. I know damn well I wasn’t doing anything that could have resulted in a kid at that age.”

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

“I’m a clone,” Rex says, and Ahsoka can feel the amusement he gets out of Quinlan’s confused shock. They’d both had plenty of respect for Master Vos, but Padawan Vos was nothing but trouble. “Harvested genetic material, grown in a tube, inconsistent aging meaning I don’t even know how old I am for sure.”

“I broke him out,” Ahsoka adds, which is half true.

“There was a chip in my head,” Rex adds, with a bright smile. Quinlan’s discomfort grows. “She got it out. Also, lots of brothers. None of them are... around anymore. The creators were trying to make an army.”

Vos and Tholme have no response. Fett looks like he’s been carved out of stone. Leia’s just ignoring them and picking at her food.

Ahsoka lifts a hand and, without looking, Rex high-fives her.

---------------------------

“Drop your elbow.”

Ahsoka tries to cover her smile at the dirty look that Leia shoots Fett. Fett remains unimpressed by the glare of royalty, just gestures for the girl to do as he said.

“I know how to fight,” Leia grumbles. “I took lessons. I was good at them.”

“And I’m better,” Fett says, leaving no room for argument. “You want the Torrents to take over?”

The Torrents. Rex and Soka. She likes being referred to that way. Like they’re a team that never got split up.

Force, she wished they’d never gotten split up.

“Again,” Fett orders, and Leia moves through the Mandalorian kata with ill grace in her emotions and all grace in her sweeping limbs.

Well, as much grace as an undersized six-year-old can, at any rate.

“Think he’ll ask me to spar her again?” Rex asks, dropping down into the seat next to Ahsoka and passing her a drink.

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “I think he’s wondering if it’s worth asking Vos to spar with her, so she gets more experience with size differences.”

“Hm?”

“She flinched at his face again,” she tells him. “The whole... thing with Boba, I guess. She still won’t tell me why Fett triggers her sometimes, but he’s not pressing her to spar with him, and there’s only so much she can get out of fighting me. Asking Tholme would be presumptuous, but Vos is just a padawan. I think it’d work out.”

“And you?”

She looks at him, already feeling a cresting wave of bullshit she doesn’t want to deal with. “What about me?”

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

She should. She hasn’t sparred with a saber since she got tossed back into a body only half-familiar to her. She’s let Leia borrow the shorter one to learn some basic blocking moves, Shii-Cho and then, with hesitance, the first Soresu form. Another time, she loaned it to Rex to practice some attacks; they both know that the next time he picks up her saber in battle, having lost his weapons or she her grip, it will be neither the first or last time he wields a sword of light. None of that, however, is... sparring.

None of that is against someone who knows what they’re doing.

How long has it been since she sparred with anyone other than Kanan and Ezra?

How long has it been since she sparred without the looming specter of Darth Vader in the back of her mind, without fear of the Inquisitors, without the knowledge that any saber held by someone other than her two friends would be red as blood and twice as drenched.

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

“I should,” she acknowledges, eyes on where Fett is nudging Leia’s feet into position for some kind of leveraging flip. She’s so small. “It would probably be a good idea to spar against a master at some point.”

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

“I never knew him,” she says. “And he isn’t Dark. It should be fine.”

Rex nods, taking her word for it. They watch as Leia stumbles on a final move, and Fett gestures for her to sit down and get a drink.

“That man is a terror,” she informs them.

(She’d once described him as a slave-driver. She had not made that mistake twice.)

“Least it’s not Kamino!” Rex tells her cheerfully. When Leia refuses to look impressed, he laughs at her.

Ahsoka has a half-second’s warning before heavy boots thud to the ground next to her. “What’s Kamino?”

“Hello, Vos, it’s nice to see you too,” she drawls. “I’m good, thanks for asking, and yourself?”

The boy-not-quite-man rolls his eyes. “Hi, Torrents; hi, tiny one.”

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

Ahsoka covers her mouth as the conversation drops into the same awkward gap that always happens when Quinlan stumbles into a subject he didn’t know to avoid.

“Like... you were made there, or you were researching how it works for your own--”

Ahsoka slaps a hand over his mouth. “Now’s a great time to stop talking.”

He licks her palm.

She bares her teeth and arches her fingers just enough to press nails into his cheek.

He bites at her palm, and she yanks her hand away.

“You’re all children,” Leia accuses, conveniently forgetting that Ahsoka and Rex are both over a decade older than her.

“I can throw you the length of a swimming pool,” Ahsoka tells her. “One of the fancy competition-ready ones that would make a Tatooinian cry. You are absolutely the child here.”

“Using the Force is cheating, sir,” Rex informs her.

“Only if there’s a competition,” Ahsoka shoots back. “And proving that a certain princess is a small child is not a competition. It’s a declarative fact.”

“I’m going to rip open the seams on all your tops except the ugliest one,” Leia decides.

“Try me,” Ahsoka challenges. “Adi’ka.”

A low, rough cough interrupts them. “Are you done?”

Fett has his arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. He knows they’re all adults here, and is entirely unamused. As the silence drags, the eyebrow climbs a little higher.

“Done with what?” Quinlan finally asks, thereby volunteering himself to spar in hand-to-hand with Jango Fett, as one does.

“Poor, poor Vos,” Rex laughs, watching as Fett barks out orders at Quinlan every five seconds to fix his footwork, to stop dropping his guard, to stop wasting energy on flips instead of just dodging the easy way.

“Throw him!” Ahsoka calls. To her delight, Fett obliges.

The thing is, Quinlan isn’t bad at brawling. He’s got training, endurance, skill. The man knows what he’s doing, objectively. He’s just not a match for Fett, and is used enough to relying on his saber that his hand-to-hand skills are rusty. They are perhaps less rusty than those Jedi who don’t take questionable jobs in the Mid-Outer Rim, and Ahsoka’s got a suspicion that Vos regularly gets into bar fights in his downtime, but none of that is enough for him to actually do more than survive against Fett without his saber.

Even the saber wouldn’t help, if Fett had his armor.

“Whose idea was this?”

Ahsoka cranes her head back and smiles. “Hello, Master Tholme. Vos... volunteered.”

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

Tholme snorts, crossing his arms and eyeing the spar in front of him. “I thought Fett hated Jedi. Giving us a ride for the sake of you three is one thing, but why is he teaching my padawan?”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

There’s a small twitch of a smile, quickly gone. “He said something wrong, I’m guessing?”

“There was no way he could have known,” she dismisses. “We’re just, like, ninety-percent tragic backstories.”

“You’d think the Force would warn him,” Rex notes.

“That’s not how the Force works,” Leia chides.

“No, no, he’s right,” Ahsoka corrects. “The Force does sometimes step in to stop a person from saying something stupid. However, Padawan Vos is at an age where people think they are very rational while being more irrational than they likely ever will be again.”

“Do I want to ask what you were doing at that age?” Tholme asks.

“Running bla...” she trails off, then whips around to gape at him.

He smiles, bland and unassuming. “Does Fett know?”

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

“That you’re significantly older than you look,” he says, voice just low enough that the sparring duo can’t hear him. “All three of you.”

Ahsoka turns back to the spar, only catching Tholme out of the corner of her eye. “He knows.”

“Mm. Were you planning on telling the Council?”

“Yes.” That part was never in question. “How did you figure it out?”

“I am a good investigator,” he says. “And you rely a little too heavily on your physical forms to obfuscate. Were it just one of you, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the pattern repeated across three is a little easier to discern.”

“I hoped the whole ‘child soldiers’ thing would be a bigger distraction,” Ahsoka mutters. She glances at Leia and Rex. Both of them are used to being in charge to some degree, giving orders and making contingency plans, but in this... in this, Ahsoka is in charge. They’d decided that at the very start. It didn’t matter that Rex had lived longer and had more experience, or that Leia had held the highest Rebellion rank of the three of them. Ahsoka had been agreed as leader, and they were relying on her.

They’re waiting on her orders. Stiff and unhappy, in Leia’s case, but they trust her.

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

“No,” Tholme says. “Your secrets remain your own unless they endanger us, and I’ve a feeling they won’t be.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rex jokes, smile not reaching his eyes. “I’ve been working with this family for too long to trust that trouble won’t find them around the next corner.”

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

“Sokari was telling the truth about her master being Leia’s biological father,” Rex says. He shrugs. “I worked with him, with his wife, with both of his kids, with his master and his padawan. All of them, to a one, are trouble magnets.”

“Ah, but that’s not the secret that’s putting us in danger,” Tholme points out. “Simply existence as a Jedi.”

Rex shrugs. “Fair enough. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

Ahsoka lurches to her feet, turning with a smile and dancing backward into the the stretch of empty cargo hold they used for such things. “A spar, Master Tholme?”

He looks past her, to Quinlan, and raises a brow. “Would you not prefer to spar with someone a little closer to your level first?”

She barks out a laugh. “Master Tholme, I’m afraid I’ve spent more of my life fighting to survive than having normal friendly spars. My style is more lethal than the average, and you’ve already seen what war’s done to my mind. I ask to spar with you because, if I lose control, if I slip in time or react on an instinct that isn’t appropriate, I trust that you’ll be more able to stop me than a senior padawan.”

He smiles. “Yes, I gathered as much. Still, better to ask. Shall we wait for them to finish up?”

Ahsoka shrugs, turns, and yells. “Clear the deck!”

Rex snorts behind her, and lowly mutters, “Sir, yes, sir.”

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “At ease, Captain.”

“That’s ‘Commander’ to you, I got promoted,” he sniffs, chin held high.

Heavy steps herald Fett’s arrival at their little group. “The hells are you doing?”

“I’m going to have a spar with a Jedi Master, and I want you and Vos to not get stabbed.”

“I’m not that easy to injure in an actual fight, let alone by accident,” Fett grouses. He looks up and over at Vos, who is already significantly taller, if a fair shot less built. “This one, on the other hand...”

“Hey!”

Ahsoka laughs and backs into the center of the cargo hold, drawing her sabers. “Don’t worry, Vos, I won’t play dirty. You’ll probably get your master back in one piece.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you? He’s a Jedi Master and former Watchman. You’re... what, eighteen?”

Ahsoka raises a brow and activates her sabers, tapping the blades together and watching as more than one person winces. “Wanna bet on how long I last?”

“No,” he says immediately, stepping back to join Rex on the bench. “You’ve already blindsided me enough. I’m not dumb enough to fall for whatever you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

“Greaves go on the legs, these are vambraces.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m just going to stop talking now!”

“Good plan,” Leia snarks, and then literally hisses when Rex ruffles her hair.

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

---------------------------

She wins, but barely. She's had a few weeks to practice her forms, has sparred hands-only with Rex and Fett, but this is her first real try at using her sabers against a person, instead of a blaster or thin air, since she arrived in the past. She’s only mostly adjusted to her body.

But Tholme is a healer and a watchman, not a duelist. Ahsoka held her own against Ventress, against Grievous, against Maul when she was this age. Still adjusting to her body or not, her lineage is one of battle, and it bled true.

“You’re terrifying,” Quinlan tells her after they’re done, smiling like the sun as he hands her a towel. “Please never turn that on me.”

She laughs at him. “Would you believe that I’m out of practice?”

“Out of practice with what?” he asks, horrified and fascinated. “Fighting Sith Lords?”

“Among other things,” she says, and smirks when he chokes on his drink. “Multiple darkside users who claimed to be Sith, at least. One being a full Lord, one that was disowned by his master, and one that was apprenticed to a Banite apprentice, so she wasn’t technically allowed to be a Darth because of the rule of two.”

Tholme meets her eyes past Quinlan’s shoulder, head tilted and eyes half-shut in consideration. He’s taking her seriously. He knows what she’s not saying.

“How...” Quinlan trails off and shakes his head. “You know what, no. Asking you people questions never ends well.”

“Good plan,” Ahsoka says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Also, you need to spar with Fett more. Your footwork is shit.”

“It is not,” Quinlan gripes. “You’re all just scary good at this stuff.”

“You mean surviving?” Leia pipes up, and smiles innocently when Quinlan turns to pout at her.

“You’re getting bullied by a six-year-old,” Rex informs him.

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

Ahsoka laughs, and it’s fine. It’s all fine. For a week, everything is honestly great. She trains, she laughs, she works through the nightmares.

Then fucking Denon happens.

---------------------------

Denon is a city-planet on the intersection of two major hyperlanes. It’s the kind of place where they stop for two things:

Fuel.

Paperwork.

Technically, there’s a whole mess of paperwork they have to fill out to continue along this specific hyperlane, since they aren’t official Republic ships, and don’t have the licenses to just pass along like ships that are pre-registered to the Trade Federation or the like. They could sneak past--literally all of them know smuggler’s routes--but it’s honestly less of a pain to do things legally. They have a Jedi Master. They have cash. Some of that cash wasn’t quite legally acquired, but nobody needs to know that.

It’s supposed to be a pit stop. That’s all.

It’s just a pit stop.

But no, the galaxy isn’t that kind and Ahsoka’s luck is currently being compounded with a Skywalker, two Fetts, and Vos, which means that of course they run into trouble. Of course they do. There was never any other option, was there?

“Motherfucker,” Ahsoka snaps, lifting her head up and slamming her drink on the table.

The glass is empty. That’s good. They’re in a restaurant right now, a little splurging after weeks with only each others’ company, and spilling the sugary child-friendly juice with that move would have drawn way too much attention from the servers.

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

“Sir?” Rex asks, kicking Ahsoka under the table. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wr--that jackass,” she hisses, getting to her feet. “Rex, grab a blaster, I’ve got shebs to kick.”

“Okay,” Rex says, grabbing one out of Fett’s holster and scooting out of the booth before anyone can tell him not to. “Whose?”

“I didn’t even know that he was... osik, I don’t have jurisdiction,” she realizes. “I don’t have any record of wrongdoing. I can’t arrest him since we don’t have evidence of criminal wrongdoing...”

“Are you two going to explain what’s going on?” Vos asks. “Or sit down, maybe?”

Ahsoka makes her decision. She eyes the window--the restaurant in question is a little dingy, but it’s also several dozen stories in the air. “Rex, remember the thing we did on Geonosis that you hated?”

He pauses, and then sighs heavily. “Yes, sir. I remember the... yeeting.”

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

It’s a good thing the windows are forcefields instead of transparisteel. A bit of a twist to the energy and they’re gone.

She only hears a little screaming before the wind tears all noises away while they plummet.

They land lightly--of course--and Ahsoka wraps them both in a don’t notice me aura. Nobody even notices that they’ve just come from above. It’s great that she can just Do These Things again, and get brushed off as Weird Jedi Shit, instead of worrying about the Empire. She’s missed being able to jump out of windows without fear.

Rex follows her as she starts running through the city. They don’t have comms, and he’s still so small, which means he can’t keep up with her even if she runs at normal speeds without Force enhancement.

“Should you carry me?” he asks, before she can figure out if it’s worth suggesting. She did it a few times before they joined up with Jango.

“It’s not... urgent, I think,” she says. She hesitates to speak, even as she keeps jogging with Rex at her heels. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out if there’s anything I can ding him for so we can attack him. It’s all well and good that I can beat him right now, but all the crimes I know about haven’t happened yet, so it wouldn’t be legal...”

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

She scrolls the conversation back mentally, considers, and says, “Oh.”

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

“Ah,” Rex says. He makes a face. “I understand the desire to jump out a window, now. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”

Ahsoka laughs. “I mean, I just... every time I’ve seen him for almost twenty years, it’s been like... on sight, you know? We’ve never not attacked each other, except when I needed him to cause problems on Mandalore. But I always knew I was in the right, then.”

“So... what do we arrest him for?” Rex prompts.

“Um... carrying a lightsaber without a license?” she hazards. “We’ll need Tholme there. Hopefully I can just shout at him and he’ll attack me, but I think he only went full nutjob after Master Kenobi cut his legs off. He might be too controlled to try to kill me just for yelling at him.”

“...do we have to stalk him?” Rex asks, sounding like he’d most likely sigh if he weren’t mid-run.

She scoops him up and swings him around onto her back before she answers. “I think we have to stalk him, Rex’ika.”

“Don’t call me that.”

---------------------------

Maul is... exceptionally sneaky, actually. Either that, or he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. Ahsoka’s betting on the former, because she’s seen this particular skocha kung take over a planet before anyone realized he was the most dangerous person around.

Or maybe he’s just not committing crimes, and is in fact just here to buy groceries.

He’s examining a papaya.

She fantasizes about jumping across the market and greeting him with a heel to the cheekbone.

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Do you think I should go hit him?”

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

“Why does he have to be so bo--did he just fucking bite a nelom?”

“It appears so, Sir.”

“Like... like rind and all. Just bit the little fucker.”

“Seems it.”

A scuff of metal. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

Ahsoka tips her head around to peer through the grate. “We’re spying, Fett, what does it look like we’re doing?”

Rex cranes his head. “We’re hanging upside-down from a fire escape to get a look at a suspected Sith Apprentice that is currently shopping for various fruits, Mand’alor.”

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

“Sokari,” the master greets. “This seems a very conspicuous way to spy.”

She shrugs as well as she can from this angle. “Yes, but you see, this way’s more fun.”

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

---------------------------

Apparently, Tholme and Fett had told Quinlan to take care of Leia, as Leia had wanted to finish her juice and refused to get involved in the Torrents’ nonsense. According to her, if they couldn’t be bothered to explain the nonsense, they didn’t need her.

This was true and accurate.

Quinlan shows up while they’re still stalking Maul, having moved to a low rooftop for a decent vantage point with less likelihood of being spotted. He’s giving Leia an eopie-back ride, and the pout on her face at needing it is adorable. She pouts harder when she sees them.

“Are you even trying to hide?” Leia scoffs.

“Not really,” Ahsoka admits. She’s got Fett’s binoculars out. “I’m not sure he’s caught wind of the fact that we’re here yet.”

“Or he has and he’s just biding his time to escape while we’re distracted,” Tholme points out.

“Meh,” Ahsoka says, avidly devouring the visual that is a teenage Maul glaring at leafy vegetables. “I just want him to do something so I have an excuse to beat his ass.”

“Do I get to know who?” Quinlan asks, setting Leia down on the roof. “Or are we going to keep being completely unwilling to share information?”

“Baby Sith Lord,” Ahsoka says. “He’s fifteen. A child.”

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

“You’re... that’s... ugh,” Quinlan groans as loudly and as dramatically as he dares, flopping down to the rooftop. “Master Tholme, please tell me this isn’t a real Sith.”

“He’s Dark,” Tholme confirms. “Sith is... up for debate until we have evidence.”

“He’s a bitch is what he is,” Ahsoka mutters. She observes the teenager in question stop to poke at some pink tomatoes. “E chu ta, break the law, already!”

“Does he have a lightsaber?” Quinlan asks. “If he has a lightsaber and no Jedi ID or specialty license, we can probably arrest him.”

“Auntie Soka doesn’t have a license or ID,” Leia points out.

“She’s got a Jedi escort,” Tholme says. “And if our supposed Sith is polite and plays nice, we can probably escort him to the Temple as well.”

Rex snorts derisively.

“Do you know why he’s on Denon?” Fett asks.

“No clue,” Ahsoka admits. “Evil reasons, probably.”

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

“Thanks, princess, how’s that attempt to open the jam jar by yourself coming?”

Leia says something very inappropriate for a princess, for a child, and for a lady. It’s fairly appropriate for a soldier, which is admittedly what she’s been for a few years now. Ahsoka sticks her tongue out at the girl like the mature operative she is.

“I wish we could still get him to lose his osik by just showing up and insulting him,” Rex mutters, low enough that Quinlan probably can’t hear.

“I wanna punch him in the face,” Ahsoka confesses. “I want him to try to punch me in the face, and fail.”

“Don’t bully the baby Sith,” Rex admonishes.

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

“I know, but you’re tw--significantly older than him.”

“But... but it’s the motherfucker himself.”

“...you can bully him a little, but only because he’s a Sith.”

Fett steals the binoculars. “You can borrow them again when you stop acting like children.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rex says, dry as Ryloth. “I’m ten.”

“Pretty tall for your age,” Ahsoka mutters, and then giggles.

“Don’t steal my jokes,” Rex says. He elbows her, hard.

“You know,” Quinlan says, slow and tired. “Master Tholme and I are trained investigators.”

Ahsoka and Rex look at each other, and then up at him.

“Okay?”

“...do you want me to find actual evidence of this guy doing something criminal?”

“Oh, yes please.”

---------------------------

Quinlan, as it turns out, is not overselling his skills. He does catch Maul doing something illegal later that day. It’s a little more ‘stealing corporate secrets in the dead of night’ and less ‘torturing people for kicks,’ but it’s still enough to legally arrest him. Quinlan attempts to do so.

Quinlan does not succeed, and is forced to jump out a window to avoid getting cut in half. Maul follows, steals a passing speeder by throwing out the driver, and takes off. Someone--looks like Tholme--drops back to save the driver, but the rest of them give chase. Ahsoka gleefully takes point on that, of course. She’s the best pilot.

(Rex looks bored, but someone is likely to puke by the end of the night. She hopes it’s not Leia, who insisted on coming for some fucking reason.)

“How the kriff is a teenager that good?!” Quinlan yells, clinging to the edge of the speeder to avoid getting tipped out as Ahsoka swerves around a corner with a wild laugh.

“He’s a Sith!” Leia shouts over the wind. “What do you think?”

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

Ahsoka screeches as she drifts across four lanes of traffic and into an alleyway to pursue Maul. He’s pretty good at dodging cross-building walkways, but she’s better. She bares her teeth, hissing, and tries to pick a plan.

“Vos, how’s your aim with Force throws?” She calls to the backseat.

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

Vos takes a second longer to process that than Jango does.

“I’m wh--”

He cuts off, screaming, and is flung forward by Quinlan to crash headfirst into a teenage Sith.

“Take the wheel!” Ahsoka commands, not waiting to see who follows the order, because Fett and Maul are both getting to their feet, the other speeder is about to crash, and she’s not sure who’s going to win that fight.

She jumps from the speeder they’ve been violently dragging around Denon, and lands feet-first on Maul’s... shoulder.

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

“You should wear armor!” she chirps at him, drawing both sabers and grinning as he whirls to face her, eyes wide with hate.

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

“Did you just throw me?” Fett demands, higher pitched than she’d normally expect.

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

“Why not? Throwing people was standard practice in the GAR.”

She can’t see his face, but she’s pretty sure he’s about ready to strangle her.

Ahsoka cannot, at that point, continue snarking with the father of her best friend, because there’s a red lightsaber coming for her throat, and she should probably worry about that. Maul’s very good at killing people and she’d like to avoid becoming part of that statistic.

As she is quickly reminded, he is... fifteen. And shorter than she’s used to. And already injured.

It’s really, really easy to take him out, actually.

At some point, the other speeder was safely recovered before it caused property damage, and their own is landing a few meters away with Vos and the kids.

“You have Force-negating cuffs, right?” Ahsoka asks.

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

“Oh,” she says, and grimaces. “I guess I’ll just... keep sitting on him then.”

Maul snarls, and she raps him on the skull. “Stop that, it’s uncivilized.”

Rex snorts.

Jango makes a noise that is incredibly frustrated with the lot of them, and turns on Rex. “Was she telling the truth?”

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

Rex’s face goes pained. “It was in the five-oh-first. And a few others.”

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

Quinlan throws his hands up in the air again. “Come on! I just proved I know what I’m doing!”

“And their tragic backstory is none of your business, prudii!”

Quinlan blinks at him, and then glances at Ahsoka. “Um.”

“He called you a shadow since your training, um, seems to be pointing in that direction,” she says as carefully as she can. “We were theorizing.”

“Wh... you actually paid attention?” Quinlan asks, looking horribly confused. “I thought I was just annoying you.”

Ahsoka laughs at him. “Oh, Vos... I’ve been running black ops for... much longer than most would guess. Trust me, I know another spy when I see them.”

She smiles as kindly as she can, because she hadn’t actually meant to make him feel left out or unwanted or... well, she’d been pretty patronizing, especially for someone seemingly younger than him. The smile does not work. Quinlan just looks kind of horrified about how young she just implied she started spy work.

Granted, she’d been sixteen for Zygerria...

Deciding to ignore him for a bit, she shifts on Maul’s back and pats him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Baby Sith. We’re going to get you lots of nice therapy. Mind healers, no Sith tortures, all that fun stuff. Maybe some plushies.”

“You’re also getting therapy, right?” Quinlan asks. “Please say you are. I’m required for the specifics of my training and if anything you’ve said is true, I feel like you really need it and I’m scared of what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Ahsoka laughs, knowing exactly how empty it sounds. “Oh hell, if I didn’t get therapy, I imagine Kix would rise from the grave to force me into it.”

The name means nothing to anyone except Rex, and... ah, yeah, she told Fett about Kix a few weeks ago.

“No more throwing me without warning,” Fett grumbles, dropping to sit on the ground next to her. “Especially not at baby Sith Lords.”

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

“He speaks!” Ahsoka cheers. “Aw, I knew you could do it.”

“’Soka, I told you not to bully him,” Rex complains. “It’s tacky. You’re being tacky.”

“I’m allowed to be tacky,” Ahsoka declares. “I’ve died twice, that’s, like, permission from the universe.”

“You’ve died twice?” Quinlan asks, back in ‘fascinated horror’ territory. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t ask--”

“Too late! The first time was on a planet that doesn’t exist and my Master lost his mind, killed a god, and used the good favor of another god to have me brought back to life at her expense. Not in that order.”

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

---------------------------

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

“Maul, you’ll never get big and strong and ready to kill if you don’t eat your vegetables.”

He bares his teeth.

“No, I don’t eat my veggies, but I’m a Togruta, so if I eat too many vegetables I throw up.”

Rex kicks her thigh, right on the faulds. “What did I say about bullying the Sith Lord?”

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

He kicks at her again. “Get up, we’re swapping out the watch.”

“But I wanted to hang out with my favorite little criminal mastermind.”

Rex drops to the floor and presses his forehead to her shoulder. “How the hell is being around this guy the first thing to make you cheer up in weeks?”

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

Rex jabs a finger into her ribs, and she squeaks. “Go get something to eat, Commander.”

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling to her feet and moseying along to the galley. She walks in on Tholme and Fett having an argument about the ways in which Jedi and Mandalorians differ. Quinlan’s on the side, watching with wide eyes, and little Leia’s drinking a juice box at his side, tucked up under his arm and occasionally saying things to fan the flames. Ahsoka assumes she’s enjoying herself.

She opens the cooling unit, looks over the contents, and pulls out a raw leg of eopie mutton. She leans against the counter, bites into the chilled-but-not-frozen meat, and uses the back of one hand to wipe the blood off her chin. The ‘real adults’ don’t notice.

“I’m like ninety percent sure you’re doing this to mess with me but also...” Quinlan trails off, staring at her with horror. “Why?”

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah, but all the obligate carnivores I know are like... generally holding to basic rules of courtesy when it comes to not grossing people out,” Quinlan says. “Like, I don’t chew with my mouth open. You don’t... eat in the most intimidating--did you just crack the bone with your teeth?!”

Ahsoka smirks at him, using her free hand to take away the shard of bone so she can suck out the marrow without eating the bones themselves. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t polite society. We’re in a galley on a bounty hunter’s ship, and I’ve been living on the run or in an army for most of my life. Table manners are optional.”

“No, they’re not,” Leia orders. “Fett, it’s your ship, tell her to--”

“--and another thing!” Fett snaps at Tholme, clearly paying less than no attention to the food argument.

Ahsoka keeps on eating, trying to catch wind of where the discussion’s at. Mostly, it seems to be at ‘talking past each other.’ Neither of them seems to have fully grasped more than the absolute most basic parts of the other culture, and that’s only enough to insult each other, not actually have a constructive conversation. She’d have expected more out of Tholme, at least. He’s not exactly young.

“Hey, quick question,” she says, in a moment where both of them have paused for breath and the opportunity to seethe. “Fett, when’s the last time you worked with a Jedi, or any member of a Force-based religion, before I popped into your life?”

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

“And Tholme, when’s the last time you worked with anyone from the Mandalorian system?”

Tholme’s reaction isn’t any more gracious than Fett’s.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says. “Vos, were either of them actually interested in that conversation, or just looking for an excuse to yell?”

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

“Fett,” she snaps. “I am not a child.”

“And neither am I,” he growls right back. “This is my ship, and I damn well don’t need you treating me like a misbehaving youngling. You’ve got a problem, you bring it to my face, not get all smug about people’s tempers blowing over.”

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

He stands with his arms crossed, in full armor save for the helmet. She puts aside the eopie meat and wipes her hands, smiling until she can put her hands on her hips and let it drop to a challenge.

“You know, I’m just--I’m just gonna go,” Quinlan mutters, pulling Leia out with him, the girl hanging from under one of his arms. “This, uh, this looks like a problem for... you folks. Um. Yeah.”

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

Fett rubs at the bridge of his nose, and then gestures at the table. “Sit.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

He drops his hand and glares at her. “We have another week on this ship together. We are going to have this conversation. Sit.”

She sits, right on the warm spot left behind by Quinlan and Leia. She crosses her arms, lifts a brow, and waits.

Fett takes the seat across from her. Tholme leans against the counter.

“We all know you’re older than you look,” Fett says. “I heard Tholme mention it, I know that much has been shared. You’re acting like an actual teenager, and I’ve... I’ve put up with a lot. I am trying to keep things civil, particularly with you. I’ve tried to be friendly. You’ve been fucked up since we met, fine, everyone’s got trauma. The thing where you’ve started talking shit to our faces for what seems like your own amusement? That has to stop. You’re older than me, Torrent. Fucking act like it.”

She blinks at him, slow and not exactly happy, and turns to Tholme.

The man shrugs. “I was planning to put up with it until we arrived to the temple and handed you over to some mind healers. Fett doesn’t have that kind of time.”

There’s a curdle in her stomach, defensive and angry and guilty.

“You’ve been... a bitch,” Fett finally says. “You know that. I’m not going to mince words. You’ve been holier-than-thou and rude and condescending, and aiming that at Antilles is one thing, when you’ve apparently known her since she was a toddler and taught her things. Aiming at the rest of us isn’t going to fly. We’re all adults trying to share a space. Stop acting like... just like you have been.”

There is no defense to be made that they aren’t both already aware of.

She closes her eyes and tries to strangle the burst of irrational rage.

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

She’s felt freer than she had in years, and in that freedom allowed herself too much rein, let herself lace her words with barbed wires and poison instead of sparks and spices, comments that were cruel instead of just joking. Too familiar. Too comfortable.

“My behavior’s been inappropriate,” she finally says, the words clumsy and too big in her mouth. “You’re right about that. I’m sorry, and I’ll endeavor to keep a tighter rein on my less pleasant behaviors in the future.”

At least she only lashes out with words. It could be worse.

She opens her eyes, fixes her gaze on the wall behind Fett, wrestles her expression into stiff neutrality. “Am I dismissed?”

“...uh, no, not after that,” Fett says, sounding just a little horrified. “What the hell was that?”

Tholme hisses out a breath. “Let her go.”

“No, this needs to be discussed, that’s not a healthy rea--”

“Fett, let her go,” Tholme insists, low and heavy.

Fett looks between the two for a moment, seems to come to a realization he doesn’t like, and then gestures almost violently towards the door. “Fine. Go.”

She walks out, doesn’t sprint. She’s stiff. She’s controlled. She’s the one that fucked up, so it’s fine if she doesn’t feel great right now. Getting called out on one’s own failings as a person isn’t something to get upset about if the failings are real. The feelings are real and normal, but this was her fault, and so it’s up to her to fix it, and she can’t let them know it hurt her, because this was her mistake.

She goes to the cargo hold.

---------------------------

Ahsoka works out her frustrations on Fett’s punching bag. She does not augment herself with the Force, just uses raw strength and technique, ignoring the tears that press at her eyes.

She’s fine.

It’s not weird. It’s not odd. It’s not strange to not notice she’s been kind of a bitch since her mood came up with the whole Depa thing, and then Maul. She’s been mean, mostly to Vos and Fett, and nobody’s confronted her about it until now. They let her have room for her trauma, and she hadn’t reined it in. She’s just gotten worse.

‘Snippy’ she’d always been, but age apparently hadn’t fucking tempered it.

“Um.”

She catches the punching bag, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She hasn’t worked out all the twitchy, nervous energy yet.

“Vos,” she greets, once she’s caught herself enough that her voice won’t waver. He’s on the other side of the bag, but she knows his voice. “Do you need something?”

“You’re kind of... projecting,” he tells her, drifting to where she can actually see him. “Not self-loathing, but, um, recrimination? You just don’t feel very good and I was hoping to help”

Why in all the Sith hells does he have to be nice.

“I got called out on my behavior and wasn’t ready to face the fact that I’d kriffed up,” she tells him. “I’ll be fine. And I’m... sorry. I haven’t been fair to you and was using you as an easy target for some of my ruder comments.”

“I mean, I kind of figured,” he admits, coming closer. “I’ve been tutored by Shadows before, and a lot of them act like you. I just assumed it was more of that.”

“I still shouldn’t have let myself run loose like that,” she says. “I’m... it wasn’t appropriate. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

He shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she says. “Not with... not with you. Or anyone other than Rex and a mind healer, really. Most of it is...”

She trails off, distantly noticing that her eyes are tearing up enough to blur her vision, and her nails are digging into the bag in a way Fett won’t appreciate.

There’s so much that beat her down, never quite breaking her, that she doesn’t even know what made her act the way she does.

“Want to spar?”

She looks over at him, wonders what he sees that makes him want to fight her when she’s visibly unstable.

He smiles, kind and easy, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s genuine in intent, if not in energy. He wants to help. “You all keep saying I could work on my hand-to-hand. Just take off the armor so I don’t break a finger, maybe.”

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

She’s going to wipe the floor with this boy. “You sure you wanna fight me?”

“You won’t be able to meditate until you do,” he says. He’s right, damn him. “The other option is that I go get your... vod, I think? I go get Rex and you two can talk it out since you trust him with more. I don’t want to do that, though, he’s still a kid.”

She eyes him, lips pressed together and mind awhirl with emotions and thoughts she’d tried to beat out of her head and into the bag. “Ever fought someone without the Force?”

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

“Oh, you meant me not having the Force,” he realizes. “Er, no. Is... is that something you’ve done a lot?”

She smiles at him. “You’re planning on Shadow work. That means getting captured and stripped of everything you are at some point, Force included. Unfortunately, the cuffs are in use on a very annoying Dathomirian right now, so we’ll have to make do with you shielding like your mind’s a Kessel Spice Mine.”

“...do I want to know how often you’ve been captured?”

“No, you don’t.”

When he comes at her, it’s easy to dodge. It’s easy to tap him on target points, little pokes that show she could take him out, but isn’t going to until he’s learned something. He stays grinning throughout, letting her take the lead, and he treats her like... like a knight. Like a teacher. He’s stepped back and gone from trying to impress her as a fellow padawan, to proving himself to a full knight.

She’s not sure when that change happened, or why or how, but it makes things much smoother. She wants to think that it would have even if she hadn’t gotten a wakeup call from Fett.

So she treats him the way she treated Ezra, for the year she’d spent traveling with Kanan. She treats him as a student that’s willing to learn, good but not yet great, competent but not yet ready to survive. She draws him into the kind of chest-heaving exhaustion that tells a fighter just how much energy they waste.

(Ahsoka may have had her own style, but her grandmaster had been the pinnacle of a Soresu user. She’d spent years on the frontlines of a war. She knew the worth of conserving energy, and she’d teach it to any who stepped in to challenge her.)

“Who taught you to fight like this?” He asks, when they’ve taken a handful of moments to circle each other. His steps are heavy, sure, planted. Her own are light and ready.

“Soldiers,” she says. It’s true enough.

“Not your Master?” he asks, just as he tries to kick for her upper arm. It’s a safe question. For anyone else, it would be a safe question.

But for Ahsoka, it’s another chink in the armor, after a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of self-loathing, a dervish of instability.

She doesn’t break right away.

She spirals. She fights Quinlan, but doesn’t quite see him. Her strikes get sloppy, her feet stumble. She can’t make herself meet Quinlan’s eyes, not when the scrape of his heel against the metal sounds like the rasp of a breathing machine. Her shields get fuzzy, she knows, and she leaks what she feels into the air, making it sour and thick. She doesn’t notice, because all she can see, all she can--all she can hear and feel and--

She drops to her knees and grabs at her head, trying to stop it.

“Sokari?”

She breathes. In and out, harsh and jagged but natural in a way that the damned respirator wasn’t.

Her master her teacher her brother the traitor the hound the executioner

Her face is hot. Something prickles. It might be tears.

She tries to say something, tries to say a name or a request, tries to make anything come out of her mouth that isn’t the broken wail of a woman who hasn’t let herself think about how she died.

She feels herself pulled into someone’s arms, and she can’t quite tell who, but they’re bigger than she is, and feel warm and worried. They care. They don’t understand, they’re scared, but they care.

Her hands shake, clutched to her chest and she can’t breathe she can’t make herself take in enough air to do a Force-damned thing the empire is going to feel her her shields are down and broken and her emotions are spilling and the empire is going to find HER ANAKIN IS GOING TO FIND HER AND--

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

Her breath is coming so fast that she’s hiccupping more than she’s actually inhaling. She feels small hands in gloves on either side of her face, and then her forehead presses to something warm.

Rex. A Keldabe kiss. Her brother, her partner, her other half. He’s here. He’s calm. If he’s calm, then things are fine.

“What happened?” Light voice, high voice, small and distant. Leia. Little Leia little princess Leia she’s in danger she’s in trouble Anakin will--

“Commander.”

No. Here and now. She needs to focus on here and now. Her throat feels cold. She breathes too fast, still. She can’t stop it.

“I don’t know.” That’s Vos. He was... they were doing something. He was here. Talking to her. “We were sparring, and she just--”

Right, sparring.

“I don’t know if I said something?” He offers, voice pitching up, unsure and worried. Is he the one holding her? He’s the one holding her. That’s embarrassing.

“Commander?” Rex prompts. “Commander, can you open your eyes?”

She tries. She can’t. She shakes her head.

“Soka?” he asks, voice quiet. “Where are you?”

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

His voice is so soft. So worried. She held him the same way after Mandalore, after Order 66, after all his brothers, all her friends...

“Soka.”

Her mind is spinning, and suddenly all she can hear is Anakin Skywalker is dead. I destroyed him.

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

“Commander,” Rex tries again, but her head is a vortex of Then you will die and Perhaps this child and not the Jedi way.

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

She can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can only see that yellow eye that’s too familiar but belongs to a stranger can only hear a voice that shouldn’t exist can only mourn and break and--

“Soka?”

“Malachor,” she manages. “I--h-he--I died.”

“What did you say?” someone asks. A vod. It’s the right voice, almost, rough and business-like, not accusing anyone yet, and... and... no. No. Not one of her boys. It’s Fett.

“Um, right at the end? I asked her who taught her to fight like this,” Quinlan says, nervous. “And she said it was soldiers. And I joked, I asked that it wasn’t her Master, and she didn’t answer that. A couple minutes later, she just started...”

“Oh, Soka,” Rex whispers, pulling her closer. “Commander, just breathe with me.”

“H-h-he, he just--R-Rex, he j-just--and I c-c-couldn’t--”

“I know,” her captain whispers. “I know, just breathe with me.”

“He k-k-k-killed me,” she sobs, falling out of the Keldabe and into too-small arms. “I l-loved--he was my broth-ther and--and he just--he killed me, he didn’t even stop.”

“I know,” Rex whispers. “Soka, I know.”

Of course he does.

---------------------------

“It was just bad timing,” Rex says, once they’re in the room she’s been sharing with her little family, curled up under a blanket and watching the floor like it has all the secrets to how she lost her world three times over.

“Is there anything we need to keep in mind?” Fett asks, gruff and uncomfortable. She wonders if he’s angry that she took his necessary confrontation and turned it into this mess.

“Don’t bring up her Jedi Master,” Rex says, and pulls her in when she shivers. Her eyes squeeze shut before she can stop them, tears beading up again. “Just... don’t. It’s too soon.”

“He’s--”

“He Fell,” Ahsoka interrupts. “I thought he died, but he became a Sith. And fifteen years later, we ran into each other, and I refused to join him in the Dark, so he tried to kill me.”

Fett swears, low and muffled. She thinks he has a hand over his mouth.

Quin and Leia aren’t there. She thinks they’re keeping an eye on their Baby Sith prisoner. That’s good.

“Soka,” Rex whispers, and she buries her face in his shoulder. She’s too old to be this kind of mess. She’s thirty-two. She’s Fulcrum. She’s...

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

“We can avoid the subject unless you bring it up,” Tholme promises. “Definitely until the Temple. Is there anything else we shouldn’t talk about?”

Ahsoka can practically feel Rex’s deadpan look. “Sir, we’re a trio of child soldiers ripped from everything we know. Every other sentence is a risk. We’re just... working our way through.”

There’s a knock at the door. Oh. Quin and Leia.

“Just figured we’d drop this off before we went down to visit Mr. Grumpy-Face,” Quinlan whispers. He still thinks Leia’s a child. He’s trying to make things less terrible for her. That’s nice. “We decided he’ll be less angry if he tries Hoth chocolate, and made some for everyone.”

They definitely made it for Ahsoka herself, and Maul was an afterthought. Still. It’s sweet.

“Commander?” Rex prompts, jostling her a little to try and get her to sit up.

“Gimme a sec,” she manages. It takes longer than it should to push herself away from him, to accept the mug that Leia gives her, too-serious worry in the furrow of her brow and the twist of her soul.

She doesn’t look six. She doesn’t even look twenty-two. This girl was always too old for her skin, forced to grow up in the hostile fear of the Empire.

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

She can barely taste it beyond the ashes she imagines coating her tongue.

I destroyed him, her memory echoes. His slightest hesitation before he made the final move, it haunts her. She almost reached him. If only she’d tried harder, yelled louder, been better...

She shivers.

“Do you need help falling asleep?” Tholme asks. “I’m a regular healer, not a mind healer, but...”

She probably should.

She takes another sip of her drink, willing herself to taste it. It’s good. She likes it. She knows she does.

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

“It doesn’t always work, but I can try,” he tells her.

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

---------------------------

Everyone’s careful around her for days. The whole decision to be nicer doesn’t mean anything when she’s walking about in a daze of too few emotions, drained of everything she could feel in favor of a grey cloud of fluff in everything she does.

She does forms. Single saber and Jar’kai. Ataru and Djem so and Soresu. Reverse grip, regular grip, partial reverse on either side.

Again. Again. Again.

She loses herself in the motions, not meditating so much as just empty.

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

Leia and Tholme keep their shields locked up tight, and she doesn’t know how they feel. She thinks Leia might be judging her. She think Tholme might be pitying.

Maul simply hates. It’s an old and familiar sensation to walk into, and she takes unthinking comfort in his rage. She’s silent instead of snippy, when she plays the role of guard, and they stare at each other in silence. His eyes burn, and she wonders how much he’s heard of her nightmares.

“You need to talk,” Rex tells her, when he finds her with a cold cup of caff, eyes fixed somewhere beyond it all. She lifts her head. “Soka.”

She just stares at him.

He sighs and pulls her into a hug. “Commander, please.”

She can’t.

Ahsoka stares at the wall behind him, resting her chin on his head. Her neck itches under the lek at the back of her head, a little tingle of a feeling that she can’t bring herself to do anything about. The pale light of the galley is sharp against the chipped paint of the metal that surrounds them. It hurts her eyes to look, but it’s not the deep and dark lit only by red--

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

“Breathe,” Rex tells her, too-small hands clinging at her back. “Just breathe, ‘Soka.”

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

---------------------------

“Tell me something good.”

Ahsoka blinks. She looks at Leia. She doesn’t have the energy to parse that.

Leia chances a look at Rex, who isn’t leaving Ahsoka’s side any more than he has to, and Fett on the other side. Tholme’s asleep and Quin’s on Baby Sith duty. It’s just people who know, right now.

The little girl across the table, the child senator, the spy, purses her lips and huffs in irritation. “You knew my biological father before he became one of the worst people in the galaxy. Both of you did. Tell me something good about him.”

Good things.

About Anakin.

“You fought a war as a Jedi,” Leia prompts. “Surely you must have done some good things with him, or at least thought you were.”

Did they?

Every mission ended in tragedy or was just a ploy of Palpatine’s. Every saved life was just...

Wait.

“He built Threepio,” she finally says. “Your father wi--I mean, Bail wiped Threepio’s memory after the Empire rose, for your safety, but Anakin was the one who built him.”

Leia sits up, eyes brighter. “I didn’t know that. I... was Artoo involved? Did he build R2D2, or...”

“No,” Rex says, “But Artoo was his favorite astromech, and they always pushed each other into stupid stunts. We risked a hell of a lot to save that droid, more than once, and I didn’t find out until you started working with the Rebellion full-time, but Artoo and Threepio were the witnesses for your bio-parents’ wedding.”

Leia gapes at him. So does Ahsoka. (Fett doesn’t know enough to care.)

Rex grins, and if it looks a little forced, that’s fine. “He had a holo recording. I was one of the few people left that knew about the marriage that might have wanted to see, so Artoo offered. It was... sweet.”

He waits, probably for Ahsoka to add something herself, but she has nothing.

“I think that’s when they swapped droids, since Threepio was more useful to a politician and Artoo did his best work when we set him loose on the enemy.”

“He never changed,” Leia muses. “Did he always swear that much?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka answers, as Rex laughs. “Always. All the binary I learned started with the best swears.”

She tries to think of another good memory, something else that Leia might appreciate. Her mind ticks back to saving Stinky, which is just a terrible option, because that mission started with Hutts and ended with the Battle of Teth. That massive loss of life, all for the son of the creature that had put Leia in chains.

She wonders if she has anything in her memory that doesn’t end in blood and graves.

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

“Remember that time Fives and Echo got lost in the undercity their first time on leave, and we had to get the General to help us find them?”

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

“Okay, so what you have to understand,” Ahsoka says, already digging the faint details out and dusting them off, “is that these boys were ARC troopers, top-notch, terrifyingly competent once they got through specialty training, and loyal as hell. Echo had memorized the reg manuals front to back, and Fives was... well, Fives ended up being the only person to figure out the chips before they went into action. Point is, the Domino twins were good... eventually. Just like everyone else, though, they started out shiny.”

---------------------------

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

Ahsoka wonders if Leia will just leave if she ignores her enough. Probably not. This was the girl that got kicked out of boarding school for leading a sit-in at age seven. She’s got patience.

“His job requires him to hide a lot of things,” Ahsoka says instead. “Not as many as Vos will have to, eventually, but a lot.”

“He’s hiding something from us,” Leia insists, visibly frustrated that Ahsoka isn’t as upset about this as she is. “Something important.”

The way she says ‘important’ is clumsy and impacted by the missing baby tooth. She can’t say the r. It comes out as ‘im-poh-ten,’ which is adorable, and if Ahsoka comments on it, she’s probably going to get punched by a six-year-old.

“The Force doesn’t care,” Ahsoka says. “I trust his intentions, if not him as a person.”

“If you don’t trust him, then why trust his intentions?”

“Leia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I trust one and a half people in the galaxy,” Ahsoka points out. “Me not trusting a person isn’t a sign of anything except my paranoia. The only person I trust fully and without reservation is Rex. Even you, I only mostly trust, because my brain starts screaming if I think too hard. That’s why you’re the half.”

“Okay, whatever, paranoia aside,” Leia barrels on, “He should tell us. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, we deserve to know. We’re not children that he can just hide things from for our own good.”

Ahsoka presses her lips together. “Leia. Princess. I know you’re used to holding all the cards--”

“This isn’t about me being a control freak!”

“It is, though,” Ahsoka soothes, and smiles. “Your mother--the bio one--was the same way. You spent years as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, so obviously you’re used to having all the information, and people reporting to you... but Tholme is a Jedi Master. He reports to the Council and the Republic. Do you know how many people I kept secrets from while I was a padawan? We’re an unknown, Leia. They have no proof that we’re on their side, especially since we’re traveling with Fett.”

Leia crosses her arms and glares as hard as she can.

“I’m not going to bother him,” Ahsoka says. “I’ve already had, like, five unrelated mental breakdowns. I’m putting this on hold until we get to the Temple and I can trust that there’s a healer on hand to sedate me or something.”

“You... want to be sedated?”

“Leia, this... really should be obvious, but a Force-Sensitive losing their osik the way I have been isn’t actually safe. I know I broke a weapons rack last week.” Ahsoka gestures vaguely. “If the Jedi Master isn’t telling me something for reasons that might relate to my clear and obvious mental instability, I’m going to assume he’s got a point.”

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

“We’ll be on Coruscant in four days,” Ahsoka soothes. “Just... let it be. They won’t hurt us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I don’t have to. The Force leads me in all things, including this.”

Leia isn’t impressed by that, but Leia isn’t impressed by much in the first place.

She strides off in a fit that is, perhaps, more influenced by her six-year-old emotional control than she’d like to admit. Ahsoka lets her. It’s not worth the argument.

It’s only a few minutes later that Fett strides in, takes the seat Leia was just in, and asks, “What would it take for you to teach me how to use a jetii’kad?”

She blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

Ahsoka taps her fingers against the table, eyeing him with the kind of interest she copied from Master Kenobi, years ago. Fett doesn’t fidget, but she thinks he might want to. He just looks back, waiting for her judgement.

“You’ll need to justify it,” she finally says. “It’s a significant difference from what you actually did, so I need to know your reasoning for doing it, and your plans for once it’s done.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s step one,” she corrects. She tilts her head, considering. “My standards for you aren’t built in a vacuum, and you know that. Explain to me what you plan to do and how you plan to do it, and if I approve...”

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

“Maybe,” she allows. “A lot of that depends on Rex.”

“I expected as much,” Fett says. “He is... an admittedly large part of the reason.”

“He would be,” she says. She gives the silence a few more seconds to sit awkwardly between them, and then stands up. “I’d guess you’ve been brainstorming already. Do you have it written down or is it mostly just in your head so far?”

“I’m still... debating options, so to speak.”

She grins, and the shape of the predator’s smile, the baring of teeth... that almost makes him step back. She can see it in the twitch of his muscles. Smart man.

“Follow me,” she says, and doesn’t wait for him to stand. She strides out with tooka-light steps, hears the heavy beskar tread behind her, and goes to the cargo hold. Fett’s confusion grows tangibly behind her, especially when she tosses him a wooden quarterstaff. She picks up the other and spins it in one hand.

“You’re going to fight me,” she tells him, stretching and letting the staff help with the process. “And while we fight, you’re going to tell me what your plans for Mandalore are.”

He mimics her, but there’s a frown on his face. “And why staffs?”

“You and I, we’ve only sparred bare-handed,” she says. “I need a feel for how you fight with a weapon anyway. These are a good start.”

“Not the beskad?”

She grins, and the twitch is back. “No. That can wait. We start with the staffs.”

He takes a stance, and she mirrors him. She lets him strike first with a weapon, but she’s the one that asks all the questions.

(He is the only one on the ship that can fight her one-on-one right now, and he can win. Still, she makes him work for every inch, and what she doesn’t win in bruises, she wins in words.)

(Fett might yet be a proper Mand’alor, but Ahsoka learned war from her brothers, negotiation at the knee of a general and in the shadow of a prince, and government at the side of duchesses and queens.)

(If he wants her help uniting his people, he needs to prove that he can hold them together once she’s gone.)

---------------------------

Ahsoka’s interrogation of Jango’s plans is thorough, and she’s not the only one involved. She brings Leia in, and has her join in on the grilling. She maybe laughs as the twenty-seven-year-old survivor of Galidraan, the Mand’alor, a man who has killed Master Jedi with his bare hands, gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly.

Still, Leia knows this better than any of the rest of them do. The girl might have grown up heir to a monarchy, but she got a classical education and was drilled on democracy and all associated forms of government. Where Ahsoka knows military protocol and law enforcement, intersystem relations and defensive measures, Leia knows agricultural subsidies and welfare programs, infrastructure and education.

Ahsoka may know how to find out if someone’s breaking a zoning law, but Leia knows why it exists in the first place.

“And I grew up in a cult,” Rex says, when an argument on that topic breaks out. Everyone that hasn’t heard the joke-that-isn’t-a-joke stares at him. “The Jedi grew up in a religious meritocracy; Leia grew up in a monarchy; and I grew up in a cult.”

Ahsoka elbows him. He’s not wrong, but still.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is about forty-seven percent sure that Leia will put her foot in her mouth when it comes to Mandalorian culture, blunt as the girl is. That prefrontal cortex isn’t anywhere near as developed as it should be, either, so impulse control for the princess isn’t great. Ahsoka refuses to let Leia and Fett talk about ways to mend the breaks between tradition and the pacifism of the New Mandalorians without either Rex or Ahsoka herself as a mediating presence. Tholme sits in a few times, but while he knows that Leia isn’t really six--though not about the time-travel, yet--Quinlan doesn’t.

They admittedly end up doing this while he’s on Maul-sitting duty.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care about making nice with the people that, at this point, make up the majority of his people!” Leia grumbles one night, as Ahsoka kicks over a step stool so the girl can brush her teeth. “He may not like the New Mandalorians, but from what I understand, it’s still early enough to prevent the majority of the cultural bleaching you brought up. If he stays this stubborn--”

“Leia,” Ahsoka says, and the girl’s mouth snaps shut. “I’m aware of your reasons for not trusting his intentions. But if I may say? Chill.”

“He’s not even trying!”

“He’s trying a hell of a lot harder than he did in the original timeline,” Ahsoka reminds her. “Brush your teeth.”

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

It’s a little worrying, how the child’s brain affects Leia, but... well. That’ll pass in time, hopefully. Until then, Ahsoka gets to be the aunt she should have been. This includes tucking Leia in, which the girl grumbles about despite the fond waves of comfort that enter the Force around her. Ahsoka doesn’t call her out on it, just brushes back wisps of hair to plant a kiss on Leia’s forehead, and then does the same once Rex stumbles in, grumbling about the limitations of a cadet’s body, but far more ready to follow the protocol that is bedtime.

Rex doesn’t pretend to not like getting tucked in, for all that he’s sharing with a grumbly, already-asleep princess. He smiles up at Ahsoka, lets her hug him, and pretends they can be a normal family for five seconds.

Quinlan’s making a late night snack for himself in the galley. Tholme is guarding the Baby Sith. Fett...

Ahsoka goes to the cockpit, takes the copilot’s seat, and watches hyperspace pass them by.

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

His shields are up, locked up tighter than the innermost chambers of the Imperial Palace. She has no idea where he’s taking this question. She has to cast about for an answer.

“That depends on how you define a soul,” she finally says. “Leia told me about Force Ghosts. A Jedi Master who underwent the right meditations and training could pass into the Force upon their death without losing their sense of self. They could remain themselves, to an extent, and interact with force-sensitive individuals. I don’t know if they could last that way indefinitely, but depending on your definition, I could argue those ghosts were evidence of a form of soul.”

“So you believe that the dead pass into the Force, but that what passes could be a soul. Something must exist for a sense of self to disappear at death in a way that impacts the Force as you understand it, and many would use the word ‘soul’ for that something.”

“Mm,” Ahsoka considers it. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“What about those not yet born?”

Her fingers feel cold, and she finds herself no longer able to watch the passage of hyperspace as passively as she had, and her eyes catch on streaks and motes of what is not dust, her vision unable to keep any more still than her heart.

“Oh,” she hears herself say. “The clones.”

It’s a long time before he answers, but the walls come down. He carries a confused sort of grief with him, guilty and a mite resentful. His questions have been building for longer than she’d thought. His voice is rough. “I’ve taken plenty of lives, but I’ve never known the name of someone I erased from existence before they were even born.”

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from Fett, so those dots at least connect.

“I take it my answer wasn’t helpful,” she manages to say.

“Will they still exist?” Fett asks. “Will they be born elsewhere? Or is... is a soul something that only comes into existence after the body does?”

“I have no idea,” Ahsoka admits. “I want... I want to think that I’d be able to find them eventually, to recognize them, if their souls are still born into this world elsewhere.”

“And if your Sith finds someone else to build his army out of?”

Ahsoka looks at him, sharp and pointed. “You wouldn’t.”

“They’ll be doing it anyway, if their plans are as ironclad as you say.”

“You’re already associating with Jedi,” Ahsoka says, fighting the urge to break his nose. “They wouldn’t approach you, not now. They can’t leverage your anger against you. They won’t know everything, but they’ll know that you have friends among the Jedi.”

“You think they can’t come up with better lies?”

He has a point. He has more than one point and she hate hate hates it.

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

“You’re going to have to convince me,” she says. “Especially if you want to somehow balance this with the darksaber thing. I won’t teach you how to fight with it if you’re not planning to retake Mandalore.”

“That’s how they’d sell it,” he says. “Retaking Mandalore. An army ostensibly for the Jedi, and ultimately...”

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

“No, I’d be the inside man for when they build that army anyway.”

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

“I’ll need to talk to Rex. Probably Leia.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m only just considering it. It’s an idea, not a plan.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

She glares at him, and leaves, her mind chopping up and laying out every possible angle on Fett volunteering to do the exact same thing as last time, but somehow worse.

Great. Just what she needed.

---------------------------

Ahsoka isn’t there for the shouting match between Rex and Fett, but she doesn’t have to be. She can hear it form clear across the ship, and Rex comes to her afterwars. He’s been crying, which isn’t as surprising as it could be. These bodies are still prone to such things, and will be for years. She doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“We need to take out Sidious before he starts anything on Kamino.”

“Agreed,” she says. “It’ll be hard, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

“That if it wasn’t going to be my brothers, it would be someone else’s. Either we stopped the cloning from happening at all, or we mitigated damage by being there.”

“I don’t think Sidious is going to tap him for it,” Ahsoka admits. “Not unless you’re willing to stage that kind of fight publicly enough for Fett to claim the Jedi poisoned you, family, against him. It could work, but it’s a gamble.”

He knows all of this.

“I miss them,” he says, and she cards her fingers though the curls he’s managed to grow in the past weeks. “I just... even at the end, I had Wolffe. I knew Boba was out there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the beskar let him survive a Sarlacc. I had brothers. Not as many as I used to, but there was always someone. I miss them all, so much it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be them,” she reminds him. She pulls him closer, puts her cheek to his head. “It would be the same process, the same faces, the same training, even, but the boys themselves...”

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

“I can’t force them to grow up the way I did. I want them back. Sidious is going to make the army no matter what. Someone’s going to suffer, and I don’t want it to be my brothers, but they won’t exist otherwise, and...”

“And it’s an impossible choice,” she summarizes. “And it sucks.”

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

She laughs, and feels him smile against her shoulder. Good. He needs to smile more.

“He’s still trying to get me to like him,” Rex says. "He’s still making an effort, and he never did that for anyone except Boba, and it’s weird. I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“Gain a brother,” Ahsoka whispers, and she feels him jerk against her. “If that’s what you want.”

“He’s not vod.”

“Same blood as all the rest, and you’re older than him, so he’s not really in a position to be a parent to you like he was to Boba,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to, but... I think he’s trying. I think this means a lot to him, and that he isn’t any more sure of what to do than you are. You don’t have to forgive him for what he did in the future, you don’t have to accept when he reaches out, you don’t have to ever talk to him again after we reach Coruscant if you don’t want, but I think... I think it’s worth at least considering what you have to gain. I think it’s worth looking at what he’s trying to give you.”

Rex huffs. “Why couldn’t he just be the shabuir I knew in training?”

“Something happened between now and then?” she offers. “I don’t know. I never met him in the original timeline. I just know the guy that keeps trying to get on my good side so you’ll like him.”

He outright scoffs. “Soka, that’s not the only reason he’s trying to get on your good side.”

“...I’m a former Jedi who talks trash to his face,” she says slowly. “And I cried on him. There is no reason for him to be nice to me, other than you.”

“He thinks you’re cool and a good person and wants you to be his friend.”

“Bantha poodoo.”

Rex grins in a way that goes straight to smirking. “Soka, I’m not joking. Jango Fett wants you to be his friend.”

“Kriffing why?” she asks, more than a little horrified. “I’m a mess, look like I’m ten years younger than him, have gleefully kicked his ass in front of an audience; I even told Vos to throw him at a baby Sith Lord. Putting up with me is one thing, but I’m... I’m only barely not a Jedi. I’m a historical enemy of Mandalore, and part of the community he hates more than anything, and--”

“And his reaction to you kicking his ass was pure Mando,” Rex says. “In that he now thinks you’re a badass, and thus worth being friends with.”

“I can’t believe that. I physically cannot.”

“Soka, just accept it. The Mand’alor wants to be friends with you.” He scratches at his scalp. “I mean, he met you while you were protecting what appeared to be children, and it’s apparently still early enough for him to care about that.”

She leans back in her seat, eyes on the wall ahead of her and back against the cool metal of the other side. Rex falls back with her. She wonders if Rex changed the subject so they didn’t have to talk about deciding how many of his brothers get to exist, and whether or not he can swallow the bitterness of his history to have a connection with at least one member of his blood. She doesn’t ask. If he wants to change the subject, that’s his right.

“I don’t... no.” She denies it as well as she can, and then the implications dig a little deeper. “Is this me accidentally signing up to be the Jedi Order’s official liaison to the Mand’alor?”

“I mean, this point in time... they’ve got Kenobi for the Duchess, yeah?” Rex shrugs. “Good relations with the system are probably a good thing, and you’ve got a stronger connection than Tholme and Vos.”

“Ugh,” she says. She rubs a hand against her head, and then lurches to her feet. “Fine! Fine. If it’ll get him to retake Mandalore before the Sith decide to bribe him with an army he doesn’t get to keep, I’ll teach him how to fight for the kriffin’ Darksaber.”

“That’s what makes the decision for you?”

“Well something had to!”

They only get one lesson in before Coruscant, but the lesson lasts a full day, and Ahsoka’s got his comm number. Fett’s a quick learner anyway, and Tholme was there to give pointers where Ahsoka couldn’t.

He won’t measure up to a Jedi in saber-to-saber combat, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to learn enough to turn all those skills with a beskad to something that works with a jetii’kad.

(The balance of a saber is wrong to those used to a physical weapon. The inertia doesn’t work the way anyone expects. There’s no need to worry about damaging the blade.)

(Fett is good. Ahsoka is better. And, bless his heart, he knows it.)

(She will mold him into the shape of someone who not only can, but should rule a system with a history like that, and he damn well knows that too.)

---------------------------

“Dropping out of hyperspace in T-minus twenty seconds.”

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

---------------------------

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone’s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

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dysphxtric · 3 years

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Mental Illness - My Mental Health Story

TW: Depression, Anxiety, Self harm, Suicide, Sexual Harassment

“You should smile more.”

“It could be worse.”

“Just don’t think about it.”

These were the phrases I heard throughout all of my elementary and high school years. There was never a time when my peers and teachers, would not mention some bizarre, ignorant statement revolving around mental health. Not to mention, my family also contributed heavily to the stigmatization of mental health issues. Essentially, my family approached the subject of mental health with extreme hesitation, they refused to talk about how it affects people of all age, gender, ethical background (etc.) Every time I would say “I’m feeling lost” my family would automatically dismiss my frantic worries and it was not any different when I went to school. My peers would continuously remind me that my pain was not valid and that I need to stop being so sensitive. My primary parental figures, my mother and brother did not have the adequate knowledge or tools to be able to hold space for me. I would frequently hear my mom say, “I could understand someone suffering from PTSD feeling upset or sad but you’re so young and healthy honey, you have nothing to worry about” or the old classic “Someone else has it worse than you”. Whether I was at home or at school, I heard the same ignorant statements spewing out from what felt like everyone. And I could never comprehend what was the point of these falsely “encouraging” statements and why profusely use them? These kinds of statements do not uplift, nor do they empower those struggling with mental health issues, if anything it makes it extremely debilitating when your emotions are not acknowledged nor validated. One cannot expect to simply brush away another person’s emotion, thought or feeling as though it means nothing.

With that being said, growing up, I lived in a dysfunctional household alongside my mother, my older brother, and my grandmother. My mother would always be juggling work, schooling, and her dating life. My brother was very reluctant about staying home so he would always vanish after school, hang out with friends, party hard and engage with various street substances. Now my grandmother? It was not long after she immigrated that she began to immerse herself within the Jehovah’s Witnesses ideology and “religiously” strayed away from us as my mother likes to say. My mother was never fond of religious practices that were not “orthodox”. My grandmother wanted to indoctrinate my mom, brother, and I into joining her religious little club but failed which resulted in countless fights, yelling matches, and multiple dents left in our walls. The back and forth with the yelling was what scared me most in my childhood even if it was over something as small as not closing the cabinet door. I think it was around this time period I experienced violence/ trauma at home and truth be told I was extremely stressed and anxious all the time as a kid. My mother would cover the punched indents by taking magazines and sticking pages onto the indent. Often times my stomach would turn as I looked at the pages covering the area where my brother punched the wall with brutal force. Moreover, I felt impending sadness because all I ever wanted was for everyone in my family to be able coexist and not argue. I was trying to keep the peace between everyone, yet I was always the one that got caught in the middle of everything whether I liked it or not. I would get blamed a lot for trying to mend things for everyone. Even though all I wanted was the best for all my family members.

Fast forward to my pre-teen/ teenage years. By this point, my brother and grandmother were no longer living under the same roof as my mother and I. My brother was living with his ex-girlfriend while working as a security guard meanwhile my grandmother was living in her own little subsidized apartment preaching the word of Jehovah. At that particular time, my mother and I lived in a marvellous urban semi-detached house in a peaceful neighbourhood. My mother’s boyfriend had moved in with us and for the most part I was really happy because at least it was not just me and her.

My mother’s boyfriend lived with us while I was going to school. He was a really nice, caring and warm-hearted individual although I could never understand why my mother argued with him so much. I once told him “You should propose to her, I can see you two together forever” to which he replied with a welcoming smile.

But eventually just like with all good things, there comes an end. The inevitable breakup my mom went through was very bitter and I had to be there for her. Afterall, I was technically the only child that was around to emotionally comfort her. Ironically, the breakup occurred during the time I was being bullied in school. And it was difficult to be fully present for my mother while dealing with a lot of negativity at school. I had been experiencing cyber bullying on MSN by a bunch of peers calling me “weird”, “ugly” and “different”. To make matters worse, the group of kids that bullied me online ended up following me everywhere I went for recess which posed as a big obstacle for my well being. I had to eat inside the portables when teachers weren’t around or inside the girl’s bathroom stall just to avoid being teased. I never felt like I had a safe space to myself where I could be vulnerable and open up. Not to mention, it was a difficult time and there was practically no one I could confide in. I didn’t have a social circle of supportive friends, after all I was an antisocial person. Fear washed over me as I worried about disclosing my unpleasant experience to my mother because she was already dealing with so much, the heartbreak, the bills, work problems (etc.), it was then and there that I decided to lie instead of telling the truth. Ultimately, lying became my cooping mechanism to deal with the ongoing pain.

I kept up the lying for a long time in order to make it seem like everything was okay. I lied to everyone from family members to school peers to the teaching staff to principals to counselors.

For the longest time, lying sheltered me from all sorts of unnecessary questions. No one could really tell whether I was truthful or disloyal because I was able to make it sound believable. When I was a teenager, I continued to go down the same destructive path by being dishonest with myself and others. Many times, the thought of suicide crossed my mind and when I started to think about it and plan/coordinate the intricate details it did not hit me that something was very wrong, and I needed urgent help. A big part of the problem was that I was so used to downplaying my pain, given my family circumstance and stigmatization I experienced growing up with. There is no denying that I would engage in negative self talk convincing myself that I deserved the pain and suffering for not being likeable enough or for not being smart enough.

Sometimes I think that is the thing… people do not understand that I lied because that was what I was required to do in order to survive my childhood. I, myself do not tolerate lying and I think it is a form of betrayal and if I were to be completely honest, I would have NEVER lied to my mom had it been safe for me to express myself authentically in my household.

I did not live in a household where it was safe to speak my mind freely and disagree with my mother. Disagreeing was always the last thing I wanted to do, disagreeing meant I got the belt, my devices would get confiscated or that I was going to get grounded. They say, “Honesty is the best policy” and I do not disagree however, it is not as black and white as one may think. In my situation, lying was not only an adaptive coping mechanism but it became a survival mechanism to keep me safe from harm/threat.

I did not have very much individuality growing up. I felt as though having an opinion of my own was bad. In order to perpetuate this fixated mindset that I had, my mother constantly deemed certain attributed behaviours or thoughts as “good” or “bad”. So, say you were upset about a recent breakup with your partner, my mother would scoff and say, “You know life isn’t just about love right?” and play it like it means nothing to the person affected by the situation.

The first time I ever felt depressed was when I was 13. At that age I did not understand why I was feeling what I was feeling. All I knew was that there was something wrong with me. It did not help when I was being picked on by my classmates telling me “Go die”, “You belong in a ditch ugly bitch.”

The moment when things started getting out of hand was when I was first started my Art and Family Studies class in the same semester. In both classes I was placed into groups amongst other students. In Family Studies I had to be in a collaborative group that would divide responsibilities and tasks accordingly. When it came to cooking, my group consisted of four snobby, rich yet immature peers who were unwilling to help and contribute in any shape or form, I had to become the bigger person and sure enough I took all the responsibilities on myself. Though, it was not a smart move. But I was super shy and felt anxious to do anything different least to say speak up and advocate for myself, so I did what I had to do which was prepare meals, clean, and wash the dishes. At the end of the day, none of my peers thanked me, the only thank you I got was getting groped while washing the dishes and getting laughed at.

After what happened I ran to my best friend in tears to tell her what happened just to find her say “It’s not that bad, you’ll be fine” I felt like my blood was going to boil and I was about to start fuming. I stood thinking “Huh, that is so weird, is this how you comfort a person after being sexually harassed?”

Not to sound all grim but that experience showed me that no one really cared about me. No one cared that I got groped or how I felt in that moment. Let alone not even my “best friend” who was supposed to fulfill her role and be there for me. All I wanted was comfort and to be heard out. I could not even tell my mother about this experience until I turned 21 because of how ashamed I felt carrying around that experience and not having the ability to open up and mourn what happened that day and to be able to heal that damaged part of myself. I carried that incident with me for 7 years in silence because I was scared of being honest.

That specific experience was very detrimental to my mental health. Everything began to spiral out of control, I sprawled into a dark depressive state. I began to have intense panic attacks, insomnia, forgetfulness (etc.) After a certain duration of time, I had thoughts of suicide lingering at the back of my head. I questioned my worth, my identity, my culture, my everything.

The bullying and name calling persisted and became so intense that I ended up missing weeks of school time. Some of the boys in my Art class found it funny to make fun of my last name and call me “Prostitute”.

One day in the early springtime, my Art teacher noticed the marks on my wrists as I was painting and had not said anything until I made it to my last period class. I was called down to the guidance counselors office and was interrogated with questions.

“It has come to our concern that one of the staff members noticed cuts on your arms.”

I sat in silence trying hard to contain my anxiety.

“Are you struggling with depression or low mood? Is everything okay at home?”

It came to the point when I got so tired of lying about my pain that I admitted “Yes, I am struggling, I need help”. I dived into the bullying occurrences, the cat calling, my low grades, my self-esteem, the groping, my home situation (etc). After that, I was told that my mother would have to be called down to the school for “safety” reasons even though my counselor promised not to disclose any personal information to my mother. My greatest fear was that I did not want my mom to know that something was wrong.

Of course, my mom came to my school. She was told everything that had happened. I met her at the counselor’s office just to find her wailing in distress “You are such an embarrassment” and “Your counselor told me what you did, how could you do this?”. When the counselor gave us resources for help, my mother grabbed the papers and shoved them into the trash, got up and yanked me out the office.

The next three days that followed, my mother withdrew into her room not saying a word to me. I felt really uneasy and upset. She had her right to be alone but locking herself away from me and avoiding communication altogether? Didn’t make much sense.

I felt extremely guilty for not opening up to my mother sooner. But instead of choosing to be compassionate and caring she chose to resort to anger. She furiously blamed me for being “quiet” and “not trustful” which all landed on my shoulders again. It was “my” fault I thought.

Bottling this up resulted in a full-blown mental breakdown. I could not focus or concentrate because of everything building up. It came to the point where my mom had to choose between living in a toxic community or starting fresh elsewhere.

And even though my mother kept subjecting me to her harmful stigmatizations, the transition from my old school to my new one helped me greatly. When we moved away, I gradually started to feel better emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Very quickly, I ended up adapting to my new high school where I finally made friends.

One thing I cannot deny is that there definitely was a silver lining to all of this. Although I went through severe bullying and torment at school and home, I managed to reclaim my power and through that I discovered my inner peace after being extracted from my toxic high school. The new school that I ended up attending completely changed me and inspired me to become a more authentic version of myself. It was almost as though I did a complete 180°

My new peers and teachers were enthusiastic, open-minded and caring. The new community I was surrounding myself in was a very positive one that broke down stigmas and encouraged deep understanding and acceptance. My mind was blown when I found that it was easier to conversate with girls and guys at my new school, I was gradually becoming confident and more vocal, and I liked the feeling of not hiding myself away from the world. It felt rejuvenating to finally be heard and seen by others.

Slowly but surely, I began to partake in various activities at my school. I joined the Poetry Club which I would have never considered joining had I stayed back in my old school due to fear of how I was perceived. Ultimately, I started caring and nurturing myself more. My new friends supported me, and teachers began to openly listen to my stories and encouraged me to write. When I started writing, I realized that I could use this medium to cope with my depression and anxiety. The acknowledgment made a major difference in my life like never before.

If it were not for the transition from my old high school, I would have not made progress in developing into the woman I am today. I know that I am not my pain, I am not my mistakes.

Do I still struggle and have bad days? Yes, of course. Just like any human being I have my days when I am not feeling the greatest however, I am more open to learning about how to engage with my mind, body and soul in order to soothe myself during turbulent times. I still have that inner critic however, I have been engaging with activities such as bike riding, painting, drawing, and reading to help occupy my mind which as a result has reduced the time that I spend ruminating. Occupying myself has worked magic, I am now able to reduce and control how much time I spend self-loathing, criticizing, and judging myself. Rather than judging every thought, I’ve learned to slow down and observe.

If you stuck along until the end of my story, I want to thank you for reading through my experience. My hope is that my story can shed some light on the myths and stigmas surrounding mental health, especially within the Eastern European community. I want you all to know that you are ALL valid and I wanted to be able to share my story so that my readers know that they are not alone.

#mental health #mental health awareness #depression #mdd #mood disorder #anxiety #gad #my story #hope #bullying #narcissistic parent #end the stigma #recovery #fyp

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sup-i-like-to-write · 2 years

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5 holiday reminders for the safety of your mental health

Hey!

Felt called to make another post, to remind you some things in case you spend these last days of the year within toxic environments. Whatever situation you’re in, here you have some extra motivation :) Here are some other helpful posts: Feeling emotionally dry // Dear survivor // SAD DURING HOLIDAYS // Owner of your happiness // Dealing with suicidal thoughts // By yourself // How to prevent a breakdown // PTSD reminders // Positive affirmations (PTSD, anxiety, ocd...) // YOU MATTER // Stay alive // Your beauty! // KEEP GOING! // You got this // This moment will pass. // Tips and affirmations for sad nights.

1- Remember that social gatherings are a human construct of many others, in a way. There’s no vital need for you to feel in a certain way or behave differently than other days. People expect others to express in a specific way in order to feel good and accepted, because external validation is comforting. But you have no obligation to put on a mask! I hope you find moments to be yourself these last days of the year!

2- If the people around you makes you feel uncomfortable, insecure or unsafe, consciously remember it’s not gonna last forever and you can speak up or take yourself out of the situation at any moment. If somebody triggers your anxiety, just mentally remind yourself how sad it is of them to still be trapped on those negative and honestly, pathetic mindsets! And how brave it’s of you, to show up as yourself!

3- It’s ok to be alone during the holidays. Honestly, if the people around you do nothing but mess with your mental health… WHO HAVE THE TIME BESTIE because I don’t! If a safe place requires you to be alone, I promise you it’s way better that way; no need to place yourself in unnecessary situations if you can help it.

4- Remember to find moments of clarity and serenity. Look up to the sky! I know it sounds corny but celebrations have more to do with you celebrating life, and the world celebrating you. You’re alive! You’re like, a manifestation of the freaking Earth with legs! Celebrate yourself, the night sky, the stars, the fresh air, the music you’re listening to… You’re amazing, so celebrate your existence! Because the actual world celebrates you every day and I promise, it loves you as you are!

5- YOU LOOK AWESME IN YOUR OUTFIT. PERIOD. DID YOU STAY IN YOUR PIJAMAS? THAT’S FUCKING AWESOME LIKE YOUR WHOLE SELF IS, 10/10, CHEFF KISS.

6 (bonus!)- Find a moment at the end of the night to meditate and feel your emotions. No shame, no guilt, no resistance about how you feel, ok? Let it all out and then bring some positive thinking to your mind because it deserves it. You deserve it.

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rpmemes-galore · 4 years

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How to write a character with PTSD / C-PTSD:

*disclaimer: this is entirely based on my own, personal experiences with PTSD. it’s to serve as a basis and guide, but not a firm rulebook for writing it. different people can have different symptoms, at varying levels of severity. PTSD is also often tied with depression and / or other generalized anxiety disorders.This will be extremely personal, and has the potential to be triggering to anyone who has suffered abuse / noncon, or has ptsd / c-ptsd.

WHAT IS C-PTSD?

Complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD; also known as complex trauma disorder) is a psychological disorder that can develop in response to prolonged, repeated experience of interpersonal trauma in a context in which the individual has little or no chance of escape. --- wikipedia

C-PTSD is a subset of PTSD. Whereas PTSD is mostly associated with a traumatic event that only lasted for a short amount of time, or only once ( eg. car accident, sudden loss of a loved one, ect. ) , C-PTSD has to do with prolonged traumatic events ( eg. ongoing abuse, imprisonment ). And depending on the severity and conditions of the prolonged event, those suffering with it can have varying symptoms and levels of symptoms. For this guide, I’m going to be focusing on the PTSD / C-PTSD that I, personally, struggle with: severe, caused by abuse and noncon. References from MAYO CLINIC

INTRUSIVE MEMORIES:

Recurrent, unwanted distressing memories of the traumatic event: Unlike in Hollywood, flashbacks do not have to be full-blown reliving of the event ( though, it can be ), but rather small, often disconnected glimpses of memories that strike while going about your daily life. Things that can trigger it are smells, sounds, or the sight of something connected to the traumatic event. It can be benign as the sound of someone walking toward you, or bad as someone getting in your face and shouting at you. And what triggers you one day may not trigger you the next.

Reliving the traumatic event as if it were happening again (flashbacks): In my personal experience, this is much harder to come back from than the smaller glimpses mentioned above. This is a full reliving. As far as you’re concerned, you ARE back in the trauma. You ARE back in that house, in that room, with that person... you see them, hear them, they’re in front of you, and you’re that defenseless child, again. This often leads to a panic attack, even after you’ve returned to reality.

Upsetting dreams or nightmares about the traumatic event: Can’t talk about this one much, because I specifically taught myself to lucid dream due to nightmares I used to have... but, that was a long time ago. I do remember they would not be perfect recreations of the event. They’d be disjointed. Often would involve people who hadn’t been there at the time, or random details would be mixed up or completely wrong ( for instance, instead of standing in the kitchen, you might be out in a field. Multiple events could be happening at once, with no coherency. ) And I do remember waking up suddenly, in a sweat... and sometimes avoiding sleeping for DAYS just to avoid having those nightmares.

Severe emotional distress or physical reactions to something that reminds you of the traumatic event: Similar to the first point, this can also be caused by sights, sounds, smells that you recall from your traumatic moments, or, sometimes, even just from the place where your trauma happened. Unlike the glimpses of memories or full flashbacks, these are disconnected feelings, usually fear, anger, betrayal... and in response to something that might seem silly to someone else. For instance, for me, I have a severe reaction to flyswatters. What is a simple tool to someone else, that they have no issue touching, I can’t even go near. Hands start shaking, I can’t breathe, I tense up like I’m going to be hit. And similar to that, the sound of someone raising their voice, even happily or not toward me, fills me with immediate dread. note: this can lead to being a pleaser. desperately trying to avoid upsetting anyone because you’re terrified of people who are upset, whether it’s your fault or not.

AVOIDANCE

Trying to avoid thinking or talking about the traumatic event: Self-explanatory on the not wanting to think about it.No one likes to think about things that upset them. As far as the not talking about it goes, it can have a lot to do with shame. You’ve been trained to think it was your fault you were treated so badly, and telling anyone else, means you’re admitting that you were bad and deserved it. And you’re afraid they’re going to agree with your abuser. Or they’re going to gain up on you with your abuser... even if there’s no rational reason to believe these things, the thoughts are still there.

Avoiding places, activities or people that remind you of the traumatic event: This can lean toward the extreme... specifically going out of your way to avoid things. Cancelling plans if it might be even slightly related to your trauma, such as a person from that time being there, being in a place --- or sometimes even being near a place --- that reminds you of your trauma ( like a store you went with your abuser ) , or refusing to take part in something that you and your abuser did together. This can even extend to tasks around the house. For instance, if housework was something tied to your abuse, even marginally, you might avoid doing dishes, or washing the floor.

NEGATIVE CHANGES IN THINKING AND MOOD

Negative thoughts about yourself, other people or the world / Difficulty maintaining close relationships / Feeling detached from family and friends: Self-esteem plummets. You have a lot of trouble trusting others, or believing that they truly want the best for you. You have trouble believing that you have any potential, or that you’re capable of doing anything... lose trust in your own judgement and second guess everything you do. You ignore red flags. You constantly need validation in your choices. You feel like someone else needs to second any decision you make. Nowhere feels safe. Even going out of the house is a struggle, and you’re scared and uncomfortable they entire time, like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.

Memory problems, including not remembering important aspects of the traumatic event: Feeling like there’s a grey area or the memory being fuzzy, even when you specifically try to recall certain moments. This can lead to doubt, and wondering if you even have trauma. ---- And not only that, but if your abuse involved gaslighting, you lose faith in your memory of the event. You start overthinking. You doubt whether or not you were even abused. You think you might be remembering things wrong, misconstruing things, being unfair to your abuser.

Lack of interest in activities you once enjoyed: As PTSD often goes hand-in-hand with depression, you can experience the same symptoms, including lack of motivation or interest, even in things you genuinely enjoy. For me, I LOVE writing. But, actually finding the motivation / energy / confidence to do it is hard... even on good days, it’s a fight to get myself to sit down and accomplish anything.

Difficulty experiencing positive emotions / Feeling emotionally numb: Good feelings feel bad. That’s the only way I can describe it. Things like happiness or satisfaction feel... wrong. Like, you’re not supposed to be feeling them. The way I’ve had this explained me to me is: your brain is so used to feeling bad emotions that feeling anything positive is foreign. it’s easier to stick with what you know, no matter how hard it is. ----- You can have moments of complete emotional nothingness. You disconnect from your feelings completely. The world around you doesn’t feel real. The people around you don’t feel real. It’s like being in really terrible VR.

CHANGES IN PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL REACTIONS:

Being easily startled or frightened / Always being on guard for danger: You’re always jumpy. It’s like you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop, or waiting to be hurt or yelled at.

Self-destructive behavior, such as drinking too much or driving too fast: This can also extend to self-harm in many forms ranging from cutting, to holding hot objects... ( the most difficult part is when you feel dirty inside and feel like you need to cut or burn it out. It’s an overwhelming feeling that’s very hard to beat or calm yourself down from. ) or just neglecting yourself, like not tending to cuts or scrapes. And you feel like you deserve them. You tell people not to worry when you get hurt because you’re used to it... and, because it’s you that it’s happening to, it’s okay. Other forms can include substance abuse, alcohol abuse, or even --- consciously or unconsciously --- seeking out abusive relationships just for a sense of normalcy.

I hope that this guide helps you. And if you are struggling with PTSD, yourself, please don’t be afraid to reach out and find help. You are loved. And your worth is NOT determined by what other people have done to you.

#not a meme #long post #ptsd tw #cptsd tw #trauma tw #abuse tw #rape tw #selfharm tw #noncon tw #extremely potentially triggering.#writing resources #this was very personal and hard to write #but it means a lot to me and i felt like i need to share. proper representation is important #any negative comments regarding this / negative comments toward people with this condition / or inappropriate jokes on this post #will be blocked.

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masterthespianduchovny · 4 years

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Steve, Bucky, and Peggy: The Love Triangle that Isn’t

There is a popular narrative among a certain crowd that Steggy only happened so Steve isn’t perceived as gay or having feelings for Bucky. And maaaaaybe this is true, but honestly, I don’t agree.

Peggy was supposed to be the great love of Steve’s life that never got to happen due to circumstance. And then comes along Sharon who is supposed to be his great next love. But, what happened is that not that many people were interested and, funny enough, more were drawn to Steve’s reaction about Peggy—him visiting her and her later dying than they actually have a fuck about Staron or whatever the ships name is.

Coincidentally, this is the SAME movie that Bucky as winter soldier is reintroduced in. The movie where they try to establish a new romantic relationship for Cap and have us met the new Bucky, which the former isn’t Bucky.

What happened is this: fans essentially completely rejected Sharon and salivated for Bucky and this devotion Steve had towards him. It was a shipper’s dream the way Steve behaved. BUT, Steve and Bucky was never on the menu and it was never teased canonically.

I cannot say if the actors or those connected to the MCU queerbaited fans, but actors and connected employees have the habit of trying to be supportive of fans and ships by entertaining things they aren’t necessarily invested in or care about all that much. Some of that is because they appreciate the fans enthusiasm and the other part is it being apart of the job to have enthusiastic fans.

It reminds me how how John Boyega supported two/three ships on Star Wars, but it wasn’t necessarily because he was a shipper himself. The only actor in the current series who seems like an actual shopper is the one who plays Poe.

So, after they got rid of Sharon in the third cap “movie”, they had to figure out what to do about his love interest. Again, the only significant and canonical one people gravitated to was Peggy, but she was dead. BUT, there was also a consistent thread about Cap’s feelings for her. Almost every movie that desires cap prominently has some small scene or moment that references her.

So, for people to act like Peggy was Sharon is dishonest. Or how they want to act like Peggy was some random girl. Peggy met Steve before he was cap—I know, I know, Bucky did too—but, this is important because it sets up their relationship about how she cared for him and took him seriously as a person even then. Her feelings grew romantic as did his, but their feelings was based on friendship and their mutual respect for one another. Peggy also helped Steve to defy orders to do what he felt was right, so they share values as well. I believe all this happened over a span of two years.

When she is in the hospital Steve regularly visits her and is distraught when she dies. His behavior is a call back to that old fashioned romanticized love in which one half of a spouse is loyal, dedicated, and (always) by their beside. Despite Steve still having g his youth and presumably young, interested women clamoring for him, he is devoted to Peggy and takes time out of his week to visit her. When she dies, he’s even her pallbearer.

This behavior is more than “a connection to the past.” I guess since it’s muted and not fighting to save someone you care about at all cost, it doesn’t read a love or romantic.

But, it’s clearly established that Steve’s love has never faded and even though he has young women interested in him, he’d rather sit by the side of his 90 year old (former) love.

We even see him carrying a locket with her picture in it as well. The MCU has gone out of its way to show how very real Steve’s feelings are.

Enter in Bucky.

When we first meet Bucky, we see he’s the best friend of Steve. The charming ladies man who exudes confidence. He looks out for Steve, esp because Steve likes to get up for trouble when standing up for his values. Yet, neither Steve nor Bucky are particularly attached to one another—meaning to subtext of homoeroticism that speaks to deeper feelings known or unknown.

We could argue that Steve’s feelings became prominences, but not known to him, when he saw Bucky again, but I’ll continue to lay out for my reasoning for not believing that.

Winter soldier sets for the foundation of how captain American went from a loyal patriot to questioning and distrusting his government. Despite his camaraderie with the avengers, he still feels alone and like a man out of time. He leans on his patriotism to get him through this totally unique and indescribable experience. But, I’m the second movie, he’s on the run from that very same government and is finding out about their secrets and lies.

During this time he runs into Bucky, his best friend who he thought died.

We must keep in mind that Cap’s two direct connections to the past in this moment are both Peggy and Bucky. We see his loyalty to Peggy due to reasons I mentioned, but there is another factor going on with Bucky: it’s him, but it’s NOT him.

It was completely disorienting for Cap to see a man who was supposed to be dead and in his 90s looking youthful and a unrelenting killer. There was no way they was the Bucky Cap knew. Cap has to get to the bottom of what happened to Bucky and, later, avenge his friend. His autonomy and agency was violated, he was experimented on, and brought back to life to be a trained killer.

Of course Steve feels that deeply, especially because he underwent a similar experiment, but willingly and retained his agency and independence. But, it’s also about corrupting the past for Steve. The way the government manipulates and pushes things forth for the agenda. There’s levels to this.

Then, when Bucky saved Steve, and then disappeared, Steve was largely fine, but concerned about Bucky. And why wouldn’t he be? Bucky almost killed him, saved him, and then left—he doesn’t know how Bucky is dealing and coping with what happened to him. How could he know?

Steve fighting and protecting Bucky in his third movie and, eventually, fighting against Tony is about how we shouldn’t punish an exploited person for something that were manipulated into doing. And how they’re being used as patsy’s to shift blame. Bucky was a victim in the second and third movie. Bucky needed someone to stand up for and advocate for him, which only Steve did.

I mean, did Bucky deserve to die for something he had no choice over? Or imprisoned?

That doesn’t mean that they couldn’t have been two men in love, but once Cap knows he’s safe and protected—meaning, he’s allowed to make a “full” mental and emotional recovery without further exploitation—Cap doesn’t worry or obsess over Bucky. Bucky was on the way to regaining agency and independence and that’s all that cap wanted.

Once Bucky looks happy and healthy when they see each other again, cap goes to treated him like he did in first avenger.

And I fill that this must be pointed out: some friends do go above and beyond for people who 1. Have mental illnesses, no systems in place to assist them, and no advocates other than them 2. Someone who has been harmed/manipulated/exploited, is triggered, and potentially down spiraling. 3. PTSD.

Steve is being a damn good friend and advocate to/for Bucky.

With that being said, some don’t feel that stucky was going to be canon, but that the MCU went out of its way to prove Steve was straight. As a reminder, the Steve and Peggy thread has been CONSISTENT since day one. Since Sharon failed, they wanted to find a love interest for Steve’s endgame, no pun intended. Personally, I think that they went Natasha/Steve because Natasha/Bruce doesn’t work. I understand Natasha and Steve has a great friendship for the “why can’t men and women be friends” crowd, but Natasha also has other male friends, sooo....

To use Star Wars as an example again, this isn’t Poe and Keri Russell’s character who exists solely to prove Poe is STRAIGHT.

Peggy was never created to be someone who existed to prove Steve’s sexuality, but she was someone he was in love with and never stopped loving. She was someone that we knew Steve loved deeply and could never get over.

I know people feel that Steve going back undermines his values both in the comics and the series, which I fee is valid. But, honestly, Steve has spent a good chunk of protecting others and putting his life on the line. We see many of the other avengers be in relationships, have families, and overall fulling lives and Steve just has the avengers.

Which isn’t a bad thing in and of itself, but he’s allowed to want more than that. His life shouldn’t be dictated by if he can be of service to others.

Steve didn’t “abandon” anyone. Most of the avengers are adults who don’t need Steve. He may have been the leader, but anyone in the group can be the leader. There are other heroes.

And Bucky doesn’t need him.

Bucky understand all that cap went through and sacrificed. He doesn’t need cap to always near and hold his hand. That’s not how friendships work. That’s not how families work or, at least, healthy ones.

I’m fine with people who ship stucky, but this animosity against Steggy and Peggy is ridiculous. No movie or show owes you an open ending so you can ship who you want. From what I can recall, there was no canonical queerbaiting (I believe Chris Evans supported both ships, but I think Steggy more). And Peggy isn’t some random woman or a woman he knew for three seconds, she was important to him and their relationship meaningful to him for the rest of his life.

#steggy #peggy carter #steve rodgers #captain america

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cypher-of-the-night · 4 years

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Biography: Yuuichi Kuroi

“Between going to hell for killing leeches, or to heaven at the cost of innocent lives... I’d rather stay a sinful man for the rest of my life.”

Full name: Kuroi, Yuuichi

Kanji: 黒佑一

Age: 19

Meaning: Yuuichi - To help one; Kuroi - Black, Dark

Nickname(s):

Sensei (by Yui),

Yuuichi Jiang (Alias)

Yòu-Yī Jiang (Chinese Name)

Age: 19 (Looks around early 20′s)

Birthday: April 1st

Zodiac Sign: Aries

Ethnicity: Chinese/Japanese

Nationality: Japanese

Hobbies: Hunting, Practicing Martial Arts

Favorite Food: Cream Stew

Dislikes: Days-Off, Vampires, and Ignorance

Race: Vampire, Human (Formerly)

Gender: Male

Height: 178 cm (5’10")

Weight: 67 kg (147 lbs)

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Blue

Blood Type: O

Occupation: High School Teacher-in-Training, Vampire Hunter

Relatives:

Ying-Yue Jiang (ancestral foremother)

Naoki Enjo (Distant Relative)

Hisoka Kuroi (First-Cousin, Arranged fiancée)

Tsurara Kuroi (Parental Grandmother)

Favorite Food: Cream Stew

Hobbies: Hunting, Practicing Martial Arts

Seiyuu: Satoshi Hino (Ao from Hakkenden (Talking /Singing)

English Voice: Greg Cote (Eita Izumi from Just Because) (Talking)

Personality:

To the public eye, Yuuichi is a cool, collected young genius. At the age of 13, He graduates from college and is mentioned to be friendless, as he distances himself from others ever since childhood; Only having his cousin as his only other companion growing up. As he was always quiet, people found Yuuichi intimidating as he would be the only one brave enough to stare down and talk back at the Sakamaki’s, the Mukami’s, and even the Tsukinami’s; Something not even the Principal could do. Yuuichi is also observant and strict, even catching Ayato cheating but never calls him out on it; This leads to him and Ayato having a rather antagonistic relationship.

However, Yuuichi’s cool front is actually a mask, revealing himself to be passionate, but broken young man, desperately looking for love, affection, acceptance, and acknowledgment. Having grown up in a family of Vampire Hunters, Yuuichi has learned to kill vampires since he was young; While he was exceptional in this field, Yuuichi always had to live up to high expectations and was forced to distance himself from others to protect them from getting involved with his life as a Vampire hunter. He cares dearly about innocent people, but felt he must put them at a distance to keep them safe from harm. Always feeling that he must carry the burden on his own, Yuuichi bottles up his emotions in order to continue his role as a protector to innocent humans. He also has a soft spot for children, especially orphans, as he himself is an orphan.

While it was never reciprocated, Yuuichi did hold romantic feelings for his cousin, Hisoka, ever since they were children; Even before their arranged engagement. However, while he has tried to win her heart, it was apparent that She never loved him anymore than a brother. This is due to growing up believing he was a mistake by their grandmother, as he was born as an illegitimate child to the Kuroi family, and that Hisoka was the first person that has treated him as if his existence wasn’t a mistake and that he felt validated by her. This is also why he was not the family heir, despite being the oldest. He also developed a self-hatred and a case of PTSD from having to undergo harsh training as a Vampire hunter, losing his family members, to the abusive treatment from his grandmother.

Due to the way he grew up in the organization and his own hatred towards vampires, Yuuichi feels no remorse in killing the blood-sucking creatures and strongly believes that they are beasts in human form that deserve nothing more than to be extinct. While he genuinely feels that way, it only adds in his self-hatred and disgust for allowing himself become a vampire just to survive when he would rather die. As a vampire hunter, he also knows tactics to torture someone and do what ever means necessary to get the job done; Even it meant resorting to manipulation.

While appearing rational, Yuuichi also holds a sadistic side from the influence of being a vampire and would have the tendencies to succumb to vamperic urges along with his own desires; Depending on which route he’s in, He can either succumb to insanity, forcibly take what he wants as a desperate attempt to find his own happiness, and die as a tragic man, or He can be taught that he can love and be loved healthily, that he must pick up the broken pieces in order to find happiness, and to live as the avenging survivor.

Strengths:

Highly intelligent, respectful to elders, goal-oriented, protective, observant, a realist, serious, mysterious, cool, calm, fast-learner, outspoken when needed to, Caring to children, does show gratitude, strong-willed, kind, athletic, knowledgeable, passionate, experienced, and faithful.

Flaws: Secretly sadistic (from Vampiric urges), cold, stoic, vengeful, stubborn, persistent, easily lonely, hot-tempered, hostile, emotionally scarred, secretive, mentally scarred, self-hatred, has a hard time trusting people, hard, mentally unstable, anxious, paranoid, can’t cook, fearful of losing loved ones, socially awkward, shy, secretly masochistic (heavily embarrassed of this fact about himself) and secretly soft-hearted (can’t show it due to his upbringing as a hunter).

Skills: Shooting with guns (specifically pistols), Fluent in different languages (Chinese, Japanese, English), her intelligence (has even gotten a higher score than Reiji on tests), has high patience, high stamina, a fast runner, enhanced sense of smell, slightly stronger than normal humans, good listening skills, reading people and their emotions, skilled at playing on the flute, singing, has good flexibility, is Ambidextrous (both left-handed and right-handed), charisma, negotiation and interrogation skills, pain endurance, has slow but steady healing, a quick thinker, surprisingly observant, excellent swordsmanship, and an expert martial artist.

History:

Born as an illegitimate child to the Kuroi family, Yuuichi has always been deemed as a “mistake” all of his life by his own grandmother, Tsurara Kuroi. At a young age, His father was disappeared after being reported as MIA during a mission while his mother was kidnapped by a vampire. He was placed under the care of his aunt and uncle for a short time, meeting his first-cousin, Hisoka Kuroi; Falling in love with her and her innocence, Yuuichi swore to protect her and to work hard to become her husband when they are older. Such a thing even became the reason why he would eventually become a exceptional vampire hunter as he grew older.

When he was placed under Tsurara’s care, Yuuichi was immediately taken to start the harsh vampire-hunter training for Kuroi family members; The training sessions caused him to experience horrors and force him to kill in order to save himself, resulting nightmares and eventual numbness in order to get through every training session. Becoming a professional at the age of 8, Yuuichi’s first mission was to kill the same vampire that kidnapped his mother; But once he did and comes across his mother, who was imprisoned the entire time and showed signs of abuse and bite marks, She tearfully begs him to kill her so that she doesn’t turn into a vampire, fearing she would end up hurting others the way her captive has hurt her. Heartbroken that their reunion would end up as it did, Yuuichi complies before telling his mother he loved her, in which his mother replies that she (along with his father) will always love him. From having to kill his own mother as well, this lead to the start of his burning hatred for vampires, vowing to eradicate every single one of them so that humans won’t have to suffer the same way his mother did.

After hearing about the deaths of his aunt and uncle, the memories of his father’s disappearance, and the kidnapping and death of his mother comes back to haunt him and fuel the burning hatred of vampires more; Whether or not Hisoka herself survived or not, Yuuichi will still remain guilty for not being able to be there to protect her or her innocence as he swore to.

If Hisoka did survive, whichi is Hisoka’s Route: Due to the fear of almost losing her, Yuuichi becomes heavily emotionally invested in her to a point he gets jealous of anyone that Hisoka interacts with, especially Yui Komori, who he envied and hated for being the one that helped Hisoka open up when she needed someone the most. Yuuichi would do anything for Hisoka just to make her happy and to win her love, in a similar way Richter loves Cordelia; However, when a mission to rescue Yui was changed to killing her, Yuuichi was the first to take the task to do so. Due to Hisoka’s love and devotion to Ruki Mukami, Yuuichi’s mentality breaks, becoming insane and unpredictable, and resorts to making his happiness happen by force (the happiness being promised by Tsurara herself if Yuuichi kills Yui successfully). This ends up failing and leads to his death by Hisoka’s hands.

If Hisoka didn’t survive, which is Naoki’s Route, Yuuichi becomes the only Kuroi member left in the new generation, making him the only other candidate to become heir to the Kuroi family. But Tsurara does not allow it as she still labels him a ‘mistake’, despite his adroit skills as a hunter. From this, Yuuichi comes to the belief that Tsurara had something to do with the death of the rest of his family members, especially after learning about the wiping out of the clan from his mother’s side. As such, He has decided to investigate deeper into the mystery, which lead to taking on the task to assassinate Yui Komori, only to use her to figure out a lead to Tsurara’s crimes that ended up massacring the rest of his family.

Sometime in between the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga and the MORE BLOOD Saga, Yuuichi was almost near death from a mission he was sent to by Tsurara, only to be saved by and turned by Richter on a certain condition:

Hisoka Route: Richter agrees to make Yuuichi strong enough to kill the Mukami’s, especially Ruki Mukami, who was working with Karlheinz, the Vampire King, but in exchange, Yuuichi will help him dethrone Karlheinz and kill the Sakamaki’s. Due to Yuuichi’s mentality breaking from Hisoka loving Ruki, He agrees to help Richter overthrow Karlheinz and kill the vampires. This is also because they share a mutual understanding of loving a woman that loves someone else, and will do anything just to make them happy/their own, to a point not having them in their arms makes them lose their own sanity.

Naoki Route: Richter agrees to help provide Yuuichi the information he needs to prove Tsurara was guilty, if Yuuichi agrees to keep Yui safe from the Sakamaki’s and the Mukami’s. While Yuuichi didn’t understand why Richter would give him this opportunity, seeing that they both have a common enemy in Tsurara, Yuuichi accepts this despite his own hatred for vampires as long as it would be beneficial to what he is looking for in order to get evidence of Tsurara’s crimes. He eventually does kidnap Yui, using Naoki as a distraction, but while he had her in his custody, they do eventually fall in love and Yuuichi realizes his own inhumane actions and decides to learn to love himself, as well as to move forward with his life.

Eventually, He goes undercover in the guise of a Teacher-in-Training at Ryoutei Academy.

(SPOILERS)

In Naoki’s route, in the DARK FATE Saga, It is revealed that Yuuichi is also a bloodline member of the Chinese clan of human vampire hunters with the first-blood blood in their veins, due to their foremother ancestor, Ying-Yue Jiang; Ying-Yue was the original host of a first-blood’s heart (whom was also her lover in her former life as a human), and was a human before turning into a vampire after she gave birth to a human son that carried the blood of a First-blood, Asher. Due to herself staying hidden for many centuries to hide from Karlheinz under her first-blood lover’s instructions, Ying-Yue was given the nickname “Lilith”, who was known to be the first wife of Adam but leaves him after she refuses to become subservient to him (in a similar sense where Ying-Yue refuses to let herself become experimented as an Eve to Karlheinz’s plan); However, their secret was revealed when one of their clan’s members was kidnapped by a vampire who found out about the truth of their blood. That kidnapped member was Yuuichi’s mother herself. And after the Clan was targeted and massacred, Yuuichi became one of the two only clan members left alive; The other revealing to be Naoki Enjo, the current host of Asher’s heart. The one that plotted the massacre of the clan was Tsurara herself; However, due to Karlheinz’s decision to kill off the entire family of Hisoka, including Hisoka herself, to allow one member from the Jiang clan escape from the massacre, this lead to Tsurara to hold a grudge as she had plans to use Hisoka as her perfect successor as Head of the VH Organization.

It is also revealed that, the real reason Tsurara called Yuuichi a mistake, is because she became aware of the first-blood blood in his veins, and deemed him as one with filthy blood; This is the reason why she refused to make him heir to the family, as all of his abilities were only enhanced from the blood of a first-blood, and that she only sent him on the mission where he was almost killed is to ensure that he does get killed and never returns. In Hisoka’s Route in the DARK FATE saga, where Yuuichi has already been killed, Tsurara explains that she was responsible in organizing the massacre of the Jiang clan and that she did arrange killing of Yuuichi in order to give Hisoka the push she needed to attempt rising up against her, and turn her into the perfect successor after Hisoka herself realizes the truth of her existence and the reason for the death of her family was all because she existed.

Once everything comes to light, in Naoki’s Route in the DARK FATE saga, Asher reveals to Yuuichi that his father was the one informed the clan about the kidnapping as a warning and took Naoki to the orphanage, but as a result from receiving word he gave warning of the VH Organization hunters coming to massacre them, Tsurara had him, one of her own sons, executed for “betraying the organization”.

Trivia:

• Yuuichi is unable to cook; Legend tells he tried to cook something himself, but he ends up burning everything he cooks into flames. Even cereal. Even in

Hisoka’s Route

in the

MORE BLOOD

saga, It is mentioned that Yuuichi himself almost burned down the organization from trying to cook; The one of the very few things he can do is brew coffee.

• While only describes as his hobbies, Yuuichi actually hunts and practices Martial arts as said hobbies is mainly because it helps him keep his figure and to ensure he does not slack off from lack of training.

This is why He doesn’t like day off’s, as he feels uncomfortable doing nothing and that he would rather much do something than doing nothing.

• In his own Manservant ending in the MORE BLOOD saga with Yui, He ends up becoming just like Richter and becomes a submissive slave to Yui, who would end up inheriting dominant, sadistic traits from Cordelia; He even ends up killing Richter to ensure Yui remains his, in fear that Richter will take her away from him.

In the DARK FATE route of Naoki’s Route, Yuuichi confronts Richter as he tries to make a move on Yui in the delusion that she’s Cordelia and denies being like him; This is ironic, considering the fact that he is very much like him in Hisoka’s Route, as his own mentality breaks and would do whatever means necessary to keep Hisoka at his side, even if it meant killing those in his way.

• He inherited his blue eyes from his father, while his mother holds the same pink eyes as Naoki; It is implied that the bloodline family members of the Jiang clan have the same colored eyes, but the reason why Yuuichi has blue eyes is because the Kuroi family genes has been known to be arguably stronger.

• Yuuichi was originally made to be a character for Hisoka Kuroi’s universe; However, regretting such great potential to go to waste, Yuki (The creator of this blog and @star-crossedfidelity) brought him back for Naoki Enjo’s story in an alternative universe and gives him a happy ending where he is the love interest of Yui Komori.

• Yuuichi’s real name is Yòu-Yī Jiang (Jiang Yòu-Yī; 江佑一), which respectively mean “To protect all” and “River”.

• Upon his appearance in the MORE BLOOD Saga in Naoki’s route,

• By the DARK FATE saga in Naoki’s Route, Yuuichi is revealed to be spiritually-Endowed Human-First Blood Hybrid; This is due to Ying-Yue Jiang, his foremother and Asher’s lover, became the first carrier of the first-blood’s heart before she had sexual intercourse with another human in an arranged marriage, which lead to conceiving a human child that would later start a family line of human with first-blood ancestry from Ying-Yue carrying Asher’s heart before the child was conceived; Thus, Yuuichi is a human with first-blood ancestry.

Asher reveals that because the child was born from two humans, despite his blood running through its veins, they can not possess magic, transform, or summon familiars like a first-blood; Instead, because of his blood, The child was stronger, quicker, and healed faster than an average human, along with inheriting the ability to sense vampires and invisible familiars. This is why the clan were phenomenal vampire hunters as, while they can’t see them, they can sense their presence, using those abilities to their advantages.

Asher also reveals that Yuuichi’s enhanced abilities were due to the blood that ran through the family bloodline for generations, and if Yuuichi was the host for his heart, Asher admits that Yuuichi would’ve unlock even more power due to his upbringing as a vampire hunter.

• Due to never having a normal childhood or having a chance to relax, Yuuichi has no knowledge or recollection on what’s it’s like to be a child; For example, He has never been to an amusement park, nor has he ever been to a festival before.

• While he is good with swordsmanship, He prefers to use guns instead; The reason for this is because, when he went on his first mission, He used a sword; Which meant he had to kill his own mother with the sword, and began to use guns after that. In Hisoka’s Route, It is confirmed that Yuuichi would only use swords if he is being sent on a more difficult mission.

• Yuuichi uses the alias “Yuuichi Jiang”, a mixture of his Japanese name and his mother’s maiden name; However, in Naoki’s Route in the MORE BLOOD saga, this is how Asher began to suspect Yuuichi as another living survivor of the massacre, due to his Chinese decent, his own enhanced abilities, and his familiar scent of those from the Jiang clan.

• In Hisoka’s Route, Yuuichi is in love with Hisoka, and not Yui, who he bitterly hated and envied; However, in Naoki’s Route, Yuuichi becomes Yui’s keeper by the MORE BLOOD Saga and they end up falling in love. ~

Credits: Character sheet image, art provided by @seven-re.

#yuuichi kuroi #Yuuyui #diabolik lovers oc

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abbyrynt · 4 years

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Tsubasa’s Trauma and Why I Disagree

So a recurring opinion I’ve seen in a couple different places where I creep/lurk (reddit, tumblr, etc) is that XV should not have pummeled the shit out of Tsubasa.

I strongly, vehemently, aggressively disagree even though I can see where they’re coming from. The first time I watched XV, I literally texted someone: “What are they doing to my poor baby Basa this season?”

I think the reason my opinion differs is because I think I come from a vastly different background than most viewers. Not to say anyone’s perspective is wrong, it’s just different. First, let me tell you why I love Symphogear.

I am in my mid-thirties and left the Army after sixteen years in February 2019. So from age 18 to *cough mumble* I was a soldier. I won’t go into gnarly detail, but I have lost many friends, more to suicide than to combat operations which is seriously fucked. I have PTSD, insomnia, physical disability, etc. as a result from my service.

War is complex. I joined because I wanted to make the world a safer, better place for all people I never wanted to hurt people but reconciled myself with the fact that I may have to hurt “bad people.” Here is the thing about “bad people.” They are people. They have families, friends, lives, goals, aspirations, dreams. They get hungry and sleepy and sad and happy. To them, I’m also the bad guy. You think, “Hey, it’s easy to figure out who the bad guys are.”

It isn’t. And most of them aren’t bad. They aren’t evil. Their “justice” is different from mine. They are on an opposite side from me but they might not even understand why.

In my experience, there are very few truly “bad guys.” Most of the hardcore Taliban: super bad. Most of their foot soldiers? Not so much. But where it becomes shady is that in my experience, some of the “bad guys” were on my side. A president who lied to the American people and sent us to die in a war we had no business fucking starting. Big businesses that profited from that war and the deaths of my comrades. There are just as many bad guys on both sides, and sometimes the bad guys are supposed to be the ones you trust.

Symphogear lets me experience that and process it without triggering me. It allows me to have a world where I get a happy ending because in war, there is no happy ending, there is no “winner,” there is just one side that loses a little less.

Symphogear lets me retreat to a place that I can be safe.Where I can be idealistic, where I can hope for the best, where I am not crushed by reality. Where I can count on people to do the right thing in the end. It allows me to hope, which I so rarely dare do in the real world. It gives me the opportunity to reach my hand out to my enemy, to try to understand them. And I cannot tell you what that means to me.

And one of the reasons I am drawn to Symphogear is because of Tsubasa. She starts out having trauma, and it changes her in a way that is readily recognizable to me. When you experience shit like that, it is normal to “turn off” the human part of yourself. You don’t ALLOW yourself to feel because that can get you killed. So you turn off your emotions, you focus on your duty, and you do whatever you can to survive. I went through that exact same thing.

You turn yourself into a tool, a weapon, a thing so that you can do your duty. You dehumanize yourself to survive. It becomes your “normal.” It’s a defense mechanism, and sometimes the only thing you can do to protect yourself.

And then Tsubasa is redeemed because she realizes that there is no point to what she does if she is willing to sacrifice her humanity. That’s literally the same realization I came to. What’s the point of fighting if you become no different from that which you claim to stand against? Our humanity is literally the most precious thing any of us have, our capacity for love and compassion and empathy.

One thing I have come to appreciate about anime is that the writers seem to ask themselves the question, “What’s the worst thing that can happen to this character? Let’s do that.” They did it to Tsubasa in XV. They broke her completely. They took away everything she valued, everything she held dear, everything that made her initial recovery possible.

Ta da! That happens in real life. You have setbacks. You have new trauma. Bad things happen. You lose what you value. You lose sight of your “justice.”

Watching her hit bottom, I was like “Girl, I know.” But unlike my battle buddies that I watched hit bottom, I got to see her recover. No matter how far she descended, she came back from it, she survived.

Survival is a triumph. Survival is a win. Because so many don’t survive. They succumb to their experiences, succumb to their trauma, succumb to the loss. They never find their way back.

I am lucky. I am lucky every day that I did. And watching a character mirror my experiences, the experiences of my battle buddies, gives me hope. It gives me consolation. It gives me reassurance. It tells me that it is okay for me to hope and wish and fight for my survival. Because even if she is fictional, even if it isn’t real, it tells me that I can do it too.

It’s why so many people relate to Chris. Who I would argue endured just as much trauma if not more than Tsubasa. She saw her parents killed, she was sold into sexual slavery as a CHILD, endured that for seven years? Only to be rescued and acquired by Fine who further abused her in a romantic/sexual/BDSM(ish?) relationship.

It is sad, but so many people can relate to that: to feeling broken, damaged, isolated, alone, unloved. They suffer from self-esteem issues, from loneliness, from feeling like they will never have a safe space, of being scared of even wanting it because they’ll only be disappointed and hurt again.

I do not relate to Chris. I’ve been sexually assaulted, but... her trauma, her experiences, her recovery, does not resonate with me. It isn’t mine, but I understand that it is other people’s, and it is valid.

I am not Tsubasa. I don’t identify with any of the main characters. I’m a smartass like Kanade. I am easy-going like Kirika. I am reserved like Shirabe. I am maternal like Maria. I am supportive like Miku. I am determined like Elfnein. I like to eat like Hibiki. I am principled like Tsubasa, but at best, I’m probably a background character.

But even if I don’t identify with Tsubasa, I can empathize with her. Because I know that feeling. I know what it’s like to make all the right decisions, do all the right things, to fight with everything that I am and that I have, and for bad things to still happen. Because that is life. It isn’t fair. You can hold tight to your ideals, do everything you are supposed to, and you are not promised a happy ending.

I know that sounds fatalistic, but it’s not because the point is YOU STILL TRY. Even if your only reward is more shit, you pick yourself up, hold onto your justice, and keep trying to do the right thing. Not because it guarantees that nothing bad will happen. Not because you’re ensured a reward, but because it is the right thing to do.

And Tsubasa does that. She has everything taken away from her including her autonomy and self-determination, but in the end, she still stands back up and tries again. She takes the hands of her comrades and does not give up.

And that is all I want for myself. I want to stay true to myself no matter what happens. I want to be able to keep living. And seeing her do that makes me feel like I can too.

I’ve been at home for... 65 days now, leaving only maybe once a week for groceries. My PTSD has flared like a motherfucker. I started doing weekly video-sessions with a therapist, I made a pillow fort on my bed where I work from home to make me feel safe. I wear the Symphogear hoodie one of my partners got me for my birthday.

But what has helped me the most is watching and re-watching the entire Symphogear series over and over again because it makes me feel safe. it gives me hope. It reminds me that I will come through this again. It does not just give me hope, it gives me the courage to hope.

The writers of Symphogear did not just heap pointless trauma and violence and loss on Tsubasa just to abuse her. If it was just a bunch of horrible things dumped on her to make her suffer, I’d hate it too. But it wasn’t. The gave her a journey. They gave her redemption. And that journey and opportunity for redemption gives me hope. And sometimes when we are at our worst, hope is the only thing we have.

I know this post was super long and dramatic, but it bothers me that people want to take away the part of the show that I most closely relate to, the part that helps me, the part of the show that IS ME.

I guess my point is, just because it isn’t your journey or your trauma or your story, does not mean it isn’t someone else’s. Like I said, Chris’s journey/trauma/story is not mine, but I can see why it is other people’s, and why so many people cling to her.

So uh... yeah, that’s it. I’m done. At least for now. Stay tuned for our next episode where I ramble at length about Azur Lane and how I totally did not expect a show about women who are literally warships to so accurately portray and explore the complexities of war. And how parts of that show feel like they were lifted directly from my brain because I’ve struggled with the exact same thing as an aircraft carrier. And how conflicted I feel being attracted to a light cruiser.

(Side note: Please do not feel sorry for me or thank me or anything. Soldiers are not heroes. We’re just people. We do the job we volunteered to do, but we aren’t special. We don’t deserve a gold star for doing what we signed up to do. We’re just normal people trying to do what we think is right, just like everyone else. My trauma is the same as everyone else’s, no better or worse. It was my honor to serve, and no one owes me anything, not even gratitude. /endrant Sorry, I really hate the “hero myth” of the soldier. It’s fluffer-nutter.)

#symphogear #Senki Zesshou Symphogear #tsubasa kazanari #yuri #anime #ptsd #maria cadenzavna eve #mariabasa #symphogear xv #ame no habakiri

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lilahelynora · 4 years

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My Emotions | tw ptsd and other stuff mentioned

Everything in me right now hurts so so much. I’m about to go to sleep, it’s 27 till 4am; and I’m crying.

I feel invalidated about who I am and even on what I should believe in. I’m a victim of defamation but I can’t afford to legally take action against it. Everything inside me hurts, I try everyday to be my best self, to put my foot forward and push aside the crap I’ve been through before.

I try to support everyone and I do. I support everyone of every nature, because I don’t have a heart to be malicious or discriminatory and everyone no matter who they are or how they were brought up, deserves to have a life full of hope and love and support and so much more, everyone matters.

I have always put others before me. It may not seem like I do, but I do. I am very very sensitive in person, I feel a lot and sometimes I don’t know if it’s normal for me to feel as much as I do, but I do.

For me all of this emotional pain started because I found out about a breakup before anyone else did and since I was still a minor at that time, and very immature. I ran with it and tried to convince everyone to see what I saw that was right in front of me.

The other day, this week. I was medically diagnosed with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), growing up I believed personally that only people who have been through the worst things imaginable developed PTSD. That there was no possible way someone like me could develop it. I didn’t feel comfortable with my own self diagnosis, I made last year because I didn’t want to use a condition like that so carelessly.

But lone and behold I have been diagnosed by a specialist with it and after the defamation that was made against me and spread everywhere through a google pdf file made 8-9 days before my birthday and then virtually distributed everywhere on my birthday, I have fallen to my knees in agony.

I cried so hard on my birthday, that my birthday this year would have to be one of the most upsetting and worst birthdays I’ve had in my life, right above my 16th birthday.

People to this day online don’t believe that I am legitimately me, even after I sent them a censored out photo of my driver’s license because they believe the defamated pdf file over me. They don’t have remorse or guilt over how they see me, because they don’t know me. They don’t want to try to know me and that hurts in a whole different way.

Nobody sees me as a victim because they choose to believe a group of people’s bad experiences online with someone they are forever going to think was me, when it wasn’t. They don’t care how much I “cry” or anything, because to them and others, I’m no better than a speck of dirt under ones shoe.

I still call upon the Angels, God, Jesus Christ, Archangel Michael, the Holy Spirit, Mother Mary and my Spirit Guides (whom I hope to meet one day) to watch out for me. To guide me through this chapter in my life and to keep me out of harm’s way and to watch over me and help me heal inside. I know my spiritual being is littered with scars and bumps and bruises. I know the child inside of me is hiding in a corner with her head between her legs, crying her eyes out because growing up, everyone told her that her life was going to be full of wonder and hope and all of her wildest dreams would come true, but it’s yet to happen. She’s scared of what she’s seeing her older self is currently going through.

She feels the pain inside. Like a knife to a pad of foam or someone getting lemon juice into a fresh paper cut. I want the pain I feel inside to go away. I want to know and feel true and undeniable happiness for the first time in my life, to be able to wake up in the morning and be grateful to be able to wake up and live a new and fresh day.

I went to New York this year back in February, I was originally supposed to go for New Years; but I contracted Influenza Type B and couldn’t go. The airline luckily gave me two weeks for the same price of my original one week, when I rescheduled. Anyways, I was excited and had every reason to be. It was my first time in a whole new place, it was like another world to me. I never wanted to leave. Within those two weeks, I fell in love with the way I felt in that city.

I felt free. Sure the pending adult responsibilities I had were still there, but I felt free. I felt like I had hope for my future. When I went to the 9/11 memorial, I had to hold back tears because of the amount of energy I felt there (I don’t know how some people know that they’re an empath. But I feel like I am one, with how I can feel emotions and energy shifts and stuff).

Because of the defamation I experienced with the pdf virtually published and thriving just a few weeks prior to my trip. I still put on a brave face for my aunt that I was visiting and pushed through the little excursions I had. I didn’t even cry around my family members after it came out on my birthday, because of the fear of them finding out about my media platforms and them asking questions, I didn’t have proper answers too.

It wasn’t until my newly discovered cousin (my aunt’s daughter) went to her therapist appointment while I was staying with them, that I broke down in the waiting room in front of my aunt (and drew a few unwanted eyes on me) because I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go back to the same old lifestyle I had back home. Because back home, I was back to working at a place I didn’t feel safe in, I had my own family issues that I couldn’t ventilate with anyone due to not having registered yet with a therapist and more things.

I was scolded and reprimanded when I got home because my aunt told everyone about me breaking down and messily exposing some family issues, I was struggling with back home. Not gonna lie, I saw it coming. It was the first time with my aunt that I only just met and I sort of blew it in a way by getting emotional. Which I can also recall breaking down on the subway a day before I had to fly back and some guy gave me a few bucks and told me his own story of hitting rock bottom and while I wasn’t in a way at rock bottom, I was still seen by others as a young millennial who’s going through a big ass hurdle in their life and felt like the world was just caving in on them... and that there was still hope for me. I’ll never forget that memory.

I try, like I said, I try to be my best self. To be a good girl in society’s eyes. I’ve personally still never been kissed yet, or experienced forms of intimacy, or been to a party, or snuck out of the house, or held a disciplinary record at school (though I did have detention one time in middle school for not paying attention in math class), or smoked, or drank (unless the Smirnoff Malt Peach Bellini’s with a 0.5% Alc content count), or did anything with any serious consequences. I never had an overly zealous lifestyle like everyone else apparently has had.

Like my parents separated when I was around four, got legally divorced when I was roughly twelve or thirteen. My father gave up on me after I turned fifteen. Him as well as my grandmother (his mother) filled my head full of lies about my mother, so I grew up with a strong unnecessary hatred towards her and I’ve been told that when he was supposed to be “watching me”, when I was little, all he did was sleep and didn’t do anything. So I practically up and raised myself, which is my only defence when I made the self diagnosis last year of having PTSD.

And now at 4:58am, I’m laying in my pitch dark bedroom lit only by a small scent defuser plug-in from bath and body works, with an empty sent bottle that’s yet to be changed and having Birds by Imagine Dragons off of my “cloudy hues” playlist (made to listen during my depression episodes) on Spotify playing softly through my google home speaker that Spotify gave me as a gift last year for being a premium member, just thinking about what will happen next after the sun rises.

I’m exhausted. Physically and emotionally, I am stressed chronically and it’s valid. Like I’ve said repetitively throughout this long ass post, I’ve been medically diagnosed with PTSD. So I have chronic and traumatic stress and my anxiety isn’t getting any better and I know no matter what I do, no one will believe me. Because who would believe one person’s truth against five personal accusations inside one defamated pdf file with “screenshots”?

It’s one of those “fuck it” moments in life you know? Where you have to just throw your arms up and let them fall back to your sides in that dramatic clap and hope that in time, people eventually stop caring and paying attention. I know I’ll never make it in the acting industry as I’ve hoped to one day pursue because of that defamated pdf file. If anything I might still be able to be a writer or a photographer, I enjoy writing therapeutically (hence why this post is as long as it is).

I just... when the time comes for someone to “fall in love with me” (hell my reputation is already tattered like a flag, so if I do meet Dylan and he does naturally fall for me which is a slim 50/50 of even happening), regardless of whatever life throws in the way. I would like them to accept me as a whole, flaws and all.

That means to understand my upbringing, my emotional background and health history and anything else. If they can’t handle that information, then that says it all. I don’t want to be someone’s notch on their belt, I don’t want to throw myself at someone’s shoes just to get stomped on and thrown away. I want to mean something to someone, anyone. I want someone to say with all their heart and soul, “you matter to me, I love you even if you struggle with loving yourself. I accept you because you have been through your own personal hell growing up and no matter what, I will always be there for you because you matter in this world just like everyone else does” that’s what I want.

I have high and probably slightly deluded expectations, and I’m sorry for that but that’s me. That’s who I am as a person and if I have kids, I will never ever let them know how and what I went through because I am not one to corrupt the innocent. To change one’s image for their own game. I will teach them all about the wonders of the world and if god and the universe allow me to travel with them, I’ll take them all over the world and let them learn about everyone and their cultures and their stories. I’ll fill their hearts and minds with kindness and love for I have not one once in me, that’s capable of damaging them with the horrific truths we’ve all have lived and are living.

I would even teach them about every belief in the world and let them make their own choice and decisions with the proper respect and knowledge on what they choose to believe in. Everyone knows why there’s wars in the world, if it isn’t for fossil fuels (which I’ll also teach them about so they learn to love and care for the planet instead of destroying it).

My feelings are valid, and I am allowed to express them in a negative and/or positive way. I have been silenced all my life and I’m tired of that. I want this post to be the ONLY time, I ever have to say anything about that file that’s spread about me at the beginning of this year and for people to actually understand me and not mock me for once, just because they’re scared of how others will see them.

I never ONCE did any of those things that are in that pdf file that is said, I have done.

I don’t care if you want to personally burn me at the metaphorical stake or put my head on a spike, because you decided and chose with your whole little ass heart to believe what someone else said and is saying about someone they have never EVER met in person or even gotten to know instead of actually asking that person yourself if they did any of those things.

All this post is in the eyes of the ones who have defamated me, is a fleck of dust on their phone screens, that they’ll probably drag me over with their sum total of 5,000 or so followers who’s half total is probable bots and are all possibly deactivating one by one as you’re reading this.

It sucks what I’ve felt inside and I truly don’t want to continue to go through this.

And for anyone on Twitter that stumbles across this post, I would never stoop as low as you all have to get Dylan’s attention because you’re bored. I understand and respect Dylan’s boundaries and the “joke” you all tried to trend with a hashtag is sickening. That was not a joke and never will be applicable as a joke. Dylan has a life outside of the internet, he’s about to be 29 years old and doesn’t need a bunch of people on Twitter vindicating when he should post or come online or even babying him. He’s a grown adult. Treat him like one. Yes you’re a fan, but that’s not an excuse or defence for any negative actions on that platform.

It’s 5:30 now so I’m going to sleep, reblog this, share it anywhere if you want. I don’t care anymore. I am officially done with the bullshit. That pdf file that has been shared countless times on end is a form of defamation, no matter whatever shit screenshots or accusations are in it. It will always be a form of defamation, maybe only in my eyes even, but still. It is what it is and so it is. This is my defence and I want to officially be in peace or at least have someone or anyone feel for me in some way or another. It’s all I want. Because this post out of EVERY post I have done in the past. Is the last “explanation” post I am ever doing.

I hope everyone has a nice day - morning - etc. I love you all so much, even if you hate me or believed that post and I pray nothing but good light and graces come to your life as it has yet to arrive in mine.

All my love, Lillie 🥀

#personal #ptsd tw #me #SUPER long post #rant #emotional #insomnia #im sorry

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hintofcolor · 4 years

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Give me Damian Wayne with extreme PTSD

Give me Damian Wayne who flinches when someone raises their voice at him because of his mother. Give me Damian who freezes when the sound of metal clangs together because that was the last thing he heard before he watched his grandfather get killed in front of him. Or he can’t breathe when something, anything, presses against his neck because when he hesitated to kill his opponent his mother slit his throat then threw him in the pit. Give me Damian who is constantly looking over his shoulder, who has nervous ticks he desperately tries to hide. Who wakes up in the middle of the night coughing and gagging cause it was a little too dark and a little too cold and he could have swore he felt the Lazarus water burning his lungs and melting his throat and the only way he calms down is when he wipes his eyes and he sees it is only water not blood. Who hates fire and hates heat and stutters back when the fire place gets lit because they are cruel reminders that he died who has to press his fingers to his pulse to remind himself he is alive. he is home

Give me Tim Drake who has abandonment issues

Give me Tim Drake who flinches when some one touches him. Who is uncomfortable with physical affection because he’s never had it before. Give Me Tim who has to learn to conceal the panic when one of his friends leaves the tower to go visit home because they’re coming back. They aren’t leaving you. Give me Tim who, the moment he realizes he is getting close to some one, shuts off his emotions completely. Give me a Tim who sits alone and does his work because that’s his safe space. Alone. A Tim that bleeds a need of acceptance, who almost kills himself to get it. Who passes out on the training floor at 3 in the morning due to excessive exercise. The same Tim who cut off all emotions and refused to feel when Kon died because you swore you would never leave me. The same Tim who broke down in full hysteria when Bruce died, whose paranoia led him to a full mental breakdown where he sat half way across the world from his home, in an empty hotel room muttering to himself that there is no way Bruce is gone through sobs while the back of his mind, the strategist part, the detective part, told him that this is it that he’s going insane and that he’s going to lose everyone else because of it

Give me Dick Grayson with extreme insecurity issues

A Dick Grayson who puts himself in harm way to prove himself. Dick Grayson who crumbles and falls apart when a mission goes south. Who stares in the mirror and has to remind himself its not fake he’s real and the love he receives is real and valid. Who stands in his mentors shadow for so long he wonders if he is even there anymore physically or if he has finally just melted into the shadow itself. Who pushes himself so hard in training that he is dry heaving with a stomach that feels like a knife has dragged through it and legs that feel like rocks. Who ignores all his pain and keeps going because I have to make him proud and Dick Grayson who refuses the title hero because he doesn’t think he deserves it. Who believes he is still just a product of circumstance. A Dick Grayson who still thinks he has everything to prove. A Dick Grayson who hurts all the time because what gives him the right. A Dick Grayson who, after Wally, and Jason, and his parents, and Bruce, and Damian, and Donna, and Roy, believes that maybe just maybe it’s him whose the issue. Who sits on his bedroom floor in his tiny apartment screaming that why couldn’t it just for once be him instead. If the universe is punishing him for not being able to save all those people for not being good enough why can’t it just take him instead

Give me Jason Todd who has Trust issues

Give me a Jason Todd who had to hide under his kitchen table due to the fights and remembers it. A Jason who blamed his dad for the longest time for his mother’s drug addiction. Who cried and thanked God that his dad was finally getting what he deserved so maybe just maybe him and his mom would be okay. A Jason Todd who had to do such horrible things that he cursed the pit for leaving said memories instead of stealing them like it did his soul all to support her. A Jason Todd who thought that it’s fine, it’s okay because mom will overcome this and we will be happy. She promised. The promise that now laid cold and quiet on the bathroom floor. A Jason who always believed his mother loved him until she killed him in that warehouse. A Jason who was too quick to believe that Bruce cares about him. A Jason who was too quick to believe talia cared about him. A trust that took too many trips to the Lazarus pit to finally wash away. A Jason who just wants a family who will love him with no strings attatched. Who will be willing to just be there. A family he is terrified to find in Roy and Artemis and bizzaro because every time he gets close to some one they turn out to be monsters. Who is tired of looking for dependence. Who pushes everyone away. Who doesn’t talk about his past. Who doesn’t meet people’s eyes. Who laughs when people say they care. Who always has walls up because he let them down once, and he ended up bloody on a rooftop with the only person resembling a father saying all but he hated him.

Give me real human type bats.

Stephanie Brown who is terrified of becoming like her father. Who is stuck in the mindset that she will always be a d grade hero

Cassandra Cain who is terrified of truly hurting people. Who doesn’t want to be scary. Because her mom is scary and she isn’t her mom

Duke Thomas who freezes every time the joker comes around because all he can is his parent lying died with smiles on their faces.

Harper Row who was a little bit more difficult to train because she freezes and shrinks when someone raised their hand. Who felt guilty when Dick stopped the exercise to comfort her and tell her that one here was ever going to hurt her. That she was loved.

Kate Kane who still flinches at comments and slurs because in the army it seemed to go a little pass just words. Who still remembers the look on her sargents face when he dishonorablely discharged her. Who still shrinks away from public affection. Who despite her persona is still dealing with internalized homophobia

#dick grayson #jason todd #damain wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #kate kane #batfam #this might be ooc a little but i stand by it

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justseveralowls · 4 years

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You are not alone series: Anxiety

Hello, I am trying a new series based on spreading awareness and trying to end the stigma/misconceptions about various disorders/diagnoses. I am these posts that will help educate and alleviate some of the feelings of isolation and loneliness that can come with mental health struggles. Read on if you or someone you love struggles with this. You are not alone and your struggles are valid. (Sources at the bottom)

Common Types:

Acute anxiety: This is the type of anxiety that occurs as a natural part of everyday life, this can be something like nervousness before a meeting or occasional racing thoughts. A key difference in this is that the symptoms are occasional, not constant, and not disruptive or overly distressing in everyday life. This particular sort is experienced by virtually everyone.

Generalized anxiety: Marked by chronic and persistent anxiety most days for over six months. Covers a variety of fields, not one specifically.

Panic disorder: Recurrent panic attacks, either triggered or unprovoked. These attacks are often associated with physical responses and come on quickly and often without warning. Fear of having more attacks can lead to more anxiety, even triggering the development of phobias.

Social Anxiety: This is a disorder closely related to specific phobias. This is anxiety-based upon fears of social or performance-based situations. Usually, these are centered around the fear of being embarrassed or humiliated. This can prove debilitating and occur across different social settings (school, work, friends).

Specific Phobias: An intense fear or aversion of a specific object or situation. Marked by persistent and irrational worries surrounding the object of the phobia, out of proportion to the actual danger surrounding the object.

Many people find themselves aligning with many types of anxiety, don’t be concerned this is fairly normal as many of these types can overlap or co-occur. For the purpose of this post, these are the main types I will deal with (OCD and PTSD will hopefully have their own separate posts).

By the numbers:

Now this section contains some base averages and statistics around this type of struggle. For math-minded people (like S) this can be helpful for putting things into perspective. Feel free to skip over this if it’s not your cup of tea.

Anxiety Disorders are the most common diagnosis in the United States;

Over 18% of Americans every year are experiencing one of the above forms of anxiety. Globally the number is estimated around 13% (Following statistics are from the US Source is linked)

Generalized anxiety 3%

Panic Disorder 2.7%

Social anxiety 7%

Specific phobias 9%

Even just by the raw numbers, anxiety is real, it is not as “unusual as it is made to seem, and by no means are the people who experience it alone.

Misconceptions (Basically me on a milk crate yelling)

“Panic attacks and anxiety always mean crying and rocking back and forth on the floor”:

Nope, although that can be what anxiety looks like symptoms of anxiety are rarely so cookie cutter for everyone.”

Common symptoms that are dismissed or stigmatized include: irritability, being unable to communicate (selective mutism or even just being stuck on specific words or phrases), Sensory overload (being overwhelmed and unable to filter or process sensory information), yelling/ snapping at others, isolation, procrastination, trouble concentrating ect. THESE SYMPTOMS ARE JUST AS VALID AS “TYPICAL” PRESENTATION.

“Anxiety is only a problem for people that are just too high strung”

For the love of socks no, In fact, there is no one default cause of anxiety that pops out anxiety. Factors like genetics, brain chemistry, social environment, life events, personality, and much more contribute to the occurrence of anxiety.

“Anxiety is simple and not too big of a deal”:

Couldn’t be further from wrong actually. Anxiety is so varied and different in every individual that it’s incredibly complex. Anxiety can also be extremely debilitating and is often co-morbid with other disorders. It is definitely a “real issue” and should be taken seriously.

Final Message/Reminders for fellow humans with anxiety:

Anxiety is a real and valid problem that deserves respect and recognition as much as any other struggle. Anxiety does not make someone weak, strange or abnormal. Living with this takes immense strength. This problem does not invalidate someone’s struggles, feelings, or even preferences.

To those with any of these: your problem is real, your struggle is valid. This is not your fault, you are not unreasonable and you deserve to feel safe and happy. This can get better. And as always you are not alone.

Source one

Source two

Source three

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onlyonewoman · 4 years

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Eleven very problematic heartbeats

My Juice/Tully altenate ending AU is among the top 100 SoA fics on AO3 in terms of kudos, without any category (sexuality, warnings, content rating etc) weeded out. If this sounds like bragging then yeah, of course it is to some extent, but mostly it says more about how plenty of people are able to read stuff that’s: - Non canon - Uncomfortable - Morally challenging - Problematic and toxic without loosing the moral compass! After that stupid shit happened when someone in the SoA fandom decided I was a threat to the fandom, toxic and shaming self-shippers (which I don’t, I just don’t understand the concept wich is a whole different thing than shaming) and also shipping a rapist with his victim without any context added to exactly HOW this fucked up ship set sails at all, I am so greatful for all the people who gave my story and chance and tell me how: - They KNOW how absolutely horrifying this idea would be IRL but still love it in this imaginary bubble. - They feel challenged by my portrait of Tully and pulled between the realisation of his awful actions and my background history for them. - They WANT to hate him and KNOW they should, but can’t, because that’s how we learn empathy. My story doesn’t excuse or defend rapists, it only declares them humans and no monsters. My story is an AU where so much of the roots come not just from the prison stuff in SoA, but from Oz and where I deliberately try to dig into how we see a rape as more unforgivable than a murder and how we, as an audience of shows like SoA, slowly get dragged into the main characters moral compass (or lack there of) and how it completely clashes with everything a reasonable human being would think and do, yet we still root for them. Eleven Heartbeats is NOT a defence of rapists or a clear case of Stockholm Syndrome, but an exploration of what we’re willing to do to: 1. Survive when we’re not supposed to. 2. Hold on to a company we can’t choose when we’ve been sentenced to isolation. 3. Look the shame and self-hatred in the eye and let go of toxic pride in order to tell ourselves that being alive and find some happiness even at the bottom, is a natural instinct and not something we do or do not deserve. It’s a moral greyscale where Juice and Tully both are forced to live with their crimes and both have the choice of die as they lived (like Jax) or keep on living without regret (like Happy) or try and scrape out the good crumbles of them that remain and let go of the toxic fucking “honor code” that says death is the only way to pay for grave sins. We let Kurt Sutter drag us through 7 fucking seasons of more and more moral decay and we loved the sociopaths and psychopaths he let us close enough to get to know on the safe distance from the screen. It means a lot to me with the support and comments and kudos on Eleven Heartbeats, since you lovely readers seem to understand so well how this isn’t a defence of rapists or a “bad guy turning good with love” or a black and white Stockholm Syndrome case. Neither is it a Tully/Juice canon shipping story because clearly there was no such thing as consent between them in canon. And why do I have the bad taste of bragging with my statistics for this? Well, because I want to encourage people who write highly problematic ships that as long as you KNOW what you’re writing and don’t seriously PROMOTE abuse by pretending it’s a form of a healthy love (yeah, E.L. James, I’m looking at you!) it’s completely valid and okay to step into the grey zone and play around. Eleven Heartbeats is NOT a story about saving “the bad guy” with love. It’s not a “he didn’t know any better” story, it’s not a “you can change him with love” story or an “it wasn’t really rape” and I really love how my readers always keep that in mind, not forgetting about or forgiving Tully’s transgressions, but also not dehumanizing him for them. I’m so happy that this story that some people actually made “we should erase this from the Internet” posts about (yeah, they wanted it to be fucking ERASED), keeps getting more readers, kudos and new people commenting and sharing their thoughts - and of course I can’t stress enough how absolutely crucial the support from the readers giving this a go from the very beginning has been! All the love to you and remember: exploring emotions in fics is normal and healthy and a great outlet for thoughts and ideas we don’t dare to share openly. It doesn’t mean we endorse them all, doesn’t mean we’re loosing our moral compass or our capability of separating fiction from reality. It doesn’t mean we’re promoting rapists and their victims in Stockholm Syndrome situations, but that we challenge our comfort zone while being completely clear on where the fic stops and reality begins. Thank you, every single one reading, subscribing, leaving kudos and commenting - and now also TRANSLATING!!! - Eleven Heartbeats. You make this journey to one of pure joy, despite the grave and dark content. And of course, all the gratitude in the world to the one who inspired this story: @ineedthesons and her increadible The Comforter series. Eleven Heartbeats wouldn’t exist without that. Also, thank you @theruneofkenaz for your support and don’t miss her amazing Wait for me story and thank you dearest GirlWhoLovesMonsters for the support and equally awesome Hell Has A New Name story. And if you’re in a toxic relationship or suffer from PTSD or something else due to trauma like those described in this story, remember that your life is not a fanfic and that fanfics like this aren’t some creative excuses for an abusive partner - or parent or friend or sibling or whatever - but just a fan fic with roots in what I hope we all realise is a world that we’d shun if it hadn’t been fiction: Sons Of Anarchy.

#juice x tully #the toxic ship #sons of anarchy #gratitude post #thank you guys #seriously

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asking-jude · 5 years

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Me and my bf broke up. Largely due to the fact that he wanted kids and i didnt. I also have PTSD and it affected our relationship. I'm heart broken. I fear that I'll never have a long term relationship because of my issues. I'm hurting.

I’m so sorry that all this is happening to you. :( Fellow child-free person here. Let’s take all this and separate it into two parts.

First, let’s talk about not wanting kids. As a child-free (CF) woman myself, I want to remind you that not wanting kids is a totally valid choice and that you do not need a reason for it. Not wanting them does NOT mean something is wrong with you. Having or not having kids is a situation where there is no compromise; there is no way to have half a kid or to expect only the partner who wanted the kid(s) to raise them. I’m not saying that you will definitely regret not having them, but if you do, it’s ultimately better to regret not having kids than to regret having them because children are living beings, not merchandise that can just be returned to the store. The stork has a no returns policy XD I do think it’s highly unlikely that you will regret not having them, though, because most people who don’t want them don’t regret their choice.

Look up /r/childfree and “Childfree is Not a Dirty Word” if you want to hear more about people who don’t have kids and don’t regret it. You are definitely not alone in not wanting them; not everyone wants to be a parent and no one has the right to shame you for it. Many of the people who post there discuss their own childhood experiences that shaped their desire to be CF, so proceed with caution as some of the material may be triggering (there are usually warnings so you won’t be re-traumatized). Why is this the case? Many cases of child abuse happen in families where the abused child(ren) was/were not wanted, but the parents had them and raised them anyway.

Coping with PTSD can’t be easy, and it’s also difficult to see loved ones struggle with it. Not everyone knows how to or is willing to support a partner who has it. I hope you don’t feel like just having PTSD means you’re a terrible person because it doesn’t. It means that if you want a romantic partner, then that person will need to be able to support you as you heal. This will require plenty of patience, compassion, empathy, and even some understanding of PTSD itself. There are people who have these traits out there; you aren’t guaranteed to be forever alone. The best things you can do are to show yourself those traits and to get yourself whatever help you need so you can be happy.

You are not a terrible person. Let that sink in. I know that breakups always suck, no matter what the reason, but in this case, it was necessary. Like I said before, having kids does not have any sort of compromise option available. Your ex very well may not have known how to support you through PTSD or he just wasn’t willing to do so. Whatever the case may be, give yourself time to heal. Try to take care of yourself as best as you can; don’t forget to show yourself some compassion and patience. You are not alone and you definitely deserve help; reaching out to a mental health professional is a very good idea so that you do not have to endure this by yourself. This does not mean you are weak; sometimes, adults encounter situations that are just too big to handle alone. I think this is one of them.

Hugs,

Angelica Barile

Asking Jude needs YOUR help! Donate pocket change here and save our safe space.

#ask #advice #mental health

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