#generals hate this one quick trick

[victusinveritas]

Just a helpful tip. This used to apply to tanks too but they might have changed that?

[thiccpersonality]

5 Times Bruce Was Protective of His Pups (+2 Times They Were Protective of Him)

1: The Interview

Batman hates a lot of things: mornings, waking up early, the sunlight peaking through his curtains, people-more specifically, Superman-bossing him around (even if that one is a bit hypocritical) and losing (in general) bets, just to name a few. But, another thing is strangers being around his newly adopted pup; Richard, anything and anyone that isn't deemed trustworthy to Bruce is deemed as a threat or kept in his sights as a potential enemy until stated otherwise.

Which is why Batman finds himself feeling antsy as he waits for the signal to be given for him and Superman to exit the backstage area together and onto set.

The omega doesn't even know why he agreed to be shown in public with his pup and Superman, it's just...he couldn't resist the excited little eyes turned his way when Richard heard the Kryptonian suggest doing an interview together. Of course, Bruce knows he should have knew his pup would be excited at the idea of an audience, the boy was a performer and entertainer for Heaven's sake, it's just that he never expected for himself to be so nervous about taking his baby out in public for the first time in awhile that wasn't for dealing with small crimes.

"Robin, make sure to stay under my cape unless stated otherwise, okay?"

The boy pouts at the gentle command, curious as to why his mom is so nervous. "But why? I could perform a lot of cool tricks for them out there. I bet they've never seen a live circus act before!"

Batman sighs fondly at the boy's youthful exuberance, his gloved hand instinctively raising to scent the boy's neck gland before realizing his own wrist is covered and settling for gently ruffling the pup's hair. "I bet so too. But...I would really appreciate it if you stayed under my cape until I tell you to come out-" He pauses at the disbelieving look on Robin's face, sighing softly in response-"What is it? Why do you look like that?"

"Because you aren't planning to let me ever come out, are you?"

At Batman's silence, Robin pouts further, a frustrated little puppy squeak escaping his throat. "See! Why can't I show them my tricks, B? I know they'd love to see me! Do you know how much people talk about Robin in the news? I'd be a hit!"

Batman takes in the boy's excited face carefully, thinking that maybe he's holding the boy back from something that could be good for him, but he knows his worries aren't unfounded. He remembers when he was just a pup, traumatized from witnessing his parents murder and just as bitter and angry as Richard...which is why he's not comfortable with the pup being in the spotlight, the boy seems to have good days where he's excited and happier than ever before; but then, things are too loud, the media that never ceases to leave Bruce Wayne alone too much for the poor boy to handle...and he's just scared that they'll upset his precious child, that maybe all of this spotlight won't be that great in the end, but what is he to do? He gave Alfred a break today and won't bother the alpha to come and watch his pup when the reasons for it most likely aren't even that serious.

A deep, soothing voice, however, interrupts Batman's thoughts.

"C'mon, Batman. Robin seems to be all for it, so why not let him be in the limelight for a few minutes? He knows you'll keep a good eye on him...and I hope you know that I will too?"

Superman gives a calm, reassuring smile down towards the smaller man, hoping that it's as disarming as he's trying to make it. This whole thing with the Bat is still fairly new, and he's even surprised that the man agreed to doing this with him when the other was so...volatile when they first met, but to be fair, Robin wasn't there when they encountered each other. It seems that the pup really has changed Batman in an unimaginable way.

"Of course he knows that-" a quick glance to his pup-"At least I hope he knows that?" Batman is yet again interrupted by his pup tugging at his cape desperately, "Pleeeease! Pretty pleeeeease? I promise I'll make you look good and-and make sure to smile-oh! Wait--I'll make sure to look grumpy to make you look really, reeeeally serious. And I'll stay close by, and I'll-"

"Okay, okay. You can...go...out there. But! You have to stay behind me when we go out first, okay? I'll make sure to introduce you properly before you do anything, they don't even know that you are here with us."

Robin nods enthusiastically and instinctually hides behind the omega at hearing someone approaching their dressing room, a small but audible knock is heard before one of the PA pokes their head in. "U-Uh...Superman, sir. A-And...Batman, sir. I've been told to come and get you guys, it's almost time for you all to h-head on." The poor beta swallows nervously at Batman's blank, white stare being directed his way. He can't see the man's eyes, but he can feel the icy stare piercing his skin almost painfully, luckily enough, Superman steps in front of the Bat with a bright smile. "Of course, thank you! We'll be right on out."

The beta nods quickly before rushing out of the dressing room, leaving the three heroes alone, Robin snickering softly at Batman's attitude.

"Agent A wouldn't appreciate your lack of manners, B. You were supposed to say, 'thank you very much.' You teach me to say please and thank you, but I never hear you say it...unless it's to Al-Agent A." The displeased grumble coming from Batman makes Robin even more amused, "That's because Agent A deserves said pleases and thank you's...most of the time anyway, though sometimes he gets on my nerves giving his opinion when I never asked for it. I'm surprised I haven't fired him ye-" Robin's 'oooh' cuts him off, even if the pup knows this familiar pattern of Bruce "threatening" to fire Alfred or lessen his pay, the child still likes to cause mischief wherever he can. "I'm telling him what you said! And you can't fire him, he's your daddy!"

Batman softens at the pup's words and-yet again-sighs softly, nodding in agreement of the pup's analysis of his and Alfred's relationship, slipping out a one hundred dollar bill for the pup just in case he really does plan on telling Alfred what was said.

"I won't say anything about my lack of manners or any threats to Agent A as long as you don't?"

Robin takes a moment to think about the question in Batman's tone; a mere proposition for him to not say anything, after all, he knows how scary Alfred's wrath can be. And even if it's not anger, you still don't want to be scolded by the older alpha...it makes you feel guilty for any bad things you've done, however, it's just that: a proposition, a mere suggestion for Robin to decide if he wants to go along with Batman's request or not, and while he may not be business savvy, he's not an idiot and immediately snatches the money and slips it into his own utility belt. "What are you talking about, B?"

The omega smiles down proudly at his pup and the genuine look of innocence written all over the pup's face, "That's my boy-"

Superman clears his throat to get the two Gothamites attention, holding the dressing room door open for the two when they look his way. "We have an interview to show up to...and I don't think we should make them wait any longer, it'd be rude-"

"But Batman isn't rude. He has the greatest manners ever, very nice."

Superman looks amused at Robin keeping up his act, eyeing the boy suspiciously as Batman leads them out the door. "You sure about that? Your answer wasn't swayed by...perhaps, a one hundred dollar bill?"

A small, offended gasp escapes the pup who decided to hide under the black cape anyway. "I don't take bribes, Superman, only cash or credit." The Super snorts at the young boy, not bothering to correct him on how that's what a bribe usually entails is money, instead, choosing to superspeed his way in front of Batman. "Do you want me to head out first? I...know how uncomfortable taking Robin out made you? So, maybe seeing me first might be for the best."

Batman wants to bristle at the taller pointing out his vulnerability...but he's too busy trying to ignore the flutter of his heart at the alpha's thoughtfulness.

"Mm. Fine."

————°————

The directed applause dies down as they come back from a commercial break, the interviewer/talkshow host smiling brightly for the camera. "For the first time in the history of ever we have two very special guests coming out for us today-and I don't mean gay-" the audience erupts into cued laughter-"One is the Golden Child of Metropolis, Superman, who is used to being in the spotlight and having annoying folks like myself poking and prodding at him. Let's give the champion of Krypton a big, but not too big, round of applause! He's still from Metropolis folks."

The crowd gives a more genuine round of applause and laughter this time around, the Gothamites curiously watching the super powered alien exit from the back with watchful eyes, one audience member shouting how they think Gotham Knights is still a better baseball team than whatever forgettable team Metropolis has.

Superman has to hold back from replying about how if his team is so " forgettable", then why did the Gotham Knights lose the World Series two times to them. It really shouldn't bother the Kryptonian as much as it does...but he loves baseball, so sue him for being passionate about it. Instead, he offers the host a thankful smile for having him in Gotham, the woman feeling as though she has to squint to properly look at the alpha. "How is anyone this happy in the morning? I'll never know, but thank you for agreeing to come to Gotham for this interview, Superman."

She pauses as the crowd claps again, her excitement-and nerves-growing at who she has to introduce next.

"Next is someone who I have great respect for and am extremely proud to introduce. This man-or I should say-Bat, is an enigma; a legend and seemingly myth to all who have heard of his great, seemingly impossible, feats. I am very happy-" and nervous goes unsaid-"to introduce our Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman!"

The crowd grows deathly silent as the Bat steps out onto set, the mood changing to one of slight unease and stunned awe as the man's beloved people witness his cape dramatically fanning out on the ground around him like some sort of Gothic wedding train. His stance tall and confident; commanding, as he keeps his eyes trained on the now stupefied TV hostess, each step eerily silent yet so loud to the people watching him walk forward as if he owns the place. The silence deafening as everyone takes a moment to process that the Batman is actually here, "U-Uh, you may seat-I mean, take a seat...i-if you want Batman, you don't need to if you don't...want...to."

The woman messes with her already neat hair nervously, turning to smile at the audience and camera to the best of her abilities. "Uh...a round of applause, please?" It takes a few more seconds before everyone reclaims the basics of their fine motor skills and burst into loud applauses and whistles. 

Batman does his best not to growl at the audience, they aren't doing anything wrong...just being loud and making his protective instincts flair, but he knows it's not them.

It takes everything in the omega to not clear his throat before speaking, if he does, that would most likely be a sign that he is nervous...and just in case any enemies are watching, he can't let them see he's weak, especially with a pup around. He ignores the woman's curious and slightly worried looks as to why he hasn't taken his seat yet, and turns to the audience and camera crew. "Before we begin, I have someone else you should be pleased to meet-" everyone's eyes are immediately drawn towards the small, vibrating lump underneath his cape-"Batman can't go anywhere without his partner, so you better show your appreciation at the new vigilante, Robin."

Everyone in the crowd gasps quietly and excitedly at the small pup that rushes out of the cape and performs a series of difficult flips and tumbles before landing perfectly and bowing.

Robin keeps his head bowed as the crowd cheers loudly and coos at him, rubbing at his chest at the random prickly feeling in it from the noise, before sitting up and smiling cutely. "Thank you! Thank you!" The crowd genuinely giggles at the cute display, no one daring to show the usual Gotham grumpiness towards the Bat's pup.

Batman finally takes his seat next to Superman, the alpha nodding at him proudly for not getting defensive while the omega does everything to ignore that stupid flutter in his stomach from that godforsaken smile.

"O-Oh, wow! This was something completely unexpected, but absolutely welcomed! Another round of applause for our guest heroes on: Shut Up! And Spill That Tea." The hostess relaxes somewhat at the sight of the pup, she admits that the boy is a breath of fresh air in the usual smog of Gotham...and the feeling of the studio, because while Superman is a way friendlier presence than Batman, he still is intimidating in his own way. She finds herself softening at the sight of the pup skipping up to Batman and crawling up onto the alpha's lap, "Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Robin. It's very nice to be able to meet such an adorable new face."

The boy smiles at the hostess and waves at her seemingly bashfully while his other hand holds his cheek. "You flatter me, Veronica-I mean, Ms. Veronica. I love your show." Her eyes widen at the fact that the pup watches her program, "Oh...thank you! I didn't know that you watched my show? How do you have time for that with all this crime fighting?" Veronica glances up at Batman to gauge his reaction to her question, sighing softly in relief at his attention placed carefully onto his pup.

Robin pouts at the question, his arms crossing to show his displeasure. "I'm not allowed out every night. B and Agent A say that growing pups need as much rest as possible...even though I try to tell them that I'm old enough to stay up late."

The crowd 'oooh's' and 'ahhh's' at his confession, Veronica perking up at the sudden mention of another name. "I have to say that I agree, you still need your sleep to grow just as strong as Batman. And I'm sure this...Agent A is a good man too if he's working with you both, if I may ask, who is this mysterious agent?" Robin pauses at that, worrying he maybe revealed too much and glances up at Batman quickly to see if he messed up, relaxing into the other when he looks normal enough. "He's a mysterious agent as you said. But back to how I watch your show! I enjoy waking up every morning and watching it! Because B only allows me to fight petty crimes on weekends, I have to get my drama fix every other day."

Even though the boy completely avoided her question, Veronica can't find it in herself to be annoyed like how she'd usually be if anyone else tried it.

"I appreciate you for tuning in! What makes you enjoy my brand of tea spills compared to other shows?"

Robin's smile is mischievous, "I enjoy how you don't hesitate to give your opinion. You aren't a suck up like most other TV hosts when they speak on a topic, and while you talk about things that may or may not be true, you keep it real in your opinion without also being overly cruel."

Veronica makes an impressed noise at how clearly the boy speaks, of course he's still a child...but definitely better spoken than most children she runs into. "Now who's the flatterer-" she smiles and looks at the camera for a minute-"Listen up, folks! This is something completely new and different for a show like this, as many of my viewers know, we talk gossip and scandals here a lot. But, as we are dealing with two men who could easily crush me if I ask the wrong questions, we will go a different route today and just stick with regular schmegular interview questions with...maybe slightly juicier questions thrown in, at least with Superman anyhow."

Veronica turns back towards the two older heroes, her eyes trying not to linger on Batman too long in fear he'll snip at her for admiring his physique a little too closely.

"Alrighty, so, you two have made headlines about a year or two ago with the announcement that Superman was in Gotham. Even better, was the lucky bastard who captured you two together on a rooftop, though some eye witnesses say our Dark Knight wasn't all too welcoming. I-as I'm sure everyone else-would love to know how you two first met and what caused Superman to bother stepping foot in Gotham?"

She leans in expectantly, expecting Superman to cooperate first and easiest.

"Well...If I'm allowed to say this? That wasn't the first time Batman and I met, we met a year prior in Metropolis when he was investigating a crime that involved both Lex Luthor and The Joker. That instance was the first time we were actually captured together, however, and...yeah, Batman wasn't so welcoming of me being here."

Veronica eyes the Kryptonian like a predator with its prey as he keeps drifting his eyes over to look at Batman, the excitement bubbling in her stomach at the almost reverential look the alpha wears on his face. Humming in response to his words, "And how exactly have you come to this point of doing an interview together? No one can get their hands on the Bat...not unless you are as stupid enough to try it like the Rogue Gallery, but I guess Superman can use his powers in many ways, right everyone?"

The audience whoops and wolf whistles at the implications of her words, the Super flushing under the attention and because he would love to use his powers in such a way towards the Bat. 

"Superman isn't as stupid as he appears, Veronica. He'd be a fool to try touching me."

Everyone grows silent again at the Bat talking, a shiver running down everyone's spine at the soothing, yet bone shaking, silky deepness of the man's voice.

Superman's eyebrows twitch at the way the other man says it...he...technically did touch the Bat when he pushed him into the wall with his superspeed, but the man pulled out his greatest weakness in retaliation. However, he still got to touch the Batman! Veronica licks her lips in excitement at the Bat actually participating and saying something, "Of course! So I take that to mean, he has never tried being forceful with you?" It's Robin that responds this time, his voice innocently confused. "Why would they fight? They're friends."

The set descends into a silent chaos as the audience starts whispering about what was just said, Veronica turning her sights back to the pup, deciding she'll try to suck as much information out of him (in a nice way) as possible, because the boy obviously has all the tea to spill.

He's her strongest weapon right now.

"Oh? They are friends, are they?"

Robin nods absentmindedly while crawling around all over Batman, playfully biting the Bat-ears and tugging as he usually does whenever he's near the omega's head.

"Yeah! B came down today because I overheard Superman asking him if he wanted to do this. Batman said no, but I was super excited at the thought of-" Robin yips at Batman's gloved hands gently grabbing his scruff warningly, not enough to hurt obviously, but to get the excited pup to calm down and stop him from saying anything more. Right...he almost exposed how he was excited to see an audience again, that could cause possible questions to anyone listening extremely closely as to who his civilian identity is. "B-eeee..."

Everyone watches as the pup is gently reprimanded, the boy puffing his cheeks out and snuggling up to the Bat immediately after the punishment, his apologetic puppy squeaks filling the room.

Batman huffs fondly at the boy, ignoring the urge to nuzzle into the boy's neck and gently rubbing his back instead. "He heard us talking and begged me to come on this show. I only came because he likes it so much." Veronica swallows nervously at the man looking at her but nods, "T-That's very sweet of you to do this for Robin. Uh...we have to go on a commercial break, but we'll be right back with more hot topics for these three heroes."

Veronica slumps in her seat as soon as they go to commercial, scrubbing a hand carefully down her face and sighing loudly as the pressure slightly lifts from her shoulders.

Her honey brown eyes eye the trio curiously, watching as the pup is given consolation snacks, her manicured nails tapping unconsciously on her desk as she wonders what the boy was about to say and how she can pull more juicy stuff out of the pup without scaring him off. She enjoys juicy gossip as much as any other drama leech, but she doesn't like to make innocent pups cry, especially not Batman's pup.

Veronica closes her eyes as the makeup artist touches up her face with a powder so she doesn't look so greasy, it's not her fault she was starting to sweat under the intimidating glare of Batman.

The shocked gasp escaping from her makeup artist startles the TV hostess out from her thoughts, her mouth hanging open stupidly at the Bat standing in front of her desk. "Robin was looking forward to performing." Veronica is frozen in place at the command in his tone, as though he expects her to open up a spot for the pup to perform. "O-Oh...I was...supposed to ask questions-"

"Your questions are stupid-"

"Batman!"

Superman zips over to the man, his gaze apologetic towards Veronica for the other's rudeness. "I'm sorry about him, it seems he forgot the conversation he had with Robin about manners."

"What conversation?"

Robin speaks up from around his lollipop, looking between Superman and Veronica curiously. "I don't remember that? I do know I mentioned something about B being suuuuper duuuuper polite and well-mannered." The boy turns fully towards the intimidated and fascinated woman, "Can I pretty please do some tricks for you all? I promise you've never seen anyone perform quite like I have! That's why I came today, B said that I would be able to do something."

Batman grumbles, "I never said that."

Veronica looks between the Bat and his pup before conceding to the puppy eyes she knows the boy is making at her.

"Alright, alright, kid. No need to look at me like that. I'm sure we can open up a spot for you as soon as we come back on air, m'kay?" Veronica straightens out her suit jacket as everyone rushes back into place, her lips twitching up in amusement as Batman quietly tells Robin he can't perform with a lollipop in his mouth, her perfectly trained smile returning as the last commercial plays. "I know that we are getting off of our usual schedule, but it seems that Robin would like to perform some lovely tricks for us today. So if we could give him a warm round of applause as he takes the spotlight to let him know how eager we are to see his special tricks he's learned from Batman himself."

Veronica is thankful for the sound crew in this moment and how they don't bother showing irritation if they have any, but choose to play a song for Robin to do his flips to, the crowd clapping along as the music starts and the boy performs on the open floor.

Robin gives a beaming smile as he begins, reveling in the cheers and aww's he receives anytime he does something particularly cool. It feels as though it's been forever since he's done something like this, even though he knows deep down it probably hasn't been horribly long, it feels...freeing to pull stunts like this once more for an exuberant audience, yet also intimidating, he tries his best to push on despite that prickly feeling appearing again in his chest.

His mind flashes back to that horrible night as his body soars through the air, the anxious feeling spreading through him the more he thinks about it.

That fateful night started just like this too, didn't it?

Robin remembers how excited he was to witness his parents perform, recalls how enthusiastic he was to do his own little show, a-and the audience were just as loud and excited as he was too. Their claps and screams filling his ears as he flipped across the stage...yet unlike then, he feels himself falling-falling-falling--

Everyone gasps as Robin lands awkwardly and falls down with a loud cry, everyone's worried murmurs sounding too loud for the pup's sensitive ears, his hands lifting to cover them in hopes he can't hear the horrified shouts of the audience. A dangerous snarl is heard from Batman towards the camera crew and how they focus on Robin, one of them having the audacity to zoom in on the boy's reaction. "Turn the cameras off, now!" Veronica flinches at the command and waves frantically at her crew, disappointment in her gaze towards the one camera man for his carelessness towards the pup.

Luckily the cameras cut off to a commercial break as Robin shouts, "M-Mommy! Daddy!" The mood tense as the pup reaches out to people who aren't even there, "M-Mama!"

Everyone is too stunned to notice how Batman reacts to the last call, a snarl ripping through his throat at the people watching his son like some spectacle as he quickly gathers the puppy into his arms, securely tucking him away under his cape before gliding off set with his trembling bundle.

Superman can't help his own protective glare directed towards the one specific cameraman before super speeding to the dressing room where he can hear Robin struggling to breathe properly, standing guard outside to make sure no one approaches them and keeping his ear out for the two. "C'mon puppy, breathe with me-" a loud whimper from the boy as Batman shushes him-"I know it's hard to, but mama is right here, it's going to be okay--"

Superman's eyes widen at that and he chooses to stop listening in, standing taller with a warning growl as one of the crew passes by.

"You aren't at the circus, baby. You are right here, on the set of Shut Up! And Spill That Tea, your favorite show, yeah? Can you feel my arms around you?" Batman waits for Robin's slow nod, the omega looking around cautiously before taking off his mask to nuzzle the pup, "That's very good. You are doing so well, honey, but I'm still concerned about your breathing. Just...come here-" he gently turns the boy's head so that his ear is resting on his chest-"Listen to my heartbeat and just follow it as best you can. I'm going to count to five when we inhale and count eight with exhaling, okay? Follow along as best you can."

Robin whimpers, his heartbeat too loud in his own ears, yet warring with the calming, steady sound of Bruce's own.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five-" Bruce's voice washes over Richard like calming, gently swaying waters, the pup clinging onto the older man's voice like a lifeline as he slowly starts to breathe normally.

Batman, after a couple minutes of repeating the patterns, ends with his own relieved exhale at the pup's breathing evening out into something normal. "Richard..." His voice croons softly to the child at the tears wetting his suit, "Are you okay?" The boy sniffles and nuzzles into Bruce's neck, sniffling the soft and spicy scent of the omega. "I-I'm sorry, mama. I-I couldn't-you were right! I couldn't handle it a-and I made you look-" he's cut off at the hands that gently grab at his tear stained cheeks.

"Don't even finish that sentence. It's not about how you made me look, I already know how I look, and that's fine with me. This is about you and how you are holding up now...you know I understand what you're going through, don't you?" Richard softens at the reminder that Bruce truly does know how he feels, nodding his head gently as he slumps against his mom. 

"Do I...do I have to go back out there?"

Bruce growls protectively, hugging the boy closely, flashbacks of the media bombarding and overwhelming him when he was this age coming to the forefront of his mind. "Never! You never have to be seen by them if you don't want to. Only when you are ready to."

Robin nods softly, the weight of his stress making him sleepy as he rests his head against Bruce's shoulder, his ears twitching at the sound of Batman's communicator chiming, watching sleepily as the omega slips his mask back on and answers. "Alfred says he's on his way back home with ingredients for some chicken noodle soup, if that sounds pleasing to you?"

Robin hums softly with a small smile on his face, nodding and nuzzling into the man as he clears out their scents from the room before exiting the door.

Superman slumps in relief at seeing Robin look a lot less shaken than before, though there's still some lingering shakiness from the sudden flashback. "Is he okay?" Batman tightens his hold on Robin, his hand gently rubbing up and down the pup's back. "Yes. He's going to be fine, Superman-" the omega curses the unwanted warmth he feels at the alpha showing concern for his pup-"We...have to go though, he's not going back out there after that. I'm so-"

The Kryptonian waves off the apology, "Don't even say that, please. I've never heard you apologize for anything before...and I definitely don't want it to be for something like this-" the alpha looks away nervously, wanting to ask so many questions about what he heard the other man say to Robin, but deciding against it as now's not the time-"U-Um...can I give you both a lift home? My cape will keep you both warm and cozy on the trip to...wherever it is you go to." Batman bounces his child higher, adjusting his hold on the boy as he eyes Superman wearily for the offer, softening slightly at realizing it was just a genuine offer. "No, I have my own ride. Batmobile, remember?"

"Oh! Right...right."

The two heroes stand there awkwardly, the soft sound of Robin's snores managing to cut through the tense air as the alpha and omega focus on the boy.

"I should--You should get him home." 

They pause to stare at each other for speaking at the same time, Batman nodding his head in thanks for Superman's understanding as he heads to the exit, his mouth opening slightly in surprise as the Super holds the door open for him.

"Your hands are full."

With a small hum, Batman exits the building, squinting instinctively at the rare show of sunlight shining down through Gotham's sky, the Batmobile's roof sliding open as he nears it. The omega gently settles the pup into his seat while Superman keeps an eye out for any gossip hungry media, heading over to the driver's side after buckling the child up and hesitating before hopping in, his tone uncharacteristically soft as he addresses the alpha, "Thank you."

Superman feels his heart beat furiously in his chest at the gently whispered words, watching the Batmobile race off before turning his eyes up to the bright sky and smiling, remembering exactly why he's so fond of mornings.

(This is taken from my AO3 account here: Thicc_Personality I just thought I'd cross post it here too as I haven't posted anything in a bit 😂. I hope this is enjoyable to someone? You darlings please stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. 💛

P.S. Here are the links to—Part 2: The Gala, Part 3: The Search and Part 4: The Girls)

[lizhly-writes]

hello here's shang qinghua and yue qingyuan haveing fun times discussing inter-peak politics! it's a little bit after this!

“What we need to do,” Shang Qinghua said grimly, “is get good and drunk.”

“That seems inadvisable,” Yue Qingyuan said. “In any case, I don’t have any alcohol here, so, to begin with, it isn’t --”

It didn’t really matter what Yue Qingyuan said at this point, because Shang Qinghua had stopped listening in favor of rummaging through his sleeves, or more specifically, the qiankun pouch discreetly sewn inside. Shang Qinghua had long become accustomed to the sleight-of-hand required to make it look like he had pulled random sundry items out of thin air; he employed this trick the very moment he’d found what was looking for.

“Aha!” Shang Qinghua exclaimed, and triumphantly held a jar of his second-best wine aloft.

Don’t look down on second-best! It was guaranteed to instantly knock out a mortal man in seconds! This effect was admittedly dulled when it came to cultivators, but it still packed a punch!

“... Shang-shidi, why do you have that?”

“Wei-shidi owed me a favor. I don’t actually know what he did to get this, but he did! So I’m not complaining!”

“I was really more asking why you had it up in your sleeves to begin with.”

Shang Qinghua flapped a hand at him nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it! So – shots?”

“… I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”

“What, do you think I should save this for some other occasion?” Shang Qinghua said. “A happier occasion? Like our wedding?”

Yue Qingyuan hesitated. “Well...”

...

“Okay, but maybe it’s homoerotic tension,” Shang Qinghua insisted, an indeterminate amount of shots later. He slapped a hand on the deeply unflattering doodle of Sect Leader and the Qing Jing Peak Lord he’d sloppily drawn and pinned on the wall. “Maybe they hate each other so much because they’re angry they haven’t gotten laid!”

On the other side of the table, Yue Qingyuan frowned. His head was starting to loll to the side; to combat this, he had propped his cheek up with one hand, which had the side effect of making him look like a student trying not to fall asleep in lecture. If Shang Qinghua was a Qing Jing hallmaster, this might have earned a reprimand, but as he was instead a wise and generous writer-god, he patiently awaited for this inattentive student to give a proper and well-thought out response.

“Are you sure they’re not already having weird hatesex,” Yue Qingyuan said.

Shang Qinghua threw up his hands. “If that’s the case, you’d think they’d be in a better mood!”

“If they hate each other, maybe the sex isn’t very good.” Yue Qingyuan said philosophically, and paused, furrowing his brows. “To begin with, I don’t think I understand the weird hatesex thing. Why are you having sex if you hate each other.”

Ah? Ah???? Had they stumbled onto Shang Qinghua’s area of expertise?

Shang Qinghua drew himself up proudly. He knew the answer to this! After all, he’d done a truly remarkable amount of research in the shitty romance genre! “Love and hate are two sides of the same coin!” he proclaimed. “Don’t think about feelings just as positive or negative – those categories don’t matter as much as the scale of intensity! If two people feel strongly about each other, who cares if it’s love or hate? They’ll always be thinking of the other person!”

A mournful expression began to take over Yue Qingyuan’s face. “Is that so…”

It was then that Shang Qinghua belatedly remembered Yue Qingyuan’s own weird not-love not-hate relationship with Shen Qingqiu. Shit, was this hitting too close to home? Was Yue Qingyuan going to cry? They were supposed to be drinking to forget their problems, not remember them all in excruciatingly weepy drunk detail!

Quick, a distraction!

“Anyway!” Shang Qinghua said loudly. “Anyway!!! That’s why Sect Leader and Shibo need to fuck and that’ll solve all of our problems!”

This statement was audacious enough to make Yue Qingyuan blink, train of thought stopped in its tracks. “I don’t see how that would work.”

“Don’t you read any literature at all? It’s easy! Lock them in a room together! The smaller, the better! All that time alone, in such close contact, breathing the same air – the homoerotic tension will be through the roof. They won’t have any choice but to --”

“They’ll kill each other,” Yue Qingyuan said, awed.

“Haha, yeah, probably,” Shang Qinghua said.

Shang Qinghua was a realistic man. The world didn’t 100% work like a trashy novel. Sure, maybe a tiny enclosed space could net you a sloppy makeout, but that usually worked under the assumption that two people involved liked each other at least a little bit, even if that little bit was just lust. With Qiong Ding Peak Lord and Qing Jing Peak Lord… it was fun to talk about this, but sometimes hate was just hate, you know?

“That might be enough for them to strip both of us of our positions,” Yue Qingyuan said.

“That!” Shang Qinghua said, one finger aloft. “Is only if you get caught… not that the payoff is worth the risk of getting caught. I guess the only way this could kind of work is if you filled the entire area with spring medicine or something. That’d probably get them both too distracted to think about whodunnit, but...”

Yue Qingyuan looked disturbingly contemplative.

“Don’t poison your master with sex pollen, holy shit,” Shang Qinghua wheezed. “I shouldn’t have to say that. Don’t do that. Forget being demoted, we’ll die for that.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Yue Qingyuan said reproachfully. “But, hypothetically, for sect unity—”

“Like you could do it without getting caught!" Shang Qinghua exclaimed “I bet you’ve never poisoned anyone before in your life!”

“And you have?”

There was a long pause.

“...Shang-shidi.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

[beforetimes]

OKAY I am back (sorry). I woke myself up with another question about the Shizun!LBH/disciple!SQQ au. I tried jotting myself a note and going back to sleep, but.. yea here I am.

So! Yue Qingyuan. So far it seems to have been implied that all the peak lords except Shen Qingqiu are the same. Liu Qingge for instance was implied to have a friendship (frienemies maybe?) with Luo Binghe. And I can’t remember right now but I think I saw other peak lords mentions?? I could be wrong though. It’s 4am.

Anyway, so I was sitting here thinking about how Yue Qingyuan would probably still be Sect Leader in this au based on that knowledge. But with Shen Qingqiu as a disciple, that inserts a huge age gap there, which means the couldn’t have been slaves together as children and that whole shitshow wouldn’t have happened. This is a Yue Qingyuan who never met his Xiao Jiu in his formative years and failed in his promise to go back and save him. This is also a Yue Qingyuan who wouldn’t have rushed his cultivation and had his life tethered to his sword.

So either, this au rolls with an uber powerful Yue Qingyuan without broken cultivation, orrrr… we’re gonna have to break him some other way 😈

oh no how terrible 😈

Anyway suggestions for your perusal!! I was thinking it’d be interesting if Yue Qingyuan used to feed homeless children while out and about as a disciple. Before the previous Cang Qiong generation ascended, he used to wander around every once in a while as a sort of… short vacation from work. He went out to escape the weight of responsibility he had just for a quick breath before returning, and while out he’d stumble across kids that were hungry so he’d feed them what he could to help a little before going on his way.

And that’s where he meets Xiao Jiu, a feral little homeless child who’s rude and brutally honest and will absolutely bite if you get too close. Yue Qingyuan thinks he’s the cutest little thing he’s ever seen. He lets the child hang out with him every time he’s in town and the kid grows attached. Yue Qingyuan does too. He notices the kid has a knack for cultivation, teaches him a few small tricks, and promises that when he’s old enough, Yue Qingyuan will take him to his sect and Xiao Jiu can cultivate just like his Qi-ge.

At one point, when Yue Qingyuan is visiting the town, Luo Binghe, the head disciple of Qing Jing Peak, finds him and interrupts. Don’t know exactly how it plays out here, but I know one thing, Luo Binghe insults Shen Jiu and Shen Jiu never forgets and that man can hold a grudge.

Time passes and Yue Qingyuan ascension to Sect Leader is getting nearer and nearer and he’s around less and less the but he still finds the time to visit and see Xiao Jiu. But then, one day, Yue Qingyuan shows up and Xiao Jiu is gone. Yue Qingyuan looks everywhere, but can’t find him. All that’s left of him is some rumors about slavers.

Yue Qingyuan is horrified and angry and qi deviates. It damages him in ways that’ll never quite be fixed. He feels like a failure, and hates himself for it.

When he recovers, he tries to track Xiao Jiu for years. During that time, he quietly becomes the force behind many slave trading rings being dismantled, but he never finds Xiao Jiu. He becomes resigned to the inevitability that his Xiao Jiu died.

Until of course, one fateful day, at a disciple selection some years later, a scrawny, familiar looking teenager is digging away in the dirt aggressively. And all Yue Qingyuan can do is stare and stare and stare like he’s seen a ghost. And he numbly watches as Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe good naturedly squabble over who gets to take the kid, before a gloating Luo Binghe collects his Xiao Jiu and takes him back to Qing Jing to become a disciple there.

And all he can hear is a ringing in his ears. You’re supposed to be dead. You’re supposed to be dead. I mourned you. I mourned you I mourned you I mourned you I mourned you.

.

…yea so sorry I kinda went off again 🥸 but the thought of Yue Qingyuan and Luo Binghe paralleling their reactions to Shen Jiu/Shen Yuan had me in a chokehold and I blacked out and was possessed. My hand just kinda… slipped.

[link to og au here]

all fun stuff! yue qingyuan in this au.. hmmm i feel like he'd be a tough character to write in this setting. i imagine he would grow up a slave for a short period of time—i don't remember if this is fanon or not but i like the idea of shen jiu being the more calculated and trickster-like between the two of them. managing to get them out of tight squeezes that yue qingyuan couldn't quite do himself as a child in this verse.

i also think he would grow up more isolated. a lot more lonely. he doesn't have much of a driving force leading him to become a cultivator but once he escapes from whatever family has bought him, he doesn't really have anywhere else to go, either. he ends up at cang qiong mountain and is just. kind but distant from everyone. he doesn't quite know how to get close and even with lessons from his teacher, he's skilled at politics but stumbles around smalltalk like a baby deer on spindly legs. which is why he starts retreating to the marketplace, an area he's much more used to being in, to relax and remind himself, in a way, of how far he's come?

which is where he would meet xiao jiu, etc etc etc. i like the way you described their relationship here, and it makes sense! i think that xiao jiu would also be like, the first real human connection yue qingyuan's felt since clawing his way up the ranks of qiong ding peak slowly but surely. which might feel stupid to him, considering he's talking about a street child, but! yue qingyuan both sees himself in xiao jiu but also sees a diamond in the rough. so he does advise him on some meditation he could practice to get better, even if xiao jiu turns his nose up at it, and buys him food and all. luo binghe i think would see xiao jiu exactly once and not even remember meeting him a few years later when shen jiu comes up the mountain to earn his place in the sect.

and like! i do like the idea of yue qingyuan hearing rumours and doing this systematic dismantling of these slave rings but wouldn't it be just a hint more tragic if there wasn't even a word on the wind about it? just another street kid gone missing, no one's noticed and xiao jiu's been combatitive enough that none of the other people yue qingyuan speaks to now and then have bothered to keep tabs on him either. so he's left to think he's missing or dead.

and even if he did want to go looking for him! he's promoted to sect leader as the previous generation ascends shortly after. there are too many responsibilities for him to keep up with, securing their place with new leadership in all 12 peaks, and even though he desperately wants to go find xiao jiu, he just. can't.

which is where the qi deviation comes in. and generally growing distant from the rest of the peak lords similarly to how he was when he first came to the sect.

i think even when shen jiu does come back, he'd be glad he's alive but also keep a bit of distance. like, just to protect himself emotionally, almost. if this was the canon-verse it would be extremely out of character but here—? him and xiao jiu might have bonded but it was hardly to the extent that the canon characters did. imagine more a big brother, little brother sitatution that yue qingyuan steps back from because he doesn't want to bear the hurt of losing him again and he's luo binghe's student anyway so there's no reason to go over to qing jing peak all the time, especially when luo binghe's been getting more and more irritable and chases just about every peak lord away from his home when they come over even for a moment.

trying to figure out the issue of xuan su, though—hm. i'm not entirely sure what to do about that at the moment. i think the best thing i can turn over in my mind is, like. luo binghe, after his mother dies, ends up under wu yanzi's tutelage somehow. who brings him over to the immortal alliance conference that yue qingyuan is attending. there's a fight between the pair and luo binghe manages to throw off wu yanzi's thrall of command enough to fight back, but at that point some of the demonic cultivation techniques used screwed with the bond between yue qingyuan and xuan su?

so as luo binghe enters the sect, yue qingyuan has no choice but to split time between qian cao and the ling xi caves to recover. which gives a reason for luo binghe to have his classic protagonist backstory of being bullied before rising to acclaim—disciples on the peak upset with him for hurting yue qingyuan, their friendly shixiong and future sect leader.

hope this was a good read, lol. a lot of this is unpolished and i'll have to figure out the details of xuan su a bit later, i think.

masterpost

[phantomrose96]

just read before the birds sing. your repeated use of the word optimal really drives home how risk and conflict averse he is. he wants things predictable, he wants things stable, he wants control. as someone with anxiety i very much understood where he was coming from and also that without consequences he's just going to loop indefinitely rather than risk change. the alternative ending you considered where he moves to the next day only to loop that one near indefinitely IS how that would work for him if he moved. he has the option to deal with change the way you deal with messing up your sourdough starter if you had infinite flour, water and time, and nothing can stop him from taking it because literally nothing can.

(Before the Birds Sing)

Yeah!!!!

And actually, the origin of this idea was from an off-hand comment my friend made in a discord conversation about video game powers.

And it just immediately HOOKED me because. By god. There is no escape criteria. It's sure the typical formula for a timeloop story that the person trapped in the loop wants to get out.

And even when it's self-imposed, it's usually a like "my dearest loved one dies today, every time, and no matter how hard I try and how many times I try I fail to save them."

Like, this general assumption that the protagonist would rather this not be happening.

So I was absolutely compelled with the idea of like, playing a little trick with that assumption, crafting a timeloop narrative which you have no reason to doubt is a "Christophe is unwilfully trapped and is trying to escape this loop." And doing today "right" is the escape criteria, as the punishment for how badly he fucked up the first time he lived that day.

But No. No. He's trapped because he's trapped himself. Because he is a perfectionist--but really because he is highly anxious, highly prideful, quick to anger, which all combine and fester into this formula where he overreacts, hates himself for it, but can't apologize and move on. He'd rather everyone lose their memory of him fucking up so he can do it again in a way they approve of.

His whole loop, every time, is never about doing or saying what he actually thinks. It's just optimizing everyone's reaction to him. He just wants to bask in people's approval. He wants everyone to see him as perfect. And he can't achieve that living each day in the raw.

So instead he gets to live this day, perfectly, forever :)

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I write stories in horror genre. I've been wanting to incorporate more disabled characters in these, because I feel like they're really underrepresented in the genre except for either demonizing roles of antagonists, or a random victim who dies/is exploited for cheap shock because of their disability. One of the stories I'm working on has intellectually disabled protagonist/narrator. Are there any things you'd recommend to avoid in writing a character with ID in context of horror genre specifically?

Hey!

I have a few problems with ID characters in horror media. Two of the three biggest ones you've actually already covered in your ask, so I'll just add quick explanations for people not familiar with them.

First is the "big intellectually disabled man murders everyone", not even because he's evil or is seeking revenge or whatever, but because he "doesn't understand" that murder bad. It's absurdly insulting and writers don't seem to understand that a lot of real life cases where an ID man "committed" a brutal crime are a result of police manipulation and tricking them into "confessing", but that's a very long and frustrating topic.

Second one is the victim thing. Hardly exclusive to any minority, but with ID characters it often seems like they're the first of many victims and their death is usually ignored because who cares (granted, pretty realistic) until more people start dying and all that. Dogs tend to get more sympathy (also realistic).

Third thing that I hate is the "everything is normal... until the character is revealed to have mental [R word]! (scary music)". Generally in the sense that the situation seems completely fine, the protagonist has no actual traits of ID, but then at some point they find out they have ID (usually severe or profound, which is ridiculous in this context) and suddenly the actions of those around them are pretty clearly fucked up (the character is actually held hostage, kidnapped, about to be murdered, you get it). It uses intellectual disability as a shock factor and as some worst-case scenario nightmare fuel for abled people, even though the situation makes no sense (no, a profoundly ID person isn't going to be reading their medical records and find out this way) and wouldn't happen. It's insulting nonsense.

Another thing that is insensitive in my opinion is the institution/SPED setting. Definitely not because nothing evil happens in there (quite the opposite) but because the way it's usually treated is completely devoid of empathy and the actual victims are portrayed as animals almost (or not so almost). I'd just stray away from the extreme real-life abuse scenarios (abusive caregivers, borderline slavery "work"places, purposeful medical malpractice) that do actually happen if you don't have a lot of experience or aren't working with someone who does.

Last thing, kinda connected to the third, is to not make any bizarre connections between the disability and the horror. ID can make someone trust others more which could lead to a situation that's potentially Scary, but it doesn't have much to do with demons or the parents doing something fucked up before the person was born.

There are of course other things that are kinda tired, but not completely made-up. ID people are victims of crime way more often, that's a statistic that's been true since the dawn of time. But it doesn't mean that they won't fight back because they're disabled. I'd love to see a character who actually wins against the antagonist at some point (even if just for a moment, considering it's horror) - whether they're physically stronger, or know the place better so they get away, or manage to keep calm because they haven't realized they're in a dangerous situation, it would be awesome to see.

Some additional notes that might or might not apply depending on what kind of horror it is;

A lot of people with ID aren't going to be reacting to the regular horror stuff the same way as your average horror character might. They might not think much when they hear a Suspicious Sound and not go investigate it, or be too scared because it's an Unfamiliar Situation. What would be more realistic in a scenario like this is the ID character actually reaching out for help (depends on the settings what that would be); most of us get it drilled into our brain to listen to authority, so they would probably be calling the cops rather than going into the Scary Basement, even if just in the fear of not doing the thing you're supposed to.

In more of an eldritch horror setting where there is an incomprehensible Thing happening, a character with a significant intellectual disability literally has an advantage over abled people. It's just one of many incomprehensible things. Many of us are simply used to ignoring things that don't make sense since the majority of people don't have the patience to explain things in a way that's actually helpful.

It'd be also cool for the ID character to actually have a goal, objective, or whatever else to drive them forward and have some development. Whether that would be the desire to find out who murdered their ex-husband, or why the sink has blood instead of water, or just to survive the voyage, basically anything other than just standing there only experiencing things when some abled savior shows up and tells them how to feel and what to do (both bad for an ID character but also just a poorly written protagonist of any kind).

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[arabellasleopardcoat]

You wouldn’t believe the things I have done for her (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.

A/N: Do not try this at home. Requested by the lovely @avalyaaa I am sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to give your request the attention it deserved.

Warnings: Smut. Mafia! Daemon. Gun kink. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH: GUN KINK. Slight degradation.

You sit quietly in the back of the car. In the front seat sits Harwin, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He is bored. You can tell by the way he keeps fiddling with things. Changing the radio station, messing with the AC.

Harwin probably misses his old work. It’s not like Daemon needs a bodyguard or a driver. You know it’s more for your protection than his. And while Harwin is no stranger to guarding people who don’t need his protection, you bet the fact that Rhaenyra was fucking him made the prospect much more agreeable.

The AC gets turned off again. You would scold him for it, were it not for the fact you are deadly bored yourself. Daemon’s quick meeting has turned into an hour long one, and you have been instructed to not step out of the car. The only entertainment you have is your phone, and you can only scroll through so many TikToks before wanting to claw your own eyes out.

Instead of continuing to refresh your For you page, you turn your attention back to obsessing over your conversation with Daemon. The shame from your stupidity makes your cheeks heat up.

“I don’t trust them.” Daemon had said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He often avoided kissing you in the lips whenever you were close to his associates. As if not kissing you could trick them into thinking you were not relevant and convince them not to target you. “They are…. Not the most respectful with women.”

“You don’t trust me, you mean. To handle myself.” And by the Seven, it had even sounded bratty to your ears. You had not meant it like that at all. You had only wanted him to stop using that shitty excuse.

There were women who attended these meetings. You knew it. Hell, you had even met them. And these weren’t sex workers or strippers. These were women who held high positions in the organization. Rhaenyra, who was going to inherit it one day. Mysaria, who ran an informant network. Even Alicent pitched in from time to time. You were tired of being lied to. Sometimes, you craved the more normal boyfriend experience.

“I trust you. I don’t trust them.” Daemon had chuckled at your pout, and given you a pat in the head. “Behave.”

It had felt so dismissive. So humiliating. As if you were a child and not an actual grown woman. You hated arguing with Daemon. There was something about his tone, or his attitude, you were not sure which, that made him sound forever condescending.

You supposed inherited wealth was like that. The Targaryens had been running their schemes for nearly six generations by now. They were royalty by modern standards, even when you didn’t know about their more shady dealings.

It was no use, being upset over it. Daemon was too set in his ways to change. You needed to find a way around your problem, instead of charging right into it. But nothing comes to you at this moment, so you unlock your phone and continue your scrolling.

You save a few recipes you want to try, and like some pet videos. You are thinking of asking Daemon to adopt a puppy. A small breed would suit your apartment better, but you know Daemon. He will probably want the most intimidating dog he can get his hands on. A big, scary doberman could be something you could get behind. You had been feeling unsafe as of late.

A sudden, loud noise makes you jerk on your seat. You start to ask Harwin what’s wrong, but you don’t manage to even form the words. It's happening too fast.

“Get on your knees and do not get up until I say!” Harwin shouts. You do not need further explanations, understanding something is really wrong. You fall into the floor of the car with such haste that your phone is sent flying under the seat.

“…. Whisk the butter and the sugar…” You try to reach for it, but the space is too cramped, and suddenly the car is moving, throwing the phone around. Your knees throb from dropping yourself from the seat too hard, and you try to focus on that and not the way your heart feels like it’s in your throat. A gunshot, you realize. A gunshot. You should be used to them by now, but you still feel afraid.

Harwin drives fast and efficiently. It’s two full blocks before he orders you to get up again. You do so, legs shaking. There is a wet feeling on your knee. Blood. You had scrapped it when you threw yourself on the ground.

“What happened?” You ask him, smoothing your clothes down. Now that your panic isn’t as intense, you feel a pang of guilt. Daemon. Seven Hells, you had left him back there. “Daemon?”

Despite knowing that Harwin’s orders are first and foremost getting you out of danger, you can’t help but feel guilty. You had not even thought to worry about him. He is probably fine, considering the place was filled with Targaryens. He is also more than capable of handling himself. But to be so blinded by your fear that you did not even think of him���

“I got no fucking clue.” He asks, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “I’ll call Daemon, alright?”

“Yeah.” You say, quietly. You grab the seat’s edge and squeeze, as if you could will Daemon to your side by frustration alone. Harwin dials.

“Yeah, we are fine.” Harwin says, smiling at you through the mirror. You know he wouldn’t be so casual if something bad had happened, and so, you give him a thumbs up. Your guilt eases a bit, being replaced by relief. “She is fine, just a bit shaken up.” And he rolls his eyes because Daemon can be a bit overbearing.

“Just trouble with an errand guy.” Harwin explains, once the call is over. “He should be here soon.”

But despite how casual they made it sound, you couldn’t shake the fear and guilt away. It stayed on your mind, nestled like a worm, curling around your brain and threatening to choke it. When the night comes, and Daemon sleeps peacefully by your side, you still think of it. Of how you could die, and he could too. And there wouldn’t be a thing to be done.

You sit up on your side of the bed, letting the sheet pool around your waist. You hug your knees to your chest. The night is chilly, and the blackout curtains Daemon insists on having to ensure the room is pitch black. It only serves to disquiet you further.

There is a gun on Daemon’s nightstand. Should there be one in yours? His work is dangerous enough to warrant it. Enough to warrant you having a bodyguard, why not a weapon of your own?

You weren’t going to let him die. Nor were you going to leave him behind, like today. This was the twenty-first century, not the Middle Ages. You were tired of cowering back and acting the damsel in distress. If someone is going to try to hurt the man you love, you sure will fight back.

Daemon was yours. As much as you were his, and so, it wasn’t fair that only he protected you. You needed to be able to have his back, or at least, not be a distraction in a fight.

Your decision is not just something you can communicate to Daemon, though. He is not going to like it. You know him. Daemon is a bit old-fashioned like that. He likes gender roles a little too much for it. He is your protector and provider, and you are supposed to just be sweet and warm. The thought of you using a gun will probably cause him a heart attack.

And the thing is, Daemon doesn’t just style himself your protector. He does an outstanding job of it. He has managed to keep you away from the nastier side of his business. Never have you seen a dead body, or any of his associates beyond his family. So if you hope to achieve this, you need to be smart about it.

You decide you will tell him first thing in the morning when he is barely awake. He will be more susceptible that way. And happy with your plan, you finally manage to catch a few hours of sleep.

The next morning, you get started making breakfast with only one thing in mind. Convincing Daemon. You are barefoot, wearing only one of his shirts. It’s basic manipulation, and he will probably able to tell, but you hope it will soften him to your cause.

It’s when you are scrambling the eggs that he emerges, lured by the smell of fried bacon and a fresh pot of tea. Daemon wraps himself around you, still warm with sleep.

“Morning, love.” His voice is still a bit hoarse with sleep. He nuzzles your neck and hums, pleased. “Couldn’t I convince you to come back to bed?”

You laugh.

“Not really. The eggs are almost done.” You take the pan off the stove, letting it cool. “I would like to learn how to shoot.”

Daemon stiffens. You can feel him pull back from you. It’s not a physical thing, his arms remain wrapped around your waist, but his voice becomes colder and meaner. He is fully awake now.

“And why, in the Seven Hells, would you need to learn?”

“To feel safer.” You answer, keeping your tone steady.

“Do you not feel safe already? I could hire you another bodyguard.” Daemon hugs you slightly tighter. You lean into the counter a little bit, and sigh. Then, you detangle yourself from him.

“I don’t want a bodyguard. I need to learn how to shoot.” You state again, calmly. You turn to look at him. He looks more annoyed than angry.

“Sweetheart. You know that is not the best idea.” Daemon pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Why not?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“You are sensitive. You cry when animals die in movies.” He complains, stepping a bit closer to you. Daemon pours you a cup of tea and plates the eggs. “Go sit. I’ll wrap this up.”

You give him a sullen look but obey, watching him cut and toast the bread just in the way you like. You sit by the kitchen’s island, watching him work. Daemon is only wearing his underwear. You don’t think he owns something that resembles pajamas. Targaryens always run hot, or so they say.

Disappointing yourself, you let yourself be distracted by the view. You watch the muscles on his back shift and move as he finishes breakfast for you. You are mesmerized by the elegance of his every movement.

He is delicious, you think to yourself. You want to climb him like a tree. Despite the slight age difference, Daemon is more handsome than other men you have met. He is a bit vain, sure, but his efforts are worth it.

It’s only after he sits next to you that you remember what you were doing. You blame it on the lack of sleep.

“So?”

“You are my woman. It’s my duty to protect you. I’ll keep you safe.” Daemon rubs your shoulders, comfortingly. His voice sounds apologetic, a denial despite the soft tone he is using. “You know I keep you well away from danger.”

And he does. Not only Harwin and him have talked protocols, but Daemon has also ensured you would be protected even in the event of his death or imprisonment. You have numerous properties to your name, a few fake passports and three hidden bank accounts in different tax havens. None of which would be taken away if the two of you break up, Daemon has clearly stated. He loves you enough to want you to be protected even if you don’t love him anymore.

“I don’t like being powerless.”

“I seem to remember you do.” He squeezes your thigh, playfully. Your breath shifts despite yourself. You cover it by taking a sip of your tea and leveling a faux glare at him.

“I know.” Daemon kisses your nose. “I like that you don’t know how to shoot. That you are clean from this world.”

“It won’t sully me.” You argue because it’s a silly thing to think. It’s not like you are going to start shooting people or running illegal gambling rings. You just want to be able to defend yourself if something happens. And perhaps Daemon. If he doesn't feel too emasculated, this ridiculous man of yours.

“If I wanted a woman who knew how to shoot I would still be with Rhaenyra.” He complains.

“Plenty of women know how. I am not…” You rub at your eyes, tiredly. You want him to understand nothing is going to change between the two of you. “I do not want to go to your stupid meetings or meet your associates for dinner. I just want to know how to defend myself if something happens.”

“And I am saying you don’t need to because nothing is going to happen.” Daemon’s voice turns firmer. Now you can tell he is beginning to get angry, so you reach for his hand and squeeze.

“But if it does? If one night we wake up and there is a gun to our faces? Then what? Do I just let you die for me?” You allow your voice to break in the last part, letting him truly see your anguish. It is a fear of you that has lived on too long. You need this. You need to be able to defend both of you if something happens.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

It gets you to the firing range. Daemon takes you there in the middle of the week, hoping to inconvenience the least amount of people with him booking the entire place.

Your first impression of it is that it’s nothing like in the movies. There are neat little booths with circular targets instead of human shaped ones. You had expected only utilitarian decoration, harsh white lighting and white walls. Instead, the place looks well maintained and expensive. You should have expected so, considering this is Daemon you are talking about.

“Your first lesson…” Daemon says, eyeing you distrustfully. You stare right back at him. “Will be on safety.”

He takes two bulletproof vests out of a hanger, as well two pairs of earmuffs.

“These are protection gear, meant to be used each time you are practicing. And hopefully…” Daemon passes the bulletproof vest over your head. You let him do so, lifting your arms when he instructs you. The vest is heavier than you expect, and more solid too. It feels like what you wear when you are getting an x-ray. “You will use the vest too if you ever fire a gun outside here.”

“And not the earmuffs?”

“You should wear them to protect your ears, especially if you are firing many rounds. But you never see people wearing these because they are heavy-duty protection. In a real fight, you wouldn’t be able to hear your surroundings. Gunshots are pretty loud. So are gunfights.”

“Is that why you are losing your hearing?” You sass, with a grin. “I thought it was just your old age.”

“Oh, shut up. Little brat.” Daemon smacks your ass, playful. It doesn’t even hurt, but you jump and squeal in faux outrage. He laughs at your antics, and it does make you feel better about forcing him to teach you this.

“Should we do the whole…?” You gesture vaguely, trying to reference the classical movie or book montage where the female lead and the love interest stand very close, under the excuse to fix her posture. Daemon shakes his head.

“What is even that?” You would call him an old man for missing your reference, but you know he is sensitive about his age. Besides, you are not a great mime either. “No. You are going to stand with your legs and shoulders the same width apart and a proper posture. No slouching!”

“You know, not all of us grew up with a tutor chasing us and screaming for proper posture.” You grumble, but comply with his orders.

“Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t need all those Pilates and Yoga classes you so enjoy.” Daemon argues right back. He circles you and pushes a bit at your hips. You try to loosen them. “Perhaps my cards would not explode then.”

“Shut up. It’s not like you don’t reap the benefits.”

Your good humor disappears when Daemon places a gun on the counter in front of you. You go quiet, suddenly unsure of your choice. He shows you how to charge it and how to put the safety on and off. You pay him all of your attention, feeling a bit numb. Most of the details about it fly over your head, despite your attempts to memorize them.

“Alright. I think you are ready for your first try.” Daemon says, handing you the gun. You grab it with trembling hands. You adjust your stance and ensure the muzzle is pointing down, and that you are not gesturing wildly with it. He puts your earmuffs on, and then his.

The world around you feels muffled. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, with how silent everything is. The gun in your hands is throwing you off. It looks odd. These can’t be your hands. You feel like you are not actually there, but watching the scene unfold from outside, watching someone else about to shoot.

Daemon adjusts your grip with his hands, casual about his proximity to the loaded weapon. You stiffen as soon as you feel him approach you, worried about accidentally shooting him.

“Come on.” He mouths, impatiently. You lift the gun, take the safety off, and aim. You pull the trigger, and it is with an awful noise and jerk, that you fire for the first time. The shot goes wide, hitting the wall next to the target.

Daemon taps your shoulder and gestures for you to go again. He watches your every move. His expression betrays nothing. If you are going at it the wrong way, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You repeat the motion, flinching at the noise. Even with the earmuffs it’s loud. It reminds you of that day in the alley, and makes your stomach clench. Daemon signals for you to put the gun down, and you do so, glad that it’s over. You can’t believe you thought you could actually do this. You feel so stupid. He was right, you are too soft.

Daemon can probably tell you are getting too in your head. He removes your earmuffs and pulls you in for a hug. The vests make it awkward, but you feel comforted by his solidness next to you.

“You did great, sweetheart.” He lies, and kisses your temple. You feel so disappointed you could cry. A laugh bubbles out of you, a bit hysterical.

Daemon tsks. He reaches for the gun and deftly discharges it.

“Come on.” He says, kissing your cheek. “I know what your problem is.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, a bit doubtful. You don’t want to feel any sort of hope, just in case that he is mistaken. Giving up so easily might be childish, yet you had not expected this to be so hard. After all, like half the people that Daemon knew could do it.

“You have to learn to love the gun.” He places it back on your hand and steps up behind you. It seems like you are doing the movie thing after all. He kicks your legs a bit, encouraging you to shift your stance.

“Love the gun?”

“You keep looking at it like it’s a weapon of mass destruction.” Daemon laughs, and mouths along your nape. You shiver. It’s an almost Pavlovian reaction by now. When Daemon’s voice gets all low and husky, and he holds you like that, your body knows it’s time for sex. It’s very inappropriate. But conditioned as you are, you can’t stop the throb of arousal between your thighs. “Stop looking like you are horrified by it.”

He fixes your grip around the gun. He steadies your hand.

“Shoot.”

You obey, pulling the trigger. The gun clicks, but nothing happens. It’s unloaded.

“Good.” Daemon says, and lightly bites your shoulder. “Again.”

You repeat the motion. He has you do it over and over again, until you no longer flinch when pulling the trigger. When you are fully desensitized to the sound, Daemon takes the gun from you.

“Great job.” He says, placing the gun right on your face. “Now kiss it.”

“Excuse me?” You stare at Daemon, sure that he must be joking. Kissing the gun? No way. But one look at his face, at the amused curve of his lips, and the mischievous glint in his eyes, tell you that he is serious.

“You heard me.” Daemon chuckles, a bit darkly. You understand then that this is both for his amusement and a punishment. He gets off on humiliating others, that you know. And he had not liked that you had forced him into giving you shooting lessons. He now intends to bring you down a few pegs. “Kiss the barrel.”

You scrunch up your face. You got your pride, too. Despite knowing that submitting to his whims is easy and will probably pacify him for a while, you can’t help but resist. Your whole body rebels at the idea of accepting such an obvious power play.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You owe me.” Daemon tilts your head up, placing a finger under your chin. He makes a show of cooing over your pout, before leaning in to kiss you.

“I don’t!” You move your head away, denying him. It’s a bit cruel, and it makes him frown, which you consider a win.

“You so do. I didn’t want to teach you, you know. At least give me good jerk off material.” He pouts at you, and you can’t help but smile a little. He is ridiculous.

It is part of why you love him. Daemon is young in spirit, if not in body, and he makes you feel younger too. Giddy and willing to do silly things. Silly things like leaning in and kissing the barrel of a gun.

The metal is cold under your lips, hard and unyielding. Daemon makes a pleased noise and pulls you in for a kiss. You can feel him smile against your mouth, before trying to deepen it. Playfully, you nip at him, until it is him who yields and opens up for you.

It is then that he presses the cold barrel against your nape. The feeling of the gun against your skin makes you tense and jerk, giving him once again the upper hand. With the control of the kiss back in his hands, he pulls you closer.

You feel yourself slowly starting to become aroused. One of Daemon’s hands finds your hip, squeezing the flesh there. His gesture is both possessive and greedy. Something swoops in your belly, dark and demanding. You want all his attention on you, you want him all for you.

Making out with Daemon is a full-bodied experience. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, that he starts to gently run the muzzle of the gun down your neck. At first, you don’t notice, too caught up on how close both of you are. Your chest is flush against his, and the feeling of his body against yours makes you whimper, before you realize what game is he playing.

“Daemon.” You warn, annoyed. He gives you a shit eating grin.

“I am just getting the two of you better acquainted. My best girls.” Daemon leans in and kisses behind your ear. He takes his time, making out with the shell of it. He is cautious to do all the right things to make you tremble against him. Yet, you can’t seem to forget about the gun, running down your sternum, between your breasts.

The muzzle gets caught against your clothes. Daemon uses it to push one of the sleeves of your top a little aside, to be able to lavish the skin there with kisses. You only feel the metal against your skin for a second, but it makes you think about how it would feel against your naked skin. Would the cold make your hairs stand up on edge, and your nipples pebble? Or would it warm up to your temperature?

The thought makes your breath hitch, and your panties even wetter.

“There is no one here.” You say, quietly. “If you were to take off my shirt…”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Daemon grins, encouraging you to lean against the counter of the firing range. “You devious little thing.”

He drops to his knees in front of you, carefully taking your clothing off. You watch him move between your legs, helping you widen your stance. Daemon kisses a path from your ankles towards your knees, mouthing along as if having the finest of banquets. His kisses feel scorching against your skin, and you can’t help but jut your hips slightly, trying to command him into touching you.

Daemon smiles at you, cheekily. He then bites your inner thighs, scratching just enough to make you arch in pleasure-pain. When you are just about to hike one of your legs over his shoulder, he sucks your clit inside his mouth, and it’s then that you feel it. The cold barrel of the gun, pressing along your inner thighs.

You moan. Daemon laughs.

“You little whore.” It sounds fond. He eats you out without any finesse, slurping noisily. The thought of anyone else being able to overhear this makes you embarrassed, so you try to keep quiet. Your eyes close, hands squeezing around the edge of the counter.

Daemon is not trying to bring you any pleasure. His movements and touches are too methodical for it. He presses a finger inside your hole, then another. Then it is scissoring them and shushing you with soft licks to your clit when you complain at the slight sting.

Any pleasure you get out of it is incidental. Instead, Daemon is getting you ready for something. And this time, you know it’s not his cock. The thought fills you with dread and arousement in equal parts. How will it feel? Metal doesn’t give the same way flesh does. But the thought of having a gun, Daemon's, inside you, makes your hips jerk.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He pulls away, reappearing from between your legs. “Fuck. I don’t know if I want to see your face or your greedy little hole when I put it inside.”

You look at him. His hair is sticking up in all directions, but his smile is absolutely ferocious.

“My face. Just in case…” You reach for his shoulder and squeeze, gently. Despite how arousing you think the whole thing is, you are still hesitant. Sometimes, things don’t feel as you imagine they would. You don’t want this to be disappointing.

Daemon seems to understand, despite the fact that you don’t verbalize it.

“I’ll talk you through it.” He says, kindly. He then spreads your folds a little and presses the tip of the gun against your hole.

You yelp. Your grip on his shoulder turns punishing. It feels pleasant, as penetration often does, but there is a foreign quality to it as well. The gun is wide, and metal doesn’t give as flesh does. You feel as if you are rooted tp the spot by it, being impaled with each inch Daemon presses inside you.

“You are doing so well. Good girl. My little girl.” He presses a kiss to your stomach. He keeps rubbing at your clit until you relax around the barrel. It’s only then that he attempts to fuck you with it. You clench at his shoulders, overwhelmed, and moan.

It’s confusing. The ridges of it feel good, catching against your hole. The metal slowly starts to warm up, not feeling as strange as before. Daemon keeps steadily sucking your clit.

The pleasure builds. So does your need. You start to move your hips along with his thrusting, trying your best to reach your orgasm. So of course, Daemon pulls away from your clit.

“You are taking it so well.” Daemon praises, voice husky with desire. “Your pussy swallows the gun right up.”

You moan, almost without realizing. You are so close it itches. But moving your hips up and down isn’t enough. You need more.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, near tears. Never before have you been this frustrated.

“Who would have known? You are such a hungry little whore.” Daemon smirks. The crudeness of his words makes you gasp. You feel smaller than you have ever felt, yet somehow, it makes you feel deliciously dirty. He is not wrong. It’s embarrassing, how you are humping the gun he holds, but you can’t stop. “You don’t think, you are so desperate you would fuck anything. Do anything, just to fill your greedy holes.”

“Please. Fuck.” You sob. Daemon licks his thumb and starts rubbing your poor, abused clit. He keeps fucking you with the gun, building you up and up, towards the orgasm you so desperately crave. You come with a scream so loud, you thank he has booked the whole place for only yourselves.

Turns out, you don’t hate guns as much as you thought.

[rjalker]

Flatland: An Adventure in Many Dimensions, a 2024 translation into casual English, is done!

You can read and download it completely 100% for free on the Internet Archive!

When it's done loading, you will be able to read it directly online, and the Internet Archive will automatically generate audiobook versions with text to speech.

You can also download and torrent various versions as PDFs, epubs, and editable documents so you can change the font, paragraph styles, and do anything else you want with it, like give everyone neopronouns or turn them into unicorns!

I will also be making my own audiobook version at some point. but that's gonna take a while since this is around 38,000 words long. You can make your own too! And you can translate this into other languages!

Edit: The "lazy" (unedited) audiobook is now available on youtube! It is in two videos, since my computer wouldn't let me combine them lol.

“https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpFcEwm88RUsMYmhY6DBYZcIvvKv6_ZS3”

Did I mention this is public domain? Because I hate capitalism and I'm poor and I want other people to also be able to enjoy books for free.

Buy the cheapest possible print version for $7.45 (I get $2).

This version is a paperback with no illustrations, no prefaces, a greyscale cover to make it as cheap to print as possible, so that more people can afford to buy it.

Buy the regular print version for $22.17 (I get $5).

This version is a hardpack with illustrations, the preface from the original author, and one from me.

You can also download all the HD illustrations included in this story here on the Internet Archive.

If you enjoy reading it, you can also donate directly to "TinyelFlatland" on paypal!

And if I haven't made it clear yet, this is Public Domain. You are 1million% encouraged to download it, print it, share it, do literally anything you want with it. I am 100% serious.

Now you can all join me in laughing at the narrator :)

Edit: oh wait lol. I realize I wrote this post assuming only people who already know what Flatland is will see it.

Uh so people who have no clue what Flatland is, here's a quick summary:

The narrator, who hides his identity using the alias "A. Square", is a resident of a world called Flatland, a world that only exists in two dimensions, where every person is a flat geometric shape. A. Square tells us the history and culture of his world, which is rife with bigotry that he buys into without question. Until New Year's Eve, before the first day of the year 2000, when a mysterious stranger claiming to come from the third dimension appears in his living room, and starts saying things that sound absurd, and performing what seem like magic tricks.

The original Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, was published in 1884 by Edwin Abbot Abbot. It is both a scathing political satire criticizing the systems of bigotry in Victorian England, and an entertaining introduction to the concept of more than three dimensions.

Edit: Now there's an itch.io page too!

Edit again: And you can read it here on tumblr now! @flatland-a-2024-translation and on Pillowfort!

[xenosagaepisodeone]

supersize me is incredible in how potently hateful it is. it's as if the pop culture wasteland of the 2000s suffocated spurlock's brain to the point where whatever synapses that hadn't shriveled up were only left capable of firing off the same demand to keep punching down at all costs that every halfwit with access to cable news and a desire to 'tell it how it is' seemed to have been afflicted with. everyone knows the methodology in this doc is bunk, but what's missing from the conversation is how this film is another artifact of antagonizing incurious dipshit libertarian smarming about how the sheepish masses cannot just simply get with the program and be better. "americans are fat fat fat fat so fucking fat and they love it so much that they'll let their kids eat the same slop that they serve in prison" "wait, back up. the same apparatus that provides elementary school lunches also supplies prison food? and you're saying the cost of healthier food isn't all that much more? is there anything here worth looking into further?" "no. but have this clip of this random guy talking about how we should heckle fat people like how we heckle smokers". what made this film notable for its time was how it was less focused on how being fat makes you look (which isn't to say that isn't still a huge component of it. because it is. and spurlock has endless shots of strangers with their faces blurred out to emphasize this), but the alleged deterioration of lifestyle, values and vitality that comes with the depletion of one's physical health. that is to say, the film is arguing that failing to live a regimented lifestyle causes one to fall into a state of moral decay. this is the buried lede, because ultimately this film is actually-actually about an alcoholic externalizing the complex he has towards his own lack of self control onto fat people.

it is no wonder why elementary school health teachers in the aughts were quick to deploy it in classrooms at the same rate they did photos of STIs in place of actual sex ed. the imagery of this greasy motherfucker throwing up in his car is meant to serve the same purpose in telling kids that this is what happens when they can't control themselves. when a corporation is blamed for something, it's only inasmuch as it enables people to be dumb and fat. spurlock points out how mcdonald's predatory advertising normalizes it's products in places it should not be (hospitals in particular), which you think would warrant further discussion- but in line with pushing responsibility onto the role of the individual, this is framed as merely mcdonalds tricking customers instead of actively encroaching on their way of life via invading media and legislature. no, the real villains are cafeteria lunch ladies, who are not instilling discipline in your children unlike National Weight Loss Hero Jared Fogle, who educates children around the world. one can only imagine that spurlock's libertarian values compel him to feel a sense of kinship.

the funniest part of this film was the one doctor who seemed to know that he was bullshitting about not having any drinking habits but doesn't want to be up front about confronting him. at first he comments on how how spurlock's liver resembles one belonging to someone engaged in long term alcohol abuse, and then later in the film he gives some generic lip service in response to spurlock's report like 'well, i wouldn't think that fast food and liver health are connected, but your report seems to indicate otherwise' before cutting straight to "whatever you're doing, stop pickling your liver". also at another point spurlock goes "lunch time" and there's a hard cut to some fat mcdonalds employees and he's trying so hard to evoke disgust with all of these shots but my response to these baddies is just "zamn looks like they got dinner and dessert too 🥵🥵💦💦💦💦💦💦💦"

but anyway

[pearlsinmyhair]

⚔︎⊹ ࣪ MODERN!MIZU HEADCANONS

i had to write something for her- i was itching. headcanons are always kinda scary for me so i hope you like them

anyways: very light on x reader, with general mentions of mizu having a partner. that being said, no nsfw (for this one).

real quick! : i use she/her pronouns for mizu in this. if this is triggering for you, which i completely understand if it is, then please don’t proceed.

≈ she most definitely owns a cat. mizu is one of those pet owners whose animals reflect their personalities. her cat will tolerate some and scamper away from the rest of those who dare try to pet them. the feline avoids taigen, is chill with akemi, and pretends to hate ringo (she purrs as soon as he walks into her apartment, but she does so with a grumpy face).

≈ surprisingly, the fur baby let you scratch her under her chin when you first came over- which, believe me, mizu noted.

≈ has a butterfly knife.

≈ can do extremely elaborate tricks with it -are we surprised-

≈ one time taigen tried to copy her and it ended with him slicing a finger open and almost flinging the knife into his face.

≈ there’s a blood stain on the rug in mizu’s living room, and whenever taigen brags she’ll just silently point at it to humble his ass.

≈ also has a fish. specifically a beta fish. they’re solitary and will fight others if kept together, and i think mizu would find some kind of kinship with a little angry beta fish.

≈ no, her cat doesn’t try to eat her fish. everyone is convinced that the three beings in the mizu household can read each others minds.

≈ this idea isn’t squashed when you eventually move in, because three simply becomes four, and you all move around each other and communicate perfectly without so much as a look. it’s freaky, and taigen, akemi, and ringo will watch them in silence trying to figure it out.

≈ she wears those giant bermuda-cut jean shorts. akemi hates them, which just makes mizu love them more. she loves seeing her face scrunch up with disgust when they meet up.

≈ gym girlie gym girlie gym girly-

≈ girl’s got a snatched waist, it’s not faaaaiiiirrrr-

≈ definitely has tattoos, and everyone of them is meaningful. there’s a teeny tiny pheonix at the nape of her neck, a dagger on her ankle for swordfather, and a Hokusai wave trailing down her bicep that she gets extended every now and again.

≈ speaking of the wave tattoo, mizu has a deep seated love for the ocean. as in, she’ll never tell anyone outright, but if the group is anywhere near the beach for the day, mizu disappears. they find her via taigen (he has her location under the guise of knowing where to find her body if she gets killed), and she’s waist deep in the waves, just kinda meditating.

≈ she doesn’t get visually cold. like, cmon, sis was wandering around in the snow and sporting a little red nose. she doesn’t complain, doesn’t shiver, and her teeth don’t chatter.

≈ that is, unless you’re close to her.

≈ she’ll allow herself to be babied after putting up a fight (ahem ringo) but a bitch will melt if you fret over her.

≈ factory reset when you try to warm her hands up by cupping them in yours and breathing on them.

≈ taigen will gag if you both show pda, and mizu will threaten death.

≈ this woman has enviable fashion sense. off duty model vibes, even though she’s not trying.

≈ favors baggy clothes, and likes a more androgynous appearance.

≈ that being said, the eyeliner on her slays. just as sharp as her sword, and she’s got ariana grande skills when it comes to applying it.

≈ rbf all the way. most people think she hates them (she does, but she’ll never confirm it) because her default expression is stern.

≈ i think she’d wear rings. all kinds- she likes to twist them when she’s thinking.

≈ if she were to go to college, i feel like she’d pursue some kind of history degree or art history and specify in either japanese military history or traditional art (im projecting-)

i’m actually fighting fear to post these-

[astheforcewillsit]

(anyway wrote my post-war codywan fic where gets to find himself and be debrainwashed while coming to terms with the role Obi-Wan/Jedi-Order played in the enslavement of his brothers with a happy ending)

Working Pains Summary: It has been two years since the Clone Wars ended. Two years since Cody has had a proper conversation with his General. But in between extensive therapy, deconditioning, and learning to be an actual person, Cody doesn't know where Obi-Wan Kenobi fits in that.

(Un)fortunately, when a Jedi led peace treaty with former Separatist territories fails spectacularly, Cody gets the opportunity to close up loose ends.

or

Obi-Wan almost dies, and predictably Cody finds himself by his side.

----

Fox is waiting for him when he gets to the hospital. And Force is the place a mess. 

To put it mildly, the hospital waiting room is a complete shit show. To put it accurately, Cody hasn’t seen chaos like this since he was in a medical wing during the clone wars.  Behind the reception, doctors run like fire licks their feet through the halls, rubber soles squeaking against polished floors.  Nurses call out orders like commanders on the battlefield, shouts slicing through the disorder in the waiting room. Droids console families who sit helplessly to hear the news of their loved ones. 

(Cody fights the innate urge to help. But he’s not that man anymore.)

The Clone Wars may be over, but Cody hasn't moved on enough to let droids hold his hand while he cries. Not just any droid, after least.

Instead Fox sits beside him, briefing–telling him what news he's heard.

A surprise attack in hyperspace. Over a thousand dead, more injured. A Jedi led peace attempt in former Separatist territory that turned bad real quick. Tale as Old as fucking Time, and if Cody’s heart wasn't beating in his throat, he would have chuckled.

And the icing on the cake–the failure was led by none other than Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

(He remembers where he was and who was with when Fox had commed him just that name three hours ago. Laying in bed against Rex as they watched a holo about loth cats, Boil asleep on the opposite chair. Jesse the most awake of them all, texting back and forth with someone on his datapad. 

He remembers how the mention of his former General had been enough to take him from the Company of his brothers, brothers who had held his hand through hours of therapy, through the realization that he had been brainwashed and used. 

That he had fought for a Republic who used him and abused him, and that the Jedi had led them still. That Obi-Wan had done little to save him.  They had been there as he came to that ugly, painful revelation. They had been there with him as he put space between himself and the Master. 

And yet, the last he saw of them was the disappointment when he threw caution to the wind to come to said Jedi’s side. Force, he hoped they didn’t hate him after this.)

Who is supposedly amongst the injured. 

This is supposedly one of the better hospitals, though. In a higher, more affluent level of Coruscant. Fox has assured him of this.  Still it begs the question-

“Why not the temple? Wouldn’t they know how to help him?” It’s been an hour and Cody is tired of sitting. 

He stands, arms crossed as he begins to pace.  Across the room a woman screams, her shrills erupting into inconsolable sobs. Both Fox and Cody wince. It hurts them all particularly more than a human woman would. Kel Dor have a knack for doing that. 

 Clearly the medical droid is not doing its job. 

“Overwhelmed,” Fox supplies, chipped, “Kenobi was awake enough to request that the more injured be taken to the Temple–Jedi and non-Jedi alike. The Temple obliged”.

Cody wants to scream. It was clearly a ruse.  The man was certainly the most injured of them all. How could they not see it? Two years apart from Obi-Wan and Cody could pick out his General’s tricks blindfolded. Did they know how many times he insisted his men be treated before him? How many times he’d lie to the 212th medics about his injuries just so the clones were being treated first?

Obi-Wan would give his blood to an orphanage if he was bleeding out. 

“He'll be okay, Cody.” Fox is meticulously calm, as if sensing Cody’s distress.  It's been practiced. Fox two years ago would have lost his absolute shit. Quinlan Vos was on the mission too. 

“If I were with him, he'd…” he breathes in deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. Old habits die hard. Conditioning even harder. 

He is not the Jedi’s or the Republic. He made that clear when he left GAR. When he distanced himself Obi-Wan. 

That chapter has been long closed. And therapy made him realize just how fucked up his head was. Marshall Commander Cody, the most fucked up of them all. The most loyal.

Finding himself after that involved time with his brothers. And consequently, his relationship with Obi-Wan had suffered. 

And Obi-Wan had been very sparse in reaching out to his men after. At least Cody. He'd put up his walls, fallen into the mold of the perfect “Jedi Master”, lack of attachments and all.

(If the clones felt the Jedi used them, maybe the Jedi felt the clones tainted them. Weapons that drew them to the Dark Side. Maybe the feelings was mutual. Or maybe that’s how Kenobi was before the war). 

“The desk is clear,” Fox indicates to the clerk, who runs a hand through her tight curls, “Let’s go.” 

Cody wastes no time in crossing the distance between the vast space of the desk and the clerk.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,”  he manages before she can even collect herself, “we’re here for him. He’s the General–The Master–” 

“The Jedi? Yes, he's recently gotten out of surgery. No visitors yet, name?”

At a time, he had been on Obi-Wan’s list of emergency contacts. Especially as the war waned. He hopes their time apart hasn't ruined that. If so, he has Fox. And all his ties to the government. 

“Cody, CC-2224” he provides, urgently, “I'm–was his Commander–during the–” The underpaid clerk raises her hand, and directs them behind the rooms. 

“You're on the list. I think we called you like five times, but you didn't answer."  He swallows thickly. He had seen the number on his comm. He had an inkling about who it was for. But he just didn't pick up. He couldn't bring himself to. And then Fox called. 

"Here's the room number.” She gives a breakdown of the directions and the maps that makeup the hospital. Visiting hours are defined, but Cody thinks that with the chaos, they’ll be extended.  She ushers another family to the desk as she finishes with him. 

Fox is able to walk him through the hospital layout sans the map. His time in the Corries saw him through these walls one too many times, as both an escort and patient. 

Cody doesn’t think he could focus on the map if he tries. His hands are shaking, his breathing is uncharacteristically unsteady. Shaking like he’s stepping back onto the battlefield for the first time. 

– 

There’s less chaos on Obi-Wan’s floor. But still, it has been touched by the disarray from the waiting room. His room isn’t even private, most likely due to the lack of beds.  And as far as Cody can tell, there’s at least one other patient in there, separated by a curtain. 

Within the first few seconds of finding the room, Cody looks everywhere but where he should. He takes note of the window. The curtains are open, and the vibrant lights of Coruscant’s nightlife infiltrate the hospital room. He pays attention to the ambiance, the cycling of the machines, the steady rise and fall of his chest,  a forced atmosphere of peace clashing against this war that still drags the Jedi into it. 

Against whatever the hell is going on in Cody’s heart. 

Fox says something behind him, gently coaxing him into the room. Automatically the soft lights illuminate the space. Cody had hoped they wouldn’t do that. It was easy to make out the outline of Obi-Wan’s body in the dark, helped by the lights from the window.

Now he has to look at him. 

He remembers the last conversions had with Obi-Wan. Bits and pieces, his mind clinging onto them like oxygen. Stretching them out until this very moment. 

“I’m sorry, Gen—Obi-Wan I haven’t been in touch, things have just been happening.”

How does one explain that ‘things’ are extensive therapy, working through years of brainwashing and mind control? Realizing that the man you loved the most  and his entire Order sat near the pinnacle of that. 

“I understand. These things take time. Please Cody, let me know if you need anything.”

Though despite the anxiety, despite the confusion. He still loves this man, he still wants him safe. And he knows danger follows Obi-Wan Kenobi wherever he goes. 

“Be safe, General.”“It’s just Obi-Wan, Cody. I am not, and never should your General. And if that’s too familiar, Master Kenobi will suffice for me.” 

How long was that? 6 months ago? 12 months ago? Two years ago? What had he lost in the time he tried to reclaim himself? Tried to find himself.

Who had he cut loose when he shed the skin of Commander Cody of the 212? 

Obi-wan had answered then with some sort of sad resignation that Cody couldn’t pinpoint. Like they wouldn’t see each other again. He wonders now if Obi-Wan had sensed his inner turmoil. Kriff, of course he did. He was a Jedi. 

That’s why he never reached out. Why he stopped when Cody stopped.

Suddenly  he’s crying like a child when this starts to hit him. 

The confusion of it all. The suddenness. He could have lost Obi-Wan, and he doesn’t know if that would make him feel better. It might make him feel worse. 

Sobs and sobs rock his body.  He didn't feel sad when he came in. He was anxious, yes. But sad? No, not at all. He hoped they could talk.

He acknowledges that this is a lot from him too. He hasn’t been on a battlefield for two years. He hasn’t seen an injured man like this since the clone wars ended. 

Fox leads him to a comfortable chair, and places a gentle hand on his back. He’s glad he doesn’t ask questions. Fox isn’t like the others who lose their mind at the sound of Cody crying. He’s the eldest, supposed to keep them together. But Fox lets him be the baby. 

As he revels in Fox’s comfort, he’s shocked to realize the absence of company. 

It occurs to him then that Obi-Wan doesn’t really have many people to visit him. His relationship with Anakin Skywalker was infamously laughable. Ahsoka Tano had remained a distance from the Temple even after everything. The Council was spread across the galaxy, keeping peace without an army. 

The Order was busy. Fighting wars the Jedi should have left ages ago. Cody thinks sadly to himself that they should have taken their Jedi with them. They could have sorted out the logistics later on.  

Oh Force, he thinks, did I…did I leave him alone? Mustering all the strength in the world, he forces himself to look at Obi-Wan. 

 He doesn’t like what he sees. 

Obi-wan looks pale. Almost as pale as a Kaminoan. According to the briefing from Fox, it wasn’t the burns that landed him on a stretcher. Though his body is covered in enough bacta to challenge that.  It was the smoke inhalation and the blunt force trauma to his head apparently. 

Cody remembers their many conversations with Obi-Wan about complex relationship with armor, and his fear when his General had stopped using it. The boys of the 212 had made bets about when Obi-Wan would end up in a body cast. 

And while he’s in no body cast now, It looks like life has finally collected that toll.  

Cody is almost terrified by how well he’s able to fall into the role of a vigilant commander. After the tears have dried, and the fog has cleared, he pulls the chair closer to the bed and breathes. 

—

Fox disappears when the sun rises, excuses himself behind the curtain. He tells Cody that despite the curtain being closed, there's no one behind it and that he needs some space to work.  Cody assumes he's left to do some Senate work on his datapad, or whatever Fox does to keep himself busy nowadays. He leaves with a gentle press against Cody's forehead, promising him he'll return.

At some point the doctor comes in to check Obi-Wan's vitals, and explains to Cody what procedures were done. He lets him know the Jedi will be there to collect their councilmen within the next few hours where he will likely undergo extensive Force healing for the mental strain he apparently suffered. 

He shoots a quick message to Rex, who he left alone when Fox came to collect him. He thinks Rex may understand what he’s going through, though he’ll never say it aloud. They all know that Rex spends enough time loitering around the secured cells in the upper levels Coruscant to visit his old General. 

(Rex doesn’t know Cody knows this though. That just like everyone who’s had the displeasure of meeting Anakin Skywalker, they still see some good in him.)

He groans after Rex shoots back a thousand question marks, even tries to comm him. He rushes to silence his comm, not wanting to wake the patient whose eyes have already started fluttering behind closed lids. 

Its a futile attempt, because before he knows it,  the bed’s  occupant is stirring faster than he would have liked him to. 

“Cody?” 

It’s been two years, and yet a  million years would not have prepared him for their eventual meeting. 

What does one say? 

“Sorry Sir–Obi-Wan, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He settles for an apology. Force, they could have been in their tents again. Commander and General.  It’s so natural to fall back into old habits. Comforting and terrifying all at once. 

For his part, Obi-Wan pushes himself up with his elbows, rising slightly so he can look Cody in the eyes. His blue eyes are wide, confusion radiating throughout his expression.  And then, his gaze softens, and his brows furrow in guilt. 

“Oh you’re not supposed to be here.” He says the first part gently, more to himself than to Cody, “ I apologize, I meant to remove you from my emergency contacts.” For some reason, that hurts. Cody swallows, feeling a familiar thickness in his throat. 

“Life  must be getting difficult for you, Master Kenobi, if you’re starting to fall behind on administrative tasks. You used to be on-top of that during the war.” He returns the comment with a formality of his own, though he means for it to soften the blow as well. If this is hard for him, it must be hard for Obi-Wan too. 

In response the Jedi chuckles, coughing as he does so. Cody fights the urge to lean over and caress him. You are not his Commander, anymore. You are not his. He is not yours. 

“Well, the adjustment from General to Jedi Master has had its ups and downs. Sometimes the details get lost in the translation,” he offers with a smile, his blue eyes scanning the clone. Cody can feel the full extent of the Force upon him, probing him unprompted. He’d learned early on in his service that this was normal for the Jedi. Just as easily as they used their eyes to see, and their voices to speak, they used the Force to scan everything and everyone. 

It is their way of communication. 

Cody may have put up some boundaries when he left the army, but this is not one of them. He lets Obi-wan in easily. The Jedi feels him out, his Force touch light and airy. Ticklish almost. “You really don’t have to be here Cody.” Obi-Wan says, more seriously now, letting his body fall back onto the bed, “ You can go, I will be alright. I’ll have your contact information removed after this.” 

The warmth of his touch is gone. It sends Cody into a momentary spiral. He didn’t expect this coldness, this lack of familiarity. The sudden end to their very impromptu beginning. There is so much he still wants to do. To say. 

He can’t stop the words that escape his lips next. 

“That no-attachment clause sure has come in handy now, hasn’t it.”

It’s a vile kick in the gut, to throw something as sacred as the Code in the Jedi’s face. Obi-Wan jerks himself up, eyes wide. His machine beeps loudly. He looks dumbstruck, as if Cody has just slapped him across the face. Hard.

Cody knows in that moment his General recalls the late evenings they sat alone together, talking for hours about the Force, about the Order. About what it meant to Obi-Wan, about how the galaxy wide bastardization of his Order, his family, had hurt him more than he let off.

How the Force--The Order--had been there for Obi-Wan at his lowest. That this "emotionless order of monks" had saved him from himself time and time again. 

How many times had Obi-Wan dragged a broken, shell shocked  Cody into his quarters, forcing him onto his bed to meditate. How many times had Cody spoken the words 'I am one with the Force and the Force is with me' as Obi-wan calmed him after a gruesome battle, shielded him from the sharp pain of immeasurable loss. How many times had the Force been there for Cody, orchestrated through Obi-Wan? 

Cody knows Obi-Wan recalls these moments because the clone does as well. And now, his guilt strengthens. 

“Excuse me?” He grits out, wincing, “You’re the one who wanted nothing to do with us.” 

Cody recoils.

“Its…not that simple.” He manages, barely above a whisper. 

In these past few months, he’s found himself saying this a lot. To his brothers, when they ask if he still cares about Obi-Wan. To his therapist, asking what he needs to move forward from what happened to him. To himself, when he looks at his reflection and wonders how he got to where he is now. 

The Force is back, cautiously ebbing around Cody’s field. Hesitant as the former commander lets him in. 

Gently, Obi-Wan speaks, “You were resistant to me in the Force, and cold whenever I was around you. I know what The Republic–what we did to you–I’m not an idiot Cody. I knew you wanted your space away from me.”

Cody cannot meet his eyes. He feels ashamed. And confused. As if the consequences of his actions are now coming to tear him into pieces. But he shouldn’t feel this way, right? He wanted this, right?  

“I don’t…” Cody deflates and throws his head into his hands. This is what he was dreading. His mind is still a mess of commands, of order, of questions, of anxiety. This is like exposure therapy, his trigger and his love all bound in one.

Through the gaps in his fingers, he looks at Obi-Wan lying in a hospital bed, bandages on his arms and head. 

Made to protect a galaxy that would have had his kind murdered if it hadn’t been for the discovery of the chips (and even that happened too late. Both have the saber and blaster scars to prove it). He thinks of Obi-Wan who threw himself into battle to save his men, who placed himself between Cody and a bullet to make sure his Commander made it out alive. 

Who approached him after Order 66 to make sure he was okay. 

Cody is flooded with thundering guilt.  Was all this worth then? If he feels this way about Obi-Wan? What will he tell Rex? What will he tell Boil? He’s supposed to set an example. He’s supposed to be the one who breaks free. What will he be telling his brothers if he goes back? “Cody–Cody, breath!” How Obi-Wan found the time to leave his bed and pull up a chair that had been on the other side of the room in the span of two seconds, Cody does not know. All he knows is that he’s enveloped in Obi-Wan’s physical and not so physical embrace, breathing deeply as tears cascaded down his face. 

“I thought I wanted that, Sir. And part of me is still finding out what all I want, but I know that I haven’t felt the way I just did when you touched me with the Force in a very long time. And I think that no matter how I feel about you,  if you died today, I would have lost my kriffing mind.” He admits through tears,  “so that counts for something, I guess. But I don’t know what that means for me.” 

“Healing is not linear, Cody. I,” Obi-Wan falters, “I still have not spoken to Anakin. I still have not forgiven Qui-Gon, but I would never regret my time with them. And when I am ready, I hope to embrace my padawan again. I say this to let you know that should you never want to see me after this, I will accept that. But I will always be here, waiting for you to return Cody. Be it in this life, or when we are both one with the Force.” 

Cody balls, sobbing loudly as he clings onto Obi-Wan. He nods, the coil in his stomach unfurling. He wonders if it is Obi-Wan’s doing. 

“I’m sorry for what I said about the Code. I'm sorry for everything,” he breathes, pulling himself together, “I am usually not like this.” “None of that Cody, you have nothing to apologize for. The fault is ours. The Order should have done more for you and your siblings,” he states, fingers running through Cody’s hair, “I had hoped that by staying away we were doing that, but I suppose we should let you choose how we interfere.” 

(He wants to tell him that this isn’t the case for all Jedi. Plo Koon tried the silent treatment, and Wolffe, Boost and Sinker apparently cornered him outside of his suite in the Jedi temple.) 

“Clones getting a choice,” Cody chuckles through his tears, “what an amazing concept.” 

Obi-Wan hums, fingers still twisting in Cody’s curls. Cody is more comfortable than he thought he’d be. He welcomes Obi-Wan’s touch just as he did the Force. “Obi-wan, I want to be with you. It won’t be easy, but neither was the war. And we both survived, somewhat.” The tears have stopped now, and he finds both his footing and his voice. Gently, he untangles himself from Obi-Wan’s arms and adjust himself so that he captures those blue eyes with his own. 

“I think we can win this too. If you’ll be patient with me. I am still…healing, as you put it. They did a lot to us in Kamino, and to put it frankly my brain is fucked. And a lot of that was before the war. I will not be easy to be with.” “My padawan is Anakin Skywalker who nearly turned Sith during the war, I don’t think the Force wants me to be with easy people. And I don’t want to either. Besides, I was willing to not speak to you for two years. I will be as patient as you need me to be, Cody.” 

“If you’re comparing me to the two second Sith, then we’re off to a bad start.” Obi-Wan erupts into laughter. Genuine laughter. Laughter so hard, he begins to tear up. Though Cody is somewhat hesitant to credit the humor alone for the tears. Maybe Obi-Wan needs an excuse of his own. 

“Who’s idea was that nickname?” “It was Jesse’s, but now most of the 501st has adopted it.  While half of the galaxy calls him Vader, the 501st calls him the two second Sith. I think it’s how they cope.” Cody joins in, reveling in the ridiculousness of it. 

Leave it to the 501st and their General to be the much needed comic relief.

In between their laughter, and their tears, they lean forward, foreheads brushing against the other.

------------------

(Sometime later, when Obi-Wan has fallen back to sleep, and the Jedi have come to collect their council member, Cody stands to collect Fox from behind the screen. It’s time they both go home. 

He nearly screams when he pulls back the fabric and sees Fox sheepishly bury his head into the mass of hair that is Jedi Master Quinlan Vos. 

He doesn’t even want to ask how much the latter heard. )

[frenchfrywrites]

Was reading your obey me master list and your mating press ask for the boys and sides made me wonder about perhaps pressing the Twst third years?

Mating press with the TWST third years

MINORS DNI

Cater really loves the position! He looves that it forces you to pay such close attention to him. Oh you'd never be able to tell if he likes it more than any other position though. Cater is dumb and drooling just from having your tip pop inside of him, and having you push him into a mating press generates the same reaction lol. No matter what position you fuck in, he's gonna be drunk on your dick all the same. He'll brag to other people about you being able to fuck him in the position btw.

Trey looooves the mating press position. Part of his infatuation with it comes from the name of the position alone, for he has a massive breeding kink imo. Part of it though, is due to the fact that you’re so close to him, and he can see you better when he doesn’t have his glasses on <3 he loves being able to see your face and cling to you when you fuck him! Even if he can’t see you as well as he’d like, the sound of your balls and thighs hitting his skin is fuel to the fire cooking in his loins.

The mating press is easily Leona’s favorite position to do when you want to take him on his back. Typically I think he leans more towards being fucked doggy style or on his side, so his tail isn’t put in an awkward or uncomfortable position. But when you’re fucking him in a mating press he’s so lost in pleasure that he’s hardly paying attention to the feeling of his tail being pinned against the bed. All he can do is claw your back and beg you to fuck him full of some cubs. 

Rook has more favored positions, but he has absolutely no complaints when it comes to the mating press. He likes that he can cling to you and show off how flexible he is! He likes that he can kiss you while you cum. He especially loves the way that your cock reaches so deeply inside of him. However he certainly doesn’t need to be fucked in this position every night to be satisfied. If you maneuver him into it every once in a while, it’ll the do the trick of getting him real worked up and seeing stars. 

Vil will probably claim indifference towards the position, but he loooves it! He’s greedy for your cock, and loves having it feel like you’re churning up his guts with how deep you’re reaching. He likes that you’d have to be focused on him and his pretty face while fucking him. And he especially loves how it feels to have you cumming deep inside of him, making sure there’s not a drop that escapes him. He’s more than flexible enough to do the position nearly every night too.

Idia “hates” the position. He’ll tell you it’s embarrassing, and that it hurts but really he loves it so much. All it takes is one thrust in the position and all excuses die on his tongue. The first time you try it he cums so quick. That isn’t to say that it isn’t a bit embarrassing for him, being so exposed for you, or that it doesn’t hurt a bit (because we all know boy is NOT doing his stretches lmao). It's just that Being Seen a little by someone he loves and trusts, and the subsequent burn in his legs the following morning (that remind him of said fucking) are hardly "negatives". So really, he won’t complain much. 

Malleus enjoys the position a lot! When you explained it to him, I think he really liked the implications coming with the name. He gets all flustered and excited thinking about you being his mate and filling him with babies. He loves having you manhandle him into the position, and the weight of you on top of him more than anything. When he’s deep into subspace having you so close is an incredibly comforting thing. Being the romantic that he is, he also adores being able to see your face while in the position. 

I actually can’t see Lilia being wildly into the position. The things he’d love about it is being so small under you (the size kink goes wild with this position), and having you so close to him. However… I see Lilia as being a very active and squirm-y man. I think he’d much much rather ride you than be put in a mating press. He’s like the opposite of a pillow princess to me dkshgkah. BUT! If you did hypno with him, or maybe somno, he’s very into it and very pliant. He may be old as dust, but he can still stretch and bend like any other twink.

[spicedrobot]

Obi wan is in charge of shepherding Maul back to the temple after a disastrous mission saw Maul lose his memories. However, Maul is left with strong, complicated emotions for his carer, which he doesn't not interpret as hate... Aka Obi-Wan can't make two steps without Maul flirting and trying to drag him into bed.

Commander Cody knew who the prisoner was before anyone mentioned him by name. He didn’t know how he knew, exactly. Rumors, perhaps. The GAR was created as the perfect fighting force, but they weren’t droids. They talked. And certainly General Kenobi had never mentioned this man, no matter how nebulous their relationship was. The general was too professional, too closed off, to bring up his past outside of facetious, off-handed comments that could always be more amusement than truth. 

Cody decided, immediately, that the prisoner was ugly. Clawed head, clawed hands, clawed tattoos—everything about him was sharp, marked him as dangerous as a Thunian wart-hornet. He was prone to sneering and snarling, unwilling to be touched though he was in dire need of medical care. Left alone, he watched each medic warily as they checked his readouts and went about their business. That was another thing Cody didn’t understand. The prisoner was a Dathomirian zabrak, red with black tattoos, half metal, with an earring in his left ear. There was only one person he knew that matched that description. Only his eyes… they were a muted brown. A Sith’s eyes, Cody knew, were always yellow. 

His unease only compounded when General Kenobi arrived. The general often looked tired, but now he looked exhausted. He had several burn marks peppering his roughspun robes and an angry, crimson wound across one cheek. His lip was also split, and a deep bruise darkened the underside of his jaw. Cody hadn’t been there when the ambush occurred. But he knew without a doubt that he could thank their new prisoner for every wound on the general. He unfurled his fist, unsure of when he had first tightened it. 

“Thank you for holding down the fort, Commander,” General Kenobi said with a small smile. The expression was empty of its normal mirth. “I can take it from here.”

“General?” Cody replied.

But the man was already walking past him… past him, and towards the prisoner. Towards Darth Maul.

The general spoke the name that everyone had been avoiding, but the single syllable word went soft at the end, unsure. 

The Sith’s dour expression evened out. A placid, neutral mask. He watched the general, unblinking. His nostrils flared once. Cody bristled. Was the zabrak… smelling him?

General Kenobi hesitated again. He stood a few steps away from Maul, watching, waiting. Cody watched too, hand balanced on his blaster. He knew how quickly Jedi could move, and Maul could move just as quick, judging from the poor state of the general. 

The Sith made a sound, a long, low growl. Non-threatening. Considering. “I know you,” he said, at last. A pause, a moue. “Who are you?”

Jedi could be quiet. Eerily so. Cody had walked in on the general meditating, had entered a room a time or two, thinking—knowing—he was alone, only for the general to greet him. General Kenobi went just as quiet now. No movement, no breath, no blood through his veins.  

A flicker. A shudder, so slight as to be unnoticed. He could hear the warmth in the general’s voice as he spoke.

“You’re injured. I can help, if you’ll let me.” 

The Sith grimaced, but he didn’t show his teeth, didn’t coil tight with violence as he’d done before. He nodded, after a few beats, unfurling from the wall and easing himself to the edge of his cot.

Was Maul serious? This had to be some kind of trick. Then, Cody thought of his eyes, hard but dark. His obvious, steely confusion. How he had fought his medics, but hadn't hurt any of them.

Still, Cody took a step forward and to the side, keeping an open angle as General Kenobi approached. The general was unarmed. It didn’t mean he was helpless, but. The feeling in his gut kept churning. General Kenobi couldn’t possibly trust this man. He was more level-headed than General Skywalker, but Skywalker had learned his foolhardiness from somewhere. Cody had also witnessed General Kenobi in some highly avoidable situations, situations that he’d had to clean up himself. This, Cody thought, might be one of those.

The general perused the medkit that was next to Maul’s cot, abandoned by the first medic that had tried to treat him. While his head was turned, Maul’s nostrils flared again. His eyes were fixed on the general, his lips parted, expression lax. 

“Will you show me where it hurts?” the general asked as he faced Maul. Wordlessly, the Sith slipped his robes off his shoulders. 

Tattoos everywhere. Expected. But not the wounds, fresh and angry, burns that he knew matched the general’s. Cody hadn’t thought it was possible for a single opponent to go to toe to toe with him. He’d seen the general kill with effortless precision, a single swing of his saber, the curling of hand into fist. Maul, Cody realized, had been difficult for him to overcome. 

The Sith had older wounds too, harder to see but no less present. And lower, where the man’s artificial midsection began, a mass of scar tissue so complete there was no unblemished skin left. A killing blow. But the man lived and breathed.

Cody felt sweat pebbling at his temple. If he shot to kill, would it even matter?

The general began to touch and prod. The Sith frowned then, but he didn’t fight, didn’t swear or snarl. The general asked Maul to lean back. To turn. Breathe in and out. Hand over the left side of his chest. Then lower, where a spleen would be on a human. The second heart, Cody knew, from the schematics they had pulled for treatment. Bacta was carefully applied, the perfect picture of field care. Were his legs in need of maintenance? The general assured him a droid would be by for inspection and repair.

Then, without hesitation, he touched the Sith’s jaw. The Sith let the press lead him, tilting his head to the side, neck long, exposed. His eyes were half-lidded by then, lips pursed. He had not flinched from the general’s touch. Not once. 

The general held the Sith’s face, thumb balanced beneath the swell of his lower lip, while he administered the hypos. Cody knew his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He was alert, so keenly focused as if he was still on the battlefield. 

The Sith was relaxed. He had leaned into the general’s grip. And the general had let him, had held him for a few moments longer than necessary. His thumb had even slid over his chin, once, before he withdrew. 

It was bizarre. Inappropriate. It was a thousand things that burned and smarted and confused. The general never touched anyone outside of a friendly clap on the shoulder. Cody could not see the general’s face, nor did the general see his own. 

He was glad for it. 

Only his training, his unerring loyalty, kept him from turning away, kept his hand on his blaster still, though there was no longer a reason for it.

Not with the soft question that came again from the dark-eyed Sith, free of anger or threat. 

“Who are you?”

The general told him. Quietly, the Sith repeated his name. Not general, not even Kenobi. 

Obi-Wan.

This time, Cody looked away, and forced his hand from his weapon.

-

Next chapter ->

[neallo]

i feel like i see a post in the fandom tag at least once a week now along the lines of "i really don't like mello x near it makes me uncomfortable..." which is like. fine, actually! these posts are not so bothersome as long as you're not putting it in the ship tag, and i haven't really seen it cropping up in the ship tag of late! so thanks @ the dislikers for exercising proper manners and so on (<- sincere). all this being said, i have to ask:

are you aware that you can block tags and post content?

there are a lot of new users on the site, i think, and people newish to the DN fandom in particular, so i ask this in a genuine manner with absolutely no malice or ill will. i'm not trying to be a dick and dunk on anyone who doesn't know how to use tumblr yet. it's not an intuitive website. HOWEVER, one of the nicer features of tumblr is that there are baked-in features that allow you to take measures to avoid content you find offputting!

in order to access these features, you'll want to go to settings and then to account. you will see the two following sections:

as you can see. i use both of these tools :) [no hate to the moonriver and x reader girlies it's just not my thing and i didn't want to have to edit this screenshot bc i'm making the post on the fly all quick-like ;_;]

there are differences between these two features:

if you filter a tag, the post will be obscured on your dashboard and in the tags, even if the person who reblogged it didn't tag it, so long as the original poster did tag it (this is very handy for most ship content you don't want to see, because if you have enough iterations of the ship name blocked, very few posts slip through, even if you follow people who don't make a habit of tagging things). it will not, however, remove the post from your dashboard if the word / ship name is just mentioned in the post. that's where the second one comes in.

if you filter post content, any posts with the contained words will be obscured on your dashboard and in the tags. this is especially handy if you have a particular user whose posts bother you; you can put their URL into "filtered post content" and VOILA all their posts are behind a veil of mystery! now isn't that nifty. ofc, you can also just block people, but that doesn't remove their posts from your dashboard if someone you follow reblogs them, so this is a bit more of a ~complete~ method, and it's a nice one to use if you prefer not to have an extensive blocklist.

it may take some tweaking to figure out all the different tags and "content" you want to block -- i still occasionally find new ship name iterations i need to add -- but overall, this does generally do the trick! best of luck out there <3

[justhowitgoesblog]

The Weight of Goodbyes - Part 1

Emmett Cullen x Reader 

< - Part 0

Song : I hate it here by Taylor Swift 

(a/n: after hearing this song for the first time, i literally got kicked with inspiration for this fic)

Summary: (a/n: Sorry, I’m terrible with summaries🥺)  At La Push Beach, the reader wrestles with the grief of Emmett and the Cullen’s leaving, while Bella's own grief mirrors their own. Standing amidst the crashing waves, they grapple with memories of love lost and the weight of unspoken questions—Did they deserve better? Jacob, ever loyal little cutie approaches, offering  comfort, but the reader is hesitant to accept. As the storm rages both outside and within, the struggle to find peace is palpable.

Warnings: Angst. Heartbreak. Self-doubt. References to Depression. Heartbreak.

Rating: General Audience

“Quick, quick tell me something awful like you are a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy”

Each step through the wet sand felt like punishment.

But perhaps, that was fitting? You thought.

The cold, wet sand clung to your skin, heavy and unwelcome—just like memories. The beach of La Push was the only place that wasn’t tainted with memories of him.

The mind was an awful thing. Full of tricks. Full of reminders. Nostalgia—the worst of them all—a self-deprecating enemy, leading you down dark roads to escape the truth: you’ve been left behind in the waves of the forgotten and unwanted. Standing on the shore of the omitted, you watch as the waves crash against the shoreline of La Push.

Smash. Smash. Smash.

The cold spray stings your skin, but you barely notice. The pain is familiar. The constriction of your throat, the weight of knowing you and he were just a grain of sand in this place. A sea of people. Millions of years. Sextillions of grains of sand. But somehow, you both met. And for once, amid juggling an avalanche of textbooks, deadlines, and the ever-present hum of who’s dating who and who’s popular this week, the world felt still. At peace. Because you had him. And you loved him. Only for him to leave so unceremoniously…

“I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind, People need a key to get to, The only one is mine”

You exhale sharply, the words lingering in your head like an echo, unwanted but persistent. The wind swallows the sound of your breath, but the truth of it clings to you just like the dampness in the air.

“Grief,” you mutter to yourself, tasting the bitter word on your tongue. “Is also a crippling thing.”

You thought of Bella Swan, standing a little ways from you, staring absentmindedly into the crashing waves. She was absorbed in her own mental strife, much like you, but in a different way—lost, maybe even more so. You thought of finding her months ago, sitting in her chair, tucked away in the darkness of her bedroom, staring out her window in a comatose state, drowning in her own grief.

“I read about it in a book when I was a precocious child, No mid-sized city hopes and small town fears, I'm there most of the year, Cause I hate it here, I hate it here”

"You see," Charlie’s pained voice flooded your mind. "You’re my only hope."

Charlie’s only hope—the phrase stung now, reminding you that no one had ever called you anyone’s hope.

Bella sat, hidden away in her darkness, trapped in grief so much deeper than your own. Could she not see? Could she not understand? You had moved forward, or at least you had to—but her grief, it was a prison of its own. A coma.

“This place made me feel worthless, Lucid dreams like electricity, the current flies through me”

And for a fleeting moment, you wondered: Did she deserve this? Did she deserve to linger, locked in agony, while you fought to escape yours? To escape him? To escape the memories? Why couldn’t she just... move on? Why couldn’t she claw her way out?

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat reminding you that, perhaps, it was you who was running. Running from him. Running from the past.

But maybe Bella’s love for Edward was stronger than yours for him.

Jacob was with her now. You’d recruited him, hoping he could cheer her up, give her some reason to smile again. And to your surprise, he had. In a matter of minutes, he had managed to pull a small, but noticeable smile from her—something that felt like a victory, if only for a second.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed Jacob’s approach until you heard his voice, warm and familiar, cut through the air.

"Y/N."

You don’t turn to him, keeping your gaze fixed on the crashing waves, trying to drown out the noise inside your head.

"Jacob."

Your voice is colder than you intend, though you’re sure he doesn’t mind. You don’t bother turning to him. Not yet.

You feel him shuffle closer, his presence palpable even from a distance. The heat of him radiates toward you, filling the space between the two of you. His warmth contrasts with the chill in your bones, but you don’t let yourself indulge in it.

Breaking the silence between you, you mutter, “Still chasing after Bella now that Eddy is out of the picture?”

You feel Jacob stiffen next to you, the heat that he radiates faltering for just a moment as your words hit the air. The words sting, but he doesn’t show it—not fully. Instead, he lets out a long, controlled breath, trying to mask the hurt he feels, though it’s evident in the tension of his jaw.

“I’m not chasing anyone,” he says, moving next to you. You feel his stare, but still, you keep your eyes locked on the stormy seas in front of you. “Just trying to make sure she’s okay.”

Silence takes over the two of you.

“How are you?” he asks, breaking the quiet.

You smile, despite the frown that has become a permanent accessory of yours lately.

“What a stupid question,” you chuckle with light warmth.

Jacob watches you with a quiet intensity. “I gotta ask. I’m worried about you too, Y/N.”

Your gaze drifts briefly to him, the faintest crack in your otherwise stoic expression. “Guess I’m fine,” you say, but the word feels wrong in your mouth—too thin, too weak for everything you’ve been carrying. You’re anything but fine. But you don’t have to say that. Not to him.

The wind picks up, rustling your hair, as he steps closer—his presence a quiet weight beside you.

"Yeah? You sure?" His voice softens like he’s not ready to push, but he’s waiting.

Waiting for you to say it.

“What do you think?” you finally confess, as waves crash loudly before the two of you.

Smash.

“I'm lonely but I'm good, I'm bitter but I swear I'm fine, I'll save all my romanticism for my inner life and I'll get lost on, Purpose”

“It’s funny, ya know,” you pause, letting the words come to you, as your memories of him return, like a haunting dream. “To let someone in and let them become so important to you, only for them to decide to leave and say, 'You’ll thank me one day. You deserve better. A human life that I can't give you.'”

“You do,” Jacob immediately replies, his voice firm, wanting to validate your pain.

Scoffing, you finally turn to him, your eyes bloodshot as you desperately try to fend off the tears threatening to fall.

“What do I deserve? I deserved him, and now he’s gone. And now, I'm forced to move on. When all I wanted was him.”

Jacob is quiet. His reply takes time as he adjusts his choice of wording. His next words are careful, almost soft, but trying to be the strength you’re looking for without pity. "What do you deserve? I don’t know... but, I know you don’t deserve that."

“I deserved a choice…”

“No mid-sized city hopes and small town fears, I'm there most of the year, Cause I hate it here.

I hate it here…”

[xseekingsaturnx]

tw: ninjago rebooted love triangle…

ok the thing about the triangle is that yes, it’s objectively ridiculous. and yes, there were surely three dozen other subplots they could’ve gone for. but if they HAD to include it, there were ways to make it NOT SUCK SO BAD!!

for instance, the ninja are probably like early to mid-high school age in rebooted. that’s a turbulent age. shit happens, feelings happen, you freak out, you do dumb things. if the writers had chalked it up to teen hormones, i still would’ve hated the triangle but i would’ve probably been like “eh, ew, whatever.” Y’KNOW? but instead they include a single scene of nya (aka: nya the strong-willed, sure-of-herself WARRIOR) panicking at the diagnosis of what is essentially a tricked-out magic 8 ball. HUH?

and like, nya is tough, but she was a *teenager*!!! teenage girls are not known for their emotional reliability, ok, i would know. my diary from ages 12-16 is honestly mortifying. we’re talking some truly next-level insanity. and listen. LISTEN! i believe nya liked jay. but they were growing up and likely getting more attractive and nya could’ve easily noticed cole’s general attractiveness and gotten confused. or! she grew into herself a little bit too and misused her newfound confidence to accidentally flirt w some other guys, and cole happened to be one of them. very plausible!

but regardless, she would’ve felt some REMORSE. nya can be quick tempered and stubborn and even cold sometimes, but she’s not a MONSTER. i find it incredibly hard to believe she would willingly lead on her BOYFRIEND and TEAMMATE (who i hc she is quite close to) for so long and never think “hey, my feelings aren’t the only ones that matter,” ESPECIALLY after seeing what a mess it caused within the team.

and cole’s indulgence in the flaming fiasco is a whole different novel that i’m frankly too tired to write at the moment. like c’mon man, get a literal grip.

but the point is, the Trinagle paints nya as this oblivious, insensitive Girl when it should’ve given her some character development at the very least. pretty sure she doesn’t even acknowledge it until skybound…and even then, it’s not an apology. like—that was some major chaos she caused. cole and jay were so caught up in it that they almost DIED. like, more than once, im fairly certain.

i wonder if they laugh about it now. or if, like, they all pretend it never happened and every now and then cole and nya hold eye contact for a little too long and then scoot away in Horror and then change the subject really fast. like damn.