warnings: description of sickness, injury mention/description, blood mention, brief description of hallucinations/paranoia (Boba hallucinates when he’s sick, but we don’t get too into that), angst, language
word count:~5.6k
There is very little that Boba actually knows or remembers when it comes to the concept of clones, outside of the general public knowledge.
Jango always kept that aspect of their life relatively separate, and by the time he was old enough to know and understand, it was too late.
Logic lets him know that he shares the same genetic structure as his “father” and about two million or so other men out there. He looks the same, sounds the same, probably — to some degree — acts the same.
But outside of a base overview, he really doesn’t know all that much about clones.
Camilla Collins lives a sedate life as a inventor and researcher of all things superpowered. Five years out of university and she’s finally making use of the degree she undertook. She’s found professional success like she never dreamed, but all of that’s about to come crashing down. When a UFO sighting leads to an unexpected encounter with an old flame and an ex-lover, Camilla finds herself enticed by desires she’s never felt before. Surely…surely she isn’t interested in pursuing a mature, adult relationship???
it’s difficult, it’s all just so difficult in a way that doesn’t quite make sense.
we go out to get something to eat together and there’s moment
after moment where i look at your hands or make you laugh and all
i want is more of it, more of those little moments and more,
your eyes on me, my head on your chest,
fingers moving deftly around a knife in a kitchen flooded with light,
something warm and soft and full that stings in a pleasant sort of way.
and it should be easy, i’ve always liked a little blood, always liked
the way a knife glints, always liked how it hurts when people turn away.
but it’s something different altogether, the scene’s washed in
some different kind of light. the actors are moving the same way,
we’re moving the same way, but everything is washed in red and crimson
instead of yellows and blues like it usually is, everything screams
danger and panic and grief, and it’s not familiar. it’s all wrong.
the knife raises and raises and then falls, and halfway down i can
see how it’ll all turn out, see the reflection in the camera lens, and it’s what i always wanted;
a hand reaching out to a flame and getting burned, then recoiling,
something glass and fragile being dropped from a height and shattering,
destruction and desolation and isolation and failure,
all these things i usually wanted, destruction just the way i liked it,
so why is everything crimson? where’s the horror movie soundtrack coming from?
fine, let’s change the scene. we’re on a road trip and i’m driving even
though my hands tremble on the wheel and you’ve got the radio cranked up
and you’re laughing and tossing an energy drink at me
and you look beautiful in the golden hour light and suddenly i’m hitting the brakes
and pulling off to the side of the highway because the gold shifted to crimson again.
this shouldn’t be difficult. it isn’t for everyone else.
they’ve always said it’s what makes us human. so why is it so difficult?
the director shouts again, again from somewhere and the scene shifts once more.
i’m sitting in a room illuminated by a screen your name is on and your voice is
in my ears and i’m laughing, and you’re laughing, and everyone is laughing.
you must notice that something is off because you remind me that you love me, that i’m a great friend,
but suddenly my hands are shaking again, over the keys now, and i hope
you don’t notice how unsteady my voice is when i laugh back at you,
that you don’t notice how the blood seeps out from the hollow of my chest
and trails down my ribcage, each beat twisting the knife a little more.
once more, with feeling, as if just saying that doesn’t wrench open the wound again.
we’re sitting under an old magnolia at the edge of my yard, secluded and rural.
you could scream and no one would hear you, you tell me,
and so i scream, and keep screaming, til my throat’s raw and
everything comes out red and half-gurgled. i scream and you look at me
and hold out a magnolia blossom, and we lie there together under the branches
in the hot july heat, waiting for the bad feelings to be chased away,
the knife cast away and left to rust in the tall grass somewhere else.
but that’s still not right.
but now i’ve pushed too hard and something’s wrong with the lighting on set,
crimson to green and grey and white, everything’s flashing and it’s hard to think,
and i think i see someone’s face, and i think they’re good and lovely and beautiful,
but everything is flashing and i can’t be sure, because everything is flashing
and my head is pounding and it’s too difficult to put a name to it.
what i’m feeling must be fear, but which kind? what i’m feeling
must be panic, but in what way?
when i see their face, am i afraid because i want something normal and friendly?
when i see their face, am i afraid because i want something else?
i keep trying to ask but the lights keep flashing and nobody answers.
this page of the script is blank and the director is shrouded in shadow and unresponsive.
tell me, which is it? is it love or not? can i feel love or not? can i be loved or not?
but there’s nobody working on set and i don’t know how to make the lights stop flashing.
the way they blend into each other, the way the crimson always finds a way to peek through the rest,
the way it’s all so overwhelming and god damn it’s so hard to think.
it’s supposed to be what makes us human. how are you supposed to know?
how can anybody know when it’s like this? are the lights flashing for everyone else?
fondness either grows or festers, then it’s shoved into my arms
and i have to figure out what to do with it. how am i supposed to know what it even is when the lights keep flashing?
i want to have someone, i want to be certain,
i want the scene to be holding hands in a well-lit room instead of being blind in the dark,
i want light, and i want gold, and i want the bad feeling to stay away.
-
hi, i’m ic and i’m grey-aromantic.
i’ve been feeling and thinking a lot about what that means to me lately, and figured that valentine’s day is as good a day as any to make a bit of that public, partly because i know i appreciated reading about other people’s experiences when i was trying to figure shit out, and partly because i’ve had this on my mind for so long that i kinda just want to share it.
until recently, i never had crushes. as a kid, i always figured i’d have a high school sweetheart, or find someone who makes me nervously excited with just a look eventually. and then i didn’t. for a while i thought i was aromantic, but when i found the term grey-aromantic (or grayro), something just clicked. here was a word for what i’d been feeling, or maybe what i hadn’t been feeling. here was validation for never having dated or had a crush, for feeling drawn to people but being uncertain regarding whether it was platonic or not, for having such a strange relationship with relationships.
a little over a year ago i started reading up on grey-aromanticism and felt that click. i finally stopped lying and telling myself i was completely aromantic (which was partly because of low self-esteem and partly because i’d never had a crush, which isn’t to say that aromantics are invalid because they’re just sad, not at all; that was merely my experience), and told myself that if i felt drawn to someone, i’d genuinely explore it instead of shutting it down like i had before.
onemaybe-a-crushand oneprobably-almost-certainly-a-crush later and my perspective has changed a bit, especially after the former. it made me realize that a significant part of me, in spite of all the anxiety and self-image issues, actually wants a partner. which sounds lame but as someone who spent a long time convincing myself i’d never have or deserve that, it feels nicer than i expected.
so yeah. happy valentine’s day, especially to my ace/aro spectrum folks. you’re not broken, no matter what a holiday might try and claim.
this time around’s no different, i’ve played with chance like you. i’ve loved to toy with fate, but, oh, i didn’t have a clue—
THAT I WOULD LOSE! oh, i would LOSE! between my left and right, one day i’d have to choose! “you’re not like me, i’m not like you, i’m not who these things happen to!”
a decade ago, 20 children and 6 staff members were shot and killed in the tragic sandy hook elementary school shooting. today, a decade later, 14 children and 1 teacher had their lives taken at robb elementary school in texas. it’s been a decade, and there has been nothing done to prevent this from ever happening again. may they all rest in peace.
the south texas blood and tissue center are in critical need of blood donations following this horrific mass shooting. you can visit their website to find a donation location.
One of the kids I’m babysitting rn just asked me, “Miss Amy, can I tell you a secret?” and then informed me that his brother does not have blood anymore, because they saw a doctor take it
Same kid that attended this Sunday’s church service in full vampire bat costume and screeched loudly anytime someone said his name
Update his two year old brother just handed me a partially squished cockroach
Today’s secret is “if I carry too many things, I die,” and he definitely, for sure did not tell me that specifically because I asked him to pick up his jacket moments beforehand
“Where’s the tiger?” the five year old asks, peering around the zoo. “I don’t see him!”
“Probably he had to get his covid shot,” says the three year old, nodding wisely.
How could I possibly forget this exchange
“You can’t play with my skunk,” says the three year old, snatching the toy from the five year old. “Mr. Skunk doesn’t like you.”
“Whoa, whoa,” I say, while driving. “Mr. Skunk likes everyone!”
The three year old makes direct eye contact with me in the rear view mirror. “Except the police,” he says darkly.
Overwhelmed! When the five year old learned that I’m having a bad day today, he immediately asked me to take him home so he can “get us a snack and help with whatever you want to do today.”
The three year old has offered to carry all the backpacks into the house, despite his former statements re: dying if asked to carry his own belongings
Today the two year old stole the headphones I always wear, put them on upside down, and ran away yelling “hi Babydoll!” over and over, which is in fact how I greet him. I did not come here to be roasted by a toddler
I recently put a purple streak in my hair! The three year old says that he loves it. He says he loves my brown hair too, because it’s beautiful. I feel very loved and I am going to bake him cookies about it
The three year old has covid (he’s okay), so I won’t be seeing the children this week :(
Here’s another story from last week instead:
“Do you want to come make paper airplanes?” the five year old asks. “I have a book that teaches you how.”
“Sure,” I say, following him upstairs. “I like paper airplanes.”
“It’ll be easy for you,” the five year old assures me, “because you can– wait. Can you read?”
The three year old has recovered <3
He’s also a little confused by the phrase “playing a trick,” so if he suspects I’m teasing him, he’ll point and yell “you’re tricking!” instead
Today he told me that I’m “always tricking…… kind of like satan”
Why the fuck don’t vampires understand animal agriculture.
“Oh we are vegetarian vampires, we only drink blood from animals, so we go out into the incredibly unique temperate rainforest ecosystem of the Pacific Northwest and hunt their rare megafauna” what the fuck dude. Why? Just keep some cows, y’all have so much money! Just keep some goddamn goats! Order some live horses! Leave the local wildlife alone!
“I am a vampire with a soul and I am so tortured with guilt all I can eat are rats off the street” off the street!?! Dude what is wrong with you. Just start a rat rescue. I have friends in rat rescue. Do you have any idea how many rats they get all the time? Rats that aren’t covered in fleas and filled with diseases??? Rats that are pregnant and have baby rats? You’ll be eating for the rest of your life!
All these vampires making eating the hardest fucking thing in the world like we never figured out how to get continuous animal resources for food thousands of years ago why the fuck you think you have to be hunter/gatherer about it like it’s the goddam Paleolithic
…But also for the love of Gordon Ramsey you can just BUY beef and pork blood from a butcher! Enormous drums of it! You could fill up a whole above-ground pool with ethically-sourced animal blood for less than the cost of heating your stupid mansion and have an entire Parasitic Pool Party!
I think the thing I love most about the Jonathan Harker x Dracula ship is the inherent corruption arc in their dynamic. Dracula is a fundamentally evil creature; if he loves, it is a predatory, possessive love that demands the object of his affection be brought down to his level. For Jonathan to be loved by Dracula means that he must either give in to sin of his own free will, or else Dracula will claim his soul by force - all it takes is a single drop of blood.
This was the crux of their division. Stede grinned at Ed as their swords clashed together, pivoting his body to the left. A lesson once learned. There was forgiveness to be found in blood; Stede was willing.
But when Ed’s rapier pierced his flesh, Stede let out a surprised yelp. Slowly, he looked down. Drew in a painful breath.
“You… the wrong side?” Stede whispered.
“Nah, mate.” Blackbeard hissed, stepping closer. “Reckon I got the right side, this time.”
You walk along a food aisle in a supermarket. You are suddenly six years old and helpless. You continue walking. No one looks at you. When you get into your car you cry and cry and cry.
Your friend introduces you to someone. They smile and offer their hand. You think that their face looks a little familiar. You don’t take their hand. You feel like screaming.
You watch TV, you clean your room, you listen to music, you read, and you count the dots on the ceiling. Sometimes you do all of this at the same time. It’s still not enough.
A friend is retelling a joke and playfully smacks you. They continue with the story, but you won’t be able to move or speak for the next six hours.
Someone is talking to you, and you politely nod along. There is a child with them. They proudly state that the child is theirs. You look at the child and resist the urge to take them with you. Their eyes haunt you for the rest of the day.
You are alone in a room. Someone is here with you. Someone is always here with you.
At random times of the day you are possessed by the need to scream until your lungs fill with blood and your body crumbles into dust. This is normal, and should be ignored.
Today you will decide whether you live or die. This decision does not depend on you, but on whether or not a specific song is playing on the radio.
You have to go into the shower. You don’t want to get into the shower. You spend days thinking about getting into the shower. Finally, you manage to get in. You can’t get back out. This happens every week, and you still don’t know how you escape each time. You fear that one day you will drown without making a sound.
Every time you look at the walls, the details get more distorted and the floorboards get longer. You have to start letting your eyes pass over them just to get through the day.
You have imposed your own superstitions just to appease your fractured mind and you live with it because you have been taught nothing else.
You want to prove yourself worthy of living, so you stop eating. You stop drinking. Why would you think hurting yourself means you deserve to live? There are no answers, so you continue on.
Whumpee’s feet fumbled and slid across the carpet as they scrambled to keep up with Whumper. Fingers bruised deep into their arm, wrenching their shoulder forward as they were dragged upstairs to the office.
Whumpee stumbled forward, tripping over the rug as Whumper shoved them into the room. They clattered to a halt on top of the antique trunk Whumper used as a coffee table.
“Get in.”
Whumpee glanced around the room. “Ge-….what?”
“Getin.” Whumper nodded to the trunk behind them.
Whumpee twisted to stare at it. It was- it was barely bigger than them! Whumper couldn’t be serious. “Wh-why?”
“Because you’re going to be bleeding a whole lot less if you get in yourself instead of making me put you there.”
Not the question.
Whumpee swallowed with some difficulty, but managed to turn on their knees, picking at the cool metal hatch pin until it came up. They stared over their shoulder. “Please - a-at least tell me what I did.”
Whumper snorted out a mirthless laugh. “You’re doing it right now. Does that give you a hint?”
Whumpee’s eyes twitched away, heat rising to their face, they started at the small dark corner of the box. Their legs and fingers were trembling.
No,all of them was trembling. The tremor wound from their lungs down through every horrified cell of their body, scratching at their mind and screaming at them to stop.
Slowly - so slowly - they lowered themself inside.
.
(To be continued with the rest of the claustrophobe scene…)
Warnings: Some dark subjects here. Suicide (minor character), self harm, blood, nudity, navigating some extremely fucked up power dynamics, implied noncon, severe panic attacks, BBU/BBU-adjacent
The shower in the staff locker room can’t get hot enough.
Sebastian stands there long after his skin is pink beneath the spray, lost in his own head. His skin may be scrubbed clean after the first few minutes, but he is confident his body will never forget the memory of this stain.
Two slashes down the wrist with whatever contraband they’ll inevitably find later in her cell.
And he couldn’t save her.
Oh, fuck! I had forgotten that’s where we’d left off!
Tomorrow morning, he will do whatever is required of him to file a formal application with contract affairs.
YES!!! YESSSSSSS!!!! OH GOD, YES!!!!!
Oh, Peach, this chapter fucking murdered me!!! Jaime falling apart like that is not only heartbreaking and a testament to how fucked up he is in that moment, but also speaks loads of how much Sebastian has actually gained his trust.
Damn, i love them so much, you don’t even know! I’m glad I was finally able to read this one
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