#I do not know how he ended up as a broadcast anchor

[ehghtyseven]

dan potash is SUCH a nice human, was SO lovely when I met him, but is also an ABSOLUTE disaster

(and frankly, that only makes me like him more)

[little-cereal-draws]

Not me thinking abt the implications of Balister being top of his class

At first it seems like it's just because he’s really passionate abt being a knight, and we know he has been ever since he was a kid, but it’s probably deeper than that. He probably felt the need to “prove himself.” To the queen, to the director, to his classmates, to the kingdom.

We know that him being accepted into the knight training academy(?) was very public/televised and that him being knighted was as well. And we know both of those times, the public was not on his side. So how much of the middle, his actual training, did the public see?

I can easily see a slimy news anchor reporting on a video of the cadets doing drills and saying smth like, “And here we see the next generation of Gloreth’s monster slayers! They’re all looking really great! Except, woah, there’s Balister swinging a little too hard at that dummy there. Ha ha, that’s a level five move, smth these cadets won’t learn for at least another year. Trying to show up his classmates much? I bet he thinks he’s all that but with a gpa of only 3.6, I think he needs to be trying a little harder before he impresses anyone. Ha ha!” (Conveniently leaving out the fact that a 3.6 is way better than any of the other cadets are doing, even their precious Gloreth golden boy.)

How many times was him getting short of an A grade broadcasted to the whole kingdom as a “failure?” How many times did Ambrosius walk in on him slumped over a pile of books after studying too late? How many times did he insist on continuing to train even though he was obviously hurt? How many times did he resolve to do better after another "failure" only to be jeered at by his classmates, calling him teacher's pet? How many times was his studying disrupted by hot angry tears blurring the pages in front of him beyond recognition?

I can easily see him ignoring the end of class dismissal for the day, his classmates laughing and pushing each other as they leave. The Director's gently urges him to take a break and Ambrosius hangs back a few minutes, worried glances burning into the back of Balister's head. He brushes them both off and stays to train more. He practices for hours after, skipping dinner, anger and the need for approval driving him. He needs to try harder, teacher's pet, he's not doing enough, goody-two-shoes, he's not at the same level as the other cadets, suck up, he'll never be a knight. No matter what he did, he couldn't fucking win. He's so tired and angry and frustrated and burnt out but he can't stop, he can't fucking stop or they'll eat him alive.

A scream made of years worth of pent up rage echos through the training hall as he raises his sword above his head. All those nights spent studying instead of sleeping, there goes the straw and rubber dummy's arm, the whispered jokes behind his back as he walked down the halls of the institute, there goes the dummy's other arm, the disappointed "I expected better of you" the Director gave him, hay was flying everywhere as he pummeled his sword in and out of the dummy's chest, the never ending criticism from the watchful eyes of the kingdom. Sword clattering to the side with a clang, he rips the dummy's head off with his bare hands. Chest heaving, he sits back and looks at what he's done. Regret creeps in; he'll definitely get in trouble for this tomorrow. What has he done?

Anyways... this got a bit off track from where it started... I'm just having a lot of Balister gifted child feels

[mollymargiela]

request: max comforts reader ends with smut maybe!?

reader = white/bold

max = pink

warnings: 18+ little crying, friend issue mentioned, p in v

the day had been a grind—work piling up with deadlines looming, a stream crash mid-broadcast that left you fumbling awkwardly in front of thousands, your face burning as the chat spiraled with confusion and snarky comments, and a random argument with a friend that left a bitter sting, their words replaying in your head like a broken record.

you’d dragged yourself to the faze house, seeking the familiar chaos to drown out the noise, but instead found the living room eerily quiet, sinking into the couch with a heavy sigh, your phone buzzing incessantly with notifications you didn’t have the energy to check.

your head throbbed, a tight knot in your chest growing with every thought—why can’t i just keep it together? why am i always messing up?—the weight of it all pressing down, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, your hands twisting the cushion edge, fighting to hold back the flood threatening to break.

max walked in, his presence bold yet grounding, noticing you instantly—slumped, eyes red-rimmed, a shadow of the girl he’d been dating for a few months. he knew you inside out by now, the way your shoulders tensed when you were overwhelmed, and his heart sank seeing you like this.

“y/n—what’s wrong? you look wrecked,” his voice was low, laced with concern, moving closer, sitting beside you, his confidence softened by worry, “talk to me, babe—what happened?” his tone gentle, his hand resting on your knee, a familiar anchor that steadied you as you let out a shaky breath, the dam finally bursting, tears spilling over in hot, messy streaks. “everything—work’s a mess, stream crashed, and i fought with a friend—i’m just done,” your voice cracked, the words tumbling out, “i feel like i’m failing at everything, like i can’t do anything right,” your chest heaved, the vulnerability raw, your hands shaking as the day’s failures crashed over you, the thought of letting max down twisting the knife deeper.

“no, don’t say that,” max’s voice was firm, pulling you into his side, his arm wrapping around you with a strength that felt like home, “you’re killing it—streams crash, people argue, it’s life, not your fault,” his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, his confidence giving way to a protective warmth, “you’re strong as hell, y/n—i see how you grind, even on the bad days, and i love that about you,” his words steady, his breath warm against your hair as he held you, letting you cry into his shoulder, the sobs wracking your body, each one releasing a bit of the pain. “you’re not alone in this—i got you, always,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek, wiping away tears, his voice soft but sure, “i’ve watched you bounce back from worse, babe—you’re my rock, even when you don’t see it,” his confidence a quiet comfort, his closeness after months together making you feel safe, loved, the ache in your chest loosening as you clung to him, your breathing evening out, the tears slowing to a trickle.

“thanks, babe—i just needed you,” you mumbled, voice thick with emotion, leaning into him, your head on his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heartbeat, the tension in your body unwinding with each beat, “you always know how to make me feel better, even when i’m a mess,” your tone lighter, a small, shaky smile breaking through the tears, and he grinned, his eyes crinkling with affection, “that’s my job as your man, right? keeping my girl steady, no matter what,” his voice flirty now, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, the air shifting, the comfort turning warm, charged with the intimacy you’d built over months.

“your girl, huh?” you teased, voice still shaky but playful, looking up at him, his gaze darkening with a familiar heat, “yeah—mine, always,” his tone low, his hand cupping your face, his lips brushing yours, soft at first, a tender reminder of his love, then deeper, hungry, the day’s weight forgotten as the kiss deepened, his tongue tracing yours, his months of knowing you fueling the passion.

“max—” you gasped, voice trembling with need, his hands roaming, sliding under your shirt, warm against your skin, igniting a spark, “been wanting to do this all day—seeing you like that, needed to make it right,” his voice rough, lifting you onto his lap with ease, your legs straddling him, the couch creaking as he pressed himself closer, his hardness evident through his jeans, “let me take care of you, babe—make you forget all this,” his tone possessive, his lips on your neck, kissing, biting lightly, leaving faint marks, making you moan softly, “max—please,” voice desperate, your hands tangling in his hair, the tension snapping, his hands tugging your shirt up, tossing it aside, his fingers tracing your skin, “gonna love on you—every way,” his voice a growl, his hands moving to your pants, undoing them with a practiced ease, sliding them down, his touch firm, needy, the living room fading as the heat took over.

“yes—max,” you whined, voice breaking with anticipation, his hands on your hips, pulling you against him, the friction sending a shiver through you, “so good—need you,” his tone urgent, shedding his own clothes with quick, impatient movements, his arousal pressing against you, making your breath catch, the months of dating adding a layer of urgency, “gonna have you—right here,” voice dominant, lining himself up, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider, pushing in—deep, slow—filling you completely, your moan loud, raw, his groan matching, low and guttural, “y/n—yes,” his pace quickening, hard, the couch shaking beneath you, “take it—all of me,” his hands tightening, pulling you into him with each thrust, the living room filled with your gasps, his grunts, the sound of skin meeting skin, the comfort morphing into raw, desperate heat.

“max—more,” you begged, voice shaky, your nails digging into his shoulders, his thrusts deep, relentless, each one driving the day’s pain away, “you feel so good—always so good for me,” his voice rough, his hand sliding up your side, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, the other guiding your hips, “keep saying my name—love hearing it,” his tone commanding, his pace faster, the couch creaking louder, the buildup stretching, intensifying, “max—please,” voice trembling, your body arching, the heat coiling tight, “almost there—gonna make you scream it,” his voice a snarl, his thrusts hitting deeper, harder, the tension peaking, your legs trembling, “max—i’m close,” voice breaking, the climax building, his hand releasing your wrists to grip your hips again.

“cum for me—now, babe,” his voice a fierce command, thrusting with precision, sending you over the edge, your body shaking, cumming hard, moaning his name loud, “max—yes!” clenching around him, the wave crashing through you, pulling him with you, “y/n—oh god,” his voice breaking, cumming hot inside, his thrusts slowing, sloppy, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight as the aftershocks rippled, his breath ragged against your neck, “my girl—always mine,” his voice soft, kissing your forehead, the day’s pain replaced by the warmth of his love, your climax leaving you breathless, safe in his arms.

(not proofread!!)

lazy kinda fic sorry :(

hope u like it regardless, after this batch of requests i might take a week break just because i lowkey have writers block lol.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

No Conflict On My End

Catch the classic Wano trick? Scattershot chapter but the title gives you the clue; conflict. It was smoother but we've stepped away from the Straw Hats, they aren't in this one. I said this when we finished Bonney's cutaway. If you look at what's left it's Stussy as a springboard to Bakkin/Marco which we haven't checked in on since their first appearance parallel to Egghead. SWORD also has an unfired Chekov's Gun with Drake. Either of those can pull a Kuma and rewrite Wano. Only one person there can do that and it was the girl playing coy in the end.

Last week, it was "If he's gone, who am I to live for?" This week it's this titular line about inner conflict, how it's proof of your humanity. Especially with the Seraphim and building off of CP9 being these vicious government dogs who just need the order to indulge bloodlust right by it. That role doesn't have to be who you are, and if circumstance deals you a bad hand that forces you to go against your nature those conflicted feelings are proof you're not losing yourself to it. The difference to me though is like we said with Stussy maybe needing her own "Okobore" era. I don't think this is really Kiku's story replacing humanity with gender identity...I see it more as a parallel to the implied backstory and growth that allowed you to give it your all freely on one final show with the old gang. Also, don't forget Bakkin was last seen with Marco and that's all tied up in Sphinx Island as one of these wayward villages in need of a humble guardian.

Oh yeah, and doing this while York introduces a truckload of ambiguity. This is a cool scene. Because we really have to stop and think about what York knows, what Stella knew, and of course these weird gaps when we also now know Vegapunk Prime was with Bonney during the Void Night. As above, so below and all that right? A story about the Void Century on the surface when the micro clash on this island has that big blank night before raising so many questions.

Specifically highlighting the idea VP is a horrible liar and a bad actor. Is there like, anything specific we could pair this with in York's conclusion that would enhance the aroma?

Hey look! We got Robonosuke and Momonosuke in the same chapter! If you count the cover page we also got both Tsurus which is nice. York's theory is that Robonosuke is set to guard the broadcast. My point is that, alongside Stella telling us his limited version of the Void Century after a string of unreliable narrators we have York offering us this theory in frustration. Specifically highlighting solid reasons to be flummoxed. Vegapunk may have pulled a big brained plan all along, he was dicking around with Robonosuke when we met him. But he also like, weirdly disappeared from that scene too which is one of those little things I try to remember about Egghead. Vegapunk also wasn't really far along at getting Robonosuke online.

This becomes some really good shit though if there is a mystery interloper. Because really it could go both ways. If York's right, they could already be there and ready to make use of it. A trap. If York's wrong, the chaos just gave you a perfect distraction and it's a perfect sign of beating the genius by getting in her head. I still think there's something to the idea that Vegapunk didn't have time overnight to fix this dude. Luffy's G5 heartbeat being a signal or that backhanded way of someone making good on his assumption you just need to know Robonosuke's real name? That works in a night we still haven't filled in. And no matter what this big, bad mofo is about to start wrecking shit. Which is pretty cool.

Last but not least we have our reactions to the message. One big thing I thought was cool was seeing a lot of Alabasta stuff but not Vivi directly. V cool. Not like these breakout stories anchored around the three ladies are exclusive; Stussy had that great beat introducing her inner conflict during Bonney's and Bonney was incidentally involved in the stuff @ Mariejois. Before we get to our main man here too I'd highlight Shakky potentially carrying over that idea from Nojiko & Miss Goldenweek last week. Practical, grounded women aren't paying much attention and going about their day-to-day.

But then you got Rayleigh. Love this little line of conflict between Vegapunk and Ray. Because like we hinted at last week on a meta level this is kinda fucked up for VP to be just dumping all the Void Century stuff. Or it would be if he wasn't walking that fine line of not really revealing too much. Notice how he's kinda back to talking about his own stuff over the past few months as York puzzles it out. We can forgive Ray for not catching the subtleties though because he's drunk. I like this balance honestly, especially when you have Crocus kinda straddling the two.

One last thought too that just can kinda go anywhere with this message...Robin still has like, four regular Poneglyphs we've seen but not really fleshed out. The other two in Big Mom's stash, the one above the secret passage in the Flower Capitol, and the one Law found on Onigashima. She might already know something important Vega doesn't and her being mysteriously injured last night is a great excuse for not giving them time to touch on it.

[2n2n]

ch. 110

brutality, no survivors.... incredible suffering for the girlies (you, me, JP twitter)

and here I thought shenanigans would continue... this promo image was an immediate punch at 6AM

and yet this was all things considered the easy part...? ugh, but... please a moment to drink it in... all of my beliefs in the true power exchange... it's so satisfying to see it like this. it's easy, simple to still Tsukasa, isn't it... towering, presiding older brother.... his joudai trailing... touch your seal... the virtue by which you are kept safe, kept his. Poor Tsukasa. covetous object...!

a rascal....! uhh I love pocket-sanding Akane with old man parts ... amazing technique ahaha, Tsukasa knows how to make people lose focus huh? he's in such a good mood isn't he~ not as resentful as he was towards Mirai pestering him...

mirai explode lol.... I can't say I feel much personally, I guessed she might do this ... it's sweet of her to protect Akane, but I can't think much of it, beyond what it contributes to how we should feel about her. Noble rat after all? not so dumb as Akane had said before?

Mirai holding the yorishiro makes sense, for why she's typically locked in their boundary without any freedom. sure... easy. another key to haunt us! more keys why NOT

I like to see Natsuhiko being cool like this ... ♥

but this is so interesting...

I'm never sure how much Mitsuba really understood about the Broadcast club's greater plans... I wonder if Natsuhiko is being literal here, and Mitsuba DID know what he had to do, but had settled on his suicidal ennui.... ah, having to analyze your life for something precious is grim... he has an issue of not appreciating what he has while he has it, and being unable to state it...

.... and there's nobody to correct him. This is such a manga about... 'reasons'....

among the things even possible.. that poor keychain was destroyed. I wonder if there were a few things going on in Mitsuba's mind even then...

I really like... that mysteries, kaii need something anchoring them... I like that it's not enough, to exist... I like that the body naturally dilapidates, 'wants' to move on or become something else. It's a great metaphor....! In this manga... the most important thing, is loving something. If you don't love something, you can't stay alive. You won't....

I'm still wondering if the original thing Kou gave Mitsuba back in vol. 7 will ever come back around... or if it just gave him a complex or curiosity about the 'old' Mitsuba (who he snoops on in PP after this, so....) ... and can't itself be precious so much as worming...

anyhow... I like this turn of events, but it is so shocking we're stacking handling No. 3 and also No. 1!!!! I can't believe it!!!! IT'S ALL HAPPENINGGGG?????!?!? We haven't stacked mysteries like this before ~~!!!! It's so exciting.... I like Natsuhiko a lot in all of this ♥ I don't know... like with Tsukasa and Mitsuba, I believe him that he found it all charming in its own way, and that he wanted to offer what he could to Mitsuba for the timebeing. It's not as if there are other options, here... Mitsuba... really was never doing the things that needed to be done.... or letting others know what he needed to do.

I suppose Natsuhiko could wake up Kou to watch this if he wanted, but I find it much funnier if Kou just has to wake up at the end of this and Mitsuba is eradicated... lol...

can't say I really understand Teru's position about the mysteries...

you understand the mysteries are a kind of structural pillar for this region, but the pressure that was weighing on Hanako at least seemed to be the Minamoto ... it was that imperative the Broadcast Club's been taking advantage of. The rumors created an excuse to justify the sense of mistrust in the mysteries. But I'll never quite know what Teru is even capable of ... since he shouldn't be able to touch yorishiro ... but directly threatens to exorcize mysteries. Can you have extant yorishiro without the mysteries utilizing them.... ??? Well, I just don't understand it yet.... must put it aside.

back to what really matters...

I love how peaceful, relieved, serene he looks here.... finally, you've been so patient, Tsukasa... every little step of this has taken so long.... holding the last yorishiro in your hands... trusting Amane to handle you, after... it must feel good. The end in sight....

I really love this reach for Amane's knife...

back in this position, are we?

ah.... poor Amane. For a moment... I appreciate what he's trying to do, here. He sounds patient... he sounds like an older brother. Explaining so cleanly...

you want to be sure Tsukasa understands... maybe you think-- he hasn't thought this through, or he doesn't get the consequences, he's being childish, or reckless, maybe he's misunderstood how it happened before ... I love to hear Amane, say something so direct as... won't see you again.... won't be able to save you ... everything he did last time! to ensure... that you wouldn't be apart! the binding of their souls! tying Tsukasa down to him like a ship in a storm! protection, mooring... keeping you, where he can see you! remaining together, at all costs! that's important to you too, right, Tsukasa? don't you want to see each other?

it's as if you're saying you don't want to be together, don't want to be saved... what do we do with people who don't ask you to save them? why must they insist on leaving you behind?

Mitsuba won't ask Kou to save him. Sumire wouldn't ask Hakubo to save her. Aoi didn't want Akane to save her. I wonder if Tsukasa didn't ask Amane to save him, but Amane did it anyway... her certainly wasn't asking for a hero in the Red House, or to live on coming back.

it's a kind of rejection, isn't it? When someone is so ambivalent about the life you love so much... the life you want with them... it's as if they're saying, "I don't want to be with you enough to live for you."

Of course, every time, they're really saying ... "I just don't know what I mean to you." Mitsuba doesn't feel valuable to Kou; only a replacement, a reminder of something he once cared about. Best to give up. Sumire imagined Hakubo was only placating her, and could only wish not for his earnest sadness, but for him to pretend to be sad for her. Best to let death happen. and Aoi didn't feel Akane knew the real her, imagined he would reject the real Aoi, only in love with his grand projection of her. Best to step away now.

Of course, Tsukasa thought his brother hated him, so...

It all feels so simple and logical! It's saving trouble, right?

Amane made such a gesture last time... in their shinjuu... he tried, he really tried, to say something ... to Tsukasa.

but, the message didn't go through...

but I can only be so sympathetic to Amane, as he's an incredible hypocrite. Of course, Amane has put Nene-chan through everything Tsukasa puts him through.

You also try to grant your beloved a wish for a future that explicitly doesn't involve you, and make her feel rejected, abandoned, given no choice...

Amane...

oh, Yugi twins....

.... why can't you understand when you're precious? Why can't you understand how bad it hurts, to abandon somebody? Amane-chan really suffered without you, Tsukasa. You're always the one leaving him, and getting to feel sacrificial about it. He's trying to tie you down....

.... it's a natural response... to lash out. Rejected... misunderstood... abandoned... why is Tsukasa asking you to give up on him? Why can't he understand, even with that seal on his cheek... even as you died with him....

兄の思いは届かず…

I really love that for the chapter's end.

Amane's feelings never did reach Tsukasa. It wasn't understood, what he had tried to do, his sadness now. But... Amaneeeee....

maybe you could use a taste of your own medicine....

we think we know just how to make someone else's wish come true, don't we?

isn't it such an insult! WHY!!!!!! """"WHY""""""??????

..... I'm out of images, so I'll continue in a reblog, for a couple more thoughts I'm having ....

but for this post... ahhhh. It's unbelievable we're at least starting to tackle... this. I feel bad for Amane, I really do... I feel bad for Tsukasa, too. It's hard to not hurt someone you love ... in an attempt to only hurt yourself. If we hurt ourselves, we hurt the thing our lover adores ... we spit on their love for us.

I can understand why and how Amane can say "I hate you" ... to Tsukasa. As much as Akane could childishly say it to Aoi ... and you know, it is that same unimaginable love which makes it possible. Years of familiarity, it makes you more liable to lash out. There is such a greater sense of betrayal, when you've expended so much effort... when you try so hard for someone... when you're in so much pain about them....! After all I've done... you CAN'T say this or that to me.... etc, etc! Those intense emotions... can make you feel entitled, to never be hurt... you can't hurt me, after all I've hurt for you!

and I do think it's being said extremely childishly... daikirai... he's just, unable to be any more constructive with his feelings, he's so... hurt, mad. As much as Nene-chan is so mad, hearing Hanako spit on all of her efforts she made to reach him... BIG SLAP!!!

Amane, he's maybe endured 50 years of effort and an awful lot of physical suffering for Tsukasa, and it's not gotten through... wwww! I'm sorry, I'm worried Tsukasa might have a PROFOUND amount of suicidal urge. Might be an uphill battle, Amane... you might just need to save Tsukasa because you are selfish, and you want him for yourself. There might be no easier reason ... to keep him by your side. We can't make Tsukasa beg to stay with you... but you won't beg him to stay, will you? I think that would actually do a lot of good, Amane... but you really won't do that....

meanwhile, I love the juxtaposition of Nene-chan's incredibly childish DAI DAI DAISUKIII and this daikirai lol... we all have big feelings don't we lol....! well...

[oheck-trainwreck]

I can’t sleep so I’m thinking about my catastrophe crew au again.

I think the main cast would looks something like this:

Badboyhalo: initially an average channel 11 camera man who was assigned to the news helicopter, who becomes the helicopters reporter after tragedy and/or upper management befalls several of the replacements. He is kind of the head of the crew, in that he often comes up with the insane solutions to the problems they face (a reference to his big-finding skills on the Qsmp), but he always assists the others when they need it (after some teasing and being mischievous). He has a son, Dapper.

Tubbo: the helicopter pilot, and the youngest of the crew. He’s very smart and insightful, giving the crew advice and inspiration, and sometimes straight up solutions based on his observations. He’s very good with technology and mechanics, but since he’s too busy flying the helicopter, he doesn’t use those skills too much. Despite being fairly young, he has an adopted daughter, Sunny, who he takes care of when he’s not at work.

Bagi: the copilot. She takes over flying when tubbo is incapacitated or doing tech-y stuff elsewhere. She does copilot things (I don’t know how helicopters work) but she also has incredible deductive skills and logical reasoning. She’s very good at connecting the dots, and ends up finding out how the disasters that the crew faces are all related. (At the beginning of the show, she does not yet have Empanada).

Aypierre: the crew’s technician and mechanic. He stays on the helicopter to fox anything that breaks, and bring out odd little inventions to help with whatever bizarre situations the crew finds themselves in. He co-parents his daughter pomme with a number of other French people (they live in the same apartment complex as Bad and Dapper, which leads to Pomme seeing Bad as a father as well)

Tina: I don’t know what her job title would be, but she manages the broadcast of the sound and video from the helicopter to the newstation. She controls whose voices are broadcast on the air, which she occasionally uses to mess with people (I don’t know a whole lot about Tina, but I’ll probably come up with more details for her later)

Recurring side characters:

Cucurucho: a higher up (but not the highest up) at channel 11 news. He is the boss of all members of the crew, and is/was responsible for putting the crew together. He is mostly impartial and mainly focused on efficiency, but there are situations where they base decisions on their own desires.

Skeppy: the other reporter for the catastrophe crew, who stays within the channel 11 building. (Tbh also don’t know a lot about him. He’s probably beefing with cucurucho tho)

Relationships:

Bagina: the only relationship that will be canonized within the show. They are gay disasters around each other for a bit, flirt, date, and end up getting married and going on honeymoon right before thing get VERY BAD. Let’s go lesbians.

Cucuhalo: cucurucho has a crush on bad. Bad is dense as rocks. Cucurucho sometimes abuses his power for the sake of this one sided crush, like when he had skeppy relocated (to be further away from bad). Maybe they also live in the same apartment complex, next door neighbors or something.

Skephalo: you know how they are (probably). As the two reporters/anchors, they often have a bit of banter as the newscast switches from one to the other. They work very well together, but can’t work nearby to each other due to the jealousy of cucurucho.

Cucurucho and skeppy work in much closer proximity than either does with bad, so they have little passive aggressive interactions sometimes. Bad is also oblivious to this, and thinks that everyone should just get along.

[mscresta]

Hello! I come bearing a fanfiction request.

Can you please do familial fluff with Everlark, like reader is the sister of Peeta and Katniss is learning to warm up to her after everything happened?

I’ve just never seen this dynamic and it sounds really sweet 😭

Meeting for the holidays.🎄

————-

- Cw: A Christmas story, found family, baking, gifts, ptsd. Bad spelling 🤗

I’m sorry this is so long !!! This fic was really fun too write cause it was a bit challenging BUT I LOVE THIS TROPE!!

It was Christmas Day, and you were planning on meeting your brother’s wife… or fiancé? You weren’t entirely sure what their relationship was anymore, given how much of it had been staged for the cameras. Either way, you were determined to make the best of the holiday. Still, a nervous pit lingered in your stomach. Your dad liked Katniss, but your mom? She had always been a bit wary.

“Need any help in here?” Peeta’s voice broke the silence as he entered the kitchen, a bag of flour in hand. He gave you a small, warm smile.

You were about to say yes, mostly because you really could use some help, but your mom’s sharp tone cut you off.

“Peeta, leave her to it,” your mom snapped, glaring in your direction before shooting a pointed look at Peeta. “You’ll only burn something.”

You knew her words weren’t entirely fair. Peeta used to burn the bread on purpose, a small act of rebellion in a life that hadn’t afforded him many choices. Still, your mom’s disapproval hung in the air, thick and heavy.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, meeting your brother’s eyes with a reassuring smile. “Thanks for the extra flour.”

He nodded, setting the bag down on the counter. “I’ll go check on Katniss, see if they’re still coming.”

“We should have everything ready by the time you get back,” you assured him, kneading the dough with steady hands, the rhythm calming your nerves.

Peeta gave you one last smile before slipping out of the room. You turned your attention back to the task at hand, the quiet of the kitchen interrupted only by the soft crackle of the fire in the other room.

The dough was soft under your hands as you worked it, the faint smell of cinnamon and cloves hanging in the air. You’d been at this since the early morning, determined to make everything perfect. This was the first Christmas since the war ended, and though the scars—physical and emotional—still lingered, you hoped this day could bring some much-needed warmth.

“Do you think they’ll like it?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Your mom paused her work beside you, her hands steady as she arranged the cranberry sauce on a serving dish. “Who, Katniss?” she asked, her voice neutral.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I don’t really know her. I mean, Peeta talks about her like she’s the best thing that ever happened to him, but… I just don’t want her to feel out of place.”

Your mom’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” she said curtly, but you could tell from the tightness in her jaw that she wasn’t convinced.

You sighed, not wanting to push the issue. Katniss was a complicated topic in your family. To you, she was a distant figure, someone you’d only seen on TV screens during the Hunger Games broadcasts or fleetingly during her and Peeta’s Victory Tour. To Peeta, she was clearly much more—a partner, an anchor, someone who’d stood by him through unimaginable horrors. But to your mom, Katniss seemed like a reminder of everything Peeta had suffered, everything your family had lost.

The sound of the front door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You wiped your hands on a dish towel and leaned toward the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of your brother and his… whatever Katniss was to him.

“Mom, Y/N!” Peeta’s voice called out, and a moment later, he appeared, Katniss trailing behind him. She looked smaller than you expected, her posture stiff and wary. Her dark hair was tucked into a loose braid, and she clutched a modestly wrapped gift in her hands.

“Hi,” you said, offering her a smile.

“Hi,” Katniss replied softly. Her eyes darted around the kitchen as if she were bracing for some kind of attack.

“Katniss, welcome,” your mom said, her tone polite but clipped. She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded toward the table. “Peeta, why don’t you help her put her things down?”

Peeta guided Katniss to the living room, but you noticed the way she hesitated, almost as if she didn’t trust the space around her. It was subtle, but you’d learned to notice the small signs—how someone’s hands twitched when they were nervous, the way their breathing quickened when they were overwhelmed.

“She’s skittish,” your mom muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

“She’s been through a lot,” you replied, your voice firmer than you intended. “We all have.”

Your mom didn’t say anything, but the silence between you spoke volumes. You returned to the dough, hoping the repetitive motion would ease the tension creeping into your chest.

A little while later, Peeta wandered back into the kitchen. “Katniss offered to help,” he said, glancing between you and your mom.

“Sure,” you said quickly, not wanting to make her feel unwelcome.

Peeta left, and a moment later, Katniss stepped into the kitchen, looking uncertain. “Peeta said you needed help,” she said.

“Yeah, you can help me with the cookies,” you said, gesturing to the tray beside you. “They’re just sugar cookies, but I thought we could decorate them later.”

Katniss nodded and moved to the counter, her movements deliberate as she picked up a rolling pin. For a while, the two of you worked in silence, the only sounds the gentle clatter of utensils and the soft hum of the oven.

“You’re good at this,” you said, trying to break the ice.

Katniss gave a small shrug. “Prim used to like baking,” she said quietly. Her voice caught on the mention of her sister’s name, and you felt a pang of guilt for bringing it up.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s okay. She would have liked this.”

Something in her tone softened, and you saw a flicker of the person Peeta always described.

By the time the cookies were in the oven, Katniss seemed more at ease. She even cracked a small smile when you showed her the lopsided snowman you’d made out of leftover dough.

When the cookies were done, Peeta came in to help decorate, his hands steady as he piped intricate patterns onto the icing. Katniss tried her hand at it too, though her designs were simpler—little stars and hearts that still looked beautiful in their own way.

As the evening wore on, the house slowly filled with laughter and warmth. Even your mom seemed to relax a bit, though she still watched Katniss with a critical eye.

When it came time to exchange gifts, Katniss surprised you by handing you a small, carefully wrapped package. Inside was a silver necklace with a delicate charm in the shape of a mockingjay.

“I thought you might like it,” she said, her voice shy but sincere.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your throat tightening.

For the first time, you saw a hint of a smile that reached her eyes.

————

[grim-faux]

An EXCERPT for Thin Therapy. Check out Chapter 1 in le link

@i-think-in-metaphors aka TheRandomSith played the disastrous and all-deserving Otto from the Sounds of Nightmares

naturally, I played the part of TTT Thin Man and the very well mannered and well adjusted TTT Mono.

__

Otto gently moved the boy’s hands away from his chair. “He's curious as all children are.”

The commit put a mischievous smirk on TTT Thin Man’s face. “Certainly. A very curious boy. You do not seem acclimated to such antics. I struggle to manage his outbursts. He can be quite 'persuasive', as the girl could already vouch for me.”

TTT Mono put all his strength into shoving Otto, leaning fully against the Counsellor and his chair. “Move. Go move.”

Otto looked down at the boy. “Where are you trying to take me?”

TTT Mono glared up at Otto from under his cap. “Am Mono. Make move. Ya'go. Am make go.”

“I understand. Where do you want me to move to?”

TTT Mono shoved hard, with his head now. “Y'go. Mono make move. See?”

A bit dismissive, TTT Thin Man offered, “It is common for children to utilize chairs and boxes to reach high places that have no hand holds. Such as doorknobs, high cabinets, a crack in the wall or a high vent. I cannot say for why he believes he needs you or that chair for....”

Otto gave Mono another look, torn between wanting to know why the boy wanted it to move or knowing how long he’d keep at this.

TTT Mono tried spinning the chair with Otto in it, to get his hands away from the desk. With a glance over the Counsellor, he debated on if biting would work, though biting was rude. “Make move am Mono.” He insisted, again. “Y'see? Move. Y'go, huh? Am show.”

TTT Thin Man sighed. “There is really no way to dissuade or stop him. When he has it in his head to accomplish something, it will be done. Even if it is to his own destruction....”

“I am currently using this chair. You will have to wait.”

TTT Mono gave a fierce child scowl to Otto, before putting more into his effort to brute force or shove the chair side. He whirled around and kicked at the desk, intent on getting it away from Otto, but it was too heavy. “No. Am have.” He went for biting, since Otto is the one being rude.

Otto held him back with one hand. “None of that now.”

TTT Thin Man did not bother to conceal his smirk. “Oh dear, I believe he has claimed you as his now. You are really in for it.”

Now the boy was in the process of climbing onto Otto! And get ahold of his arms. While doing that, he began kicking his heel against the desk. He was such a darling little child.....

In exasperation, Otto gripped the boy firmly under his arms and put him back onto the floor. “No.”

Immediately TTT Mono lunged for Otto, grabbing his knees as he climbed. “Rarr!”

While the very helpful TTT Thin Man made ‘an effort’ to hold back staticky snickers. “How unfortunate the other Broadcaster is not here to intervene. He is so tolerant of the monster.”

Deadpanned, Otto once more fought to dissuade the grabbing hands. But continued to fail. “Yes, you are quite scary. Why don’t you go show that to your guardian.”

Prepared to enjoy the unfolding skit, TTT Thin Man leaned his back to the wall and crossed his arm. “That is the thing, though. He does not usually pester me.... unless he wants something. Apparently, you have something, or he desires you to do some thing.”

TTT Mono worked to untangle his arms from the firm hands, and was also using his toes to cling onto Otto’s shin. With Otto’s hands preoccupied, he anchored his foothold and pulled himself closer.

At his wits end, Otto plucked the boy up and set him on the desk so he could be tall.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #242

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

The lights faded in on Houston’s local news studio and the anchors began to speak.

“Thanks for tuning in to the five o’clock news. I’m Sheldon West.”

“And I’m Marianne Cooper. Tonight’s top story: What has become of the popular podcast host known to most of his listeners only as, ‘Frank’?”

~

“Welcome back to The Frank Program. I’m Frank, over there in the corner is my boy, Daryl, and today’s guest is our very first: My beautiful wife, Anita.”

“What the hell is this, Frank?”

“It’s my podcast. I do a podcast now. You’d know about it if ya ever bothered to care about what I wanted.”

“It’s always about what you want, Frank. Look, I don’t care if you’re recording this. I know damn well nobody will ever listen to it. But it is absolutely not okay to bring Daryl into this. It’s between us.”

“He ought’ know what’s going on.”

“No he oughtn’t.”

“I don’t keep secrets from ‘im and you shouldn’t either.”

“I think the judge from the custody hearing might disagree.”

~

Sheldon West straightened his tie before the broadcast came back to the studio. “What started out as a small production uploaded to YouTube every few weeks or so became the talk of the internet when Chuck Tangent made his explosive debut on the show.”

“The viral clip of him bursting through the ceiling of the studio brought notoriety to the amateur podcast which had already been active for several years. Suddenly, celebrities were banging down Frank’s door for interviews, most of which ended in one form of disaster or another. This, it turned out, was a winning formula.”

“Here’s our in-the-field correspondent, Greta Alvarado, with the word on the street.”

~

In a pre-taped segment, microphones were shoved into the faces of people on the streets of Houston.

A woman wearing a pink blouse: “I love to see how that dirtbag screws up every interview. Have you seen how he treats his kid? If that’s what he says on camera, I don’t wanna know what he’s like the rest of the time.”

A sunburned man in a graphic tee with the sleeves cut off: “I appreciate that Frank isn’t scared to speak his mind, you know? Like, this guy says what I’m thinking. Loved his vape juice recipe.”

A visibly queer teen: “I’m like ninety percent sure his kid is trans and I think he knows. That’s why he’s been doing all those drugs.”

~

“Loyal viewers have noticed the famously low-quality interviews of The Frank Program declining further in recent months as Frank has been less and less present during recording. In the last new episode released, he was seen snorting what appeared to be powder cocaine.”

“Rumors swirl of Frank’s very public downfall. Some claim to have seen him begging for change on the streets, but we’ve been unable to substantiate any of these eyewitness reports. There have yet to be any credible claims of the unlikely public figure’s location.”

“The family is working with police to track him down. If you have any information, please call the number at the bottom of the screen. In other news, these cute puppies are looking for their forever homes - can you resist those big eyes?”

He's gonna be Frank with you. Read the rest of The Frank Program here on Tumblr!

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! See you again tomorrow.

[celestiall0tus]

Amaranthine - Chapter 1 - Another Day

Beginning || Previous || Next

            “Paris was once again saved by its valiant defenders, Midnight and Carmine. They once again stopped the mysterious Adonis’s monster from rampaging and destroying the city,” Nadja Chamack of the news announced.

            Marinette peeked over from her kitchen in the living room. Longg sat on the couch as a woman with olive skin and long, wavy black hair. Marinette sighed and shook her head at the sight.

            “Longg, I need your help with this brew,” Marinette called.

            “Just a moment. This is my favorite part.”

            Marinette rolled her eyes as she watched the TV. The broadcast showed a clip of the battle earlier that day with a behemoth creature. Midnight and Carmine, the heroes of the black cat and the ladybug, worked at getting to the monster’s weak spot. In the background were shimmers of brilliant gold as they darted about. The gold entity didn’t come into focus until the end of the battle. It revealed itself to be a woman in golden armor, her face obscured with a draconic mask, and a pair of massive wings on her back.

            Marinette stopped preparing her potion to watch the rest of the broadcast. The dragon warrior used her powers as vines and trees sprouted beneath the monster and ensnared it. It fought against the restraints but couldn’t break free before Midnight destroyed the weak point, a black crystal on its chest. A horrific butterfly flew from the crystal that was caught in Carmine’s yo-yo and purified into energy. Through the combined powers of Midnight and Carmine, they were able to restore the damages the monster had done. The broadcast went back to Nadja as Midnight and Carmine dealt with the press and the dragon left.

            “While we continue to give our thanks to Midnight and Carmine, we cannot express our gratitude enough to the mysterious golden dragon. Thanks to their efforts, the casualties from these attacks have reduced tenfold. I think I can speak for all of Paris in the expression of our thanks for keeping us safe.”

            “But their villain remains at large,” Nadja’s anchor partner commented.

            “True. Though it has been a long year, we must have faith in our heroes. We’ve seen only they can stop these bizarre creatures and the true monster behind them. I believe they will bring this Adonis down and finally liberate us. We just-.”

            Longg turned off the TV as she threw a pillow up in celebration. “Another job well done! Don’t you think so, ‘mysterious golden dragon?’”

            Marinette sighed. “You know, that other news anchor had a point. Our enemy is still at large.”

            “I mean, technically Midnight and Carmine’s enemy. You’re just the hero of the people.”

            “Maybe so, but so long as he puts the people in danger, then he is my enemy too.”

            “Oh, please. You can pretend to be all noble, Mari, but I know the truth. Don’t try to fool yourself now.”

            Marinette puffed out her cheeks. “Does this not match up? Didn’t I see myself as a hero back then? A hero of the people?”

            “Well, yeah, you did, but not like this. You had no enemies. You just helped to help people. You just couldn’t do what you wanted until you had me. Though I believe Sass would have been better for you, but I found you first.”

            “Regardless, I know this will help me find him. The one from my dream. My soulmate.”

            Longg snickered. “You mean your prosecutor.”

            “Will you stop calling him that? He saved me back then. You even said so yourself.”

            “Along with saving his own skin. Though I suppose having to drag your soulmate to the pyre is punishment enough. Though it did feel nice to set those flames myself. The surprise on his, and everyone’s, faces had me roaring. It was great. Oh! Minus you dying.”

            Marinette gave a dry laugh. “Always doing things on my terms, no?”

            “And how. That’s just how you were. How you still are. Honestly, I’m glad you didn’t lose that trait. Hence why we’re in this predicament.”

            “Maybe we wouldn’t be if you helped a little more with finding him.”

            “Hey! I’m helping where I can, but do I look like Psyche to you? I can’t just read people’s souls and tell who are and aren’t connected. That isn’t my concept. Besides, I’m helping you in other places that are my concept.”

            Marinette sighed. “I know. I just… I don’t know.”

            Longg stood and approached Marinette. “Hey, I know. You aren’t the first mortal I’ve met that longed for their soulmates. Just don’t forget that it’s never a guarantee that you’ll meet them again.”

            “I know, but that’s why I do all this. I know if I just repeat the initial conditions, I will meet him.”

            “And I’ll repeat what I’ve said before. If you wish to repeat your history, you will be doomed to repeat your downfall.”

            “I know, but I can also learn from my history and take steps to avoid it. That’s the point, no? We’ll be doomed to repeat history regardless unless we also learn and be better.”

            Longg smiled. “If only there were more humans like yourself. Maybe then we wouldn’t see so many of the same mistakes made. At least in this era you don’t have to worry about being burned at the stake for being a witch.”

            “That is unless the fires are yours.”

            “Only on a bad day. Or a bad meal. Don’t forget about those gas station tacos.”

            Marinette frowned. “I still want to know what possessed you to eat those awful things.”

            “Look, you know what your kind says. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back.”

            “In a roar of flames like a phoenix.”

            Longg grinned.

            Marinette shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when there was a knock on the door. She answered it as Longg moved to the kitchen. She smiled seeing Juleka and gestured for her to come inside.

            “Hey, Jules. How’re you this evening?”

            “I’m… actually fantastic. I just got some amazing news before I headed over here.”

            Marinette beamed. “Oh, do share. Oh! I should get some tea. Let me just-.”

            “Already started!” Longg called.

            “Well, alright. Let’s take a seat on the couch.”

            Juleka nodded and sat down with Marinette. “So, I’m not sure which to start with first.”

            “Is there any bad news?”

            “No. Just good and great news.”

            “Oh! Start with the great news then.”

            “Ok. Well. Rose and I are expecting.”

            Marinette squealed and bounced. “That’s amazing news! How is she?”

            “She’s doing well. Over the moon actually. She actually wanted to come along and tell you, but I wasn’t sure she’d be able to tolerate the odor of all the herbs. I know when I was pregnant I got sick easy from just normal smells. Not to say she’ll be the same, but you know.”

            “Well, not personally, but I have a hunch from all that I’ve heard. Regardless, that is fantastic. How far along is she? How did the twins take the news?”

            “She’s about five weeks along now. And Freye was ecstatic while Diana wasn’t too thrilled. Though she’s just worried Freye will love the new baby more over her. Classic siblings, I suppose.”

            “If Alya is any proof of that, then yeah, I’d say so.”

            Juleka chuckled. “I don’t know how Alya dealt with it. It’s one thing to have just one sibling. But to have three others must have been a lot.”

            Marinette furrowed her brow. “You have a sibling?”

            “Huh? Oh, right. You were never told. I have my own twin. His name is Luka.”

            “Really? How come you never mentioned him or introduced us?”

            Juleka grimaced. “Well, it’s a little complicated. See, when Rose introduced us, Luka was on tour with our blood father, Jagged Stone. He made a deal with us that he’d help us with tuition for university, but he wanted Luka to join him for some tours. I really think he just wanted to use Luka to save his dying music brand, but Luka agreed all the same. So, I was able to get my Associate’s to become a mortician while he’s finishing up tour with Jagged.”

            “Sounds like he’s scum of the Earth,” Longg remarked.

            Marinette shot a glare at Longg as Longg set a tray on the coffee table for tea.

            “What? Tell me I’m wrong,” Longg challenged.

            “You’re not. He… he wasn’t there for us. Didn’t really care until Luka expressed interest in music therapy. Well, more the music part than the therapy. But it’ll be all over soon and he’ll be back,” Juleka explained.

            “Really? That’s incredible. Though you will have to introduce us now,” Marinette teased.

            “Don’t worry, I will. He’s actually interested in meeting you.”

            “Wait, really? How? Why?”

            “Well, Rose might have mentioned you a few times. Which, yeah, a curiosity. But when I mentioned you and that you were teaching me about herbs and other witchcraft, he wanted to meet you. I think just to make sure you weren’t scamming me.”

            Marinette smirked. “Then perhaps I should prepare a special hex just for him. See him doubt me after that.”

            Juleka laughed, then sighed. “If only it were possible to cast such spells. It’d be like a dream come true.”

            “Well, maybe not like the glorified magic in media, but I do have my own brand of magic. And it’s what you are here for today, my older grasshopper.”

            Juleka snorted. “I’m only a few years old than you.”

            “I know. But let’s get started. I don’t want to keep you away all night when Rose and the girls will need you.”

            “Oh! Right. Let’s get started.”

[nellie-elizabeth]

What We Do in the Shadows: Local News (5x05)

Okay, this was pretty hilarious.

Cons:

The thing about Guillermo's slow vampire transition this season is that it does blunt some of the comedy impact of him being a vampire in the first place. I sort of wish there had been a more dramatic contrast between human Guillermo and vampire Guillermo. It's almost like instead of setup and punchline, it's setup and then very long, meandering journey towards a destination we've already been told about. That's not to say I don't enjoy some of the things about said journey, but I don't know. I guess I'm just hoping we'll see Guillermo get his transformative moment to shine.

Oh, and, same note as always on the Guide: there's nothing wrong with her, but she seems like she could lift right out of the story without being missed at all. Sorry!

Pros:

I did like Guillermo's scenes overall, I love the solemnity mixed with irritation mixed with comedy, as Guillermo wants to say a goodbye to his mother since once he's fully a vampire, their connection is no longer safe. And yet family squabbles, and distracting news broadcasts showing Nandor and the others getting into all sorts of trouble, mean that Guillermo can't have the solemn moment he wants with his mother. When he finally does get it, her first question is if the change happening in his life is making him happy. She reminds him that it's normal to feel some doubt during a big transition.

It was such a sweet moment from her perspective, having no idea what's really going on. And it was so fraught from Guillermo's, as his mother literally burns his skin by putting a cross on him, replacing the one that she believes he has "lost".

And then back at home, the plot with the vampires is pure chaotic comedy gold. Nandor is on the local news, talking about a water main breakage on the street. He accidentally makes comments about how they've been living there for centuries, which means: oh no! The secret is out. Everybody knows about vampires now. They all decide the only thing to do is to make a stand and fight. They also think if they can get back in front of the cameras, they can hypnotize mention of the truth away from all the viewers.

It all devolves into utter chaos from there, with the vampires setting up booby traps, making plans to flee, to kidnap, to murder... eventually ending up on the local news to try and thwart mention of their vampiric abilities. They hypnotize everyone to make them forget, but then basically have to act out being the news anchors so as not to confuse any humans watching. All rendered especially comedic when you realize that the human newscaster hadn't thought anything at all of Nandor's original comments.

There were too many funny moments to mention in this whole thing, but to pull just a few of my favorites, I loved "Nandor the Relentless" being misheard as "Nandor De Laurentis". I loved Colin immediately going berserker and tearing the house up to prepare for battle. I loved Lazlo being indignant that Guillermo "hung up on him" when in fact Colin had cut the phone line, and I loved the comedy of Nandor and Lazlo discussing how big a bag was needed for their kidnap/murder victim while Guillermo tries to dissuade them over the phone.

I'm also liking the continued trend this season of Nandor really missing Guillermo, noticing he's not around as much, and feeling resentful and sad about it. When Guillermo finally does show up to help, Nandor basically says they don't need him, and Guillermo, in a fit of pique, does in fact refuse to help. They get out of their messy chaos on their own. It's interesting that Nandor knows that something's up; I wonder what the reaction will be when he finds out what it is! I'm so excited to see.

So there you have it. This wasn't one of my all-time favorite episodes but I did think the hilarity and chaos got delightfully insane!

8/10

[miswaken]

@paramnesias asked: and i’m just- i’m just floating in this ocean of nothing, and i wonder if this is it, if this is what death is. from the depths of my meme tag || spam always accepted

She pays attention to the televisions. The grid-like arrangement in the storefront alongside the alley. The individuals ensconced in quiet corners like they're both waiting for and resisting being found. Even the twin sets in Zane's room -- although those tend to tune strangely, broadcasting channels Alice isn't sure she recognizes.

The others, though, give her glimpses. She sees Alan in other ways -- sees him everywhere in this place, the streets of phantom New York awash with his ghost as much as they are with the perpetual rain. But the televisions are more direct. She's caught him on Door's show, squirming through an interview and dancing like his life depended on it. Those projections are still ones that she'll pause for, drinking in any piece of him she can, but they don't provide much insight. Door, whoever and whatever he is, is playing his own game.

No, what she's really on the lookout for are videos from the writer's room. A chance to mark where Alan is on his journey.

They range in coherency as much as they do tone. He's determined in those early laps of the spiral, confident he can still turn the ship around before it goes out of control. The deeper he sinks, the more he becomes unglued. This one... Alice doesn't think she's seen it before. Ones like it, but not this one. She's clutching her jacket tight around her throat as though it might stave off the constant oppressive chill -- the dry warmth of the apartment feels a million miles away. He's pacing, the image of Alan on the screen, jerky cuts rendering him in stop-motion. One moment he's standing, the next he's in the corner of the room, and in a blink he's hunched over the desk. She's practically pressed up against the window of the storefront façade, breath fogging faintly on the glass. Alan is mumbling to himself but Alice doesn't have to strain to hear it. It comes through as clearly as if he were standing beside her.

"And I’m just- I’m just floating in this ocean of nothing, and I wonder if this is it, if this is what death is--"

The catch in his voice spawns a sympathetic lump in her throat. She's seen what comes after this. Drowning. I'm drowning. I'm drowning. Her eyes remain glued on the televisions, the fragment of the world contained within. After this. There is no after in this place. There is no before, no now. There just is.

She waits there until the broadcast goes to static then cuts out as though every cord was pulled at once. A silent witness to Alan's desperate mania that's happening now and three years ago and god knows how long into the future. Around and around and around. And that's all she can do. Stand and watch. The direct attempts ended in disaster, have relegated her to a guiding hand in the dark, a single flare against the great gaping maw of the unknowable. Not for the first time Alice hates herself for it. For not figuring out some better, easier way. For taking so long to come even this far.

But Alice can't let herself sink. Not now. She's the buoy, not the anchor, and she can't afford to get weighed down and take the hope of escape with her. Soon enough things will shift, she can feel it. The pieces are in place. And then everything will be different.

She has to believe that.

Hugging her camera tight against her, Alice turns away from the dead televisions and sets her course for home.

[konohagakurekakashi]

"Pakkun, have you been waiting long?"

The shinobi breathed as gloved digits reached out to pat the wrinkled fur below the ninken's forehead protector, an assertion of a job well done. There was no need to confirm if the pug spotted their target and if said target was still firmly fixed within his sights; since the small body was taunt and alert, his droopy hues never wavering from the engawa, even as Kakashi settled next to him in a crouch. Despite the late hour the izakaya was still bustling with drunken bodies, their obnoxious laughter and slurs seeping through the sliding doors to intersperse with the nighttime choir of frogs and a lone Starling. Pakkun's head tilted under the brush of his contractor's deft fingers, enjoying the small reward for all of his efforts.

"Hn...Ages. I'm surprised Katsuyu-sama’s summoner hasn't up and left already. I thought you said this mission was urgent."

The operative’s fingers stilled at the well-timed jab (in Pakkun’s opinion at least), before coiling around a velvety ear to deliver a quick, reprimanding tug. Kakashi was two days out of Fukujuen Town when he received Pakkun's confirmation that he locked onto the last Senju’s trail. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, with strong winds and a never-ending downpour of biting rain causing his cloak and hood to stick to his frame like a second skin. The third and final impediment arrived in the form of three bounty hunters, the scratch etched across the stone emblem of their Hitai-ate, evident that they once swore allegiance to Iwagakure. How the cell even heard about him being in the vicinity was beyond him, considering that they were weeks away from the Land of Earth. The Anbu supposed that he could have been less ‘hands-on’ in his treatment of the numerous, unhelpful Pachinko owners and loan sharks prowling the Iryō-nin’s trail, but more savoir-faire would mean more time squandered.

As luck would have it, the three Shōkin kasegi syphoned a big chunk of his time, and an even larger percentage of his chakra reserves, as they didn't share the teen’s sentiments of not wanting to fight in a bloody deluge. He was forced to cut through them and their annoying Rock Blizzard Jutsu with his Raikiri - just to clear a path and change course. Kakashi took his duty seriously, he didn’t delay on /purpose/, Pakkun should know better. The operative was stalled from rebuking the pug verbally (smug bastard) since he did not want to risk the Sannin zeroing in on their hiding spot, not when they were this close to the engawa’s storm shutters. The clicking of ceramic cups and the intoxicated cheers of ‘sake nomiondo!’ would muffle their words sure, but the teen did not want to take the risk, not with a target of the Senju’s caliber.

As if his inner musings were broadcasted to the whole Ember Village, their target's voice suddenly ricocheted into the night, calling for someone to come out of hiding. The Anbu thought for sure that the Senju must have noticed him slip from the tiled roof earlier and as a result, made to straighten out of his crouch. It was an unfortunate turn of events to be found out now instead of on his own terms, but it would not do to prolong the inevitable, not with the way the Iryō-nin’s chakra flared and coiled. Pakkun shifted, a small, plump paw coming to rest on the teen’s thigh as if to anchor him back in place. Kakashi paused, head angling to lour impatiently at his summons, when out of his periphery he noticed another body emerge from the inky night.

Though it had been years since Kakashi left the Konohagakure Academy, he recognised the young girl as Katō Shizune. He recalled that she was level-headed, a fast learner with good chakra control, if only a little slow in her Taijutsu delivery. He supposed the rumours of her leaving the village with the last Senju rang true, putting to bed a lot of speculation purling within the Leaf Village, not that Kakashi really paid much attention to idle village gossip, mind you. His gaze shifted from the girl to her mentor, grimacing beneath the bone mask as he took stock of the bottle of sake clasped within the Sannin's grasp. He would have preferred to reason with someone that was not inebriated, somewhere less crowded and noisy, but a shinobi rarely got the mission perimeters of their own choosing.

He could wait them out before trailing the kunoichi to their accommodation where he could then make his plea, but the problem was that he had no idea how long that could take. The tension between the two was palpable, both seemingly on the verge to start up a spat. The disapproving tremor laced within the Sannin's tone was sad, angry, even a bit guilty; like this particular scenario has played out many times before. Regardless of whether that was the case, Kakashi did not detect an ounce of drowsiness from either of the two. They could argue, Tsunade could return to the confines of the izakaya and then proceed to gamble and drink for a few hours more (possibly even through the night, if he chose to believe Jiraiya-sama's laments about his teammate).

Kakashi loathed the idea of sitting in the wet grass all night, wasting even more time and energy. He needed to do something, anything, or this mission would be a bust with yet another one of his precious people carrying the can for his shortcomings. The boy shifted on his heels, surveying their surroundings in a calculated stare. There were no civilians meandering about as they were still entrapped and enchanted with the vivacity on display in the izakaya. They were definitely still within hearing range and a crowd will come to investigate should a jutsu battle break out. With that in mind, perhaps the Sannin would be less inclined to cause a scene with so many people nearby? The area was enclosed, private enough, with the pond, bamboo brush and Azalea bushes blocking off the boundary of the property.

The only exit would be the door from whence the Senju came.

It would be a pain to follow a retreating target through the sōji doors, since he did not particularly want to enter such a sordid establishment. He reasoned that he could block the egress, but that would be interpreted as a threat from both him and the Hokage and Kakashi was not prepared to have his mask and pride shattered by a wayward sake bottle. Iie, that was definitely out of the question. The teen sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment as he gathered his thoughts.

Immediately a myriad of images flashed behind his lids, visions of Minato-sensei’s pained, sullen features, the way his slender digits always twitched and twisted as if to claw at his chest. These phantasms were soon joined by the image of a miniature version of his mentor, gurgling and slobbering all over himself and the ugly stuffed toad Jiraiya-sama gave him a month after he was born. Urgh. Sage. Why was he thinking about that Naruto now? He was on a mission; one that was time sensitive, he’s got to get it together and stop thinking about other people's kids!

All in all, there was just no skirting around the obvious. It would be better, /smarter/ to bid his time, but Pakkun has yet to hear back from Guruko or Bull. It has been dead silence from the village since he left Fukujuen, so there was no telling if Minato-sensei was conscious and if he still had chakra pathways left to doctor. It always comes back to time, time which was rapidly sifting through his fingers.  The Anbu opened his lids, gaze leaden with resolve as he finally straightened out of his crouch, ignoring the questioning 'yip' from Pakkun as he went.

He slowly meandered out of the shadows and into the dim light lobbed by the swaying Toro lanterns, raising his palms as he went - up and away from his weapon's pouch. It irked his inner-operative to not have his weapons within reach, his stomach muscles knotting, but it was as good an indication of no ill-intent as a killer could manage. Shizune was still speaking, her voice low and wavering, almost pleading with her Shishō, but for what was anyone’s guess. The Anbu, did not let her finish, he couldn’t unfortunately, not when the Hidden Leaf was still so very far away.

"Sumimasen, I don't mean to interrupt, but I have an urgent scroll from the Yondaime for Tsunade-sama.”

@senjutsunade @minaa-munch

As the Hatake slowly faded out of his sensory peripheral, the knot of worry coiled tighter and tighter, along with the faint, suspicious murmurs that underlined his thoughts. 

What if he got attacked at some point? Despite being an ANBU, Kakashi had a bounty on his head - and there were so many hunters out there who were crafty enough to corner the young Hatake and dispose him for a quick ryō…

Or worse - capture him for interrogation purposes. Seldom a shinobi could survive the methods often employed in their line of work, and seeing as how Kakashi was practically his shadow in all but name– fingers curled into fists at the unbridled thought, along with the bubbling urge to call him back. 

But no…he couldn’t…he needed to have faith - in Kakashi, if not in his own methods. The teenager had found Jiraiya after all. Besides, he was the only one Minato was willing to trust; with the constant whisperings of the Kyubi assaulting his conscious and the paranoia that came with his station. It was an interesting play of dark humor, really - if one could consider the fact that the people of Hi nu Kuni trusted him to keep them safe while as the Hokage, he didn’t have the same luxury.

It came with the position and he was nothing if not blatantly aware of the fact. Minato would hold none responsible over it apart from himself. 

Ironically - though it was a bonus for them - people across their borders were more afraid of him now than ever before, seeing as how he housed the most powerful biju in existence - a Jinchuriki Hokage. At least the Yin half of it. That, coupled with his reputation as the Yellow Flash, meant that the other hidden villages would think twice before attempting to poke Konoha like they used to before. Granted, the Fire Daimyo had been most displeased with them with the constant repetition of one calamity after another; the particular fact of the matter simply happened to be the sole, redeeming aspect that they could take solace in. 

It also happened to be the only reason the Konoha Go-Ikenban hadn’t recommended his immediate removal; if not for his glaring inadequacies which a certain councilman was rather keen on pointing out on a periodic note, then for his failing health. Any respectable hidden village worth its soil would plant spies in foreign offices; since theirs was a game that relied on intel and the amount of ryō that eventually flowed into their reserves. It was only a matter of time before they figured out that Konoha’s reputed, new-found strength was a poorly woven illusion. 

Yare ne. Clothed shoulders sagged a fraction at the line of thought; for at the moment, the Yondaime’s haori seemed a lot more burdensome, the elegant cloth a suffocating embrace of what-ifs and should-bes. Pushing back his chair, the Namikaze gingerly stood just as a polite knock sounded at the door.  

“Enter.”

“Summimasen.” A Chunin from the mission assignment desk stepped in, arms laden with rolls of scrolls. A faint tinge of peach dusted the bridge of her nose under his stare, followed by fidgeting borne of one who rarely got to visit the Hokage’s office. “These reports require your approval, Hokage sama.” 

So they did. “Arigatou for bringing them all the way here, Haruhi san.” Cue a slight gesture towards one of the empty cabinets lining the office walls, “If you would, put them there? Feel free to collect them by the end of the day.” 

“Hai, Hokage sama.” The action involved more fidgeting, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of a young Inuzuka a certain clan matriarch had introduced him to recently. Hana, apparently - an adorable little heiress who probably blushed more than she talked. Considering the fact that she was related to one as boisterous as Tsume, it was indeed surprising.

But…not the bad kind of surprising. The next generation came with a lot of hope - speaking of, it was time for Naruto’s next feeding wasn’t it? With Kakashi gone and Jiraiya out and about on business he couldn’t risk taking the infant on, Naruto was back to being solely his responsibility. 

Not that he minded it, of course. Now was as good a time as any, seeing as how the walls of his office seemed all the more constrictive - and he had time till his next meeting. 

“I’ll leave now, Hokage sama.”

“Arigatou, Haruhi san.” The reply was short, but less frigid than before. Haruhi colored a little more before bowing her way out of his office. The Yondaime barely noticed, for he had already focused on a blot bleeding in his chakra network with a familiar ache that settled deep in his bones. His chakra was more alive than he was; steady thrums of raw power controlled with practiced finesse - it was warm and encompassing, tacked at just the right points… 

It was home. Needless to say, Minato had already disappeared before the door clicked shut. 

The first thing he noticed was the additional smudge of chakra brushing against his consciousness - followed by a friendly yip that was accompanied by gurgling chirps, as if to imitate the sound. Allowing the barest of smiles to slip on to his features, the Namikaze quietly made his way to his room, only to find a large dog drooling all over his futon. A miniature form clothed in adorable orange overalls hung from the poor beast’s ears, chubby fingers clutching the fleshy folds so as to hold himself upright. 

The sight was endearing enough to banish his self deprecating thoughts - if only for a fleeting moment. “Maa, maa, pull any harder and his ears will come off.” Clothed arms reached to pull Naruto away; holding the gurgling baby close as tiny hands found new purchase in Minato’s unfortunate bangs. Blue hues flickered from the small tuft of blond hair tickling his cheek to the large form that had decided to get comfortable on his previously unsoiled bedding. 

Collection of drool aside, the gesture still tugged at his decaying heartstrings. The sole remainder of his Genin team took his job seriously and was diligent enough to balance the tasks he kept getting saddled with–

Minato had raised the perfect little foot soldier, hadn’t he? The thought invited the barest twitch of his fingers and a searing twinge of raw guilt. Maybe it was the malevolent chakra intertwined with his own, or the fact that his decisions had resulted in such a Kami forsaken mess, but the Namikaze found himself a victim of his own glaring criticism more often than naught. 

Perhaps the price of reputed genius who had become attuned to failure? Whatever it was, it was nothing but troublesome for people who didn’t deserve the additional worries - nor the weight of his sins. Tan digits found a wet nose probing his palm with familiar ease, “Arigatou for keeping an eye on Naruto, Bull. You’re a good dog.”

Speak for yourself. I hate mutts. 

Sigh. Maybe if he was lucky, he could hold on to the waning dredges of his sanity by the time Kakashi returned. 

@konohagakurekakashi @senjutsunade

[yoursecondfirstlove]

Apple of my eye (part 1)

Edward Nashton x F!Reader

The Riddler decides to deviate from his plan of change for the city, instead attempting to indulge in something more…personal

Word count: 1036

PART 2 PART 3

Warnings: implied stalking, mention of kidnapping, brief mention of drug use, (y/n) is a woman

Gothamites far and wide hung on the anticipation of the new riddler broadcast. The air was tense in the GCPD as they awaited their message, any message not delivered with a body was welcome, however considering the DAs children had been reported missing not six hours ago tension remained. Jim held his breath, standing around the TV screen with the dark vigilante he had come to know, as well as some other cops who had scattered themselves across the room. He had crossed and uncrossed his arms, jittery as the news anchor finished her brief content warning to viewers, and then he popped in screen. “Hello” he greeted simply, voice filtered as it was typically. “As many of you have likely deduced I have…’borrowed’ our dear district attorneys precious son and daughter” a sigh got caught in Jim’s throat, sure he had known it but having it confirmed still hit him a little.

“Neither HAVE to die or even be injured for that matter” now THAT caught Jim’s attention, he exchanged a glance with Vengeance, who as expected remained entirely stoic.

“They’re something of a bargaining chip. For what? Well” the riddler laughed almost bashfully and lowered his head, shaking it in amusement “well the apple of my eye” he continued a little bit more of a giggle on his lips. Jim’s eyebrows furrowed as he began to lean forward towards the screen.

A picture appeared, a woman, likely in her twenties. It looked to be a picture from her social media, a charming selfie. She was smiling, her (e/c) eyes twinkling with a little playful glint. She was pretty, she seemed warm and fun. Jim could only muster up one thought “what in the hell could this freak want with this poor girl?”

Across town she was at work, a waitress in a greasy spoon diner, the uniform did nothing for her form but she still managed to look beautiful, elegant almost. She had stopped in her tracks, almost dropped the pot of coffee she was holding. “Jesus fucking Christ dude” a voice from behind her said, Dylan, he’d been working there two weeks and (y/n) was pretty sure she’d never seen him NOT high.

But she wasn’t thinking about that right now, her world spun as she watched the broadcast of the infamous riddler announcing that he wanted something and that something had to do with her.

“This beautiful creature has really had quite the grip on me since the day I’d seen her” the riddler continued, his voice was softer than the theatrical excitement he had normally used. “However I’ve had no way of reaching her so, I’ll admit, I’m going for a bit of an extreme here. In exchange for the lives of these two adult spoiled brats I would like an hour alone, a video call, nothing more, nothing LESS” he near seethed as he stressed his last word.

(Y/n) couldn’t understand, she felt like she was dreaming, she had to be. How exactly does one respond to finding out you’re the subject of obsession from a terrorist. “I have taken the liberty of sending a phone to the GCPD, which I will call at 6pm on the day of this broadcast,if she is not there or no one answers, the brats die” he chuckled lightly “if I find out about any tampering with the phone, the brats die. If I find out about ANYONE in the room with her during this private conversation, THE. BRATS. DIE.”

All eyes were on (y/n) in the diner but she hardly registers them. “(Y/n), my love, light of my life…it’s a date. Okay? Buh -bye” and with that the broadcast ended. She just stood there a moment processing before looking at the clock. 4:45 pm. “Shit, I have to fucking go” she said speed walking into the staff room. “Yeah the fuck you do” Dylan added breathlessly. She rushed to unlock her locker throwing off her uniform and quickly shuffling into the outfit she had slunk into that morning before rushing out the door.

The GCPD was hectic, having nothing more to work with than a face and a first name wasn’t easy and they had an hour and fifteen minutes to figure it the fuck out. Vengeance had already trudged himself out some window to frantically search. After about twenty minutes of chaos the world practically stopped at (y/n) was escorted through the door. Jim finally felt air knock back into his lungs as she walked up to his as instructed.

The two occupied an interrogation room, the phone sent by the riddler lay on the table next to a water bottle Gordon has given her. He intended to make the most out of the fifty minutes they had left before the call

“Do you have any inkling as to who the Riddler may be?” She simply shook her head “no, not at all” Jim quickly concluded she was either telling the truth or was a damn good liar. “Do you have any way of knowing how he had come across you?” She opened and shut her mouth a few times before speaking “I’m a waitress, people come and go all the time so…maybe there? I do frequent some shops and restaurants a lot too so.. no way of knowing really” she was scared, she had never been interrogated in her life, not officially like this.

“Has the riddler made any attempt to contact you before this?” She shook her head, she was shaking now.

Before long the phone rang, after a breath Jim quickly removed himself, he’d opted to stay out from behind the one way glass as well, he didn’t want to take any risks in observing the conversation.

(Y/n) propped the phone up against the water bottle and answered the face time call, and there he was, the Riddler. He sat silently, just…staring. “Hello..” (y/n) broke the silence nervously. “Hi..” he answered before plunging them both into another moment of heavy silence. After a few seconds he leaned forward “you’re so beautiful” he breathed out. (Y/n) forced a smile and thanked him kindly, as to not upset him in anyway.

“Tell me about yourself. Please. I want to hear everything”

[mwebber]

41, 51, 2, 8, 34 for Martian :))

hiyaa thanks for sending this along! gonna try post-retirement martian..

41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering?

maybe when he was younger, seb was more absentminded regarding the care and keeping of Himself--the invincibility of youth, etc, you know how it is. but as he's gotten older, he's also gotten better about preparing for unexpected weather. it's mark, surprisingly, that'll get distracted by the outdoors, and in his hubris, think he can get beat the rain home. seb's lost count of the number of times he's dragged mark under an awning and shrugged off his coat, reaching up to pull it over mark's shoulders with a scowl. why don't you ever check the weather before we leave the house, he'll say. to his annoyance, mark will simply settle the coat more securely over himself, and beam at him. i've got you to handle it, don't i? and, well. seb can't argue with that.

51. What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?

it's like a dissonant, suspended chord from their red bull days, their unwillingness to be entirely vulnerable. that they care strongly for one another is never in doubt--it's impossible to go through what they did and not have an intimate understanding of the other--but sometimes, they finds themselves having to pay closer attention to their actions to understand the true extent. when mark walks close enough to seb that their hands bump, and his pinkie finger hooks around seb's; when seb isn't on dish duty, but he steps in to help anyway; when mark tucks seb's curls behind his ear, and his thumb lingers; when seb offers to help fix mark's bike; it's almost as though they're broadcasting their affection for each other. they only ever need to tune into the right frequency to listen.

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare?

seb gets stress dreams, sometimes. he's not one-track minded, per se, it's just that when something unresolved is on his mind, it'll stay there until he resolves it. he never remembers his dreams, once he opens his eyes; just the impression of fear, some phantom shadow curling at the edges of his vision. thus, in the early hours, it's not a manic state he wakes up in after a nightmare so much as an unsettled one. fortunately, mark can clock his mood like he's got a radar for seb's happiness installed in his brain, and he usually stirs awake too. it's helpful in moments like this, because he also knows exactly what to do: he'll pull seb closer, and hold seb's hand even if it's still clammy with sweat, and tangle their legs together, or do whatever's most convenient to remind seb that he's there, like a guard dog. or, seb thinks, as he breathes in the warmth and the lingering smell of detergent and something certifiably mark, more like a teddy bear that chases the darkness away from under the bed. when he closes his eyes again, he's on a rowboat under the stars, lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the ocean's swells beneath him, and anchored to shore with a rope tied carefully by mark's hand.

8. What happens if one of them gets sick?

naturally, they both get sick. mark's the one who's away from home more (and more, because the race seasons just keep getting longer), so when he gets that familiar feeling of dryness in his throat, it feels like an inevitability. at first, he tries to quarantine himself, because someone's gotta take care of the animals and keep the place running. but seb insists on taking care of him instead, uncaring of the germs. it works out, in the end: when seb gets too sick to crawl out of bed, mark's well enough to feed the chickens. they take it easy for a week, or at least until they can spend a day without hacking a lung out. life goes on.

34. Who's more likely to tell a dirty joke or story to make the other blush?

if seb is anything, he's a little shit-eating gremlin who knows precisely what he's doing at all times, or at least in the times that are most inconvenient to mark. case in point, right before he's about to go on tv. seb's innuendos and double entendres aren't even subtle, as though he's stopped trying to flirt entirely, and instead taken it for granted that he has mark wrapped around the cute little index finger he sticks up in victory sometimes. the problem is, he's not wrong. mark steps in front of the camera with his cheeks tinged pink--from the heat, obviously--and a smile that twitches at the corner of his lips, like he can't help himself. viewers everywhere wonder what's so funny, especially since neither dc nor steve jones are being particularly interesting. it remains a mystery to everyone but seb, who takes a quick, suggestive picture of himself, and sends it to mark. none of the microphones pick up the notifying buzz.

ask me about martian / nobody asks you questions!

[hobiiwan]

mirror • cpt. rex

pairing: captain rex x gn!reader

warnings: post-order 66 angst, hurt-comfort but i thrive in the hurt

w/c: 1.6k

notes: i'm back with lots and lots of feelings bc i've been ghosted and it's 5 am so i should probably sleep but i hope you enjoy :D

lovely gif credit to @pieklalat!

Framed by distant moons and even further stars, the night sky never seemed more vast. If you closed your eyes, it didn’t take much to picture a Republic Star Destroyer slicing through the atmosphere of the moon whose gravity became inescapable, with you in it.

Glancing over your shoulder at where Rex had made camp for the evening, you could tell he was thinking it too. Though his eyes were closed, it was clear as watching a holofilm; reliving the searing heat of plasma bolts, shot from the blasters of his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years—the same ones he had buried just hours prior.

It felt as though there was a vice wrapped in a deadlock around your heart, constricting your chest until it threatened to collapse in on itself. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to push past the hollow ache of the now-dulled Force connection, the flashing faces of the clones and Jedi who had perished under the Order—the fear they had felt in their final moments. It was now your fear that you would never escape it.

The price of surviving the command settles atop your shoulders, making a home. A bitter, weighted reminder that you are here, alive, when you shouldn’t be—when you aren’t supposed to be.

You collapse onto the ground next to Rex, which pulls him back to the present. His eyelids flutter as he blinks slowly, once at you, then back up to the stretching expanse of the inky black overhead. He lets out a sigh, leaning up on his shoulders to cast a weary glance at his surroundings. “How long was I out?” He questions.

You reply with a thoughtful hum, “Not long. You need the rest, anyway.” It’s true. The day’s events have undoubtedly taken its toll on the both of you. But how does one go about resting after being hunted to the death?

“I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, cyare.” He says, now sitting upright and then you know there’s no point in fighting it. You both need rest, but with the way Rex’s frame is pulled tense as a bow, his hand twitching ever-so-slightly towards his blaster, you know there’s no way he’d rest easy.

So, you offer him a victory, albeit a minute one. You pull his unarmed hand into yours and close your eyes, feeling the way he lets out a shaky breath, releasing some tension along with it. A victory—you’re still here with him.

Neither of you can be certain how long you stay that way. The low croon emitting from the transceiver is the only sign that time actually passes. Neither of you complain about the noise, either. It didn’t need to be said that the silence—this silence, was much too loud.

You do try to sleep, Rex gives you credit for that. Though, after turning for the fifth time (he counts) you give up and sit up beside him. He’s got his knees pressed to his chest, one hand curled tight around his blaster. In his other, his thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. The answer to whether it soothes you or himself doesn’t matter.

Wordlessly, your head lowers to his shoulder, propped gently against the curve of muscle.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a singer?” You murmur, glancing at the transceiver. You don’t recognise the singer on broadcast, though you do take note of the melody, slow and mellow.

Rex watches as you even try to hum along, as offbeat as you are.

“No,” he huffs something short of a chuckle, “you didn’t.”

He knows what you’re trying to do, sees it clear as day. Yet, as he watches your feet tap to the tempo of the ballad, he can’t stop himself from humouring your attempt to comfort him.

You nod eagerly, eyes widening as if to express your candor. “I was about to be one, too! Then the Jedi came and…”

Rex waits as you trail off, then clocks the far-off look in your eyes. He picks up where you left off. “Would you sing for me now?”

You return in a split second, your lips pulling into a bashful smile as you avoid his eyes. “I’m definitely rusty by now, I don’t want you losing your hearing because of me.”

The Captain nudges you teasingly, grinning when you break into soft laughter. “It would be an honour, though,” he quips.

He wonders how much of you has been hidden behind the mantle of a Jedi’s title. Who would you have been had you not been brought into the Order, raised from young to be one thing, and one thing only? Who would he be?

Once again, Rex is dragged out of his thoughts. This time, you’re tugging him to his feet. It takes an effort and a half, which you currently lack in your fatigued state.

As he looks up at you questioningly, you motion to the transceiver, dropping his hand to raise the volume. It’s enough to provide a comfortable backdrop instead of a desperate attempt to quell silence.

“Dance with me,” you propose softly, “please?”

“I don’t know how to, mesh’la.”

As if pointedly ignoring his feeble protest, your hand remains outstretched, beckoning his participation.

Maker, he’s only ever seen couples dancing on holofilms and is even more certain he has two left feet. But gazing up at your expectant self is like looking at a promise of escaping the sorrow he now knows as reality.

Really, it’s all up to him.

Rex swears he feels three times lighter from the way you beam in delight when he fits his palm into your smaller ones and helps you lift him to full height.

He stands awkwardly, clueless as to where his hands should go, how he should move. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Below him, you soften at the uncertainty tainting his features. Taking mercy on the poor man, you lift a hand to cup his cheek, garnering his attention.

“Put your hands on my waist,” you murmur, eyes twinkling when Rex’s hands fly up to root himself to you. Your own arms loop behind his neck and he takes it as a sign to pull you into his chest, no stranger to the position.

“and now we sway.”

Such a simple command, yet Rex feels like a fish out of water. His limbs are stiff, like the serenity of the movement is a stranger. To an extent, it is.

When you take over, moving him to the beat instead, he gratefully surrenders, allowing himself a moment of tranquility.

The only sounds that reach him become the silky notes of the singer and your soft, steady breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend to be in a distant galaxy, where he is not a clone and you are not a Jedi, where the war is nothing more than a brash concept and his brothers are alive and well.

Rex doesn’t realise he’s crying until your thumb smooths away a tear rolling down his face. His eyes stay closed as he wills himself to keep pretending, but he can’t.

He is still a clone but you are no longer a Jedi. His brothers are gone.

You hold him when he finally breaks, cradling his head close when his shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. His tears soak into the collar of your singed robes, but you truly can’t find the will to care—not when the man you love is falling apart, barely held together by the threads of your embrace.

“It wasn’t them,” he chokes, shaking his head, a wretched attempt to convince himself, “—it couldn’t be.”

At that, you’re positive your heart shatters. Stars, he doesn’t deserve this. You wish with all your might to take the pain away, to rewind every clock in the galaxy and then the next, but all you can do is watch.

“It wasn’t,” you nod, lowering your forehead to press against his, “not the real them. You know they loved you.” And by the Maker, you know.

Rex’s hands clutch tightly at your robes, as if letting go of that would mean letting go of you. The last tether to what is now his past, his only constant.

What if you hadn’t made it off the ship? What if Ahsoka hadn’t gotten the chip out of him in time? What if he had hurt you?

He briefly registers your voice calling his name, cutting through the despondent scenarios that could have, by any deciding factor, become his present.

“Rex, my love,” you plead, “please look at me.”

When he raises his eyes, he finds that yours are a mirror of his own. The anguish that parallels his agony. He feels you, your presence. He’s never understood much about the Force, but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

“I’m here,” you whisper. The promise of those two words anchor you both. “‘M not going anywhere.”

You mean it. If you believed it before, there was no chance in any star in the galaxy that anyone would be able to tear you away from him now.

For the current moment, you weren’t sure if there was a place to go, even if you wanted. Less than twenty four hours ago, you had been anticipating the end of the Clone Wars. Now, it feels like you’ve been thrown onto the losing side.

“What do we do now?” Rex asks, but you both know there isn’t an answer. There’s no precedent to go off of.

Two of the finest leaders in the GAR and the Jedi Order are lost, with no one left to follow them.

There’s nothing to do but move on.

“We keep living,” you say with a heavy sigh, burying your face into the crook of Rex’s neck, “we live for them. We’ll find a way.”

You always do.