#in fact I’d go as far to say as some of the things and opinions I’ve had in the past I’ve since changed because of other people and lore

[bleue-flora]

I want to debate with you over dsmp lore but I'm terrified you'll hate me

Hate? I won’t hate you for having an opinion, everyone has a right to one and I’m happy you have one :D especially if it’s your opinion not purely someone else’s (not to say it can’t align with someone else but it’s yours as in your not just mindlessly repeating someone if that makes sense…). And typically there is a little truth in both sides. Even in the times I’ve disagreed with people it has made me question things. Like for example my conversation with elmhat about c!Quackity prompted me to ask the question: why do I see him as unempathic and find no sympathy for him? Was he not betrayed? Was he not hurt? Was he not discriminated against and overlooked? Why is it that I can be so against him when some of the same things I sympathize with Dream on happened with Quackity. Which then spurred my research into Antisocial Personality Disorder (disorder relating to psychopaths and sociopaths) and Audience Perception. So even if I disagree or dislike what you have to say, I’m not going to hate you for it, and it’ll likely make me question why I think differently, often spurring my dive into lore where I usually find other fun things.

Like this funny clip with c!Schlatt and c!Quackity I discovered last night where c!Schlatt says that Austin Show is dead with him, which almost implies he’s some secret additional mystery character drifting in limbo?…

unless of course we consider that c!Schlatt also talks about the picture on his wall as his Dad who runs the gym with him… man seems to be going insane to be honest and who can blame him, he’s spent how many decades in limbo?…

Anyways, having said that, while certainly optional, definitely not required or necessary or expected, I’ll just let you know as an autistic person I do appreciate sources because there are a lot of times I forget about something or didn’t know and I want to see for myself, not because I don’t personally trust you but because my general rule to the internet is to not pass something on as truth just because someone said that because even in the context outside of dsmp analysis that’s how misinformation spreads so fast.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Getting ready for their first date, like—

—Keeley bringing Rebecca to find the perfect outfit, not because she needs a new outfit and not because Roy and Jamie won’t love her in whatever, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it? Getting ready, building anticipation, sneaking another drink at Aeronaut while Derek fetches her two more dresses, just for the hell of it.

Rebecca tells her that she looks gorgerous in every bloody thing, but that she looks particularly gorgerous in the second pink one, and oh, they should stop by The Connaught Bar on their way to the spa, celebrate Keeley looking like the marvel she is, and maybe raise a toast to Roy and Jamie being far, far luckier than either of them deserve.

“If you were into women I’d never date anyone else,” Keeley says very seriously over her Fleurissimo. “We’d never even have to go on actual dates, we could just do this forever, it’d be fucking fantastic.” She makes an exaggerated face. “Now I’m stuck dating icky boys.”

And Rebecca laughs and hugs her and knows that she’s not serious, at least not about the last part.

(Rebecca hopes this works out because if it doesn’t and she has to deal with the implosion of a relationship between her head coach and their star player… Well. She’d put the brakes on the whole thing, maybe, if it weren’t for Keeley and the way she lights up when she talks about her icky boys, if it weren’t for the fact that Roy and Jamie are going to be absolutely ridiculous about each other no matter what Rebecca allows or doesn’t allow, if it weren’t for her sordid affair with Sam and how it hasn’t left her with a single leg to stand on.)

---

Getting ready for their first date, like—

—Jamie giving Roy an incredulous and halfway reproachful look as Roy sticks his head out the office to tell him that they’re leaving, so mush. “I’m going back home, mate. Dani’s giving me a ride.”

And Roy’s eyebrows do their Roy’s eyebrow thing. “What the fuck for? Keeley’s picking us up in less than two hours. At my place. You can do your fucking hair bullshit or whatever you need to do there.”

(It’s unclear to Roy exactly what hair bullshit Jamie might need doing, because he’s already spent half an hour after training in front of the dressing room mirror with most of the team chiming in with encouragement and advice, but it’s Jamie, so it’s probably something.)

“Not with your tragic products, I can’t,” Jamie mutters (and that’s a right laugh because Jamie knows better than most everybody that Roy does not, in fact and unlike some other people, settle for fucking Lynx or the like). “And anyway, we’re going on a date with each other, right, not just with Keeley, so we can’t get ready together. What am I supposed to do, sneak out the door and ring the bell when it’s time to pick you up?”

“What? No.”

Jamie points at him. “Right, ‘cause that’d be weird.”

“That’s not—“ But Jamie doesn’t let him finish, he just walks off with Dani, because he doesn’t have time for Roy’s spluttering, has he, and doesn’t Roy know Jamie has a date to get ready for?

Get ready he does, but because he is a filthy hypocrite (a word he does know the meaning of, so there, Coach Beard) he doesn’t hesitate to call Keeley when he can’t decide between his favourite Stone Island jacket and the new patterned Gucci number he got sent the other day, and then he has to have opinions on her shade of lipstick, and she suggests he wear the Layton she bought him a few years back, and it’s a brilliant time, just like them getting ready for the red carpet back when they were dating before.

“Bit like cheating, though, innit,” Jamie tells Keeley, out of a sudden and uncharacteristic sense of fairness. “Us asking each other for advice when getting ready for a date with each other, yeah? I should be on the phone with like Isaac, and you should talk to Rebecca or Barbara.”

“Well,” Keeley reasons as she sips her mimosa and waits for her nail polish to dry. “We’re going on a date with Roy too, and since we are the ones who properly knows what he likes and we want to look fucking fit for him, it makes sense for us to help each other out, yeah? Besides,” she adds, “we can do whatever we want, babe. Screw the rules, right?”

And yeah, right. That’s the basis for this whole thing, innit? “Yeah,” Jamie agrees, giving her a grin. “Screw the rules.” And then his smile softens into something gentler, almost shy, something she used to be the only one ever allowed to see. “Want look fucking fit for you too,” he admits, like it’s a secret.

Keeley’s smile, too, is soft. “Aw, babe, me too. And you do.”

—

Getting ready for their first date, like—

Roy picking Phoebe up from school and dropping her off with Sophia’s retired colleague, and when Phoebe asks why she’s not staying with him this time he takes a long moment to answer, and it’s messed up, isn’t it, that he’s this concerned about what a fucking child should think about his love life.

Not just any child, though, is she. “I’m going on a date,” he says eventually, glancing at her in the rear mirror.

“Oh.” She frowns; not in disapproval, he thinks, but in careful consideration. Then: “Is this a date with Keeley or with Jamie?”

Huh. All right, then. First potential hurdle cleared. As for the second… “Both.”

To his stupidly immense relief, Phoebe brightens at that. “That’s very clever of you, Uncle Roy. It would have been really hard to choose between Jamie and Keeley, and they both love you so much.”

Roy shakes his head, biting back a smile that’s as much affection as it is incredulity. “All right, you little precocious shit, get out of here, and be good for Ms. Mallard.”

And then he has just enough time to get back home and change out of his black shirt and trousers into another black shirt and pair of trousers, to trim his beard and add a textured silk tie (very dark purple, Keeley and Jamie better fucking appricate the splash of colour). He spends a long time staring at his reflection, partly because he really is quite vain (his stubborn protests to the contrary), but mostly because this means something to him. They do: Keeley, Jamie. The three of them, and what they could be.

It leaves him a little dizzy. It scares the hell out of him. He wants to get this right.

The door bell chimes. Jamie, and Roy has barely let him in, has barely even begun to figure out what he’s supposed to say to this Jamie, to his date Jamie, to the Jamie whose eyes sparkle and who manages to make even that ridiculous outfit look good, when the bell chimes again, and there is Keeley, a fucking vision, and Roy knows what to say to her.

“You look fucking amazing,” he says, and she giggles and leans in to kiss his cheek, very chaste (it’s a first date, after all), and still it’s nearly enough to leave him breathless with how much he’s missed her.

“Got you this,” he mutters a little hoarsely, picking up and handing over a Black Baccarat rose that’s been strategically sat on the sidetable.

Impractical, since they’re going out, and corny, but fucking sue him. Roy Kent will headbutt anyone who dares call him a romantic, but that doesn’t mean he thinks they’re wrong – and anyway, it’s worth it for the way Keeley smiles as she inhales the sweet scent.

“Uh, where’s my flower?” Jamie complains.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls. “Fine.” And he heads off into the kitchen where there is indeed a second rose waiting in a small vase. He’d left it there, deeply unsure if he was supposed to offer Jamie one or not; but that’s that cleared up then, flowers for Jamie is a go, he’ll make a note for their next date.

Jamie beams as he accepts his rose; grins wickedly as he, too, leans in to kiss Roy’s cheek.

Roy clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his heart’s sped up at the brief touch. “Okay. Let’s fucking do this.”

“Yeah,” Keeley agrees. “Let’s.”

And Jamie doesn’t say anthing at all, but he nods, and he takes Roy’s arm, and Keeley takes his hand, and they walk out into the night and fucking do it.

[oureuphoria]

The Battle — JJK

⟿ Note: Hiii!! I know it’s been forever since I’ve posted on this account, and I am very sorry! I’m in uni now and my writing has improved (in my opinion) drastically, so I’m very excited to return bc I love posting here. To kick off the new era, I’m sharing a small fic I’ve worked on recently. I really hope you like it.

⟿ Synopsis: Your relationship with Jungkook has been strained for far too long and you’ve decided to do something about it.

⟿ Genre: Just angst, sorry </3 but possible part two!!

⟿ Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Reader

⟿ Word count: 1,387

“Jungkook.” You called out to your boyfriend the second you heard the door to his apartment open. You were supposed to hang out together, you’d been waiting for him for over 40 minutes.

“Yes, babe?” From his sing-song voice, you could tell he was tipsy.

“We need to talk.” You were aiming for a serious, sobering tone, but it appeared nothing could dull his vibe when he got it going,

“‘Course, love. Not now though, I’m busy. Just getting changed and heading out with the boys.”

“But you said we’d have tonight together.”

“I know baby, but we always celebrate big wins together. You know you’re welcome to join us.” Jungkook knew very well that you were still really nervous around his bandmates. You specifically asked for some time alone.

“But we need to talk and it can’t wait.” Your voice was unwavering, but you could feel the resolve you’d spent so long building up begin to slip away.

It was hard to fight with Jungkook. It was harder when he didn’t fight with you.

“What? Are you okay?” His voice resonated throughout the apartment from your bedroom to where you were sitting in the living room.

“No, Jungkook. I’m not.” There was a moment of silence.

“What’s wrong, are you sick?” His head peaked out from the room, harbouring slight concern on his otherwise bright face.

“No, it’s about us.” You averted eye contact, unable to watch the happiness drain from his face.

“That can wait.” He went back into the room, and you could feel your frustration return.

“I’ve been waiting, but you’re always busy and I can’t wait anymore.”

“Can I not have one night? One night where you’re not on my ass about everything?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Y/N, we fight every week.”

“And I want to talk about it.” He came out of the room, fully dressed in his favourite jeans and a tight black turtleneck sweater. A month ago, this would’ve been the part where you joked about him looking like that one picture of The Rock. Now it just made you wonder how many people would throw themselves at him, and just how many he’d reject before he’d finally realise you might not be worth the trouble.

“No, see you say you want to talk and then it turns into you making me feel like shit for living my life.” Jungkook continued arguing with you while pacing around the apartment looking for his keys, his wallet, his sunglasses.

“That’s not my intention.” You stood up from your seat on the couch, but he continued to avoid looking at you.

“Your intention doesn’t matter, your actions do. And right now, I’d really love it if you didn’t start a fight.”

“Fine, if that’s what you really want.”

“Great. I’ll see you later.”

You sighed. “You won’t.”

“Stop with the dramatics, Y/N.”

“No dramatics, I’m done. We’re done.” You weren’t sure how you managed to get the words out, considering the fact that they felt like shards of glass dragging across your tongue.

“Seriously?” He looked at you, one hand on the door knob, the other by his side.

You thought about taking it back for way too long, and when you said nothing, he shook his head, letting out a sardonic chuckle.

“Alright, Y/N. We’re done.” And with those parting words, he was out the door.

You sat back down on his couch. Tears were flooding your eyes, and you could feel the pressure on your chest, affirming the end you saw coming but tried so hard to avoid.

You could have continued begging for a morsel of his time to work things out, but as he said, he viewed any and all criticism as an infringement on his right to party and celebrate his success.

You were the same age, but you lived vastly different lives and you had no idea how to reconcile the gap between the Jungkook who loved you, and the Jungkook who was in the public eye. There was only one you. You didn’t have a second life, and that was what made it so hard to relate to him.

He didn’t even want to try.

You wiped away your tears, grabbing your coat and bag from the armchair. You had one arm through the sleeves when the door opened again.

For the split second that you heard the keypad beep and the door’s hinges creak, you allowed yourself to be filled with hope. He came back, and in that moment you let yourself believe that it was for you. That he’d tell you he can’t live without you, and whatever there was going on between you two, he’d be willing to fix it.

But you and him hadn’t felt partners in so long, and the problems you used to tackle together, as an inseparable unit, began to feel like termites eating through the foundation of your trust.

“Oh, you’re still here.” His voice didn’t sound remorseful. It didn’t sound like the voice of a man who was prepared to lay the ugliest parts of your relationship bare so that you could work through them. He sounded indifferent.

“Yeah sorry, I was just leaving.” You quickly shrugged the coat on properly, grabbing your bag and hastily rushing toward the door, but Jungkook was blocking the doorway, and he didn’t move away when you approached. “Um, Jungkook, you’re kind of in the way.” You tried your absolute hardest to keep your voice level and your tears at bay, but the longer he stood there the harder it was.

“I am, aren’t I?” His tone was so hard to read, you had no idea how to respond. “I’m always in your way, Y/N. And a better man would let you go, but I can’t.”

Before you could grasp onto his words, he grasped onto you. Jungkook wrapped you into a tight hug.

“Don’t do this, Jungkook. Please.”

“I don’t know what to do, Y/N. I feel so guilty, all the time. I don’t know how it fix it, so I go out, and I get wasted and I convince myself you’re happier without me.” He sounded so vulnerable, so bare, and for a moment you saw your pain reflected in his.

How could you fix it? There was only so much turbulence a relationship could take, and the strain on your own mental health was beginning to feel like less of a side-effect and more like a direct bi-product.

Sometimes, the best way to get rid of termites is to burn it all down and pray you have the strength to rebuild.

You weren’t sure of much, but you were sure that you weren’t strong enough to rebuild.

“I’m not happier without you, Jungkook. But lately I haven’t been feeling happier with you either. I love you, you know that, but I can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t hurt me when you pretend I don’t exist. And I know the only other option is to go public, but I don’t think I could cope with that kind of attention.”

“I could say I’m in a relationship and we could keep your identity secret. I’ve seen other idols do that.”

“Idols much less famous than you, Jungkook. Its unfair of me to expect you to carry the burden of the negative attention you’d inevitably get.”

“What are you saying?”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough. And I can’t watch as we tear ourselves apart trying to make each other feel better.”

“Y/N, I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“Me neither, but I think we have a much better chance of figuring out how to live apart than together, don’t you?”

“I— I could take a break from the group until we figure this out.”

“You’d resent me for it.”

“You can’t give up on us just like that?”

“You gave up a long time ago, Jungkook.” There was no hostility in your voice, so Jungkook knew you weren’t trying to hurt him with that remark. In fact, the sincerity of what you’d said, and the tears that began to flood your eyes and his, told him you might just be right.

So, without another word, Jungkook moved out of the doorway and watched as you gave him a tight-lipped smile before walking away.

[saintjosie]

Hi! I was hoping to get your advice, from a fellow trans any pronouns person. I just started my sophomore year of college and my English class is requiring people to introduce themselves (on the discussion board) with their pronouns.

I am a closeted trans person who does not pass at all due to my body type. I also don’t out myself as any type of queer lightly due to a bad home and the fact that my college is in my town— I don’t want people reporting back to my family even if it’s a slim chance.

all that to say, I am more open in some classes! I just need time to gauge. So I’m pretty mad that we’re required to post pronouns in this class, because from what I can tell it’s made up entirely (so far) of cis people easily giving name and pronouns. Meanwhile the actual trans person in the room who this is supposedly in support of has to either misgender myself and consent to being misgendered, or out myself in a potentially unwelcoming group. No option to just quietly leave out pronouns.

I’m really pissed and I thought I would give it time (it’s due on Friday) but the longer I wait the angrier I am!! They want to look like allies but they’re throwing me under the bus in the process!! So long story short, is it worth the risk of academic kickback to email the professor about it? Is it worth me pretty clearly outing myself? I know these are questions I have to answer for myself, but I’d appreciate a second opinion. I’m thinking about deliberately not putting pronouns and then emailing the prof if I get in trouble. I would just appreciate any advice you have :/

I’ve had classes with actually queer profs before and they give an option to share pronouns, an option to help you stay out in class but closeted in public, etc.

i think what you are feeling is incredibly valid. no one should have to be out until they are ready.

if you are willing to invest that energy, speaking your truth is powerful. even if the response is not what you wanted, you stood strong and sometimes that’s what’s most important.

things may not go how you want or plan but also defending yourself may mean that another tsan’s person doesn’t have to go through the same in the future either.

which ever you decide, i’m proud of you cause knowing you need to defend yourself is hard to do.

go get em!

[aspentreewrites]

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 1

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: slow burn(ish), fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

✷✷✷✷✷

A/N: In my unending quest to name all of my fics after The Amazing Devil songs, this one is taken from Elsa's Song. If you're reading this on Tumblr, you're getting a unique version of this author's note - hello there! I usually just link to my fics on Tumblr, but this time I've decided to post each chapter in full here!

Any and all comments are massively appreciated, and if I can format anything better for posting here please let me know. I'm aiming to have the next chapter up in 2-3 weeks :)

Huge thanks to my wonderful friend @whenyourfavouritedies (link to their AO3 here!) for beta reading.

✷✷✷✷✷

He’d had a good run, Cody thinks to himself as he faces down the adversary in front of him. Perhaps he could avoid the mortal embarrassment of defeat by defenestrating himself from the nearest window - at least then his death could be ruled as a bizarre, impulsive moment of pure lunacy rather than the alternative of being done in entirely by the man in front of him.

… The man in front of him who evidently seems to be expecting a response to his words. 

Cody, the Marshal Commander of the 212th who has spoken in front of the Council multiple times, who’s renowned throughout the GAR for his prowess at quick-thinking and strategy, desperately tries to muster something. Gingerly, he collects the shattered pieces of his brain from the floor, and attempts to produce something coherent with them.

“... Oh,” he manages, trying to not let his words come out as strangled as it feels like they could in this moment. “Right.”

As it turns out, those two words alone are insufficient, at least judging by Obi-Wan’s look of pure bewilderment. The Jedi tilts his head a little, studying the clone before him.

“Is everything alright, Cody?” he asks tentatively, before glancing back to the mission briefing on his datapad. Cody’s eyes remain glued to one word in particular, practically glaring at him from the harshly backlit screen of the tablet. 

He can feel a headache coming on. 

“If it’s too much, Anakin has offered to spare Rex, but to be perfectly honest–” 

Absolutely not. The only thing Cody can think of that would be worse than going on this mission at all would be someone else going in his place.

“-- I’d rather avoid a repeat of what happened on Corellia, if at all possible,” Obi-Wan murmurs, stroking a hand over his beard. He frowns slightly at the memory, and Cody files the subject away to ask about later, though for the moment he has far more pressing matters to address.

“Right,” Cody repeats, before finally remembering that he does, in fact, know how to string words into a sentence. His eyes snap up from the datapad, meeting his General’s gaze. Discomfort claws its way through his body, constricting his throat a little when he tries to gather himself. “Yes, sir. I’m just wondering, about the aliases-”

Obi-Wan huffs, clearly having his own strong opinion on whatever he thinks Cody is about to say. “Yes, well, I appreciate that the backstories aren’t as detailed as they could be. I did mention it, but the Council did what they could on such short notice.”

“Of course. I’m just wondering if we have to be–”

“Really, it’s a miracle that they even had anything planned, knowing them.”

“-- Married?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a long silence stretches between the two men. He studies Cody’s face again for a moment, before he looks back down at the datapad, his brow furrowed slightly as if he’s only just considering the implications of the mission for the first time. 

Cody stands, steady as ever, though behind his back his fingers twitch anxiously. From the Jedi's telling, it’s going to be a fairly quick undercover stint - a handful of days at most. They’ll be staying at a hotel-slash-resort out in a neutral system, where they’ve been tipped off that a handful of Separatists are meeting for a business deal that could debilitate the Republic if it goes off smoothly.

A tad dramatic, perhaps, but when intel like that is received, the Jedi have to ensure that the call to action is answered. And who better to answer it with than one of their best? 

Unfortunately for Cody, the Jedi’s best has a penchant for dragging him along, too.

This type of mission might be incredibly rote for the General, but for Cody, it’s… An intimidating prospect. He’s a soldier, a strategist - a damned good one at that, there’s a reason he’s been given the position of Commander - if there’s one thing he is decidedly not, however, it's an actor.

It’s likely that the more experienced man hadn’t even given Cody’s involvement a second thought - they’re by each other’s side on most battlefields, after all… This arena, though, is an untrodden one. After some consideration, Obi-Wan quirks a brow and looks back up at his Commander.

“You’re aware that we wouldn’t actually be signing any legal documents for the sake of the mission?” he queries, as if that were at all the issue Cody is having here. Stars, but does this man like to play dense sometimes.

“... That’s not the point, sir.”

“Then what is? Do you not think I would make a fine husband? My dear Commander, you wound me.”

Cody has the quiet suspicion that if anyone had the fortune to wed his General (not that the Jedi were even allowed such things), they would find themselves spending a considerable portion of the rest of their lives having to put up with his unfortunate sense of humour. 

As it happens, Cody is the one who’s taking the burden for that responsibility at current. It’s been slowly driving him up the wall for the better part of the war effort.

“I’m sure you would make a good–” no, that’s not appropriate, “a fine–” he stops short, glowering at the amused smirk that has plastered itself on his General’s face. Obi-Wan seems to be garnering a little too much delight in causing him to stammer like a schoolchild, the victorious glint in his eye evident. Cody shakes his head, persisting despite the flush that he’s sure has appeared on his cheeks. “... You know what I mean.”

Much to Cody’s relief, Obi-Wan takes mercy on him and drops the subject. He glances back down to the datapad with a thoughtful hum, his expression returning to something a little more dignified.

“It was ultimately a logistical choice. We would be sharing a room in the hotel, regardless, and the cover makes it considerably less likely that people would raise questions.” A pause, and then the Jedi’s voice turns a little more gentle. “If it would truly make you uncomfortable, Cody, then we can come up with an alternative.”  

Cody finds himself shaking his head before he even has time to think it through properly. It’s… Fine. He’s fine. The thought of pretending to be Obi-Wan’s… husband, makes something strange curl in his gut, a sense of tightness and discomfort that he can’t quite identify. 

He pushes the feeling away, telling himself that all it is is feeling unsure about going undercover in general - it will be, after all, his first time doing so for more than a few minutes at a time. He’s bluffed to get past guards and to stall enemies, they all have, but he’s practically a shiny in this territory. It makes sense that he’d have some nerves.

“No, I… I’ll take the mission, General. I was just…” he hesitates. He was just what exactly? Cody isn’t entirely certain. “I’ll just need some time to look over the aliases, to prepare. Being undercover is… Not my usual wheelhouse.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“If you’re certain?”

Cody holds the Jedi’s earnest gaze for as long as he can muster with this odd sensation sloshing around in his stomach. He manages a nod, moving to take the datapad from the other man as they prepare to move onto other matters for the morning.

“Yes, sir.”

______________________________

The night before the mission rolls around, Cody finds himself still awake far too late into the night. He’s at his desk, poring over multiple tabs of research, and Stars, there’s still so much to cover before they’re set to leave.

He’s… what is it that an actor would call it? ‘Studying’ the fictional man that is Vidarr Emerin, a wealthy investor who’s gained a frankly ridiculous amount of credits from backing a series of Spice mining projects on Kessel. Vidarr isn’t actually involved in the day to day operations of the creation of the drug directly (and thank the Force for that, because Cody couldn’t realistically describe the process if there was a blaster to his head), though he has his fingers in many metaphorical pies of Kessel’s ‘industry’, if one can call it that. 

Vidarr is ruthlessly efficient, cutthroat, and has more money invested in the black market than Cody has ever seen in his entire life.

His favourite colour, the document notes, is brown.

They’re hoping that, due to the planet they’re travelling to not having seen hide nor hair of the war as of yet, Cody can blend in as a regular human without issue. If he were to be clocked as a clone however, he and Obi-Wan have come up with a story that fits. A benefit of their cover is that if any clone were to defect from the GAR, Kessel would likely be a decent option for them to run to, due to its relative distance from the war and the objective difficulty in getting to the planet. It would be easier if he didn’t have to out himself, but it never hurts to be prepared.

The Commander is about three cafs into his nighttime research, and is showing no sign of slowing, currently skimming through a holonet article about Kessel’s southern equator. He’s trying to take notes on as many details as possible about the habitable section of the planet: the names of local wildlife, parks, various points of interest… It’s unlikely that anyone would want to talk to him about the geography of the local rivers, admittedly, but what if he’s caught out unexpectedly? 

No, Cody reasons to himself, taking another gulp of caf. Not worth the risk. He’ll just have to memorise the relative locations of every tributary and estuary in the local area that Vidarr is from. It’s the only way he can walk into this prepared.

It’s even later when his chrono beeps at him for attention. His eyes have been struggling to focus on the various screens for too long to ignore, and Cody’s attention turns to the empty notepad page to his right. The one that’s been staring him down all evening.

He narrows his eyes at it, sizing the offending object up. One moment passes, then another. The man groans, running a tired hand over his face and silencing his alarm. He may as well get this over with.

He returns his datapad to the page about their aliases, scrolling until he hits the ‘marriage and relationship’ section. Cody pulls the notepad over, reluctantly beginning to scribble down some bullet points. 

Renne Emerin, née Cardall, met Vidarr at a soiree attended by a handful of various small-time investors for the Pyke Syndicate, and the two began courting not long after. Three years into their relationship, they got engaged. A further year, and the two were married. This little trip together is a celebration for their second wedding anniversary.

They have a bonded pair of tookas. They’re considering adopting a child. They’re a regular, normal couple in love.

Cody turns off the datapad, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

For the life of him, he doesn’t know why he feels such a mental block in regards to… all of this. Obi-Wan had been incredibly accommodating - between them, they’d laid out expectations, negotiated how they were going to approach this, and the Jedi had promised to not push too hard in the name of making a good cover (though Cody had insisted he not hold back on his account - he’d be damned if his own incompetence compromised a mission).

And yet… The anxious feeling persists. It’s subtler now at least, having spent the last week preparing and researching, but it remains under his skin, simmering away. 

It worsens when he thinks of the marriage they’ll have to upkeep.

His chrono beeps a second time, a harsh, needy trill that tells him he really ought to be getting to bed now. Cody grumbles to himself, turning the blasted alarm off again, before finally flopping down in his bed and flicking off the light to his room.

It’ll be fine, he thinks wearily, forcing himself to take a deep breath and settle his mind. 

If there’s one thing he trusts implicitly in this Galaxy, it’s that Obi-Wan will have his back. Discomfort be damned, they’ll get through this in one piece. Soon enough, this’ll just be a funny story to tell when sufficiently drunk.

Clinging onto that thought like it holds the last vestiges of his sanity, Cody drifts into a fitful but desperately needed sleep. 

______________________________

The Commander wakes early, exactly as he was trained. A fast shower, an efficient shave, and his bed made neatly behind him as he dresses.

At 0600 hours exactly, he leaves his quarters, fully clad in his newly issued armour - shiny, pristine, bright white plastoid that catches in the harsh, fluorescent lighting lining the hallways of the Venator. He is precisely as he should be: the perfect example of what the Kaminoans created.

When he reaches the briefing room, he raps his gloved knuckles against the door once, twice. Cody feels confident as he waits - every single choice he makes matters today, and a good first impression is vital. Yes, he thinks, mulling it over in his mind: a single knock would have been insufficient, and three would be bordering on informal. Two was the right answer, Commander. Good work.

It takes precisely six seconds for the door to slide open, revealing the Jedi he had met briefly before in holocalls, though never face to face. The Jedi he’s going to dedicate his life to. 

Auburn hair catches the light, and clean, cream coloured robes settle tidily about his form. Curious eyes settle on him, inspecting the clone likely as much as the clone is analysing the Jedi. Cody is quietly grateful for his helmet giving him the tactical upper hand in this endeavour.

The blue of the Jedi’s eyes reminds him of the Kaminoan ocean, though he’s unsure whether or not that association is a good or a bad one. The man in front of him looks methodically put together, neat and organised, as a member of the famed Jetii should be… Perhaps a little tired, though, as the faint bags under his eyes might indicate.

Cody decides it doesn’t matter. It’s surely just a sign of his new General’s commitment to his work ethic that he would stay up late to prepare for today. Something they’ll have in common, then.

The Commander’s back is, naturally, ramrod-straight as he salutes sharply, his voice strong and even as he speaks.

“CC-2224, sir. Ready for our briefing.” He knows the Jedi should have remembered his designation number from their fleeting introductions over holocall, but it never hurts to be cautious. The man has a lot to familiarise himself with over the coming days, after all. It wouldn’t be a slight if it took him a while to remember something so small.

General Kenobi pauses at that, before offering a small, if hesitant smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course.” He steps aside, allowing the clone entry into the meeting room. It’s a tidy, organised space, yet something about it is almost eerie in its quietude. Cody’s eyes sweep over neat stacks of datapads and consoles with no fingerprints yet on their keyboards, no dust yet accumulated on the cables filling the room. A tactical space, ready to handle and catalogue so much violence and death - years of it, more. 

And yet it is, at present, still and empty. Lying in eager wait for the blood to start spilling, to see the use it has been designed for. Today, the Commander supposes, is the day. 

The General sweeps through the room, posture so exact that it almost makes him look as if he’s gliding rather than walking. He sets up the holotable at the centre of the room, watching as the agenda for the day flickers into being, a list nearly a mile long. General Kenobi scans over the file with a quiet sigh, before he glances over to meet the other man’s gaze.

“Would you care for a cup of caf? I quite find I struggle to focus so early on in the day.”

The Jedi’s voice is gentle, softened at the edges with tiredness - not at all the tone the soldier is used to from authority. Cody frowns to himself. And he’s… Offering him caf. Not an order or command. An unexpected start to their working relationship.

Part of him can’t help but think it could be a trap. A test of how much he’d be willing to take from him, perhaps. A measure of his discipline?

Kenobi looks progressively more awkward as time presses on. He speaks up again, evidently trying to search for any hint of emotion in the clone’s expressionless helmet and drawing a blank.

“Or… Tea?” he tries, tilting his head a little. “I can make tea instead, if that’s more to your liking.”

The Commander hesitates, trying to figure out the right answer to this puzzle in front of him. Would it offend the General if he said no? Could he say no, if he wanted to? How much of a choice does he get here?

Regardless, he can tell his prolonged silence is unnerving his new General, and the last thing he wants is to make a bad impression.

“Caf… Caf is fine, sir. Thank you.” 

That, at least, seems to placate the Jedi. He smiles, a little more sincerely this time, before disappearing off to the corner of the room and busying himself with making some drinks.

Cody takes the opportunity to get a headstart on the agenda for their first day, looking over the list at the holotable with a critical eye. There’s much to do, and he’s anxious to get to it and prove himself.

“Right,” Kenobi begins as he returns, passing a steaming mug to Cody before sipping at his own. “Let us get started, hm?”

The briefing is quick, and efficient. They move through all the matters of the day - introductory training with the men, preparations to oversee supply requisitioning, and early drafts of strategy for the 212th’s first upcoming mission in the field together.

The caf is nicer than he expected.

“Before we go, Commander,” Kenobi says as the two turn to leave for the first training, his tone thoughtful. He looks to the clone in front of him, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “I was wondering if I could have your name.”

… What? 

“My… Designation number, sir?” He asks, with a little uncertainty. The Jedi’s mouth twitches - not quite a frown, but something close to it. He attempts to disguise it by passing a hand over his beard. Cody tenses instinctively.

“No, you greeted me with that when you first came in,” he reminds him, voice gentle. “I meant your name. Your actual one.”

CC-2224 glitches. 

He’s not sure how long he just stares at the General, but it’s long enough to prompt Kenobi to speak again.

“... If that would be alright?”

No, no it would be decidedly not alright. This is against everything the Commander was expecting, everything he’s spent his whole life preparing for. He’s almost indignant at the impropriety. As he continues to hesitate, a flash of something like worry flashes across Obi-Wan’s face, followed by a sheepishness unbefitting of someone of his station.

He raises his hand, cutting off Cody as he finally opens his mouth to answer.

“No, no, I apologise, Commander,” he says quickly, sounding a little ashamed. “Names are… important to your brothers, aren’t they?”

At Cody’s stupefied nod, he continues on.

“I should not have asked something so personal of you,” the Jedi murmurs, bowing his head briefly in apology. “Forgive me.”

The Commander doesn’t quite know what to do with that. A brief mumble of ‘it’s alright, sir’, and an evening spent puzzling out who, exactly, his new General is, will have to do.

That night, Cody finds himself staring up at the ceiling as he tries to find sleep.

Perhaps the Kaminoans were wrong about the Jetii. About what would be expected of them. But then, if that’s true, then what else were they wrong about? 

It’s an unnerving thought, and it’s one that plagues him for the coming weeks.

______________________________

In the half-light of the ship’s artificial morning, Cody stares down his reflection in the mirror, wrinkling his nose slightly as he tugs a battle-worn comb through his hair, gently teasing the curls apart. He glances back down to the holonet vid he found, the projector balancing precariously on the edge of the sink. Making a swiping gesture in the air with his free hand, he winds back the video yet another time. The helpful, yet slightly too-fast-speaking Kiffar woman in the vid enthusiastically explains how to loosen one’s curl pattern, and Cody repeats the actions she demonstrates, his brow knitting together unconsciously as he focuses. 

The 212th doesn’t exactly have access to the myriad of supplies the vid-blogger eagerly shows the camera, but Cody’s scoured the supply shipments to source some decent enough conditioner - combined with the comb with a handful of missing teeth that he’d uncovered earlier in his room, they’ll have to do. The steam from the shower he’d taken minutes earlier permeates the room, and Cody has to pause in his delicate work every few minutes to wipe down the mirror.

He continues working methodically from the ends of the strands up to his scalp, becoming progressively less clumsy with the action as he goes. It’s strangely meditative, though it helps that his attention on this is effectively holding off the nervousness that the mission ahead of him today brings. 

By the time he finishes up, the Commander just… stares at himself for a long moment, noting the unfamiliar sensation of his still-damp hair falling a short way across his face. It’ll need to be slicked back, certainly, but it looks… Fine. Not like him, though. Not at all. 

It’s a funny thing, that sensation that other sentients would refer to as not recognising yourself in the mirror. When your face is the same as millions of others, it’s more like seeing another one of the vode. One with that same scar across the temple and with considerably less sternness about adhering to the GAR’s hair-length regs, clearly.

Cody sighs, gesturing to power down the holoprojector, finishing towelling himself off and finally heading out of the ‘fresher to get ready for the day. Regardless of his feelings on the subject, it’ll help him blend in better as a deserter, so longer hair it is.

Longer hair and an almost merc-like uniform, according to the tailored cloak and boots that wait for him in his room. Cody grimaces.

He just hopes that if Waxer or Boil see him, they’ll keep their mouths shut.

By some mercy of the fates, he’s able to steal through the Venator and make it up to the docking bays without catching the eye of any of his men (mostly, at least; he’d brushed past Helix outside the medbay but the medic hadn’t even looked up from his work). 

He jogs up the ramp to the ship to join his Jedi - already waiting for him and re-reading today’s mission details with a mug in hand, of course.

Cody spots the second mug of caf that Obi-Wan had prepared sitting over on one of the consoles and beelines for it, already knowing he’ll be needing all the stimulants he can get his hands on to feel at all ready for today.

“Ah, Commander, I was wondering when you were going to–” Obi-Wan starts, but the comment dies on his tongue. Cody glances over to see his normally so eloquent General taking a moment before finishing his sentence, his friend’s gaze flicking briefly over his appearance. The Commander raises a questioning brow, and Obi-Wan clears his throat quietly, before offering Cody a slightly short nod.

“... When you were going to arrive.” His eyes linger for a moment, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, before he turns away, busying himself by inputting the coordinates into the console. “The hair suits you, by the way.”

Cody feels strangely warm at the compliment, self-consciously reaching up to push back some of the strands.

“I’ve written up some of the boys for shorter,” he comments dryly, stepping up alongside the Jedi and taking a sip of his caf. Obi-Wan snorts in quiet amusement, giving him a sidelong glance.

“I’m sure.”

A calm silence briefly blankets them as the ship’s autopilot gets them away from the Venator and into the familiar black ocean of space, and Cody feels some of his tension ease. Of course it feels normal. He was a fool to think that this would feel any different to their usual missions. 

His eyes idly track the various indicators that display the wellbeing of the ship as he exhales slowly, lips curling up into something more reminiscent of a grimace than a smile - but nonetheless, he tries.

“You feeling ready for this?” he asks, feeling selfishly a little comforted by the thoughtful hum he gets in response. That’s a ‘not quite’ from the Jedi, and it at least means they’ll be walking into this together with some uncertainty. Cody hates feeling like he’s on the back foot.

“You can never be too ready for an undercover mission,” Obi-Wan says evenly, staring out ahead of them as the ship prepares to enter hyperspace. His fingers tap idly against his mug. “It always comes down to improvisation. A slip of the tongue here, an unexpected question there,” he murmurs. Catching Cody’s eye, the ghost of a smirk flits across his features. “... Not to worry you, of course.”

“Mm, right. You’d never do anything to cause me worry,” Cody quips, settling down into the pilot chair and buckling himself in. Obi-Wan follows suit, nodding serenely.

“It definitely hasn’t happened before, no.”

The trip through hyperspace is largely uneventful, the two falling into a companionable silence. As his thoughts stray to the mission ahead a little way into the flight, Cody realises his mind must feel a little frayed through the Force, because Obi-Wan turns to give him the look.

‘The Look’ is something scrutinising that happens whenever the Commander hasn’t quite managed to maintain his mental shields enough to conceal his emotions in a time of stress - the Jedi Order had, en masse, taught the vode how to do it in the early days of their partnership, in the interest of maintaining privacy for the troops, and as a gesture of goodwill. Cody does it well, for the most part, though it’s harder for him with Obi-Wan than with others, he finds. The man always seems to be able to see right through him.

“You’re still anxious.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and Cody wishes, not for the first time, that the General wouldn’t draw attention to his vulnerability like this. He levels Obi-Wan with a frustrated look of his own, brows knitting into a frown.

“It’s fine,” he insists. Obi-Wan looks at him flatly. Cody relents immediately, knowing that it’s useless trying to lie to any Jedi, but especially this one in particular.

He course corrects.

“It’ll be fine once we’re actually in the thick of it. It’s…” he grimaces, shaking his head slightly. “It’s the unknown of it all. At least if it’s a firefight, you can face down the enemy with a rifle.”

Obi-Wan reaches out to gently squeeze his Commander’s shoulder. The action soothes, the familiar warmth of his hand providing an anchor point of calm. “You’ll be wonderful. If I didn’t have full faith in you, I wouldn’t have asked you to join me,” he says, sincerely.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan adds, a playful glint in his eye, “if it all goes sideways, then you can happily be in your comfort zone while we blast our way out.”

A huff of amusement escapes Cody as he rolls his eyes, reaching up to cover the hand that remains on his shoulder.

“My comfort zone of keeping you from getting yourself impaled or shot? Yes, I’m unfortunately very familiar,” he mutters, exasperated yet fond.

Obi-Wan tips his head back and laughs.

______________________________

The first time he hears Obi-Wan laugh - properly laugh, not that wry chuckle he occasionally hears during briefings - it’s also the first time they’ve stayed up late together to finish up on  paperwork in his quarters. Cody has been regaling him with a tale from his youth on Kamino, relating to a particularly memorable incident involving Wooley, Boil, and a few mouse droids, and Obi-Wan laughs, eyes creasing at the corners and shoulders shaking with mirth.

At this time, it’s been about six weeks since the battalion’s first deployment in the war. The group is beginning to feel less like a random selection of soldiers and more like many parts of a functioning whole. Most notably, a handful of the men have recently started on their armour decoration. After much debate back and forth about the colour they should choose to accurately represent the battalion, Crys organised a (debatably) official vote in the mess hall with swatches of the strongest contenders.

The General had politely abstained over lunch, telling the vode that it wasn’t his place to influence their choices on such matters. Waxer indignantly declared such a position as ‘fence-sitting’, and Cody had sharply warned the young trooper that if he were to accuse High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi of centrist tendencies again, it would be KP duty for a month.

The vote had come out strongly in favour of a colour they’d henceforth started referring to as ‘212th gold’ - a handsome shade that glowed like the sun when caught by natural light. As his duty dictates him to show the way for his men, the Commander was among the first to adopt it, beginning with the sunburst on his chestplate. It felt right, even with those first brushstrokes, to be able to claim something as truly theirs. Cody hopes that one day, 212th gold will represent a spark of hope across the Galaxy. A mark made entirely in their name.

A little romantic of a thought, perhaps, but it brings him a spark of pride whenever he sees the newest shinies brought in, eager to earn the paint stripes they see displayed by those in command.  

In these last six weeks, a considerable amount has changed for the men, and it’s been a lot of adjustment. Both Obi-Wan and the vode serving under him have had to figure out how to adapt, to work alongside each other effectively. The General is kinder, more human than the Kaminoans had warned he’d be - he watches out for them on battlefields, mourns alongside them when their brothers are lost… in turn, the vode are beginning to slowly open up, too, starting to share parts of their culture with the Jedi.

He’s even been learning to speak Mando’a, though Cody is privately grateful that he’s been able to warn the boys ahead of time to watch their tongues when the General is floating around. They mean well, but he knows what they can be like if they think no one can understand them… The last thing he wants is to have to deal with writing up half of his troops for discussing too liberally what happened during their most recent trip to 79’s.

Once Obi-Wan gathers himself again, he looks over at Cody with a thoughtful glance, his expression softened with a grin. 

“It doesn’t sound altogether too dissimilar to the way we were raised in the temple, you know,” he says, “... mischief and all.” 

Cody watches him from his position sat on the edge of his bed. He thinks the relaxed, genuine smile suits the other man greatly. He privately hopes he’ll get to see it again after tonight. 

The Jedi hums to himself, before adopting a fond, faraway look. “All younglings can be particularly trying in large numbers, regardless of origin,” he continues, “I do not envy the crechèmasters for the duty they have to perform.”

Cody’s interest is piqued at that. The datapad in his hand is ignored for a moment, attention turned fully to the man sitting at his desk.

“You were raised communally?”

Obi-Wan nods, pausing briefly to make an amendment to the report in front of him, slender fingers moving quickly across the screen. Stars, Cody thinks to himself with a little annoyance, the man can even make paperwork look elegant.

“Yes. Well, from a certain age at least. I was brought to the Temple around age 4,” he explains. His eyes are still a little distant, lost in the memory of a happier time. “I still have a deep fondness for my crèchemates, despite… Differing opinions with a handful of them.”

Cody nods slowly, studying the Jedi for a beat.

“I get that, General,” he says, returning his attention to his datapad. “I’m the same with my batchmates. I just… Might have had more of them than you.” 

“An understatement I’m sure, Commander,” Obi-Wan chuckles, before his tone turns softer, more sincere. He glances over at Cody, choosing his next words carefully. 

“It seems like… A wonderful thing, the family you and the rest of the vode share.” He gives Cody a small smile, though there’s something else to it, a heaviness that settles behind his expression. “... It’s a shame that such a thing was created for the unworthy purpose of war. I can only hope that once the fighting is done, you’ll be able to thrive as all other sentients do.”

The two lapse into silence for a little while, the only sound filling the room the soft tapping of keys. Obi-Wan has spoken a little about his feelings on the war over the last handful of weeks, and to be truthful, it’s not a subject that Cody trusts himself to speak about. Neither the 212th, nor Cody himself for that matter, have been deployed for very long, and the clone doesn’t quite understand all of the weight behind his General’s words. Perhaps he will come to, in time… for better or worse.

Cody has reckoned with his own adjustments in the past few weeks. He’s found himself relaxing considerably around Obi-Wan, no longer feeling the burning need to watch himself as if his General is considering decommissioning him if he puts a foot wrong. He didn’t particularly know her, but from what the other vode say, Shaak Ti was similar back on Kamino.

It took a week and one mission in the field before Cody decided that the Jetii were not the dictators they’d expected. A further week and he was convinced they had no choice in this whole matter either, and were evidently suffering for it. Like a good Commander, he'd kept those observations to himself.

As soon as he’d allowed himself to be… Well, human, around the Jedi, he and Obi-Wan had started to become closer. Cody isn’t particularly adept at it yet, but if he finds himself arriving early to their morning briefings, he’s started making the General his tea in the way he likes it. It’s something small, but judging by the way Obi-Wan’s eyes had widened the first time he’d done it, a pleased smile crossing his face, it’s something that seemed to mean a lot to him.

They’ve become… Friends, or something approaching that, at least. It’s a thought that has him steeling himself to speak now, clearing his throat in the quiet space.

“... Cody,” he says, forcing the word to come out casually. Obi-Wan glances up again with a raised brow, a questioning look in his eyes. Cody finds it in himself to meet his General’s gaze, offering an affirmative nod. “You, uh… asked me for my chosen name, when we first met,” he explains quietly, ignoring the way his stomach wants to twist as he holds out this olive branch of trust, “it’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan’s expression goes from confusion, to surprise, to something incredibly warm.

“Cody,” he repeats softly, as if testing out the sound of it on his tongue, before giving an approving nod. A smile remains on his face even as he returns to his work. “Thank you, Cody,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the datapad at his desk. The Commander is grateful for it - he feels as if the vulnerability of further eye contact might make him combust right now.  “It’s a fine name. I’m honoured to know it.”

If Cody feels his heart react to the softness of his Jedi’s tone in that moment, he doesn’t mention it.

______________________________

“Mister and Mister Emerin?”

Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance at the call across the docking bays. They’ve barely been parked for a minute, and they’re already out of time. 

“I suppose that’s us,” Cody says with a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly. He looks at Obi-Wan, tilting his head with a silent question of ‘ready?’ and the Jedi nods, bringing the last of the bags with him down the gangway of the ship.

A tall, pale Nautolan woman with a checklist in hand approaches, teeth flashing a perfect, artificially white smile as Obi-Wan steps forwards to shake her hand. 

“Charmed,” he drawls in a smooth, Outer Rim accent, his voice low with lazily drawn out syllables - a stark contrast to the sharp, crisp Coruscanti voice that Cody’s used to hearing. Beside the Jedi, he forces on a smile.

“You’re here to check us in?” he says, hoping that his voice comes across not nearly as unsure and out of place as he feels. The Nautolan nods, making a scribble on the flimsi paper she’s carrying, pocketing it and taking the bags from the two of them without asking.

“Here, I’ll get these for you and show you to the main building. Is this your first time staying with us?”

The woman chatters away to them as they make the walk from the docking bays to the resort itself. Obi-Wan is as content to make conversation as Cody is to let him. The clone hangs back a little, taking in the planet around him. Brilliant light beams down on the building ahead, even as it nears the start of sundown, making him squint a little. It’s…

Excessive is the primary word that comes to mind.

The docking bays themselves are massive, on an elevated platform above a calm looking ocean of tropical blue. The bridge they’re now on connects to a few perfectly sculpted beaches that are teeming with people even at this hour, and more pressingly, a building the size of the damn Senate. Cody’s far from an expert on architecture, but it’s clearly a recent build - large windows and extravagant relief work carved into the stone of the imposing structure, of various people or mythological beings that Cody imagines he probably should recognise but doesn’t.

It all seems to be purpose-built with the intention of making the space feel welcoming to those in a certain tax bracket. 

Cody is undeniably not part of that tax bracket.

This area of the planet itself has almost definitely gone through some extensive terraforming by the looks of things, and he feels a little dizzy as he imagines the cost - coming from a corporation, no less. Part of the background provided for this mission detailed that Miphena, the planet they’re standing on, is essentially owned by the resort managers with no government to speak of. To call it ‘bleak’ would be underselling it.

They’re ushered inside by the woman with the increasingly grating customer service voice, brought through a pristine foyer tiled with marble underfoot. Cody is sure to make a mental note of that - that’s very slippery when covered in blood, so if they’re having to fight their way out, they should find another point of exit than this one.

He continues to sweep the rest of the room with an analytical eye. The main desk could be used as cover in a pinch, though it’s not in a particularly tactical location - the presence of stairs, an elevator, and double-doors through to the main events hall makes this an undesirable position to have to defend with too many points of ambush.

… Granted, it’s exceedingly unlikely they’ll be forced to stage a firefight here, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

The receptionist leads them up to the seventh floor (with a lot of small-talk in the elevator that feels entirely unnecessary), hands them their keys for the room, drops their bags off and thanks the two profusely for their custom before leaving them alone once more. Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance, and the former smirks. 

“After you, darling husband,” Obi-Wan says easily with a flourishing bow, still holding onto the accent despite the fact it’s just the two of them. The amused gleam in the Jedi’s eye only gets stronger as Cody rolls his eyes, pushing past him to enter into the room. 

Much like the exterior of the hotel, it’s certainly extravagant. A large bed takes up most of the space, crisp white sheets with elaborate gold embroidery detailing the edges, and a plush red carpet beneath it. Every surface has some form of decoration, a vase of fake flowers here, a small metal sculpture there. A fairly incomprehensible piece of abstract art hangs above the bed, though what it’s intended to represent is entirely lost on Cody.

The two share another glance, silently communicating with one another, and get to work searching the room for any listening devices. 

Cody heads directly for the mirror, carefully unhooking it from the wall to see if the garish item is the result of the need to obscure a bug of some kind, or if it’s just the result of terrible taste.

Hm. Terrible taste it is.

Once they both signal the all-clear, Obi-Wan relaxes a little, setting both of their bags down on the bed.

“Well,” he says mildly, glancing around with a disapproving gaze. “It’s certainly expensive.”

Cody snorts, following his eyeline. “Just how much did the Republic spend to send us here?”

Obi-Wan peers closely at the strange painting, letting out a soft hum. “I shudder to think.” He pauses as Cody wanders over to check out the balcony. “This surely can’t be an original work,” he mutters to himself, passing a hand over his beard and frowning in thought. 

Cody can’t help but glance back with a raised brow. 

“... Sir,” he says, and the Jedi interrupts him with a wave of his hand, still narrowing his eyes at the artwork.

“It’s Obi-Wan when we’re alone, Cody, you know that.”

“Obi-Wan,” he starts again, amused. “Please tell me you’re not critiquing the art–”

“If it’s there, it should be there with purpose. This is soulless. It’s nothing-”

“In a resort, Obi-Wan.”

The Jedi lets out a rather contemptuous scoff, before drawing back to meet Cody’s gaze. He folds his arms, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “If you’re not the type to appreciate a critique of art, my dear, then whyever did I marry you in the first place?”

Cody lets out a long suffering sigh, not missing a beat. “I ask myself the same thing every day, darling, believe me.”

That draws a laugh from his Jedi. Cody steps out to the balcony proper as Obi-Wan begins to unpack his bag. 

The sun is drawing lower on the horizon now, painting the sky in picturesque golds and oranges as people slowly move in from the beach - a steady stream of holiday-goers and families making their way back to the hotel for the evening. Cody idly watches them, leaning out over the railing as he takes in the myriad of species, genders, and ages of the people who’ve come here for an escape. One thing seems to bind them all together despite the differences - that distinct aura of wealth that seems to permeate the very air here.

He can’t really put his finger on what it is. The way they carry themselves, maybe? The sea of perfect skin and hair, the precision in which they choose to dress… It’s all fairly alien to the Commander. None of it really feels real in the way that people tend to be. Give him the flawed mess of the Lower Levels any day.

“I’m going to go for a little wander,” Obi-Wan calls through from the bedroom. “Get the lay of the land, so to speak.” 

Cody turns, stepping back into the lavish room and stretching slightly. He sighs as he feels a pleasant ache in his muscles.

“I’ll probably stay in,” he yawns, “get an early night. Didn’t sleep well last rotation, and I’d prefer to feel rested for tomorrow.”

Even though he technically hasn’t been awake for all that long, Cody figures it’d be best to get started on adjusting to local time as quickly as possible. They’ll need to be up at dawn, regardless of if they’re ready for it. The Jedi hums in response, slipping on his cloak and heading to the door.

“That sounds wise. I’ll try not to return too late - if you’re already asleep, I shall endeavour to join you as quietly as possible.” His gaze falls to where Cody stands, offering a small smile. “Feel free to claim either side of the bed. Comms are on, I’ll see you in a little while.”

With that, he’s disappeared off into the night, leaving Cody with the question of whether or not he should take the floor tonight dying on his tongue. 

He blinks, a little stupidly, after the now closed door. It’s as if there wasn’t even a question of whether they would be sharing the bed in the Jedi’s mind. Which… Cody supposes there shouldn’t be, really. 

He and Obi-Wan have shared tents before in the field countless times, slept closely on the ground when there hasn’t been space in various quarters they’ve been given. Hells, during a mission on Mygeeto two months ago, he’d had no qualms with combining their bedrolls together for warmth.

A real bed just… feels different. Cody isn’t quite sure why.

He gives a wary sidelong glance to the offending furniture, as if expecting it to bite him. The bed, for its part, stares back at him unblinkingly, its exorbitant number of pillows providing more fuel for Cody’s growing resentment of the damn thing.

The Commander shakes his head. He’s being ridiculous. With a sigh and a mental slap upside the head, he unpacks his own bag, glancing out every now and again to the progressing sunset as he changes into his sleepclothes.

He’s almost loath to admit it, but the view is gorgeous. The twin moons slowly rise into the sky, basking the ocean in an ethereal glow. If it weren’t for the fact that he can still hear tourists partying outside, he could be tricked into actually enjoying this.

Cody sets aside the outfits he’ll need for tomorrow - something casual for the day, and something more formal for a party that’ll be occurring in the evening - before putting his suitcase down on top of Obi-Wan’s, near the door.

Sinking down into bed, he’s further frustrated to find out how comfortable it feels, reluctantly admitting to himself that perhaps the richest of the rich in the galaxy do get some things right every now and again. Rarely.

He lets out a deep exhale, pleased to find that his mind feels considerably more settled now that they’re actually here at the mission location, a little more peaceful.

It’s a relief, to be certain - Cody doesn’t really know who he is if not for the calm, collected strategist that always has an answer. His lack of certainty as of late has been… Disquieting, to say the least.

He grasps the feeling of quietude with both hands, allowing it to pull him into the alluring drift of near-sleep.

He stirs a little when he hears Obi-Wan return, the door clicking closed ever so gently. The Jedi seems to be true to his word in keeping his movements as soundless as possible- 

Well, that is at least until he takes a step further into the dark room and walks directly into the suitcases in front of him, letting out a hiss of pain. 

Cody can’t quite conceal his ensuing huff of amusement. Obi-Wan seems decidedly less pleased, grumbling something under his breath. 

The other man pads over to the other side of the bed, and Cody hears the distinctive rustle of clothes being removed. He lets out a slow breath, ensuring to stay stock still, facing the other way. Not that he could really see what was going on even if he did roll over, but…

“Sorry. I tried.” Obi-Wan’s whisper cuts through the darkness, genuine regret in his tone. 

“You’re fine. Is your foot alright?”

The Jedi huffs. “Mortally wounded, I’m afraid. Amputation likely.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

The bed dips gently behind him as Obi-Wan gets in. Cody is suddenly very grateful that everything in this hotel is oversized - it at least means they can do this without threat of the two being close enough to touch. For one long moment, he’s hyper-aware of every shift, every slight movement from his Jedi, before he forces his eyes to close.

It all falls quiet after that, apart from the gentle sound of even breaths behind him. Cody unconsciously finds himself matching them, slow inhales and exhales that serve to soothe his suddenly racing heart. He tries not to think too hard about why his heart might be racing.

Cody swallows. Thank the stars he knows how to shield, because he has no idea what Obi-Wan would say if he could sense this… Whatever it is that’s gotten into him.

With a long exhale, he uses what his General had once taught him of meditation technique to forcibly quieten his mind. He’s not allowing himself to do this. Not again.

To his immense gratitude, with a little effort (and time spent visualising the movement of the ocean outside), the calm of earlier finds its way to him once again, soothing his mind and slowing his breaths to match that of the lapping water.

As he finds himself on the precipice of sleep once more, he hears a quiet murmur from the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Cody.”

Cody pulls the covers up a little tighter to himself, yawning as he does so. It takes him a moment to find his voice, and when he does, it’s uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

[deansapplepie]

Till THE DEAD do us part | Chapter 9

A/N: This story will take place in all the seasons, but it’s not exactly a rewriting cause I’d have to re-watch everything to use the exactly lines of the characters, also I think it’s better if I tell a side story without changing the main facts of the story.

This story has a Female Reader, but I don’t describe her appearance, so anyone can identify with her.

Chapter 8 Chapter 10

Masterlist

Chapter 9: I ain’t yer bitch, Grimes

Summary: The day starts with a horrifying secret coming to the knowledge of the group, dividing opinions about the matter. Stress is all around again, people say things they didn’t really mean. Everybody is suffering, but some matters have their conclusion. This is absolutely the worst synopsis I ever made, but also that was the hardest chapter for me.

Warnings: swearing, little angsty, nightmares, violence, death, discussions, Daryl is a meanie (but he’s suffering). Minors do not interact. (If you think there should be more warnings, let me know)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s Sister)

Word Count: 5,029

Extra notes: I proofread the text, but English is not my first language, so feel free to correct any mistakes, of course with love. I’m consulting a timeline of everything that happened, but it can happen that I put events out of order. In the series after the happenings of this Chapter we have a gap of 7 days, so I’ll use it to have the freedom to be more creative and create nice interactions of our loved characters.

You were walking in a large field, it was the end of the afternoon and a little cloudy, so the colors were not bright. Far away you saw a person, it looked like a kid, but you were not exactly sure you needed to get closer. Soon you weren’t walking anymore, you were running. When you got closer you could see better, it was a kid, a girl. She had short blond hair and was wearing a blue t-shirt. ‘Sophia’, you thought. That was the clothes she was when she got lost.

“Hey, Sophia. It’s me Y/N.” You called her going in her direction but she didn’t turn to you. “Sophia, we were so worried, we looked for you everywhere. Your mom is so worried. She’s gonna be so happy when she sees you.”

Again, no answer. When you got close enough to touch the little girl, you put your hand on her shoulder and called her. She turned to you, and you saw the most horrifying thing, she was pale white, veins evident on her skin, her eyes were the greenish that only the walkers had, and she jumped on you.

You woke up immediately sitting in the dark, you were sweating, your heart beating impossibly fast, it was even a little difficult to breath. When you sat up, Daryl woke up startled, he sat by your side touching your shoulders as delicately as he could. “Wha’ happened? Are ya okay?” He asked worriedly, by the way you woke up he was sure you were not ok.

“I had a nightmare. A terrible one.” You said, when you thought about talking about Sophia the tears came to your eyes, and you couldn’t help but cry. He was surprised he never saw you like that, well… except the day he encountered you in the woods, but in the middle of the night? Never… well, not that you had slept many times together, in fact this was the third time you slept in the same place.

“I’m ‘ere. Try to calm down and tell me. I need to know to help ya.” He pulled you to his chest hugging you from behind, as much as your sitting position allowed.

“Sophia…” You managed to say, all this days you were all worried about her, but you didn’t had any dream or nightmare about the girl, so why today? “I found her…” you sobbed. “She had turned Daryl, she died and…” More sobs take the control over you.

“Shush… com’ere.” He turned you around and laid down with you, your face hiding on his chest, he caressed your back and your hair. “It was just a nightmare, we’re gonna find her and she’s gonna be ok.”

He couldn’t be sure of it and you knew. He also knew it, but he wished to find the little girl more than anything. It’d give hope to the group, Carol would be happy and everything he went through would be worth it. He kissed the top of your head and continued giving you comfort till both of you fell asleep again.

The next day everyone was sat having breakfast together when Glenn came and dropped an atomic bomb on everyone, saying the old barn was full of walkers. When he gave the news, you almost choked on your breakfast, but you could see it was as if he had taken a burden off his shoulders. Damn, the kid was carrying a lot of secrets with him.

After this, it was all chaos. Everyone went to the barn, following Shane. Shane wanted you all to leave, but you couldn’t just leave without Sophia. He got mad at Daryl, because he insisted, he was close to find the girl. You all got to know that Hershel saw the walkers as sick people, how fucked up could this be? While you discussed the door of the barn started shaking with the walkers going against it. You decided to watch the barn just in case, Shane being the first one on duty.

You went back to the camp and saw Daryl, crossbow on his back, going to the stables. ‘Oh he’s not thinking about taking another horse, is he?’ You thought, but you knew he were, you followed him and also saw Carol coming in the same direction. You found him inside looking for a horse. “You can’t go out there in your state.”

“Well, just watch me sweetheart.” He said an acid tone in his voice.

“Daryl, you’re severely injured and it was caused by a horse. Let the others look for her.” You tried to bring reason to him.

“Listen, ya don’t get to boss me around, I ain’t yer bitch, Grimes.” Even when he was mad he had never called you by your last name, but when he made you upset you called him Dixon, so you could not exactly blame him.

“Alright, do whatever the fuck you wanna do.” You wanted to say that you were just worried, that he needed to have a good recovery because he was essential for the group, the group needed him. You needed him, but the words just got stuck in your throat.

You turned your back to him and left the place going back to the camp, you passed Carol on you way and knew she was also going to try to reason with him. Maybe he’d listen the mother of the child. You sat on the swing, Carl on your side and Luna on the ground chewing on a branch she found somewhere. You observed Daryl storming off the stables followed by Carol. It looked like she somehow convinced him, even though he didn’t look happy about it.

It all got you thinking about the terrible nightmare you had, you still wanted to have hope and the same faith Daryl had, but the odds were not really on the little girl’s side. “Aunt Y/N, do you think we’ll find Sophia?” Carl asked while you both sat on the swing.

“Yes, I’m sure we will…” You tried reassuring your nephew, well you really thought, but you weren’t sure how you’d find her, dead? Alive? A walker?

“I don’t want to leave and let her behind.”

“Me neither sweetie, me neither.” You took his little hand in yours and squeezed it.

After lunch you were all together at the house’s Porch when Shane arrived with all the guns, you took your gun back of course, you agreed that having the walkers so close, you needed to have protection. You put it back close to your knife on your waist. Shane was inciting everyone while he gave everybody guns, when you all saw Hershel, Rick and Jimmy bringing Walkers as if they were just doggies that they found in the woods.

“What the fuck?” You didn’t have time to hold your tongue, so everyone looked in that direction and if it could get worse, it would and it got.

Everything happened so fast at the moment, Shane ran down the hills you all followed behind him, Luna being faster than everybody an passing Shane. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It can get bad if she get close to one of those things.’ You tried to run faster even with your injured leg. When you got down there Rick was divided on telling Shane to stop and trying to command Luna to not get close to the walkers. You got her by the collar and brought her distant from them.

Then everything went fast, Shane shot the Walkers that Hershel and Rick were bringing to show the farmer that they were not alive and following he broke the lock of the barn door releasing the walkers that were inside. You got your gun and aimed it in the direction of them and started shooting with the others to contain the monsters to get to you. One hand holding Luna and the other firmly holding the gun. When you thought everything was over, you listened to a low moaning coming from the barn, getting closer and closer to all of you. And when it came to light… there she was. Sophia. She wasn’t Sophia anymore, she was a walker just like in your dream and you couldn’t dare shooting her… not the little girl you met on the road, the one that played with your nephew and was like a niece to you, not the so pure and innocent Sophia that had already suffered much in her life.

You put your gun back at your waist and turned your back, you didn’t want to see, you couldn’t dare to look anymore. You heard Carol’s cries and saw that Daryl embraced her so he wouldn’t get any closer. You got to Lori and Carl, and hugged them. It broke your heart, seeing Sophia turned just like in your nightmare, Carl crying for his friend, Carol suffering… You were relieved to have “found” Sophia, but you were also extremely sad.

You put the walkers bodies on the truck to burn them, but made graves for Sophia, Hershel’s wife and stepson. You reunited to make a funeral for them, Carol didn’t want to participate. You could understand her, but at the same time it pained you that her little girl was not going to have her mom on her funeral as it should have been. Maybe that wasn’t Sophia anymore, but it was before… and if you had found her dead instead of turned, wouldn’t you bury her too and say your goodbyes?

Everybody started to go their separate ways and back to their chores. You stayed there a little longer and then headed back to the camp. When you got there you saw Daryl disassembling all his camp that was in the extreme corner where all of you were camping. He was already kind of far from you, what was he doing? You approached him, a little afraid of his reaction.

“D., what are you doing?” You asked genuinely worried.

“Wha’ does it look like?” He grunted throwing things in his bag just to get away from there.

“Like you’re running away from us.” You kept your distance and let he continue to do whatever he was doing. “I know you’re upset, I’m too. All of us, actually. We need to stay together. I know it’s breaking you, you were truly involved on Sophia’s search…”

“Ya know nothin’ ‘bout me!” He retorted, throwing all his belongings on the ground.

“You’re hurting. If you need me, you know where to find me. I’ll be there for you in the same way you were there for me when I needed.” You left, you didn’t look back. There was nothing you could do for him to listen to you in the moment.

You went looking for the others and found them at the Greenes house. It was a little crowded, Beth was catatonic. Maggie said that one moment she was on the kitchen doing her activities and in the other she passed out and was on this state she was right now. Hershel was nowhere to be found and he was the only one that could help her.

Lori suggested you tried to do something to help, since you technically have the same knowledge as Hershel, but you wouldn’t dare. The old man was way more experienced than you with animals and people, you’d not risk. Rick and Glenn left to bring him back to take care of Beth.

You stayed all the afternoon helping Maggie and Patricia with the house and with Beth. When the night arrived you had dinner ready for everyone to eat. In that moment you learned that Lori was missing, you hadn’t even noticed. A car was missing too. Shane got up and went after Lori, everybody was worried. ‘This day can’t get worse’, you thought.

“Carl, eat. Your mom gonna want to know you ate everything when she’s back.” You told the boy that continued to eat contradicted.

“Why’s your boyfriend not here?” Maggie asked sitting by your side to eat.

“He wants to be left alone.” You deep breathed. “I guess this is how he copes with his frustration. what happened today was probably too much for him.”

“First time you don’t correct me when I call him your boyfriend.”

“And would it matter if I did? You’d still call him that.” You shoved a mouthful of vegetables in your mouth, you didn’t feel like eating, but you forced yourself to.

“Why aren’t you with him?” You truly liked Maggie, she was a good girl and you were pretty sure Glenn was in love with her, but you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed with her questions. You didn’t want to remember that he was hurting and that he was alone, just because he couldn’t stop himself from pushing away from people.

“He doesn’t want me there, I’m not forcing anything. I left the door open, so when he needs me… if he needs me, he’ll come and find me.” You drank water to help the food down, the food was delicious but you really didn’t felt like eating. You just ate to survive. “I finished, gonna wash my plate and stay with Beth till you finish. Carl, don’t leave Andrea.”

You were still not good with Andrea, but you knew she would protect and take care of Carl properly. You went to the room and sat by Beth’s side. It was really a great shock to her… Shane wasn’t completely wrong about cleaning the barn, but the way he did… it was the problem. “I’m sorry Beth, I wish you didn’t need to go through that.”

In one hour or maybe two Shane got back with Lori. She was hurt and you wondered what could have possibly happened. She told all of you the story about going to look for Rick, Glenn and Hershel. She was insane, maybe? Did pregnancy do this to a woman? Like it would be of no use to one more person go looking for them, as Rick and Glenn were already looking for someone.

“Know what’s that Y/N?” Shane asked you, and you knew that probably you’d fight after a long time with no fights. “She asked your boyfriend to go look for them and he didn’t…”

“And he had no obligation of going! Rick went with Glenn to look for Hershel, that was enough. The only thing we needed to do was wait for them! Going look for them aren’t going to bring them faster to the farm.” You exploded, now even this he would like to blame someone? “The only fault of this is yours Lori, couldn’t you just wait them? It’s not like you have superpowers and would bring they back instantly. You just put yourself and the baby in danger!”

“Baby?” Many of the people around Lori and Shane said. Which baby?

Lori gave you an annoyed look.

“Sorry.” You said about revealing the baby, not what you said about making no sense going to look for Rick at this point.

Then the questions started, and Carl learned he was going to be a big bro. Carol and Dale took Lori to the RV to check on her. You approached Dale to ask him a favor, well not actually a favor, but it would be one for you.

“Dale, can I stay on watch tonight?” You asked the older man.

“Yes, of course. Who’s going to change with you?” He asked.

“No one, it’s better if everyone rest. Tomorrow I can sleep.” You told him and he saw in your eyes you were almost pleading him.

“It’s not right, you know? To be deprived of sleep.”

“I’m not. Tomorrow morning someone can take my place and I go to sleep. Please.” You asked again.

He agreed, so you just asked him to wait a little cause you were going to check where Luna was. You pretty much already had an idea, but you had to make sure she wasn’t in the woods or somewhere else. You walked in the dark only with the moonlight to guide you, you could see the whole structure of his camp.

Anxiety was bringing an uncomfortable feeling to your chest and stomach, and you were a little afraid of what you could encounter. When you arrived, you saw him and Carol, he having an outburst on her. You ran to stay between her and him.

“What the hell are you doing?” You yelled at him. How could he treat her like this after everything she went through?

“Keeping all of ya away from me!” He yelled back, even though he was shouting you could see in his eyes that anger wasn’t exactly what he was feeling, maybe just a bit. “Don’t ya understand I’m here for a reason? I ain’t yer servant so ya can go ordering me aroun’ as ya want!”

“Carol, go back. Let him be today. I’m pretty sure tomorrow he’ll regret his actions.” You told the woman that was behind you.

“What are ya here for?” He asked daggers on his eyes, he probably didn’t like what you said. “Came here to tell me, how I treated yer sis bad?”

“No, you asshole. I just defended your ass when someone mentioned it was your fault!” You retorted him, you had come with good intentions just to look for Luna, but you couldn’t just stand how he treated Carol and how he was behaving.

“Let me guess, Shane?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You answered, you didn’t want to take longer there, cause the longer you got to come back the more you were inclined to have a fight with him, and you didn’t want it. You just wanted Daryl back, the one that was a little bit grumpy and rough, but that was also sweet and considerate in the small things. “I came here for my dog. Is she here?”

“She’s sleeping in the tent.” He replied, you were surprised she didn’t wake up with all the yelling.

“Good.” You turned your back to him and started to go back to the camp.

“Aren’t ya gonna take her?” He asked a tad bit annoyed and confused.

“Just wanted to know if she was safe, you can have her today. You probably need her more than me.” You answered not turning back and continued your way back to the camp.

You went to RV and let Dale know you were already there to start your watch. Once more he tried talking you out of it, but you needed this time just for yourself and speaking the truth you were afraid of sleeping alone after your nightmare the night before, this time you wouldn’t have anyone to hug you if you needed.

You sat on the beach chair on the top of the RV, rifle resting on your lap, binoculars hanging on your neck and starring at the darkness. You always liked the night, more than the day, but you never were the one to change your sleeping habits because of this and despite of that you couldn’t appreciate the night properly at the cities. In your opinion the most special and magic thing about the night, was the sky with the moon and all the stars, you felt like you were looking into the universe and that mesmerized you. Also, you loved the silence and peace you could find at night.

Recently, you couldn’t enjoy the night anymore, because it was too dangerous, but honestly, being a woman, it wasn’t so different before. You didn’t enjoy the nights because of the parties and trivial things like this, what you really liked was the calming and silence it could give you. No car noises. No phones ringing. No one ring the doorbell. No annoying neighbors (well, most of the time). Now wasn’t so different all day, but you still needed to deal with people, and drama, and damn people that should be dead walking around and trying to eat your guts.

You spent the night watching the darkness, admiring the night and putting your thoughts in order. It was so exhausting being on an apocalypse, you couldn’t guess that besides fighting walkers, you’d need to deal with other people, have tons of familiar drama and have worries about a man you knew almost 3 months ago and was able to shake your life in a way no one had before, not even that bastard son of a bitch that ruined your life. On top of that you had your own dramas, traumas, worries and he, the man you couldn’t just stay away or give up, had his own troubles and you didn’t know if you would be able to break each other's barriers.

When the sun rose, you saw some dust far away in the road, you took the binoculars and saw the car in which Glenn and Rick left coming to the farm. You descended the RV stairs and went running to the house, announcing they were back and you prayed that please they had Hershel with them.

Soon they stopped in front of the house and all of the three were together, but they had guy with them. His leg was hurt. Soon Hershel and Patricia went to do a surgery on the boy’s leg. Glenn and Rick explained everything, the way things escalated made you fear what could happen. If this boy escaped or if their group went after you, all would be lost. It was too dangerous, but as a human being you could also understand what they did and why they did. After Hershel finished the surgery, and took care of Beth, everybody reunited to decide what to do with the kid. First plan, was to wait his recovery and then abandon him in a place far away from the farm. It could be a good plan, Shane didn’t like it much, but… what did he like nowadays? Maybe just Lori.

You left after you got breakfast, ready to go to your tent and try to sleep a little, or else Dale would speak a lot about it and the elderly man could be very incisive when he wanted.

“Can we talk?” You heard a gruff voice behind you, his voice. You didn’t look back.

“Did you already talk to Carol? She’s probably the most upset one.” You said, looking side eyed to your right and seeing Luna following you two. “Talk to her, then we can talk. Luna, come on girl, you already stayed away from me for enough time.”

You went to your tent and changed into comfortable clothes just to take a nap and make Dale happy that you rested as you promised. Luna joined you and laid there running your hand on her back, in some way it was soothing for you. After some time you heard Daryl knocking on the imaginary door of your tent. “Come in”, you said and soon he opened the door, entered and zipped it again. “Did you talk to Carol?”

“Yeah, already apologized for being a dick.” He said sitting in the opposite side from you. You sat and took a look at him in the dark of the tent while Luna turned around to rest her head on his lap.

“At least you’re a conscious dick.” You murmured.

“Wish, I wasn’t one at all” he chewed on his thumb.

“Everyone can be one sometimes.” And it was true, just that he was one more often, but you also knew he never had anyone to help him deal with his emotions. “I don’t like when you’re like that.”

“I know. Me neither. It’s just… I dunno how to be anything other than that.” He petted Luna’s head.

“I know. You were bad yesterday, because you cared, you felt… it’s ok to feel D. You’re human, you have a heart. It’s just how you bring these emotions out.” You were so calm, that it got him confused. It wasn’t that you weren’t upset, but you could see through his angry grumpy façade. It was just him trying to hide what he was truly feeling, also a way of auto sabotage himself. “It’s ok to rely on others. I see that you probably never had someone like this before, but now you have us. You have me. If you need to vent about something, cry or just go to the top of a mountain and scream all your feelings, you can come to me.”

“ ‘m sorry.” That’s the only thing he could say, he knew no explanation was needed, because you had just said pretty much what he was feeling.

“Come here.” You said laying over your sleeping bag and pointing at your chest. “Lay down and rest your head here.”

“Whatta ya…” he started to question, but you just cut him.

“Just do as I say, if I can lay my head on your chest, you can also do the same with me.” You opened your arms waiting for him.

You almost expected him to throw a tantrum just like the day before when he said he wasn’t your servant for you to order him around, but he obeyed laying on your left side, so he would not hurt his recovering wound. He rested his head on your chest, put his left arm around you while you hugged him with both your arms. One hand caressing his back carefully to not hurt him and the other on his head playing with his hair. He was a little embarrassed in the beginning, he thought it was very different you laying on his chest than he laying on yours. In his mind when you laid on his chest, it was pure, lovely and innocent, but for he, a man, lay on your chest it sounded wrong… women chests had always been something extremely sexualized by the society. Until that moment, when you started to rub his back and ran your fingers on his hair, he had never thought it could also be pure, innocent, lovely, soothing and many other adjectives that he could use to describe the sensation. He could listen to your heartbeat and feel your breathing, being able to relax.

“You’re forgiven, just don’t push yourself away again. Specially when we didn’t even fought between us.” You kissed the top of his head and he would not admit, but you felt him snuggling more into you. “Do you like it?” He just let a small hum. “This is what I mean when I say you can come to me. Whenever you need I’ll comfort you as you have already comforted me.”

You didn’t feel any animosity from the day before, in fact, when you saw him taking his things to set his camp far from yours, you thought you’d give him his space so he could overcome the situation. But when you saw he treating Carol badly you couldn’t just watch. You were happy he apologized to Carol and you were glad he came to you. You felt good about being able to show him what comfort was and how he could heal without hurting himself and the others around him.

You ended up sleeping with him in your arms, he stayed a little more enjoying the feeling and organizing his thoughts. Then he got up and left taking Luna with him and going around to see what he could do to help. He didn’t want to disturb your sleep, he knew you didn’t sleep, because he didn’t too. The night before, He just laid in his tent, Luna by his side and he couldn’t stop thinking about all his actions of the day, he wished you were there, but he had treated you so badly that he didn’t even know if you would like him close to you ever again. He regretted his actions like you said he would, but it was like he couldn’t control himself when he felt like this and mean words came out of his mouth without he even thinking about it. So even though he rested during the night he couldn’t sleep thinking about everything and knowing you were there keeping watch all by yourself in the darkness of the night. He could see you there, before he went to his tent, he saw you on top of the RV even from that distance he could see it was you. He wanted to go there and ask what you were doing, tell you to stop being so stubborn and go to sleep, but that night he felt like he didn’t have that right anymore.

He just knew one thing he needed to stop hurting people he didn’t want to hurt, people that he was learning he cared about. It feared him, because the only person he ever cared about was Merle. He didn’t even care about himself, but now he had people that he wasn’t completely sure yet, but he thought that maybe cared about him. Well, he felt like you truly cared, and he had to stop building walls and closing the door for you. He had never felt so good and safe before as he felt in your arms, and that was one thing he had to value, this was something he wanted to feel again and again and again.

Final Notes: Gosh, this was a very challenging chapter for me to finish, it took me sometime because the things never seemed right. For the next chapter or maybe chapterS we’ll have a gab of time that I can fill with something, so I was thinking about crossbow and hunting lessons with Daryl.

What do you think? If there’s anything you’d like to see, let me know me know. If it fits the story I’m trying to build maybe I can include.

Taglist: @sunnybunnyy2 @royaltysuite

Wanna be added to my taglist? Just let me know.

[speedofsoundsketches]

I know you aren't a fan of IDW Sonic comics, but I wanted to know your opinion about the Phantom Rider thing and the fact that Sonic is hiding his identity, do you think it's something out of character?

Hard to have an opinion on something I don’t keep up with regularly or read lol so I’m just going on my limit gleanings of what’s going on in the premise.

I’d say that Sonic feeling a need to hide his identity for any reason is weird since he’s pretty forthright with letting his actions speak for themselves even if people react negatively to it. That’s the whole gist of Black Knight when he’s warned how taking down Arthur will warrant a negative reputation to which he reacts with “well, thems the breaks. Can’t always be a hero!”

It speaks to his inherent confidence and presence of character that he’s unbothered by peoples opinions about him. He’ll always be his authentic self and won’t apologize for doing what he‘s decided is the right thing to do in the moment. And when he has been in the wrong or hurts someone unintentionally, he’s able to own up to it. He only feels bothered if he’s getting credit or blame for things he DIDN’T do.

I can only see Sonic hiding his identity if a conflict was a highly sensitive operation that warrants it, like a hostage situation and he’s gotta sneak in to find the victim before going nuclear on whoever did it. Like, if revealing himself too early would end up endangering said hostage I guess.

This is a public race where far as I know, it’s just an info collecting situation, not really one with high stakes like someone’s life is in the line? Idk again I haven’t read it, can only make opinions on the premise.

I kinda feel that it’s just a justification to put Sonic into a cool tokusatsu inspired racer uniform which idk why needing to hide one’s identity would be required to put him in some cool drip while racing against the big baddy lol

[cochart]

Another sort of rant about k-romance genre incoming… beware!

I hope I have better opportunities next year that are more stable and pay better.

Anyway, here’s another Tale from the K-Romance Crypt.

There are two things I realized while working in the k-romance industry.

The first is that no matter what people think or feel on Tumblr, fandom, or artsy spaces online, most people are vehemently, enthusiastically, and ragingly straight. I think it’s very easy for “artsy” people or people who spend a lot of time in fandom spaces to think that the majority of people enjoy gay ships or at least that a gay ship is as popular as a straight ship. But this cannot be far from the truth. Number-wise, both the demand and the supply for straight content trumps that for gay content by huge margins. While working for multiple companies, I’ve expressed that I’d also like to work with GL or BL content as well. They just don’t come by as often. It might be difficult to imagine it since there are bunch of super famous BL webtoons. But when we’re talking about pure numbers, yes, it’s the straight romance fantasy stuff that’s the majority of the lineup.

Like it or not, a lot of women and girls still like to read about a girl getting a man and ending up with two kids and a white picket fence.

The second is that I do not enjoy (straight) romance as a genre. I just don’t like it, man. I thought I was neutral because there are fictional straight couples that I always loved like Beren and Luthien, Faramir and Eowyn, Ranma and Akane, Heiji and Kazuha, etc. I generally don’t care if the couple is gay or straight or whatever as long as I find them cute together.

But no. After staring into the depths of k-romance, I don’t think romance as a genre is for me. A lot of it has to do with the fact that romance as a genre is sort of a wish-fulfillment writing (think Twilight). It’s something that delivers what it promises. And if you’re not someone looking to get that sort of fulfillment, such literature of desire does little for you.

Here is why I think romance is basically like slasher.

Some people criticize romance genre for being formulaic. But I don’t think that’s the issue at all.

I mean, slasher is formulaic too. You have bunch of characters and a killer who kills most of them by the end of the movie. Just as romance enjoyers can forgive some plot holes as long as they get what they want (girl getting a man), slasher fans can withstand some bad plot as long as they get the thrill and the kill. It’s when the works miss critical boxes—the girl gets no romance or nobody dies in the slasher film—that the audience gets angry.

Is slasher genre morally “good”? Not really. I wouldn’t say it’s evil though fundamentalist Christians might disagree. It’s a guilty pleasure that a select few enjoy. Sometimes, it crosses lines and deserves some good criticism.

Likewise, I don’t think romance as a genre is “bad” even if they’re not feminist masterpieces. If some straight women have fantasies about marrying a hot dude and becoming a soccer mom, what of it?

The problem, in my opinion, is that most straight romance fans do not realize that while what they like might be popular, it is not universal. Whenever there is some criticism on k-romance or romance fantasy, the fans come screaming about how the critics of the genre are just misogynists who hate anything women like. I get that they might be sensitive because there are dumb dudebros who do go on a rant, but I also wish they would realize that romance as a genre is not for every woman either. In fact, I think it’s for a specific subset of straight women.

Anyway, realizing that romance is like slasher helped me feel less puzzled(?) by them. It’s a desire I’d never truly understand, and I would probably never not feel exhausted working with such content, but it exists.

[co-mixed]

The Tragedy of Robin(s)

 After catching up on the most recent Batman stories, especially Batman vs Robin by Mark Waid and Knight Terrors by Joshua Williamson, I’m seriously rethinking my whole impression of Damian Wayne. Not a secret, I’d always considered him to be a little annoying gremlin who desperately needed both affection and a serious talking-to from his parents. He also lost the parent lottery, having to be sired by the two people least capable of either.  

This whole text is pretty much my opinion based on what I’ve read so far and I haven’t by any means read everything, so feel free to disagree, but remain polite about it. 

Mommy issues 

Yes, under all of Damian’s bravado, there is an unloved child. Because it’s really easy to forget that he is just a child, despite his neverending threatening to kick everybody’s ass and often succeeding in that. 

Talia is arguably worse than Bruce. From an early age, Damian was forced to prove himself because of some made-up empire he was probably going to inherit if his mommy dearest chose one day to give up the reigns. That and showing up occasionally to remind him that he’s not good enough is all Damian is getting from her. 

That also explains the kid’s obsessive desire to inherit Batman’s cape and cowl. In Batman vs Robin, that desire gets exploited by the forces of darkness, turning the kid’s dreams into actions. Something that conscious Damian is trying to fight. 

But we aren’t here to criticize Talia’s parenting failures (she sucks), we are here to criticize Bruce’s parental failures. 

Daddy issues

From day one Bruce had no idea how to relate to his son. I’d say it wasn’t the shock of even having a biological son, as much as his incapability to care about someone more than he cares about his mission. That’s his horrific self-programming that his kids (all his kids) are fighting through. Some are more successful like Dick. And thanks to Tom Taylor for reminding us of that with every issue of his Nightwing run. But Dick actually had a loving family, so when Bruce took him in, he already had the fundamental understanding of being a good person. That’s at least partially why eventually he manages to build healthy relationships with people, even with Damian. 

Jason is more of an example of what happens after Bruce’s parenting. Bruce still can’t decide whether he was a mistake and he just trained him to be a good murderer. I’ll make it easy for him - yes, the mistake was on you, Bruce. No, it wasn’t the fact that you trained him.

But seriously, after three attempts Bruce still has no idea how to talk to a kid. 

Alfred did, and that helped Bruce’s older sons, then Dick and Alfred did what they could for Damian. Because let’s face it, after Alfred’s death, the closest thing to a parent Damian has is Dick Grayson, and he lives all the way in Blüdhaven (which is still closer than Alfred). 

Not a bat situation 

I’ve come to the conclusion that Batman knows how to communicate with Robin, so on this level his relationship with Damian seemingly works. But Bruce can’t build a normal healthy one with his son. And that sentiment was verbalized by Damian himself during the Knight Terrors event. The kid understands it, while Bruce himself does not, therein lies the tragedy.

It’s even worse when you see the numerous times Damian had supported his father as if looking for his approval. Again, he might claim he doesn’t need it, he does (thanks, Talia). 

That’s a pattern 

Batman has a serious problem with people. Batman vs Robin was a pretty clear reflection of that, especially when Bats confronted all of his former Robins (and four of his sons). His regrets regarding all of them were not without reason and it becomes clear later that all of his kids hold some resentment against him (especially Jason).

The way I see it, his favorite Robin is Tim (he makes it clear during Failsafe and the Bat-Man of Gotham) his favorite son is Dick (he was the one who managed to heal and not constantly bug Bruce about what he'd done wrong). Unfortunately for Damian, their existence will always make him feel competitive. 

Once again, that’s fully on Bruce. Not on Batman, because I think that Damian can handle not being ready to replace Batman, but on Bruce, because he doesn’t feel the love. I’m not saying Bruce doesn’t love him, but if he does, it’s in his own way and he’s not communicating it well. He always pawns Damian off on more affectionate people. 

What is love

Meanwhile, Damian truly loves his father. Enough to run around following him, sit at his bedside while he’s taking a really long nap, enough to side with him over the rest of the family (I’m still in the middle of Gotham War). That’s what children do when they want their parents’ love and attention, they try to be perfect. 

All of that makes me feel so so bad for Damian. I actually don’t hate him, even if I like to jokingly say that I do when he starts acting like a brat. But he deserves unconditional love and neither one of his parents chooses to understand that. 

For his sake, I hope he grows up and manages to grow and move past this (probably with the help of his family like Jason and Tim did during Knight Terrors). And when he’s old enough and wise enough to make his own decisions, I hope he sticks Bruce and Talia in a nasty old folks’ home.  

[mywitchyblog]

Can someone please explain to me who the hell is so upset with me that they’ve resorted to going into other shifters' ask boxes as an anonymous user and started bullying them in my name? It honestly baffles me that someone would stoop so low. If you have an issue with me or something I’ve said, be direct. I’m not one to hide behind anonymity or drag innocent people into something they have nothing to do with. If I had a problem with you, trust me, I’d say it to your face. I don’t need to hide in the shadows.

Now, there are only two possibilities for what’s going on here, and neither of them reflect well on the person responsible:

The first possibility is that this person is intentionally creating drama by sending themselves an anonymous ask. Maybe they’re looking for attention or trying to stir up conflict where there is none. It's sad, honestly, if that’s what’s happening because it just shows how far some people are willing to go to manufacture chaos.

The second possibility is that I’ve managed to piss someone off to the point where they’re now impersonating me, using my name to spread hate and start fights in spaces where I’m not even involved. If this is the case, I can’t say I’m surprised that someone would go this route rather than confront me directly, but it’s still frustrating. I don’t hide from criticism, and I won’t shy away from addressing issues head-on. But to use my identity in such a toxic way? That’s crossing a line.

To the person this happened to (I found out about this through a mutual, and I want you to know that I’m aware), I am truly sorry. I hate that this situation has dragged you into something you didn’t ask for, and I genuinely wish it hadn’t happened. But let me be absolutely clear: it wasn’t me. I did not send those messages, and I would never engage in that kind of behavior. It’s not how I handle things, and it’s certainly not how I treat others.

You are fully entitled to your own opinion, just like I’m entitled to mine. I’ve never denied that right to anyone, and I wouldn’t start now. We don’t have to agree on everything, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to attack you for your perspective or allow someone else to use my name to do so. That’s not how this works.

And just to set the record straight for the final time: I am not a pedophile, nor do I endorse, encourage, or support anything related to that disgusting behavior. It’s beyond insulting that I even have to keep repeating this, but here we are. In fact, I went out of my way to age myself up by a few years or to completely discard the DRs that felt problematic or uncomfortable. I’ve always been mindful of the spaces I navigate, especially when it comes to shifting, and I’ve made conscious decisions about what I’m comfortable with.

If you’re unhappy or confused about something I’ve said or done, talk to me like a human being. Bring it to me, and let’s figure it out. Don’t jump to conclusions or, worse, involve other people who aren’t even a part of the conversation. It’s cowardly and completely unnecessary. This whole thing could’ve been avoided with a little bit of maturity and honest communication.

At the end of the day, it’s honestly pathetic to bully other people just because they happen to have a different opinion than yours. Why are you so bothered by someone else’s perspective that you’d go out of your way to hurt them or cause unnecessary drama? We’re all individuals here, and our experiences with shifting, our journeys, and our beliefs are going to vary. No two people will see everything the same way, and that’s okay. It’s actually something to be embraced. What’s not okay is tearing each other down because of those differences. That only reflects poorly on you and shows how little respect you have for other people’s paths.

So, let’s try a little harder to be civil and respectful. You don’t have to agree with me, and I don’t have to agree with you, but at the very least, we can treat each other with decency.

[starkeysprincess]

Went down the season 2 Rafe rabbit hole today and I’ve never loved a hot psycho more and it gave me suchhh a good idea. It’s not everyone’s thing but erotic torture/dubcon would toooootally be his.

Like maybe before his life got so complicated, you were friends with the pogues, and while Rafe didn’t necessarily like it, he didn’t care as long as you were happy and came back to him at the end of the day.

I’d imagine you’d be introduced to this side of him when one late and stressful night, you get caught right in the crossfire of him and them, just tagging along with your friends, because Rafe always told you whatever he was up to was nothing to worry about. So you weren’t that concerned about them finding the treasure, and your friends hadn’t told you about Rafe yet. He’d get furious and be dragging you home, telling you he needs you safe and protected and ends up taking his frustration out on your frightened little self. Every time you saw him unfathomably angry after that, you knew what was to come.

He’d be into chaining you to his bed or tying you up tight enough to give you rope burn on your most sensitive parts. He’d say the most evil shit imaginable and do everything to make you cry from edging to the most intense overstimulation and not having any limit or remorse for how far he’ll push you. No, you’re gonna take anything and everything from your daddy. He likes to fuck your ass without prep and plugs his cum in it with dildos while he deals with your other holes. I have a visceral feeling he’d be into clamping your nipples, but more than anything your clit, knowing that’s where he can be the most sinful because it’s your most sensitive part. He’d tie a vibrator to your leg and leave it on your pinched little pearl for hours in the highest and just watch and taunt and degrade you, maybe getting up to cum in or on you or use his fucking machine or spank or torture your ass again to guttural screaming and sobs full of begs that fall on deaf ears, maybe even threatening to get out the knife if you don’t shut the fuck up. Or he’d do it himself, choking you so hard that since you don’t even recognize the Rafe in front of you, you genuinely fear he won’t know when to stop. He would be the most sadistic and unhinged version of a Greek god you’ve ever seen, and would absolutely break you, his toy, his property, his little slut who he needs by his side just as much because otherwise he’d break himself.

I feel like there’s so many ideas in here this is more short story material but queen I thought it and I knew you’d know what to do with it so do what you see fit, I neeeeed ur perspective. I love psycho Rafe <3

I’m sorry that this isn’t super detailed, i went more with a small rundown cause everything you said was 🙂‍↕️

i definitely think he gets off on the fact that you’re scared of this side of him, he genuinely enjoys seeing you tremble in fear when you realize what’s to come

when he ties you to his bed, he wouldn’t give a shit if the ropes are burning into your flesh because to him, it shows that you’re his and his only and that he has control over you

his favorite thing to do, in my opinion, is keeping your wrists and legs tied as he’s holding a vibrator against your sensitive clit, he’d tease and edge you for as long as he feels like and he’ll either stop, leaving you crying for more or keep going until you’re squirting and making a mess all over his sheets

also yeah this man is def into knife play, like he’d drag the cool metal down your body, running the flat blade against your nipples, watching them harden, hell—he may even carve his initials into your skin

he will manhandle you and when he’s being too rough, he doesn’t even show remorse as he’s turning you into nothing but his perfect little fucktoy of a girlfriend because in some sort of aspect in his mind, this is his way of showing you he loves you

because no matter how scared you are when he gets like this, he knows you love him too much to leave him

[bindeds]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 100 FOLLOWERS ! — i genuinely can’t believe i’ve come this far with posting my brainrot for hazbin. it has and will continue to be such an honor to keep posting for you guys, and to celebrate you guys i’ve prepared a little something for you guys, hehe!

requests.

i am willing to do any requests you guys might have which includes art, gifs, character ships (radioapple, huskerdust, etc) and of course character x reader ships despite generally being an x reader blog. though of course as any sane person would, i am not entertaining angel x val.

some fics along the way …

i have been cooking up something specifically for lucifer though nothing is confirmed yet except for the fact that i want to make a longer fic for him (AT LEAST 10k words long), but i’m kinda having trouble for the plot so this kinda connects to the first thing which if you have any ideas for me to write i am implore you to hit up my askbox, please! i’m gonna need all the help i can get! i’ve also gotten a radioapple worm in my head and the premise is too good not to act on though i will say it will be shorter than the lucifer fic. because of this both of these will be on my ao3 so stay tuned!

selfships.

i thought it would be cool for you guys to tell me a bit about yourself and then from there i pick a character from hazbin/helluva (depending on which show you prefer) that i think you would like/be with romantically (or even queerplatonically for the aro/aces out there)!! i’ve seen other people do this as well and they do 3-pic moodboards sometimes and i’d love to do that for you guys! or if you guys wanna go in depth i could also make short fics dedicated to you personally upon request!

get to know me + qna!

besides all the stuff that’s stated in my pinned, i’ve been writing since i was 10 (i am 18) and i’ve wanted to be a published author for the longest time, though as i grew older i realized there’s a lot of other ways i can get my stories out to the world, like screenwriting, animating (or being both the creator and writer of my own show AHEM totally not talking about hazbin) so i’m not really sure of things yet, but i will say i’ve learned a lot about writing since i first started and even though i know this is all for fun, i take the way i write things seriously, so any constructive feedback you might have will be valuable to me! anyway, i have A LOT of opinions on everything hazbin/helluva so you can ask about those or more about me! i’m a very open person so i like to give in depth responses. but yeah feel free to ask about my opinions on helluva/hazbin as well as my personal life too!

another thing i wanted to disclose about myself since i feel comfortable after having met such wholesome people after starting this blog, is that i have been through abuse very similar to angel dust’s meaning his character meant a lot to me and he was my favorite character when the pilot first came out so yeah! definitely ask me about angel too if you have anything to ask!

[hestella]

Hannibal lector x reader: A new face pt. 4

So, it turns out it was just my period messing me up! I feel good now lol.

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

a/n: I maybe should make my Tumblr all asthetic and stuff. any ideas? Warnings: mentions of violence, trauma, distribution of trauma if you squint, language?

She blinked, looking around, even though she couldn’t really see. It was a force of habit. She quickly relized where she was, Hannibal’s office.

She was sitting comfortably in a chair in his office. The chair was leather, smooth, with seam traces that she could feel going sideways. The room was carpet, soft and clean. It smelled like wood and antique leather, with a whiff of the office owner’s cologne. His.

“sorry, what was it?” she asked. “I must have zoned out.”

“No worries,” Hannibal replied. “you were taking about how you forgot a lecture?” 

“right,” she nodded. “I missed a lecture. Completly forgot about it,”

“Did your students say anything about it?” he asked. 

“Well, actually, it turns out I called the admin that i wasn’t feeling well, and i cancelled it.” She explained.

Hannibal, with habit, forced his smile down, but then he was refreshed by the fact that she was blind. He smiled. 

“That’s concerning, but at least safe. Something more…risky may have happened.” 

She nodded. “I know, and…I’m glad that none of my students are impacted.” She rubbed her temple. 

“Do you think it’s dementia?” He asked. 

“I don’t know, I mean, do you think it’s dementia? I’ve forgotten things, but those were things like keys, phone….not a whole lecture.” She sighed.

“Well, if you ask for my professional opinion, I don’t think it’s something to worry about. Forgetting things are common, especially when you are faced with many things at once, or something you were not familiar with,” Hannibal explained. He still had a grin on his face, having fun.

“What would you consider ‘things I’m not familar with?’” she asked.

“well, it could be the death of your student-“ Hannibal said carefully, observing her instant face change. 

“right.” She muttered, rubbing her lips with her thin fingers.

“Did you forget about that too?” Hannibal asked. 

“No, it…I guess I don’t want to remember it.”

Her thoughts went straight to Marrisa. She didn’t think of marrisa as a special person, someone who could psycology impact herself, but it was true that she felt some sort of remorse, or possible guilt on her death.

Hannibal nodded. “I understand. I personally think Jack is pushing you and Will too far without a break.” 

She chuckled softly. “..maybe.” 

“What to you feel towards Jack? Don’t you think he’s pushing you to the edge?” Hannibal asked, masking the intention to play both sides.

“Are you trying to make me blame jack?” she chuckled, catching his intention. He tilted his head at her sharp observation. But thankfully, she seemed to take it as a joke. “…I know that Jack doesn’t want to push us. It’s….inevitable, I’d say.” 

“Do you believe so?” Hannibal let out a soft chuckle with her.

She nodded. “I feel empathy for him.” 

“There are certainly lots who will disagree with that,” Hannibal chuckled.

She laughed. “He didn’t force me to do it. Probably with Will, but not me. I’m not that special.”

Hannibal had already noticed her habit to downplay stories that had to do with her. He didn’t know exactly why, maybe another habit of her, or something to do with her nature, but at this point he already knew how to translate her words to the typical truth. 

“why did you accept, then? you could have declined,” hannibal’s gaze flickered to her hands, bony yet soft-looking. 

“…Jack persuaded me,” she shrugged. she paused, crossed her hands by her knuckles, and continued. “I heard that you think jack sees Will as fine china, I think jack sees me as…glue to keep the china together, in case it shatters.” she muttered. 

“you accepted because of Will?” Hannibal tilted his head.

“For Will, at least according to Jack,” she explained.

“May i ask, what is your relationship with Will?” Hannibal asked.

“er…hard to define, or rather, undefined. We were colleagues, but we didn’t really know each other at the time. We’re just….comfortable.” she frowned, trying to think of a better way to explain it. 

“..romantic, perhaps?” 

“what? no, i don’t think so. I mean, i don’t think so. Not sure about Will…as in, I don’t really know how he’s like around people he likes,” she shook her head, surprised by Hannibal’s assumption. 

Hannibal nodded. He felt from himself, a little…uncomfortable. It was like something was icy burning in his stomach, like he just swallowed liquid nitrogen. He leaned on his hand, subconsciously hiding his lips behind his fingers. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling, or why he was feeling like this.

“How do you feel, being seen as glue for Will?” Hannibal asked. 

“…are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford?” she asked, her lips a thin smile. When Hannibal didn’t say anything, she continued. “I think I’m overestimated. If Will was to shatter, I don’t think I’ll be able to glue him up that well,” 

“Do you think there’s someone better that can do that?” 

“…maybe. Possibly you, I guess. Compared to you, I’m just…glue.” She muttered as she shrugged.

“And what am I?” Hannibal tilted his head, interested.

“…The careful hands that can craft china. fix it, make it into something new….” she tapped her hands on her knees. 

Hannibal sighed, feeling the icy and uncomfortable feeling inside him get released for a moment.

“So in order for me to actually be the glue, I need your signature on the paper,” she leaned back on the chair comfortably. 

“Don’t worry, you and I both wish our good Will is protected well. I’ll sign the paper,” hannibal chuckled. “But I need to know your state, regardless of the paper. Are you experiencing any traumatic responses from what happened?” 

“Well, sometimes I get overly sensitive on what’s behind me,” she took a breath in. “But I guess being blind is one good thing here, I don’t have nightmares of Garret Jacob Hobbs,” She nodded. 

“I’m curious, what do you picture him as? What do you picture me as?” Hannibal asked. 

She chuckled. “…I’m not blind from birth, and even, I’m not completely blind now. Before I went blind, I’d ask my friends if they’ve seen the blue moon last night. I’d ask how lovely the flowers are in the school backyard. After I went blind, I’d ask the same things, only now no one can see the things I see and I can’t see the things they see.” she muttered. 

He partially forgot she was a philosophy professor. He reminded himself to take her to an Opera or classical concert of some kind, if he had the chance. He had a feeling she would love it.

“I associate people, or at least try to, with senses. Not what they look like, but what they feel like, sound like….In the case of Garret Jacob Hobbs, I associate him with how his voice sounded like, his hands felt like against my neck…and it brings me fear. With you, on the other hand…I know you by your charming accent, voice, and what your hand felt against my left abdomen that day.” she explained.

“..and what do I bring you?” Hannibal asked, purely curious. 

“…a sense of calmness.” she replied. “I must have forgotten, thank you for saving my life by the way, Dr. Lector.” she nodded her head once. 

Hannibal chuckled as a response. “Calmness?” 

“Yes…I’m blind, and with that, I grew to have everything in control, everything to be known…so if something happens outside of my usual range of habits, I tend to panic. Like going to a place I’ve never been before, I don’t know where things are, if the floor is carpet or wood..” she said. “..but as a member of a society, I can’t exactly have a set of places to go, I can’t be limited inside my own panic. I need to change lecture classrooms if there’s a change of schedule, I can’t always go to the same coffee shop…” she shrugged. “Your voice was like a finding a rose in the crowd.”

“so it was a risk to even go to interview Abigail,” 

“..could I blame myself? it’s not that many students’ parents turn out to be serial killers,”

“I’m not saying you should blame yourself.”

Hannibal shifted his position. “But you doing your work, under jack…sure makes you a vulnerable target,”

“..it’s what I chose, isn’t it?”

“or you were manipulated into chosing,” Hannibal suggested. 

Hannibal leaned forward slightly, his fingers still partially covering his lips as his eyes narrowed, calculating his next move carefully. “Do you think Jack manipulated you into choosing this path?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if trying to coax out a buried truth.

She paused, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Jack can be... persuasive, but I’ve always known what I was getting into. It was my decision. I wanted to make a difference.” Her voice was steady, but there was an underlying current of uncertainty, one that Hannibal noticed instantly.

“Interesting,” he mused, leaning back again, his fingers now steepled in front of his lips. “You’ve built your life around control, haven’t you? It makes sense, given your circumstances. But you seem to have placed yourself in situations where control is often stripped away.”

She smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. “I suppose you could say that.”

Hannibal’s gaze flickered to her hands again, seeing them unconsciously fidgeting with the fabric of her trousers. “What about your family? Did you feel the same sense of responsibility with them? To hold things together?”

Her hands stilled for a moment at the mention of her family. “My family...” she trailed off, her voice quieter now. “I don’t really talk about them much.”

“Why not?” Hannibal pressed gently, sensing the shift in her tone.

“There’s... not much to say,” she said, her voice hollow. “I’ve lived myself alone, for the majority of my life…not technically in years, but..you know. I think that what made me me happened after i lived alone.”

Hannibal’s eyes darkened with a flicker of understanding. “So, you became your own glue. Holding yourself together, holding others together. But it’s tiring, isn’t it? To be the one who’s always keeping things from falling apart.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, almost resigned. “Yes, it is. But I don’t know how else to be.”

Hannibal watched her closely, his mind calculating and connecting pieces of her puzzle. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “it’s time for you to let someone else hold things together. Someone who understands the fragility of the china you protect.”

She turned her head slightly toward him, though her unseeing eyes couldn’t meet his. “And who would that be?” she asked, her tone laced with a quiet challenge.

Hannibal smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Perhaps... someone like me.”

She smiled, and that smiled spread into a laugh. 

“Why are you laughing?” Hannibal tilted his head. “sorry, I…I just….I know the situation isn’t necessarily funny.” she nodded, covering her mouth. 

Hannibal tilted his head, studying her with quiet curiosity. "Yet you find it amusing," he remarked softly, his voice calm but probing. "Why?"

She shook her head, still chuckling softly. "I don’t know... maybe it’s just the idea of someone like you holding things together." Her smile lingered, though there was a hint of something else behind it—perhaps disbelief or irony. "You, who seems to watch the world as though it’s some grand experiment. It’s almost... surreal."

Hannibal leaned back slightly, intrigued by her response. "Surreal? And why would that be? Don’t you think I’m capable of such a task?"

She paused, considering his words carefully. "Oh, you’re capable," she said, her tone steady now. "More than capable. But that’s exactly what makes it amusing. The thought that someone like you, who probably finds breaking things just as fascinating as putting them back together, could be the one to 'hold things together.' It feels... paradoxical."

Hannibal allowed a slow smile to curve at the corners of his lips. "Perhaps it is," he mused. "But isn’t it often those who understand destruction the best who are also the most adept at preventing it?"

She raised an eyebrow, though her expression was still touched with amusement. "Maybe. But I don’t think it’s prevention you’re interested in, Dr. Lecter. Not really."

He gave a soft chuckle in response, appreciating her sharp insight. "Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m more intrigued by the fragility itself." His voice dropped to a near-whisper, as if speaking an intimate truth. "The fine balance between creation and destruction... it’s something we all live with, whether we acknowledge it or not."

Her laughter had subsided now, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "I guess we do," she said, quieter. "Maybe that’s why I laugh... because I realize how fragile everything is. And sometimes... it’s just easier to laugh than to think about what could break."

Hannibal watched her for a moment, nodding slowly. "Perhaps laughter is another form of holding things together, then," he offered, his tone laced with a certain dark understanding.

"Maybe," she agreed, her smile fading into a pensive look. "Maybe it is."

-=-=

A new case. Except, it was different from last time. 

“..you’re saying the kid killed their parents?” She asked in disbelif.

Will stood, tense and visibly agitated, his eyes fixed on the crime scene photos scattered across the table. "Yes, I'm saying the kid killed his parents. Both families, same method. The mothers were killed last—because the boys wanted to make it personal. It’s not a coincidence."

She sat across from him, her fingers brushing lightly over the corner of one of the photos, though her unseeing eyes remained calm. "I don’t know, Will...You’re jumping to conclusions."

Will’s jaw clenched. "Jumping to conclusions? The evidence is right there! These boys have been missing for a year, and now we find them connected to two brutal murders? They’re not innocent victims anymore."

She frowned, shaking her head. "But you don’t know what they’ve been through. Maybe someone manipulated them, forced them into this. It’s easy to see kids as monsters when they’re standing over bodies, but kids aren’t born killers, Will."

His gaze darkened as he looked at her, his frustration boiling over. "You're making excuses for them. they bonded over it, over the violence. Someone could be behind this, I don’t know. But whoever that is, they are their new family now, and they killed to prove their loyalty."

Her voice rose, matching the intensity of his. "And how do you know that? How can you be so sure they weren’t manipulated by someone else, someone pulling the strings behind all this? Maybe they didn’t even want to do it!"

Will slammed his hand down on the table, the sudden noise cutting through the room. "You don’t understand! You think there’s always some puppet master, always someone to blame. But sometimes people—even kids—do evil things because they want to. You think these boys didn’t know what they were doing when they shot their mothers to death?"

She flinched at his outburst but didn’t back down. "I understand more than you think, Will. I understand how someone can be manipulated into doing something they would never otherwise do. You’re forgetting how easy it is to push someone when they’re vulnerable, especially children. No one is born with the capablilty to just kill their family, especially when they have not been abused!”

Will’s hands clenched into fists, his voice lower now but no less fierce. "You want to believe that because it’s easier for you. It’s easier to think someone else is behind it, that these kids are just pawns. But sometimes the truth is uglier than that. Sometimes, there’s no puppet master."

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. "You’re letting your anger cloud your judgment. These kids were missing for a year—something happened to them during that time, obviously.”

Will glared at her, his blue eyes filled with an intensity that bordered on rage. "They’re not innocent! Stop trying to protect them because they’re kids. They made their choice, and now they have to live with it."

Jack, Beverly, Brian and Jimmy were just listening to their fight. The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension palpable as Jack Crawford, Beverly Katz, Brian Zeller, and Jimmy Price stood frozen, quietly observing the heated exchange between Will and her. No one dared to speak, their eyes darting between the two as they squared off, the raw emotion in the air undeniable.

Beverly glanced at Jack, her eyes wide in disbelief. She hadn’t expected the conversation to escalate like this, but it was clear both Will and she had strong, conflicting opinions. Brian and Jimmy exchanged a look of shared awkwardness, each unsure of whether to interrupt or stay silent.

Jack, standing at the head of the room, crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. He took a deep breath, then finally spoke, breaking the silence. “Are you two finished?”

Will stiffened at the sound of Jack’s voice, but didn’t turn around. His gaze stayed fixed on the crime scene photos in front of him, his jaw still clenched tight. She, on the other hand, sank back into her chair, arms crossed defensively. The emotional storm that had surged between them seemed to leave a heavy residue in the room.

“I’m not, but I don’t know about Will,” she retorted. Jack sent her a glare but being blind, she ignored him. She was the only person in the room with the balls to do that. 

Jack sighed, rubbing his forehead. He turned to Beverly, Brian, and Jimmy. "Let’s get back to the evidence. I want every angle covered."

The team quietly resumed their positions around the table, the atmosphere remained tense, but the confrontation had dissipated. Will and Y/N exchanged no further words, but the distance between them felt wider than ever. 

Tag list: @Wolfgirl-205

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #39 – Inglorious Empire: What the British Did To India by Shashi Tharoor

I honestly forget who first recommended this book to me – quite possible I just googled ‘good indian history books’ and found it that way? - but it’s been on my TBR list for functionally forever at this point. Which meant I went into it essentially blind, with no memory of what if any details I’d been given with the recommendation. Which meant I had a moderately disappointing reading experience just because I was hoping for a narrative history and not an explicit polemical/persuasive text. Still, taken on its own merits as one of those, it’s really quite a good one.

The book is an adaptation and expansion of a performance the author gave at an Oxford debate (arguing against the notion that the British Empire was a good thing) which was recorded and went viral enough to make it a commercially viable prospect. The origin story shines through in the form – aside from an introduction and conclusion, each chapter is a clear and specific argument against some specific justification offered for the British conquest and colonization of India, full to bursting with statistics and quotations buttressing every point.

I would very much like to say that most of it is devoted to stuff the average reader will know anyway (if illustrated with clear and affecting examples), but, going by the apparent public response to the original debate and some polling cited in the conclusion, apparently not! The YouGov polls about the English public’s knowledge and opinion of the Empire are bleak enough that yeah this probably is a direly needed work of public education, if mostly for people who will not at any point read it.

Still, the fact that the British Raj was explicitly and institutionally racist and reserved functionally all positions of real power and authority for white men shouldn’t be much of a surprise, nor the fact that the ‘rule of law’ was basically a sick joke as far as crimes across the colour line went, nor the fact that the extraction of wealth from India to make fortunes in Britain was the explicit goal of policy, nor the fact that resistance (especially resistance successful enough to spook the authorities) was responded to with utter and excessive brutality. All that is basically the meat of what having been a colony means.

That said, I was taken a bit aback by the sheer rapaciousness of early Company government – it’s one thing to hear about oppressive taxation, another to get quoted the census figures of how they were so extreme that enough peasants fleeing their land and homes to look for greener pastures to show up as overall population decline in the areas under HEIC control. Similarly, my understanding of how India was turned into a captive market for British goods was much more subtle and indirect than the outright smashing of looms and legal prohibition of any attempts to compete with British industries that were actually used.

Whereas I did know about the deadly famines that kept occurring throughout the Raj, but the sheer cartoonish malevolence of colonial authorities when faced with them always manages to shock me a bit. ‘Nature’s solution to overpopulation’ was a really horrifyingly opinion at the time.

The audience of the debate performance the book’s based on definitely shines through in the choice of sources – wherever possible, Tharoor quotes from or cites western (Anglo-American, generally) sources for his eye-witness accounts and always takes care to introduce and ground them in terms of western governments or academia. The quotes themselves are all helpful illustrations, though there’s probably slightly more than are really strictly necessary – I’m pretty sure by wordcount at least a chapter of the book was actually written by Will Durant.

I’m not sure if it’s because of the original format or just how Tharoor writes, but the book also just has a great love of adjectives. Seemingly every source referenced is ‘historic’ or ‘path-breaking’ unless it is merely ‘compendious’ or outright ‘invidious’. Not a bad thing, but once I noticed it I was totally unable to stop doing so.

The book is straightforward polemic and Tharoor makes no bones about his position, so I take his verging-on-idyllic descriptions of pre-colonial Indian governance (especially regarding land tenure and caste) and the probability that India would have unified into a modern nation state without colonialism a dose pour of salt. There’s a few other inaccuracies I noticed (referring to the East India Company’s theft of Chinese tea plans as the ‘birth of agricultural espionage), for example), but it was all in the realm of little asides or colourful anecdotes rather than anything load-bearing.

It is rather funny that the book repeatedly draws comparisons with French colonies to argue that India was worst off, on the grounds that Paris at least made gestures towards integrating Indochina or Algeria and their peoples into France (however inadequate and hypocritical those efforts were), whereas in India the maintenance of total domination and the clear policy that India and Indians were things to be exploited for the benefit of England never changed. Funny, because from the book of Vietnamese history I read a few months ago the perspective of nationalists in Indochina was quite the reverse, seeing the English as at least somewhat honest brokers who were willing to grant some level of (limited and inadequate) self-government, compared to the French. Grass is always greener, I guess.

Though that does get at Tharoor’s argument as to why the British were worse not just in degree but in kind to the Mughals and any other empire-builders from outside South Asia who had come before them. The Mughals became Indian, both in the simple material sense that all their taxes didn’t end up back in Samarkand and Indian merchants were intentionally ruined for the benefit of traditional central asia trade routes, and in the more cultural sense that the ruling class set down roots and intermarried with their subjects rather than establishing a cloistered ruling class. Instead, the Raj was more akin to Tamerlane’s sack of Delhi, extended across 200 years. (One gets the sense Tharoor thinks a permanent settler population moving into stolen palaces would have been preferable to the rotation of soldiers and officials arriving from the metropole for long enough to get rich before heading back to build mansions in the Home Counties.)

Also, speaking of Vietnamese history, I only have a sample size of two but it’s interesting how in both cases a class of liberal (in the western sense) intellectuals and bourgeois emerged who tried to take the colonial propaganda at its word and enter some sustainable partnership with the imperial power – and in both cases got at best ignored and at worst imprisoned, tortured and executed for their trouble.

Anyways, interesting read, if one that makes me want something more specific and rigorous about basically any specific section of it (though, not to jump up and yell ‘Canada Mentioned!’ but every time Trudeau was used as an example of a colonial power’s leader handling the apologizing and acknowledging stuff gracefully and well I had to really try not to laugh).

[tgmsunmontue]

More than movie magic... 24/24

Hangster AU. Explicit (Chapter 16). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO TWENTYTHREE

EPILOGUE

              Their thumb-kiss becomes a whole thing, caught on camera a couple of days later when Bradley once again refuses to kiss him once he’s been through makeup. It’s shared with the world and Jake’s a little annoyed that such a private gesture is suddenly public property. Except for the fact that it’s apparently appropriately romantic and sweet, with public opinion of Bradley and therefore Jake’s relationship with him garnering all sorts of approval from even the most critical of corners. It does help that everyone finding out the Bradley’s been raised by Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell after being orphaned makes him somewhat of a tragic romantic hero, with people wondering if Jake is good enough for him. He tries to ignore those comments and articles as much as possible, and Bradley’s constant presence and reassurance helps.

              When filming finishes they move back to LA and he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waits for Bradley to get sick of him, or bored, or fed up with the constant trail of photographers and paparazzi who shout questions. He’s good at a lot of things, Jake knows this, and ignoring paparazzi and photographers is on the list. He’s so wretchedly grateful and he says something along those lines in passing and Bradley catches his hand, draws him in close.

              “I’m not ignoring them, ignoring them means I have to know where they are and what they’re doing. It’s more that I refuse to give them any attention or engage with them. I know they’re there. I just don’t care about them anywhere near as much as I care about you.”

              “God you’re a complete and utter romantic sap,” Jake mutters, but his heart swells.

              “Yep. Told you Hollywood has some amazing love stories.”

…           …           …

              Brigham is an organizational genius. Combined with Karina Bradley’s diary and work commitments are meshed seamlessly with Jake’s. When they’re not working together, but it’s another of Bradley’s teams, he’s apparently justified in checking in on them, especially if Brigham plans it that way. He doesn’t miss the fact that Brigham has him in the office more, or training others rather than on far-flung sets when Jake is based in Hollywood.

              He doesn’t manage to be there for every red carpet, but he tries. Not only because Jake seems to find him irresistible in a suit and seems to need to get his hands on him at the earliest opportunity. They’ve not managed to make it through a single movie screening and it’s very apparent to everyone else, Jake’s skin a literal red flag to everyone around them what they’ve been up to.

              “You know, we aren’t going to be able to get married if you can’t deal with the sight of me in a suit for longer than an hour or two…”

              “Easily solved. We don’t wear suits.”

              “Is this you proposing?” Bradley jokes, because there has been a lot of discussion around appropriate ways to propose since Pete and Tom got engaged, and he doubts he or Tom are ever going to hear the end of it, with the non-existent wedding already having been called off twice with Tom refusing to give in to Pete’s dramatics.

              “No. You won’t need to ask if I’m proposing when I propose. You’ll just have to say yes.”

              “And if I propose to you first?”

              “Well, as long as I don’t have to clarify that you’re proposing, I’d say yes.”

              Bradley smiles and kisses him.

              “Good to know.”

…           …           …

              Jake doesn’t think he’s ever been happier in his adult life. There are frequent moments of sheer unadulterated joy, bubbling inside him and as their first anniversary comes and goes with a week spent on the ranch. Some of his friends make comments about how he could have gone away to an island, but that’s not what he wants. Bradley seems to understand that and Jake stops second guessing it all.

              He’s been enveloped in the family dynamic between Pete and Tom, and he starts to feel a little more at home in Hollywood as well, the four of them sequestered away in Tom’s fortress of solitude that Pete calls it. His parents still visit, but now rather than staying with him they more often than not stay with Tom and Pete instead, telling him that they have more in common with them anyway and enjoy each other’s company. Also, his mom adds, they don’t want to intrude on him and Bradley.

              What he thinks helps is that Bradley is consistent. He’s steady, isn’t afraid of telling Jake what he wants, asks Jake what he’s feeling and what he wants and then… they make it work. He never makes Jake second guess his feelings, when he’s angry Jake knows about it, but the anger itself is never directed at Jake, instead toward something else, usually human stupidity

              He buys a ring, takes it out and stares at it every few weeks, his mind trying to come up with a way that he can propose. He knows what he doesn’t want to do, and that’s while either of them is hungover or drunk. Pete will make some comment about it becoming a family tradition and that’s the last thing he wants. He’s just not sure what he does want, other than Bradley, forever.

…           …           …

              “What are we doing here?”

              “Your mom said this is one of your favorite spots.”

              “Yeah, it is. The sky is amazing, like there’s no light pollution when the sun goes down, the house is too far away and…” He looks around and Bradley is shaking out a blanket. “Are we having a picnic? It’s one of my favorite spots in summer. It’s the middle of winter.”

              “Winter in Texas. It’s not even below fifty. Come on, I brought hot chocolate. And blankets… we can cuddle.”

              “We could have brought the truck and left the heater going,” Jake says, not really sure why they decided to ride horses out here, although he guesses it is nice to do a night ride, opportunities few and far between, and they’re spending Christmas with his entire family, Tom and Pete joining them, and there are kids everywhere and actually, the peace and quiet is really nice. He lets himself be pulled down onto the blanket, between the v of Bradley’s legs, his arms going around him, holding a blanket in place around them both and it’s so nice, feels so sweet and normal and he leans back into Bradley’s body, a single flask of hot chocolate just being passed between them as they enjoy the silence.

              “I love you.”

              “Love you too. You dealing with being around all your family okay?”

              “Are you?” Jake replies, feels Bradley’s smile against his neck.

              “Your family love me.”

              “Yeah, they do.”

              “Jake.”

              “Hmm?”

              “Will you marry me?”

              “I – yes. Oh my god. Yes.”

…           …           …

              Bradley peers at Jake through the screen, the fact that he’s on location in South Africa the furthest and longest they’ve been apart, but he’s had to get Brigham to delay his visit, wanting to get something done before he leaves.

              “What did you do to your thumb?” Jake asks and Bradley looks at his thumb, just shakes his head, tucks it away from the view of the camera.

              “Just a scratch.”

…           …           …

              “Hi.”

              “Hi. God I’ve missed you.”

              “Missed you too. You want to see something?”

              “Always. Wait. Is it something other than you naked?”

              “Well, it is a part of me, and it is naked…”

              Jake glances down to where Bradley is still, unfortunately, wearing jeans, makes a face to indicate his disapproval of the current state of dress. Bradley is laughing at him, leaning back and pressing his thumb to Jake’s lips, and he kisses it dutifully, a practiced ritual now, but Bradley doesn’t pull it away, and Jake starts going cross-eyed as he tries to focus on the pad of his thumb, pulling back to allow his focus to settle.

              “Did you… draw on yourself?” Jake asks, taking in the little love heart and JS initials that are inside it.

              “Nope. It’s a tattoo.”

              “You… got a tattoo?”

              “Yep. Just a little one, because I feel like you don’t want to set a date and well, I’m impatient about having a ring on my finger, but I thought this was a good compromise.”

              “Holy shit, you got a tattoo.”

…           …           …

              They allow his mom and Pete full reign on the wedding when they finally settle on a date, which they decide to mark their engagement anniversary. It’s the large blowout party that Pete apparently wanted for his own wedding, which instead was a tiny ceremony with only about twenty people in attendance. Bradley is laid back, insisting he really doesn’t care about the wedding itself; that it is simply one day and as long as he’s married to Jake at the end of the day then he will consider it the best day of his life. When he tells Jake he’s much more excited about everything that comes after Jake can’t help but agree with him.

[dailydegurechaff]

I wanted to know how do you interpret Tanya's gender. After reading chapter 58 of the manga i got the impression that she is definitely trans coded, but maybe thats just me

Very good question.

To be honest, when I think too hard about Tanya’s gender (and sexuality, for that matter) it gives me brain worms. Fun brain worms, but brain worms nonetheless. I can’t explain it. Everything she’s got going on is complicated as shit there’s way too much to think about.

Like, she was a man, but now she's a girl. But at some points she says she still sees herself as a man internally so is this MtFtM? How does that work. And if she accepts she's a woman now, is that just MtF or do we add more letters. More importantly: Was Being X being Transphobic or being the Greatest Trans Ally of All Time with the free divinely issued sex change.

Ok ok, jokes aside. Confession: I actually do not keep up with the manga, so I had to go find the chapter and read it first. Having read it now though, I see what you mean.

The conversation she has with the Salaryman/herself in that chapter really does read as essentially saying “I’ve accepted who I am now.” It’s a far cry from a much earlier part of the manga I remember where she has a breakdown about being a man/people seeing her as a girl.

A friend of mine was actually showing me stuff from more recent chapters of the manga (don’t know which chapter tragically, but I know it’s not currently translated to English) and from what I gathered of it, Being X was showing Tanya a dream of being back in her past life and in response she basically demanded to go back to being Tanya immediately. It is definitely not just you, I 100% see the trans-coding you’re talking about.

As for my personal interpretation of her gender, I touched very briefly on it once before, but I honestly think she wouldn’t want to label herself as anything. At first, this is out of hesitance and not wanting to acknowledge that anything might be ““wrong”” or ““different”” about her. Later on it turns into character growth, more along the lines of, “I don’t need the label to define me, I just am what I am/like what I like. I don’t care about it any more than that.” Yes this is 100% projection on my part. No, I won’t apologize for it lmao.

Of course, that's entirely my own headcanon. I definitely am not saying it’s the only way to interpret her, it’s just my personal thoughts. Especially since my opinion is subject to change on a dime depending on what I’m reading/working on myself. The Tanya gender is, in fact, transient, shifting like water.

Like. A transfem Tanya fic that focuses on her adapting to life in her new world and coming to discover she doesn’t actually hate her new body? I’d totally read that. I’ve seen a few fics that include that as a part of the narrative and those scenes of acceptance were among my favorite parts.

I get the feeling this is the route that the manga is going as well. It’s a bit of a shame that we don't have those aforementioned scenes in the light novel (or at least, I don't remember them), but I don’t think that Carlo Zen really intended that to be the focus/narrative in the first place. And honestly, I also think that’s a good thing because it allows for so much more room for interpretation and headcanon around Tanya’s character.

Anyway, the other direction is also compelling to me. A transmasc Tanya fic where, after feeling uncomfortable and hating how feminine he looks for years and years, he finally goes ‘Fuck this, I’m gonna go back to being a man’? I would read the fuck out of that too.

Could also be paired with him finally choosing to defect, where they think about it like, ‘Well there’s nothing to hold me back now, right? I don’t have to maintain appearances anymore. Also, since I’m defecting this would be a great way to hide myself. They’d all be looking for the wrong person. Two birds with one stone, how efficient.’ …Now we’re getting to fic ideas I won’t ever get to so it’s time to move on I think.

Semi-related to the Trans Tanya Concept, this actually brings me to a bit of a lore/headcanon/idea/question I want to present to the public for opinions. In Norden, during the inciting battle of the war, Tanya uses magic to “dope up” so she could enhance her strength and reaction time and kill pain. I took this to mean she used a formula to synthesize the narcotics/adrenaline hormone/whatever else directly into herself, right?

Can you see where I’m going with this? As long as you know which hormones to make, how they’re made up, and what quantities you need… Well, don’t you think magic HRT is completely possible? Of course, as I'm not sure it makes sense for Salaryman to have known the detailed specifics about it from the modern world, it would require a lot of in-universe research/science advancement for someone to actually do that, but theoretically...

The magic system in this universe has so much potential to be explored, I’m fascinated by what you can theoretically do with it. Although, this is long and off-topic already I think this should be the end, lol.

I think I talked too much? I’m sorry, you were probably not expecting such an answer. I told you, Tanya gives me brain worms (mental illness).

I guess the TL;DR is this: that kid definitely ain’t cishet.