#thread: mutual target

[chixkencxrry]

crazy, crazy for loving you

Summary: Loss can make people go insane. (Yandere! Miguel O’hara x Yandere! Fem! Reader)

MINORS DNI

Warning: They’re both insane and a bit immoral. They are both very, very unstable people. This is a dark story of mutual obsession. (Mutual Non-Con Voyuerism, Mutual Masturbation, P in V, Swearwords, Mutual Stalking, Mutual Non-Con Spying, Oral (F receiving), Dark themes, Cockwarming) YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS ON YOU AND YOU ALONE!

When you see him, it's hard to keep your hands at your side and not run to him. It’s hard not to look at the man that wears your dead husband’s face and not weep like a baby. But you know it isn’t him. No, this man with the war in his eyes and fangs of a beast is not your Miguel.

But, God – God, did you wish it was. 

So, yes, you were quick to agree to be apart of his little operation. Quick clipping the gizmo onto your wrist. The Spiderman logo spread along your torso like some awful red target. He knew your name, but it was obvious that you didn’t exist in his world. If you had, you were sure they would have been together. No. The you of his world was dead, like the him of your world. It was darkly poetic. 

Lyla had taken a liking to you – his AI. She unintentionally helped you keep track of him; you didn’t stalk just keep track. 

Then it happened. The fine click that had truly sent your observing of Miguel corrupt into something else, something darker. 

Something had caused the collapse of your world. It was a war, much like the great Titan on EARTH-199999. Your world crumbled before you; you already didn’t have much left after the death of your Miguel but now you had nothing left. 

When the collapse of it came, you were not on the battlefield with the other Avengers. You had been in the cemetery, fingers clawing into Miguel’s grave – determined to bury yourself in there with him. The cold mud coated your hands and body, knee digging in. You were about two feet deep, mad with intent. 

“Y/N?”

The word stilled you. It was Miguel, you turned your head in a horrible hopefulness. Disappointment settled on your shoulders, in some half-mad frenzy, you’d thought it was your Miguel. But it wasn’t it was Miguel.

“Leave me alone.” you growled. “My world is dying.”

“You don’t have to.”

I died when you did.

“I’m right here, Y/N.”

“No.” you muttered, fingers in the dirt. “You’re below. I’m getting you out.”

A warm body dropped down, covering your back and pushing you forward. You wiggled and fought but felt a pinch at the side of your neck. Your mania subsided, a false peace overwhelming you. Before you knew it, you collapsed in the mud. 

It had taken weeks of manic behaviour. They had to sedate you to get you to calm down – barricade and and chain you to stop you from attacking. You’d gone mad. 

When Miguel came to visit you, you’d taken a turn for the better. 

“I heard you broke Spiderman 8077’s jaw.” Miguel doesn’t seem amused. He stands over you – through the fizzing cage that electrocutes you everytime you touch it. You can’t bring yourself to snarl or fight. You look at him – flesh, bone, hope. 

“He tried to make me forget.”

Miguel flinched. “He suggested something to help you sleep.”

“If I sleep, I forget him.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Miguel’s tone was soft and low. You closed your eyes and imagined being home in your apartment, the record player on and rain falling. Miguel dancing with you, dipping you low and laughing on your skin. 

The daydream dissolves when you hear the click of your cell open. His voice of stone ordered; “Lay down.”

Instinct, really – the way you move to the cot and wiggle until your back hits the wall. The bed shakes as Miguel’s massive frame sets itself on the bed. He held you, pulling you close. He smelt like your Miguel. Felt like him too. But were all rugged edges compared to the softness of the man you were married to. Your fingers threaded in his hair, snagging a few by accident to bring them to your nose. You tucked some strands into your suit. For later.

For the first time in years, sleep came to you with ease. With that ease came the confirmation of what a gift reuniting with this different Miguel was. You had a second chance. Now, it was time to make use of it. Properly.

***

Miguel had started watching you when your world collapsed and you’d transition to his universe. Now, it wasn’t that he hadn’t been stalking – following – shit – observing you before. He’d just wanted you to get used to the Universe first. Ensuring you had a good identity, a day job and income. 

You’d been grateful. So, very grateful.

He imagined that gratitude as something baser, raw and trembling. But he knew not to test the hand of fate. Yet he hungered for you. The devotion you’d shown to your husband, a version of him, was indescribably delicious. He wanted that for himself. Wanted you, all tears, all love. Each aspect of you a memorising thing; greed flooded him at the thought of claiming you.

It seemed like fate to offer you the guest room of his apartment. He hadn’t used it in years, and it was a waste not to let you in. You’d jumped at the opportunity – a perfect gift. You didn’t know what you were doing to him. Yes. Having you in his house, showering, eating, naked, open – mierda!

 He took a deep breath to cool himself down. You were still at the dorm quarters of HQ, significantly more sane than you were a week ago when the two of you first slept together. Your scent still lingered in his mind. Lilies and cucumbers, fresh and vibrant. Thick and rich, god – he wanted more of that. More of the security of holding you. More of having you have him. The feel of your body curled into his, the softness of your silk skin breaking the delicate thread of his self-control. 

Miguel looked at the room he’d allotted to you. Climbing to a corner to screw in a non-reflective camera. Getting you here was the first step and he was a patient man. Miguel had to make sure the apartment looked lived in. Making sure that some floorboards creaked, chipped at some paint on the walls, and ensured there was a leaky faucet in the guest bath.

His watch dinged. Fifteen minutes away. 

Lyla flickered into existence. “Wow. This violates so many laws.”

“Didn’t ask.” he grumbled, wrenching open a panel of the wall to place a listening device.

“You get that for free.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Anamolly on Earth-7834, they need backup.”

“There are thousands of other Spiders to call.” He placed a nail between his teeth, hammering the panel back on.

“Yeah, well, Y’N asked for you.”

That made him pause. Swearing, he hurriedly put the panel back and suited up, tapping his gizmo and falling into a different dimension. 

***

You only felt a little bad for deceiving Lyla. 

Sure, Miguel would probably be pissed when he found out that you had lied and made his AI lie to him with some clever coding but it would be worth it in the end when the two of you were finally together. You just couldn’t get out of HQ unnoticed without some sort of distraction. So, you figured what could be better than calling in a favour with a friend you’d made while traversing Universes? Felicia was more than willing to play the part, ever wanton for chaos. 

She helped you cause a minor anomaly which sent off enough of the Spiders off and allowed you to sneak into Miguel’s apartment. You looked for the master – the only room with a photo in it, one of him and his passed daughter. It broke your heart to know the pain he’d experienced. But you knew you were here now and more than willing to provide comfort and a new child. You’d even let him name the first one. 

You weren’t here for that. You were here to plant a few presents. Sticking to his bedroom ceiling, you planted a camera in the corner, near his closet. In his bathroom, by his shower and mirror – you planted another one. 

Time was limited. You knew the false alarm would only give you a short time. Before you left, you went through his closet, nose dug into his clothing and inhaling his scent. Sandalwood and oud. God, the earthiness sent a shiver down your spine. Unable to control yourself, you snatched a T-shirt and left through the window. You have five minutes left until your proposed arrival. Five minutes until Miguel consensually lets you into his home. 

Foolish boy.

If only he knew what you had in store for him. 

***

Miguel hurriedly returned home. Frustration laced his sojourn, as he tried to figure out just how Lyla had mistaken you calling out the anomaly of you being there and requesting his help. It was probably some bug. A minor thing he would fix after he greeted you. 

One minute left.

He was cutting it close, climbing through his window and showering as fast as possible. He hadn’t even had time to dry himself off when the doorbell rang, pulling clothes on with wet skin. 

“She’s here!” chimed Lyla, a little too cheerfully.

Miguel rolled his eyes. “No soy sordo, Lyla.”

When he opened the door, you were standing there with just two bags and a smile on your full lips. Eyes fluttering up at him with thick lashes and a soft look; “Hey.”

“Come in,” he welcomed without preamble. Miguel purposefully kept the space for you to pass narrowly. You were shorter than him and plush as you passed, buttocks jamming him slightly as you turned your back to pass in. Your toes shoved behind your feet to slip out of your shoes without him asking, he forgot for a moment that you knew him, even if it was another version. There were parts of himself you probably knew better than anyone did.

That made him excited. 

“Your apartment is lovely.” You said earnestly. “Where do I put my bags?”

He moved to you, taking the bags and walking ahead to lead you to the guest room. It wasn’t bad. A queen-sized bed and all other necessities for a room. Miguel gestured to the opened door, “That’s the bathroom.Might give you some trouble but you’re welcome to use me – I mean mine anytime.”

You didn’t seem to catch him fumbling – ayúdame dios – walking around the room to get a better view. In the dim light, you looked fantastic, the neon of the outside shining on your skin and the expanse of your perfect skin exposed in those tiny shorts you wore. 

Jealously bloomed in his chest. Had you fucking worn those on your walk here? How many people saw you? How many men had seen you in this way? Feral rage gripped him. Miguel set your bags down in the doorway, stepping back before he did something violent. 

“You eat yet?” the question came out as a snappish growl which seemed to startle you. He cringed. He didn’t want you to fear him – he just wanted you to know your place as his. 

Your brows furrowed. “You good, Miguel?”

“I’m dandy, princesa.”

A delicious blush bloomed on your skin. The honey was not enough to stop it from beaming forward. He wanted to drag his tongue down – to see how far this blush went. “I-I haven’t eaten yet.”

He smiled a slow, easy grin. “I’ve got some food in the kitchen. Eat with me?”

“Sure.”

Dinner went by slowly. Not in an awkward manner but it was agonising all the same. Agonsing to watch you sit across from him, agonising not to touch you, agonising not bit into your flesh and claw into your pussy with his hard cock. 

His patience wore thin but he maintained. 

The two of you had drinks afterwards, sitting on the couch until it grew too late. You yawned, hands stretching to the ceiling and pointed breasts jotting out through the cotton of your tank top. Your hoodie was abandoned somewhere. He eyed the pleasant curves of your body, the grooves that came from you being Spider-Woman and the softness that came from your natural figure.

“I’m gonna take that shower.” You announced. “Thank you for letting me stay with you, Miguel…I really appreciate it.”

Could you appreciate it with your mouth around his cock? “Of course. Anything for you. Y/N.”

You smiled prettily scampering off into your room. Miguel wasted no time in heading to his own, pulling up a camera feed from your bathroom. He sighed, watching you undress. You were humming along to something, hips shaking and hands running down your body. 

He raised his hips, shoving his sweatpants down. His half-hard length plopping out. Fingers encircled the base, rubbing up and down as he watched you move. 

You stepped into the shower and he switched the cameras. You sodded your body up, perfect nipples hard and hand slipping between your thighs. You rubbed yourself frantically. Rolling your nipple under your palms as you humped your fingers. 

Miguel turned the volume up, his own cock coated in his special essence as he watched you. His hand became frenzied, tighter as it took him closer to an orgasm. His peak came as your voice sounded the last thing he expected to hear. 

His own name. 

“Meirda…Y/N…you want me too, baby?” He coated himself, groaning as you slumped on the video. You shook off your climax and finished showering, stepping out with a glow. He restarted the video, turning the volume louder – thankful for his soundproof room. 

The knowledge that this wasn’t one-sided set something off in him. He threw his head, stroking himself from top to bottom. Desire coiled in his belly, like a snake ready to pounce.

Who was he to deny your wants, princesa?

***

Your fingers rapped on Miguel’s door somewhere close to midnight. You’d timed it perfectly. Your fearless leader hardly slept anyway so you were sure you wouldn’t be intruding. After all, you were sick? Weren’t you? The pills weren’t working, you needed to sleep. You hadn’t slept properly since that night. Lies concocted to make it all work. You just had to maintain your facade of innocence. 

You smiled, thinking of Miguel’s little performance for you on your camera. You’d seen him stroke himself over and over at some random video feed. You saw his thick seed spurt out. Saw the girth of his length twitch to life. Fuck. You wanted that. 

“Y/N?” Miguel’s voice was hoarse with sleep. You softened your face and frowned. “Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry…I just couldn’t sleep and you’d helped me that night…”

Ever generous, he opened his door wider to let you in. He’d changed form his earlier sweatpants. No doubt it was covered in his own spunk. A shame, really. “Of course, come inside. I’ll get another blanket for you.”

“Oh no.” You showed him the lilac blanket you’d brought with you from HQ. “I have my own.”

“Hmm.” He led you to the bed and slipped behind you to spoon you as easily as he had that night. You hummed, wiggling against him. You made sure to throw your blanket on both of you. You heard Miguel groan behind you, his body shifting and arms holding you close.

The synthetic material was interwoven with your pheromones, wired to set Miguel off. That night he had slept with you, you had plucked hair enough to get his DNA to pattern it so that it made him rut like a beast in heat. It was a chance you were taking. It would only work if Miguel wanted you too – if only a little You grinned, smiling as your payment boiled up. Miguel would be yours, it was what was best. 

Even if he didn’t know it yet.

Hours passed. You laid awake listening to him torture himself. Your patience grew thin. Why didn’t the idiot just hold you down and fuck you yet? “Miguel?” You whispered. “Everything alright?”

He murmured in Spanish, nothing clear enough for you to even hear. His hand, large and spanning, set itself on your hip. 

You ground your ass into his crouch. “Miguel?”

“Cállate princesa,” he growled in a tone that made your toes curl. An excited smile spread across your face. “I need to take a walk.”

That made your smile drop. “Now? It’s so late.”

He didn’t say anything, his weight lifting from the bed as he went to hurriedly dress. His back turned to you as he tried to be modest. Your eyes dropped to his round ass. Was he really going to go out and fuck some bitch after you did all the work? Not on your watch. 

“Miguel,” you dropped your tone, low and purring. “Come back to bed.”

He turned his head, eyes red as they flickered over you. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

Was he afraid of losing control? How adorable. You sat up, letting the blanket fall from you, the muscle shirt that was three sizes too big fell off your arm exposing an entire breast to him. You were being desperate but you’d be damned if he wasn’t going to rearrange your guts tonight.

He paused, staring at you. You almost grinned. That seemed to do it. 

He dropped the t-shirt he held and crawled over to you, pressing his forward to your as he inhaled your scent. “Tell me this is real.”

Oh.

You desperate thing. How I will devour you, How I will keep you. “It's real. I need you, Mig. I want you.”

His lips slammed onto yours. Tongue piercing the seam of your lips to kiss you fully. His hands pawed at your body, grabbing and groping at everything. Your sleep shirt was ripped in half as he claimed total access to your body. Your hands touched him everywhere, settling on the hump of his buttocks, pulling it close to your hips. You rubbed your bare crouch against his sweat, humping him with blind need. 

Miguel pushed you back, your head hitting a pillow as you watched him take his cock out. The fat, beautiful thing you’d been dreaming about riding since you met him. There wasn’t anytime for preamble – you wouldn’t suck the beautiful thing just yet. 

He stroked himself for a moment, red eyes boring into you as he lowered his face between your legs. Miguel ate you sloppily. Lips smacking and tongue licking, he sucked your swollen clit, pressing his index in and out of your weeping pussy. 

You gripped his head, arching your back as your thrust your hips up, truth spilled from you: “Eat me so good, Miguel. Fuck, you don’t know how long I wanted this.”

He was too busy enjoying his meal to respond. The lewd noises making you tremble as much as the act. Miguel’s fangs brushed against your folds, before he fucked your pussy with his tongue, pressing his dampened fingers to rub your clit as he licked your insides. 

Clenching around his head, your mouth spewed all manner of dark desires, the height of your arousal squirting all along his face. Words failed you as he continued to worship your pussy with his mouth and fingers. 

He raised his head for a moment. His left hand cupped your tit for him to suck while his other fingered you to your second orgasm. Thumb rubbing your clit in precise circles as he bit and sucked your areola. Faster than the first, you mewled your orgasm out on his fingers. Miguel let your nipple fall, watching you as he sucked his fingers dry. He sat on his hunches, leaning back as you writhed, quivering pussy begging for more. Begging for his cock. 

“You look pretty like this princesa, pretty falling apart in my bed for me. You want me to fuck you now? Want me to spread this pussy wide? Want me to make you fucking bawl? Beg for it, baby.” His face read of cruelty while his lips purred to you. You watched helpless as Miguel looked down on you. One of his hands stretched forward to your wanting hole and slapped it. You whimpered. He grinned and slapped it again. 

“I want you to know something before I fuck you,” he whispered, leaning forward, mushroom tip brushing along the seam of your slit. “You’re mine, princesa. You’re my puta. My perra, zorra. Mi amor. Mi todo. And I’m greedy, so when I fuck you – know that it's all over. I become your world and you become mine.”

You bit your lip. The words fell like poetry in your haze: you were truly made for each other. Did he even know how perfect he was for you?

“Ye…s.” You croaked out. “Yes, Miguel.”

His hips snapped, bottoming out into you so hard you screamed against his laughter.

***

Was this heaven?

Miguel had long since thought he was banned from such a place. Long since thought salvation was removed from him. But right now, while he held your waist and fucked his cock into you – he knew he had found it. You looked divine. Your mouth agape and hands rubbing all over him. Your breasts, bounced and full as he made his mark in you. He wanted every groove of his cock known by your pussy. His cock was to be imprinted, moulded into you. You were to know no other but his by the time he was done fucking the common sense out of you.

“My pretty cock dumb, princesa.”

You hummed, heels digging to his ass as his hips snapped. You squeezed him tight but he knew he was leaving marks on your body as he fucked you into his mattress. “Gonna keep you on my cock every day. You'd like that wouldn’t you, perra?”

“Love t-that.” Nails scrapped his back. “G-Gonna cum.”

He could feel that in the tightening of your pretty cunt. The slimy stickiness of your desire echoed in the room, he pinched your nipple making you cry out. “I know, princesa. Do that for me. Cum on my cock.”

Miguel felt your climax, wet and whimpering. You cried beneath him, overstimulated as he fucked you. He fondled your breast once more, hand going between the two of you. He rubbed your sensitive clitoris, smirking as you moaned from the ache. “Good girl. So pretty crying like that. Think you can go again?”

You shock your head, tears forming in your eyes. He felt his balls grow tight but kept at your clit. You shuddered at another shockwave. Finally, he thought leaning forward to cover you until your breasts smashed against his chest. His own release came, loosening the taut feeling that had centred his whole body. Miguel’s hips jerked, making sure his seed took its rightful place in you. 

When he tried to roll off, you kept him on. He looked at you questioning.“Don’t want any to drip out just yet.”

“No chance of that,” he muttered, kissing your neck. His hips jerked, as he found himself in a slow rhythm. “I’m not nearly done with this pussy yet.”

***

“I don’t think I’ve ever visited this universe.” you pointed out at one of the monitors. It was an Earth without a Spider-persona filled with cannibals. 

 Miguel looked to your side and grimaced. “Fuck no.”

You rolled your eyes. “What’s the sense of me being here if not to go to unknown places?”

Miguel huffed, hand sneaking under the skirt of your dress. “Princesa, you came here because you saw me talking to a female Spider-persona and then insisted on warming my cock for the rest of the afternoon.”

“So?” You waved your hand. He was lucky you didn’t her to that universe. Perky little bitch was looking a little too googly-eyed at him. “Maybe I was bored. You ever thought of that?”

“You can always go back out on the field.” He suggested.

You snorted, rolling your hips to make him hiss. His cock twitched, surrounded by your leaking cunt. “The last time I went on a mission I thought you were going to kill my poor partner.”

“He was being a little too friendly.” 

“Honey,” Miguel’s hand slipped inside the front of your dress, popping out your full breasts as he slowly rocked up into you. “Peter from Earth-997845 is very much engaged to Johnny Storm.” You wouldn’t mind going out again but you were so comfortable living simply with Miguel and helping him manage HQ. Who was he even talking to? He hadn’t gone on a mission for the months you two had started seeing each other either.

“You’re a hyp–” he stood up, making you bend over the desk, your breasts hitting the cool metal, he pressed the side of your face down as he slowly plunged in and out of you. “–ocrite.”

“Me?” He grunted, hands going up and down your sides as he took his time dragging his cock. “You’re the one who assaulted me in my office just so you could fill it up with your scent. You don’t think I know your tricks, zorra?”

You grinned, working your hips to meet him. “You better make me squirt a few times – just to make sure the scent takes then.”

Miguel chuckled above you, his talons ripping open your dress as he made good on your challenge. 

MASTERLIST

I'll probably make this a reoccurring thing. Hope you guys liked part 1. Reblogs and comments are nice.

#miguel o’hara x reader #black!reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o’hara fanfiction #yandere! miguel o’hara #yandere reader #yandere! miguel o'hara x reader #dark fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagines #spiderman #miguel o hara smut #miguel o hara #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere Miguel ohara

[hussyknee]

(alt included in all images)

Another thread by Senator Ben Ray Luján here.

A book on the subject (haven't read it myself):

One of the sources in another one of Alisa's furiously impassioned twitter threads have been debunked, so I didn't include that. But she claims that her own family was caught in the fallout zone when her mother was a baby, which eventually led to her and large numbers of her community developing cancer. It's human for that kind of grief to be caught up in inaccuracies. People are already being ghastly and racist to Hispanos and Indigenous people criticizing the hype for the movie. They're not attacking Oppenheimer for being Jewish, they're criticising the erasure of the human cost of these bombs and the continued valorisation of the U.S military's actions in World War II as some kind of moral saviourism.

While Oppenheimer himself believed that the nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were morally justified (they had planned to drop them on Germany except they surrendered before they could), he also felt had blood on his hands and regretted his role as the "Father of the Atomic Bomb". He spent the rest of his career vehemently opposing further development of thermonuclear weapons and the hydrogen bomb accurately predicting the concept of mutually assured destruction. This eventually made him a victim of Senator McCarthy's Red Scare and his clearance was revoked. I haven't seen the movie (Christopher Nolan is the kind of casual white racist I avoid on principle) but people who have seen it say that it doesn't glorify nuclear weapons and depicts the man himself with the complex moral nuance that seems to be accurately reflective of his real life.

The backlash to Indigenous and Hispanos people's criticisms and to people pointing out that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were genocides is also frustrating because...both world wars were a clash of genocidal empires. The reason they were world wars is because the countries colonized by Japan, China, the European powers and the US were all dragged into it, whether they wanted to or not. Jews were one of the many colonized peoples that suffered in that time, who were left to die by everyone until they could be used to frame the Allied powers as moral saviours, establishing a revisionist nostalgia for heroism that powers the US military industrial complex to this day.

As early as May 1942, and again in June, the BBC reported the mass murder of Polish Jews by the Nazis. Although both US President, Franklin Roosevelt, and British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, warned the Germans that they would be held to account after the war, privately they agreed to prioritise and to turn their attention and efforts to winning the war. Therefore, all pleas to the Allies to destroy the death camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau were ignored. The Allies argued that not only would such an operation shift the focus away from winning the war, but it could provoke even worse treatment of the Jews. In June 1944 the Americans had aerial photographs of the Auschwitz complex. The Allies bombed a nearby factory in August, but the gas chambers, crematoria and train tracks used to transport Jewish civilians to their deaths were not targeted.

(Source)

Uncritical consumption of World War II media is the reinforcement of imperialist propaganda, more so when one group of colonized people is used to silence other colonized peoples. Pitting white Jewry against BIPOC is to do the work of white supremacy for imperialist colonizers, and victimizes Jews of colour twice over.

Edit: friends, there's been some doubt cast on the veracity of Alisa's claims. The human cost to the Hispanos population caught downwind of the nuclear tests is very real, as was land seizure without adequate compensation. However, there's no record I can yet find about Los Alamos killing livestock and Hispanos being forced to work for Los Alamos without PPE. There is a separate issue about human testing in the development of said PPE that's not covered here. I'm turning off reblogs until I can find out more. Meanwhile, here's another more legitimate article you can boost instead:

#Youtube #colonialism #colonization #genocide #oppenheimer #nuclear war #nuclear testing #indigenous rights #racism #new mexico #american imperialism #world war ii #hispanos #tw: animal cruelty #loyda martinez #white supremacy #military industrial complex #generational trauma #worker exploitation #colonial trauma #hiroshima #nagasaki #war propaganda #knee of huss #twitter

[dessertgeek]

The Mari Lwyd Twitter saga (2020 - part one)

This is part of my efforts to transcribe @seananmcguire's holiday Mari Lwyd Twitter threads. The hashtag for now is #Mari Lwyd Project, the first post is here, the thread's source is here.

(Many thanks to @dor-min on finding and linking this one, along with linking the amazing Mari Lwyd fanart by Sue Rankin Pollard.)

2020 is going to take a bit to work through, as there were even more challengers and single replies and I'm trying to find them all, but I'm working on it! This round is Seanan + @kbspangler, with Sue's support/cheesing.

As always, credit to the authors/poets/cheese protectors and sharers. CWs for food and a confused Mari Lwyd getting cheesed.

Seanan: (Am I planning to randomly yell at my mutuals in skeleton horse until someone plays along? What else was I doing today?)

K.B.: Gimme.

Seanan: Hello new contender! You've asked me to play! Today is the solstice, I seek cheese today. I don't really care if it's vlaskaas or brie: I know you have cheese, so please give it to me.

K.B.: Sorry, o mare with your thousand-yard stare There's cheese in this house it is true But we shop at Target Instead of Fresh Market We've Kraft pre-wrapped singles for you.

Seanan: You know it's quite rude To placate the Mari with processed cheese food, But it's better than nothing, we are not denied, So pick up your singles and place them inside.

K.B.: Okay, so...logistics For a mare quite so mystic I've found a huge problem with that The bony heuristics of your characteristics Means you must wear this sliced cheese as a hat

Seanan: My new hat is fetching, so lovely and fine, I give you my blessing, new good friend of mine!

K.B.: Bid you good year with holiday cheer and happy to see you now leave This skeletal mare processed cheese in her hair An omen for Conjunction Eve.

Sue Rankin Pollard:

Seanan: Yes. This is correct.

#Mari Lwyd Project #Mari Lwyd #seanan mcguire #KB Spangler #Sue Rankin Pollard #That art is EVERYTHING #The expression #The cheesing #Magic #And also a round where everyone wins! #food #food tw #skull

[laurenfoxmakesthings]

ID: A thread of tweets by PinkRangerLB, a trans lawyer, that say the following.

"We in the LGBTQ+ community must understand that our dead were real people. Vital, awake, worlds unto themselves, like us. They didn’t live and die for the sake of our learning, but they have a lot to teach.

I want to tell you about Hart Island and hope in the darkness. /1

When I say they were real people I mean I do not believe they are necessary sacrifices, or that our dead paid a cost for us. They loved, they feared, they had favorite TV shows and candy bars. They were here and it will never ever ever be okay that they’re gone. /2

They’re not symbols or metaphors. They had books to write, vacations to take, meals to cook, and the world would be better with them still in it. We aren’t enriched by death, but we can stand in their shoes and see the future. /3

Hart Island, if you don’t know, is where New York City buries bodies that aren’t claimed by a licensed funeral director. At the height of the AIDS epidemic funeral homes were urged not to embalm AIDS fatalities. /4

In New York, as elsewhere, stigma toward the queer community was at a level that even now it can be difficult to remember. Many queer people who died of AIDS had been disowned by their birth family because of their identity, their HIV status, or both. /5

To make matters worse, their partners and found families had no rights to their medical care or their bodies after they passed. The hateful families that could claim them often didn’t, and the families that loved them were powerless to see to their wishes. /6

You can read more about all this at the memorial’s website, here:

hartisland.net/aids_initiative

/7

You can feel their weight, can’t you? The absence is heavy. And it’s important we understand that weight, because it’s a flat fact that current attacks on LGBTQ+ rights, trans rights especially, will kill people. There will be more absence, and it is not okay. /8

And when we say we have hope we are not saying it’s okay that they will be gone.

None of this ignores intersectionalism, higher rates of infection in targeted communities, death rates higher still. When I say things *can* get better I am not ignoring that improvement favors /9

the privileged.

Things got better. ACT UP and other activist groups organized and gained ground through community building, mutual aid, and grassroots action. Culturally, the tide began to turn. Federal action by Reagan and then Clinton contributed very little /10

(and in fact often caused harm). Direct action by activists galvanized AIDS research and the tide turned with very little government help.

In New York City, the death rate for HIV/AIDS patients fell by 62% from 2001 to 2012. So here’s what I’m saying. We’ve been seeing /11

an escalating backlash against LGBTQ people for years now. It gets very easy for us to come to expect the worst case scenario. Trump won, states are attacking trans kids, Roe was overturned. So now we say WHEN the Supreme Court overturns gay marriage, WHEN a national /12"

abortion ban passes, WHEN trans healthcare for adults gets criminalized.

And don’t get me wrong, those are all very real threats. We have to fight like hell. I am not pretending that times aren’t dark, that people won’t die, or that it will ever be okay that our people will /13

suffer and die. But things can, and do, get better when we fight, when we look after each other. The tide will not inevitably turn, but *we* can turn it. We can say that when the wall finally fell, our hands were there, pulling it down brick by brick. /14

And those we lost, if we remember them, honor them, we are their hands too. /15"

#lgbtqia+ #trans rights #transgender #activism #lgbtq #queer community #queer activism #lgbt #queer history #AIDs Crisis #you should share more of her threads on here they are often this anti-defeatist #I've been trying to use twitter less and go to tumblr more to get away from twitter's defeatism #I don't want any of you to start importing and accepting that defeatism here

[scoops-aboy86]

And we're now up to part A of the main events of s4, with an (un?)healthy dose of mutual pining. Bon appétit.

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 of the love spell no go au

It’s a panic reflex, really. 

Eddie sees Chrissy start to float and he knows what this is. Not the exact spell, he’s never had the nerve to dig into those kind of grimoires, those fuckers’ll take your fingers right off—but it’s definitely dark magic. And the best way to respond to dark magic is to get as far away from the spellcaster as fucking possible. He doesn’t know where the spellcaster is, so he reaches for the best hiding place he can think of off the top of his head. 

One second he’s in the trailer, screaming and flailing out the spell, and the next he lands on his ass in Reefer Rick’s dank little boathouse where no one or nothing will find him. 

… Okay, maybe not no one. 

“Eddie?!”

With a gasp, Eddie struggles to kick off the tarp and clamber out of the old motorboat. “Steve!” His foot is still tangled in the tarp, though, so he trips, stumbles into the other boy, and sends both of them thumping up against the nearest wall. “Fuck.”

But Steve’s arms wrap around him all the same. “Shit, Eddie, I’m glad you’re okay.”

He’s not, though. He is so not okay. 

Dustin is asking him about dark particles before it really clicks for Eddie—they know. Maybe not that it’s magic, but they’ve seen things before, enough to not question any of what he tells them. 

“How did you get all the way out here without your van?” the redhead, Max, asks shrewdly, and he recognizes her as one of his neighbors across the way. 

“I, uh.” Eddie doesn’t want to lie, because even as freaked out as he is he knows that he might end up having to tell them at this point—sorry Wayne. But that point hasn’t come yet. “I just… ran, I don’t know. I l-left her there.”

Steve still has a hand on his shoulder, at once reassuring and bewildering, and squeezes it now. “What happened to Chrissy wasn’t your fault, Eds. You said she was already gone, so it’s… You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Eddie is in no way okay. 

God only knows how long later, Eddie matches Steve’s pace through what the younger Hellfire members dubbed the Upside Down back in ‘83. He keeps wondering if he should tell them they don’t need the guns; he knows enough defensive spells and a fire spitting trick that should be protection enough. Most of those involve setting up in a fixed location, though, meaning they’d have to hole up rather than find (or fight) their way back home… and he’s not confident enough to put all of their eggs in his basket. 

It was all he could do to get his battle vest on Steve. Eddie, wary from years of being bullied, had sewn stealth and protection in with every thread he’d added to the garment, slipped healing charms in under the patches and then sewn them in place. 

And then Steve says “I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” which throws Eddie for a loop. 

“Pretty sure it was the dark wizard that dragged me into this, Stevie.” 

Eddie still doesn’t know if his involvement was intentional or not—if he was targeted as collateral damage because of his family and heritage or if it was all about Chrissy and he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He doesn’t know if his spell to get away was noticed, either, but… it would have been small potatoes compared to this asshole casting from a completely different dimension, so maybe not. Which is not very reassuring, but speculation is all he has right now. 

After an awkward moment of silence, Eddie clears his throat. “So, uh… all this is why you’ve been tense since July? And why you started buying from me?”

Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s putting one foot carefully in front of the other, mindful of the sentient vines. “Yeah.” He gives a halfhearted shrug. “This is different from the last time, but it’s always different. Like, usually I get most of my injuries from getting hit by regular people, but—” he gestures at the red and bruise-mottled marks circling his neck from that demonic bat thing “—this time I guess it’s the monsters’ turn. Never know what to brace for.”

“… Well shit,” Eddie sums up, not knowing what else to say. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a humorless laugh. “Thanks for jumping in after me though, dude. I know it’s all a lot and you're already kind of stuck with being involved, and with… losing Chrissy like that… but, yeah. It means a lot.”

Eddie doesn’t like the unfamiliar way Steve tenses up as he says this, and is puzzled by the strange phrasing. He didn’t really know Chrissy, they’d had literally two conversations and the second one was in the minutes immediately before her sudden demise. Sure, he’d wanted to help her and feels like throwing up any time he thinks about how she died, but they hadn’t exactly been close. Nothing like how he and Steve are. Why wouldn’t he try to save his… his friend?

“Nancy and Robin went first. I’m a shitty swimmer,” Eddie admits. “That’s the only reason I didn’t jump in sooner… Turned out I was more scared of being alone in that boat than I was of drowning, so yay for me. The girls did most of the heavy lifting, and you ripped that bat in half with your bare hands. That’s fucking metal by the way. A total Ozzy move.”

“Ozzy.” Steve’s forehead wrinkles, actually turning his gaze to Eddie. “Isn’t that the Black Something guy?”

“Sabbath,” he supplies, nodding. And then recounts the legend of Ozzy Osborne biting a bat’s head off on-stage. End of the world or not, he still considers himself morally obligated to lure Steve away from the top 40 pop hits, tempting him towards the dark side with impassioned lyrics and sick guitar riffs. 

He almost feels able to pretend that things are normal and they’re just idly chatting, until a brief earthquake that almost knock both of them down onto the fucking sentient vines and reminds him. 

The night between finding their way back out of the Upside Down and formulating a plan, the older teens take turns guarding the gate in the Munson trailer. Eddie almost breaks down and tries a circle of protection, but he’s not sure how to do that on the ceiling, there isn’t enough salt in the pantry to circle the entire trailer, and even if there were, Max’s place can’t fit all of them. 

Besides, he thinks glumly, he’s not sure it would even help with these kinds of monsters. Isn’t sure what kind of traction his magic will have on things spawned in a different plane.

So he helps Steve drag his shitty mattress back into the bedroom (because Steve refuses to sit out helping even with literal bites taken out of his sides) for the four of them to sleep on during watch shifts. And gets fresh blankets and sheets from Max, at Robin’s insistence. 

“New bandages,” he says to Steve once that’s done, pointing towards the bathroom in a way that he hopes brooks no argument. He’s already got a shirt and pair of sweatpants that pass the sniff test from his closet and a definitely clean pair of boxers from the dresser clutched in his other hand, ready to go.

Steve blinks at him, twice, then looks down at his own torso where Nancy’s ripped sweater is still tied around his wounds, dark from grime and spotting blood, and sighs. “Yeah, fine.”

Eddie shuts the door behind them, which makes the already cramped trailer bathroom feel even smaller. “Okay, so… Fastest way to do this is probably to hop in the shower and rinse off. You’re covered in lake and fuck knows what else from that place, don’t want any of that shit getting in the wounds. Don’t, uh, don’t scrub those, just everything else.” And busies himself with hauling the first aid kit out from under the sink, which is always a pain in the ass whether the door is open or not. The damn thing is too big for the space because of all the extra compartments for healing spell ingredients, quite a few of which he’s already planning to surreptitiously use.

Nothing happens behind him, so after a moment he pauses and looks over his shoulder to see Steve still as dressed as he was when they walked in. 

“This is going to take me a while, it’ll all go faster if you start washing up now,” he points out, not trying to be brusque but he’s… not the best with blood, and trying to steel himself for what’s coming. “If you’re worried about your modesty, I promise not to look.”

“Don’t care about that,” Steve says, and he sounds tense. 

Eddie tries not to think about how he’s just been handed indirect permission to watch Steve undress and shower. Jesus H. Christ. “Then… are you dragging your heels because you wanna tell me that you do have demon bat rabies, or…?”

“No.” Steve sighs, and runs a dirty hand through his already disheveled and deflated hair. How he still manages to look hot after all they’ve been through, Eddie has no idea. “How, uh. How thin are the walls?”

From outside the bathroom, Robin calls, “Pretty thin, Steve-o.”

No further answer to that question needed, Eddie inclines his head towards the door. “You heard the lady. Turning the water on helps, even though the pressure is shit. It’ll get cold pretty fast, though, so you’ll want to be quick.”

For a moment, it still seems like Steve has something he wants to say. Eddie waits patiently, looking off to the side so he doesn’t have an aneurism while Steve strips down and turns the water on, but once Steve steps under the spray he seems wholly focused on peeling away the makeshift bandages so Eddie returns to wrestling with the first aid kit. They don’t talk; Steve remains eerily silent even through disinfecting the bites on his sides and the road rash on his back, even though all of it must sting like a bitch. And then Eddie wraps him up in clean gauze and medical tape and a few subtle spells to help ease the pain and help speed the healing along, hands Steve the clean clothes to change into, and slips out of the bathroom trying not to think about how Steve’s hair now smells like his bargain bin shampoo. 

“All patched up?” Robin asks, joining Steve on the mattress as they settle in for some sleep before their staggered shifts start. Since he’s injured, Nancy put him last on the rota so he could get more uninterrupted rest up front. 

He nods. Flicks his eyes to the closed bedroom door, remembering from the bathroom that it really only provides the illusion of privacy, and shuffles around to lie down with a dejected sigh. 

Robin follows. They lay down facing each other, cramped on the narrow bed, but they’ve done this before—Steve’s is a full, but Robin’s is a twin-sized just like this one.

In a whisper barely more than a breath, she says, “You wanted to tell him.” It’s not a question.

“Not with Nancy listening,” he whispers back. “And… Chrissy, I shouldn’t…”

Robin’s lips press into a thin line, almost invisible in the darkened room. “There’s no way Eddie Munson was hooking up with Chrissy Cunningham, dingus. Can you even see them together? No way.”

“Can you see Eddie Munson with Steve Harrington?” he hisses back, a little too loud—but though they both freeze to listen, to be sure, there’s no sound. No sign that anyone overheard. 

“Maybe,” Robin retorts softly once they’ve both settled again. “You’re not exactly a bastion of conformity anymore, you know, mister babysitter with a lesbian band nerd for a best friend expert monster killer… guy. He could go for you. And I don’t think… I mean, I don’t know, but… I don’t think he’s into girls, Steve.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Steve whispers.

The eye-roll in response is practically audible. “Because he watches you all the time. And that thing with the vest when Nancy was looking at you.”

“So? I watch him all the time, and I like both!”

“Well, if I’m wrong and he is like you, doesn’t that at least mean—”

“I just don’t want to get in the way if he’s mourning her, Robs. I don’t want to be a, a rebound or for anything to happen just because we might die. Because then what if we don’t, and he doesn’t… want me anymore? I can’t do that again.”

With a rustle of blankets, Robin scoots closer to pull him into a hug. Steve doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t cry—but his hand fists in the back of her shirt and he holds on tight. 

They’re still in that position an hour or so later when Eddie comes to tag Robin in, whispering that all is still quiet on the ceiling-ward front as she extracts herself. Steve remains dead asleep, even when Eddie hesitantly worms his way under the covers while staying as close to the edge of the mattress as possible so as not to disturb him.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

#scoops words #love spell no go au #wg steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #dustin henderson #robin buckley #eddie munson lives

[qweerhet]

not entirely sure how to best articulate this, but something i've been rotating in my head lately is the :handshake: solidarity between black and disabled american experiences:

both experience other marginalized groups' progressive movements actively exploiting them to further their assimilation and acceptance into current power structures; notably, the feminist and queer progressive movements

both experience a form of oppression centered in their visible bodies, blocking them from utilizing acceptance within power structures to their own benefits (or temporary safety) moreso than other groups who are able to temporarily "blend in" and reap the benefits of assimilation

both have presumptions of violence enforced on their bodies via thin-slicing

both actively and specifically targeted by eugenics, including for the benefit of progressive movements

related to the prior bullet point, however, both in living memory and currently experiencing mass literal nonconsensual medical experimentation, among other genocidal medical tactics (mass forced sterilization, etc)

both the highest targets for lethal police violence among any marginalized groups in america (over half of everyone killed by the police in america has a disability--literally, over 50%--and black folks are killed by the police at a higher rate than any other racial group by orders of magnitude)

both plagued by the constant phenomenon of highly publicly-visible grifters from their own marginalized groups attempting to push social narratives about their oppression being overblown or actually "privileged," despite those grifters being extreme outliers in not facing most aspects of marginalization the rest of the group broadly faces

and of course, because of this overlap and interaction between forms of oppression, the black disabled experience is intensely marginalized and subject to extreme social + state violence

and as i've been thinking about this, i am infuriated by the attempts of social-media lefty grifter types to pit disabled and black experiences against one another--as if the groups are mutually exclusive and have no overlap, as if the groups don't experience a shared history and current experience of being stepped on and exploited in other groups' frantic clawing for assimilation into white supremacist abled power structures. as if we aren't both historically actively left behind and pushed farther down by movements like the queer and feminist progressive movements' active utilization of the power structures that view our bodies as disposable trash, in order for those movements to profit off our bodies and gain power in society--power over us, because we're the disposable underclass.

our fights are linked; ableism and white supremacy don't only go hand-in-hand, they also prop each other up in a horrible incestuous clusterfuck of hegemonies. to pit disabled and black experiences against one another in a thread of clout-driven twittok rage-click fuel is to leave our black disabled community members to rot, and to ignore the solidarity we could have.

#i'm sorry if this sounds particularly derogatory towards queer and feminist movements atm #i've been both learning a lot about disabled disposability within those movements and about antiblackness in them #and disposability of black bodies within them #and it's been making me feel... very jaded. #i don't believe in the oppression olympics but at the same time not every marginalized experience is an exact 1:1 equivalent within society #it's not about being ''more'' or ''less'' oppressed--it's about the broad social movements and marginalized individuals' places within them #not being interchangeable and certainly not progressing in 1:1 equivalent ways #all american-centric ofc.

[catb-fics]

Fanfic writers who use Wattpad!

One of my lovely mutuals just sent me this link from Reddit

So it looks like a lot of fics are being deleted for violating community guidelines but there seems to be some comments on this thread saying their fics had been taken down when they hadn’t violated any apparent guidelines too. Fanfics in particular seem to be being targeted. After I’ve recently had stuff deleted and another one of my writer mutuals also has I just wanted to warn anyone who posts their fics to Wattpad to make sure you have backups of everything as they literally just delete it with no warning and you can’t get it back 😭

Tagging a few people who I know use Wattpad but feel free to share… I’d hate for anyone to lose all their hard work xxx

@17-goingunder @icouldntfindquiet @the-leveller @pacifymebby @jhangelface0523 @hankmoonbeam @privategurlsblog @okayohay @tractorbeamofwoe

#wattpad #fanfic

[floatinginzerogravity]

I did an Analysis of the Murder Drones pilot for my friends and am deciding to post it: Pt.2

[Text: Plot armor detected] On Uzi

One of N's lights is orange, indicating and error [fun fact: In one of the concept arts it was explained that the lights on the DD's heads act as their "real" eyes, allowing for additional infrared, ultraviolet, ect. vision settings. ]

V, stop, just stop Also, the first time I watched through this, I did not catch the fact that the DD's names were all letters. I was like, "hmm, Vee and Jay, yeah, those sure are normal names" and made zero brain connections

At this point, N is still strictly adhering to his "kill WD" programming, even if he is considering what Uzi is saying. Scene: After J comes back and Slaps N

[Text: Slap accepted] [Text: Processing data: Sys://:/ Optic_sensory_data] [Text: Cooling it with the///Char. Trait: Lovable idiot// Trope] ^ There have been comments made about how N seems to tone down a bit after the first episode, turns out it was intentional

[Text: String: "Absolute Solver" Blocked by administration "CYN"] eh~he ;3 Plot: N, upon realizing he allowed a WD, aka a target, to escape, he chases after her to fix his mistake

-green guy Yeaaaah, don't think that's gonna happen, bud

Plot: And then N gets in before the door closes, and the murder starts happening

Showcasing that N prioritizes his friends above all else. I'm not bringing this up for a reason or anything/s

smooth, Khan, smooth

N stops trying to kill her at this point

He throws her out of the way to hide her from V and J

J: Pats N on the back N: pain noises

N, I love you, but she literally just tried to kill you J mentioned that WD's were corrupted. Might mean something, might not. She's most likely referring to their unsupervised society, but she might be referring to something else (That I can't name right now), and if she is, it would mean that she knows a lot more than she lets on at this point in the story This is in no way significant to the plot, but is an interested thread. There's more details about this in episode's 2 & 6 that I will point out when I get to them

J really feels zero remorse right now, huh?

Just Uzi

It's implied here that Uzi used the wrench to remove the virus from N. MD isn't super good with communicating transitions, and while that is a writing flaw, I find it fun to figure stuff out :D

ptfffffffff N

I friggin love N

Good feels mutually emotionally supportive duo my beloved

Uzi is strong af #1: She threw a pen and managed to damage one of the most sensitive parts of a DD's body Side note: there is a headcannon floating around that J is the most incompetent member of the DD trio and the only reason she hasn't been decommissioned is because V and N have made up for what she lacks. This has nothing to do with anything, but I find it fun :D Also, might have some, very minor, cannon backing in episode 6 (will comment on that when we get there)

okay J-

#murder drones #murder drones analysis #murder drones theory

[confessionsofa-roleplayer]

I hope I'm not the only one to have this sentiment: Don't remain mutuals with both a victim of targeted harassment and their obsessed attacker(s). Drop and block the attacker(s). You can see what the hell the attacker is doing, some going as far to circumvent blocking measures and obsessively vague blogging or digging up shit on their victim from years ago as if it will validate their harassment. I don't care how cool their blog is otherwise or if their writing is nice or if you got threads with them. Allowing them to interact with you when you still interact with their victim shows them they can get away with just about any harassment against thar victim and future ones. People who decide to go on a hate crusade against anyone, especially for the pettiest of reasons like a benign difference in beliefs, need to learn that doing so will have them cut off. Letting them carry on after they went out of their way to really hurt another person who is literally trying to keep them away only gives them the idea that what they did was acceptable behaviour. They need to be shown through appropriate mature reaction by cutting them off from their perception of supporters that that is not the case. Most of us are adults anyways so we need to really be setting the example that shit like that should never fly in the RPC.

#drama #confessions

[hxllishrebuke]

I recently went through my screenshots again and I have been holding onto these shared to me from someone a while ago. For context, this is from Toastie’s Hazbin server. I NEVER targeted other Stolas roleplayers; the most I have done is BLOCK them for my own comfort. I did have TWO on a private DNI list because they had stolen from my blog; I deleted the DNI list entirely long ago. I have also NEVER stalked anyone and I would NEVER do so. The screenshots of blogs that blocked me were all provided by a common Mutual at the time. I have block-evaded three times total and I have already explained the situation entirely. I don’t know nor recall ever interacting with anyone named Roxy / Scion; and if I did, I have forgotten because I have memory issues. I also do not know a couple of the users in this server. I do know Toastie, Legend, Loke (Deleted User), Cervidae Demon, and Klep (Stolas Simp). And I have every one of them blocked. Keep in mind Klep faked kindness towards me, claimed to not have chosen sides or want to be involved in anything, and even wanted to have their Stolas interact with my Stolas, despite KNOWING I have anxiety regarding doubles. They also started portraying Stolas because I didn’t roleplay with them on Discord, even though they knew I have anxiety regarding doubles. I am unsure if anything else has been posted about me, as I have been holding onto these screenshots from a while back. Maybe the thread is closed, maybe they’ve stopped, I am unsure. A lot of the accusations made about me are false. I didn’t know Loke was doxed, truly stalked, or anything; I only knew that she was hiding from stalkers. I believed her because I thought we were friends at the time. I also have not known Loke, Legend, Toastie, or anyone else for six years. I am not sharing these to fuel drama to start up again; I am sharing these as evidence and a testimony. If anyone were to contact me wanting to AMICABLY discuss things, exchange apologies, etc. I would absolutely welcome them with open arms. I do not hate nor despise anyone involved in everything. I just despise their actions and how everything was handled, including from my own perspective. My apologies and explanations for everything can be read here.

posting as is but i'm horrified

#toastie #loke #the hazbin community has a very clique problem #disgusting behavior from all of them they should be ASHAMED

[star-wars-writing]

A Journey Beyond Duty

A/N: hey guys, this is the tenth @codywanbingo story with the prompt: Bandaging wounds, hope you like it.

The night on the remote planet of Rylath was a cloak of obscurity, enveloping Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody as they navigated the rugged terrain towards the enemy base. Their mission: a covert operation to gather crucial intelligence, potentially turning the tide in a crucial sector of the galaxy.

Silhouetted against the moons' pale light, the two figures moved with a stealth and precision born of countless missions together. Obi-Wan, his robes blending into the darkness, kept his senses attuned to the Force, while Cody, in his distinctive orange-marked armor, scanned their surroundings with a soldier's keen eye.

"This feels too quiet," Cody murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as they approached the base's perimeter. The structure loomed ahead, a dark monolith against the starlit sky.

Obi-Wan nodded slightly. "I sense it too. Stay alert. The Force is... uneasy."

Their conversation continued in hushed tones, the bond of mutual respect and understanding evident in their exchange. "Do you think we'll find what we're looking for?" Cody asked, his gaze fixed on the compound's entry point they were steadily approaching.

"The intel was reliable," Obi-Wan replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his lightsaber. "But the truth is often buried deeper than spies can see."

Cody chuckled softly. "Always with the wisdom, General. Makes me glad I don't have to do the thinking."

Obi-Wan's response was a wry smile. "And I'm glad I don't have to do the shooting, Commander."

As they reached the outer walls, Obi-Wan's hand gestured for a pause. "We'll split up. I'll disable the power generator; you infiltrate the main control room. We meet at the extraction point in one hour."

Cody nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the plan. "And if things go south?"

"Then we adapt," Obi-Wan replied, the Jedi's calm assurance a stark contrast to the uncertainty of the mission.

They parted ways, each slipping into the shadows like specters of the night. Cody moved with the disciplined grace of a seasoned soldier, his every step measured and silent. He navigated through the base's exterior, using his intimate knowledge of military layouts to avoid patrols and surveillance.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan, guided by the Force, traversed a different path. He moved with an ethereal presence, his connection to the living energy field guiding him through the darkest corners and tightest spaces. His objective lay at the heart of the compound, a nexus of power that, if disabled, would cripple the enemy's defenses.

As they delved deeper into enemy territory, the bond between the Jedi Master and the Clone Commander, though unspoken, was a thread of strength and trust. They were two parts of a whole, each playing their role in a dance as old as the Clone Wars themselves.

"Remember, General," Cody's voice crackled over the comlink, a hint of jest in his tone, "no unnecessary heroics."

Obi-Wan's chuckle was a soft sound in the quiet of the night. "You know me, Cody. I always follow the plan."

"But sometimes the plan follows you," Cody retorted, a smile evident in his voice.

The banter, light and familiar, was a brief respite from the gravity of their mission. It was a reminder of the countless days and nights they had spent fighting side by side, a testament to the bond forged in the fires of war and solidified in moments of quiet understanding.

As they closed in on their respective targets, the stillness of the night was a stark contrast to the storm that lay ahead. For Obi-Wan and Cody, the mission was more than a duty; it was a testament to their unyielding commitment to a cause greater than themselves, a cause that had brought them together and molded their destinies in ways neither could have foreseen.

In the shadows of the enemy base, with the fate of galaxies hanging in the balance, the Jedi Master and the Clone Commander moved forward, each step a silent vow to see the mission through, together.

The corridors of the enemy base were a labyrinth of uncertainty, each turn a potential trap, every shadow a hiding place for danger. Obi-Wan Kenobi, moving with the silent grace of a Jedi, felt the Force pulsing around him, a warning of impending peril. Beside him, Commander Cody, his posture rigid with alertness, advanced with a soldier's precision. Their eyes spoke a shared language of vigilance, forged in the crucible of countless battles.

As they rounded a corner, the tranquility of their stealth mission shattered. Blaster bolts streaked through the air, a sudden storm of lethal intent. The ambush was swift, the enemy hidden in the recesses of the dark corridor. Obi-Wan's lightsaber came to life, a brilliant blue arc cutting through the darkness, deflecting the deadly barrage with deft movements. His mind, attuned to the Force, was calm amidst the chaos, a tranquil center in a maelstrom of violence.

Cody, with a warrior's instinct, returned fire, his blaster a steady drumbeat against the enemy's onslaught. His movements were fluid yet controlled, every shot a calculated decision. In his mind, there was no fear, only the focus of a soldier fulfilling his duty. Yet, beneath that veneer of discipline, a current of concern for his companion, his general, flowed strong and unyielding.

The enemy, unseen, was relentless. A sudden burst of blaster fire, more intense than the rest, erupted towards them. Obi-Wan, engaged with deflecting the continuous stream, did not see the bolt aimed directly at him. Cody, with a split-second decision borne of instinct and an unspoken bond, acted. He lunged towards Obi-Wan, a shield of flesh and armor, his body colliding with the Jedi's just as the bolt struck.

Pain exploded through Cody's body, a white-hot inferno that seared through his senses. He crumpled to the ground, his armor scorched, the smell of burnt metal filling the air. The world around him spun into a blur, the sounds of battle a distant echo in his ears.

Obi-Wan, now on the ground beside Cody, felt a surge of shock and fear, emotions he had long learned to control but now bubbled to the surface. His hands moved to Cody's wound, the Force flowing from his fingertips in an attempt to stem the tide of injury. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts - concern for Cody, the mission, the war. But above all, there was an overwhelming sense of gratitude mixed with a deep, aching sorrow for the sacrifice made.

"Cody!" Obi-Wan's voice was strained, a rare crack in the composed façade of the Jedi. "Hold on, Commander."

Cody's eyes met Obi-Wan's, a flicker of pain and resolve within their depths. "Had to... save you, General," he managed to gasp, his voice a rasping shadow of its usual firmness. In that gaze, Obi-Wan saw not just a soldier following orders, but a man acting on a bond deeper than any protocol could dictate.

Around them, the battle faded to a secondary concern, the urgency of the situation narrowing their world to this single moment of shared vulnerability. Obi-Wan's focus was entirely on Cody, his mind racing for solutions, his heart heavy with the weight of a friendship that had grown beyond the confines of commander and Jedi.

As allies arrived to secure the area, Obi-Wan remained steadfast by Cody's side, his determination to save him as unyielding as the Force itself. 

In the hushed aftermath of the skirmish, as the blaster fire ceased and the echoes died away, the urgency of the moment transformed into a somber stillness. The soldiers who arrived moved with efficiency, yet their eyes couldn't help but linger on the scene before them - a Jedi Master cradling his injured commander, a tableau of sacrifice and unspoken bonds.

In the dim light of the corridor, illuminated only by the fading glow of Obi-Wan's lightsaber, the reality of the situation settled like a heavy cloak. Cody's breathing was shallow, his face etched with pain, but his eyes held a steadfast determination, reflective of a spirit that refused to yield even in the face of dire injury.

"Stay with me, Cody," Obi-Wan urged, his voice a low murmur, blending with the distant sounds of the base now alert to the intrusion. His hands, still channeling the healing energy of the Force, were steady, but his eyes betrayed a turmoil of emotions - respect, concern, and an unspoken fear of loss.

Cody's response was a faint nod, his usual firm voice reduced to a whisper. "Wouldn't... leave you, General. Not... yet." The hint of his characteristic resolve, even in his weakened state, was a testament to the bond they shared, one forged not just in the heat of battle but in the countless moments of trust and mutual reliance.

Obi-Wan's gaze lingered on Cody, reading the unspoken language of his commander's eyes - a language that spoke of battles fought together, of a camaraderie that had transcended the usual bounds of general and soldier. In those eyes, Obi-Wan saw not just the duty and loyalty that defined Cody but also a glimpse of the individuality that lay beneath the surface of the cloned soldier, a uniqueness that Obi-Wan had come to recognize and respect.

In the aftermath of the ambush, as Obi-Wan Kenobi deftly maneuvered through the enemy-infested corridors, he bore the weight of Commander Cody with a resolve that defied his calm demeanor. The Force guided him, a silent ally in the shadows, leading them to a secluded hideout – a forgotten chamber, a relic of peace in a war-torn world.

The hideout, a small, nondescript room, was bathed in the dim glow of a flickering light, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls. Gently, Obi-Wan laid Cody down, his movements a meticulous blend of Jedi precision and heartfelt concern. The commander’s armor, marred by the violence of the blast, was a stark testament to the sacrifice he had made.

As Obi-Wan carefully removed the damaged armor, his touch was reverent, each movement acknowledging the price of the loyalty Cody had shown. Beneath the armor, the wound was grievous, a jarring contrast to the commander’s unyielding spirit.

"You shouldn't have..." Obi-Wan began, his voice laced with a mix of gratitude and a deep-seated guilt.

Cody, his face etched with pain but eyes alight with an unwavering resolve, managed a weak smile. "Had to, General. You'd have done the same."

Their exchange was cut short by the arrival of two familiar figures – Waxer and Boil, Cody's trusted comrades. The two clones entered the hideout with a sense of urgency, their expressions a mix of concern and relief at finding their commander and general safe.

Waxer, his armor smeared with the remnants of battle, approached with a brisk efficiency. "We've secured the area, General," he reported, his voice steady yet betraying an underlying worry for his superior.

Boil, standing close to Cody, surveyed the injury with a soldier's pragmatism. "We need to get him back to the medbay," he stated, his gaze flickering to Obi-Wan for confirmation.

Obi-Wan, while continuing to tend to Cody's wounds, nodded in agreement. His hands, guided by the Force, moved with a healer's grace, but the presence of Waxer and Boil brought a new dynamic to the room. It was a reminder of the bond shared not just between general and commander, but among the men who served under them, a brotherhood forged in the crucible of war.

As Waxer and Boil assisted, their actions were respectful, their demeanor reflecting the depth of their respect for both Cody and Obi-Wan. They moved with a quiet efficiency, aiding Obi-Wan in stabilizing Cody's condition, their presence a silent support in the tense atmosphere.

The room, once a place of solitude, now resonated with the unspoken camaraderie of soldiers. The stark walls echoed with the low murmurs of concern, the shared glances of understanding. In this secluded space, the complexities of rank and duty gave way to the more profound ties of loyalty and shared humanity.

In the subdued light, as Obi-Wan worked to save Cody, the bond between them was palpable, a silent testament to a relationship that transcended the usual confines of command. Around them, Waxer and Boil stood vigilant, their presence a quiet reassurance of the unbreakable bond that united them, a bond that would endure through the trials of war and beyond.

In the dim seclusion of a forgotten chamber deep within the enemy base, Obi-Wan Kenobi knelt beside Commander Cody, whose form lay still amidst the chaos of war. The room, lit only by the flickering light of a small, battered lamp, cast long, wavering shadows across their faces, painting a picture of solemnity and urgency.

Obi-Wan's hands, guided by years of Jedi training and a deep-seated care, worked meticulously to bandage the wounds that marred Cody's body. Each wrap of the bandage was a testament to the bond they shared, a bond that had grown beyond the confines of duty and rank. The fabric was gently, yet firmly applied, a barrier against the harsh reality of war.

"Cody, stay with me," Obi-Wan urged, his voice a soft command tinged with concern. The Force flowed through him, a soothing presence that he channeled towards the injured commander, his fingers hovering over the wounds as he sought to mend what had been broken.

Cody, his face etched with pain, managed a weak smirk. "Didn't take you for a medic, General," he rasped, the attempt at humor a stark contrast to the gravity of his injuries.

Obi-Wan offered a small, wistful smile in return. "There are many roles one must play in war. This is one I wish I didn't have to." His eyes, usually a well of calm and wisdom, now flickered with a complex mix of emotions - fear, guilt, and a deep, unspoken affection.

As he continued the delicate task of bandaging, a silence settled between them, filled with words unspoken, emotions unexpressed. The air was thick with the weight of things left unsaid, a shared history that spanned the tumult of the Clone Wars.

"Remember that time on Tibrin?" Cody broke the silence, his voice a mere whisper. "When you talked us out of a full-scale assault. I never said it, but... I admired your courage that day."

Obi-Wan paused, his actions momentarily still. "It was your strategy that made it possible, Cody. You always had a way of seeing things clearly in battle."

A moment passed, laden with memories and unvoiced thoughts. "We've been through a lot, haven't we, General?" Cody's words were laced with a nostalgia that went beyond the camaraderie of soldiers.

"We have, Commander," Obi-Wan acknowledged, his voice low and reflective. "And through it all, your loyalty, your strength... it's been a constant I've come to rely on."

Cody's gaze met Obi-Wan's, a silent communication passing between them. In those eyes, Obi-Wan saw the unwavering spirit of the commander, but also the vulnerability of the man beneath the armor. "I've always trusted you, Obi-Wan. With my life... and more."

Obi-Wan's response was a soft sigh, a sound that carried the weight of their unspoken bond. "And I, you, Cody. In ways I never expected." The Force around them seemed to hum with a resonance that spoke of deep connections, of bonds forged not only in the heat of battle but in the quiet moments of trust and understanding.

As Obi-Wan resumed the force healing, his touch gentle yet firm, the room seemed to shrink around them, becoming a world unto itself. Here, in this hidden corner of the galaxy, the lines between general and commander, friend and love interest, blurred into a singular truth - a bond unbreakable, a loyalty unyielding, a love unspoken but deeply felt.

In the soft glow of the hideout, illuminated by the lamp's wavering light, the bond between them was palpable, a tangible force as real as the energy that Obi-Wan channeled through his hands. The Force seemed to wrap around them, a cocoon of energy that bridged the gap between healer and wounded, between a Jedi Master and his trusted Commander.

Cody's breathing steadied under Obi-Wan's ministrations, the pain in his eyes softening. "I never thought I'd be at the receiving end of Jedi healing," he said, his voice gaining strength. "Feels strange... not unpleasant, just strange."

Obi-Wan chuckled softly, the sound echoing softly in the compact room. "I assure you, it's not a common occurrence. But then, our partnership has always been anything but common."

The air between them was charged with an unspoken acknowledgment of the depth of their relationship. It was a bond that had evolved, shaped by the fires of battle, by shared laughter and silent understandings, by moments of desperation and acts of bravery.

Cody, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze, found a depth of emotion there that he had only glimpsed in fleeting moments before. "We've always been a good team, haven't we, General? In more ways than one."

"Yes, Cody, we have," Obi-Wan agreed, his voice laced with a warmth that went beyond mere camaraderie. "In all the chaos of this war, our friendship... it's been my anchor. You've been my anchor."

A silence fell between them, a comfortable hush that spoke volumes. In the confines of the hideout, away from the prying eyes of the galaxy, they allowed themselves a moment of vulnerability, a shared understanding of the emotions that lay beneath the surface of their bond.

As Obi-Wan continued his healing work, his focus never wavered from Cody, each touch a silent promise, a vow of protection and loyalty. The Force flowed between them, a bridge of energy and emotion, healing not just physical wounds, but touching the unspoken scars of battles past, of a war that demanded so much from them both.

The room, with its plain walls and simple light, became a sanctuary, a haven where general and commander, Jedi and clone, could simply be Obi-Wan and Cody, two souls intertwined by fate and choice, their bond a testament to the enduring power of trust, loyalty, and an unacknowledged love that had quietly defined them both.

**** 

As Waxer and Boil disappeared, their footsteps fading into the distance, the hideout's silence deepened, enveloping Obi-Wan and Cody in a bubble of stillness. Cody, propped against a cold, unadorned wall, watched Obi-Wan with an intensity that spoke of years of camaraderie and battles shared. The room, with its sparse furnishings and dim light, seemed to contract, becoming an intimate space for reflection and revelation.

Obi-Wan, sitting across from Cody, his posture relaxed yet alert, met his gaze. The air between them was charged with an unspoken understanding, a readiness to traverse territories of conversation they had seldom explored.

"The war has taken much from us, Cody," Obi-Wan began, his voice soft, introspective. "I find myself wondering... about the cost. The personal sacrifices."

Cody's response was thoughtful, his voice tinged with a weariness born of endless battles. "We've all lost something, General. Friends, time, parts of ourselves." He paused, his gaze distant. "Sometimes, I wonder who I'd be without this war."

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression somber. "The path of a Jedi is not easy, nor is the path of a soldier. We give up parts of ourselves for a cause we believe in. But lately, I've been questioning the cost of such sacrifices."

Cody, shifting slightly to ease his discomfort, regarded Obi-Wan with a newfound curiosity. "You're talking about the Jedi code, aren't you? The part about attachments."

"Yes," Obi-Wan admitted, a rare openness in his demeanor. "The code teaches us to let go of attachments, to maintain our focus on the greater good. But in doing so, I wonder if we lose sight of... something equally important."

The conversation hung in the air, a delicate balance between doctrine and emotion. Cody, his expression thoughtful, broke the silence. "We clones, we were made to fight, to follow orders. But along the way, we form bonds, attachments. It's what makes us more than just soldiers. Maybe... it's not so different for Jedi."

Obi-Wan's eyes held a depth of emotion, a turmoil of thoughts and feelings. "Perhaps you're right, Cody. In this war, I've formed bonds that I... that I cannot deny. Bonds that have given me strength, even as they challenge the principles I've lived by."

Cody's gaze was steady, a mirror to Obi-Wan's conflict. "And is that such a bad thing, General? To find strength in others?"

Obi-Wan's response was a soft sigh, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of galaxies. "No, it's not a bad thing. In fact, it might be what makes us truly strong. The ability to connect, to care... it's a powerful thing."

Their conversation drifted then, to shared memories, to battles fought and won, to moments of quiet amidst the storm of war. They spoke of fallen comrades, of victories tinged with sorrow, of the heavy burden of command. And through it all, there was an undercurrent of something deeper, a connection that had grown beyond the bounds of general and commander.

In the quiet of the hideout, as they delved into the complexities of duty and emotion, Obi-Wan and Cody discovered a new understanding of each

other, a shared vulnerability that transcended the roles they played in the grand theatre of war. Cody, his voice growing stronger with each word, spoke of moments that had defined him, of decisions made in the heat of battle that lingered in his thoughts.

"It's the choices we make, isn't it, General?" Cody mused, his eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. "Choices that define us, more than the battles we fight."

Obi-Wan nodded, his gaze introspective. "Yes, it's our choices. And I've been wondering about the choices I've made, in light of the Jedi teachings. The code is clear, but life... life is complex. It's not always black and white."

Cody, sensing the depth of Obi-Wan's internal struggle, leaned forward slightly. "You've always made the right choices, General. Even when they weren't easy. That's what sets you apart."

Obi-Wan's smile was tinged with sadness. "I've tried to do what's right, but I can't help but question... What if the right choice isn't always in line with the code? What if the right choice is about the people we care for, the attachments we form?"

The air around them seemed to thicken with unspoken truths, with emotions held back for too long. Obi-Wan, always the picture of Jedi serenity, now appeared human, vulnerable. His eyes, usually so clear and focused, now swam with doubts and unspoken yearnings.

Cody watched him, a mix of respect and concern etched on his features. "Maybe it's about finding a balance, General. Maybe it's about understanding that our attachments, our emotions... they're a part of who we are. They don't weaken us; they make us whole."

Obi-Wan's gaze lingered on Cody, seeing not just the soldier, but the man he had come to know, to rely on, to... care for, in ways the Jedi code had never prepared him for. "You may be right, Cody. Perhaps it's about finding that balance. And maybe, it's about accepting that some attachments... they're worth the risk."

Their conversation slowed, the words dwindling as their thoughts turned inward, each man reflecting on the journey that had brought them to this moment. The room, once a mere hideout, had become a sanctuary where they could lay bare their souls, where rank and duty gave way to honesty and understanding.

In the shared silence, a bond was solidified, a bond born of war but deepened by mutual respect and an unspoken affection. It was a bond that defied the rules of the Jedi, that transcended the expectations of a soldier. It was a bond that spoke of a shared humanity, of a connection that was as profound as it was forbidden.

In the dim light of the hideout, Obi-Wan and Cody found a moment of peace, a respite from the war that raged outside. It was a moment of clarity, a realization that amidst the chaos of the galaxy, they had found in each other an anchor, a source of strength and, perhaps, a glimpse of what it meant to be truly human.

**** 

As the hours passed in the seclusion of their makeshift sanctuary, a subtle change began to manifest in Cody's condition. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with an unspoken tension as Obi-Wan, with a healer's intuition, noticed the subtle signs of worsening. Cody's skin, usually the picture of clone-bred resilience, had taken on a pallor, and his breathing, once steady in its rhythm, now came in shallow, labored gasps.

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in concern, his hands hovering above the bandaged wound, the Force flowing through him in a focused stream. "Cody, stay with me," he urged, his voice a blend of command and concern. The infection was spreading, a silent enemy as dangerous as any they had faced on the battlefield.

Cody, his eyes clouded with pain, met Obi-Wan's gaze. "I'm not... going anywhere, General," he rasped, a weak attempt at his usual humor. But the gravity of the situation lay unmasked in his eyes, a flicker of fear that he had always been trained to suppress.

Obi-Wan, sensing the urgency of the moment, deepened his connection to the Force. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the living energy around them, calling upon it with a sense of desperation he seldom allowed himself to feel. The air in the room seemed to thrum with power, the Force responding to his call, a tide of healing energy at his command.

Cody watched, a mix of awe and pain etching his features. The sight of Obi-Wan, a Jedi Master in his element, was both inspiring and humbling. "You're... something else, Obi-Wan," he murmured, the words a whisper of admiration.

Obi-Wan's focus was unwavering, but at Cody's words, a soft smile touched his lips. "We're in this together, Cody. I won't let you face this alone." His words were more than a reassurance; they were a vow, a promise born of the bond they shared.

The energy in the room peaked, a crescendo of unseen power, and Cody felt a warmth spreading through him, a counter to the chill of the infection. It was as if Obi-Wan's will alone was battling the invasion in his body, fighting for his life with a determination that mirrored the battles they had fought side by side.

As the Force flowed, a connection deepened between them, a bridge of energy and emotion that transcended the physical realm. In that moment, their mutual feelings, long unacknowledged, surfaced with a clarity that was both startling and inevitable.

"Cody," Obi-Wan said, his voice a soft murmur amidst the hum of the Force, "you've always been more than just a commander to me. You've been a friend, a confidant... someone I..."

Cody, feeling the strength returning to his body, reached out, his hand finding Obi-Wan's. "I know, Obi-Wan. I've felt it too. There's something between us... more than duty, more than war."

Their eyes locked, and in that gaze, a multitude of unspoken words passed between them. It was a recognition of the depth of their bond, a realization of the feelings that had grown amidst the chaos of their lives. In the silence, a truth was acknowledged, a truth as profound as it was forbidden.

In the small, dimly lit hideout, as the Force ebbed around them, Obi-Wan and Cody found themselves at a crossroads. Their connection, strengthened in the face of adversity, had blossomed into something neither could deny. It was a bond forged in the heart of war, yet transcending it, a testament to the enduring power of human connection, of love in the midst of chaos. In that moment, as Cody's condition stabilized under Obi-Wan's unwavering care, they faced a new reality, one where their relationship had evolved into something more profound, something irrevocably changed.

*** 

As the profound moment of shared acknowledgment between Obi-Wan and Cody hung in the air, a sudden shift occurred. Cody's eyes, which had held a spark of something beyond pain and camaraderie, began to glaze over, his grip on Obi-Wan's hand weakening. The strength that had momentarily returned to his face seemed to ebb away, leaving behind a pallor of exhaustion and pain.

"Cody!" Obi-Wan's voice was tinged with alarm. The Jedi Master leaned in closer, his senses heightened as he reached out with the Force, trying to tether Cody to consciousness. "Stay with me, Commander. Stay with me."

But Cody's response was a mere murmur, his words slurring as he slipped into unconsciousness. Obi-Wan's heart raced, a surge of fear washing over him. He had faced countless dangers, but the sight of Cody, slipping away before his eyes, struck a chord of panic within him.

Outside their makeshift sanctuary, Waxer and Boil patrolled the perimeter with a vigilance born of necessity. The tension was palpable, the air thick with the unspoken fear for their commander's life. They communicated in short, clipped sentences, their focus unwavering.

"Anything?" Boil's voice was a low growl, his eyes scanning the darkened corridors.

"Nothing yet," Waxer replied, his blaster held ready. "But they'll come. They have to."

Back inside the room, Obi-Wan was a picture of focused desperation. His hands hovered over Cody, the Force flowing through him in waves, but the effort seemed to drain more of his own strength than it aided Cody. "Don't do this, Cody," he whispered, his voice a mix of command and plea. "You've fought too hard to let go now."

The stillness of the hideout was suddenly shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps - heavy, hurried, the rhythm of soldiers on a mission. Obi-Wan's head snapped up, alert and ready for whatever came through the door.

It burst open, revealing the familiar forms of the 212th Battalion. Leading them was Boil, his expression a mix of relief and urgency. "General Kenobi, we've found you. Medics are on the way."

Following closely was a trooper Obi-Wan recognized immediately - Bones, one of Cody's most trusted men. His demeanor was one of controlled panic as he pushed his way through to his commander's side. "Commander Cody!" he called out, dropping to his knees beside him.

Obi-Wan moved aside, giving Bones space but never taking his eyes off Cody. "He's in and out of consciousness. I've done what I can, but he needs proper medical attention."

Bones's hands were already on Cody, checking his vitals, his movements efficient yet filled with a palpable concern. "Hang in there, sir. We're going to get you out of here."

The room was now a flurry of activity, the 212th Battalion moving with precision and urgency. Medics rushed in, their kits open and ready, as they began administering aid to Cody. Obi-Wan stood back, his gaze never leaving Cody's still form, his heart heavy with worry and unspoken fears.

Waxer stepped up beside Obi-Wan, his voice low. "We'll get him out, General. He's tough, he'll pull through."

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression a mask of controlled emotion. "Yes, he will. He must." His words were more than a statement; they were a vow, a silent promise to the man who had become more than a comrade, more than a friend.

As the medics worked, Obi-Wan's thoughts were a tumult of emotions - fear, hope, and a realization of the depth of his feelings for Cody. The connection they shared had been acknowledged, but the future remained uncertain, hinged on the fragile thread of Cody's life.

In the dim light of the hideout, amidst the chaos and concern, a bond had been solidified, a bond that had transcended the boundaries of duty and rank. Now,

as Cody lay unconscious, that bond faced its greatest test. Obi-Wan stood, a silent sentinel, his presence a quiet strength amidst the bustle of activity.

Boil, watching the medics work, turned to Obi-Wan. "He's a fighter, General. Always has been."

Obi-Wan's response was a nod, his eyes never leaving Cody. "He's more than that. He's... essential." The word carried a weight, a depth of meaning that went beyond the battlefield, beyond the war.

The medics worked with a swift efficiency, their hands moving in a blur of activity. Intravenous lines were set, vital signs monitored, and every possible measure taken to stabilize Cody. The air was thick with tension, each second stretching into an eternity.

Bones, still kneeling beside Cody, looked up at Obi-Wan, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. "He's in good hands, General. We'll get him back to the medbay as soon as we can."

As the stretcher was prepared, Obi-Wan stepped forward, his hand resting briefly on Cody's. It was a gesture of reassurance, a silent message of hope. Cody, though unconscious, seemed to respond, a faint movement of his head, a subtle sign that he was still fighting.

Waxer approached Obi-Wan, his expression solemn. "We should move, General. We've secured a path, but we need to leave now."

Obi-Wan nodded, tearing his gaze away from Cody with visible effort. As the stretcher was lifted, he moved alongside it, his role as a Jedi Master momentarily taking a back seat to his role as Cody's unwavering protector.

The journey back to the medbay was a blur, the corridors and passages of the base melding into one. Obi-Wan's thoughts were a whirlwind, his mind replaying the moments in the hideout, the words spoken and unspoken, the depth of emotion that had been revealed.

As they emerged into the brighter lights of the medbay, Obi-Wan felt a shift in the Force, a subtle stirring that spoke of hope. He stood by Cody's side, watching as the medics transferred him to a proper medical bed, their movements now even more urgent.

Bones, standing beside Obi-Wan, placed a hand on his shoulder. "He'll make it, General. He's got the best care, and he's got something else - something not all of us have."

Obi-Wan turned to him, a question in his eyes.

"He's got something worth fighting for. Something... or someone." Bones's gaze was knowing, a recognition of the bond that existed between Obi-Wan and Cody, a bond that had become the heart of their will to survive.

As the steady hum of medical machinery filled the space, Obi-Wan Kenobi sat by Cody's bedside, his posture one of silent vigilance. The medbay, a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield, was a sanctuary of sorts, its sterile calm a balm to the tumultuous emotions that swirled within him.

Cody lay still, his breathing assisted by the medical apparatus, the rise and fall of his chest a visual rhythm that Obi-Wan clung to. In the quiet of the medbay, Obi-Wan took Cody's hand, holding it gently but firmly, a physical connection that seemed to bridge the gap between consciousness and unconsciousness.

As he sat there, Obi-Wan's mind was a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions. The Force flowed around him, a comforting presence, yet his focus remained intently on the man before him. Cody, his stalwart commander, his unwavering comrade, and now, something more. The realization of their bond, brought to light in the crucible of their ordeal, hung heavily in the air, a truth both undeniable and unexplored.

Around them, the members of the 212th Battalion moved with quiet efficiency, their respect for both their general and commander evident in their hushed tones and solemn expressions. It was clear to Obi-Wan that the men were more aware of the depth of the bond between him and Cody than he had initially realized. Their discreet glances, the unspoken understanding in their nods, all pointed to a recognition of something beyond mere camaraderie.

Obi-Wan, feeling the weight of their silent acknowledgment, knew that there was no use in hiding what had developed between him and Cody. The 212th, his and Cody's men, had seen them through countless battles, had been part of their journey every step of the way. Trusting them to keep this unspoken secret seemed a natural extension of the bond they all shared.

"General Kenobi," a soft voice spoke, breaking the silence. Waxer stood a respectful distance away, his helmet under his arm. "The men... we all know how much Commander Cody means to you. To us. And we respect that, more than you might realize."

Obi-Wan looked up, meeting Waxer's gaze. The understanding and loyalty in the soldier's eyes were clear. "Thank you, Waxer. Your discretion... it means a great deal."

Waxer nodded, a gesture of both respect and reassurance. "We're a family, sir. And in families, we look out for each other. Always."

As Waxer left, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Cody. The Force seemed to thrum around them, a silent witness to the bond they shared. In the stillness, Obi-Wan allowed himself a moment of reflection. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges both personal and professional. But in that uncertainty, there was also a sense of hope, a belief that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

Sitting there, holding Cody's hand, Obi-Wan felt a profound sense of connection, not just to the man beside him, but to the men and women he led. The 212th Battalion was more than just a military unit; they were a family, bound by loyalty, respect, and a shared journey through the fires of war. In them, Obi-Wan saw the reflection of the bond he shared with Cody - a bond of trust, understanding, and an unspoken love that transcended the confines of their roles.

As the hours passed, Obi-Wan remained by Cody's side, a silent guardian waiting for the moment his friend would awaken. In the quiet of the medbay, surrounded by the soft sounds of life-saving machines and the occasional murmur of the 212th, Obi-Wan Kenobi sat, a Jedi Master, a general, but

above all, a man deeply connected to another soul. The rhythm of the machinery, the soft beeps and whirs, became a backdrop to his contemplation, his thoughts drifting between the past and an uncertain future.

Every so often, a medic would come to check on Cody, their movements professional yet tinged with an unspoken empathy. They understood the gravity of what lay before them, the life of a commander who was more than just a leader to his men. Obi-Wan would watch them, gratitude mingling with his concern, a silent prayer in his heart with each assessment they made.

As the night deepened, the quiet conversations of the 212th outside the medbay became a testament to their unity and strength. They spoke in subdued tones, not just about strategies and missions, but about their commander, about Obi-Wan, about the bond that everyone seemed to have sensed long before it was acknowledged. Their words were careful, respectful, a reflection of their loyalty not just to their duty, but to the individuals who led them.

In these moments, Obi-Wan realized the depth of the trust he had placed in his men, and how profoundly they had returned it. They were his soldiers, yes, but also his protectors in a way, guardians of a secret that had the power to alter the course of their lives.

Turning his attention back to Cody, Obi-Wan's thoughts were introspective. The man lying unconscious before him, connected to machines that were his lifeline, had become an integral part of his life. The realization of their mutual feelings, brought to the surface under dire circumstances, now seemed like a truth that had always existed, waiting for the right moment to be acknowledged.

Cody, even in unconsciousness, seemed to be fighting, his spirit a tangible presence in the room. Obi-Wan could feel it, a determination that resonated with his own. He squeezed Cody's hand slightly, a silent message of support, a promise that he was not alone in this fight.

As the night turned into the early hours of the morning, Obi-Wan remained a constant presence by Cody's side, his vigil uninterrupted. He knew the road ahead would be challenging, filled with questions and choices. But in that medbay, with the quiet support of his men surrounding them, Obi-Wan felt a sense of resolve solidify within him.

He knew that when Cody awoke, they would face these challenges together, with the same courage and determination that had defined their battles. For now, Obi-Wan waited, a guardian of the quiet, steady heartbeat that promised a future filled with possibilities, a future where their bond could grow and evolve, unshackled by the constraints of convention and duty. In the soft glow of the medbay, amidst the sounds of life-preserving technology, Obi-Wan Kenobi held Cody's hand, a symbol of a bond unbroken, a love unspoken, yet stronger than anything the galaxy could throw at them.

**** 

The first artificial light of dawn began to seep through the small windows of the medbay, casting a gentle glow over the room. Obi-Wan, still seated beside Cody's bed, had remained vigilant throughout the night, his eyes often fixed on the commander's face, searching for any sign of consciousness.

It was in these early hours, as the medbay was bathed in the soft light of dawn, that Cody's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, his gaze unfocused as he tried to piece together his surroundings. Then, his eyes settled on Obi-Wan, a flicker of recognition lighting them up.

"Obi-Wan?" Cody's voice was weak, but there was an unmistakable strength behind it, a testament to his resilience.

Obi-Wan leaned in, a wave of relief washing over him. "Yes, Cody, I'm here. You're safe now."

Cody took a moment to gather his thoughts, his gaze wandering around the room before settling back on Obi-Wan. "I remember... the ambush. You were there. You saved me."

Obi-Wan's hand tightened around Cody's. "We saved each other. It's what we do." His voice was soft but carried an undercurrent of emotion that went beyond the confines of their roles as general and commander.

A silence fell between them, filled with unspoken words and emotions. Cody broke the silence, his voice a mere whisper. "Obi-Wan, in the hideout... we talked. About us."

Obi-Wan nodded, his gaze never leaving Cody's. "Yes, we did. And it's time we faced what that conversation truly meant."

Cody's eyes searched Obi-Wan's, finding not just the Jedi Master, but the man behind the title. "Life's short in this war," he said, a newfound clarity in his voice. "Whatever happiness we can find... we should cherish it. Not deny it because of rules and conventions."

Obi-Wan's expression softened, the Jedi serenity giving way to a more human vulnerability. "I agree. For too long, I've let the Jedi Code dictate my life, but being here with you, facing the possibility of losing you... it's made me realize that there's more to life than rules and duty."

The medbay, with its soft morning light and the quiet hum of machinery, became a cocoon for their conversation, a private space where they could explore the depth of their bond.

"We don't know what the future holds, Cody," Obi-Wan continued, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and uncertainty. "But I do know that I no longer want to face it without acknowledging what's between us."

Cody, his strength returning, squeezed Obi-Wan's hand. "Neither do I, Obi-Wan. We've been through too much to ignore this... whatever this is between us."

Their conversation was a dance of words and emotions, a delicate exploration of feelings long suppressed and possibilities newly awakened. It was a conversation punctuated by pauses, by glances that spoke volumes, by touches that conveyed more than words ever could.

As the medbay came to life with the morning shift, the world outside their conversation began to intrude, but the moment they had shared, the acknowledgment of their bond, remained a beacon of light in their lives.

In the days that followed, as Cody's recovery progressed, their relationship evolved, no longer just commander and general, but something more profound, more personal. They faced the challenges of war together, but now with a newfound strength drawn from the acknowledgment of their bond, a bond that had become their anchor in the tumultuous sea of the galaxy at war.

In the midst of chaos, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody had found a sliver of happiness, a connection that defied convention, a love that transcended the boundaries of their roles. It was a love born from war but destined to endure beyond it, a testament to the enduring power of the human heart in the face of adversity.

As they navigated their new reality, there was an unspoken agreement between them. They would cherish each moment, each shared glance, each quiet conversation. The war raged on around them, but within the walls of the medbay, and later, in the brief moments they stole away from their duties, they found solace in each other's presence.

In the eyes of the 212th Battalion, there was a newfound respect and understanding. The men seemed to intuitively grasp the change in their leaders, treating it with a discreet reverence. It was as if they recognized the importance of what Obi-Wan and Cody had found in each other, a rare glimpse of joy in a world overshadowed by war.

Cody's recovery was marked not just by the healing of his physical wounds, but by the strengthening of the bond he shared with Obi-Wan. They were careful, aware of the need for discretion, but the trust they had in their men, and the men's trust in them, formed a protective circle around their relationship.

The conversations they shared in the quiet of the night were filled with plans for the future, with the acknowledgement of the uncertainties that lay ahead, but also with the certainty of their feelings for each other. They spoke of battles fought and challenges overcome, and of the hope that, when the war was finally over, they might explore a life together beyond the confines of their duties.

In those conversations, Obi-Wan found a peace he had never known, a sense of completion that he had never thought possible. Cody, in turn, found a sense of belonging, a connection that went beyond any programming or training. Together, they faced each day with a renewed sense of purpose, bolstered by the knowledge that they were no longer alone.

The war continued, as wars do, but in the midst of it all, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody had discovered a rare and precious thing – a love that had blossomed in the unlikeliest of places, a light that shone brightly in the darkness, a testament to the enduring resilience of the human spirit.

Any feedback or thoughts are greatly appreciated. May the Force be with you!

#obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywanbingo #commander cody fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x commander cody #obi wan fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #codywan #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #star wars fandom

[bettersoonx]

Nurturing Healing: The Profound Impact of Therapy on Managing Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

Hey there, fellow BPD warriors and allies! Today, let’s embark on a profound exploration of the vital role that therapy plays in our journey of managing Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).

Living with BPD often feels like navigating a tempestuous sea, where emotions crash against the shores of our minds with relentless force. But amidst the storm, therapy stands as a steadfast lighthouse, guiding us towards calmer waters and brighter horizons.

At the heart of therapy lies a transformative process of self-discovery and healing.

It’s a sanctuary where we can peel back the layers of our innermost selves, revealing the raw, unfiltered truth beneath the surface.

Through introspective dialogue and empathetic guidance, we unravel the tangled threads of our past traumas, illuminating the pathways to understanding and acceptance.

As we traverse the terrain of therapy, we encounter a myriad of therapeutic modalities, each offering unique insights and tools for growth. From the structured approach of Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) to the introspective lens of Schema Therapy, we cultivate a rich tapestry of coping mechanisms and self-regulation skills. Through experiential exercises, role-playing, and mindfulness practices, we learn to navigate the ebb and flow of our emotions with grace and resilience.

Yet, therapy is far more than a mere journey into the depths of our psyche.

It’s a dynamic exchange between therapist and client, grounded in trust, compassion, and mutual respect.

Within this sacred space, we find solace in the knowledge that our struggles are met with unwavering empathy, free from the weight of judgment or stigma.

As we traverse the terrain of therapy, we encounter a myriad of therapeutic modalities, each offering unique insights and tools for growth. Among the most commonly used therapies for managing BPD are:

Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT): DBT is a structured form of therapy that focuses on building skills in four key areas: mindfulness, distress tolerance, emotion regulation, and interpersonal effectiveness. It helps us learn to identify and change harmful behaviours, cope with intense emotions, and improve our relationships.

Schema Therapy: Schema Therapy delves into the deeply rooted patterns and beliefs that underlie our emotional struggles. By identifying and challenging maladaptive schemas—core themes about ourselves and the world—we can cultivate healthier ways of thinking, feeling, and relating to others.

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT): CBT targets the negative thought patterns and behaviours that contribute to our emotional distress. Through cognitive restructuring and behaviour modification techniques, we learn to challenge distorted thinking, develop coping strategies, and create positive change in our lives.

Psychodynamic Therapy: Psychodynamic therapy explores the unconscious conflicts and dynamics that shape our emotions and behaviours. By examining early life experiences and relationship patterns, we gain insight into the root causes of our struggles and work towards resolving unresolved issues.

Mindfulness-Based Therapies: Mindfulness-based approaches, such as Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) and Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy (MBCT), emphasise present-moment awareness and nonjudgmental acceptance of our experiences. These practices help us cultivate inner peace, resilience, and self-compassion.

Yet, let’s not sugarcoat the reality:

therapy can be arduous, confronting, and downright messy at times.

We may stumble upon buried memories, confront the shadows of our past, or grapple with the weight of unspoken truths. In these moments of vulnerability, we find the courage to confront our inner demons, knowing that true healing lies on the other side of our fears.

Moreover, the journey of therapy isn’t confined to the walls of a therapist’s office; it extends into the fabric of our daily lives. Through homework assignments, journaling prompts, and real-world applications, we integrate the lessons of therapy into our everyday experiences, transforming theory into practice and insight into action.

In essence, therapy offers us a compass for navigating the complexities of BPD—a guiding light amidst the darkness, a beacon of hope in times of uncertainty. So, to all my fellow travellers on this winding road of healing, let’s honour the transformative power of therapy in our lives and embrace the journey with open hearts and unwavering resolve.

#therapy #bpd support #bpd #bpd safe #bpd thoughts #psychology #bettersoonx #community support #emotional wellness #mental health #self care #actually bpd #bpd vent #actually borderline #fp bpd #bpd journey

[nordleuchten]

Hey there! :) Do you happen to know what was Lafayette's opinion on Robespierre as a person and/or as a member of the National Assembly? Did he left any declaration in his memoirs? As far as I know, their different political views led them sometimes into arguments and slanders.

Have a nice day!

Dear @faxelange,

in short, they were not on the best of terms – not at all. The disfavour was mutual as neither Robespierre liked La Fayette nor did La Fayette liked Robespierre.

Despite this, there is not nearly as much commentary on Robespierre in La Fayette’s letters and Memoirs as one might expect. The references that are made are mostly general statements about Robespierre and not specific about their relationship. Generally speaking, La Fayette wrote in his Memoirs about what he thought valuable for his readers and important to mention. I think he judged his disagreements with Robespierre and Robespierre in general, at the point of him writing his Memoirs (1830s), as simply no longer important. It would be easier to give a detailed description of Robespierre’s opinion of La Fayette than the other way around since we have many statements by Robespierre.

The relationship between Robespierre and La Fayette was during the first years of the Revolution civil, or better, nonexistent. Things changed when La Fayette wrote on June 16, 1791 a lengthy letter to the Legislative Assembly, criticizing political groups as a potential thread to the constitution and the stability of France – the jacobins were here his primary target.

Although he railed against factionalism of all varieties, the Jacobins were his primary target. “Organized like a separate empire … blindly controlled by a few ambitious leaders,” the Jacobins were, as he put it, a “sect,” a “distinct corporation in the middle of the French people, whose powers they usurp by subjugating their representatives.” Read into the record two days later and republished in newspapers of every political stripe, the letter generated heated debate.

Laura Auricchio, The Marquis – Lafayette Reconsidered, Vintage Books, New York, 2015, p. 258.

Two days later during a meeting of the jacobins, Robespierre stated:

Strike down Lafayette and the nation is saved.

Laura Auricchio, The Marquis – Lafayette Reconsidered, Vintage Books, New York, 2015, p. 259.

Things went downhill rather quickly after that.

In La Fayette memoirs there are two mentioning’s of Robespierre, both are rather indirect, as they detail public attacks of La Fayette’s character that Robespierre had some connection with.

It would occupy too much space to detail all the hostilities of the anarchists against Lafayette; their defamations in the Patriot and the Chronicle were pushed to the most insane excess. Robespierre attacked him at the jacobins, first requiring that he should not be called upon to prove what he advanced. The club itself formally denounced him at the bar of the assembly, by the mouth of Collot d’Herbois. Some members of this faction alleged as proofs of his criminality certain letters, which, when read, were received with patriotic applause.

Marquis de La Fayette, Memoirs, Correspondences and Manuscripts of General Lafayette, Vol. 3, Craighead and Allen, New York, 1837, pp. 336-337.

We can see very clearly in this passage that La Fayette’s problem was not with Robespierre alone and while this excerpt gives seemingly more insight into Robespierre’s opinion of La Fayette, the way the event is retold also tells us a lot about La Fayette’s opinion.

The second part is from a letter that La Fayette wrote his wife Adrienne on April 18, 1792:

Parties are at present divided in this manner [the question of war]. Robespierre, Danton, Desmoulins, &c., &c., form the jacobin sink. These puppets are moved behind the scene, and serve the court by disorganizing all things, by exclaiming that we are beaten without resource and by attacking Lafayette, “who has deceived, they say, the people and the court, guided the conduct of the far less culpable M. de Bouillé, and who is more dangerous himself than the aristocracy.” (…) The other party, called the high jacobins, and which supports the present ministry, is composed of Bordelais, the abbé Sièyes, Condorcet, Roederer, &c. These men hate and fear Robespierre, but dare not render themselves unpopular.

Marquis de La Fayette, Memoirs, Correspondences and Manuscripts of General Lafayette, Vol. 3, Craighead and Allen, New York, 1837, pp. 411-412.

Again, La Fayette was not only in disagreement with Robespierre. Today Robespierre is often presented as the one and only embodiment of the Jacobins but there were many more and yes, Robespierre was certainly even back then a prominent and influential member, but La Fayette’s disagreements were with the jacobins as a whole as much as with Robespierre personally.

Perhaps it is easier to dissect La Fayette’s opinion based on what he did not thought about Robespierre. In the letter to his wife that is already quoted above, La Fayette also wrote:

Such is my situation: I belong, as I wrote before to you, to no party except to that of the French nation; but my friends and I will serve whoever will do good, defend liberty and equality, and maintain the constitution by repulsing everything tending to render it aristocratic or republican; and when the national will, expressed by the representatives chosen by nation and by the king, shall tell us that war is inevitable, I will do all that lies in my power to promote its success.

Marquis de La Fayette, Memoirs, Correspondences and Manuscripts of General Lafayette, Vol. 3, Craighead and Allen, New York, 1837, p. 413.

These were the things that La Fayette supported and believed in, this was his agenda. In not agreeing with Robespierre, we can assume that La Fayette felt as if Robespierre did not meet his principles. Another point is raised in this statement:

(…) by repulsing everything tending to render it aristocratic or republican (…).

Robespierre was without a question on the republican side.

This was all quite political but since La Fayette saw political opinions as the expression of underlaying principles, a political disagreement was often, not always though, also a personal disagreement, although things did not usually escalate like they did with Robespierre.

I hope this cleared things up a bit and I hope you have/had a lovely day!

#ask me anything #marquis de lafayette #la fayette #maximilien robespierre #french history #american history #letter #french revolution #history #1792 #faxelange #adrienne de lafayette #adrienne de noailles #1791

[gregoftom]

alright so, same anon as before since this is kind of following that same thread, and this makes sense in my head but i’m not sure if i’ll be to convey it over text in the most concise way so please bear with me if this comes out an unintelligible mess

i’ve been wondering for awhile just what was the catalyst for greg’s sudden need to ask out a woman, and then in turn try to get with any tenable woman within reason. we know he’s overcompensating with his comphet, but just what triggered it? when in the past two and half seasons greg has never been shy about displaying or announcing his disinterest in (hetero)sexual discussion or activities (asking if there’s a non sexual corner for him at tom’s bachelor party, his disgust at tom’s confession later, other examples i’m probably forgetting)

then it suddenly occurred to me. starting from 2x07 and up to 3x07 greg and tom have their “going to jail is a very real possibility and we’re terrified” arc. they both have reasonable anxieties, although greg’s is almost immediately honed in on the likelihood of him being assaulted (“yeah you’d like that pretty boy like you” “because of my physical length i could be a target for all kinds of misadventure”). tom definitely has that concern too, but included is also the worry of his entire life crumbling around him, the end of his marriage and lack of creature comforts. since the greg sprinkles line on the yacht, everyone has been aware of the possibility of tom and by extension greg serving time, and of course nobody else is sympathetic to it. when they view either of them with that in mind the possibility of them being abused in prison isn’t a reality to them, it’s a punchline. and tom and greg are aware of that

cue 3x07. tom has relieved greg of that outcome, prison is off the table. greg is thrilled, but it probably soon comes crashing down on him now that for the past few months the possibility of him being involved in (non consensual) homosexual activities has been a joke to his entire social circle. through no action of his own he is aware that the people around him have thought of him in sexual situations involving other men, even as a fleeting thought. (the soyboy insult from 3x06 can’t be far from mind either)

whether subconsciously or not, that is when he decides to make his (up until now, nonexistent) interest and desire for women known. suddenly he can’t ask comfry out fast enough. and he wants people to know. he seeks out kendall’s approval, he tries to get tom in on it and later brags when he secures a date. at caroline’s wedding when he’s no longer content with comfry, he basically steals the contessa out from roman, and makes sure tom and shiv know. he has two women on each arm at the ceremony. he basically puts up a giant flashing billboard, as if to say, look everybody! cousin greg who everyone thought was doomed to be a prison wife is actually a playboy, and not only does he exclusively like women, he can’t get enough of them.

(there is also something to be said about how when tom breaks the news of their freedom to greg, he is the most outwardly physically affectionate to greg he has been so far with the kiss, and how that also could have triggered a gay panic, leading greg to want to overcompensate and not deal with the feelings brought on by that action and their ever building tension. also how his demand for proof at the red sequoia line was an at that time uncharacteristically aggressive response regarding tom’s consistent sexual teasing, when he felt his masculinity was being challenged, but i digress)

on GOD your brain is absolutely massive anon i. OOGH! all i can say is YEAH this is completely sound and makes so much seeense ugh. the pain and torment and it fits very well in with jesse's usual sort of. display of masculinity and sexuality and all that.

but the LAST paragraph. oogh. this especially makes me LOSE it because of something i've discussed with a mutual about the way greg brings his hands up when he gets kissed by tom, almost like... he's expecting a kiss at the last moment and might reciprocate? i always thought he was bringing up his hands in self defence but surely they'd be more like. palm up? like when he pushed against tom at the recny ball [i think that's right, basically the episode where we found out he snitched to gerri] if that was the case right...? so. like. yeah. but then he thinks better of it. that would also fall in line with what you're saying here.

MUCH TO THINK ABOUT....

#tomgreg #greg meta #once again god BLESS my anons yall are so galaxy brain and mind pure of heart. thank you for my life

[legendarybelmondo]

Trevor can feel it more than he can his boots hitting the floor below him, this rush of adrenaline seeping through him every moment as he fights against claws longer than his own fingers and a silhouette dwarfing him by doubles. It sets off some primal urge, buried intrinsic within his veins, a deep and unmitigated rightness, this satisfaction, and if he were a lesser man in a different time, perhaps even in the same place, it might leave him trembling, wrong-footed; how correct it feels, to strike and lash and kick and tear fabric from skin from bone.

There is no sight more utterly and absolutely intoxicating than the Count's ribs caved in beneath his heels, nothing that has ever left him so dizzied im comparison. The heat of the whip in his hands intermingles seamlessly with the heat spiralling outwards from his chest, something deeper in him than his heart. There is little occassion in which he could deny this, what seems to be the very purpose of his being.

That was why, in many more words and half-truths unknowingly uttered, that he had assured Hector he might deal with matters himself. Poorly timed altercations and a mix-up between targets, as far as the other Forgemaster was concerned, the sorcerer with his spear and his apparently degrading ability to distinguish between enemies having struck his rival instead of the uninvited interrupter, meant Hector was in no state to handle the Castle or the Count. Of course, pride would be his very undoing if he were to let it get the best of him, but something he was powerless to argue against had taken a renewed hold, and so Trevor had been insistent. To whatever burrowed itself inside him that felt, obstinately, haughtily, that only he could truly match Dracula, that nobody else could challenge him so, that it was a mutual bloodthirst and possession that twisted the red threads between them -- well, the opportunity had been gripped with open hands.

Ruminating, distracted by the euphoria of completeness that was conjured by hellfire burning around him, claws settling deep into his shoulders, his face, feeling the whip grow heavy with absorption, feeling leather sear flesh and rend the very soul, this stimulant concoction of overwhelming sensations that leaves it impossible for him to tell intimacy from violence, it is by this mistake that Trevor feels a vicious tug on his shoulders. An aborted sound -- a cry of jubilance in battle, an expression of shock, could anyone tell, really? -- is replaced by a grunt upon impact with a sodden chest of torn silks and pallid, undead muscle, pinned down by arching, leathery wings and arms with the strength of pillars wrapping over his back, fingers tangling with the straps of his corset and pushing the air from his stomach. Another hand reaches for his head, nails sinking into his hair in a manner that, if not for circumstance, would be nearly pleasant, and yet of course the tender, violent grip settling over his scalp as his head is pulled back to reveal the delicate skin of his throat makes certain that isn't the case.

It should be more surprising, to see that the flesh there was already marred. Two little pinprick scars, dainty divots in an otherwise unremarkable placing. They were not Dracula's work, for all that it counted. No, marks like that had been born of more intimate endeavours, ones that might, momentarily, wash away the haze of dutiful battle-lust for something like reminiscence. Starry nights where the moon shone through sheer curtains, with long, white fingers gently brushing hair behind his ear as another body weighed on top of him. Crumpled covers and knotted legs, blond hair falling over his face in a betrayal of all societal standard.

It is not this kind of soft relation that the Count has any mind for when his lips close over Trevor's throat, find a blessedly disparate spot, and something sinks. Unfortunately, it isn't his shoulders, held high and tense and newly frantic as he begins to struggle within his bounds. Instead, it would have to be Dracula's teeth, finding wonderful, bountiful purchase in a body that had always kept close just a bit too much blood to lose. It's surely the essence of every droplet of the strange fighting madness that encompassed him that flows over Dracula's tongue, the same disturbing vigor that had reduced the vampire to an unkempt heap of monstrosity now serving to stitch him back together. It was a slow process, being drained of such a thing. The blood is the currency of the soul, the spirit, every pact and promise that has ever been etched into it, though Trevor can know not of the depths of such depravity that leads to the derangement with which he matches the Count blow for blow.

As it trickles down in rivulets, freed from the carotid artery, it is instead the rage at this unintentional mockery, breeding from such impotent, disgusting disregard, that begins to fuel Trevor's efforts. When one final, desperate shove and beautiful, mellifluous crack of something in Dracula's legs signals freedom from impromptu use as a drinking fountain, that druggish daze from before has been drained from him, in what is either a blessing for his sanity or a curse. Blood loss makes him dizzy, stumbling when put back on solid ground, but it isn't too much of a detriment, as he is afforded this discombobulation by the pained snarl as Dracula falls and crumples over, unable to put weight on his newly broken limbs. The whip howls with rage in his hand, at the indecency, at the gall, at all of it, meant to incense him, meant to enrage, meant to renew all of his fervour.

It does, and doesn't. Trevor's next strikes are punctuated and articulated almost entirely by the sheer indigance of having sacred territory, that reminder of someone beautiful and beloved and lost to him, so flagrantly dirtied by some other creature's sudden whims and vermilion lips and yellowed, snaggled teeth.

#hi. its 1 am. help me

[kxllerblond]

INBOX / MEME CALL.

LIKE this post for me to slide you some memes! Long term mutual multi-muses feel free to leave me some target muses if you reaaaally want memes for someone in particular. If we have a ship or have entertained one, also feel free to specify in the replies if you want romantic and/or nsfw memes.

New mutual multi-muses that followed FIRST, I am requiring you to narrow down at least 5 muses for me to pick from that you could see us threading with. Otherwise, I'm going to send them in blank and y'all can't get mad at me.

#tbd