oh hey


Too Agressive Square vs Smol Triangle Gremlin (or just two dorky sisters fighting)

(P. S. Also, thanks all of you guys for 150+ followers, wow!!1 DD:)

anonymous asked:

cat!obi gets wet and he is so grumpy (i'm thinking about how drenched obi-wan got on kamino, and how unhappy a cat would be there)

They’re staring but honestly, Obi-Wan couldn’t give a rats ass about that right now. He’s soaked to the bones, his fur is a mess and he’s pretty sure that everything is going to go to hell in a handbasket as soon as he’s finished.

So he takes his time grooming what he can.

He may be a bipedal feline, but he can still plant his rear on the ground and give himself a good long clean.

If he could undress without scandalizing, he would have done that too.

But as it is, he sticks to grooming his paws and face, shaking his body in the hall and leaving behind some water.

“Um, Master Jed-”

“Wait.” Obi-Wan snapped out then shifted enough to pull his tail forward, grooming the bushy thing with care.

He did not care for water. No he did not and he’d very much like it if their robes were water proof, something they were not.



CC-2224 grinned as he slowly rubbed the towel around the Jedi, stomach squirming in delirious happiness.

It was just…this was his Jedi, his actual Jedi, the one he had been training to serve under and that Jedi was currently purring up a storm while stretching his long body and slinking between CC-2224’s hands and the towel.

One of the Kamino’s had come to get him because apparently the Jedi was uncomfortable and wet and CC-2224 had almost started to laugh because of course General Kenobi was uncomfortable, he was a Servalo, they were felines and as advanced as they were, they detested getting wet beyond the fur just like regular cats did.

He was honestly surprised that his Jedi was the first one to visit them.

“Do you have a name?” General Kenobi suddenly questioned, green eyes peering up at him admist orange, copper and white fur. And a pink nose, never forget the pink nose.

“CC-2224 Sir.” He answered promptly.

“That’s…a designation. You mean you don’t have a name?”

CC-2224 hesitated. “We’re…not suppose to…”

“But you have one. Don’t you.” The feline slunk out of the towel, looking a bit fluffy but mostly dry as he peered up at him.

“…Cody. Commander Cody.”

“Cody.” The feline tested then nodded. “Good, it suits you.” His tail was flickering and his ears were tilted slightly back and flattened.


His Jedi was agitated.

“Are you alright sir?” Cody ventured carefully.

“…Yes though worried. Don’t worry about it.” The General gave him a headbutt to the chest. “Now exuse me, I’m going to go meet with the Minister.” He jumped of the table and bounced of to find Taun We.

He stopped at the door and moved from quadruped to bipedal movement, glancing back at Cody. “I get the feeling we’ll meet again Cody…you should start using your name more.” He offered as a parting before disappearing out the door.

Cody blinked a bit before grinning slowly and taking the towel with him to throw in the wash. ‘I meet my kriffing Jedi… I can’t wait to tell the others!’ He tried not to run, after all, that would be undignified.

But he may have walked a bit quicker then usual.


It’s the little things, Jack realizes, that make the Haus feel like home.  The kind of weird, mixed smell of dirty socks and cinnamon that had permeated every pore of the Haus.  The ever-present cacophony of sounds: floorboards creaking as people walk around the upper floors, the constant bickering between Poindexter and Nurse, Holster yelling at either a hockey game, or at some characters in one of the many shows he watches (Jack can never keep track of all of them), and of course, the clattering of dishes and mixing bowls coming from the kitchen.  

Walking through the front door always feels like slipping out of a skin that never really fits right, no matter how much he has dreamt about it, no matter how much he loves it, and into one that was made especially for him.  Until his first trip back to the Haus for the SMH home opener, Jack hadn’t realized how starved he was for touch.  For Bitty’s touch, yes, always, but also for the casual and comfortable touches shared amongst his teammates.  How Shitty always plopped himself on top of Jack, or swung an arm around his shoulders, or slapped his ass without a second thought.  How Lardo fit so perfectly underneath his arms for a hug, and how she’d stay, cuddled up beside them as they read, or talked, or just hung out with the others.  How much the team hugged, and crushed in on top of each other on the horrible green couch to watch a game, and tackled each other into piles of leaves just for the fun of it.  

In Providence he was always so careful, so professional and distant, even after coming out to the team.  Not out of fear of reprisal or a desire not to be outed, but just because the Falcs weren’t as casually tactile as SMH had been.  He could always count on a group hug in a celly, and Jack frequently received encouraging pats on the back from Marty and Thirdy, but it just wasn’t the same.  The touches were perfunctory, expected in such a physical sport, but they didn’t come with the same ease or intention as the ones he shared with the guys at Samwell.

It felt much more like the Q again, when Jack had spent every night for a while with Kent, their bodies pretty much as close as you can get, and yet he had still felt completely alone.  There had been no intimacy between them, just a fierce competitiveness on the ice and the blinding rush of hormones off of it.  And Jack had been too young, too insecure, too absorbed in the culture of toxic masculinity to even consider presuming he could offer or expect casual, non sexual touches.  Asking Kent to cuddle with him afterwards seemed completely impossible.  Now, looking at Kent’s Instagram posts, he’s not so sure Kent would have said no.  

Bitty, though.  Bitty is a whirlwind of easy touches, constantly making contact with Jack in ways he’s not sure Bitty even realizes.  At first it had been distinctly disconcerting: Jack wasn’t used to being touched that often by anyone, let alone someone who was relatively new in his life.  Now, he craved it.  He leaned into every caress, every hand in his hair, every warm palm on his back, every time Bitty tangled their fingers together or lightly ran his fingers over Jack’s skin, just because he could.  The touches varied, some designed to drive him crazy, and some just instinctual, because Bitty couldn’t be around someone he trusted without using his hands to guide a conversation or make a point.  In those precious times that Bitty came down to Providence, Jack soaked up the attention and the touches, spooning Bitty close at night and trying to make sure they were touching at all times, knowing how much he’d miss it when he was alone again.

He hadn’t realized that the Haus would feel the same.  Well, not exactly the same of course, but comfortable and settled in a way that Providence never was, if Bitty wasn’t there with him. Walking in the door was like stepping into an embrace, sometimes literally if any of the team were around to see him arrive.  In a lot of ways, Jack feels like the Haus carries an imprint of him, one that he can slip back into with ease and refresh the shape and feel of himself when he feels like person he had carefully constructed over his years at Samwell starts to come apart at the seams.  He knows he won’t be able to go back forever to bask in the comfort of his old home, eventually the team will see him as Jack Zimmermann, the NHL star, not their old Captain.  But, for now, as long as it lasts, Jack will gladly make the drive up to the Haus to spend a night literally wrapped in its embrace.

Amidst the smoke of Cronus’ destruction, his Three Elder Sons drew lots to divide their Father’s creations.  

Zeus won the brightest glory as Ruler of Olympus, Lord of the Sky.  

Strength and freedom went to Poseidon, new Sovereign of the Oceans.  

The third brother…lost.

—  The Illustrated Hades and Persephone, Megan C. Lloyd