#selective!cody

[deserthusbands]

obi-wan, rather pleased with himself: oh, cody! what do you call a fish with no eye?

cody, not looking up: myxine circifrons.

obi-wan:

obi-wan: ... fsh. :(

cody:

cody: i like yours better.

[elthadriel]

I just think Star Wars would be better if Cody and Rex were allowed to spoon on screen.

[ademater]

[ominouspuff]

Hello! Can I know more about the "Old Friend" wip, please? 🥺

You may indeed friend. Buckle up for 100% post-war Old!Rex and Cody shenanigans, VERY WIP.

This one isn’t set in any AU in particular, it’s just wholesome happy-ending tooth-rotting popcorn fluff. The idea is that Rex and Cody meet up and throw mud at each other on a beach, away from everything and anything else, before rejoining The Group of Very Alive Vod’e somewhere where they rebuild, create, and live.

[cxncordia]

I made some pics of my characters through AI and it makes me so mad that none of you liked them.

It's almost making me so mad that I don't want to share with you the other picture I made of Alden but can't post here because puritanism.

[rocksanddeadflowers]

I keep thinking how cool it would be so have one of those song fan animations to The Mechanisms but not, like, animating their music - even tho that'd be just as awesome - just a really good intense song/piece of score where the animation just jumps between all the stories told by the mechs. Every story, small or large, as they all matter. And those flashes and jumps will be intersected with moments of the mech's personal experiences until finally the song closes with everyone's ends- and so to the end of The Mechanisms

[whovian223]

New to Me - January 2024

New to Me #boardgames - January 2024 @thing12games @white_goblin @_dailymagic_ @BoardAndDice @Quinedgames @FarOffGames @Zmangames_ @Funforge @Helvetiq @pegasusspiele

It’s the first month of the year! And it’s also almost the end of February. Yes, it took so much energy to get my Top 50 games played of all time done, along with getting sick recently, that we’re into the last week of February and I still haven’t talked about the “new to me” games that I played in January! I know, right? With OrcaCon in January, I knew that this would be a long post. I did…

[fortheloveofexy]

It's so interesting to me that Nora describes Jean and Neil as being similar in personality.

On a surface level, yes they are a lot alike. Jean is prickly and blunt and prone to verbal insults, just like Neil is. He's unfamilar with affection and kindness like Neil was at the beginning of tfc and he fears older male authority figures just as Neil does.

But at the same time, they are also just so completely different.

Like, I love Neil, but there is nothing about canon Neil Josten that could be described as gentle or soft-hearted or overtly affectionate. In tfc he was studying the Foxes behavior like they were alien specimens under a microscope because he was so unused to how friendships work. He didn't even realize Nicky was his friend until Nicky outright confirmed it. He softens a little for his Foxes in the end (especially for Andrew) and he does love his chosen family, but even by the end of tkm his empathy for other people is still highly selective and he remains a cagey and rude asshole.

But Jean? Jean is a loverboy, through and through. He's not used to receiving affection, but he's a remarkably quick study and he learns how to reciprocate just as fast. He has compassion even for the people who betrayed him and hurt him in the Nest. Protecting Jeremy is so instinctive for him, he does it without thinking. He was so horrified by the thought of Cat being hurt that he couldnt stop himself from checking her for injuries that weren't there. He agrees to getting a dog because he couldn't bring himself to deny Jeremy and Laila something that brought them so much joy. He was already looking out for Cody when he barely even knew them. To his very core, he is so gentle and tender-hearted and kind.

Neil had to be taught how to love other people (and he got there eventually), but Jean's love for others has been pouring out of him for years with nowhere to go.

[starlonging]

I think the most endearing thing about Jean is that he just cares. So fucking much. Not to say that Neil doesn't but Neil had to learn to care and I think it's widely accepted that he cares about a select few people and cares about them fiercely; to the point of kill or be killed.

Jean though? He cares for almost everyone regardless of what they have done to him. He cared for Zane, the man who betrayed him in the most horrifying way for a number, for something Jean had no control over. He cared enough to save his life. He cared for Lucas who brought Jean's abuser right to his gate where he had believed himself to be safe. Not once did he lash out at him because he understood that his actions came from a desperation to know his brother again, the ache of having him near again but not having him at all. He cared for Cody, someone he doesn't even really know; cared enough to ensure they were safe and not being forced into something.

After being beaten down every day, holding on to life out of sheer desperation and perhaps a promise made to a once? friend, Jean still hasn't had his ability to care beaten out of him and it's such a beautiful miracle. He's a little like Andrew in this I think, in that he pretends so desperately to not care under the guise of barbed words and cold shoulders because that's a weakness, a chink in his already dented armour that the monsters can and will exploit with glee. He knows that yet he can't choke that tenderness out of himself.

[caterpillarskimono]

Netflix & Chill

summary: set at the start of season two of Animal Kingdom; you moved to Oceanside, California six months ago, renting an apartment above an old bar that you were also hired to tend to full-time. in that time, you met Andrew Cody, and whatever this is between the two of you is finally reaching the point of no return.

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MDNI, fem! reader, slight age gap (reader is 29, Andrew is mid to late 30s), suggestive themes, NSFW (just barely), kissing, Andrew Cody pleading with you, sexual tension, intense eye contact

author’s note: this is JUST a snippet of a series I’m working on. this is also the FIRST reader fic I’ve ever written, so please be gentle with me ❤️ I truly hope you enjoy this. you may have questions, but all will be answered once I start posting the different chapters in order. just kinda testing the waters with this one.

Your stomach tightens, an unfamiliar warmth stirring in your abdomen.

Well. Not entirely unfamiliar, you suppose. It’s become routine since you met Andrew. But it’s different this time. This time it pulses, it pounds. It slithers further down, resting heavy between your legs. You can practically feel the blood pumping there, and you press your thighs together as tightly as you can to stave off the growing ache between them.

If Andrew notices, he says nothing. Briefly, you look his way, at the intensity of his focus on what’s happening on the television in front of you both. A shiver races down your spine and back up again as you recall the many times you’ve felt the intensity of that stare on you. It’s a curious thing, the way you can feel his green eyes on you before you even notice he’s in the room. The way the air between you two always feels so charged when you meet his gaze. Countless moments passed between you fill your mind’s eye, and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep the moan that threatens to leave you at bay.

Suddenly, he’s looking at you, and his eyes are dark with… concern? You’re not sure. All you know is that his pupils are blown so wide all you can see is black. And there’s something behind them you’ve only seen glimpses of before now. Something primal. Hungry?

“Are you ok?” he says, and your face is suddenly very hot and you know your eyes are wide as saucers because holy fuck, did you just moan out loud?

You clear your throat and turn your gaze back to the television. “I’m fine, just something caught in my throat, it’s fine.”

“Fine…” Andrew repeats, as if he’s testing the word, repeating it back not so much as a question, but more like he’s trying to really dig into the meaning behind it.

“Yup,” you say, your lips making a popping sound for emphasis. You lean forward for your glass of red wine. You chug it in one go, slamming it back down on the coffee table unceremoniously. “Totally fine.”

A moment passes, long and heated and heavy because you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s staring. Studying you. Like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve, but is trying desperately to make sense of.

Finally, he looks away. You watch the scene unfolding in the Netflix Original you selected (and what the actual fuck is 365 Days about anyway) and you try your absolute damndest not to look at the handsome man to your left again.

The female lead is… definitely enjoying herself, her lover’s head barely visible between her legs. She reaches down to grip his dark hair, gripping hard by the looks of it, yanking and pushing his mouth deeper against her. She throws her head back and begins to cry his name over and over, in tandem with the way she’s bucking up into his mouth. He groans loudly, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

That’s enough for Andrew to turn his attention back on you, and instantly, your cheeks redden with embarrassment. You try not to look into his eyes, those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes that you’ve dreamt about every single night since he first walked into your bar six months ago.

But you fail in your efforts, just like every single time before when you’ve tried to hide from the weight of his stare. One look into those eyes, and you almost gasp.

You were right earlier. He does look hungry. And he looks as if he wants to devour you.

And you want him to. God, you want him to ruin you.

“Are you okay?” And his voice comes out so soft that it almost sounds like there’s a nervous tremor behind the words.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to stammer out. You suddenly want to hide, to take cover and not face him. Because you know what you’re about to confess, and try as you might, you can’t stop the words spilling awkwardly from your lips.

“That’s just… I’ve never… not that, anyway.”

A beat. And then Andrew crooks up an eyebrow. “You’ve never?…. What, exactly?”

“I mean,” and an exasperated huff passes from your lips. You throw your head back against the couch, squeezing your eyes shut. “That… All of that. What he’s doing, how he’s making her feel, I’ve never felt… that.”

He frowns. Quickly snatches the remote from the coffee table, pausing the film. The sudden silence is like a record scratch, and you lift your head up and stare ahead.

A shot of the female lead is frozen onscreen, her body arched like a cat stretching in satisfaction. Her mouth is wide open, her eyes slammed shut. You can’t stop looking and memorizing this shot of pure ecstasy. Wondering what it’s like to feel that. Wondering what it would be like to feel it with the handsome - albeit dangerous - man beside you.

“You’ve… never had an orgasm?”

You force yourself to look at him then, and you fight to maintain a poker face. You shake your head in response to his question. Your hands, the tips of your fingers begin to twitch, your veins seemingly trembling beneath the surface of your skin. You’re nervous, why the fuck are you nervous? What the actual fuck is happening right now?

Andrew no longer looks as if he wants to devour you. No, there’s something else there that you can’t quite place. But you feel your heart begin to race, you feel the ache between your legs grow so heavy, pulsing in tandem with the quickening of your breathing, and you become aware of one thing and one thing only.

He… he wants you. You think he wants you just as badly as you want him. Maybe even more.

And, God, you just wish he’d take you already. Make you his. You’ve never wanted to belong to someone else before. It’s strange and all-consuming in the way it weighs on you, rattling your bones

Your eyes fall to his mouth, and you bite your bottom lip again out of nervous habit. Every mouth that’s ever been on yours has been uninvited. But this man? You’ve already invited him in without even realizing it. You want this man to press his lips to your flesh and make you his home.

Maybe a second goes by, but it’s a second too long where neither of you says anything, and you just know you’ve misread his expression entirely. You tear your eyes from his, sitting up slightly, shaking your head. You don’t know where to put your hands, so you clasp them together and tuck them tight between your now bouncing knees.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I think it’s the wine and I’m just - I’m really tired, today was long, and just please forget -“

“Hey.” His voice interrupts you softly. Gently. It’s the same soothing tone you’ve heard used on frightened animals, and it cools the flames of your skin, calms the almost painful beating in your chest. You go quiet, but you don’t dare look at him. You don’t need - can’t handle - the confirmation that you’ve read him, read whatever this is between you two, completely and utterly wrong.

You hear the shift of his body as he sits up, too, mirroring the way you’re sitting. Then silence. One beat, two beats, three.

And then his hand is on your knee, squeezing it. Your body stills, and you gasp as he begins to smooth his hand up higher, fingers digging so slightly into your inner thigh, grip tightening the higher his touch travels. Instinctively, you part your legs, just enough for him to slide his fingers further between. He pauses his touch at the middle of your thigh, above your knee, but too far from where you’re dying for his touch. A whimper almost passes between your lips, but you bite your inner cheek just in time to keep it at bay until you can swallow it down.

It doesn’t register that he’s moved as close as he can to you, hard chest pressed at your side, mouth at your cheek. He gives you the gentlest kiss, the second kiss he’s ever given you and much more chaste than the first. His mouth slowly travels to just beneath your earlobe, and your body almost melts against him.

“Do you want to?” he whispers. “Feel that, I mean?”

Finally, your eyes meet his. His mouth hovers at yours, grazing your lips with the promise of a kiss. You want to say yes, you want to say it so fucking badly that the words sting at the tip of your tongue. But Andrew reaches up, thumb at your bottom lip, and all you can manage is a nod of your head.

Suddenly he exhales, the sound heavy. As if he’s been holding his breath so long that it’s a relief to breathe out. He presses his forehead to yours and gives you the ghost of a kiss. Light, quick, so quick you don’t even have time to kiss him back. His hand starts moving again, higher and higher up your thigh until he’s right there.

And then he stills. He doesn’t move. Just keeps his very large, hand, his calloused fingers pressed firmly at the heat between your legs. “Andrew…” you moan out, squirming into his touch, trying anything to get him to keep touching you.

“I need to hear you say it. Use those pretty lips and tell me what you want. Can you do that for me? Say the word, and I’ll make you come. I’ll make you come so hard on my fingers, my mouth, my cock. Fuck, I just wanna taste you, please just say it, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

He takes your breath away with his words, with the way he goes back to kissing your cheek, nipping your earlobe between his teeth, all the while begging you. “Please, please, baby…” Over and over again like a song, like a prayer. Like he’s found salvation, and salvation is you.

“Yes,” you moan out. “Please just make me feel good. That’s all I want. Please, Andrew.”

Anyway, that’s that for now! Please let me know what you think in comments and reblogs; they motivate me and help me so much. Thx for reading! 🫶🏼❤️

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Baby Blurb #2

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Animal Kingdom Masterlist Pope x Hawk Playlist Well Enough Alone Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Pope takes his new role very seriously Word Count: .3k Content Warning: mentions of miscarriage risk but NONE present AN: I'm having so much fun with these. Thank you for reading! please comment & reblog :)

Pope was a saint, plain and simple. Hawk was embarrassed to admit it, but she cried sometimes when he was out of the house because she thought about how good of a dad he was going to be -that he already was proving to be. 

She was just about to pass her first trimester and neither of them told a soul, for good reason. To be perfectly honest, Hawk didn’t think she wanted anyone to know other than a select few people, but her ideal world and the world she was currently living in were very different universes. Hawk was beginning to show and her clothes were starting to become just a little too tight to wear. Pope offered to take her shopping for some maternity wear, but Hawk was stubborn and didn’t want to make that jump yet. 

Hawk had to stop Pope from buying anything for the nursery even though he was itching to build and paint and nest. Pope was a big nester, as Hawk was learning (the irony did not miss her for a single second). Pope wanted her comfortable, stress-free (as much as she could be), and as well taken care of as she allowed herself to be. 

Hawk wanted to get through the anxiety of the first trimester before anything came into the house, or before making any kind of physical changes to the house itself, because if the baby didn’t make it, they would both be more devastated with the physical reminders haunting the house. Hawk tried not to think about -to not manifest it- but it was a very realistic worry that lived in the back of her mind. 

Since the very day Hawk told Pope they were having a baby, he was researching everything there was to know about pregnancy and infant care. The nights he couldn’t sleep, he was up in the kitchen reading at the island or googling the best foods for pregnancy so he could make sure he got the right things the next time they did a grocery run. 

If Hawk wasn’t as lovesick as she was (she blamed the pregnancy hormones), she’d consider Pope an absolute menace in the household, but the pregnancy worm deemed him endearing and a suitable mate. She felt like the most primitive cave woman when she felt her baser instincts take over, but took the pampering from him nonetheless. 

“I got spinach, kale, Swisschard-”

“Do you even know how to cook Swisschard?” Hawk questioned as she eyed the ingredients that Pope laid out on the island. 

“I’ll figure it out.” He said, completely deadpanned. She lifted her hands up. 

“Fair enough, chef.” She peered over to see what else was in the bag other than green, leafy vegetables. "You don't happen to have a bag of fun-sized payday bars in your sack of nutritional tricks, do you?"

"What do you think?" He challenged her with a straight face, then cracked a grin and pulled the bag out of the bottom of the reusable grocery tote, sliding it over to Hawk. "Gotta keep the balance in order."

"That's why I love you." Hawk said sweetly, biting into the little bar of peanuts and caramel.

I'm going to live and die by this au

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

alexia not here to play games, codi 😅 save the 🤡 for selection time!

"even codi asked me if i had any plans that weekend, and the plan is to win in lisbon and, well, win the 4th champions."

[tarre-was-right]

ROUND THREE: MATCH-UP ONE

Remember, this is NOT about who would win in a fight. This is about who makes the best leader for Mandalore as a whole.

Explanation post

Seeding

Propaganda below the cut! You can submit more on this post and I will reblog it back to here!

SATINE KRYZE

Anon: Satine because she served. Mandalorian fashion week would love her. Manda'slay.

Anon: Satine Propaganda: Was supported by the STRONG MAJORITY, led Mandalore to be in peace for NEARLY 20 YEARS, didn't ban mando'a or armour or any part of the culture like fandom claims, is a good fighter, considered EVERY Mandalorian a Mandalorian and didn't discriminate

@lightsaberwieldingdalek: Satine propaganda: she actually ran a functioning government. Not a mercenary band, or a death cult, or a terrorist extremist organisation, an actual functioning government. Yes there was corruption, corruption she did her best to stop to the point of personally getting in firefights with smugglers, but she took a planet devastated by civil war and by the end of her rule she had schools, public works, and a justice system. - Sure, the rest can run military operations (and we don’t know Satine couldn’t, only that she *won’t*) but can they make the bins get emptied regularly to go to the recycling plants?

COMMANDER CODY

Anon: Propaganda for Commander Cody: - Cody was a student of Alpha-17, who in turn had been personally trained by former Mand'alor Jango Fett, giving him a strong training lineage claim to the title - Cody's service as Marshall Commander in the GAR gave him a lot of the diplomatic, organizational, and military experience needed to govern a planet like Mandalore

@spacetime1969: This man has led more people at once than anyone on this list.

Anon: Cody should be Mand'alor because it would be unspeakably sexy

@cha0s-cat: Cody has experience with negotiating from accompanying Obi-Wan, he leads a massive amount of his brothers already. Can recognize when there is a need for negotiations vs a need for violence. This would balance out the majority of the two factions (pacifists/traditionalists) excluding the extremists on either end. And with the amount of chaos that he has to deal with when it comes to Obi-Wan and Anakin, this would probably be relaxing.

@skykind: - Has resisted fascism and its attendant police/military state at great personal risk (Bad Batch 2.3), which is apparently necessary to successfully govern Mandalore so long as Death Watch is fully armed and also backed by someone more cunning than their usual leadership (Clone Wars 5.15). - Possesses exceptional leadership and organizational ability from his time as one of the highest-ranked Clone officers of the GAR. The Clone Wars and Bad Batch narratives furthermore present him as Obi-Wan’s peer, so he should be interpreted as equally skilled, wise, kind, and unhinged-in-battle as Obi-Wan. Jury’s out on the sarcasm. - Turns to diplomacy before fighting (Bad Batch 2.3). - Has caught a Jedi’s lightsaber mid-battle at least two times (Clone Wars 1.20 and Revenge of the Sith). This is a very useful skill to have as the prospective or current leader of people who keep chucking the darksaber about. - Has returned a lightsaber to a Jedi at least two times. This is a crucial skill to have as the prospective or current leader of people who should stop selecting said leader via darksaber acquisition.

@antianakin: [From the Boba vs Cody poll] So in a very practical sense, if I'm just looking at it with the question of "Who actually has the skills to be a good leader of people" [between Boba and Cody] then the answer is undoubtedly Cody. Cody was trained his entire life presumably to be a Commander in a large army and seems to do that very successfully for three years. He seems fairly humble, has good teamwork skills, he's kind and understanding and merciful, and he's a very skilled fighter. All of this would serve him exceedingly well if he chose to take on a leadership position, on Mandalore or otherwise. - The one downside to Cody is that Cody shows exactly zero interest in Mandalore at all. Cody does not identify as a Mandalorian at any point and never seems like he'd want to, let alone LEAD the Mandalorians. I do not personally see Cody actually being WILLING to lead Mandalore if offered the opportunity, even if he'd definitely have the skills to do so. I feel like if it were offered to him or fell into his lap somehow, he'd just pass it off immediately to the next most qualified person who was interested in it. Mandalore is not his problem or his responsibility and he's not about to change that.

There was a lot of discourse on the Bo-Katan vs. Cody poll, but it was largely "this is why the other character is a bad choice" rather than "this is why my fave is a good choice," so there isn't really a good way to include it.

[allthespoons]

when the sharks played the oilers last year, someone threw out the idea of leon draisaitl picking mack for the winner's room and having to deal with both mack and will. i wrote like 3K of it that i forgot about until now and have no intention of finishing, but i might as well post it. enjoy, i guess.

It’s kind of a spiteful impulse, picking Celebrini. Leon’s usually a lot better at not giving into those kind of impulses these days. But after listening to Celebrini jaw at him all night - not even funny, not even trying to be funny, just fucking annoying as shit - Leon’s feeling a little spiteful. Even Celebrini embarrassing himself in OT hadn’t completely dulled Leon’s irritation.

“Celebrini? Really?” the rep from the PA says, looking surprised. Leon doesn’t know her name yet. She recently replaced Christina, who Leon had liked. Christina was efficient and discreet; he’d never seen her bland smile so much as flicker for a second when she typed the name of Leon’s selection into her iPad.

In his time in the league, Leon’s never seen a male rep from the PA assigned this particular job. He’s still not quite sure if it’s because they’re trying to make the process less humiliating for the players, or more.

In any case, he’s not sure why the woman seems surprised. It’s not like there’s anyone on the Sharks that would be an obvious choice for Leon. He doesn’t give a shit about any of them. There’s Cody, of course, but Leon likes him in the way where he hopes Cody has time to grab beers with him after one of the games this season, not in the way where he wants to see him face down, ass up in the Room.

There’s a handful of guys in the league Leon always chooses when he plays them - guys like him, who he knows are into this shit outside the Room, too. He assumes the rest of the league knows about them, why they’re always picking each other. Leon doesn’t care. He stopped giving a fuck if anyone knew he liked men a couple years after he signed his first big contract.

It’s kind of funny, though, the idea that maybe some guys don’t know. That they just think he has some kind of intense, ongoing beef with, like, Elias Pettersson, one that he’s trying to work out via the Room. When really, he and Petey just exchange blowjobs and restaurant recommendations before going their separate ways.

There’s only one player who Leon had ever tried to work shit out with in the Room, and they play each other all of twice in the regular season now.

Leon doesn’t think there are any guys who are down for it on the Sharks, and Celebrini had been the one pissing him off all night. Plus, Leon knows himself well enough by now. A rookie who was in his ear all night, all unearned confidence, in love with the sound of his own voice? Yeah, there’s always going to be a certain appeal there, picking a guy like that for the Room.

He’s regretting that decision now, though, because Celebrini is running at least fifteen minutes later than Leon would have expected. Leon’s feeling old as shit tonight, looking forward to getting a fucking bag of ice on his shoulder and passing out on the couch with Bowie. He’d actually been on his way out of the locker room, completely checked out already, when he’d remembered that he was up in the rotation for the Room tonight.

He doesn’t want to be stuck here any longer than he has to be. Maybe he should have picked the goalie. He’d pissed Leon off a couple times, too.

“You’re fucking late,” he says irritably, when the door finally opens, words out of his mouth before he even registers that there’s someone following Celebrini into the Room.

It takes Leon a minute to even place the second guy - Smith, he realizes finally. He’s a 2023. Leon’s heard a lot about Celebrini, but not much about Smith, and certainly not anything about him wearing a letter for the Sharks.

“Why the fuck is he here?” Leon asks Celebrini. It’s still customary for losing captains, or at least alternate captains, to walk their guys to the Room. He’s seen vets do it, too. But he’s never seen a rookie walking another rookie.

“I’m staying with him,” Smith says fiercely, crossing his arms.

“Excuse me?” Leon says. He’s definitely never seen this before.

“You heard me,” Smith says, like he thinks he’s being a real tough guy about it. It’s goofy, made even goofier by the fact that the kid looks like a Barbie doll.

Smith and Celebrini are standing shoulder-to-shoulder now, like they’re squaring up for battle. Celebrini might grow another inch or so, fill out a little more in the next couple years, bulk up into a monster. But right now, he looks like what he is - a sullen rookie with his hood pulled up over his head.

They’re both glaring at him. It’s one of the least intimidating things Leon has ever seen.

Fuck, they really aren’t teaching rookies anything these days, if they think they need to worry about Leon in the Room. There’s not many guys left like that, guys that you would need to worry about, and Leon may be an asshole, but he’s never been one of them.

“What do you think I’m going to do here?” Leon asks Celebrini. “C’mon, now. Tell your guy to leave.”

“He can stay,” Celebrini blurts out, the first thing he’s said so far, a little surprising given how much he was fucking yapping at Leon earlier. Smith glances at Celebrini and then gives Leon a smug little look, like, told you.

“Whatever, man,” Leon says finally. He doesn’t want this to take any longer than it needs to, and besides, he doesn’t care if there’s an audience. “Do you guys always do this, or what?”

Celebrini and Smith exchange furtive looks. Oh, Jesus, Leon thinks, as he realizes that somehow neither of these idiots have been in the Room before.

“Wait, seriously?” Leon asks. He can’t help himself. “Neither of you have - I mean, come on. It’s December. Do you have any idea how many times I’d been in by now?” And that hadn’t even come close to how many times Connor had been in, during his first season.

Leon knows there’s a push, a growing movement in the league, to give players a pass during their rookie season. The kind of pass he and Connor never got. Leon isn’t opposed to the idea of rookies having it easier now, but making it halfway through your rookie season without ever setting foot in the Room seems like a little too far in the other direction.

Leon wonders if he should feel bad for being the one to select Celebrini for the first time. He doesn’t. It comes for everyone eventually, and anyway, it’s not that bad these days. Sure, the league still positions it like it’s all about pain, sacrifice, endurance, punishment. But most of the guys don’t buy into all that anymore.

“I mean, I know what the deal is,” Celebrini says defensively. “Okay? I understand.”

Leon rubs his forehead. He very much doubts that, given how both of them are acting. “All right. Look. It’s not the ‘90s. You basically don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s not true. I know there are rules,” Celebrini insists.

“There is one rule,” Leon corrects him. “The rule is, winner gets off, loser helps. That’s it. I jerk off, you touch my hand while I do it, that counts. Seriously.”

He’s expecting Celebrini to be relieved. Maybe not grateful, maybe that’s too much to expect, but, like, Leon’s fucking wasting his night explaining this basic shit to him. A little gratitude would be nice, actually. But instead, Celebrini just looks angrier.

“Fuck you,” Celebrini spits at him, and Leon’s so surprised that he laughs. “You can’t - I know what I have to do, and you can’t just-”

“Mack, dude, come on,” Smith says to Celebrini. “This is, like, the best-case scenario. Let’s just get it over with and leave.”

Leon jabs a finger at Smith. “See? Listen to your friend. He gets it.”

“No, he fucking doesn’t,” Celebrini says hotly. “I get it. I get it. I fucking know what this is about.”

“All right.” Leon blows out a breath. “What’s this about, then?” He can’t wait to hear this, whatever dumb shit Celebrini’s concocted and gotten himself all worked up over.

Celebrini’s cheeks are so red that it looks like he just got slapped. “I lost,” he tells Leon. “I mean, we lost. So this is what I have to do. You’re not supposed to take it easy on me. You’re supposed to do what you want, and I have to take it. I have to.”

Ah. He thinks this is a trick, somehow, that Leon’s giving him some kind of easy out, something that he doesn’t deserve to take. That taking it would make him look like more of a bitch than enduring whatever Leon will do to him. Like maybe Leon might call up Cody and say, hey, by the way, the guy everyone says is the new face of your franchise is a fucking pussy. Not a leader, can’t take it like he should.

The last thing Leon and Cody had actually talked about was how much money Cody had paid for custom portraits of his dogs. Leon’s not going to call him and tell him shit about the Room, especially whether or not a rookie on his new team is willing to take a dick.

Leon wonders idly who made Celebrini think it had to be like this. A dad or uncles who played a few games in the show thirty years ago? Older brothers, bantam coaches, disgruntled teammates from when he was playing two years up? There’s no shortage of guys like that out there, still.

Leon gives it another shot. “Doesn’t have to be like that, man.” Just make the smart play, he thinks, but then again, when do rookies ever do that?

“It fucking is like that, though,” Celebrini says, like he has the right to tell Leon a single thing about how things are in the league. This fucking kid. Leon’s beginning to remember why he picked him in the first place. “You won. You have to tell me what you want me to do, so-”

“What I want?” Leon repeats. This is so stupid. If he doesn’t just end this now, they’re going to be here forever. “Okay, how about this, Celebrini? I want you to suck my dick. I’m not going to make you really choke on it, but maybe I want to fuck your mouth a little, make you gag, make you get my dick nice and wet. And then I want to get you on your hands and knees for me on the bed. I’m going to open you up with my fingers, which I’m kind of thinking you might like. And then I’m going to fuck you until you’re fucking begging me to come.”

That’s enough, probably. He wants to convince Celebrini that he should give up and get this over with as quickly as possible, not scar him for life.

“Okay,” Celebrini says, squaring his shoulders and staring Leon right in the eye.

“Okay?” Leon repeats skeptically, just as Smith yelps, “Mack, what-”

“I said okay,” Celebrini snaps. “What are you, fucking 65 years old? You need me to say it louder, grandpa?”

“And your buddy is just going to watch that, or-”

“I’m not leaving,” Smith says, glowering, like he’s the only thing standing between Celebrini and some additional, even more deviant punishment Leon might foist upon him. Leon has the horrifying realization that Smith thinks he’s being noble. Staying with his guy, suffering alongside him, even though any suffering is almost entirely a problem of Celebrini’s own creation. What the fuck is wrong with these kids, man?

“Smitty,” Celebrini says quietly. “You don’t have to-”

“I told you before,” Smith says, turning toward Celebrini. “I’m staying. So shut the fuck up.”

Celebrini looks at Smith, then away quickly. Lifts one shoulder, drops it, makes a frustrated noise. “Fine.”

Leon can see exactly why they were running so late. They must have been arguing with the vets, the staff, even each other about this, driving everyone so nuts that they had all eventually thrown their hands up and said, hey, why not just make this Leon Draisaitl’s problem instead.

He can sort of understand Smith’s part in this. However stupid and misguided, Smith thinks he’s protecting his buddy. What he can’t see is Celebrini’s angle, why he’s letting Smith stay. Celebrini doesn’t strike Leon as the kind of guy to do something just because someone tells him to. Leon knows, because he’s not that kind of guy, either.

Whatever. This has already dragged on long enough. “All right, fine. Let’s go.”

Neither of the rookies respond, though. They don’t even really move. They just stare at him. Leon really is going to have to do all the work here.

He points at Celebrini, then Smith. “You, take off your clothes. You, I don’t care.”

That’s not quite true. In a different circumstance, Leon might be fairly invested in Smith taking his clothes off. He’s got a pretty face. The kind of face that’s probably already made some guys think about it for a second, like, am I? Could I? Not necessarily Leon’s usual type, but he could have some fun with someone who looks like Smith.

“No, he doesn’t have to,” Celebrini says immediately, like he’s in charge here. “It’s my punishment. Not his.”

It’s kind of funny, how clearly sick Celebrini is over the game, how determined he is to take his punishment for it. He’s a kid. He doesn’t know anything about losing yet. At certain points in Leon’s career, it’s been so bad that he felt like he was being personally targeted by God, or the universe, or something. Like he was clawing his way up a steep and endless hill, dragging himself up to the top by his fingernails, only to have some supreme look down and say, “Ah, Leon Draisaitl again?” and fucking punt him back to the bottom again. Over and over.

Actually, that’s not what’s funny. What’s funny is that, until June, even Leon actually didn’t have any idea what it was really like, for it to feel personal.

Celebrini strips efficiently, slides, teal Sharks hoodie, T-shirt, sweatpants, all in a little pile on the floor next to him. He hesitates for a second when he’s down to just his underwear. The same kind of black boxer-briefs that it feels like all the guys are wearing now, like they all got together, okay, boys, this is what we’re buying this season.

“That’s fine,” Leon says. He looks Celebrini over, not hiding that he’s doing it.

Here, with Celebrini’s damp hair pushed back from his face, Leon can see that he’s good-looking, in a way Leon hadn’t been quite sure of on the ice. Strong features, defined jawline, big, expressive eyes. Pretty built - actually, really built, for his age. Except for his flushed cheeks, he’s pale all over, pale enough that Leon can see a yellowing bruise on his ribs.

Mostly, though, Celebrini looks unsure, chewing on his bottom lip while Leon checks him out. He taps one bare foot against another, crosses and uncrosses his arms over his chest, practically vibrating with nervous energy. Every once in a while he sneaks a glance back at Leon. Leon wonders if he thinks he’s being subtle.

Celebrini is very good, almost certainly great, maybe even someday special. Not as good as Connor was, his rookie year, which is never going to be a fair comparison. But Leon can’t help it - Connor is the benchmark. Always will be.

Still, Leon knows that Celebrini has been good enough for long enough that he should be used to being watched. Men must have been examining him, their eyes flicking dispassionately over his body, for most of his life.

Leon doesn’t think he was ever this nervous, just from someone looking at him, even when he was Celebrini’s age. Then again, it’s hard to remember. All that shit was so long ago that it feels like another life. He can’t get back there, even in his own head.

Maybe he’s supposed to ease Celebrini into this. Leon’s never been on the other end of someone’s first time in the Room. He resents it, having to think about it.

“Do you like kissing?” Leon tries, because that seems like a slightly more neutral place to start than shoving Celebrini down on his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Smith’s head jerking suddenly, like he’d been watching them and just remembered to look away.

“Do I like it?” Celebrini repeats. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

Leon rolls his eyes. “I thought this was about what I want. And right now, I want you to tell me if you like kissing.”

Celebrini looks up at him, startled, like he wasn’t expecting that and doesn’t have a good answer for it. That’s not surprising, as it doesn’t seem particularly hard to outsmart either of these two.

“I mean,” Celebrini says finally, tongue swiping at the corner of his pink mouth. “Who doesn’t?”

Spoken like someone who’s only ever fucked pretty blonde girls who can’t help but dream about what it would look like to follow you to the show. It’s actually almost sweet, that Celebrini thinks that. Leon got disabused of that notion pretty early.

“Okay,” Leon says, shrugging. “So come here.”

When Celebrini still doesn’t move, Leon repeats it, more harshly, “Come here.” And that makes Celebrini snap to attention, drift forward toward Leon.

Leon grabs his hip, fingers digging in just above the waistband of Celebrini’s boxers, and hauls him the rest of the way there. This close, he can see a few freckles on Celebrini’s nose, dark circles on the thin skin under his eyes, a fresh scar next to his mouth. Other than that, his face is unblemished. Leon guesses that will change soon enough.

Leon gets his other hand on Celebrini’s jaw and kisses him. It’s nothing for a second, just the press of his mouth against Celebrini’s, and then Celebrini gets with the program, kisses him back.

That’s fine, because Leon likes kissing, too. So sue him. 

Leon bites Celebrini’s lower lip a little, just kind of scraping it between his teeth. Celebrini makes an abrupt little noise and fucking rocks into him, his hands grabbing at the stretched-out collar of Leon’s shirt. He parts his wet mouth obediently for Leon, their tongues sliding together, and then he just kind of melts into Leon, sighing a little, letting Leon hold his face and kiss him.

Oh, Leon thinks eventually, as he feels Celebrini’s dick rub against his thigh. He’s hard, or at least getting there. Huh.

He slides his hand up, thumb brushing over Celebrini’s ear, to get a handful of his hair and pull. That does it for Celebrini, too, apparently, because he starts rocking his hips against Leon  a little more frantically. He’s definitely hard now.

For a second, Leon thinks - maybe, maybe. Maybe that’s what this is about, why Smith is really here. Maybe there’s something going on there. Maybe they’re both into it.

Leon doesn’t think so, though. He’s gotten pretty good at catching a vibe, and he’s not picking anything like that up here. He’s pretty sure they’re just two kids, trying and failing to live up to a misguided idea of what being tough means. He doesn’t think that Smith had any idea that his buddy would be into this. Leon hopes Celebrini knew it about himself, isn’t figuring it out right now, because that actually might make Leon feel bad, a little bit.

Leon tries to pull away, but Celebrini goes with him, leaning into him. Gone all soft and pliant, eyes wide, dick hard, just from making out a little. Jesus. No matter how old and sorry for himself he’s been feeling lately, you couldn’t pay Leon to be 18 again.

“Tap out,” Leon tells him softly, one more time. “You can tap out. This doesn’t need to be-”

That gets Celebrini going again. “Fuck off,” he says, jumping back, like he just realized he was still listing into Leon.

Smith’s somehow watching intently without looking, his eyes sliding around, never making eye contact with either of them. Leon wonders if he’s realized that Celebrini’s into it.

Leon thinks about telling Smith himself. He wants to, actually, because they would both hate it. He imagines grabbing Celebrini by the back of the neck and jerking him around to face Smith. Holding Celebrini there against his chest so Smith has to take a good look at Celebrini’s dick all chubbed up, fabric of his boxers stretching tight over it. If Celebrini’s so convinced he needs a punishment, that would be a real one.

Maybe Celebrini would just fucking smash Leon in the face after. Maybe Smith would. That still gives Leon a little thrill sometimes, jamming buttons just to see what he can make explode.

 If this was even a few years ago, Leon wouldn’t have been able to resist. But look at him now, so much restraint. Going easy on Celebrini. Just trying to get home after the end of a long day. Real veteran shit.

“Fine,” Leon says indifferently. “Get on the bed, then. Hands and knees.”

Celebrini starts toward the bed, but then he stops and drifts back to Leon, like a malfunctioning video game character. “Um,” he says. “You said you wanted me to, like, suck-” Like he has a little checklist in his head of what Leon said he wanted.

“Change of plans,” Leon tells him. Leon had mostly just been trying to scare him off when he’d said that.

If they were in an entirely different situation, Leon might like to get him on his back in the bed, rub his cock through his boxers until Celebrini was fucking up against his hand, wet spot on the fabric from how much his cock was already leaking, how bad he wanted it. Maybe he would let Celebrini suck him off afterward, until he was drooling around Leon’s cock, spit pooling in his mouth and throat while Leon fucked his face a little. But that’s clearly not going to be how it goes down here, especially with Smith in the Room, and Leon just wants to get off and go home.

“Oh,” Celebrini says, sounding surprised.

[unwritten sex scene where leon fucks mack while goading will into fucking his mouth]

“You did good, kid,” Leon tells Celebrini, and watches his eyelids flutter. Leon smirks at Smith. “He likes that, too, by the way.”

“Yeah, I can fucking tell what he likes,” Smith snaps. He looks like he wants to fucking stab Leon. Leon is not unfamiliar with guys who he just watched come giving him that look. Still got it, he thinks.

He lifts his hand in a wave on his way out of the Room, though he can’t imagine that either of them are paying attention to him anymore.

And okay, fine, this has done it for Leon, he’s fully on board with giving the rookies a pass from the Room. He’ll stand outside the NHL offices with a clipboard, collecting signatures. He’ll wear a fucking placard. Whatever it takes to never have to wind up in the middle of something like this ever again.

Connor would get a fucking kick out of this. He’d been laughing at Leon all night as he watched Celebrini yap at him. Leon thinks about telling him, but he almost never talks to anyone about what happens in the Room, even Connor. Especially not about guys who like it, because Connor’s a good guy, but he’s not one of them. Leon has his own rules.

Leon should just get out of here as quickly as possibly, but he pauses in the hallway to pull out his phone. Scrolls down and down through his messages until he gets to a conversation that died in June.

By the way, he types, like they’ve been going back and forth like they used to, like Leon can’t feel the thick suffocating silence all the way from Florida. You won’t believe the shit I just saw go down in the room tonight.

He doesn’t give himself any time to get in his head about it, just hits send, and shoves his phone in his pocket. He lasts about two seconds before yanking it out and opening the conversation again.

He watches three dots appear, disappear, reappear. Chews his thumbnail. Finally sees a message come through.

fuck off, Matthew has texted him, and Leon grins.

[trippinsorrows]

stuck

authors note: if you've read the hot mess express, you'll understand this. you really, sadly, do need to read said hot mess in order to understand. it's backstory that, hopefully, sheds a tad bit more light on solana's situation.

limited tags. hopefully, we can keep these few shorts contained with just a select few folks, so ya'll don't start making them requests for this to actually become a thing. 😭

words: 1.5k

warnings: angst

“You remember my cousin Bron?”

An unexpected question that pulls us from the silence that settled between us. The only sounds present in the kitchen being the splash of dishes into the water and the clatter that stems from me placing the wet but clean plates in the drying rack.

I have to think about it for a second. “He’s big, right?” And orange. I’ve never seen a white man other than that man with such a….bold tan.

One glance at Cody leaning against the counter beside the dishwasher, cold beer in one hand, eyes on me. “Yeah. Was at the wedding.”

I wonder if he knows I try my best not to think about said wedding. “What about him?”

Cody waits until taking another sip before responding. “Apparently, his wife has been cheating on him.”

I’ve never been so thankful to have my hands submerged in the sink of soapy water, because if not, he would have seen the way they stilled at his answer. It takes a lot for me to maintain my composure. The only thing keeping me sane and still the swell of my belly, the feel of the babies moving inside, as if they also heard him. 

As if they also know. 

“Oh?” I grab the sponge to continue scrubbing the dishes used in the dinner I prepared for us tonight. It’s been his recommendation. Dinner once a week, alternating houses, to prepare. Prepare for us finally living together.

I wish I could feel less depressed about that. 

He nods. “Yup.”

I don’t know what possesses me to ask. Maybe because it feels like a normal, natural follow-up question to such a statement, but still, something about it leaves a bitter aftertaste. “Are they getting a divorce?”

But, it’s when Cody chuckles, almost comically that I turn my head to look at him. “Of course not.”

The smallest hint of a frown on my face, as I ask, “but….she cheated on him.” Why wouldn’t they divorce? The unspoken tail end of my statement. A statement that suddenly feels like it has ulterior motives, like there’s something else being sought out.

Insight. 

I’m looking for his insight. 

His eyes settle on me, and I take a second to take him in. Cody isn’t an ugly man. Hardly. Striking blue eyes, sharp, angular features, a nice build. He’s an objectively handsome man, albeit with….interesting tattoos. 

But, he’s not him. 

No one could ever be him.

“We don’t do that in my family.” 

Thankfully, Cody’s reply snatches me from memories of the man I saw just earlier today. He’d come to see me at the hospital, snuck and brought me lunch. The feel of his big hand on my stomach, questions about the pregnancy and how I’ve been feeling as we ate in the backseat of the SUV. The almost domestic nature of it all before we ended up arguing. He left, upset with me and vice versa. Not like it’s the first time, nor will it be the last time. But, up until that point, it was nice. 

However, there’s nothing nice—or sensible—about Cody’s answer. 

“Why?” Again, it feels like a normal question. The conversation now something that has my full, undivided attention. “I mean….people get divorced. It—it happens all the time.”

“Not us.” I wish I could tell if he’s still referring to his family. Or something else. “It’s….it’s not a good look.”

“And staying with someone who cheated is?” Ironic words coming from the poster girl for infidelity herself, but there’s something illogical about what he’s saying. Something I can’t understand. Or, maybe I just don’t want to.

Still, he remains staunch rooted and planted in his take.“They have children. It’s better to work things out than to break up the family.”

I turn to him, hands now pulled from the water, as I use the towel on the counter beside the sink to dry them. “But, sometimes that does more harm than—”

“Solana.” The firmest use of my name I think I’ve ever heard from him. It makes my shoulders drop. “That’s just how it is, alright?” It doesn’t feel like he’s looking for understanding. Just acceptance. Even if forced. 

And once again, I’m not sure what possesses me to ask, why I would even rock the boat and dance so close to fire, but it escapes before I can reel it back in. “So, if it was us, and infidelity was an issue….we just….stay married? No matter what?”

I don’t know what answer I’m looking for. What answer I want to hear, or even what I need to hear, I just know his response isn’t on the list of possible responses that I’d mentally formulated. “It’s different for us.” 

The shovel continues to dig. “How?”

“Our marriage is a contractual agreement. The fulfillment of a debt. Divorce isn’t an option, because there’s no undoing the contract.” 

Contract. A piece of paper. A single, binding legal agreement that’s left me in a situation not of my doing but of someone no longer with us. My father, bless his soul, in trying to save our family from being homeless, from losing everything he worked so hard to build, made a deal with the devil. Thought promising his daughter to Dusty’s son—the man who stands only inches away from me— gaze assessing and watchful, would save us. And, in some ways, it did. It saved my family but damned me. A debt I didn’t even acquire but am being forced to pay.

A debt I’ve considered from time to time over the past years actually repaying. If there exists some chance to pay off the debt my father accrued in his constant borrowing from the Nightmare Factory. If the deal can be undone. Thousands. I know it was in the hundreds of thousands at the time, and time, inflation, maybe even interest, would raise that initial number, but with the salary I’m set to make once I’m done with school, it feels doable. Even if I don’t live the life one might expect someone with a Dr. behind their name to live. Even if fancy, expensive restaurants are traded for simple, budget friendly meals. Designer clothes with names so foreign, I don’t even know how to pronounce them, replaced with fast fashion outfits that serve the purpose under my white coat. A decent apartment in an okay part of town versus the condo I live in now, courtesy of the man I call my legal husband. Major sacrifices to some, a path to freedom for me. 

Freedom to choose. To actually choose who I want to be with. Whose wedding ring I want to don. Who I wish to spend the rest of my life with. 

And kind as Cody can be, that’s not him.

If only the alternative wasn’t him. 

But, the fact of the matter is that this conversation leads me to believe that for all of my wondering, and maybe even hoping, over the years, there still and will always remain the fact that no amount of monetary substitution can undo what’s already been done. Can null and void an agreement made by two parties no longer among this earth.

And one of those parties is no longer here because of the man you wish to leave your husband for. 

The dread that settles within me deepens the frown on my face, something I’m unable to hide. Just like the most devastating question and realization I’ve encountered in some time.

Perhaps ever.

So, I’m stuck? Forever?

Unspoken words fully felt. 

“Even though….even though it was technically not for me?” I don’t say her name. Not even just because of this situation. It’s too painful, hurts too deep to invoke the name of the person I’ll never be able to see or speak to again. The person whose place I was forced to take, and sometimes, when I think about it, I wonder if…if her ending would be preferred over this. Freedom in the eternal versus bondage in the living. 

His eyes are leveled, briefly darting to my belly, his free hand reaching to plant over my stomach. I wish I didn’t want to back away. “Yes.” 

I don’t say anything after that. Not immediately. It’s not until he removes his hand, and I resume washing the dishes that I ask another question. One that stems from putting it all together, what was said, what wasn’t said, and what could be extracted. 

“If they were to divorce….he’d keep the kids from her….wouldn’t he?”

He never gives me an answer. 

And that’s all the answer that I need.

Stuck. 

[twinterrors29]

during the clone wars, the 212th found themselves staying for a day or two on a planet who they'd saved

despite the language barrier, the citizens managed to communicate that they'd like to build a monument to the Jedi who saved them, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and got the Jedi and his Commander's permission before they were abruptly called away to the next battle

however, they never actually asked which of the men they talked to was the Jedi, and which the Commander, and since they didn't speak Basic (or any other language common off their own planet), weren't able to fact check their model

and of course, since Marshall Commander Cody was the one carrying his Jedi's lightsaber on his hip nearly the entire visit, they picked up a skewed impression of which of the pair was the General

due to the hardship of the war and the years following it, it takes the people years to build their intended statue, long enough for the event to be separated in the minds of any Imperial watchers, and since all signage and discussion took place in the local language, no one picked up on the fact that this monument was intended dedicated to the Jedi

miraculously, this saved it from the Imperial purge of any and all remnants of the Jedi

after all, to an outside observer, the statue depicted a clone, not a Jedi, and only a very select handful would have recognized the significance of the strange cylinder hanging from the statue's belt

decades later, while Luke Skywalker desperately searched for any remnants of the Jedi's legacy, he found a mention of a remote planet that Ben had visited during the Clone Wars in the man's journals, which included the addendum that the citizens had informed him that they intended to construct a monument to him, but that he never got to actually see it

Luke, excited for this chance to learn about this period of his people's history, rushed to borrow Threepio for the trip and raced off across the galaxy in search of this monument

when Threepio pointed him to the statue in question though, Luke was terribly confused

who was this man? his face seemed strangely familiar, but he'd think he'd remember meeting someone with such a memorable scar on their face! and that cylinder on his belt did look like what he remembered of Ben's lightsaber...

so Luke called for Ben for an explanation, only for the man to take one look at the statue and start laughing his ass off before disappearing, saying only that he needed to go tell someone about this