frogwynwebber

[frogwynwebber]

Also, I am just going to say it:

If your CEO is so inconsequential to the success of your company that he can be gunned down in the street like a dog and it has absolutely no impact on your company whatsoever, maybe he doesn't actually need to be paid several hundred times as much as your median employee.

Maybe you could get away with, like, ten to fifteen times and spend the extra tens of millions of dollars you save on something else.

Just thinking out loud.

[frogwynwebber]

[frogwynwebber]

i keep seeing soooo many ppl saying the canada post workers are selfish for striking right around christmas time and that they shouldve waited until january or whatever like omfg that is the point are you stupid!!!

[frogwynwebber]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Edward Nygma & Harley Quinn, Tim Drake & Harley Quinn, Tim Drake & Edward Nygma, eventual Harley Quinn/Pamela Isley Characters: Tim Drake, Edward Nygma, Harleen Quinzel, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Joker (DCU), Pamela Isley Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Tim Drake Adoption Menu, Rogue edition, Young Tim Drake, Tim Drake is a Menace, Edward Nygma is the Riddler, Edward Nygma is the Tired Uncle, Harley Quinn is the Fun Aunt, Found Family, Accidental Child Acquisition, or did the child acquire them instead?, Tim imprints on random adults like his namesake duck, Parent-Child Relationship, single parents who are not parents, Maybe the real family is the queer platonic parent-adjacent roles we found along the way?, Comedy, Humor, Misunderstandings, Jack and Janet Drake's +A parenting, (derogatory), Crack Treated Seriously, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason Todd loves telenovelas, Bruce Wayne Loves Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne does NOT love telenovelas, This is important to the plot I promise, The Author Regrets Nothing Summary:

A clown, a criminal, and a stalker child get stuck in a bar.

It sounds like the start of a bad joke. But that's not true. It's a terrible joke and the punchline is still coming.

 OR

Tim Drake gets a weird uncle and crazy aunt, but that's cool with him. He's heard it's healthy for kids to get out of the house, and if it means he can hang out with Harley and Uncle Nygma, he's happy to do so when he needs a break from photographing Bats.

Meanwhile, as some of the (less) insane members of the rogue gallery, Harley and Eddie realize it's up to them to make sure little Tim doesn't get kidnapped, murdered, or exploited by their peers while he runs around Crime Alley with his camera.

Somehow, this is harder than running crime rings and evading the Bats.

[frogwynwebber]

hey so when ur talking about omegaverse but espesh a/b/o yous need to leave the slashes in a/b/o if u have to use that term. bcos without the slashes, ur just putting a slur against my ppl (racists shorten the Aboriginal in Aboriginal Australians) all over my dash where i have to constantly see it and that fucking sucks, my guys

and i know most of yous didnt know this and thats fine! no need to apologise im not trying to make u feel bad, im just trying to navigate fandom and this website without being constantly exposed to a really awful racist slur

if u have to use that specific term, at least keep the slashes between the letters. it still sucks to see tho ngl. even better! stick to omegaverse or instead use aob (alpha-omega-beta) (imo its also nicer to pronounce; ay-oh-bee. ayo-bee)

anyway, pls spread awareness and (nicely) let ppl know when theyre using a racist slur for a fandom term

[frogwynwebber]

Someone namedropped us in a real life actual book 😭

This country is unhinged. God bless.

[frogwynwebber]

In 1808 one of the few instances of martial law was declared in Australia, after the military overthrew the government in response to news that they would no longer be paid in alcohol.

The military junta ruled the colony for 6 months, with their main impact being the opening of 90 new liquor stores.

[frogwynwebber]

Heartwarming story: Little girl doesn’t have to do anything to fund her dad’s surgery because his expenses are covered by his country’s universal healthcare.

[frogwynwebber]

when Qui-Gon publicly dropped Obi-Wan like a hot potato in favor of throwing his full weight into his bid to train Anakin, recently-Knighted Quinlan Vos decided that he had the opportunity to be the funniest motherfucker imaginable (and earn both his friend's eternal debt and ire in one move):

he claimed Obi-Wan Kenobi as his first Padawan

Obi-Wan, while definitely pissed with his friend's 'parenting,' quickly gets behind the idea of using this to spite Qui-Gon as much as possible

the Vos-Kenobi pair immediately set out to break every single one of Jinn's records as pettily as possible, and even managed to earn Quinlan the title of 'youngest Master' when Obi-Wan was Knighted only a few months later when the Council realized what was going on and tried to cut them off by just Knighting Kenobi already

[frogwynwebber]

In a 1996 by-election, one of the candidates for Australia's parliament changed his name to Steve Grim-Reaper so he wouldn't get mixed up with other candidates

[frogwynwebber]

Something something the Jedi have seemingly left the Galaxy millennia ago and yet there’s still statues of them dotting planets, their placing forming patterns only realized by crazy conspiracy theorists who are sure that the Jedi are still there, that the Force hasn’t abandoned them all. The Jedi will answer your call for help.

The first time Fox set foot into the plaza he nearly froze, got nearly choked up by the subtle pressure waves starting just under his throat and lifting his fingertips.

“Magnificent, isn’t it,” Senator Organa said next to him, eyes upwards and roaming across dozens of statues on the pillared walls surrounding them in two massive half circles. “This is the oldest part of Coruscant, Commanders.”

Fox could see Cody switching on internal comms with a hidden move, his visor fixed on one of the statues. “Did you feel that?”

Signing a quick affirmative, he scanned the plaza more thoroughly. “Takes up a lot of real estate.”

Senator Organa chuckled, eyes full of real mirth with a deep pride and satisfaction Fox didn’t know how to classify. “They do. And yet no one in history has been able to move them or tear them down. They’re the planet’s—“

“Protectors,” Cody said and Fox side-eyed him with maximum intensity. His batch mate was still looking at that one statue. Humanoid, flowing clothes caught in movement or wind, one arm stretched out, the other holding up a sword above the head. Blank stone eyes focused on an unseen danger. “They are— were protectors, weren’t they, Sir?”

Organa nodded. “Eons ago. Although,” he paused, mustering them with the amusement turning into a careful mask, “legends say they can be called when the Galaxy is at greatest risk. You call to them, they will answer.”

The more he looked at the statues, the more uncomfortably safe feeling Fox got. “Their voicemail must be full or we wouldn’t be here,” he drawled into comms, earning an unimpressed tipped bucket from Wolffe.

“We are ready, Senator,” Cody, predictable poster commander that he was, said firmly, finally finding time from ogling the statue. “We will protect the Galaxy and its peoples.”

Organa inclined his head. “I apologize again for Chancellor Palpatines’ absence. On his and the Galaxy’s behalf, I thank you for your service.”

“Anyone else feeling watched,” Bly piped up once Organa took his leave.

Fox held up his hand, getting a look from Cody and Wolffe for his troubles. “What. He asked.”

[frogwynwebber]

bright in technicolour (CWFKB23)

Free space - Forehead kiss, Canon Era, Soulmate AU (Many thanks to dontbelasagnax for the reminder about this event and by extension, that I hadn't actually posted this) @codywanfirstkissbingo

Cody keeps his helmet on when he’s around the Jedi. The Kaminoans hadn’t cared, the clones barely more than livestock to them, numbers encoded into the chips in their wrists to assign them a bunk, a training stream, an incinerator, but they are not the Jedi. Kamino had been grey and silver and blue, the ocean bleeding through the metal supports and pooling across the lower levels until they were brown and red and green. The clones can see those colours, pick them out at a distance and name them in four different languages, whisper chartreuse and aquamarine and periwinkle amongst the weapon schematics and formations that put down roots and grew amongst their thoughts. 

The vast majority of the galaxy can’t see colour. 

They can see shades, the barest hints of saffron and gunmetal imprinted on their existence, and some can see the full spectrum like the clones can. It is because they’re clones the holonets shriek those first few stumbling weeks of known existence when the universe is larger than Cody had ever thought it could be, everything too much, too loud, too quick to be held onto. They don’t have soulmates so they can see colour. It makes sense. They’re not built for another person to weave their fingers together, palm against palm, and press a kiss against their skin so they can blush shades of rosewood, careys, smitten. It is fine. It’s fine. 

So, Cody keeps his helmet on. 

No eye contact. No disappointment. No polite courtesy he didn’t know ground into the mud beneath his boots because he looked at someone and saw flecks of gold in their eyes. 

The Jedi had explained it to them after that first battle, their eyes directed towards the clones but not looking at them, politeness patchworked together into something functional and it had been appreciated more than they would know. Helmets on, filters activated, and there’s an alarm system hooked up to the entrances to the lower levels in case someone who isn’t a brother strays into their bunkrooms. They were made to be soldiers, to adapt, they could adapt to this. 

The current battlefield is not Cody’s favourite. 

Too much mud for their standard equipment for a start, a helpful piece of information that could have been communicated better by a brother in shades of umber, russet, sepia, but no. They got to find out along with the sheer amount of droids they were meant to fight as they spilled out of the transport ships and onto a planet that squelched with every step and covered everything. Cody hates it. Hate is a new emotion, sparking a solid red with little variation at the edges and Cody reaches for it with both hands. Better that he stains his palms red with hate than with the futility of cutting himself to pieces on the ruined shards of his helmet. 

Cody lies flat on his back in the mud and tastes copper in the back of his throat. Every breath is shallow from necessity, the mud smells solid, damp but warm and Cody hasn’t decided on if he likes it or not. Choking is a risk with his current position but he can’t move, not yet. He’d shot the droid that had gotten a hit off on him, some huge hulking twisted sparking slag heap of metal in one uniform silver shade that had nearly vanished amongst the stinking clinging mud. He hadn’t seen it. There would be more who wouldn’t see them. 

Colours mean nothing when they can't help them. Might as well peel them away and give them soulmates to try and balance the cosmic scales.

Pointless thought to indulge in, peeling wires out of their casing to twist them into fresh shapes, but the blow to his face has shaken them free and Cody isn’t sure if he has a left eye anymore. There’s the pulsing pain of it echoing through his teeth and his bones, a deep thrum that reverberates in his chest like he’s standing next to an engine roaring in full-throttled fury. Nothing else exists except the pain and the thought screaming back against the tempest. 

If Cody had a soulmate, if he had another person he could love like he had been made, devotion  coded into his genes along with every other adjustment the Kaminoans had decided on, who would he choose? Prime had bargained away an army for a child so how could Cody, made in his image, not love just as fiercely, with every piece of him. 

Cody thinks he is halfway in love with the man he would have chosen to be his soulmate already.

Most of his brothers are too.

They were made for the Jedi after all, how could they not love them?

There’s a shout from somewhere, maybe to his left, or it could be his right, Cody’s heart skipping a beat in its battered and bloody cage. He blinks his single working eye, his vision blurred carmine, crimson, sanguine, and Obi-Wan leans over him. He’s kneeling to his side, one hand resting on Cody’s chest and he wishes he could feel it, bruise in the imprint of Obi-Wan’s palm so it lasts. His hair has fallen free from the neat braid he had pulled it into hours prior, copper cascading across his forehead and shoulder. 

“Are you alive?” Obi-Wan asks, desperate, frantic, the words running into each other in his haste. He pauses, pulling a breath in through bared teeth, and his gaze focuses on Cody, then into him. There’s the sharp scent of ozone in the air, a distant sense of burning stars collapsing in one themselves and Cody isn’t made to hold this knowledge but he tries. He grins up at Obi-Wan, tasting iron and mud and he tries.

Obi-Wan sags against him, a decaying ruin finally learning it should have relaxed eons before, curling forwards and pressing his forehead to the back of his palm. His other hand is close enough to Cody’s shoulder for him to feel the movement when Obi-Wan’s fingers curl, supporting himself on a fist instead of a flat palm. Cody wants to speak, to tell him about the droids and their uniform colouration, an absence in the Force that Obi-Wan may not be able to see, won’t know about. He twists his face a fraction to the side, pulling a breath through his nose as he unseals his mouth. Blood coats his teeth, his tongue, a fresh trickle working down his neck. 

“Droids.” Cody spits, doesn’t make it past the shattered edge of his helmet. It’s warm, everything is warm. Hurts too much to be dying so this is existence, pain and love braided so closely together it isn’t worth tearing his fingers to shreds to separate them. He loves Obi-Wan. He is in pain. Both things are true. “Droids in the mud.”

“Oh, Cody,” Obi-Wan sighs. He pushes himself upright, his shoulders curling like a scavenger picking over a corpse, no change in pressue on the hand still resting on Cody’s chest.

Cody never thought his name could be beautiful. Functional and his, yes, but not beautiful. If Cody could choose, he would pick Obi-Wan. He has chosen Obi-Wan in every way he is able to. 

The mud clings to Obi-Wan, the bottom of his robes sodden and dark and umber. It doesn’t suit him, the outskirts of Cody’s single edged vision blurring out of focus as he tries to take all of him in. He raises himself up, turning towards Cody and reaching out to the broken line of his helmet. His brow furrows, which isn’t an uncommon expression on him but it isn’t normally directed at Cody, this concern or exasperation painted over Obi-Wan’s features. He can’t fully make out which with one eye and a head full of spiking agony.

Obi-Wan leans closer and Cody should stop him, should press himself further into the clinging mud. But he doesn’t. Obi-Wan’s touch hurts, a swift redirection of Cody’s attention back to a place he’s trying to forget, but he leans into it, breathes through the flashes of sage, burgundy, cobalt in front of his eyes as his jaw grinds shut. 

“Still there,” Obi-wan murmurs, his fingertips cool against the crater of Cody’s face. “There’ll be a scar but it will heal.”

Obi-Wan is closer than Cody realised, not a respectable arm span between them, the distance assessed and calculated and refined in countless messages volleyed between the battalions. No, he’s close enough to kiss, nose to broken and bleeding nose. Cody could. He wants to.

He doesn’t.

There are fault lines of silver beginning to run through Obi-Wan’s hair, clustering at his temples, but the majority is copper and russet, bronze and fawn. His freckles are similarly mismatched , the one beneath his eye dark compared to constellations over his arm, a scattered handful visible where his tunic gapes at the neck, cream woven with bisque and all stained dark with sweat and mud. He is every colour Cody wants to remember and this must be a gift, this ability to see colour from the moment they open their eyes because they love too strongly to be denied this small kindness. Obi-Wan leans up, closer still, and kisses Cody’s forehead. He remains there for a moment, breathing through his nose in sharp shallow puffs, before he retreats.

Obi-Wan’s mouth is red, a sharp line cut into his jaw from Cody’s helmet and blood beads from it, beginning to drip from his chin. “I’ve repaired the damage as best I can, blunted the pain too. I—” Obi-Wan blinks, pulls in a breath through bared teeth. “Cody.”

Cody doesn’t move, isn’t sure he’s still alive and this isn’t some pretty trick his dying brain has thrown at him except for the thudding of his heart in his ear and the stickiness of blood drying on his skin. 

“You have such beautiful brown eyes. I didn’t realise that before,” Obi-Wan says and Cody knows. 

The clones can see colour, and Obi-Wan can too.  

[frogwynwebber]

New Zealand's trade minister everyone

[frogwynwebber]

Digging through my WIP folder and I found notes for a story idea I had about a dragon adopting a human.

Not on accident, mind you, the dragon doesn’t just stumble across a human infant and adopts it. The dragon decides it wants to adopt a human.

The dragon explains this to its lich friend: “I want someone to take care of me in my old age! A human would be great! Imagine how easily it could talk the other humans into leaving me alone! And– and it might decide to grow up and become a goldsmith, right? Some humans become goldsmiths. My human might decide to go into goldsmithing too!”

“I think you’re overestimating the percentage of humans who become goldsmiths,” replies the lich friend, who is not terribly discouraging of the idea, but also not particularly invested in it at this point. It seems like a plan with a lot of potential points of failure.

The dragon is undeterred, mostly because it has a whole hoard of gold coins and goblets and jewelry and trinkets that seem to indicate to it that there must, in fact, be a great number of humans who know goldsmithing to have produced all that.

Anyway, the dragon decides to shapeshift into a humanoid form, go into a city, and adopt a human child. It needs the lich’s help, because it doesn’t know anything about human fashion. The lich’s knowledge on the subject is a few centuries outdated, but they attack a few fancy carriage on the road and reverse-engineer an outfit from what the humans inside them were wearing. (Those humans were nobles, it’s fine, it’s a victimless crime)

The lich fusses a lot with the humanoid appearance of the dragon until everything looks just so.

(“Am I actually doing it wrong, or are you just making me shapeshift into something you find more attractive?” the dragon asks.

“If you want me to pose as your husband, this is the price to pay,” the lich replies.)

They go into the city, anyway, and they find an orphanage on the shady side of town, where the tired, overworked and underpaid matron clearly sees there’s something not right about these two, but not in any obvious way she can put her finger on. She’s just happy to have one less mouth to feed.

Anyway, child get! 

She comes along quietly, and doesn’t even comment when she’s taken to a dragon lair.

The dragon is ecstatic with its new acquisition.

(“Does it know any commands?” the dragon wonders. “Sit! Stay! Roll over?”

“You may be thinking of dogs,” the lich points out. “Children do not perform tricks.”

They both looked at the human child, trying to figure out how to approach her.

“So, what scam are you running here?” the little girl asked suddenly, startling both the dragon and the lich.

“I was wrong,” the lich says, “they’ve definitely been teaching children new tricks since I was alive.”)

[frogwynwebber]

In a 1996 by-election, one of the candidates for Australia's parliament changed his name to Steve Grim-Reaper so he wouldn't get mixed up with other candidates

[frogwynwebber]

You Can Get Anything You Want (at Dex's on Coruscant)

It's the anniversary of the founding of the Jedi Temple, and the Empire has decreed a mandatory rest day when businesses aren't allowed to be open.

Dexter Jettster has some friends over for a free meal instead.

Story is here on AO3.

[frogwynwebber]

Cheese thief