#this is better and worse than the <3? tag ish

[barleyo]

Better Things.

Older Bro! Megumi X Little Sis! Reader (smut)

A/N: please read the tags and avoid this if anything mentioned in them discomforts you ^_^ i'm not responsible for your media consumption, so do not read this is if you do not like the sound of it. thanks!! :3

Tags: incest (brother-sister), some misogyny, 25-ish years old megumi, fingering, oral (f receiving), no penetration/dry humping

Wordcount: 2.8k

Megumi did not know whether or not to be angry with you or himself. Maybe a mixture of both— no. No, you. Your fault. 

Very rarely did he have time off from missions. Often, it was back to back assignments in far away places. It had been two or three years since he had seen you last. He went back to your apartment as soon as he came back from an especially lengthy mission, only to find it empty. No furniture, no clutter. No little sister in sight. 

He found your landlord. Some old sleaze, Megumi remembered him well from when he helped you with moving in. He was so angry that day, extra eyerolls and teeth gritting. He never wanted you to be anywhere that wasn't attached to his hip. You weren't meant to be on your own, you needed him to protect you, but you insisted on a little independence. 

"She hasn't lived here for a while, son" the landlord answered, leaning on the frame of his front door, arms crossed. "Said she was moving into college dorms."

College? What did you need college for? To get some degree? A worthless slip of paper to show the four years that you wasted? 

Megumi stomped away from the apartment complex with a look of pure betrayal. 

He'd been sending you money and clothes— anything he could use to keep you entertained while he was gone— over the years. Was that not enough? If you were that damn bored, you could have told him. Megumi would have done something, anything, to keep you stuck safely at home, but no. You weren't at home. 

Were you even alive, he wondered? He had heard stories of those college bastards eating freshman girls alive. Sororities hazing sweet things like you to no end, fuck boys slipping mystery pills into drinks of girls stupid enough not to watch them, and God knew you were just that stupid. What if you got knocked up by some awful frat guy while Megumi was gone? What if you were slutting around campus? Or worse:

What if you had gotten a boyfriend?

Classes here were much harder than you had anticipated. You knew college was a big deal. You hadn't done especially well in high school, either, but the social aspect of college spoke to you so loudly. The movies had hyped it up well. You wanted it all— a spot in a fancy sorority, maybe Chi Omega or Kappa Alpha Theta. You wanted a clique of close girlfriends to gossip with. You wanted to sit in the front row of every class and answer every professor's questions with precision and accuracy. You wanted to be a cheerleader, a book worm, a prodigy, and a notorious knock-out all rolled into one.

Well, year one of college and you were severely disappointed.

You went bidless with every sorority you tried to rush. Friends were hard to keep and come by— your roommate never even spared you a side glance. She was too busy bringing boys home to catch your name, you assumed. You sat in the flooded middle rows in your lecture halls, and the only question you had ever answered correctly was when your physics professor aimlessly asked what day of the week it was.

Your essays were consistently given static, mediocre grades. Your exam scores were less than stellar. The cafeteria's food was tasteless and bland. Your feet constantly hurt from walking around campus all day. Your schedule was awkward and poorly spaced out.

You didn't know why you even left home. Not your old apartment, but home. Home with 'Gumi. Sure, you didn't see him a lot, but if your brother was your only shot at a decent human connection, you'd take seeing him once or twice a month.

You were petty to move out in the first place. You wished you could smack your old self right across her stupid, stupid face! You wish you could shake her by the shoulders and say 'stay home! you aren't cut out for this!'

Who were you joking, thinking you could make it on your own? You weren't very smart, and as much as 'Gumi loved you, he made that very clear.

"You're a girl," he often told you when you were both small children. Some neighborhood boys picked on you, calling you creative names like 'stupid' and 'idiot,' articulated as children do. "Girls aren't supposed to be strong or smart. That's why they have brothers to protect them," he would reason, his logic going unchecked by anyone around him.

"You're a girl," he'd say when you both got a little older. Some boy had played with your hearts, stringing you on. "Guys like hurting girl's feelings. That's why you don't need one." He wanted badly to add, 'you just need me,' to that sentence.

"You don't need to work, you know," he told you after you finally finished high school. "Just stay with me. You don't need to do anything else."

God, you wish you had listened to him. Instead, you had your nose stuck up so high in the air that you would drown if it rained. You left home because you wanted more for yourself, but was this the universe's way of showing you that you had all you needed? You left because you thought you were big and bad, because you thought you were a woman. Well, life was certainly humbling you, because just like Megumi had always told you, you were just a girl. 

A girl sitting in a tiny, cramped dorm room with a dirty nightstand, awful grades, no friends, no place to belong, and no romance. The high hopes you had in the beginning of the semester had plummeted. All you wanted was your older brother. 

After high school, Megumi's overprotectiveness and thinly veiled old fashioned way of thinking was suffocating. You brushed off his words with pouts and huffs. He was right, though. He was always right. You did need him to protect you, to provide for you. 

You needed Megumi to save you from your own stupid choice, and quick.

Finding you was surprisingly easy. There were only a few local colleges. Megumi was certain you weren't anywhere across the country, or God forbid, international. After a little digging, who found that you were attending a community college only ten or so miles away from his house. High acceptance rates, low reputation, and zero tuition. Made sense. 

He scoffed at the idea. How could you go somewhere so lowbrow? He didn't want you enrolled back in school, point-blank, but if you had to go, he would've paid to get you into somewhere much better. He wanted the best for you. This place was not it. 

Hands crossed over his chest, shoulders slouched, Megumi stared at the brick walls of your dorm building. It was old and dilapidated. He was sure the admin board would refer to it as 'rustic' or 'charming,' but really, it was a dump. No place for his baby. Baby sister, he meant, not... not that way, right?

Megumi shook his head, trying to dispel the thought before it could settle. Of course, not that way. He was just protective. You were his sister, and this place was beneath you. It wasn’t about control, it was about making sure you were safe and comfortable. That’s what older brothers did—looked out for their family. He had every right to check on you.

He didn't want to control you. He just wanted you to do what he told you to and to follow his guidance.

Still, standing there in front of your dorm, something gnawed at him. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t doing this purely out of brotherly concern. He brushed it aside, pushing his hands into his pockets as he glanced up at the windows. One of those was yours, no doubt. He hadn't been able to find the exact dorm number, but the building wasn't very big. A perk, in this case, of the budget college you'd stuck yourself in. 

Megumi sighed, his frustration growing as he scanned the windows. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be in this kind of place. You had him, and took care of everything for you. Sure, maybe he wasn't physically around often. Maybe he couldn't give you his time, but he gave you everything else. Every card in his name was free for your use. Every cent in his account had your name written all over it, had you have wanted it.

Women are ungrateful, he reminded himself, shaking his head in frustration. It's just how they are.

He turned the corner, making his way toward the entrance, rehearsing what he might say. He wasn’t here to pick a fight. This was just a pick-up. A chance to remind you that you didn’t have to settle for something so mediocre. A chance to bring you back home, where you belonged. His chest tightened as he stepped inside the building. 

The hallway was humid and dimly lit, the faint hum of old fluorescent lights filling the silence. As he approached the stairwell, his footfalls echoed—louder than he appreciated in the still quietness. He didn’t know which room was yours, but he had a feeling he’d know it when he saw it.

Reaching the second floor, he paused in front of a row of doors. His hand hovered for a moment before he forced himself to knock on the one closest to him. He had no plan for what he’d say if this was the wrong room or worse, if you didn’t want to see him ever again. The uncertainty didn’t matter. He’d bring you with him no matter what. 

He wasn’t leaving until you understood that this—this place, this whole plan—wasn’t what was best for you. He’d make you see that you still needed him, even if it meant dragging you out by your wrist like a child. Shoving aside whatever was stirring in the pit of his stomach, an unsettling mix of guilt and something else, he watched the door creak open slightly.

Your puffy, flushed face peeked through the door. Damn it, crying already?

"You don't get to be mad at me," you sobbed angrily. 

This is why Megumi still saw you as a something to be protected. A weak, emotional woman. 

"You left me first! You left and I never knew when you would come back, 'Gumi—" you shook your head, burying your face back into the pillow under you as you corrected yourself, "—Megumi."

Perched behind you, pressing his clothed erection against your ass, Megumi huffed. His chest planted against your back to trap you against your thin, uncomfortable mattress. 

"That's different. I have to work."

You sniffled and felt more tears slip from your eyes. Small stains were starting to cover your pillow. Wet splotches giving away your cries of anger, sadness, and pleasure. 

Megumi’s sigh was heavy, his breath brushing against the back of your neck as he leaned in closer. “You know it’s not the same,” he said, his voice calm, almost patronizing. His arms caged you in, keeping you pinned beneath him, as if he could physically restrain your defiance. "I don’t have a choice. You do. You chose this." His words were measured, but there was a subtle edge to them, the weight of his snark pressing down as much as his body was.

You squirmed beneath him, trying to shift your weight, to pull away from the suffocating feeling of his presence. But he didn’t budge. He never did. "You say it like it’s so easy," you said, your voice cracking with every word. "But you don’t understand. You don't know what it's like to feel so lonely. 'S like you don't love me anymore, 'Gumi, like I'm not important."

Megumi's grip tightened slightly, his chest rising and falling against your back. His voice softened, but the meaning in it remained. "I’m making sure you’re taken care of. That you don’t end up in places likethis." He tipped his head back, gesturing to the disorganized dorm room, even though you couldn't see what he was doing. "Do you know what could happen to you out here? Here where anyone could take you? Hurt you?"

You felt his hands snatch you up by your hips. A more freeing position, sure, but more exposing too. Your ass perched in the air and your face was pushed further into your pillow. 

"I’m the one who's always been there for you, you know that. I always take care of you." 

Cool air whooshed over your bottom. Megumi's palms ran over your cheeks. You could've sworn you heard him groan at the sight before him. Your cunt sticky and spread, nearly as wet as your tears. 

"Don't ever say," he spoke between placing firm licks over your clit from behind, "that I don't love you."

He spat on the little nub, slicking you up. From broad strokes to pointed swirls against the tip of your clit, Megumi felt himself growing lost in you. He'd wanted this for so long, he just didn't know it. He didn't know why he wanted to so close to you, why he felt the primal need to protect you, but it all made sense now.

One protects their property, don't they? They get a guard dog to chain up at the edge of it. They keep watch, armed on their porch, ready to shoot anything that moves.

A foreign feeling entered you. A snaking tongue slurped at your hole, wriggling deep inside and toying with your tight walls. 

"'Gumi, no," you couldn't fight it. Embarrassed as you were, you wanted— needed, to cum.

Fingers replaced the intruding tongue. The angle was all too good. Too perfect. You felt drool prick the corner of your mouth and heat rise through your lower body. It was like a wire wrapped around your womb and cinched, tighter, tighter, tighter—

"Awh! No, no more," you cried out. "Can't take anymore!"

"No?" Megumi looked almost amused. "Still sensitive, huh? Guess no guys have broken you in yet."

You shook your head slowly.

"Good. We'll fix that, then. At home."

[localkiss]

Princess Sprinkles!

Vendetta Chris Redfield x fem reader!

cw: dd/lg, creampie, squirting (guys idk how squirting feels like....), multiple orgasms (reader), fingering, pet names, praise kink, oral fixation (reader obv), light mentions of breeding, soft dom!Chris!!, afab terms used, size kink ish.., Chris being silly, Chris being a lil mean one time, and some fluff :3 !! — Lmk if I missed anything.

wc: 2005 !! (🤭 birth year go crazyy LOL!)

notes: if you don't like ddlg just um. Idk don't read 💀!! I fr try not to make the reader teeny tiny but like dude Chris is huge asf.. size kink go brrr 🧎🏻‍♀️! I'll be making reader a lil squishy from now on bc I'm not skinny either ☝🏻.Also I used to watch the Bratz babyz movie on repeat sm that the disc got ruined 😭😭 soo.. yes that part is directly from yours truly! Not proof read 😵‍💫

tags: @argreion, @rigorwhoring bc ily guys 😇!!

"Daddy!" You squeal as soon as Chris picks you up and spins you around. Making your fluffy mini pleated skirt twirl upwards.

Chris hoists your pretty body over his shoulders and pats you on the butt, practically skipping towards your shared bedroom. It looks like someone dumped all the squishmallows possible into the master bedroom. He can't help but think of you every time he sees a stuffed animal. Shits rooted in his brain. Stuffies = his angel!

Yeah, he might have to fight with them to make room for himself, but he wouldn't trade it for any other way. He doesn't actually fight them, knowing you'd throw a hissy fit and say "Hate daddy! Forever 'n ever!" Chris's heart shatters like glass whenever you say that.

He's grown softer because of you and those little threats of yours make his heart drop down to the core of the Earth. Would he admit it to team Alpha? No. Never in a million years. But they've got eyes and ears, they're not Patrick Star. Dumb and living under a rock.

Lately he's been covered in hickeys and cute little doodles that're supposed to be like tattoos by yours truly. Goes to work and gets teased by his squad, telling him how you've got him wrapped around your pretty little finger. How much you've changed him, for the better. He always shrugs them off, putting them back to work.

You for sure made Chris cut back on smoking a fuck ton. Constantly crying about how the stench will ruin your stuffies and the coat the walls of the house with a film. You're right, that's for sure. And the fact that second hand smoke is even worse is what clicks it into his head for him. His baby. His sweetheart, could end up dying because of his stupid ass habits.

Chris has lost too many of his men because of his habits. Too many good men. You are his savior. He pounds away the guilt into your needy little cunt. Constantly craving him. Needing him. Loving him. Honest to God, he needs that more than anything in this lifetime.

"Sweetheart," he sighs and sets you down onto the bed. "I missed you. Whatcha been up to?"

"Slept 'n colored and um... Ate some snackies, watch movie, 'n had lotsa juice!" You mumble, eyes glancing around the entire room. Using your hands to talk, as your words get slurred when you're in this state of mind.

Chris presses a faint kiss to your temple and noses down to the underside of your ear. Carefully holding the back of your head with his hand. He gives you more kisses and blows raspberries into your ear, making you squeal and swat at him.

"That's good baby. Glad you had a productive day." Chris smiles at you lovingly.

Your heart then swoons, making you feel all mushy inside. Praise gets him everything from you. Just like you crying out for daddy gets you everything from him!

He lazily starts to unbuckle his belt, pulling it through the loops. Setting it down on the bedside table with a thud. He starts to undo his fly, pushing his pants all the way down, kicking out of them.

Only dressed in his boxers and shirt, he engulfs you with a hug. Nuzzling into your neck, feeling your hands grab ahold of his shirt.

"Daddy?"

"Just recharging honey, hold on." His voice is deep and gruffy, sending chills up your spine.

You lay there, body buzzing with warmth as his figure presses you into the mattress. His hips shift and move against yours, causing you to gasp.

Thighs squeezing against his fit waist and he sighs into your neck. "Daddy's not charge. He excited..." Your fingers tug on his shirt and he sits up.

"Off?" Pointing to his shirt and you clumsily remove your own shirt and skirt. Now both of you are only in your underwear. Well, you still have your white thigh highs on, but still.

He presses your thighs up to your chest and settles in the middle as best as he can. Feeling his skin on your skin feels like heaven. Makes your panties wet, which he's noticed but doesn't want to say anything about it. Knowing you get all shy and embarrassed when he points things out like that. He likes it. Thinks it's cute that you want skin ship.

"So pretty baby," he pushes his hips forward. His cock catching onto your clit with each slow roll. "Pretty pussy, pretty tits. Pretty girl. My pretty girl."

Chris leans back and gets rid of his boxers. Pulling your panties up to slip his cock between your folds. Laying back down on top of you. Humping you instead of fucking you.

You can't complain, his tip his pressing against your clit nicely. Your hips rolling up to meet his and his dick slips inside.

He bottoms out immediately with a growl. "Baby. Did I say you could put it in?" Chastising you with a rough thrust, acting like it's your fault his dick slipped inside of your tiny hole.

"Daddy, didn't mean to. Not m'fault," you whine out, kicking your legs.

"S'okay. Daddy will make it all better." Chris presses a kiss to your forehead and acts like he's going to pull it out. Only to harshly thrust it back into you. "Fuck, princess. She's not wanting to let me go. You hear her crying for me?"

Moaning, you dig your nails into his back, "Daddy, daddy, never leave," you start babbling already.

He groans and rabbits his hips, making the bed rock against the wall.

"Wait, daddy, stuffies no want look, turn," you try to speak as he continues to fuck you like he hates you.

"Shit, okay baby. Hold on," he grunts and turns them around as best as he can. "Better now?"

You nod and go in for a kiss and he meets you halfway. Drooling into your mouth and your tongues swirl together before you suck on his. Moaning as he drives himself deeper inside of you. Squelching sounds and skin on skin echoing in the bedroom. Surely you guys won't get a noise complaint this time!

He spits into your mouth and smears it all over your lips with his thumb, pushing it into your mouth. Who needs a pacifier when you've got daddy's thumb?

Watching your eyes flutter shut and your lips wrapping around his thumb, it sets him off. His other hand driving down between you both and rubbing harshly at your puffy nub.

Biting down, you furrow your eyebrows. Breathing quickly and moaning softly. "Close," you hum around his digit. Sucking on it as you get closer and closer.

Chris's dick hits a special spot inside of you and your body shakes underneath him. Pussy trying to push out his cock as a clear liquid shoots out of you.

"Goddamn, baby, squirting on me, mmhh—fuck..." His hips falter and he dumps his cum inside of you. Resting his body on you, burying you into the bed. Making sure his cum never leaves you.

Chris pulls his thumb out of your mouth and kisses you feverishly. "Putting a baby in you, s'that alright princess?" Your pussy agrees by clenching around his thickness.

But he's acting like you've got a choice, since he's already done the deed. He pulls you up into his arms and you guys slowly make your way to the bath. Still connected and full.

Keeping you in his arms, he reaches down to turn on the water and put in the plug. You giggle and some of his cum starts to spurt out and drip down his balls. He settles in the tub with you on his lap, grabbing the soap to fill it with bubbles.

Chris slowly lifts you off of his length and sets you between his legs. Back pressed against his hairy chest. While his cum dribbles out of you.

His fingers make their way down to your sensitive cunt and slowly dips them inside. "Shh, I know baby," pressing soft kisses to your cheek as you whine and claw weakly at his forearms. The other one is keeping you pressed against him.

"Daddy's helping you baby," he starts to curl his fingers and your legs shake. Clearly overstimulated from earlier. But Chris starts to be a bit greedy, smacking his palm against your pretty little pearl.

Throwing your head back against his shoulder, he coaxes you into another orgasm. With the disguise of helping you get his cum out. If anything, he's trying to fuck it back into. Serious about putting a mini him or you inside of your tummy.

"Baby, almost there. Y'got it princess.. mmh.. cum one more time for daddy? Promise I'll clean you up and get us some donuts with sprinkles on 'em, just the way you like." Man, he's even bribing you! Daddy knows what you really want right now. So you whimper in response.

"Daddy, mmhhff... Daddy oh god! Please, please, please!" Your heels dig into the tub as the water fills it. His lips sucking and biting into your neck is what makes you cream around his digits.

Body convulsing and breath raggedy and higher as you come down from your second high of the night. Chris grabs your face and kisses you all over, mumbling praises into your skin. "Good girl, daddy's so proud of you."

Then, he takes his time washing you off, letting you play with the rubber duckies and splashing water onto him. Putting bubbles on his beard and making one for yourself.

"I daddy! See?" You pout and furrow your eyebrows, taking a drag of an imaginary cigarette. Chris rolls his brown eyes and takes the imaginary cigarette and puts it out.

"Babies can't do that stuff, remember? Only daddies can do that, silly baby girl." He wipes the bubbles off of your face and his, nibbling on your earlobe. Making chewing noises, "Om nom nom, my baby tastes so yummy!"

You squeal and press your face into your shoulder. "Daddy! Got wash so we can eat nummy donut! Donut sprinkle!"

He hums and gets to work. Gently washing your back and hair as you wash your front side and down to your toes. Chris hauls you up and he turns on the shower to wash your hair and his. God knows he needs this shower after training his new squad mates today.

Chris washes his own figure as you cup the water in your tiny hands and splash it up in the air. Watching you pretend you have powers as the water runs down your arms and to the tips of your fingers.

"Alright princess. Let's go get some sprinkled donuts," he pats your heart shaped ass with a chuckle. Wrapping you in a fuzzy towel, he gets to work drying you off. It reminds you of that Bratz babyz movie. Sure reminds him of it too. From how often you guys watched it, the CD stopped working and you threw a fit.

So of course, he bought a couple more, just in case. It's not like he doesn't have the money for it. So why not keep his baby sated with something so simple as a 2000s movie? He even bought you some Bratz dolls and monster high ones. Likes how you squeal and jump around in excitement every time he buys you something so simple as a doll. Makes him happy.

"Princess sprinkles and daddy sprinkles! Getting donut sprinkles! Sprinkles, sprinkles, sprinkles!" You laugh as he puts on your blue matching cinnamoroll pajamas that he spent fifty dollars on. Worth it in his opinion. Looks so cute on you, he can't help but press kisses all over your cheeks.

"Alright, alright, princess sprinkles. Let's go get in the car. Daddy'll buy you all the chocolate sprinkled donuts there is at the bakery." Chris's heart thumps in his chest. Yeah, there's a sprinkled shaped hole with a sprinkle version of you in his heart.

[leighsartworks216]

Feel Good

Astarion x transmasc!Tav/Reader x Gale Dekarios

Requested by Dirtyramen on AO3:

“can I request a fic abt Astarion just being soft/caretake-ish to Tav while they recovery from top surgery? (or, I guess whatever might be the equivalent to it in the world of baldurs gate haha) maybeeeeee in a poly relation with gale if it tickles your fancy?

-also if Tara could be mentioned somewhere that would be adorable but not at all necessary, I just love her LOL-“

Gale may be OOC in this, I've never really written him before, but it felt right to have him there

Title is based on "Feel Good" by Ryan Nealon. Doesn't fit 100%, but I feel like this could be a good reference to how Tav felt before their magical top surgery

Warnings: mentions of chest scars, insecurity, mentions/references to dysphoria, crying, implied sexual antics at the end

Word Count: 1,699

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You can’t stop staring at your body in the mirror. Just behind the protective bandages lay the chest you’ve dreamed of having - and it terrifies you. What if it came out wrong? What if you hated it? What if having a flat chest makes you feel worse about your body? The thoughts spiral, questioning every single thing you thought you knew about yourself. You frown at your reflection.

Hands on your hips startle you from your mind, as soft lips against the back of your neck chuckle. Astarion - forever the rogue.

“Admiring yourself, my love?” he teased.

You sigh. You wish you were. You wish you just knew what it looked like. Just a little peek and surely you’d feel better about it all. He rests his chin on your shoulder when you don’t speak, smoothing his hands over your stomach, just below the wrappings. You rest your hands over his, focusing on your reflection’s hovering hands as you run your fingers against his prominent veins.

“What if I don’t like it?” you whisper. “What if I was wrong?”

“Darling, you’ve been gushing over this for months. Why are you worried now?”

“I just…” You dare to raise your eyes to your chest again. Flat. Years and years spent hating your chest, crying and spitting vitriol at yourself for how it made you feel. “I just want to feel okay in my body, Star,” you finally admit, to yourself and your partner. “What if this isn’t it? What if it doesn’t help?”

He hums, considering. “It seemed easy enough to magic your breasts away, I’m sure Gale could find some spell that would bring them back.”

You chuckle despite the emotions in your chest. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” Your hands slide off his as he turns you around, away from the mirror. “The worst that could happen is you don’t like it. And if that happens - which I don’t believe it will for a second - we’ll help you find what’s right. Until you’re comfortable.”

You can’t stop the grin that tugs at your lips. “You can be really sweet when you want to be.”

He smirks. “Don’t tell anybody.” He gives you a quick kiss, though you can feel how reluctant he is to pull away. “Now, come on, off to bed. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“What are you, my mother?” Despite your words, you follow along with him easily as he leads you by the hand through the tower back to your bedroom, only a few doors down. You had a mirror, of course, but this was the only full-body mirror in the place. Gale kept saying he would move it to your room, but he always got sidetracked, always distracted by new questions that needed answers.

Astarion had his reservations of living with the wizard at first, but even he couldn’t deny how comfortable it was here. It was far better than any other option available to him at the time. Not to mention he was always around if Gale had any ideas on how to cure his undead affliction.

And, well, perhaps he didn’t completely despise him, but the world would burn before he ever admitted it.

He leads you through your door, as natural as though it were his own bedroom. He did have his own, but, truthfully, he much preferred spending time in yours. When he wasn’t perusing the wide collection of books scattered in mostly-organized shelves and piles, that is.

He lets go of your hand to open your blankets, and he helps you slide under them so you can lay on your back. He crawls in after you. You’ve learned to scoot over a bit beforehand, so he’s not constantly shifting to avoid falling off the edge, or whining about the blanket not covering his ass, all because he refuses to go around and lay on the other, wide-open half of the bed.

His arms wrap snugly around your waist, though he refrains from resting his head on your chest as he normally would, opting instead to curl into your side, resting his head on your shoulder by your neck. There’d be plenty of time for proper cuddles once you were fully recovered. Unable to roll to your side, you opt to tangle a hand in his hair and rest the other on his arm. It wasn’t the same, but it was comfortable nonetheless.

“A few more hours, Gale will return, and you’ll get to see,” he murmurs against your skin. He presses a kiss below your jaw. “And I’ll get to see you, my handsome man.”

The phrase makes you flush. He smiles when he hears your heart beat faster. You let out a slow, shaky breath. “He needs to get back sooner.”

He chuckles, but says nothing more. You tilt your head to rest against his and close your eyes. Visions of your chest before mixed with fantasies of what it looked like now. It was still so difficult to grasp the fact it truly was flat. Whenever Astarion would help you change into fresh clothes (after he gently wipes you down with a damp sponge, as you are unable to bathe until the bandages are removed), you’d have a moment of confusion when you flipped through the stack of folded clothes and didn’t find a bra. In fact, you’d gotten rid of them all right after your procedure. Gale had to stop you (and Astarion) from lighting them on fire as celebration.

With the images, your anxiety spikes again. It’ll be fine, you know it will be… By what if it isn’t? You want to relax into a nap, pass the time warm and comfortable with your vampire partner until Gale got back, but your mind would not let you.

You sigh in frustration. You press your lips to his head as you quietly murmur, “Will you read to me?”

He sighs, too, long and dramatic. He only half means it. He truly does not like having to pull away from you to sit up, but he does quite enjoy flipping open the book from the side table and continuing the story where you left off. You press your face into his side and he combs his fingers through your hair mindlessly as he weaves a tale of romance and intrigue. He doesn’t stop reading until he is certain you are asleep.

-

You cover your eyes, elbows lifted to the sides. You can barely stay still, rocking back and forth between your feet and fighting not to bounce on your heels. You groan. “Are you almost done?”

Gale huffs a laugh. You can feel it ghost along the back of your neck. “Patience, dear. You’ll see soon enough.” His fingers finally work out the knot in the bandages, and you almost gasp as he unwraps them from your body.

The air feels odd against the clammy skin. Even weirder is the feeling of his warm hand pressing supportively in between your shoulder blades.

“Okay. You can look now.”

You take a breath in. You lowered your hands to your sides, but taking that final step felt overwhelming. Gale’s thumb rubbed against your skin, silently encouraging you, as Astarion came to your side to hold your hand. It was now or never.

It takes a moment for your brain to process. It’s so different. You step closer to the mirror. They let you go, standing back and watching with wide grins. (You can see Gale’s proud smile in the mirror, but you don’t pay him much mind.) You turn to the side. Flat. You delicately brush your hands over your chest. Flat. Tears well in your eyes. You try to blink them away so you can watch as you trace a finger over the scars left behind. The magic was experimental, Gale had worried it would leave a larger mark, but he trusted the Weave more than any surgeon.

A wide smile overwhelms your face as you laugh. A weight has been lifted off your chest, literally and metaphorically. You feel like you can breathe looking at the figure before you. You don’t feel dread looking at your chest anymore. You can’t fight the tears anymore as they pour freely down your cheeks, carrying years of dysphoria with them and leaving trails of relief behind.

You turn and rush straight to your partners, wrapping your arms around them and pulling yourself as close as possible. Gale’s hand rested at the back of your neck as his other held your hip. Astarion stroked comforting shapes into your spine. A gasping sob wracked your body.

“Are you alright, my love?” Astarion asks gently. “Is it alright?”

You laugh again, nodding eagerly. “It’s perfect. It’s perfect,” you gasp between your emotions. You pull away and wipe at your eyes, but when you look down at your chest again they come in another wave. “Oh my gods, look at me.”

“I’m having a rather hard time taking my eyes off of you,” Gale teases.

Astarion chuckles, receiving a quirked brow from the wizard he did not want to address. “I hate to say I told you so, but… You look absolutely stunning, my handsome man.”

“Hm, you’ll have to share that moniker, you know.” Gale smirks as the vampire scowls. “Our handsome man.”

You sniffle, trying futilely to dry your face. “If you keep saying that, I’m gonna cry again,” you joke, but they know you’re right. You gasp and light up. They don’t have time to ask what’s wrong before you’re rushing out of the room, shouting, “I have to tell Tara! Tara! Where are you?! My bandages are off!”

They smile fondly, listening as your voice becomes more distant. Astarion turns mischievously toward the wizard. “Sooo, how much longer does our darling have to rest now?”

“Well, he should avoid any strenuous activities for another week, at least. Why? What did you have in mind?”

“Hm. Would laying down, receiving endless praise from his two partners while we lavish his body with generous care and attention count as strenuous?”

Gale thought for a moment. “If he’s laying down…”

Astarion smirked deviously. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @cyber-dump-171 @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @yarn_yogi @tototini

[mothergold]

| Angel |

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Selfship Coded, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Reader has asthma, Asthma Attack, Angst, Gender Neutral Reader, No pronouns for reader, He/Him for Sunday, 600 ish words.

A/n: Just a little something I wrote for myself <3

Summary: Sunday wakes up and finds out you’re having an asthma attack.

Tags: @auphelia @suyacho @themovingcastlez @tighnarly

It had been a bad, long morning. Thankfully, Sunday was there to make everything better, or at least try to. He’d woken up to find you upright on the couch, hugging your body as you tried to soothe yourself into a more relaxing state. When your eyes locked onto his slowly approaching form you tried your best attempt at a smile, and opened your mouth to greet him, but instead of words there were fits of coughs.

“Feeling unwell?” He asked, taking a seat beside you.

You nodded and smiled weakly.

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. “What’s wrong?” He questioned.

You took a deep breath and tapped the center of your chest as you tried to explain, wheezing out your words in between coughs. Quickly you took notice of how Sunday’s eyes went from relaxed to a widened expression.

“Stay there and stop talking.”

You looked at him confused as he moved to grab something from the room. It wasn’t until he came back with your emergency inhaler that the realization hit you. Oh, right.. that. He brought the inhaler to your mouth and waited until you pressed your lips to the opening before pressing down on it and activating the medicine.

“You’re having an asthma attack.” He explained, watching as you held your breath for a few moments before exhaling.

He waited at least ten minutes before he opened up his arms to welcome you onto his lap, looking at you with a concerned expression and a small, yet sad smile. You took a moment to take a few deep breaths before climbing onto his lap, steadying yourself as you did so as to get into the most comfortable position. Once you’d gotten comfy you curled up against his chest, clinging to his pajama top as he started petting your hair. For the first few minutes it was silent except for Sunday’s and your breathing.

“Why didn’t you come get me? I would’ve wanted to help.” He spoke calmly for someone who was admittedly scared by what had just happened.

You thought about your next words carefully. “I didn’t know what was happening an’ didn’t wanna bother you.”

Sunday was not pleased with your answer, no matter how honest and good natured it was. No, in fact it deeply disturbed him. What would you have done if he hadn’t been there to save you? What would he have done if he failed to protect you? Oh god. Sunday didn’t want to even entertain that thought, it upset him far too much. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself had the worst happened.

“You need to be more careful. Something could’ve happened, you could’ve gotten hurt, or worse.” His voice slightly rose as his words trembled from his lips.

Immediately you felt ashamed. You knew how Sunday was and still you insisted on doing it your way. You were so reckless sometimes, so much so that you worried about the responsibility it put on Sunday.

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to cause any problems.” You confessed quietly, playing with the fabric of his shirt by pressing it in between the pads of your fingers.

Sunday sighed and gave your body a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright. Just be careful. Please? For me?“

You nuzzled your head against his chest and smiled. “Thank you, Sunday.”

He pulled back his head far enough so that he could get a better look at you. “What’s the sudden praise for?”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, giving him a tight hug. “For everything.”

He hummed and stroked your cheek. “You really are something special.”

Regardless of everything, he was truly at home with you. There was no better company than yours.

[aspentreewrites]

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

Chapter 1

Pairings: Codywan

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

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

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

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

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

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

✷✷✷✷✷

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

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

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

✷✷✷✷✷

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can feel a headache coming on. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-- Married?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... That’s not the point, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s putting it lightly.

“If you’re certain?”

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

“Yes, sir.”

______________________________

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

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

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

His favourite colour, the document notes, is brown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Caf… Caf is fine, sir. Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

The caf is nicer than he expected.

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

… What? 

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

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

CC-2224 glitches. 

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

“... If that would be alright?”

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

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

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

At Cody’s stupefied nod, he continues on.

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

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

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

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

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

______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He course corrects.

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

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

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

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

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

Obi-Wan tips his head back and laughs.

______________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were raised communally?”

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

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

Cody nods slowly, studying the Jedi for a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______________________________

“Mister and Mister Emerin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Excessive is the primary word that comes to mind.

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

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

Cody is undeniably not part of that tax bracket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hm. Terrible taste it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a resort, Obi-Wan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fine. Is your foot alright?”

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

“Sorry to hear that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Cody.”

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

“Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

(chapter 2)

[ccrites]

CC's Masterlist

This masterlist is a work in progress!! I'm doing my best to make sure it's pretty, but I am in fact, a grandma with a laptop!

updated : Aug 17, 2024

banner by @/cafekitsune

John Price x reader

Signal Lost - finished - 101k words/29 chapters - link to AO3 here

returning to the military to hunt Makarov is hard enough, to do it with your past lover is even harder. a "friends to lovers to enemies to friends and back to lovers" story or, a story I started writing when AO3 was down for I believe 2-3 days or so last summer, and for some reason I decided I need to pour some words into a google docs. the result was a 100k word x reader adventure/thinly-veiled plot required for porn I wanted to write, with too many self-insert moments, but of which I am proud to have finished. I will accept no criticism.

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Chokehold - finished - 6.5k words/one-shot - link to tumblr post here and to AO3 here.

6.4 words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him. an open love letter to early @/391780 and to other fat broads out there self-conscious about their bodies

it's a compliment, I swear - in progress - 10k-ish words so far - link to ao3 here

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4...

me simply thinking about freak!Soap and getting the brain worms wiggling with two sentences: "I can make him better--" "Not if he makes you worse first." a dash of dub/non-con here, a drizzle of puppy vocabulary-verging-into-puppy-play there. no idea where I'll get with this, just vibes and a vague plot. this will progressively get darker, mind the tags when I add them.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Honey, don't feed me, I will come back - finished - 11.7k words/one-shot - link to tumblr post here and to AO3 here.

Based on this post I made a while ago that has been haunting me ever since or recently-dumped simon riley joins a cooking class chef!reader teaches. you get more than you bargained for.

ask box open for and requests / ideas. Currently planning to write more gaz x reader, though I might be convinced to write ghostsoap. no promises.

[gareleia]

THE KNITTING SAGA CONTINUES

update: my co-writer friend FINALLY got a tumblr account, so I can tag them now!!

previously: part 1

next: part 3 part 4 part 5

a continuation because I have no impulse control and am in dire need of more Aeolus content

first of all, let's establish one thing - and I think we can all agree on that - Aeolus loves to fuck with people. they are a benevolent(-ish?) trickster deity, and they revel in harmless pranks

as a consequence, they are on pretty good terms with Hermes. while Hermes doesn't care much for the 'small fry' and doesn't pay that much attention to the wind god most of the time, Aeolus has their winions follow the messenger god religiously (pun intended), because? where Hermes goes, shenanigans always follow.

so when they get the tea that he's apparently hanging out on that one random Greek island, playing nanny? oh, they know it's gotta be good. so naturally, they go to check it out.

well, turns out that Athena is also there, and both of them are sooo bad with babies, it's hilarious

Athena, holding baby!Telemachus: Ehhh, shouldn't it be eating more meat? it's body is so weak, it can't even hold a spear! Hermes, exasperated: oh my me, 'thena, that's not how humans work!! babies eat liquids first!! how can you not know that!! here you go, champ, drink some wine!! Aeolus, hiding in the leaves: holy shit these guys are dumb

so now they can't just leave Telemachus alone with Athena and Hermes! they might not be an expert on child rearing, but surely they can do better than those two dorks! and the baby is adorable.

so they decide to stick around. just for a little bit. a week tops.

fast forward a few years, and they have been raising the prince of Ithaca

Aeolus: *shocked pikachu face*

and Aeolus is the much needed chaotic good influence to Hermes' chaotic neutral and Athena's lawful neutral.

the thing is, Aeolus is really good at hiding. so good, in fact, that no one but Telemachus had even realized they are here. everyone else just thinks that the prince has an invisible friend which, well… they're not wrong?.. and it's not like other kids are exactly lining up to be his friends anyway, cause everyone thinks he's weird (or their parents don't want to catch the attention of the suitors)

and the gods think that it's because they hang around too much and Telemachus can't make friends because of them. so maybe they try to spend less time in Ithaca, for his own good. which only makes things worse, because now the boy is upset, and Aeolus and winions have to try extra hard to cheer him up, which pisses them off.

Athena & Hermes: oh, goodness us, we shall try not to interfere too much with the mortal affairs, so that the young prince grows up healthy and happy ¯_(ツ)_/¯ Telemachus: (T⌓T) Aeolus: ヾ( ･`⌓´･)ﾉﾞ

and then they have to subtle bully the two dumb fucks to come back.

on a less serious note, Aeolus also has a sweet tooth, especially for marshmallows (idgaf there weren't any marshmallows in Mycenaean Greece, they're a god. they can make all the damn marshmallows they want)

and of course, since they are sooo generous, they always share with Telemachus.

what they don't know(?) is that winions, who all get their own treats, also collectively share them with the baby, because they are secretly evil adorable little freaks.

which results in a very hyper prince sugar rushing seemingly out of nowhere.

Telemachus, running all around the palace and crackling madly: I AM SPEED- Penelope, unimpressed: and who, pray tell, had given my son sweets right before dinner? Athena, equally unimpressed: yes, I would also like to know. Hermes, sweating nervously: heyyyy, why are you all looking at me like that???? ( ಠ‿ಠ ) Aeolus, from behind a tree, unseen by anyone: (｡•̀U-)┘

Hermes always gets blamed.

It's the only time he doesn't do the thing

and he's seething, because nobody believes him.

[slasherbat]

Rating Werewolf Designs (TV Edition)

I'm back to chat more about werewolf designs and give my honest opinions. If you want to see my thoughts on some werewolf movie designs, you can check that out here.

Today I'm looking at werewolf designs in TV shows, but only for five shows. Over a show's run, there will be a lot of changes, and this heavily applies to TV shows. Granted, only one of these shows has very drastic werewolf changes from its first and second appearance, so more on that later. If you looked at the tags beforehand or happened to see this scrolling through the show's tag. You'll know what exactly I'm talking about.

Starting off I'll be taking a look at Doctor Who, specifically the series two episode Tooth and Claw. As far as I am aware, this is our only werewolf sighting in Nu-Who.

I've seen better CGI werewolves, granted this episode came out in 2006, but still. It looks oddly photoshopped in, the right paw looks strange from this shot as if it only had two toes instead of four. The arms look a bit patchy with the fur. I've never seen a werewolf so dog-like and alien-like. Also a bit shiny with the fur. It's not something truly awful, I have seen worse werewolf designs and Doctor Who isn't exactly a horror-centric series. Yet if it ever does decide to bring werewolves back, I can only hope it looks better than that and maybe, just maybe. Pratical.

Wednesday Netflix

It's something. It looks more like a saber-tooth tiger than anything else. I can see the vision, but the incredibly long canines feel out of place.

I feel like this would be a very solid design for any other were-creature if decided, maybe change a few things to look like it. This design does have potential to be a solid werewolf, or any other kind of were-creature. A couple of changes can go a long way in design.

Going to the transformation, I have to say. Enid in her mid-transformation state is a solid werewolf that leans on the more human side. Add some more fur, werewolf ears, yellow eyes, fuck her spine up to make her taller and a bit hunched, go for more wolf-ish legs, add some rips in the clothes to reveal the fur. You'd have a good balance of human and wolf. Maybe change the snout a bit also.

(apologies for such poor quality)

The werewolf designs in this show have potential, and I would not be upset if they made some changes in season 2 to it.

Teen Wolf

I'll only be taking a look at three werewolf designs due to just how many designs these shows monsters and creatures had.

The actual wolf design is nothing special to me. I've never liked it when films and shows had done stuff like that, it lacks uniqueness and it's nothing special to me. Go join David Kessler in the London Zoo.

Onto Demon Wolf Peter Hale, it's funny. It's silly, it is not that great, but it did serve it's purpose for the arc. If anything, it looks like a Hell Hound design if it was in anything else besides Teen Wolf.

Now onto the actual werewolf design. It took me some getting used but since I went into the show not knowing what the werewolves looked like. There was a bit of disappointment on my end when I saw that was it, but I've grown to like the design. I will say, that the Teen Wolf werewolf design serves as some pretty solid inspiration for a mid-transformation werewolf look.

Escape The Night

Shown in the season 2, episode Full Moon Slaughter, we got these guys, and they are my favorite monster in this show, Full Moon Slaughter is my all time favorite episode of that show. So I will be brutally honest when I saw this. I kinda hate how the werewolves look. They look off, the face feels a bit flat, the torso's look at bit strange, and it's just not that great of a werewolf design, but as I said before. It serves it's purpose.

Buffy The Vampire Slayer

As of right now I am only on Season 4 Episode 1, so I will only be looking at the werewolf designs from season 2 and 3. Due to the fact I don't want to end this post with an awful design. I'll be talking about the season 3 design first.

Now,

WHAT. THE. FUCK?

TALK ABOUT A DOWNGRADE. This is quite possibly the worst werewolf design I have on this list for TV shows. How do you massacre something that was such a perfect design? That is not a werewolf, why is the face a bit to human? I swear, if there are human ears like AAWIP, I'm done. I'm walking out.

They had done Oz, so dirty with this design and the fact we had to see it so much. It's awful, the worst fucking thing I have ever seen. Why? Why did they have to go that route?

To end this post on a good design, and one of my favorites. The season 2 Buffy the Vampire Slayer werewolf is so amazing. I love him, this is one of my favorite designs in a show for this beautiful beast. I wish it stuck around, and I can see elements of it in the werewolf design for The Cabin In The Woods.

This design is just amazing and lovely. There are no flaws. I love a well-done practical werewolf, and it's something you can 100% tell actually what it's supposed to be. I'll never be over this design, it's perfect to me. My 3rd favorite werewolf design following the one in Cabin and David Kessler from AAWIL.

Anyway, that's my rating and review of werewolves in TV shows. Maybe I'll do werewolves in video games next who knows? Until next time everyone!

[snippychicke]

Eliza's Library of Fics

Because I am a writer of various fandoms and dozens of stories now, I'm going to put them under a cut to save space.

**NOTE THAT SOME STORIES ARE 18+**

Many of my stories, and just my blog in general, are meant for mature audiences. I am a full grown adult writing some mature themes at times. Viewer discretion advised. I do my best to tag common triggers, but I'm also bad at it. So, yeah. Read at your own risk. If it seems sketchy, please back out. I don't want you traumatized because my brain felt spicy when writing.

Tag list for my various fics here

»Moon Knight «

Moon Stone: Before Marc and Steven, before Arthur Harrow, Khonshu had another avatar. Well, hundreds of thousand of others, but this is the story of one in particular that Khonshu was fond of. (Khonshu/Reader; Mature Readers only; Complete)

»Mairimashita Iruma-kun/Welcome to Demon School, Iruma«

For the Sake of a Smile: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen. And the fact your coworker was a child. Suzuki Iruma. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but smiled despite everything. And you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a demon and signing your life away. 

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew. And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life. (Balam/Reader; Found Family Fic; Revision in progress)

Original Un-revised masterpost

Drabbles

● Balam-Centric

Jealous Balam

● Kalego-Centric

Jealous Kalego (Back in his school-days)

Jealous Kalego again. (Mature, NSFW 18+)

5 sentence NSFW (Mature, 18+)

Collab with Pun

Happy-fun-times with multiple kinks (Mature, NSFW 18+)

Pillow-princess Reader(nsfw)

And more Kalego smut!

● Robin-Centric

Reader confesses to Robin (pt. 2)

● Dali-Centric

Dali Finds out Reader is human (Pt.2)

● Lord Sullivan-Centric

Deal with the Devil (pt. 2) (pt. 3)

» One Piece «

Kinktober 2023

A bunch of oneshots featuring Buggy, Sanji, Kuro, and Garp. All very NSFW

Cats & Ships

It started out as a means to get information as Khaladore. Who would be better to provide information regarding the high seas than Syrup Village’s Harbormaster? Except, for the first time in a very long time, Kuro found himself trusting, and even liking, the young woman he shared tea with every week. 

And then the Straw Hat Pirates arrived and ruined his plans. Except fate decided his story wasn’t done there. 

Nor was yours. (Captain Kuro (Klahadore)/Reader; hints of Kaya/Usopp. Explores the fall out after Syrup Village Arc kinda?)

A quick NSFW Moment

A small Klahadore/Reader smut. Stand alone (for now)

Devil-fruit!Reader/Kuro

Gardener!Reader/Klahadore

Cook!Reader/Kuro

Reader/Kuro and the crescent moon

Soft!Dom!Reader/Kuro with bondage

~*~

The Legend of the Selkie and the Pirate

Even in a world of monsters, devil fruits, pirates, and fishmen, selkies were considered a myth. Especially in the East Blue where the waters were too warm for seals to live anyways. Even in a world of monsters, devil fruits, pirates, and fishmen, selkies were considered a myth. Especially in the East Blue where the waters were too warm for seals to live anyways.

Except that myths were always seeded with truths, and stories always had a habit of coming to life.

Buggy/Selkie!Reader.

Alternate Summary: You thought it would be easy to follow the stars home to the Arctic when you ended up far too south. Unfortunately, you were wrong.

Fortunately, another kind of star kept pulling you in-- the Flashy Fool: Buggy the Clown.

Unfortunately, this also leads you to question where 'home' really is.

(Meanwhile, Buggy is likewise conflicted. He handles it poorly.)

Random 3 am drabble

Set in the Legend of the Selkie and the Pirate realm some time in the future-ish

~*~

It's Just Business

Rating: Teen so far

Pairing: Sanji/Reader

Warnings: No real warnings, but god, I hope you like pining

Summary: You felt like you had known Sanji forever, considering your family had been the main merchants Zeff used to supply the Baratie. You had a small crush on him, but knew it was hopeless considering you were the one woman he didn't seem to pine over. 

It was fine. Or so you thought until you ended up on the Going Merry as a bookkeeper and supply manager. Being around him 24/7 was a lot more difficult than just a few days a week.  

》Invader Zim《

Catching Flies

Over on my sideblog we have a delightful found!family fic between a nonbinary reader and Zim... as well as a slow romance between the Reader and Professor Membrane

》Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach《

Feeling so Bright

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Freddy/Reader (?)

Summary: After the infamous night of a ten year old child being stuck in the Pizzaplex overnight and causing untold chaos to the place in less than six hours; Vanessa understandably needed a few days off, and you were happy to fill in (not that you were given a choice really.) Except the main technician for the Glam Rocks had been fired (or disappeared, depending on who you asked) and so you were also assigned to their restoration as well as maintenance and upkeep of the staff bots.

As if that assignment isn’t large enough, Freddy tells you his version of the Incident, which makes things even more complicated as you start piecing puzzle pieces together. The bear animatronic, after seeing all his friends be warped by a virus and taken down by a child he cares for, becomes rather protective of you. Especially as things… develop.

These feelings are just because you’re both lonely, right? Once things go back to normal, surely they’ll fade away.

»Undertale«

To be posted: US!Papyrus/Reader

»The Umbrella Academy«

Aftermath

Rating: Teen to Mature

Pairing: Otto of the Swedes/Oc

Summary: Raymond Chestnut gets a harsh surprise when he realizes the body in his living room isn't actually dead. Now he has a severely injured white man, who tried to kill him, to deal with. Thankfully he knows a friend who might be able to help.

Lorelei was used to people coming to her for medical attention. But when Raymond brings Otto to her home, nothing could prepare for how her life was about to change.

---

Poppy Playtime

Poppy Seeds

[choshasan]

Question for the transmasc

and transfem if you switch a couple words, input from anyone is welcomed to answer♡

[TL;DR at the end, just scroll to the last paragraph before the tags]

Any other transmasc, specifically ftm trans guys, like...

Don't feel comfortable with the term "man" or "boy" to describe them, but like.. is much more comdortable with "guy" and "dude"?

Like.. saying I'm a man doesn't feel right it feels too.. aggressive?? I guess.. for my lil twink self

And saying I'm a boy feels downright degrading,

But I do struggle a lot with my age.. like.. legally, I'm 19, but my brain genuinly does not feel like it's aged, and it does not feel like time's passed since I was 16, I did go through massive autistic burnout that started around when I was 12 and got at it's worse when I was 16, literally not having any social interactions, not seeing the sun, staying in my room either sleeping or bawling my eyes all day, being physically and mentally in constant pain and so on, and it's gotten slightly better over the past 3 years, but I know it's still not fully healed..

I also, while not explicitely *preffered*, I've never minded being called they/them or it/its, or like.. any pronouns really that aren't she/her, but preffered pronouns are he/him, like.. they and it I am impartial to, just.. "kay", he/him feels like ":D! He??? Me?! You consider me He??? :D?! [Insert gremlin laugh]!"

I'm also very comfortable with certain aspects of femininity, I have two posts speaking on this already, but I will gladly repeat myself-ish here,

I like a lot of fem nicknames, like Princess, babygirl, doll, and so on,

I also really like fem clothes, I wear leggings, (tmi but,) my prefered underwear style are thongs, despite the fact I never wore one when I identified as a girl, I like fishnets, ruffles, lace, and while I don't wear them because of dysphoria, I do want to wear dresses, cropped tops, body suits and the such once I have top surgery, I also LOVE Gyaru fashion and all the more fem-"over the top" fashions like coquette, rococo, cottagecore, and so on, I've never liked seeing myself in a suit or such, I don't dislike masc fashion either though, I like a lot of more masc-leaning fashion, I've always really loved japanese men's streetwear amd the such, I just wear a lot less men's clothes because of sensory issues, the way they're cut just feels icky and overwhelming on my skin.. most of my shirts are Unisex cut and such..

I'm also very open to makeup, aka, I literally feel self concious going out of the house with no makeup on, I do a lot of Isabel Larosa inspired looks, and very very hyperfem looks, lots of pinks and glitter, I often go on pinterest and look up "pink angel makeup" for inspos, I like anything shiny, irridescent, bedazled, glittery, sparkly and so on.. I love bold, bright colors, I also do a lot of grunge makeup, and fantasy makeup, like vampire makeups and such, my prefered makeup styles really have a wide range but I'd say I gravitate more often towards either slutty girl who had a bit mich to drink and did a few too many drugs last night to remember what happened at the party, and adorable little angel princess..

But like.. all that doesn't make me feel like less of a "man" either, I feel self concious of my chest and my weight, but that's it,

Though, I can't stand having long hair, that falls a lot more into the category of sensory issues than dysphoria.. it just annoys me, feeling it grow, and I have really thick hair, to the point it gives me headaches, so I do always have my sweet little undercut that keeps ¾ of my hair gone, but yeah, again, sensory issues..

I know like.. the way I grew up probably played into how I am with my gender expression today, I grew up with a mother that always told me itnwas okay to dress however I wanted and be myself, and I grew up loving ballet and figure skating, specifically men's figure skating, admireibg men like Yuzuru Hanyu, I also grew up watching anime a lot, where traps, femboys and twinks are common and rarely questioned, and as I grew up, I also really got into Kpop, Jpop and Vkei, where more feminine men and straight up crossdressing is a lot more "normal" and accepted, and like, from the start, I always gravitated more towards the guys in Vkei that crossdress (to my understanding) or have a more fem appearance like Sena(Jiluka), Boogie(jiluka), Mana-sama(ex-malice mizer), and such, I always loved more cutesy ment like Lovesick's Hayate, and in Kpop, I always looked up to not only the more androgynous/fem guys like Felix(skz), Hyunjin(skz) & Seonghwa(ateez), I also always loved the ones that embrace that they're not "big manly men" while still viewing themselves as men, Like changbin(skz) who's always okay with doing cutesy stuff and like actor Ma Dong-seok, and while I do love big manly men, I always like it when there's a touch of cutesy, sweetness, femininity into them, even if the lot of the things I'd consider in there would probably be considered just beasic normal human things by anyone with more than 2 braincells, but still, in the world we live in.. a big muscular man does, very much make me swoon when he can cook and do laundry...

Anyway, what I'm saying is,

TL;DR: I do feel like a guy, but I preffer femininity over masculinity and like, I have an odd relation to how I feel my gender identity, based on description alone, I feel a lot more like someone who's agender or non-binary, but I truly just.. feel comfort identifying as a dude, and I do truly mean dude, or guy, not "man" not "boy" just.. dudebro... am just a lil guy ✨️

[bossboudicca]

20 Questions for 20 Writers (where did the other 10 questions go?)

thank you for the tag @twinsunstars !

Is writing a hobby or way of life?

hobby for sure. it would be wicked to actually publish something original but who am i kidding haha

2. A journal full of writing notes or a clean, completed manuscript?

oh my god my system is such a mess. i have texts i send to myself, notetaking apps on my phone, google docs, libreoffice, physical paper notes, screenshots of old notes- its chaos.

3. Who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

all the weird shit i read and watch, and people i chat with who put ideas in my head

4. Which is worse: someone you "idolize" reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

listening to me sing, im awful. i like people who i think are better at stuff than me critiquing my work, it can be embarrassing but i think it helps

5. Has writing from someone else's POV ever changed your own perspective?

i dont know if it changes my perspective entirely, but it definitely puts me in a different mindset for awhile, which is cool

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

back in the day, livejournal and ffn. my old shit is probably still floating out there lost in the void. nowadays its ao3, and i think i've put like one thing on tumblr.

7. AO3 wordcount, and are you satisfied with it?

81,745. not bad considering i started posting in january of 24

8. What movie/book/fic gripped you irrevocably?

SO MANY fics i cant even list them all. star wars will always have a chokehold on me, but some of my first works were actually for the Band of Brothers fandom which i've just gotten back into recently (15 ish years later, WOW)

9. What's the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

honestly any comment makes me happy. this is weird but also when people say it made them sad or horny lmao

10. What defines your writing style?

semi colons, run on sentences, em dash. my adhd ass cant stop typing to save my life.

no pressure tags <3 <3 <3 @a-gassy-antelope @ithinkabouttzu @little-zabrak @theweirdgoodbyes @executethyself35 @teabights @bleedingcoffee42 @1waveshortofashipwreck @dontirrigateme @mstiemountainhop I KNOW IM FORGETTING SOME OF YALL IM SORRY just comment if you see this ill tag you

[marierg]

Biscuits and Beskar: 3

Pairing: Boba Fett x OC Kaylee Manu

Rating: PG-13 (just for the last little tense parts and the action)

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, language, mentions of past traumas, SNAKE!, semi nakedness, naughty-ish thoughts, TENSION. No actual naughtiness or schmexy-ness but lots of thoughts running wild.

A/N: I apologize now, I know I'm not writing very fast but I hope what comes out is worth the wait. I wanted to give these two a few little moments but also I wanted the Pike incursion to be felt. I have given names to a few of the characters we know. The Gamorean guards are Ro and Weem and the Rancor handler is Vol (pronounced Val). Our girl Kaylee grew up on a star cruise liner (think Princess cruise) and I picture her having been around entertainers and dancers a lot as a kid. One of whom I picture as a very young Jimmy Buffet.

PS- Kaylee is a shit magnet (doesn't mean to find trouble, it just seems to find her) and a klutz. Lots of heart and spirit, but lots of boo boos. Lets just say I hope that the Daimyo's insurance is good.

Words: 4700ish

Song credit: Come Monday by the great Jimmy Buffet! (Don't tell me Margaritaville doesn't exist in Star Wars)

Masterlist Next

Tags are open, just drop a line

“PAPA!”

You woke in a cold sweat, hands scrubbing the last of the horrible memory away. You could still see him, hear his last words.

“Free men built this galaxy and free men will have their day again.”

Celsus Manu had died as he lived, bravely standing for what he believed. How many souls had he smuggled on those cruises, how many had Papa saved from a fate worse than death? To be bound to a life of forced servitude until their very spirit extinguished even while their bodies remained.

Nothing could have saved him that day though. The shots ringing in your ears...

Heading down to the kitchen you pulled your robe tight. At each of the dormitory doors you paused to listen, just to be sure the sand scrappers slept well. Turbo was still recovering from the crash to catch that slug majordomo that was sleeping in the dungeon. And it was right where the slemo belonged. It had shaken you to see the boy hurt. The little motley crew was all that you had, and now you could count two hunters to that small group. The Daimyo had done something you couldn't, seeing the kids well cared for, it pleased you beyond words. Starting a kettle you heard Ratty boop and beep as he popped around the corner, following you like a shadow.

There was a balcony just off the hall between the throne room and your domain. It was peaceful there, with not but the wind off the dunes and canyons to break the silence. Sipping your tea there was another sound that came not from the vast wilderness, but the tower above. A shadowy figure moving in smooth, controlled motions. You couldn't help to wonder what specifically caused the Daimyo to be up at this hour?

Then again what wouldn't, given the mess at hand. Finishing your tea you rose, patting the little droid on the head. Glancing again to the tower above you went back to the kitchen and pulled out another mug, “Ratty would you be so kind as to deliver something for me?”

The gaffii's weight was a comfort in his hands as Boba moved about the floor. It was a steadfast and strong weapon, it served him well. The dreams had returned with a vengeance causing many a restless night. Practicing always acted as a bit of a balm. People say that time heals, Boba always thought it a foolish saying. No what healed was not simply time, it was affection, closeness, family. The Tuskins had taken him in, made him part of the tribe. They had given him much needed perspective after years of burying himself in hunting.

Years of running from his past... of ignoring the pain.

Boba was a different man than the one who had been swallowed by the Sarlacc. He had done his job and done it well, hoping to be as good a hunter as his father if not better. Jango had once told him that the more proficient he became the more he could pick and choose the jobs he took, but even Jango wouldn't have been able to avoid the Empire. Those hunts were never satisfying, the quarry rarely worth the price on their head.

Boba's philosophy was much like Jango's; he did the job, he got paid, end of contract. Even still Boba regretted parts of his past. He wondered sometimes what had happened to his daughter, if Ailyn ever thought of him. He had stayed away to keep her safe and maybe that was how it should stay. Hearing a tap at the door his attention shifted. He hadn't send for anyone, “Yes?"

Crossing the floor he opened the portal to find no one, just a tray with a cup of tea and a piece of flimsy. Cautiously picking up the mug Boba read the fine scrawl.

You should get some rest.

Seems he wasn't the only one awake. Taking a sip of the herbal tea he could faintly taste the black melon that was part of the brew. A faint smirk crossed his face. Boba sometimes wondered how you actually felt about him, good or bad. You were ever a puzzle, keeping well behind the curtain of formality yet still doing small kindnesses like this. Something a friend would do for another. Maybe you were waiting for him to seek you out? He hummed at that thought, sipping on the warm decoction. Whatever the case he still felt glad of your presence, even if it was from arms length. “Dral runi.”

“Skad aren't you all supposed to be patrolling?” You looked over the middle counter to where the young man was hovered over his breakfast.

Finishing a bite of hash the scamp nodded at you. “Jus' waiting on Nikita and that Gamorean, Ro, to get back.”

“And here we are,” Nikita strutted in followed by Ro, who grunts at you. The other Gamorean, Weem, was with Drash in the hangar taking a delivery.

Turning to the counter where dishes are drying you gesture to them. “Get some food you two and tell Vol to come eat too.”

Vol never came up until after he had seen to the Rancor. He was a quiet man, said only what was necessary, had a hard edge about him. He was considerate in his own way though, you'd seen him a few times help the kids here and there. But mostly he kept his own company and you respected that. As your thoughts wandered a favorite tune came over the speaker, a smile spread on your face as the old sweet song brought back happier times. Reaching over you raised the volume.

“Oh no,” Skad tried to make a run for it.

“Oh yes.” Grabbing the boy's hand you start to dance and sing. It was something you'd done with Papa in the kitchen growing up. For a moment when you moved across the floor you thought maybe he was there, laughing with you. Most of the kids would dance along when this would happen, knew which songs you loved.

Fennec had gotten back to the Palace when it was still dark, her head buzzing. Whether it was from Fwip's hospitality or the lovely female whose warm bed she had shared was undetermined. What a sweet distraction it had been though. Fennec stepped into the kitchen, an amused chuckle escaping her. You were twirling around and dancing with one of the Gamoreans, looking over to her with a puckish grin. “Don't even think it cookie.”

You rolled your eyes and instead went to the counter to retrieve a Bloody Mary. Handing the drink to the master assassin you continue singing.

“...Come Taungsday it'll be alright. Come Taungsday I'll be holding you tight. I spent four lonely days in a brown Bespin haze and I just want you back by my side.”

Fennec took a sip of the drink and couldn't help smirking at your flirtations. “Sweetheart I would eat you alive.”

“Hmm but what a way to go...” Making a flirting face you swayed your hips to the music.

Bumping hips with Fennec you threw a towel over your shoulder to get back to work. The assassin had a wicked sense of humor you found. A sense of humor that struck in the form of your belt loop getting hooked to pull you to her side. Fennec tutted you like a naughty child, “Ah ah ah, the song's not over cookie.”

She tugged, guiding your movements while holding her drink in the other. You continued to sing and sway as the song hit the last chorus. Fennec tapped her fingers under your chin then stepped away as the final chords rang. You laughed and felt genuinely happy, feeling safe enough to let down your guard. Which was funny if you thought on it... feeling safe in the palace of the Daimyo of Tattoine. Looking at Fennec's smug face you couldn't help but be a little bit of a brat, “Such a tease Mistress Shand.”

Fennec smirked, glancing back at the hallway, “Oh, you have no idea...”

Boba had stepped back where you couldn't see him, still watching you. Observing as you joined his second in command at the table, making notes on your data pad. It annoyed him that Fennec would toy with you like some dancing girl. Walking into the kitchen he saw you look up at him with a small smile.

“Good morning.” Tracking as he moved to sit at the head of the table by Fennec. You take a fortifying breath, kark you were tired. “Omelet with bacon for the Daimyo or just toast and coffee like this one?”

“Careful cookie, remember who's in charge.” Fennec gives you a light warning. There's no real threat behind it, especially with how she saw Boba looking at you. What these two needed was a solid nudge, still now may not be the time. “By the by, Garsa was asking about you.”

“How's she doing?” You ask concerned. Moving to the buffet you started making up plates and readying the omelet pan.

“Just fine, the Sanctuary was booming last night.”

“And I bet Troy was the bartender,” You smirked at her expression as you passed her a plate of hash. “They have a heavy pour and always work race days, better tips.”

Boba watched as you bustled around making his plate. He was used to eating rations and quick meals on the fly, not often indulging in the slow enjoyment of a meal. It was something that he was still not used to. As you placed the plate and utensils down he glanced to where you sat, keeping his tone even, “You're not eating?”

“No.. I'm...” a flush rose in your cheeks as the man looked at you. Something in those eyes that saw too much. Swallowing thickly you tried to find your words again, “I'll eat later.”

“You should eat,” Boba tilted his head, suspecting that you had never returned to your quarters after making his tea. He gave a slight waive of his hand, “Please.”

“Yes Lord Fett,” Grabbing another plate you put an egg on a slice of toast and refilled your Kaf cup. His gaze was on you like a warm summer sun until you took that first bite. Glancing over you saw the man's lips turn up just slightly as he ate his meal. “I hope it's to your liking.”

“Quite good, thank you.” Boba could think of a few things he'd like to consume much better. Still he did not want to startle or distress, you always appeared flustered when he was near. There were more pressing matters that his mind needed to tend to, business always before pleasure. “Did the prisoner receive a meal.”

“Yes Lord Fett.” Rolling your eyes and giving a grunt, your tone was flatly annoyed.

Well that was a first he thought. “You don't much care for the majordomo?”

“Not particularly,” you bit out the words as though you had swallowed a bug.

Boba gave a huff of a laugh at that. So you had a temper.

“Anyone willing to deal with the Pikes is a damn fool,” Lips hovering on your mug you dared look the Daimyo in the eye, “But while also attempting to assassinate the new Daimyo... dead man walking.”

Boba couldn't help give a slight nod at that, even if his pride was a tad hurt. And foolish he had been, so distracted by his dealings with the syndicate so certain of the profits. All while his tribe was massacred by that speeder gang. But that was then, this was now. “At least he was smart enough to give me the information.”

You huffed, mind turning to more immediate concerns. The rotation on security had changed again, but most of all no audiences. “I didn't see anything on the schedule today.”

Boba didn't raise his head to reply, “Nothing worth mention.”

“Is that why you were awake?” You shouldn't poke the bear, you really shouldn't poke the bear.

Boba looked up from his omelet, seeing the softness of your eyes. You were concerned and curious. “Cleaning up messes.”

“Putting out fires,” You kept your tone easy as you pulled up your data pad to show a message from a friend in Mos Eisley. Partly about parts for your speeder and partly about an increase in unfriendly traffic. “Those fin heads are coming Lord Fett.”

Fennec watched you two dance around one another like a pair of tookas. She knew you had an edge to you, most did living on the outer rim. It did amuse her that you were finally relaxing around them enough to let your teeth show. “No need to worry your pretty head Cookie.”

“They're blood thirsty little piranhas.” You well remembered problems with them during the drought years. How ruthless they could be towards people who couldn't pay their protection.

“Yes but they can occasionally be dealt with,” Fennec kept a calm tone, watching you.

“Rather it ended quickly so that people could get back to living. But what do I know,” Tone low and sad you got up and headed to the sink, tone sharper than intended. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Cookie...” Fennec sighed taking a last drink. “I'm going to town, comm if you need anything.”

“Fennec, be careful.” You watched as she gave you a nod and left. Your thoughts were dark, grumbling in your throat you scrubbed harder at the last of the dishes. You hadn't meant to be moody, it was not like you at all. “I'm sorry...”

“For what?”

You jumped not realizing he had come up behind you. You were so startled that you dropped a glass. The shards sliced your finger, not badly but enough to be annoying. “Shit.”

“Here,” Boba started the faucet, placing your hand under it. “I didn't mean to...”

“No it's... I should be more careful.” Keeping your head down you weren't sure if you could meet his gaze. “I shouldn't have snapped.”

“I think Fennec will survive,” Boba could see your face flushing as he sprayed some bacta on your hand. His tone turning soft, a rarity, but you seemed to bring that out. “There, doesn't look bad.”

“Thank you,” You tried not to stammer as his hands held yours, strong and larger than your own. Glancing up to meet his gaze you almost froze, “Lord Fett.”

“Boba,” He smirked and raised your hand to his lips, giving a light brush of his lips to your knuckles. “My name is Boba.”

“Boba,” you nodded dumbly as he slowly released your hand.

“Kaylee,” Boba inclined his head to you.

Your heart thundered in your ears. Watching as he gestured for you to sit again. He nodded for you to at least finish your Kaf and so the two of you sat like that for a time. It was companionable, without the need to fill the silence.

Boba waited till you had relaxed again, speaking quietly so not to startle. “The tea last night, you put black melon milk in it.”

“Helps settle the nerves,” you shrugged sipping at your drink and not quite looking at Boba. It was such a short name for a man who cast such a large shadow. “and I didn't want to waste the melon on just my tea.”

Boba hummed at that. “And what is it that keeps you awake Kaylee?”

“Things better left in the past...”

“I over stepped...” then he felt your small hand take his own, just holding it lightly.

“S'alright. My Papa would say that honesty is good for the soul.” You sigh with a sad little smile, “Sometimes memories aren't always pleasant and come when we least want them.”

“He sounds like a wise man.”

Patting his hand you study the inside of your mug, tone a little bitter sweet, “He was.”

Screaming and several squeals rang through the halls of the Palace, causing both of you to jump. Boba got to the throne room first. There was Ro, Weem, and Drash standing next to an ornate wood box on the floor. Nikita stood frozen several steps away, a dune sea asp staring her down. The large serpent baring its fangs at the girl.

“Don't move, be still.” Boba began to approach the viper his helmet display lighting up trying to target the creature. It was just too close, still in range to strike the girl before he could shoot.

“Fuck!” Drash could shoot herself for accepting the damn shipment, it was her fracking fault it should be her. “Nikita it's gonna be ok. I swear it'll be ok.”

Nikita cried silently, tears trailing her cheeks as she tried to remain still.

“Nikita cat, look at me sweetie.” Stars and maker help you, no please don't let this happen. Your heart was in your throat and you wanted to scream. But that wouldn't help any, “'Kita Cat, come on look at me, look at me.”

The young woman glanced at you finally getting her eyes off the snake.

“Good girl, just... you remember what we used to say? When you kids would hide,” you stepped just a bit closer holding out a hand as if to grasp hers, “Far and away we won't be afraid. Just keep your eyes on me.”

“Far and away we won't be afraid. Far and away we won't be afraid...” the girl whispered the words over and over still looking at you.

“Good, keep her calm,” The snake was a message, a very clear one meant for him. Boba knew the asp could kill with its fangs as well as blind and maim by spitting its venom. If he could get the snake to go for him instead the armor would protect him.

“Mama Kay,” the high pitched terror in Nikita's voice ripped you in two, “I don't wanna die.”

“Kark it...” Swallowing hard you got ready to do something really stupid. You had given your word to protect the kids and that was one thing you would not break. Even if their parents were long dead, you had given your word. “Drash get to the drop switch.”

Boba's helmet turned to you, gut dropping to his boots. “What are you...”

Throwing a dish rag at the snake you ran between it and Nikita. The snake hissed furiously and slithered fast as lightning forward to strike at you. “Now Drash!”

“Haar'chak!” The floor went out, sending you to the rancor pit. Boba shot the viper, spraying it with the flame thrower for good measure after. His temper flared, how could you be so foolish? Looking over at Nikita she appeared no worse for wear, Drash had her well in hand. Angrily striding across the room he barked at the Gamoreans, “Clean up this mess! And find out where that came from.”

It was dark, barely any light came down from above. You could hear Drash though, sounding more like the scared girl you had first met and less the confident young woman you knew. “Mama Kay?!”

“I'm alright,” It was a huge lie. Your leg hurt, kark it hurt so bad. It had been a longer drop than you thought and you had heard crunch on landing. This job was getting more and more hazardous to your health. “Ahhhh!”

“Raaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”

“Oh dank....” looking around the dark beady eyes of the Rancor met your own. The breath froze in your lungs, body throbbing in pain as the ground vibrated with its roar.

The beast uncurled from where it slept coming to a crouch over you. It's lumbering head turning this way and that studying the new visitor. One large clawed hand came to paw roughly at your hurt leg.

“Hrrgg...” You couldn't help grunting in pain, but the large animal didn't move to harm you further, just studying you. It's large head lowering to sniff and snort, drool falling from it's large fangs. Vol had said that Rancors could be quite sweet. Reaching up to stroke the big beasts muzzle, it huffed a high pitched sound and blinked at you. “You... you like that? Ok we can... we can do that.”

“Open the cage.” Boba kept his voice low, striding into the dark space carefully. While he was confident the beast would not harm him, he did not wish to place you in further danger by startling it. He could hear the deep grunts of the Rancor's breathing, but couldn't see you. “Kaylee?”

“Down here,” it came out pained. You continue stroking and cooing at the rancor, trying to keep calm. In all honesty if your leg weren't on fire this would be infinitely enjoyable “Whose the most fearsome rancor? Such a tough looking fella, just a big sweetie aren't you? Yes you are, yes you are! The best boy aren't you.”

Boba crossed his arms over his chest tilting his helmet to the side. He wasn't sure which outweighed the other, his anger at your reckless behavior or the amusement of seeing you treat the Rancor like a massif puppy. “Miss Manu, you are a hazard to yourself.”

“I'm in no position to disagree,” Glancing to the side and giving a weak grimace you could tell the man was steamed, voice turning sheepish, “It was dumb. I know it was dumb. Please don't fire me... Gaaahh!”

The Rancor accidentally brushed your leg again sending pain shooting. Nausea rose in your throat and your breathing came in little gasps. Oh it was definitely broke.

“Alright boy, easy now go to Vol.” Boba patted the beast and directed it to where the handler stood in the corner. The beast whined and lumbered off, giving him a clear look at the damage. Boba scooped you up easily, carrying you silently up the tower. Partially he was silent to let you stew a little, you deserved that a bit for scaring him. A deeper part of him though simply wanted to absorb the feeling of you in his arms again. The way your chest rose and fell as you breathed, the soft curves of your body in his hands. How you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and neck.

“I'm sorry.” He heard you whisper.

You were toast, so freaking toast. Closing your eyes as Boba walked with you up the stairs, head laying in the crook of his neck, tears fell. It had been nice while it lasted, shouldn't have gotten used to it anyway, maybe Garsa would let you moonlight again. At least Nikita was safe and the kids were cared for, Boba would see to them even if you weren't here. All the worst thoughts running through your mind. You didn't realize at first where the big man had placed you down.

“It's going to hurt when this boot comes off,” Boba's temper had eased seeing the tear stains on your cheeks, you wouldn't even look at him just keeping your eyes down. Taking his gloves off and placing them in his helmet to the side, Boba used just the tips of his fingers to raise your head. Your lip quivered and his face softened. Giving you a ghost of a smile he gently stroked your jaw. “Who would make me tea if you left, hmm? Just have to keep you around... though I may have to take away anything sharp from the kitchen.”

Snorting at the joke you let out a shuddering breath, relief flooded your body. Giving him a weak smile and wincing as he eased the boot off. “Thank you, Boba.”

“Lay back mesh'la, this is not going to be pleasant.”

“Pain I'm used too,” A droid came over and scanned you. Boba cut into your pants-leg exposing the area. The droid gave you a shot of medication and with a few quick movements reset the limb. Even with the drugs it hurt like a mother kriffer.

“Fuuuuuck!”

“Here drink this,” Handing you a glass of whiskey he watched as you downed the amber liquid without a flinch. The droid had suggested putting you in the tank, but Boba watched as you shook your head no. He assisted in the removal of your coveralls, you wore simple small clothes beneath. The droid placed bacta wraps on your leg and a splint, finally leaving you be. He couldn't help noticing you relax when it left. “Rest now Kaylee, you're safe here.”

It would be so easy to get lost in those tigers eyes of his, to forget your place. The man was dangerous... very, very dangerous to you. Because you trusted him so readily, believed when he told you it was safe. You had seen too many dancing girls fall for the crime lords, officers and tycoons on the cruiser growing up. Even here in Mos Espa, you knew that it was a fairy tale. As you continued to hold his gaze, your brain had finally registered where it was he had brought you. The silk sheets, the quiet wind off the dunes, the warm spicy scent.

The man had placed you in his own bed.

You should run to your room this instant, broken leg or no. You felt far too much for the man to begin with but now... The seductive feeling of the soft bed beneath you as he gazed down was just too much. The slide of the material against the bared skin of your body, the way you wanted his scent to linger. Stars he had barely touched you to help get your clothes off, but you never wanted his hands to leave.

Oh, there be danger here. Shaking your head you tried to get back to reality, “I should go...”

“No.”

Boba placed a finger to your lips pausing your words and giving you a stern look. His fingers eased down your lips to your neck, watching as you swallowed hard. A faint smile tugged at his lips as his fingers finally came to press against your collar bones to make you lay back. He didn't miss as the goose flesh rose, nor your pupils dilating.

It all made sense to him now. The way you shied away, the nervousness, the little smiles. You liked him, in some small way you felt something for him. Boba relished as part of this puzzle finally fit. He would let you lead this little chase of theirs, because in the end he knew he would win. First things first though, “Rest Kaylee.”

You shivered as he placed the blankets over you, methodical and deliberately keeping eye contact. As his hand slid down the material you took hold of it. He didn't pull away, simply letting you hold his hand. Calluses and scars from a lifetime of work, a strong and even lethal grace to their dexterity. All that you could tell from the touch of his hand. Your tone was a whisper and some small part of you knew you should still run. But your heart had ever been the foolish sort and there was something there in the gruffness, the controlled tone. A sadness in his eyes that called to you. “I'm sorry if I scared you.”

“I don't frighten, cyar'ika.” He tilted his head, such a perceptive little thing. This woman so wise beyond her years. Soft yet strong, and so very sweet. A tough little cookie. He brushed his thumb affectionately over your palm before placing it on your stomach. “Close your eyes Kaylee, sleep.”

“Yes Boba.” The pain medication had been lulling you there already, but it was his deep tenor that made you obey the command. Your last thought before sleep took hold was how nicely your name fell from his lips.

Boba watched you, only for a moment to be sure that you were comfortable. Rangir, who was he trying to fool? He may as well admit that it pleased that hungry part him to see you laying in his bed. Seeing your soft body wrapped in his sheets as a faint smile curved those plush lips. Next time though it would be different, you would be here of your own choosing. Next time you would beg him to stay.

Rising he replaced his gloves and tucked his helmet under his arm. Pausing to glance down on you one more time. “Nuhoy jahaala Kaylee, jate vercopa.”

Translations:

Dral runi- Bright Soul

Cyar'ika- Sweetheart

Mesh'la- Beautiful

Haar'chak- Damn it!

Rangir- To hell with it

Nuhoy jahaala, jate vercopa- Sleep well, good dreams

Tags: @acatalystrising @pickleprickle @daimyosprincess @kimiheartblade

[crossnamara]

wjos. him. ill yap

my horrible ex husband. my beautiful wife,,,,,,,,my .john.

get ready for horrible fictkin ramblings

okay so. youre not like. in the fandom. so ill jsut explain the basics. john and i worked together. at peip. a secret part of the us military that investigated paranormal extraterrestrial and interdimensional phenomena. i was his mentor. and we. were in love. it was a secret, obviously, it was the early 2000s in the fucking us military, of course it was a secret. didnt stop us, though. he was everything to me.

but. then. the portal. peip built a portal to access a place beyond all realities, the black and white. we knew it was risky, but. they never told us how deeply unstable it was. he gave me his dog tag. as a little good luck charm. i never managed to give it back.

i went through the portal. it was dark, at first. just endless blackness. then He revealed Himself to me. first it was wiggog y'wrath, the lord in black, then his brothers. pokotho, bliklotep, t'noy karaxis, nibblenephim. it was horrible and yet everything about it was so right. it was terrific in every single sense of the word. and i knew. they would bring about salvation, the true gods. (for um. context. these are horrible eldritch gods that want to destroy humanity. telling this from my perspective at the Time but they fuckeddd with my head. a lot.)

it felt like i was there for a month, but when they finally dragged me out, i had only been gone for a few hours. still, i tried to tell them the truth and they didnt listen. said id gone mad. howd john describe it. a raving lunatic. they tried to fix me, like that was possible, but i managed to get out before they fucked with my head even more. i want to say i didnt see john until he saw me, but. thats a lie. the black and white is just. a void. mostly. and after a few years all i could feel was boredom. so i watched him. started from afar, catching glimpses of him any time he went out in public. he still looked like shit. but he. slowly got better. slowly started moving on. and god that fuckking hurt. there was a time, a few years after the portal. maybe around 2010 ish. that i would watch him sleep every fucking night. i wanted to slit his throat. i didnt.

(more plot context bc i started rambling. the lord in black wiggog y'wrath, also known as wiggly, wants to enter the world and make it his. to do so, he needs a cult, which he gets by getting people obsessed with dolls of him. peip sends the president, howard goodman, through the portal to the black and white to speak with him. try to negotiate by threatening to nuke him)

then. im so fucking close to finishing wigglys plan. but. john. he came into the black and white after the president did. wiggly was about to kill him. but john. came through. stopped it. it still worked out, in a way. johns spirit dissolved into the black and white. howie got out, they sent in the nuke, but. they forgot the russians had a portal too. moscows gone and world war 3 is imminent. we still couldve won. but that bastard gave his gun to that little brat through the black and white. she gave it to barnes, who used it to kill the prophet. the world still ended, but because of john, wiggly had no chance to reign.

and i miss him. i miss him so fucking bad. i remember him helping me go to sleep after id pulled a couple all nighters in a row. i remember letting him win at chess as i taught him until he was actually better than me. the way his breath always smelled a bit like coffee. the way he held me when i cried to him about my father. the way id held him when he did the same. the way we always promised each other we'd quit smoking and never did. his problem got a lot worse after i went through the portal.

anyway i got post limited half an hour ago so ive been able to add so much to this. sorry for the length

[florencemtrash]

i love love love your work and reading it has gotten me back into my love for acotar (and azriel shhh). im so inspired/tempted to start writing my own fics on here but i have no idea where to start or how to maneuver anything lol .do you have any tips?!

WRITING FANFICTION - my thoughts on how to get started (and others please feel free to chime in in the comments)

AHHHHHHHH YOU SHOULD TOTALLY DO IT!!! I encourage everyone who is interested to write fanfiction, even if you don't want to post things online, because I feel like fanfiction is the perfect avenue to a) have fun and b) practice any and all aspects of writing in a low stress way.

*cracks fingers* get ready for a brief rant about the glories of fanfiction writing

Fanfiction is such a beautiful way to get invested in a story. We already have our own interpretations of how characters look/act/their inner turmoils and struggles that might not get a lot of page time in the canonical works, AND for me personally, I'm always trying to find ways to insert myself into any media I read so fanfiction just feels like a natural extension of that and it honestly has improved my daydreaming skills for better or for worse.

It helps me escape my own thoughts and any troubles I have and I feel like I can grow as a person through the characters I read and write about.

Fanfiction is also great because you can pick and choose what aspects of writing you want to focus on improving. For me personally, I've always had issues with writing dialogue, but if I were to write something from scratch I would have to go through the efforts of creating a whole universe/characters/plot etc. etc so I would always get overwhelmed and just not write at all.

BUT! With fanfiction writing I can just take existing plots/characters etc. etc. and only write the dialogue for a scene I could make up in universe. AND because I'm writing existing characters that I "know", I have a framework for how they speak and can better gauge whether what I am writing sounds natural/realistic. Sometimes if I'm getting stuck on the dialogue I'll just write the lines for each character so I don't lose momentum and then later on I'll go back in and add the setting descriptions, dialogue tags, actions.

More concrete tips/steps you could take

So, I suppose if you're looking for a place to start and have a specific aspect of writing you have trouble with, you could always write short blurbs focusing on that skillset.

If you have issues with dialogue, just write dialogue. No descriptions/scenery. Nothing. If you have issues with describing settings you can always take the dialogue/actions from a scene of a book verbatim and then write around them. OR maybe if you have issues with characterization you could also take a scene from a book and then write from a different character's perspective. I just think it's a neat way to practice and something I've done in the past.

2. Write shameless self inserts. You know yourself better than anyone else and if you're interested in writing fanfiction, you're probably already a chronic daydreamer who's imagining what you would do in a fictional universe. May as well just write it down for the practice.

3. Start with short oneshots - I only started posting online about 7-ish months ago but I've been writing fanfiction since I was in middle school (so about 10 years now) and that's how I got into writing... and also I started out by handwriting the beginnings of trilogies but never getting past page 10 because I realized I was just copying the Hunger Games.

4. Don't be precious with your writing (see #3) and especially in the beginning I think people should prioritize quantity over quality. I think my writing has drastically improved since graduating college because I now consistently have time in the evenings to just write, even if it's "bad" writing. I also have a document titled "Dump it into the fires of Mordor" for my shittiest ideas and bits that I've cut out from other writing projects.

Other Tumblr-specific tidbits

Keep a google sheets to organize fics/taglists. I like to organize this way because unless you have a masterlist (which most people don't in the beginning), tumblr just has everything on one long scroll. So to get around this I have a google sheets where each column is one writing project with one row dedicated to links to the tumblr page, one row to commonly used tags, and the rest of the rows in the column are a list of anyone on my taglist for that project

Include more paragraph cuts than you think you'll need. This is a personal preference of mine, but because I read fanfics on Tumblr predominately on my phone where the width is narrower, extra paragraph cuts a) help me keep track of where I am in the story better and b) look more visually appealing - at least in my opinion

I'm still getting used to Tumblr myself and everyone approaches writing and using the platform differently.

BUT PLEASE DO WRITE IF YOU FEEL INSPIRED TO! Writing and posting fanfiction, and generally getting to interact with people, has been so much fun and I highly encourage anyone and everyone to do it.

Hmmmm, this ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be. Whoops. Hope it was helpful though!

Love,

Florence B.

[tacticalhimbo]

Hi, I wonder if you have some theory / thoughts about damnatio memoriae ending, losing faith and his (worsen?) mental state.

I'm not Catholic but the connection between mental health and faith is one of my favorite issues to talk about.

Also why Gary tried to make John as the new vessel?

Thanks!

Hey, thank you so much for asking!

I personally see the loss of faith having a few possible explanations! And Gary's focus on John is entirely intentional, both from a mental health standpoint and a general-ish standpoint.

A recap for the general audience (and myself, because I had to look a few things up since it's been a while):

The ending, "A New Vessel" is accompanied by the soundtrack (and text, if I believe) Damnatio Memoriae, which comes to mean a "condemnation of memory", akin to where a person or event is stricken from all official records.

As for the plot of the ending, here's the Wiki's summary -> On the day of the Profane Sabbath, Ward finds his house surrounded by cult members and unlocks the crucifix-riddled door. Inside he confronts Amy, and he begs for the nightmares to end. Amy drags him into her gaping portal, and John finds himself at the abandoned Martin house in complete disrepair, somehow much worse than it was only a month ago. Inside, he discovers that the twins he's been searching for throughout the entire story never existed. Nancy, Amy's mother, miscarried the twins, but was in complete denial of it, going so far as to host a birthday party for them. Eventually, John finds two effigies in their room and succumbs to his despair. Amy and Michael appear and take his hands before a giant demonic hand appears and swallows them up. Then the entire Martin house vanishes.

Please let me know if this needs to be tagged! I also apologize for any grammar errors, I got excited to answer this and I'd just woken up, so my brain isn't all there yet sdjdkdkd—

I'll put my thoughts below the cut, though, because this got more wordy than I'd thought ^^;

In regards to John's deteriorating faith, the explanation for why his faith is so weak/withers so easily is dependent on how the game's plot is interpreted (at least, in my opinion). So, to circle back to some of the points I made in my first solid meta post regarding John [LINK], I'll break down the two primary perceptions.

If assuming everything happening is 100% real and John's perspective is reliable:

It's simply a matter of fighting a losing battle. Seeing your faith be challenged so successfully (re: multiple dead priests, a church taken over by demonic entities, etc) is... a lot!

As someone who's loosely Catholic (vaguely raised, abandoned, and now on the fence of re-converting), the main lesson people are taught is that sin and evil are two very powerful things. They swallow and consume a person. They're what made the world the place it is today, and why humanity could not remain in the Garden of Eden. Of course, the emphasis put on these points and the way they're told is variable on the individual church's belief system (re: the difference between "normal" Catholics and fascist Evangelicals), but that's besides the point.

So John seeing that happen over and over and over, and ultimately failing to save Amy, is just tiring. It's draining. He realizes by the end of Chapter 3 that he's lost, and Gary has won. Gary was right.

However, if assuming that either everything was "in John's head" (lack of better phrasing), or that some things were true but exaggerated by John's mental health:

Then I believe that John's loss of motivation/faith could genuinely be him coming out of an episode and perceiving the gravity of everything.

This is a bit harder to explain given the precursor for this ending is not entering Garyland, and the strongest case could be made by pointing to the fact that, allegedly, John was the one to eviscerate the cultists in the bloodied room... but still. A lot of things happen in Chapter 3 outside of Gary's labyrinth that would weigh heavily on John's consciousness. One of the other most notable circumstances being if he cannot save Lisa from Alu/the cult, and she dies because he (while possessed or in a state of psychosis) ultimately kills her.

That, and there is the idea that John is outright killing the cultists/people he flashes the crucifix to.

Now, before I explain part of that, I just want to say that all cops are shit at their jobs. They protect nobody and often target folk just because they can, and use "self defense" as a way to get out of the repercussions. However, it is interesting that when John raises the crucifix (when exiting the front door of the daycare, opposed to the back entrance), the cops state that he has a gun. Of course, this could be that classic "shoot anything that moves and make a move" mentality, or it could be a genuine observation (after all, they are fictional so there is a chance they have some intelligence).

My disdain for the law aside, the very act of exorcism is a banishment. A damntation of demonic entities back to Hell, where they either are imprisoned (returning to their natural states and unable to re-enter the surface) or executed (if the demon is too weak to presumably recuperate from Christ's intervention/flee to Hell). So, in the assumption that the UNSPEAKABLE really is grasping every cultist's soul... Yeah. They're gone. John has effectively killed the person and, maybe, left behind a husk. A shell of who they were.

And that acts as a segue into the second question:

Why in the hell (pun intended) would Gary want to use a priest as a vessel?

The short answer is that John is, genuinely, the perfect vessel. My understanding of the process is that the victim must be on the younger side, physically healthy, and (most importantly) non-consenting to the process (able to be manipulated and coerced into "consenting").

John is in his early 30s, is pretty healthy minus the achey knee and dormant asthma, and very much non-consenting, seeing as he goes through so much to attempt to stop the UNSPEAKABLE's commanding demon, Gary/Astaroth. Plus him being in active bouts of psychosis makes it so much easier for someone like Gary to affirm the delusions and essentially become the little devil on John's shoulder.

EDIT: I've posted some audio files regarding this! Check it out here [ LINK ]

But aside from that, it comes down to power. Gary wants to demonic rebellion to have influence. To be something that compels people and leaves behind a great legacy.

What better way to do that than take a holy man (assuming John is/was ordained) and make him a tool for the devil?

In context of a cult structure, the move is one of the biggest chess plays Gary can make as a leader.

Cults, especially those with destructive and a religious structure, are hierarchial and authoritative. There is supposed to be no question to what the leader wills. What Gary says should go. That's why he ultimately ended up targeting Lisa. As a failed attempt by Tiffany to make Lisa a vessel (and therefore prove her own worthiness to Gary), she knows too much about the true intentions. She is a flight risk. She's been found to be communicating with John (an extension of the church). People like Lisa are dangerous to the cult's imbalance, as are the ties they have within the greater community.

Which is why, too, John becomes such a pertinent target for Gary (lest we forget one of the Chapter 1 endings has him and his cult confront John on an empty highway).

It all shows that, even if he were not a demon, that he is convincing. That he can wear down at someone with a (presumably) strong conviction and duty to Christ. People would be fools to question him! He must know what he's doing if he can "break" a priest.

TLDR: Gary's entire mentality as a cult leader (and demonic commander) trying to regain control after a critical incident ks

And this, ultimately, is what is referred to with the idea of Damnatio Memoriae! John is so overshadowed and overtaken (whether by the UNSPEAKABLE, the cult, or his own mind) that he's effectively erased from memory. Him, the twins, Michael, Amy, they all mean nothing in the grand scheme of what would come should the cult succeed in its plan. They were all mere cogs in the machine.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

➖ Mature content, 18+ ➖ check the trigger tags each time ➖      

Chapter 40 - Growing bond. Episode 1.

------George's point of view-------

George: Alright everyone, listen up. I have given Evan a pill to relax on, and for now he's laying on the bed in the guest room behind us. It is important we all have a quick chat on what happened today, and then head home before the lovely couple returns. I don't wanna startle them as soon as they walk through that door. I pointed at the front door and sighed softly Akin and I have talked with Evan the past two hours, and it's very easy for me to understand his depression has gotten more severe than I originally thought. That doesn't change much in our work together, it will just take longer time to heal him so to speak. But he will get there. Akin also has a few words to add to it all, but that will be once I'm done. I nodded at Akin who nodded back First of… I looked at the small group of people in front of me. Daniel, Akin, Gaby, Robert and Lenny. Evan had earlier in the afternoon gotten so bad that Daniel had called Evan's dad, who was with Lenny, Andy's dad, next door taking care of some electricals. As they had shown up Evan had gotten even worse and they had quickly decided to call me. I had already been in the neighbourhood, out for a small Sunday afternoon drive with Gaby, so of course we had arrived within minutes. As I had no idea where Evan was going with half of his babbling, and he also seemed a bit fever-ish, I had naturally called for Akin to drop by. And here we were.

3 hours, way too much coffee, one Evan down and too many tears later. I would like everyone to stay calm and no one to raise their voice at any point. He is very nervous, which hopefully the pill will help with soon, but there's absolutely no reason to startle him. Now, I wanna try to make a quick recap of why Evan feels so bad, and I may have to get a bit of help from Akin at some point if it gets too complicated as I have only just been updated on some of the last turns of events. And they are more his field than mine. I smiled at him softly as he nodded As I'm sure most of you all know, or at least can figure out on your own, it is not easy when one suddenly find themselves in a new sexuality, like Andy had to, but even just taking a single step inside like Evan did when he decided to give in to his love for Andy, is hard enough on it's own. It comes with questions. Doubts. Fear. And in many cases depression, as the person will grow insecure and scared of what the world might think, or family, friends, coworkers, so on. It is normal for the person to feel they are doing something wrong. And along that start questioning themselves. Their sexuality and even people around them. I am not blaming anyone here or pointing fingers I smiled softly at Robert but, Evan's parents not taking the news lightly did not add to the positive side of the story. Evan and his dad, Robert I nodded at him gently and Evan has since sorted things out, but there is still a break in Evan and his mother's relationship. A break she seems to not want to fix. Which leaves Evan feeling unwanted and wrong. I paused a bit and looked at everyone, to see if anyone had a question. As everyone seemed to be with me so far, I continued. The other half of Evan's depression, takes root in him being worried about Andy. Andy has been through so much the past two years, and still has his own demons to fight with on a daily basis. He looks and feels much better, but that doesn't mean we should forget he's also still struggling. Now most of you know this already, but I wanna quickly fill Robert in on some of the most important headlines. I understand Congo already kept you up to date on A and major parts of the supernatural aspect. But there lies a much deeper darkness in Andy, one he himself doesn't know is there. I made sure of that through therapy, cause I fear we might lose him for good if he is to discover where his darkness hails from. I frowned There has never been an easy way to spit this one out. So I will just jump into it. Andy was molested as a child. I observed the shocked expression on Roberts face Andy was often spending summer vacations at my house, and not far from my house was an old farm, with a reputation of the owner being a child molester. The police never had any concrete evidence, so he was never charged or arrested. Andy never went in that direction anyway, so we kept quiet. We should maybe have told him never to go there, but what does kids do when they are told not to do a certain thing? Exactly, they go do that thing the first time they get the chance. So no one mentioned anything. And unfortunately one day Andy happened to pass the farm, and the man got a hold of him. Through hypnosis I have been able to tab into fragments of Andy's memory, and at first there were no signs the guy ever penetrated him. But recently under another hypnosis session, I have come to learn he did in fact rape Andy. It was only few minutes, but it was rough and violent, and he told Andy repeatedly how wrong it was to have sex with a man, and that he would burn in hell for being a temptation. I sighed deep and paused as I placed both hands on the table and took a deep breath, this one really knocked all air out of me!

Lenny: I felt a hand pad my back firmly, and I was thankful it was my little brother George. Maybe you should sit down and take a break? In fact, maybe we should all just take 10 minutes to breathe a bit?

Robert: His voice was a bit shaky I could definitely need a few minutes to gain some strength.

Gaby: She got up fast from her chair and smiled at me softly I'll go heat up some soup, I'm sure Congo wont mind. She quickly made it to the kitchen and started searching around for a pot and some soup in the freezer. I was thankful for my wife, reading a room so quick.

Daniel: I didn't know… the last part…. as I looked at him I was surprised to see tears in his eyes

George: I sighed softly and sunk down on the chair in front of me, reaching towards him and grabbed his hand, padding it lightly I'm sorry… there's just no way to prepare anyone for that one.

Daniel: He sighed deeply and by that made the tears disappear again No I know George, it's okay… but I could definitely need a minute as well.

George: I nodded softly and smiled at him warmly