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aspentreewrites · 1 month ago

Text

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.)

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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.

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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.”

(chapter 2)

#codywan #aspentreewrites #my fics #star wars fanfiction #tcw #cody x obi wan #commander cody #commander cody x obi wan #flowers & cannons

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deansapplepie · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl dixon imagine #daryl #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x grimes!reader #till the dead do us part #deansapplepie

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cochart · 2 months ago

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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.

#coch text

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speedofsoundsketches · 2 months ago

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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

#sonic the hedgehog #asks #zoomer Sonic #IDW #text #ramble

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that-ari-blogger · 19 days ago

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Part Of Who I Am (More Than Anything)

A duet is a conversation and a contrast. That’s not me being pretentious, that’s literally what is happening. A duet is two characters communicating with each other and with the audience. Sometimes they agree, the vast majority of the time they don’t, but they are talking to each other and presenting their perspectives.

In a musical, the songs tell a story, and duets are a powerful tool to show changing perspectives.

But, there’s more to a song than just the lyrics, especially in a musical, and when all work in tandem to create meaning, you get something like More Than Anything.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Hazbin Hotel, The Wild Robot)

First, some framing. This song is told by a father and a daughter, a king and a princess, a protagonist and… that’s actually rather complicated.

As such, there is a generational theme to this song. It’s two times colliding, the past and the present. But it’s also two sensibilities colliding in a truly brutal way.

Lucifer’s objective throughout this whole musical has been to protect his daughter. He has been utterly awful at it, but he hasn’t wavered from that goal.

Case and point, he believed that he was a bad influence on his daughter, so he stayed away. This was, in my most humble of opinions, a bone numbingly stupid decision. Supporting his daughter by not supporting her.

This then got exacerbated by the drive to redeem sinners. Lucifer saw himself in his daughter and saw only his mistakes. He saw his pain and tried to save her from failure by not letting her taste success. Supporting his daughter by not supporting her.

Notice where the spears and arrows all came from. They were the ones aimed at Lucifer in the previous shot. From his perspective, anyone near him is in danger.

His objective is in the right place, and while I’d like to say that Jeremy Jordon carried him in terms of likeability, I have to give credit to the writers and animators for his incredible characterisation. But the execution of his goal was about as flawed as you can get.

“There are times when I still wonder about you. You are someone I have loved, but never known And you'll never see the reasons I had For keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you.”

In 2015, the Crane Wives released an album called Coyote Stories. Now, I am biased by the fact that I love this band to no end. But if you have spent any time browsing the Animated Music Video space online, you will have come across this album.

Most notably is the album’s twelfth song, and the one I just quoted, Never Love an Anchor.

This is a cover by Førest Fincent. They made another but this one had some art I loved for a thumbnail, so I'm recommending it.

The Crane Wives have complex emotions down to an art, but I want to focus on this song because of how it relates to guilt and fear of connection.

It’s a song trying to justify itself. The narrator has convinced herself that, for whatever reason, she is a negative part of someone’s life, and so she positions herself as the anchor in the titular metaphor. You can’t love something that holds you back.

"On some level I think I always understood that a ship can never really love an anchor. So I did the only thing that I could and severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbour."

But that’s not what anchors do. Anchors hold you steady. They keep you safe in a storm. They hold you in the dock and they let you move around without straying too far into danger. But crucially, they come with you. When you need to go somewhere, you can lift the anchor and take it to wherever you are going next.

The song emphasises it’s point with rigidity that it breaks only twice. Throughout the song, there is a delicate rocking rhythm brought about by the guitar and the backup voices. It is mournful, but cyclical. Nothing happens, it’s safe but motionless.

Even the lyrics find a constant rhythm and repeated tune. Except for two places.

On “never see the reason”, the singing rises in pitch to become a plea before sinking back down, swallowed by the rest of the music that hasn’t changed one bit.

It doesn’t matter her reasons, you’ll never understand them, you don’t need to, the song doesn’t care. Instead, the song wraps around itself to present one thing as real:

“I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel I am all the things they might have said to you Do you ever think of me and my two hands? And wonder why they never soothed your fevers? And wonder why they never tied your shoes? And wonder why they never held you gently? And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?”

The entire song contorts around this segment, with the guitar hammering out chords like a bare-knuckled boxing match while the bass and drums desperately try to keep a brave face up, only to falter at the end and join in the assault with those final words.

“And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you.”

This was not about you. This was about the singer. This was her protecting herself. It was a selfish desire that no excuse could possibly remedy.

This was never about you.

There are no more lyrics after this, the music just plays a victory lap to gloat over the lyricist. It drew out her weakness and guilt, put it on display.

I kid you not, my favourite trope in all of media is this shot. The door closes and the camera looks back at a person, who drops their happy demeanor just a second too quickly. We see all that joy before hand, then we see it was an act. I love this trope so much.

The reason I talk about this song instead of the one I’m ostensibly analysing is to point out the power of the music itself. In Never Love an Anchor, the lyrics and the music represent different sides of the same person. Her excuses and her true intentions. What she says, and what she means.

It's also the exact same as Lucifer’s worldview. This was not about Charlie at all. Everything I said before was true, but objectives can be sabotaged, and it was exactly this that messed up Lucifer’s relationship with his daughter.

This was never about Charlie for him.

Speaking of whom, Charlie is relentlessly optimistic. She is the child who wants to push boundaries, and yes, she is going to get hurt, but that’s the point.

In a way, she relates to the Spiderman proverb. “With great power comes great responsibility.” Charlie has access to the power of authority, but also that of the king of hell, and she is using it to protect people from extermination.

Charlie is unconditionally good, and her father is the literal devil.

So, music as a vehicle for storytelling.

Well, this song is split into three parts. Charlie’s, her Dad’s and the finale where they both sing together. There’s a bridge, but we’ll get there in a moment.

We start with a guitar.

This is the pattern. It’s floaty, and draws you forwards, before looping back to itself. It’s stable, and nothing happens.

For the record, take a look at the opening of Never Love an Anchor and see if you notice the similarities.

It’s the movement. They both feel like they are rocking, like a lullaby. They both have the high note to draw you forwards but are kept grounded by the base. And they are both fundamentally static.

It also continues throughout Lucifer’s section of the song until we reach his daughter’s section. Nothing changes in the guitaring of Lucifer’s backing music. There is one slight addition, but we will get there in a moment.

Before that, however, look at Charlie's part of the song.

The difference here is multifaceted. First up, the key signature changes from D flat Majour to B Majour, but second, we have a new instrument that needs to be taken into account.

Now we have a drumkit. It’s a simple rhythm, but this is a simple song, and it repeats along with the rest of the tune.

Lucifer's name means "light bringer. It comes from a roman deity of Venus who's Greek counterpoint was named Phosphoros, meaning the same thing, or Heosphoros, which meant "dawn bringer". Our boy is associated with change, and the beginning of a new day. He is the herald of the closing of night, a man who exists to let you know everything is going to be ok. That's going to come back later on in the show.

Suddenly we have a theme. This song is about Charlie taking what her father tried to do and doing it her own way. It’s fundamentally based off of the same thing, but she has shifted things around and added her own flair.

It’s a reframing, and if you look at it, that’s exactly what this song is about. Charlie has tried to convince Lucifer by showing him that the things he says are false, but this isn’t about that. So, she switches track to showing him his own legacy and how the stuff he believes about himself is wrong.

“So in the end, it's the view I had of you That showed me dreams can be worth fighting for”

No sir. You ain’t a bad influence on me at all. You inspired me to do this. You’re a good person ya dingus.

This is best exemplified by the song’s titular motif.

I haven’t really spoken about the piano much yet because it really hasn’t been a big part of the song up until now. It’s been backing up the guitar and playing the same bass note to make that seem louder. But on its own? Not much.

Until now. Every time Lucifer sings the song’s title, he is echoed by this descending melody that once again repeats itself until the final section, which is notably lower. It sounds like descending a scale. When he sings, it rises, and the piano brings him back down to start again.

That final note drop however gives an air of resolution to the piece. It’s his final decision, yes, but it’s not one he has willingly taken. The key signature reenforces how this isn’t something he is happy about, but he feels it’s necessary.

Compare that to when Charlie sings the same section.

It’s the same. It’s shifted down a bit like the rest of the song, but it’s the exact same melody.

So… what gives?

For starters, this is the same thing as before, with Charlie trying to persuade her father that she is doing the same thing as him. She is inspired by him, but giving it her own taste. Most notably, the key signature once again makes this seem hopeful.

Although, there is one more element here that is giving some motion to Charlie’s part of the song, and that is the rest of the piano part.

Is Charlie builds up to the titular motif, the piano starts to build with her, gaining power and emotion as it goes until she says those words and…

It’s the same as her father. That power is held for a moment as the song stores it while Charlie is just plain and open to her father.

“I need to save my people more than anything.”

She’s made the point that she is inspired by her father, but this is what is actually important right now. Heaven is an actual problem worth more than Lucifer’s self-loathing.

Ok, I have questions about Alastor. This shot frames him as reassuring and supportive, and he is. He's a villain, but he is also genuinely supportive. He is the opposite of Lucifer. Where the king of Hell's intentions were good but his actions were terrible, Alastor's intentions seem malevolent, but as far as I can tell, his actions towards Charlie have been, for the most part, positive.

But at the same time, she’s still making that point. This is exactly Lucifer’s motivation at the start. He wanted to make people’s lives better and that’s exactly what Charlie is doing in a very real sense. It is also portraying her as the type of royalty that acts how parents should act. She needs to save her people. It’s not a want, it’s a need, and her father should pick up on that.

“Your life is not negotiable.”

The Wild Robot is a film about parenthood. It is a film about being more than you thought you could be. It is a film about neurodivergence. And it is a movie about how fate and purpose are utter bollocks. This film will mess you up, I would highly recommend it.

But this isn’t a review blog, and instead I would like to point out how it uses programming and the heart as metaphors in conflict.

A key theme in the film is decision making and the causes behind it. With “programming” taking the form of an entirely logical type of rationality.

Roz extends that metaphor towards others as a way of understanding how that part of the brain works, so this doesn’t just apply to robots.

Incidentally, Roz and Brightbill are programmed differently to everyone else. That is the neurodivergent coding.

On the other hand, the idea of the heart is so much more complex and harder to pin down.

“Brightbill was never supposed to get this far. You know that. It is more dangerous for him than anyone else. But he has a chance if, where his wings end, his heart can pay the balance.” “His heart is 48 millimeters.” “From what I’ve seen, Brightbill’s heart is much bigger on the inside than the outside.”

This makes no sense at all, and I love it. The heart is a source of strength, its willpower, but it’s also not framed as something that anyone has control over.

The heart is emotion, it’s fundamentally irrational. Brightbill was not supposed to get this far, but he did. A robot cannot be wild, but Roz is.

The heart is hope, its tenacity, it’s fear and bravery, it’s love and affection. It is everything other than programming.

The final conflict of the film that comes very close to Wall-E and then realises and takes another direction is very clearly a conflict between the Heart and Programming, and the heart wins.

“To survive, we must become more than we were programmed to be.”

This is Charlie’s entire deal in Hazbin Hotel. At face value, she is making the sinners into more than everyone thought they could be. But on further inspection, all of Charlie’s motivation comes from the heart.

I have already talked about her hope in a previous post, but this song drives home how subconscious it is for her. She wants to save Hell, but this is more of a need for her. The sinners’ lives are not negotiable, that’s what she is trying to get her father to see.

Remember earlier, though, when I said that the energy from the piano is stored? Well, here is where that comes crashing back.

That holding out makes the audience wait for a resolution to the rise, and if we combine that with a powerful set of chords, we end up with a real sense of catharsis and triumph.

We have movement, and a pattern that changes. Only slightly, but we’re finding something new for the first time since the drum was added.

Specifically, that movement is upwards. It’s about that hope that Charlie has inspired in her father.

“All that I’m hoping. Now that my eyes are open. Is that we can start again, and not be pulled apart again.”

The final section of the song doesn’t introduce any new elements at all. It’s the first section but with both Lucifer and Charlie singing. The two have started again, but this time they are singing together, and on the same page.

The song is a conversation between two different ideas. But the music itself goes out of its way to show just how similar those ideas are. One was built on optimism that failed, the other on hope that cannot be crushed.

Final Thoughts

I’m back. I had a break for a month and missed Halloween, something I am more than a little miffed about. But there’s nothing like some Jeremy Jordan to bring me back. Jeremy Jordan can do no wrong.

Do I have a crush on this man? No. No I do not. Why do you ask?

In all seriousness, I really like this song and I’m glad it’s one of the most popular in the series. It is, however, really fast paced.

This song would have served the story better if it had an entire episode to back it up, rather than sharing that time with Hell’s Greatest Dad. Both songs are fun, but the difference between them in such little time is jarring.

That is, however, a problem with the management cutting the series to eight episodes and not with the crew. But it is a problem that carries over to the next episode and the next few songs.

I have thoughts on Welcome To Heaven. Lots of thoughts.

Stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

#rants #literary analysis #what's so special about...?#literature analysis #character analysis #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #hazbin hotel charlie #charlie morningstar #the crane wives #crane wives #never love an anchor #the wild robot #the wild robot movie #wild robot #roz the wild robot #rozzum unit 7134

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co-mixed · 1 month ago

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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.

#comics #dc #dc comics #dc characters #batfam #batman #robin #damian wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #bruce wayne #nightwing #red hood #red robin

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mywitchyblog · 2 months ago

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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.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifting #shifting community #shifting realities #shifters #reality shift #reality shifter #shifting antis dni

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starkeysprincess · 2 months ago

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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

#mail ˖⋆࿐໋#anon asks <3 #psycho!rafe #rafe prompt ;༊

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bluntlybetter · 2 months ago

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Just gonna say some stuff about the Dandy’s World situation regarding Qwel and Rox.

To make it short,

Do not buy from Qwel!

I feel it’s important to share this opinion and thought process, since some people seem to be celebrating Rox’s termination (Good Riddance), but not taking in other key facts that can change how you see the situation and Qwel. I still do not support them. Neither of them.

…

Qwel states that she had no idea of Rox’s behavior until the night before his termination from BlushCrunch. Though, this issue had been brought up ever since the popularity of Dandy’s World, and spread almost like a wildfire. Almost every Dandy’s World fan had begun to know about Rox’s disgusting behavior, with proof.

Not only that, but some people have said that Qwel would kick people after speaking out about Rox’s behavior while he was on the team. And while, she could have mistaken this for false rumors, it should have atleast raised an eyebrow, considering the amount of people that must have been talking about it directly.

More importantly, something that has been going on for awhile, that makes the story pretty difficult to rely on, Qwel was already attempting to defend Rox back then? Saying he felt guilty about the things he drew, never mentioning his victims, showing that they both didn’t care, at all? How could things be suddenly “brought up” or “called out”, when it had already happened that long while ago?

What I speak about next is more of my opinion and suspicion rather than something confirmed, though in my eyes, it seems very very probable.

The update comes out, and we’re shown the skins. We get a good taste, and things go bad. This only worsens the feedback on the game, people beginning to say they don’t have any control or solidity. After a few mess-ups and finally creating the first ever gamepass, the new skins, they realize.. that no one is buying it! Only very few are, those who don’t care about the situation, and those who may not know.

The green can be excusable, but the people in the red are wrong.

What could be the cause of all this lost profit? Well, the situation with Rox. No one wants to buy from someone who supports something that gross. So what does she do in attempt to fix it? Fire him. But its too late. Theres nothing for her to save, at this point, her actions already showing that she is a bad person aswell, supporting/indifferent from the act Rox had done.

I know its a little silly for someone like me to make a post like this, but the situation that has been going on right now is genuinely disgusting. I’d prefer if she gave an apology saying how she was wrong, but even then, would it even mean anything, considering how far she’ll go for some profit? The only way BlushCrunch could “save” Dandy’s World and Flavour Frenzy would be to get someone else to be the owner. Both Rox and Qwel are weird, disgusting people.

#dandy #dandys world #dandy's world #skins dandys world #roblox dandys world #dandysworldqwel #dandysworldrox #qwel #blushcrunch studios #blushcrunch #flavor frenzy #flavourfrenzy

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bindeds · 9 months ago

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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!

#thank you so much for 100 followers #it genuinely means so much to me #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor the radio demon

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hestella · 3 months ago

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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

#hannibal lector x reader #jack crawford #hugh dancy #mads mikkelsen #will graham #hannibal fanfiction #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #blind reader

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