#sorry to offload all of this and i hope no one reads it unless they want to

[wooahaes]

i wanna talk about it, so i'm gonna talk about it.

cw for death & loss of a family member, mental health issues, shitty family relationships, suicidal thoughts. just... it's a lot of my thoughts because i need to get them out, end of.

i knew what i signed up for when i told my parents i would be the one taking care of grandma when she entered into hospice. i grieved then, i think, and that's why i've been so... okay now, in a sense. like, it hurts, but it doesn't feel like a new pain. it feels like that phantom ache you get when you think about past heartbreak, or how i feel when i remember my long-time best friend and i aren't speaking to each other anymore because we just drifted apart. i think now i feel both guilty and relieved. relieved that she's no longer struggling because i know my grandma always hated feeling like she's a burden (she's not and she never was, no matter how often we told her this) and being so reliant on us.

and guilty because i had a breakdown in the days leading to her death because everything had weighed down on me so heavily. i hate the things i thought in the heat of the moment while i was sobbing one night after she'd gone to sleep, so angry because of how much things had changed. she was getting worse. the nurse had taken out the catheter because she just couldn't do it anymore, so i was constantly being called to help her with that. i was tired. i just wanted to sleep, and my sleep schedule became this ugly, messy thing of sleeping when i could and being called every 1-2 hours (3 if i was lucky, and i've never been lucky).

i feel guilty that dad was the one who found her. i don't think she struggled. i think it was just... one minute she was here, trying to sip a gatorade, and the next she was gone. i'm glad she didn't struggle. i'm glad she's no longer struggling, even though i miss her. i wish i had eaten dinner with her more often, but she always shooed me away because of that feeling of being a burden. i didn't want to argue with her, so i did what she asked for me. but it's so strange because dad found her, woke me up, and we just... the shock broke both of us, we both cried. he called my mother, i called hospice, and within an hour, we had calmed down and were working on what comes next.

and then an hour later, we were all sitting together with the hospice nurse, waiting for the funeral home to come and get her, and we were laughing over stories. it was so strange. it was almost like we had all moved on quickly, except no one had because there was this tension in the air. i think if we hadn't been laughing and talking, we would have been crying. i think i'm honestly grateful that we were laughing.

i told a lot of my close friends. i vaguely posted here because i knew i'd talk about it more later, but i told my friends pretty much outright. initially it was shock posting, of me breaking because it happened so suddenly. and then i talked more with people. i decided that i just wanted normalcy for the most part, that i'd reach out to people or talk with them all if i needed to talk.

it just feels so weird. life moves so fast. i just want it to slow down for a minute.

the funeral is this afternoon and i'm not going. my parents understood even though my mother won't stop bitching about how she wishes i would go so she doesn't have to. i know it's because it's physically hard for her to go, but she's not the one who spent almost 6 weeks caring for grandma around the clock. she's not the one who was emotionally and physically exhausted by the end of it, the one who woke up every day wishing to kill herself because all of the stress was getting to her.

our relationship was actually good for a minute, but now she's back to being the bitch she's always been. one of my friends said something about the way his step dad used to be: if he was having a bad day, then everyone had to feel the effects of it. and while he grew, my mother's always been this way and always will be this way. she's never going to change. if she was, she would have changed by now. she knows she's hurt me. she's asked for forgiveness not because she felt remorse, but because she's worried about not getting into heaven or whatever. i wish she'd just realize we're never going to agree on anything, so avoid those topics so that we can pretend we're fine because i leave and never speak to hr again. it's what i do.

we're moving into my grandma's house. it was left to us in the will, and now it feels weird to go through so many of her things. we've already made the decision to donate her clothes (she was a tiny woman and all of us are very much not tiny) to a women's shelter in our city. we're slowly going through things, figuring out what we're selling, what we're keeping, what just needs to be thrown out. it feels like no one else here cares even though i know my dad does. he's lost both of his parents now, after all. it's hard on him and he's never going to show it because he's never been an emotional man.

i'm so tired. i just want all of the hard parts to be over now.

#wooahaes.txt #sorry to offload all of this and i hope no one reads it unless they want to #i'm just... very tired and no one is online #my friends have been so so sweet about things and i appreciate them so much #also thank you to those who left kind words for me on that other post. its hard and i appreciate the kindness a lot right now

[ahsokasleftbicep]

Name and Soul: Chapter 1

Alright everyone here is the first chapter of the series. Apologies for the delay, I had a lot of editing to do. I hope you enjoy it!

@mqgriett

Crosshair x F! reader

Word Count: 3440

Warnings: Amnesia like stuff. Language. Bad Batch SPOILERS: DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU HAVE SEEN THE FIRST EPISODE OF THE TV SERIES!

It’s odd how quickly things change on the battlefield. This kind of change you never expected. You and the Bad Batch met about a year after the war started and with your sharpshooting and other combat skills, Hunter offered that you join their team. You got along with most of the group very quickly, with the exception of Crosshair. Over time, after a lot of sneers and eye rolling, the two of you grew closer. After a particularly grueling mission, both of you admitted how you felt and now the two of you barely went anywhere without the other. You were the perfect duo, with both of your skills combined, missions went without a hitch almost every time.

The group had been called to the planet Kaller to assist Master Billaba. Her padawan, Caleb, you believed his name was, led you and the boys to his master. That’s when it happened… that change, the shift in the air. The troops turned on the Jedi and fired on her. Order 66. Caleb bolted, running off into the woods, sliding down hills with a certain hatred in his eyes that you had never seen in someone so young, so… innocent. You, Hunter, and Crosshair ran after him. The woods were so peaceful compared to the chaos everywhere else.

It was quiet and Caleb seemed to disappear. You looked around and saw him in the trees. “Hunter, Crosshair, I found him.” While Hunter tries to convince the kid to come down, Crosshair aims at the kid. “Crosshair no!” You tackle him down into the snow.

Caleb runs off, Hunter yells out, “Crosshair, what are you doing?”

“Following orders. Get off me Y/n.” Crosshair shoves you off him before getting up.

You follow him, an angry look on your face. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“I’m following my orders. We need to find that Jedi.” The man walks off, you tailing behind him.

“Crosshair, we don’t even know what the order is.” You grab his hand, “Just wait until we know what’s happening.”

He turns his head towards you before scoffing, “Fine.”

Good soldiers follow orders. Crosshair mumbled that before Hunter sent you back with the others. When all of you got back to the ship, Tech explained that all the clones had been ordered to execute the Jedi. Saying that they committed treason and tried to kill the Chancellor. The war was just somehow over. None of it made any sense. According to the sergeant, Caleb died in a fall. You all got ordered back to Kamino, offloading and heading to your barracks.

“Hunter let that Jedi kid escape, or do you want to keep lying?” Crosshair sneered.

Hunter gets up, “I don’t like to think of executing our commanders as an objective.”

“An order is an order, Hunter.”

“Since when Cross? You’ve never been one to follow orders, why are you starting now.” You raise your voice to the two men. Everyone goes quiet.

“Don’t act noble y/n, you’re as much to blame as Hunter is for letting that Jedi escape. I could have gotten him if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“He was a child!” You walk up to him, glaring into his eyes.

“He was a traitor!” Crosshair pushes you back before continuing to clean his weapon.

You speak up after a while. “This doesn’t make any sense. General Billaba and her battalion have been in numerous battles, serving alongside each other for years.”

Echo speaks up this time, “How could they turn on her like that?”

“Because of the regs programming. It’s been documented that the Kaminoans inhibited the functions of clones to engineer them to follow orders without any question” Tech explains. “They manipulated everything, Crosshair’s sharpshooting and Hunter’s enhanced sense. And of course my exceptional mind. I assume that we are immune,” Tech glances at Crosshair. “at least, most of us.”

All personnel report to the staging area for a briefing on the state of the Republic.

--

You felt so out of place in the staging area, surrounded by clones that felt off to you. Their mannerisms were different, more robotic. You were drawn back at attention when Chancellor- no Emperor Palpatine began speaking.

....And the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated. The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed. But I assure you. My resolve has never been stronger! In order to ensure the security and continuing stability…

… the Republic will be reorganized… into the first Galactic Empire!

“Galactic Empire?” You look over to your team in confusion. Sudden cheers ripple across the room, the other clones celebrating like it's the greatest thing in the world.

--

Tech and Wrecker were arguing at the table. You kept looking at Crosshair, he was acting odd, well more that usual. He’s still acting like a prick, so that’s a good sign. He let you sit next to him, so that was good too. But he kept rubbing his head, like he had a migraine of some kind… so odd. You nudged his thigh.

“Are you feeling well, Cross? You look sick.”

“Thanks for the compliment, y/n.”

“You know what I mean... tell me what’s going on.”

“Just a migraine, don’t worry about it.”

“An Imperial’s been sent to evaluate the clones.” Hunter speaks as he sits down.

“What kind of evaluation?”

“Hopefully not mental. Clearly we’d never pass that… well, maybe y/n could.” Tech nods his head to you.

“Oh I doubt it, with all the stuff we’ve been through together, I’d probably fail.” You take a sip of your water before something catches your eye.

Omega shifts awkwardly, “Hello again. Omega. From earlier?.... in the corridor.”

“Yeah, kid. We remember.” Hunter raised his eyebrow at the child.

Hunter was about to ask about the kids parents before a couple regs interrupted. “Check it out. The defect squad’s got themselves a recruit.” Before you can react, Omega throws her food at the clone. Hunter tries to diffuse the situation, but you didn’t get your throw in so you grab your tray.

“Y/n, don’t.” Crosshair attempts to grab your wrist but just misses you.

“Don’t worry, Cross. I won’t miss.” You wink at him.

“Hey Wrecker, let's show the kid how it’s done, yeah?” You aim before to throw the tray at the clone. “Oops, my hand must’ve… slipped.”

All hell breaks loose and punches are thrown. Echo got knocked out, when the boys got up to go get him, you walked by Crosshair. Here goes nothing.

“Crosshair?”

“Hm? What is it?”

You grab his hand and pull him into a hall. “What happened on Kaller? Tell me what happened.”

“I told you, it’s just-”

“Why are you lying to me?” You pull his hand, drawing him closer.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, it’s you all. You’re the ones who refused to carry out the order.”

“An order to kill a child, Crosshair.”

“That child was a traitor to the Empire.”

“But a child nonetheless.” You retort.

“You don’t understand, none of you do. Just drop it.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Crosshair, you’re worrying me.”

The man looks down at you, he looks so lost. “There is nothing wrong. I promised I would never lie to you when I proposed.” He tugs at the delicate chain around your neck, fiddling with the ring that he gave you just weeks before.

You look at him, skeptical, “And you’ll tell me if something is wrong? Cross your heart?”

His lips tilt up, “Cross my heart.”

--

Echo told you all about Tarkin. When you all started heading towards the training facility, the shock troopers stopped you.

“Y/n L/n? Admiral Tarkin has asked you to sit out of this battle simulation.”

You furrow your brows, “He’s asking me to not train with my team?” You look at Hunter and shrug, “I’ll be watching, I guess… Be careful, something doesn’t feel right.”

Wrecker speaks up, “Oh don’t worry Y/n, we’ll be fine!”

When you arrive at the observation deck, you are greeted by Lama Su and who you assume is Admiral Tarkin.

“Ms. L/n.” The prime minister greets you in a monotone voice.

“Prime Minister, may I-” you were interrupted by Tarkin.

“We can dismiss formalities, begin the simulation. Ms. L/n, you will be answering some questions for me.”

“....Of course, Admiral” You stand next to the man, watching the boys go through the course.

“What is your opinion of this team, L/n?”

“My opinion, sir? Well they are the best group I have worked with. Their skills are the most impressive I’ve seen.” You speak as you watch Crosshair take out the tower cannons. Wrecker is having the time of his life by the looks of things. So far so good.

“Switch to live fire.” Your blood runs cold, live fire? What is going on here? You watch the new droids take their place down below, Wrecker got hit and you tensed, unaware that Tarkin noticed your worry.

“And what of your relationship with these clones?”

“My relationship sir?” Your eyes catch onto Crosshair in the tower, moving to run out the door when he almost falls from the tower. Tarkin didn’t miss that either. He turned his head to you, an eyebrow raised.

“Surely you’re aware that relationships within the military are forbidden, especially with these… clones.” The bile in his tone made you sick, you wanted to punch him.

“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting Admiral, but I can assure you that my relationship with my team is strictly as comrades.”

“I’m sure of it then. I will be sending Clone Force 99 on a mission. I ask that you stay in Kamino during that time. And one more thing.” Tarkin turns to you. “Did your team carry out Order 66?”

You grit your teeth, “Yes sir, the death of the general and her padawan were confirmed, was that not clear to you?”

“Only the death of General Billaba was confirmed, a counter report was filed by one of your own says otherwise.” Tarkin turns and walks out. “That will be all Ms. L/n, you are dismissed.”

Once Tarkin was out of sight, you ran back to the barracks. You rush in, seeing the boys, frustrated looks on their face. “Who’s that Imperial bastard think he is?!”

Echo turns, “Y/n! Are you alright? What happened?”

“He questioned me about you guys. Asked of my opinion… and of my relationship with you all…”

“That bastard,” Echo clenches his fist, “He knows everything about everyone. He’s got it out for us.”

You look at Crosshair, “Tarkin said that one of us filed a counter-”

The door slides open and the devil himself walks through, “That was quite an impressive display, Nala Se claims that you are all more capable than an army.”

Hunter steps forward, “You have a mission for us, sir?”

“Yes, a group of insurgents in the Onderon sector. They must be dealt with. Unfortunately, Ms. L/n will not be able to join you. She will be staying here on Kamino while you complete this task.”

--

You help Tech load the last bit of supplies on the ship. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll stay in the barracks until you come back.”

“It shouldn’t take us long. If everything goes according to plan that is.” Tech says.

You smile and walk down the ramp.

“Y/n.” Crosshair calls you over.

“Yes Cross?”

He takes your hand and runs his fingers over your wrist, avoiding your eyes. “There’s something-”

“Crosshair! Let’s go!”

He looks back at you, apologizing. You squeeze his hand, “It’s okay Crosshair, we can talk about it when you come back.” You lean up and kiss his cheek. “ Be careful, okay.”

“Okay, y/n.” He pressed his lips to your temple before climbing up the ramp. They take off and you turn around, finding Omega behind you.

“Hey, uh, Omega right?”

“Yeah! And you’re y/n.” You can’t help but notice the worry in her features.

“Is something wrong?” You lean closer when the child just nods

“Kamino isn’t safe anymore, we need to get out of here. Something is going to happen, I just don’t know what. But the boys aren’t safe here.”

You kneel to her height, “Okay, I believe you. Something has been off ever since the order was declared. Keep quiet for now, okay. When the boys come back, we’ll figure something out.” Omega nods and runs off to Nala Se.

--

“Y/n!” Omega rushes into the barracks.

“Omega! What are you doing here?” You walk up and close the door. “Oh hey AZI.”

-“Ms. L/n. Omega, Nala Se instructed us to stay in the medical wing.”

“You guys can stay, think of it as a research assignment.” You smile at the girl.

Omega and AZI are looking around the barracks when troopers come to the door.

“You are not authorized to be here.”

You speak up, “Omega is fine, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

The trooper turns to his partner, “Pack up their gear and take it to the hangar. You two, you’re coming with me.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong, and you are not touching our stuff. Back off!”

The troopers grab you and Omega.

“Let go of her!” You struggle against his grip, then everything goes black.

--

You groan and open your eyes.

“Y/n! Are you okay? They hit you a-and then threw us here!”

You grab Omega’s hand. “Slow down, I don’t know what’s happening, but you need to stay calm okay?”

The door slid open, revealing the batch, they were missing their armor. “Guys!”

“Y/n, what happened?” Hunter helps you off the ground. Crosshair just rubbed his head and walked to a corner.

“I don’t know, they just threw us in here.” You rub your head. “What are you guys doing here, what happened to the insurgents?”

Hunter pauses, “They weren’t droids, they were people. There were children and elderly. We didn’t hurt them.”

From the corner, Crosshair interjects, “Because Hunter went soft, he had us disobey orders.”

“What? Crosshair, they were living people.” You look at him, confused.

“We’re locked in here because of him. First the padawan, then Gerrera. You’re becoming a liability, Sergeant.”

“Enough.” Everyone looks at you, “None of this is helping us get the hell out of here.”

--

After Omega spoke to your fiance, you quietly sit next to him. “Crosshair, I know you’re the one who filed the report.”

“How smart you are, y/n.”

“You don’t have to do this. You would never do this.” You're interrupted by the man that threw you in here.

“CT-9904, you’re coming with us.”

Hunter jumps up, “Oh, no, no, no. We stay together”

“Stand down!”

“Crosshair!”

“I said stand down!” The trooper shoves you back into the cell.

--

As Crosshair puts on his armor, he notices a chain with a ring around his neck. He doesn’t remember who or what it’s for. Help me, please. Don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt y/n.

Tarkin approaches him, “CT-9904, the prisoners have escaped from the brig. Make sure they don’t leave this planet.”

Crosshair tucks his helmet under his arm. “Yes, sir.” Good soldiers follow orders.

--

You tighten your hand in Omega’s as you run through the halls to get to the hangar.

“All right, this way. Let’s make this quick.”

Tech runs to power up the ship, and the hangar door opens.

You tighten the grip on your rifle, “Omega, get down. Do not get up until Hunter says so, okay?” You look up and see him.

“Crosshair, it’s me. I-”

“Crosshair?”

“Best stand down, Sergeant.” His eyes flit over to you. “You as well.”

“Lower your weapon.”

“Y/n” Hunter looks at you. You nod and raise your rifle.

“I can’t do that Crosshair. I’m sorry. I’ll come back for you, I promise.”

One of the troopers fire, blaster shots flying everywhere.

“Omega, go!” You yell out. You glance back and see Crosshair take aim at Hunter. A shot fires, knocking the rifle out of his hands. Omega. You take aim at his rifle when he tries to grab it again and fire. Crosshair shoots up as you run to the ramp, grabbing Omega and throwing her inside. Crosshair kept firing with his pistol, you returned fire, but did not hit him. You couldn't hurt him.

--

After the Marauder got into hyperspace, you sat down in Crosshair's room, your shared room. You fiddle with the necklace when the door opens, revealing Omega.

“Hey, are you okay?” The mattress bends a little.

“Yes… no, I’m sad and confused.” You feel tears welling in your eyes but blink them away. Omega looks at your necklace and points at it.

“What’s that?”

You smile softly at her. “It’s an engagement ring.” You chuckle at the confused look on her face. “It’s something that a person gives to someone that they love so much, that they want to spend the rest of their life with them. Crosshair gave this to me.”

“So he loves you and you love him?” The girl scoots closer out of curiosity.

“I love him very very much. I miss him very much too.”

“How did you two meet?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You really want to know?” The girl nods enthusiastically. “Well, it’s actually a pretty funny story. Before I joined the batch, I lived off the grid. When the war started I joined a local militia on Batuu, I was a sniper like Crosshair. Kept innocents safe, took out droids. One day there was a larger group of Seperatist droids causing trouble, I got sent out to look around and take them out.” You look over at Omega and she nods. “Things didn’t go exactly as planned, and a couple of civilians got caught in the middle. A droid was about to take a shot and my rifle had jammed. So I just ran towards it and tackled it. At the same time, someone shot me in the leg. When I looked back, I saw Crosshair standing on a building, all tense. Well, he was grumpy that I blocked his shot and he carried me back to the ship. After I healed up, Hunter offered me a spot on the team. And I’ve been with them ever since.”

The girls eyes widen. “So you’re a sniper too? Can you teach me?”

“Teach you? What, to shoot?” You look at the girl in surprise.

“Yes! I want to help however I can. Can you teach me? Please?” Omega got on her knees and bounced on the bed.

“I’m not the best-” You sigh, “Okay, okay. We can ask Hunter tomorrow.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you!” Omega hugged you, smiling.

“Of course, why don’t you get some rest. You’ve had a long day.” You pat her head. “You can sleep in here until we set something up for you.”

“I’m not tired though.” She could barely hold her eyes open and she kept yawning.

“Sure you aren’t. Come on, bed time.” You pick the girl up and lay her in the bed across from you. You tucked the blanket around her and got up to leave, but she tugged on your hand. “Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“We’ll get Crosshair back, I know it.” She lets go and closes her eyes.

You crouch down and smile softly, “I know we will too, Omega.”

--

Crosshair sits on his bunk, staring at the necklace in his hands. He looks again at the engraving on the ring. O'r gai bal runi.

“What the hell does that mean?” He grumbles and turns the ring in his hand. I don’t remember why I have this. That women… y/n… she had the same ring around her neck. Who is she? Crosshair puts the necklace on the side table.

He rubs his head, furrowing his brows. Fight back! Fight back dammit! Get out of here!

“Shut up already…” Crosshair climbs into the bunk and stares at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

Everything hurts. NO! NO! Don’t let me hurt them again… I can’t hurt my brothers. I can’t hurt her. Y/n, y/n, please don’t leave me. HELP ME!

“Crosshair!” You shoot up from your bed, gasping for air. You look around wildly in the darkness. I heard him. I swear I heard him.

A small voice calls out, “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“I- Yeah, I’m alright, just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep Omega.”

You lie back down in your bed and grab your necklace, moving it around in your hand. We’ll find you Crosshair, we’ll bring you home.

#name and soul #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #tbb spoilers #star wars

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Don’t Write Me A Postscript Chapter: III (I / II / IV / V / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI / XII / XIII) Fandom: Red vs Blue Characters: Church | Alpha, Dr. Leonard Church | Director, Jerome Dupris | Agent Nevada Summary: He was all sorts of fucked up and didn’t want to admit it. Being alone for fourteen months didn’t help matters--except, well, Church was tired of being alone. Tired of people leaving and dying--and he thought, no more. I’m done. I’m out.

Won’t Say You’re Sorry (I / II / III)

Do You Even Feel Compassion? (I / II)

The first shipment arrived with the materials that Church expected easily enough. What Church hadn’t expected was the supplies not being airdropped and rather the pelican carrying them landing in front of the busted entrance to High Ground. Nevada stepped off of the pelican and began to oversee the movement of the equipment boxes—most of them were small, light things that contained oils and simple mechanical parts Church knew from previous experience. The larger crates, however, Church was at a loss for. Unless they chose to send him some pretty damn expensive heavy artillery Church couldn’t fathom what the larger crates contained.

(this place was safe, right?)

(right?)

Once each crate and box were offloaded the pilot and the few technicians returned to the pelican. Nevada turned toward Church and handed over the manifest.

“You got some nice computer equipment and the materials of a basic set up,” Nevada said, and he sounded rather wry. “It was determined that leaving you with absolutely nothing to entertain yourself except for shooting things was a bad idea. Oh, and that crate?” Nevada gestured to one of the larger crates that the technicians had trouble offloading, “I was told to ‘consider it a gift’ or something. It’s not on the manifest.”

Nevada tilted his head, and Church thought the man might be winking before he paused, then cursed to himself.

“Anyway, gotta go!” Nevada waved. “Keep in touch; remember, weekly updates, kid!”

Church screamed, “I’m not a kid!” as Nevada raced onto the pelican and the rear hatch slid shut. Church watched the bird take off, and then huffed angrily. What was with Project Freelancer and treating him like he was a child?

(I’m almost seven)

(not a child)

(never a child)

Church shook his head and turned toward the crate that Nevada called a gift. He frowned in thought and wondered if the Director honestly sent him a gift or not. More than likely it was Nevada’ way of a gag—he’d learned the other man had quite the pranking streak, referring to Church as a kid or not. Church considered nobody more childish than Nevada—except, maybe, Washington but—

(oh god no)

hesgonehesgonehesgonehesgonehesgonehesgone

(please)

Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault

(why?)

—Church mimed a calming breath, thought back to the anger management classes he’d had years ago—

(hadn’t he?)

—and grabbed the edge of the high-density polymer crate. He dug into the latches and pried them free, and with a grunt Church shoved the lid off. The crate came up to almost his chest height, and the expensive materials in its design made Church wonder just what was so important. The lid crashed to the ground and kicked up enough dust that for a moment Church’s visor was blinded; when it cleared he stared at a large stack of comics.

Hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of comics lay in the crate. Church stared, his mouth fell open and for a second his processor skipped. The Director actually listened to him? He couldn’t fathom it. A part of him wanted to dive right in and screw getting the materials into the safe space Church set up as his quarters. Another part of him wanted to wrap the crate up and stuff it in a deep dark hole, uncertain how to feel about the ‘gift’ from a man he hated-loved.

Carefully placed in the exact center of the crate, on top of all the comics, rested a note. Church eyed it for a minute, noted the Director’s precise and neat handwriting that he reserved for when he felt he needed to be formal—far different from the messy scrawl that dotted every notebook the man ever owned—and addressed simply to Private Church. Church froze, and then with quick movements he grabbed at the top of the crate and pulled it back on.

(no)

(how could you?)

(why?)

Church tightened the clamps back down and turned to focus on the supplies as a whole. He needed to get them in to the secure area that he worked hard to get put together out of the ruins of High Ground.

(what angle is this?)

(what do you want?)

Thankfully in the first few days at High Ground Church found a forklift that he quickly retrieved. He loaded the small boxes onto larger crates, and then drove those crates into the base. He focused entirely on his task, and not on the crate of comics—he did bring them in as well, but he left them sealed within their expensive box and put them out of mind. Instead he worked on a means of organization for all of the new supplies—he’d have to expand the secure area, Church noted.

(haven’t you done enough?)

Church began to plan how the expansion would need to work. He removed his power armor and grabbed the scraps of paper and few writing utensils he’d unearthed and began to scribble down calculations and a rough floorplan to work with. It’d take him maybe a week to clear the full area, another to get systems back up and running—and that all depended upon what he did. Tauntingly, by the bed, sat the crate of comics. Church found himself with a frown as he occasionally glanced back at the crate, confused.

(you never cared before)

(so why now?)

(what changed?)

The “weekly” check ins with Agent Nevada lasted a month. A month of avoiding the crate and the shipment supplies that were dropped off filled with books and comics and video games—things to occupy himself with that confused the hell out of him. A month of once a week chats with someone who didn’t treat him like shit all the time, someone Church didn’t feel the need to cuss out all the time, someone who calmed the rage inside. A month to get to know the man behind Agent Nevada.

(Jerome Dupris)

(I liked him)

(he was…nice)

Then all contact disappeared. When Church attempted to radio Agent Nevada he was met with sharp static and nothing. The channel they used was dead.

It left Church feeling sick. The guy had a wife and child he regularly communicated with—least of all Church himself. To hear the man suddenly go silent pulled Church into a frenzy of panic. Part of him hoped the man returned home—returned to his wife returned to apologize—

(he’d asked once)

(just once)

(he never asked again)

The next shipment of supplies—more materials to care for his android body—came without Agent Nevada. That was when Church knew.

(not another one)

(please)

(I liked him)

Church didn’t need the grim faced random troopers who unloaded the supplies to know what had happened. Or at least what he’d expected. The lack of Agent Nevada—

(Jerome Dupris)

(his name)

(important)

—Church shuddered. He hoped he was wrong—he prayed he was wrong. That was when one trooper handed him a letter, silent as the grave. Church had received several letters nestled within crates filled with time wasting items. He’d never read any one of them. This letter though was handed over carefully, the troopers nodded, and left just as silent as they arrived.

Church stared down at the envelope in one hand. He stared at the familiar scrawl—neat and tidy in the way official letters were. Church could remember—

(UNSC personnel)

(Mr. Church there was an—)

(Allison)

(we’re sorry)

(god Allison)

(—no remains recovered—)

(no, no, no you are wrong you are—)

—he mimed a breath and with controlled hands because being a robot in some ways was awesome and he could stop himself from trembling even though he knew he’d be shaking like a leaf. Church never dealt well with bad news. Not in Blood Gulch and not Before. The seal did not part easily—power armor, Church cursed. Of course he had his power armor on. With a grunt Church shifted the letter and stuffed it between his undersuit and the breastplate. He left the supplies outside and stormed inside, back into safety—

(he nearly killed himself there)

(Nevada—Jerome—was so worried)

(kinda funny)

(fuck)

Church grunted and growled to himself as he worked his gloves off, yanked his helmet free once he’d released the latches and it hissed away from his neck. He scrambled to pull the letter out from between his undersuit and his breastplate and now the envelope parted easily beneath almost-human hands. He pulled out the letter inside, dropped the envelope to the ground—Private Church, it said. He’d rather the envelope were addressed to Alpha. He didn’t want to be Private Church right now.

(not another one)

(I can’t)

(not again)

Church unfolded the letter, steeled himself, and began to read.

Dear Private Church,

(pretentious southern asshole)

I regret to inform you that your contact with Agent Nevada will henceforth be no longer required. Due to the Agent in question being no longer in the employ of Project Freelancer, and for your own continued safety. I do apologize if you feel inconvenienced by this change in routine, but it was determined to be for the best.

(what happened?)

(where is)

(stop lying)

All supplies from here on out will be airdropped to you if they are needed. A request for further assistance can be sent through your terminal. Please be aware flooding the terminal with anything not a request for supplies will revoke the privilege.

(privilege?)

(privilege?)

(god)

(you’re not my father)

We will contact you once it is deemed safe for you to return.

Sincerely,

The Director of Project Freelancer

Dr. Leonard L. Church

Church wanted to scream. That told him nothing. That—he wondered if the reason he needed to be placed in such a ‘secure’ and remote facility, a base no longer functioning and therefore a place no one knew to look for him; he wondered if it meant whatever was hunting him, found Agent Nevada. He didn’t have a heart anymore, or organs, or a throat, or even tear ducts, but Church felt like he couldn’t breathe anyway.

(you don’t need air)

(you can’t breathe)

(you’re not human) (I am human)

Church felt like his eyes burned, and unbidden he hissed between his teeth and closed them shut. His fingers gripped the letter tight, tight enough to crinkle the paper, to tear—Church stiffened, then relaxed and hastily began to straighten the letter out. He moved over to his desk and carefully set it down, retrieved the envelope and placed it beside the letter. He’d clean it up, maybe repair the paper, and set it aside for safe keeping later. Right now he needed to get the supplies in, focus on unboxing them.

Church mimed a steading breath, and turned out of his safe space. He could do this. He never needed anybody, after all. He’d said so before, he’d say so again. Church would prefer to be alone.

(no one would die on him then)

Church didn’t need anyone.

(liar)

(don’t leave me please don’t leave me)

(I don’t want to be alone)

(don’t make me be alone)

(I’m scared)

(Tex)

Church didn’t need anyone.

Dr. Leonard Church breathed out heavily as he stared at the report in front of him. He’d known this was long coming for him—the weight of his sins settled heavily upon his back. He knew there’d be retribution. Malcom Hargrove would never take his not-so-subtle theft of property laying down. He’d known what the man planned—suspected at least—as soon as he’d been named Chairman of the Oversight Committee. He knew Hargrove spent a lot of money to set that up.

The UNSC had their own special oversight that watched Leonard closely, watched his comings and goings and kept an eye on the results of his experiments—the results of AI working with neural implants and agents. His dear ‘Counselor’ worked to report his every move to the UNSC after all. There was nothing they didn’t already know, nothing that he could truly hide from them. The Great War took a toll on everyone, and sometimes inhumane acts for the betterment and survival of humanity were required.

It left a sour taste in Leonard’s mouth.

The UNSC and ONI never had a problem with Dr. Halsey until recently—through the grapevine and then the widely publicized events following the end of the Great War Leonard heard about Halsey’s subsequent arrest—and, until Leonard’s own project details became public knowledge he knew they’d have no problems with him. As soon as Hargrove’s ‘investigation’ was finished, however, Leonard could expect a cell in some far distant prison ship, left to rot the rest of his life away, or ONI would take command of whatever happened to him.

Leonard felt resigned to the events to come. He couldn’t stop it if he tried, he knew that. The best he could do was mitigate the damage to the surviving members of Project Freelancer, stop Agent Maine from destroying everything—or perhaps it was Sigma now, Leonard couldn’t be sure. At any rate the agent would need to be carefully lead into a place to be put down, the AI he’d captured decommissioned at most, perhaps salvaged at the least as he knew ONI would desire to have Alpha and his fragments in their grasp.

Under any circumstances Leonard truly did not desire to let Alpha or his fragments fall into ONI hands. He’d rather they be removed from the UNSC as a whole; he’d long suspected Alpha had obtained ‘meta-stability’ and in turn could live out a full life, even if it was one that was pretending to be human or even unknowing of just what exactly he was and had always been. Perhaps Alpha would show signs of rampancy later down the road, but for now—for now Leonard could hope that this one thing would go his way.

Then there was Carolina and Washington to consider and Leonard really did not want his sins to fall on their shoulders—he never wanted his sins to fall upon their shoulders. Leonard knew he’d royally messed up—first in that he’d never quite treated David right out of guilt and shame, and second that he’d never really had been all there for Charmaine like she deserved—but if he could get this one thing, this one thing right then maybe he’d could feel less like a hot mess and more like the barely functioning human disaster that he was.

Agent Texas came to mind as she always did, along with Allison, and the grief that still burned through his chest like an inferno at the sudden, intrusive thoughts. Leonard breathed deep and bowed his head, buried his face into his hands and dug his fingers into his hair. Lord above help him and have mercy; he’d need patience to pull this entire mess off and come out at least somewhat functional, if alive. Maybe ONI would let him—

Leonard grit his teeth.

Don’t think on it. Not now.

The worst part about this mess was the disappearance of Agent Nevada. As far as Leonard could tell them man either deserted his post overseeing the slow transition of releasing the Red and Blue sim troopers from their contract with Project Freelancer, or he’d been killed. Neither option left Leonard with much to work with—he didn’t want to leave Alpha completely cut off but now, with how thin his resources were between carefully dismantling his own Project in preparation for the fall, and trying to halt Maine’s advances and rampage, and then keeping Alpha safely tucked away and out of sight—no, Leonard couldn’t spare anyone to hunt down just where Nevada got to.

Another sin to place on his back, Leonard mused, alongside unrepentant torture of his own mind. Leonard always wondered how he might’ve fractured if he’d been pressed—to know did not make him feel remotely better, even when examined clinically. He wasn’t sure which was right; to be a mess of a human being with his own baggage and trauma, or to be a fractured mess of a human being with no memory of his baggage and trauma except within the fragments of his own mind.

And now David knows, or at least suspects. At least Aiden doesn’t suspect I’ve long since known just what their little ‘talks’ entailed. Leonard sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He removed his glances, squinted at the lenses. He’d need to clean them off from his own fingerprints again; damn it all.

Leonard thought to his little gifts to Alpha—the games, the books, the comics, the limited access to a network connection—and hoped that his AI accepted them. Little acts of kindness do not years of trauma make up, Leonard knew, and yet he couldn’t help but try. He couldn’t help but offer the snippets he’d denied the AI for so long, after so much pain and loss.

It didn’t work on you, why would it work on him? his mind traitorously whispered. Leonard sighed. He just hoped Alpha understood—even if he didn’t remember. Was any of it right? No. Not it wasn’t, and Leonard knew that. Leonard knew that he’d crossed boundaries; he’d long accepted his own sins.

Allison, his thoughts betrayed. Allison, Allison, Allison. She haunted him and Leonard found himself drawn once more back to her. He had to—there was a chance—but only after he’d dealt with Agent Maine. Only after this mess with Hargrove was done. Once Alpha was truly safe, truly free, then, Leonard consoled the specter in his thoughts and in his office, then he’d work on getting it right.

#rvb #red vs blue #leonard chuch #the director #alpha ai #fanfi #fic: don't write me a postscript #walking human disaster #what is even happening now #minor character death #agent nevada #alpha church #mental health issues

[dorothydelgadillo]

9 Ways to Manage Your Inbox Instead of Letting Your Emails Manage You

American office workers are spending an average of 6.5 hours per day responding to and generating email. And according to Verizon, 90 percent of Americans bring their smartphones to the bathroom.

I had big goals for a recent precious Saturday. Weeks ago, I sent my husband a calendar invite that read “Laurie Writing Day.” He graciously accepted, and when I left the house he and our two boys were hammering away (literally) at their latest home improvement project.

I arrived at our town library to find my favorite table in the quiet room empty and waiting for me. Score! I was free. And fired up. Yet with one rookie mistake, I nearly sabotaged my entire writing day trying to clear some headspace before focusing on my creative project. I stupidly opened my email. Three hours later, I was deep in the rabbit hole yet still only halfway through several hundred work emails.

As a working mother, I spend too many days waking up at 5:00 a.m. already feeling like there aren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish everything I would like to. As I churned through my emails I started to question—how much of this can we own as individuals? If we acknowledge (as countless articles have) that email is universally reviled, if it’s quantifiably stealing years from our one and precious lives, where is the revolution?

But there are options here, especially if we focus on human beings and the choices at our fingertips.

1. Block Time

Block time on your calendar for “email churn” and avoid checking it any other time. Whether your block lasts one, two, or three hours is up to you—decide what works in the context of the expectations of your chosen profession and level. Just make sure you give your team the heads up.

At this stage, you might be thinking: “But you just don’t understand. . .” Rest assured, I do. Exceptional circumstances are the bane of change, in my view. Dare to question your assumptions; there are usually workarounds.

For example, client responsiveness is key in my profession. Yet at the same time making meaningful progress on projects often requires several hours of uninterrupted focus. How should you reconcile these two things? First, I turned off the new message alerts that pop up every time an email arrives—how incredibly distracting! To compensate, I created sound alerts for specified individuals, namely my clients. This way, I don’t miss important outreach and I am not distracted by the constant visual and audio pings of arriving emails.

2. Make it a Team Effort

Support your team’s use of time blocks and real downtime. Avoid being that annoying colleague who clicks send on an email then runs down the hall and asks “Did you see my email?” I know I am guilty of this myself. Agree on a strategy that works for everyone.

For example, instant message (or dare I say an old fashioned phone call) is a great workaround for time sensitive outreach. Just be careful not to abuse the system in your enthusiasm—there is a difference between satisfying our craving for instant gratification and that which is truly time sensitive. Which leads me to. . .

3. Be Thoughtful

We’re all suffering from email overload, but we’re all contributing to it as well. What can we do, as individuals, to reduce this suffering?

For example: I had 30 or so emails in my inbox that included some variation of “Hi Laurie, are you free to catch up this week?” That’s it. No context. No available times proposed. These emails create several avoidable extra steps for me, and are more likely to be filed or deleted. It’s mathematical, not personal. I love my work and the people involved, but there are only so many hours in the day.

When crafting an email:

Be succinct but offer context

Offer available times if attempting to schedule

Consider if all recipients truly need to be included

Avoid back and forth thank you, you’re welcome, and other pleasantries that multiply email traffic

If it’s after hours or on the weekend, consider saving it as a draft or scheduling delivery during business hours. We all need a break from email. This isn’t a lack of worth ethic; this is brain science. Many of us catch up during odd hours, but this creates unnecessary stress for others. Unless it’s urgent, do we really need to click send immediately? I’ve received emails from people I respect on Easter Sunday and Christmas Day. And as I caught myself judging them, I realized I was the loser checking email. On Easter Sunday. And Christmas Day. There are no bad guys and good guys here; we are all co-creating this insanity.

4. Avoid Checking Email First Thing

Getting sucked in to email upon waking up in the morning is a well- known productivity killer. And yet so many of us do it. Why? It’s gratifying, it’s easier than tackling harder tasks, and having so many unread emails can feel mentally paralyzing or even risky, especially if we’re working across global time zones.

Try this: Before anything else (except maybe meditating or exercising) spend 15-30 minutes clarifying your goals for the day and planning your schedule. Then ideally accomplish one nagging task—this sets you up mentally for a productive day.

Now it’s time to check in and make sure there aren’t any landmines in your inbox.

5. Address Root Cause Issues

Investing the time to address several root cause issues of email overload would be time well spent:

Report spam

Unsubscribe

Use email signatures or text expanders for often used responses

Discover what other email productivity hacks exist in your Outlook, Gmail or other providers

Ask to be left off unnecessary emails

6. Take Command of Your To-Do List

Your inbox is not your to-do list.

Whether you use a technology solution or an old school notebook, have a place to offload the mental weight of your to-do list. Even better, calendar it. If the deliverable is important, dedicate specific time. If it’s not, file or hit delete.

As a next level hack, designate a clearly identified place on that list for your top 5 priorities for the day. This is your North Star. This is what you (not others) have identified as your top priorities.

This accountability will serve you well when you find yourself churning through email or being pulled in to the fire drills of others throughout the day. Ask yourself: “Why is my attention elsewhere and not on my top priorities?”

It’s like meditation. We’re human and prone to distraction, especially when it involves helping others. The magic is recognizing when we’ve drifted off and getting ourselves refocused. Over and over again.

7. Write Like a Boss

My emails are lengthy. I like to write. My poor suffering colleagues would likely vote me off the island if brevity mattered. So it’s time to walk my talk.

Moving forward, I am committed to writing a healthy percentage of my emails the way CEOs do, specifically:

Keeping emails very short (possibly one line)

Saying “No, but thanks” more than others would like

Using “On it” to assure the sender I have their outreach in mind (which I may or may not action right away)

Reduce the number of people cc’d

Using fewer lead-ins and other non-essential words—emails are specific and straight to the point.

Ramping up quick responses from my phone instead of more thoughtful (and lengthy) responses from my desk

Reducing use of small talk, pleasantries and social banter

This last one may take some getting used to. I like people, and want our exchanges to be friendly and warm. Professionally and personally this matters. But I am committed to the cause.

8. Declare Bankruptcy

Several times a year, I return from vacation with 600-800 emails in my inbox. For an efficiency hack, this is paralyzing.

While keeping up with email during vacation may not be sound advice for everyone, ultimately I found that it works best for me.

The trade-off? I declare bankruptcy my first day back in the office. Everything truly essential has already been dealt with or delegated while I was away. Now, it’s time for the egregious act of hitting select all and moving everything to a folder I cheekily name something like “August 2017 Post Vacation Bankruptcy.”

My inbox is empty. My head is clear. I can focus on my top priorities. And while I am mildly anxious and have undoubtedly disappointed some, the overall benefits are worth the risk. I trust that anything urgent will appear again. And I am prepared to own it and say sorry if any important balls get dropped which, surprisingly, rarely happens. Later, I will churn through this folder (at a designated time—see Rule #1) and make sure I didn’t miss anything.

9. Set Boundaries

Is anything sacred anymore?

I attended a wedding in 2007 when BlackBerrys were all the rage. Being issued one signaled to the world that you were important. At one point all five groomsmen were heads down on their devices during the rehearsal which took place at a beautiful vineyard on the North Fork of Long Island overlooking the ocean. Instead of connecting with each other or enjoying the view, these old friends were on email. Remember this was before iPhones, before we were all so addicted. The emails weren’t urgent but the groomsmen’s desire to impress (or check out) took precedence during a once in a lifetime weekend. I snapped a photo because it was novel; but that scene might be considered normal now.

Ten years later, I am hopeful that having the courage to be unplugged and present in our lives will emerge as the new status symbol.

Meantime, we are in control of how much we allow email to infiltrate our lives. Just because an email arrives doesn’t mean we must immediately respond. Ask yourself: “If I am being honest, is this really so time sensitive?” Better yet, ask your partner. They will happily tell you no, it’s not.

Whether for a project requiring deep focus, family dinner, date night, workouts or other elements of living a fully realized life, experiment with setting aside a sacred block of time when you’re 100 percent off the grid.

Does your commitment to being a present parent or avoiding burnout trump your fear of missing out? Is it strong enough to overcome distraction? Have you told others so they hold you accountable to your commitment? A few months ago, I set a goal of taking a one hour walk per week without my iPhone. I’ve been surprised and humbled by how difficult this is. I am still a work in progress on this.

We are all a work in progress. At present, I feel like email is winning. But this afternoon, I transformed my frustration in to this article. I am fighting the good fight, and this small victory will hopefully serve others as well.

Bonus: Use Email as a Force For Good

Spend five minutes today sending someone a note expressing gratitude, kudos, or support if they’re going through a challenging time.

This post originally appeared on Ellevate Network.

from Web Developers World https://skillcrush.com/2018/03/09/how-to-manage-your-inbox/