#fic is therapy

[meloncholystay]

Walk the Longest Road

By Captain Quince

Pairing: Lee Know/Han Jisung

Rating: Mature (for a suicide attempt and discussion of sexual situations), hurt/comfort fr fr

Word Count: 24,483

TW/CW: suicide attempt and recovery, eating disorders

Summary: Lee Know struggles with the pressures of being an idol, his growing feelings for Han, and this sinking feeling that he’s fighting a losing battle.

A/N: I hope everyone enjoys this! It is very angst and hurt/comfort. There IS a happy ending, I promise… I just take a long time to get there. Pay attention to the trigger warnings and take care of yourselves!!

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50051098/chapters/126382180

[not-rab]

this with jily BUT james ends up falling in love with the therapist (*cough* regulus)

[ghostbsuter]

"I can see dead people." He mentions with a shrug, using the chopsticks to fish more noodles into his mouth.

Dick stares at him. "Huh."

"Is that why you help?" He asks, getting more spring rolls.

"Yeah. Once someone becomes a ghost, word gets out quick, and they come to me. Always tatling about unfairness and justice." The kid waves the words around, rolling his eyes.

Dick just pretens to he uninterested, despite his mind racing at the new info. He is piecing past moments together, every shadow leaping away, every note with tips, leads and—

Huh.

"Do you... like it? Doing all that?" Richard approaches thus carefully, brows furrowed at the kid opposite of him.

Danny moves his head, giving a 'so-so' answer. "It's not much to like, I can see ghosts, and they know it and use it. If it brings them to peace or whatever– well, that's just a plus."

Dick stares. He places his chopsticks down and looks at Danny worried.

In turn, the kid sighs. "Sometimes gifts become curses the longer you have it."

And Dick understands.

Mind made up, he throws a pair of keys at the kid, watching fondly as the other catches them with confusion.

"Next time use these, instead of entering through the window."

Danny mock-salutes with a shit eating grin. "Yes, Officer grayson."

[irenespring]

Really I think nothing shouts "my first Presidential election as a politically active person was 2016" more than the fact that when I feel hope and excitement for the future (possible President Harris) for more than five minutes I immediately get a crushing, all-consuming anxiety of "feeling this positive emotion now is going to make it so much worse when the worst thing possible happens" to the extent that I'll probably need my break-glass-in-case-of-emergency anxiety medication.

[rawrsatthetree]

Tired: Tav that’s good for Astarion cause they play therapist and give him support and space to heal

Wired: Tav that’s good for Astarion cause they’re such a disaster he has to get his shit together cause gods above one of them needs to be a functional adult

[frankiebirds]

do you ever think that the reason hotch is so willing to accept affection from garcia when he isn’t from the rest of the team is at least partially because receiving affection from garcia doesn’t force him to admit he is a person worthy of affection. because garcia is just Like That. when other people show affection towards him he bristles because he believes deep down that he is a bad person unworthy of love, but when garcia shows him affection, he can justify to himself that garcia is only affectionate towards him because she’s affectionate to everyone, not because he’s particularly deserving. weirdly, he accepts it because he can reject it. haha. i do.

[strangersteddierthings]

Shovel Talk(s) Part One

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Steve and Eddie aren't even together when Steve gets the Shovel Talk from Eddie's uncle, but it is what tips Steve into talking to Eddie about his feelings, so he's not upset by it.

They aren't dating, not because he doesn't want Eddie, because he absolutely does. It's just that he wants to be sure Eddie wants him back. There are times when he's sure, when Eddie gets into his space a bit too close, or more often, than he does with anyone else. Eddie calls him a thousand and one nicknames, ranging from sweet to irritating but just when Steve thinks that's a perk left just for him, Eddie hands someone else a new nickname (just the one, a voice in Steve's head that sounds suspiciously like Robin says).

Not that any of that is the point. Wayne wouldn't bother to give Steve a shovel talk at all unless he knew how Eddie felt. Wayne is a man of action, and he's never done anything unless it mattered. Meant something. Steve and Wayne have sat in plenty of (what Steve considers to be) awkward silences because Wayne doesn't talk to fill the void of silence.

The point is, Steve drops Eddie off at the house the government so graciously bought for the Munsons, walks Eddie to the door and giving Eddie a hug goodbye. He stays on the porch until Eddie shuts the door and then nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Wayne call out his name.

"Harrington," Wayne says from the shadows of the wrap around porch.

So, Steve jumps and it's only then he notices that Wayne is sitting at the table and chairs set up on the porch. "Mr. Munson, sir, hi. Hello."

Wayne lets out a chuckle, but it doesn't really sound amused. "I have come to accept that you are nothing like your father, boy, but I do want to make it clear to you, that Eddie means more to me than anything else on this Earth."

"I know, sir."

"I know you do. And while I will forever be grateful that you helped return him to me alive, know that I will not hesitate to make you disappear if you hurt my boy in a way he can't bounce back from."

Steve's not afraid of Wayne, not really, but that doesn't stop him from feeling the need to flee. He doesn't, though, because he'd gotten enough shovel talks from concerned parents in high school, and he knows they can sense weakness. "I can't promise I'd never hurt him, sir, but I can promise it'll never be intentional."

He can't actually see Wayne's face in the darkness but he feels sized up all the same.

"I believe that, Steve," Wayne says, and it's the first time Steve's ever heard his name leave the man's mouth, "now go home."

-

Wayne's shovel talk was expected. Robin's is not.

"You took Eddie on a date date?" She whispers it as though they aren't alone in Steve's living room. They're laying on the floor in a line, heads next to each other so if they turn slightly to the side they can make eye contact. Steve's not sure why they always end up on the floor for Serious Talk Time.

"Yeah," Steve says, looking away from Robin's face to stare up to the ceiling, "I mean, sorta? We can't like... be open that it was a date, but we went to dinner and a movie and it was nice. Shared a popcorn and played footsie under the diner table."

"Whoa," Robin says. "I never thought you'd- didn't think you'd be brave enough to ask him."

"Me either."

"Steve," Robin sounds serious, so Steve turns to look at her. She studies his face for a moment before she's the one to look away, speaks to the ceiling, "be careful with Eddie, yeah?"

"What? Careful how?"

"I just think you could really fuck him up," Robin says. "You're his first boyfriend, right? That's going to set a precedent for relationships that might happen if you two don't work out. And I hate to say this, because I know you've changed, but like, I saw how a lot of those girls you dated in high school ended up when you broke up with them."

Steve's a little hurt, because Robin's his best friend. She should be giving this talk to Eddie, not him. But, also, he understands. He knows that Robin knew about Eddie's sexuality before he did, knows they bonded over being queer while Steve was still figuring himself out.

Steve also knows that Eddie's never been in a relationship before, Eddie'd told him at much when Steve asked him out. Steve doesn't like that Robin implied that he and Eddie will eventually break up, but no matter how much that thought makes Steve's heart ache, he won't know if it'll happen unless it does.

He just doesn't understand why she seems to think he'll be the one breaking Eddie's heart. It could go the other way.

"Did you OD over there?" Robin asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"No," Steve answers, "I'll be careful."

-

They've been on four more dates before Nancy knocks on his door. She doesn't accept his invitation to come inside. Just starts speaking on his doorstep.

"As Eddie's Capital P Soulmate," is how she starts that sentence, and it makes something hurt deep inside Steve as he tries not to think about Robin, "I am obligated to remind you that I do own several guns now. And I don't miss."

"Jesus Christ," Steve says, because even Wayne was more subtle, "I got it."

"Good. I do know you'd never hurt him on purpose," Nancy says but Steve doesn't feel reassured.

He thinks that, if she really didn't think he's going to end up hurting Eddie she wouldn't have said anything at all. "Right."

"Well, good talk Steve," and then she's walking down the driveway and climbing into her car.

He closes the door and goes to the kitchen to get himself a beer, mostly so he has something to do besides stew in his emotions. He wonders if Eddie has been given the shovel talk, too? Maybe Robin did the same thing Nancy just did. Showed up unprompted, threatened Eddie with some sort of bodily harm, and then just left.

Steve grabs the phone and dials Eddie's number.

"Hello?" Eddie's voice greets him, albeit questioningly.

"Eddie, it's Steve."

"Oh, hello sweetheart," Eddie says, "are you calling for business or pleasure?"

Steve laughs, "business."

"Boo!"

"Listen, uh, I had a question. I just wanted to know if anyone's said anything to you. About us. Or, y'know, specifically about us and our relationship?"

"Uh, not really? A few congratulations, I guess. Why? Did someone say something?" Eddie's voice is level, almost too level, so Steve knows he's trying to keep cool.

"Oh, no! No! I mean, aside from the scary shovel talk from- Wayne, everyone's been surprisingly cool about it. Very supportive," Steve says and even though it's true, everyone they've told has been cool about it, it feels a little bit like a lie.

Eddie laughs, "I can't believe my uncle gave you a shovel talk! You know, I keep expecting to get one from Robin but so far nothing. She must think you're safe in my capable hands."

Steve is safe in Eddie's hand, he thinks, but that doesn't stop the sting that goes through him. "Of course, she does. You've been a perfect boyfriend."

There's a pause before Eddie's voice comes through the phone, soft and quiet, "I'm glad you said so. I want to be. For you."

"You're not allowed to say those kinds of things when you aren't within kissing distance, babe," Steve says, because if he doesn't add humor to this conversation, he's going to tell Eddie he loves him instead, and even Steve knows that saying that a month into dating is too soon, especially over the phone where he can't see Eddie's reaction.

Eddie laughs and makes kissing sounds at him before the conversation shifts to chatting about the day and making plans for the weekend.

-

Steve is trying really hard to not be the person he was in high school but every time he gets to the point where he's being a better person, someone brings up how he used to be. Shoves it back into his face that no matter what Steve does he can't outrun his past.

One such time is shortly after Steve and Eddie accidentally come out as a couple to all of Hellfire. Steve was just dropping off the boys and had stepped inside to chat a bit. Once game time had arrived it had and Steve made to leave, they'd (he and Eddie) had been on autopilot. Eddie'd whined 'where's my goodbye kiss?' and Steve had stepped over, kissed him goodbye, and was out the door before it had actually computed.

Steve had burst back through the door, rushing back to Eddie, because no way in Hell was he going to leave his boyfriend to deal with whatever the consequences would be alone.

It had been absolute chaos at the table with people shouting over each other.

"Of all the people you could be with, you picked Steve!? You could do better!" Mike had whined, and Steve had thought for sure he was the only one who had heard Mike until he saw Will punch his arm and hiss his own 'don't be a dick' at Mike.

It took almost half an hour to calm everyone down. It was a relief to know that Eddie had come out to his bandmates/the older Hellfire members already. The kids took it in stride, in the end, and Eddie had shoo'd Steve away.

Jeff had excused himself, too, and Steve thought he was just going to use the bathroom but instead he followed Steve outside.

Ah. Steve knows what's coming.

"Harrington," Jeff says, "can't say I'm excited that you're the secret boyfriend Eddie's constantly sighing wistfully about. I'm sure Wayne's already threatened you," And Robin, and Nancy, and Mike doesn't think he's good enough, "but if you hurt Eddie-"

"I get it! There will be dire consequences if I hurt Eddie," Steve snaps, not down for hearing it anymore. He stomps to his car and peels away from the curb without bothering to look back.

-

If he's being honest, Steve didn't even know he had a breaking point with shovel talks until he gets his fifth one from Dustin.

It's not even a shovel talk. It's just a single sentence, said almost a month after Dustin learned about their relationship. He's dropping Dustin off after their DnD game. Normally Claudia picks him up, but she's busy tonight and asked Steve to do it.

"Alright, Henderson, safely delivered."

"Thanks, Steve," Dustin says, unbuckles his seatbelt, and opens the door, before turning back to Steve. He just looks at him for a moment.

"What?"

"I'm happy for you and Eddie. Just, don't hurt him, ok?"

He nods his head but can't say anything. Dustin grabs his backpack, shoots him a smile, and climbs out. Steve does wait until Dustin closes the front door behind him before putting the car back in gear.

He manages to get home, somehow, because Steve doesn't fully remember the drive. It's not that his mind was so focused on something else that made him fail to take in his surroundings, but rather that his mind wasn't even a part of his body anymore.

One moment he was pulling away from the Henderson residence, and the next, he was home, just standing in his kitchen in the dark. And now that his thoughts are back, or easier to process, he finds himself wondering why everyone thinks that he's going to be the one to hurt Eddie.

How many people has he hurt that this is his reputation? Is it inevitable that he will hurt Eddie? Is it truly just a matter of time until he breaks Eddies heart? Why is everyone so convinced that he will?

Briefly the thought occurs to him that maybe he should call up Eddie and break up with him right now, before Eddie has a chance to get in deep enough that Steve could break his heart, but just the thought of it breaks Steve's heart, so he's not going to do that. Doesn't want to do that. That would just be punishing Eddie for something he didn't do.

None of this is Eddie's fault, and Steve's an asshole for even thinking of breaking up with him because of it. Which feeds him back into the loop of thinking that maybe everyone is right about him. He is an asshole and will someday hurt Eddie, perhaps even on purpose.

He loves Eddie. He's in love with Eddie. But does loving him mean proving his friends wrong? Or does it mean leaving him before they're proven right?

He wants to ask everyone why they think he'll hurt Eddie.

He wants to ask everyone why they don't care if he's the one that gets hurt.

[afterthelambs]

i adore Maruki as a character because he's simultaneously the most relatable depressing character that will make you cry with empathy, and the goofiest wettest cat loser in the game like what do you mean youre a licensed therapist and your first response to trauma is to brainwash a girl, project ur relationship issues onto a 17 yr old boy, and then rule the world in a golden leotard? bro went from 0 to 100 so fast??? anyway he's like 30% of the reason why p5r works as well as it does

[velvetti]

A mole was found

Warning: Non-con, double penetration, rape, bondage, threesome, implied no aftercare, gender neutral but made with male reader in mind, rushed, not proofread, this is more like a oneshot.

If accidentally getting affiliated with the mafia is unlucky, then you would be the god of bad luck. And unfortunately for you, after being assigned to spy on the mafia for over a year, they had managed to find documents detailing their exploits, which gave them enough evidence to drag you to the torture interrogation room.

Like any normal person, you tried to resist but let's be honest, could you really fight against trained mafia members dragging you by both of your arms? Not to mention when they've been annoyed by your constant resistance, they knocked you out by smashing your head against the wall, hard enough to make you unconscious but not hard enough to kill you.

By the time that you have woken up, you were set on your knees on the floor, hands tied behind your back with a blindfold over your eyes. The position...confused you? Usually traitors would be set on a wooden chair, fully tied down with a gag in their mouth, not whatever position you are in.

You could slightly make out the layout of the room based on how the light is shining down on you, seemed like the mafia members didn't bother to give you a thicker blindfold. There is a single lightbulb over your head, otherwise most of the room is dark and quiet. In the mist of confusion, you decided to risk something, tapping your finger on the floor and pretending to be impatient in order to try to use the echos to imagine the room's layout.

The plan worked, but things didn't seem to be in your favour as the room turned out to be quite large. How could you even escape in these circumstances???

Right at that moment, you heard footsteps echoing from a direction, cutting your line of thought almost immediately. The sound is somewhat scattered, you could make out that two people are heading towards you. You feel the light shining on your blindfold getting slightly darker, someone is standing right in front of you.

You heard murmurs and whispers, a cold sweat fell down your forehead while your hands fiddled together. You figured it's the best decision to stay silent and not say anything unless you're talked to, after all there isn't any reason to give away any information about yourself.

You felt a pair of hand grips your chin, the fingers digging into your cheeks and tilting it to different angles. You assumed it was to judge your appearance, which seemed to be at least attractive since you heard an amused hum from whoever was checking you out.

You felt your waits being held, turned over to your back before your head is placed on a lap of one of the two people, your knees being held up to your shoulders. The only thing you could hear is the sound of belts buckling and your voice protesting whatever the two are trying to do to you.

You froze the moment you felt the heat of something hot right over your face, as well as the feeling of your clothes being unbuttoned. Without any warning, the warm length shoves into your mouth, causing you to gag almost instantly, tears building in your eyes.

Meanwhile underneath, two fingers were knuckles deep in your hole, stretching it open and revealing your insides to the cold air. The fingers didn't stop rearranging your insides while the length moves in your mouth, ignoring all your gags and pathetic noises.

The second length eventually enters your under hole, a pair of hands grips your hips to move you more steadily. The cock in your mouth muffles your noises, shoving deeper down your throat when the length underneath pulls out to its tip, just to ram inside you again, giving you a bulge on your lower stomach.

You were biting your underlip, trying your best to not make any noises but they kept going out of your throat without any sign of stopping. You felt so violated yet it felt so good getting your insides ruined by people you don't even know the face off, unable to fight back and vulnerable like some kind of onahole.

The cock in your mouth was pulled out, a small strand of saliva connected its tip to your lips and left a quiet pop sound. The person holding your waist suddenly held you up straight, burying the length inside you deeper and grinding it against your spot. Before you could make sense of anything, the cock positions its tip against your entrance. You tried to protest and push the first person off, it was only met by a spank on your ass and the person shoving their cock into you.

The two started going by a faster pace, each taking turns to hit your deepest spot as the person behind you pulled your head back by your hair, the person in front of you shoved two fingers into your mouth to muffle your moans and play with your tongue.

After half an excruciating hour, they finally finished inside you with a grunt. At this point, your mind was already blanked, your body sweating and twitching from the intense workout, your hole gaping even when they pulled out and tears falling down from your eyes, staining the blind fold.

You heard a few small sentences before you pass out.

"What should we do with them, boss?"

"Keep them, they're good as a stress reliever."

At least now you know that you're good in bed <3

Author note: This will get a remake due to the unsatisfactory of the plot.

[cuubism]

i went to physical therapy for my stupid broken arm so as is my legal obligation i HAD to make ship content about it. everything is ship content that's how it is

cw injury, referenced abusive relationships

--

Hob's had plenty of clients come to physical therapy who clearly don't want to be there. Plenty of others who are reasonably frustrated by the work and time involved in regaining functioning after an injury. But this is the first time he's just had someone be... quiet. Resigned.

Dream sits with his hand cradled to his chest, barely speaking, only answering when Hob asks a direct question. He's reluctant to give Hob his hand when Hob asks if he can look at it, like he thinks Hob's grip is a bear trap that will snap down and crush the bones like whatever had done so the first time. Hob still doesn't know what that was. All he knows is the bones have been realigned and healed over but the dexterity in his hand still isn't right. That was what Dream had said, in the first spark of passion Hob had heard from him. It's not right.

But he does eventually give his hand over. His bones are so fine and delicate, and each movement hesitant. Cautious. Hob tests the flexibility. The strength. Dream is right, it's not where it should be. He still doesn't know what happened.

"I won't make you tell me if you really don't want to," Hob says gently. "But it is important to know how it happened to make sure we rehab it the right way. Did you get it caught in something? I've seen guys come in with machine injuries like that."

Nothing about Dream suggests "person who works with heavy machinery." But who knows. Hob will try not to stereotype.

"No," Dream says quietly, looking down and away from his hand like he can't bear to see it. "I. I am an artist. My ex... he felt that I cared more about my art than about him. Perhaps I did. And he was... frustrated. I suppose."

Hob can put the rest of the pieces together in his mind. "Jesus," he breathes, and Dream flinches.

"I have an unfortunate ability to involve myself with such people," he says.

"No, it's not your fault," Hob says automatically.

Dream narrows his eyes. "You presume to know that?"

Hob raises his hands in surrender. "Never mind. I won't pry." He's not Dream's therapist. His job is to help him with his hand, not... whatever else is going on in his life.

He takes Dream's hand carefully between both of his own again. Presses down lightly on his knuckles. "So. Crushed. Like that?"

Dream nods. Hob still doesn't know all the details, but he's imagining a boot going down hard on the top of Dream's hand. The thought is sickening.

"Can you fix it?" Dream asks, like he doesn't dare to hope.

"Well, you already had it repaired surgically, yeah?" Hob says. This strikes him as a bit of good luck--hand fractures are not simple--but he doesn't want to undercut Dream's confidence even further by saying so. He's usually pretty good at reading his clients, and he's already sensing that Dream is holding onto his determination to be here at all by the barest thread. Best to build him up as much as possible. "So it's just a matter of strengthening the muscles again."

He's fairly confident he can get him back to a usual level of functioning with it. The question is whether he can return him to the specific level of dexterity he needs for his art. He doesn't say that. Not yet.

Finally, he gets the tiniest of smiles out of Dream. He's really lovely when he smiles.

(He's pretty when he doesn't smile, too. Hob would have to be blind not to notice it.)

"So," Hob says. "Let's look at the current range of motion, yeah?"

Dream tilts his head. "Did you not already do so?"

"For regular motion, yeah. But I want to see where it's impacting your drawing."

Dream draws his hand back, looking uncertain.

"Come on." Hob hands him a pen and paper. "Show me. I promise I know nothing about art. If it's not up to your usual standards, I'm not going to be able to tell."

Finally, Dream takes the pen, and starts sketching.

Hob watches, noting the way his hand trembles, his uneven grip on the pen. Notes how quickly he gets demoralized when it doesn't turn out the way he wants. Hob can make out what he's written and drawn, but it's clear from Dream's expression that it's far from how it's supposed to be.

"This is just a starting point," Hob reminds him. He has a feeling he's going to be doing a lot of those sorts of reminders with Dream; he does not seem to find optimism easy.

Then again, if someone who supposedly loved him had hurt him like that, Hob would probably find optimism a bit difficult, too.

Finally, Dream drops the pen, clearly frustrated. "I have tried to paint at home, too. It has not turned out any better. You should throw those away." He gestures to the sketches. "They are terrible."

"Nah, I'm gonna keep them," Hob says, and puts them in his folder. "For comparison later." It could also partially be because he finds Dream's drawings of cats, imperfect as they are, charming. Sue him.

"As you insist," Dream says.

Hob gives him documentation on some other exercises he can do at home. Tries to think through what might make him feel better with his art. It feels, somehow, so important to make him feel better.

"At home, go easy on trying to use a pen, or paintbrush or whatever, it's hard on your hand," he finally says. "But you probably want to get back to your art, so-- okay, don't make fun of me if this is stupid."

Dream just raises an eyebrow, waiting.

Maybe Hob should try to learn more about art before he gives advice. Nevertheless, he forges on. "Holding a pen is tough, but if you wanted to like, finger paint or something? That would probably be fine. Might be good for flexibility, even."

"Finger paint," Dream repeats, enunciating each word.

"I told you not to make fun of me if it was stupid."

Dream smiles, just a small thing, like he finds Hob ridiculous but in a charming way. Good enough, Hob figures.

"Very well," Dream says at last. "I will take your advice."

Dream simply walking out had felt like a distinct possibility, so Hob will take this as a win.

"Hey," he says later, catching Dream for a moment as he's checking him out. "It's going to get better, yeah? Trust me. Don't worry too hard, just give it time."

He really shouldn't make promises like that. But he can't seem to help it, with Dream.

Dream considers, then says. "I do trust you."

Hob finds that it means a lot. Now he's just going to have to earn it.

[slavhew]

Dirk in the middle of a therapy session

in all seriousness tho if you want dirk therapy hours. keep ur eyes on my ao3 account ive got some real stupid self indulgent 13k-odd words cooking and ill try to post it sometime this month

Edit: it is DONE and just shy of 14k. Go go go

[illogicalvulcans]

[Fic Book Covers 11+12/?] Integrative Approaches by Nnm / @mouseonamoose

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma

As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following: --His clothing was expensive and stylish; --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne; --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;” --He looked angry; --He was wearing sunglasses. What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens

“I’d love to meet with you,” Davey said, apologetically, when he had been called up by a fellow looking to initiate therapy, “but I’m all booked up for months.” “Are you sure?” The fellow said, through a poor connection that crackled. Davey had been sure. And yet. Right there in his calendar was a blank spot, just a few days away, which he had somehow completely overlooked before. “How about that…I’ve got Wednesday at eleven, if you can make that work.” “What a miracle,” the fellow said, “that would be just the perfect time.”

[doodlesforfics]

Ghosts? As my therapy animals? More likely than you think. by @bamboozledeagle3 is probably the first fic of Pet Blob-ed Jason that I actually read (despite seeing that concept floating around). I absolutely adore it ;D had to doodle the image of Jason getting blob-ed

some more meme-y doodles ;p

[numbuh424]

congrats to ao3 for the site traffic the good omens fandom is about to bring them this week

[izzystizzys]

When the 212th collaborates with the 501st, chaos is sure to follow in their footsteps. This has been largely true of every engagement since the start of the war, in Cody’s experience. Had he even an ounce more of a rebellious streak, he might question why and whether the success rate is worth the feral instinct for mayhem his battalion and Rex’ awaken in each other - as it is, he simply fills out the after action reports and then screams into his pillow, which is hard as durasteel and doesn’t warrant the name.

Or, on some days, he steps into the training rooms to work off some nervous jitters only for his foot to catch on someone’s armoured shoulder and faceplant straight into what looks like the entirety of both battalions piled together in a massive cuddle pile.

“What”, he manages between gritted teeth, heaving himself up with one hand supported on Crys’ arm and the other planted in places that make Boil jackknife up with a strangled yelp, “the kriff is this?!”

“We’re watching the Corrie Reality Special, sir”, his own voice calls from somewhere across the room. “The 91st is passing by, so we have satellite access to the Coruscant Broadcast network for a few hours, and we couldn’t settle on a specific show -“

“- so we decided to watch them all”, Rex finishes, sheepishly, where he’s fought his way through wiggling piles, hoots and badly imitated monkey lizard noises. The thought that he shares DNA with these degenerates is enough to drive Cody to the brink of a nervous breakdown some days. “Spopcorn?”

Ah. The Corrie Reality Circuit. When Cody first heard of it, he’d thought it was a prank. Then, they were deployed to the middle of bumkriff nowhere on the edges of Midrim space edging on Outer Rim, with a connection so spotty even classified military intel only got through about half the time, and the whole idea got shelved in favour of clankers and keeping his General’s lightsaber in his General’s hand where it belonged.

Now, a gaudy, glittery monstrosity of a logo announcing a Coruscant Rotational special appears on a rigged up screen, which means one of two things: either Fox is pulling the Galaxy’s greatest long con on all of them, or he’s been murdered and replaced with an evil clone (ha!), because there are no circumstances in which he would agree to star on Coruscant Reality TV.

Cody tilts his head consideringly. Rex smiles at him sheepishly. Tilts the spopcorn bowl at him, invitingly.

“Oh, dank farrik, sit your shebs down!”, someone (Fives, probably) yells out, fed-up…ly.

Cody sits his shebs down.

“Good morning and welcome all of Coruscant to the Great Coruscant Rotational Special: Our Boys in Red Edition!”, a bright red Twi’leki man announces on the screen amidst cheerful jizz music and loud hooting from the training room. “My name is Braham Horton, and I will be your exalted host for this fine, fine late night cycle!”

“And now, gentlebeings of the metropolis, I present to you the images that have driven us all to laughter, joy, and even tears at times over these past few weeks - whodathunkit, that the CSF media project would enthrall a whole Galaxy of viewers and cause the largest recorded peaceful civil protest of all time?!”

“The sorry what now”, says Cody, suddenly thinking back to the urgent meeting General Kenobi was currently in with Generals Windu and Yoda - passing by on the Venator in orbit. “Uhm”, says Rex. Braham Horton, unfazed by the commotion he’s causing lightyears away, chatters on.

“- many hours, so we’ve compiled an introductory little best-of for you, exalted viewers! And what better best of to start off on than the hottest entry of the most explosive bombshell into the villa - please give it up for Commander Thorn and how he stole all of our hearts on Love Island!”

A garish, club-tech jingle Cody has so far only heard buzz through the walls of establishments that generally didn’t allow clones thrums through the training room, followed by what can only be described as the sort of noises spiced up banthas might make. Thorn appears on screen, more oiled up and half-naked than Cody remembers, though just as bleach-blond, hair slightly longer than regulation and smile blindingly perfect.

“I’m Commander Thorn, baseline twenty-four years humanoid - during daytime I might be the scourge of Coruscant’s criminal underworld, but at night I don’t mind playing good cop for you!” He punctuates it woth a sleazy wink and fingerblasters that have Rex honest-to-god gagging, and Cody seeing his life flash before his eyes. If Alpha-17 finds out about this…

Suddenly, Thorn’s smile drops in favour of what might almost be called a scowl on even his handsome face, and the music cuts out. “There, got your soundbyte. Can I go back now? I’m supposed to be on shift.” Indistinct, off-screen chatter and a captioned oopsie… appear in a shower of glitter. Thorn’s face does something complicated. “For HOW MANY MONTHS?!”

Cut to a montage of what Cody can only describe as beaches, oil and abs galore, Braham Horton narrates and extremely close-up shot of what Cody tries very hard not to identify as Thorn’s crotch. His own crotch, in a way. Oh no, that’s weird, stop that train of thought immediately-

“Although our favourite bombshell’s entry into the villa wasn’t without its hitches and hurdles-“, emphasized by a zoom-in on Thorn’s form in a speedo huddled away from a partying crowd of softcore-kriffing contestants on a yacht, “- as well as all know, he would soon find his place in the villa - or places, rather!”

Two crying humanoid women appear on screen, with eyeliner smudges down to their knees. A hoot goes through the room. Cody watches with a sense of impeding doom. “You slept with her after I chose to match up with you instead of Chad?! How could you!”

Thorn, still oiled up with both blasters out for the world to see, winces. “I didn’t me-“

A hysterical gasp, a camera swerve. Three more people stand by the doorway, all clutching their chests with wide eyes. A broad, green Twi’leki man raises a finger to point accusingly. “You were sleeping with them too?! I thought I was the only one!”

“Dear Force”, Cody murmurs, unable to look away from the building speeder wreck on screen. Braham Horton laughs good-naturedly at his misery. “Ah, good times! And who could forget the all-out brawl of the following matching night, where a record number of every single other contestant attempted to physically fight the others for the right to match up with Commander Thorn! Including a somehow returned Chad, who nearly won thanks to the element of surprise. I wish we could show the footage, but then we’d have to slap several warnings on it and probably still get taken off the air.”

“I didn’t know Corries kriffed like that!”, someone (Fives, let’s be honest, it was definitely Fives) calls out into the room, receiving snickers and a well-aimed pillow to the throat for his trouble. He goes down with a choking scream.

“Someone who was less impressed by the hot’n bothered beach weather was Commander Thire, who found himself Less than Impressed by his co-contestants inability to keep it in their pants on Too Hot To Handle!”

Thire’s face, identical to Thorn’s in every way except the ones that matter, appears on screen. His black hair is cut in a cropped mohawk, arms folded over a button-up he’s carefully pieced together with… safety pins? Where are the buttons on it?

“These people are pathological and pathetic and I will spend not a second longer on this farce of an attempt at ‘entertainment show’”, says Thire, air-quotes so sharp they could cut stone. His scowl might be permanently etched into his face, Cody can’t tell. “Unlike literally everyone else, I have an actual job to do. Now move.”

A brief pause, in which cheerful jizz music plays over what is obviously a producer begging off-camera, followed by an eyeroll so hard it hurts Cody’s brain to watch. Thire throws his hands into the air in defeat, marching off into the sea behind him still fully clothed.

“When they didn’t find him until the last episode, I’ll admit, I thought he’d died too!”, Braham Horton cuts in cheerfully. “But would you look at his little lonely island lair - now that’s a fulfilled man, and too many coconuts for my taste! We’ve had to blur his hands out as he discovered the cameras just moments before these holos were taken, unfortunately. And, dear viewer, who could forget this exit-interview for the ages!”

A considerably more clothed Thire appears on screen, eyeing a microphone like he’s about to use it to stab out his own eyes. The reporter clears their throat in audible anxiety. “C-commander, how would you describe your reality experience in one word?”

“Demeaning”, says Thire, blandly.

Silence.

“Um, o-okay”, squeaks the reporter.

“Would you like some more words?”, asks a dead-eyed Thire.

“No, um, I think - I think we’re alright.”

“Because I have many words. Mostly for whoever the *bleep* thought this was a *bleep* good idea, and *bleeeeeeee-*”

“We’ve had to censor most of the Commander’s on-screen appearance, dear viewer, for your sensibilities”, says Braham Horton, eternally and painfully cheerful. “And speaking of sensibilities, who could forget Commander Stone honouring his name in several challenges on ‘I’m A Holostar - Get Me Out Of Here!’”

Soulful violin music fills the gym, overlaid with images of a bald vod Cody surmises must be Stone. Stone stares stonily into the void, glass of bright green something raised to his lips and already half-empty.

“Memorably, he downed a pint of acklay urine within seconds-“

Horrified screams are followed by an image of Stone chewing, yet another thousand-klick stare.

“- or when he ate Tauntaun anus -“

Rex doubles over gagging, and Cody slowly puts his handful of Spopcorn back down.

“- of course the ten minute worm-bath challenge cannot go unmentioned -“

“FORCE PLEASE NO!”, screams someone (Echo) tearfully. Commander Stone, buried to the chin in wiggling orange worms, looks less impressed.

“ - and who could forget his encounter with a horde of ginntho spiders and nests of vexis snakes!”

A remote goes sailing past the screen, missing by a mile, as images of Stone with his whole arm stuck in various boxes fly past. Someone is retching. It might be Cody.

“We would show the infamous butchery challenge wherein the Commander found himself drenched in nexu guts and sandworm brains, but once again, this is family friendly programming and we are not allowed. Nevertheless, a win well-deserved. And now, please welcome the one, the only, the awe-inspiring, the unbelievable: Marshall Commander Fox!”

Another Force-awful jingle, big, blocky letters, and Cody chokes on his own spit when Fox’s scowling face appears on screen. He’s thinner, greyer and angrier than the last time they saw eachother in person. Only the last one is really a surprise.

“I am neither naked nor afraid”, says Fox, arms crossed firmly, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “I am, however, quickly losing my patience. Explain to me again the point of spending my valuable time undressing in the middle of bum-*bleep* nowhere on the Midrim instead of doing my job as the head of planetary security in the middle of a Galaxy-wide war?”

Several beats of silence follow. Fox grows less impressed with each. Cody knows that look well. Usually, it precedes handcuffs and a cold sonic blast to the face.

“Um… you signed a contract?”, says a producer’s voice uncertainly off-screen. Fox barks out a harsh laugh. “I’m legally classified as military property, my signature holds less weight than if I’d had one of the Guard’s massiffs shit on that contract for me.”

“Ouch!”, calls Crys.

“Gettim!”, adds Longshot.

“But… don’t you sign off military documents all the time for the Senate?”, sputters the producer.

Fox smiles with far to many teeth. It’s also a look Cody knows far too well, and even lightyears away it has a shudder going down his spine.

“Really makes you think about the technicalities of that definitely-not-slave-army, doesn’t it?”, he says, dryly.

“Although considerably less naked and afraid than all other contestants, Commander Fox left us with many memorable moments - such as when he saved the entire crew from an angry Acklay!”

Most of the next holovid is blurred out, though Cody can (unfortunately) guess at the why and how. So can most everyone else, judging by the collective groan.

“Down, boy”, says Fox, flatly, to a hissing Acklay twice his size. It rears its fanged head, and a shudder goes through the room. Fox simply crosses his arms and nails the beast with an unimpressed look. “You are making a fool of both of us. Cut it out.”

Chastised, the Acklay blinks at him, slowly lowering itself back down with a confused hiss.

“No kriffing wonder all the Corrie shinies are such hardasses”, mutters Rex, whom Cody is hard pressed to agree with. “I came from a tube and that look gave me daddy issues.”

“Yes, dear viewer, who could forget these heart-warming moments of good, quality television!”, sighs Braham Horton, dreamily. “Not Coruscant anytime soon, that’s for sure! We are now entering the twentieth rotation of the sit-in protest of a petition to allow the Commanders of the Coruscant Guard to compete on Dancing With The Planets, Coruscant Rotational’s epic dance competition!”

“Dear bum-kriffing Force”, whispers Rex, wide-eyed and awe-struck. “Does Fox know about this?!”

Cody, who’s already dialing the kriffer’s comm-code, wipes a singular tear from his eye. “Not a clue, but kriff, am I going to enjoy telling him.”

[deprivedofbraincellsandsleep]

I will not tolerate any Aaron Minyard slander