#caesar rotten

[commoninfected]

3/4ths of my evil scene furry band. Baby Wiskerz the lynx is on bass, Caesar "Seizure" Rotten the caracal is the drummer, and Ashe Abyss the gazelle is the guitarist. The band and their lead singer, Icarus "Icky" Pustule can be read about on mah toyhouse :D

[laniusbignaturals]

YEAH RIGHT. HE FUCKING LOVES ME.

Edward Sallow was born in 2226. His family originated from near the Boneyard in the New California Republic. After his father was killed by raiders, his mother sought protection from the Followers of the Apocalypse when Sallow was two years old. She worked at the Boneyard Library as a cook and cleaner, where he learned how to read and took free courses. Sallow became an anthropologist and linguist, and was sent east to the Grand Canyon on his first expedition when he was 20 years old. Joined by a physician named Bill Calhoun, he was assigned to learn the dialects of local tribes. They met up with Joshua Graham, a Mormon missionary who already knew several dialects and planned to teach Sallow. [X] Joshua Graham was born in New Canaan, a Mormon community established in what remained of the city of Ogden, Utah. He grew up in peaceful times, learning the trade of a missionary and an interpreter, due to his natural aptitude for languages. In 2246, Graham received the mission call for his sacred service, to spread the good word to the people of the wasteland. By the time he left his home, he was already fluent in several tribal dialects. His knowledge made him a natural choice when the Followers of the Apocalypse asked for assistance in their expedition to the Grand Canyon. Graham departed Canaan, following the Long 15 and 89 south towards Arizona, meeting Calhoun and Sallow on the way, sent by the Followers to provide education to local tribes and study their dialects. [X]

[limelocked]

The coming ides of March may have instilled in me a spirit of thinking about monarchies

[matrixddos]

Cave Idus Martias!

[idiopath-fic-smile]

this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that. 

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing. 

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together. 

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it. 

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

[teojira]

[Peel this orange for me?]

Summary: the trend on TikTok where you asked your partner if they'd peel an orange for you!

Warnings: Implied romance between reader and the apes.

A/N: I have a specific folder on my tiktok where I keep videos that remind me of my favs, looking back at this specific orange one, it reminds me of Noa so his is based on that!

Caesar does it without even thinking, immediately going in to grab the fruit from your hand and peeling it's skin.

You're both sat at the communal fire, apes all around as everyone settles in for the nights dinner.

In your little circle, it's you and Caesar at the moment, Cornelius running off a little bit ago to go find Nova to play with.

You're leaning against your partner, face resting on his shoulder as you watch him fast and efficiently tear open the orange.

Blinking once, Caesar gently nudges your hand, grunting at you to take your food back, the peel already being thrown into the fire, making the smell float in the air.

"Thank you." You kiss his shoulder, eagerly tearing a piece of the fruit and throwing it in your mouth.

"Welcome."

He doesn't hesitate when you offer him a slice of his own, opening up his jaw so you can hand feed him.

Noa's on his way out of the nest when you softly ask him to peel the fruit for you, but immediately turns back in when he hears you call for him.

"I can't get it." You mumble, shrugging a shoulder, biting back a smile.

Noa knows what you're doing. He knows you're just asking him to stay a little longer because you'll miss him until he has a break in his duties.

He really really should be going. The eagles need to be tended to, but you're his mate. Surely they'll be fine if he's a few minutes late.

"Echo..." He shakes his head with a deep sigh, amusement flooding in his eyes as he takes the orange you've offered him.

"Spoiled." Noa drawls, fingers making quick work of the peel, in no time revealing the juicy fruit underneath.

"No, I'm not." You stick your tongue out at him, leaning against his leg, soaking in as much of his warmth as you can until you know he officially needs to get going.

"Rotten. Spoiled rotten." He sniffs, crouching down to your level to dangle the fresh fruit in front of your eyes.

Noa's waiting for something, and he's not leaving until he gets it.

He brings his other hand up to use his pointer finger to tap at his cheek, and you can't help but giggle.

A kiss for his troubles, typical.

You lean in and give him a peck, audibly making a 'mwah!' sound effect for good measure.

He has half a mind to take it and chuck it into the forest.

"Human...dumb?" Koba sneers, already moving past you, until you have the audacity to roll your eyes at him, at HIM. He has better things to do than to peel an orange for you, knowing damn well you're more than capable, the bonobo's seen you gut a fish with ease.

You're not a child. Do it yourself.

"Fine, I'll go ask Caesar." You're moving to stand up, the orange tightly held in one fist as you get ready to go look for the Ape king.

Next thing you know, the orange is snatched from your grasp, Koba turning around and using his fingers to break the orange open with heavy breathing.

"Koba-" You attempt to get his attention, but he whirls back around, grabbing your much smaller hand and forcing the mangled orange into your palm, the juices spilling everywhere.

"Eat."

Leave it to Koba to get jealous.

[ellswritings]

They Don’t Know About Us

Peeta Mellark x Reader

TW: Regular Hunger Games angst, Coriolanus Snow being a douche, semi-sweet fluff. Let me know if I missed anything!

(This is based on the song “They Don’t Know About Us” by One Direction if you’d like to listen while reading 🤍)

✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩

Winning the Hunger Games was never something the children of the lower Districts were prepared for. All their lives, they watched as the Careers won countless times, with the occasional lower District pulling out a victory. When Y/N L/N was reaped for the 73rd Hunger Games at a mere fourteen years old, she never imagined she’d be the one to emerge victorious. The only other individual who won that young was Finnick Odair from District Four, who had become a rather close friend of the now sixteen year old from District Nine.

During her games, Y/N was assumed to be the weakest link. She was easily underestimated by the other Tributes, until the individual evaluation scores came back.

An eleven.

After that, she had a rather large target on her back. Not that it mattered. At fourteen years old, she killed twelve Tributes on her own. No alliances, no sponsor gifts, absolutely nothing. Just her sickle and a belt of daggers wrapped around her waist to get her to victory.

She truly thought that was the end of it. The moment she stepped out of the arena, leg broken, blood profusely cascading down her face from the cut on her forehead, she thought it was over. But she was so wrong. She had no idea what was in store for her when she stepped foot back into the Capitol.

Unbeknownst to her, she was and remains a fan favorite to this day. The people of the Capitol adored her. They love her snarky remarks yet cherish her innocent eyes when she bats her lashes on stage. They love the way she dances at the parties the Capitol throws, and how polite she is when someone offers her a drink. She didn’t realize escaping those games would mean being stuck in another cage. Snow’s cage to be exact.

He kept her under surveillance quite often. Never let her stray too far from him. She was special. He knew that the second he watched her impale someone with her sickle in the original bloodbath. He knew when he watched how graceful she moved walking on stage for her interview with Caesar. And it was all confirmed for him when he watched her dancing with such fluidity during her Victors tour that he knew he had to keep her close. She had a certain power, a way to make audiences listen to her. And at such a young age, that’s too much of a threat.

Y/N spent most of her time in the Capitol, rarely being able to visit home. She tried to fight it in the beginning, but once Snow threatened her family, she knew better than to defy him. So she tried her hardest to find a home in the place that took advantage of her and stole her innocence.

It wasn’t all bad being stuck. She met many people, older Victors who helped her adjust since her winnings. Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason have been particularly helpful. Finnick is around much more than Johanna and he’s taken on a brotherly figure in her life, protecting her from the rotten slime of the Capitol. He felt for the young girl. She won at the same age he did and managed to obtain the highest amount of kills out of any Tribute. Simply observing her, he knew that she would be haunted by her Games for the rest of her life. She might’ve got out of the arena, but she never won. None of them did.

Whenever she would wake up screaming from a nightmare, he was there. He would sit with her until she fell asleep, humming soft sea shanty’s for her.

They got stuck in a pattern for awhile. One that they didn’t necessarily like, but that they got used to. At least until the 74th Hunger Games ended. Y/N’s Tributes didn’t last very long. They made it further than some, but not far enough to be noticeable. Finnick could tell that the girl purposefully didn’t mentor the best way she could’ve so the children didn’t have to face the fate of a Victor. He didn’t blame her. Most of the other mentors are the same way. But when Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark both were crowned Victors, something in Y/N shifted.

It wasn’t in the way that most would think. Yes, she shifted in the aspect that the tables of power seem to be turning, but she suddenly appeared happier. He noticed her being absent more, disappearing from her room late at night, and even being more secretive about who she speaks to. He didn’t know what caused the shift until the 74th Games’ Victory tour. The moment he walked into their party in the President’s mansion, he saw what caused the change.

Y/N stands by one of the many large pillars of the mansion, hiding behind the marble structure. She giggles under her breath as she watches Peeta try his hardest to look around discretely. He has no idea that she’s looking right at him. She furrows her eyebrows, losing him in the large sea of people that are all there for him and Katniss. A small frown makes its way onto her face until a pair of strong hands grips her hips softly.

She lets out a quiet yelp before spinning around. She smiles when Peeta’s honey brown eyes meet hers and a cheeky little smile takes over his face. “Hi,” she greets shyly.

“Hi,” he replies, finding the light pink dusting on her cheeks adorable. He pulls her gently to hide them a little more in the shadows. There’s too many people here who wouldn’t be thrilled seeing the two of them together in this proximity. Especially since he is supposedly married to Katniss.

“How are you enjoying the party?” She asks quietly, resting her hands on his chest with a teasing smile.

“It’s a bit underwhelming,” he comments sarcastically, glancing around the area with a high level of distaste.

“You can say it’s appalling,” Y/N assures him. “People are starving in the Districts and here they don’t even bother finishing their plates.” She can see the cogs turning in his brain. Ever since she’s met him, she’s admired how big his heart is. If he could save every individual in the Districts, he would. But the last thing they need is to draw unwanted attention to themselves getting worked up over something they can’t currently control. She sighs, shaking off the agitation before cupping the side of his face. “Hey, it’s alright. Nobody said you have to enjoy tonight.”

“Are you enjoying it?” He queries.

She shakes her head, “Never in a million years.” A cocky grin takes over her face as she stands on her tippy toes to get closer to him, “I am enjoying your company though.”

Her answer makes him smirk as well before he places a small kiss on her lips. Peeta cherishes every moment he gets to spend with Y/N as most of their time together is fleeting. They can only be together for mere minutes at a time in order to avoid suspicion. The only two people who know about their dalliance are Haymitch and Katniss, who have been supportive in their own creative ways. They try their hardest to give the young couple more time together, but it gets rather difficult when Peeta and Katniss need to be seen together all the time.

In order to make up for the time that they lose, Peeta and Y/N create their own ways to display their affections. Sometimes it entails slipping love notes in one another’s pockets in passing, pulling each other behind large structures to sneak in a kiss, leaving their rooms in the middle of the night to meet in a dark alleyway just to have some time to themselves.

Neither of them minded it. It was thrilling almost to know that nobody knew about them. Sneaking behind Snow’s back gave them both a sense of freedom that they thought they’d never get back. Peeta sighs happily as he rests his head against hers. Y/N rubs the pad of her thumb on the back of his hand, “When do you have to leave?” She asks him in a whisper.

The smile on his face falls, “Tomorrow morning,” he answers. “With the 75th reaping coming up, Katniss and I have to be back in Twelve.”

She nods in understanding, “Then I guess we’ll just have to make the most of tonight.” Her smile is solemn, but she knows better than to make him feel bad for their lack of time. She won’t be leaving the Capitol for another two days. Snow is only allowing her to return home solely for the Reaping.

“That we will,” Peeta smirks. He plays with a loose strand of her hair, twirling it between his fingers. “Meet me tonight at our spot?”

“Always.”

And she did just that. About four hours after the party ends, Y/N manages to sneak out of her suite. She uses her stealth to make it all the way up to the roof without alerting any nearby Peacekeepers of her late night rendezvous with the Baker Boy from Twelve. She slowly pushes open the heavy door that leads outside and she gently slides it closed. Clearly her silence is rather impressive as Peeta, who is standing at the ledge of the building, didn’t hear her coming up behind him.

She smiles before walking forward and wrapping her hands around his eyes, “Guess who?”

Peeta tenses at first, not expecting his sight to be impaired, but he’s quick to relax when he recognizes Y/N’s voice. “Well I can happily say it’s not Haymitch,” he tells her jokingly.

Y/N chuckles, allowing him to turn around as their lips meet in a sweet embrace. She wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers fiddling with his soft blonde hair. He wasn’t kidding in his interview with Caesar before his Games. He really does smell like roses, and maybe a hint of cinnamon and other sweet spices from his time spent in the bakery.

Peeta casually lifts her up by her thighs, setting her down on the ledge of the roof so she can sit. He cages her in with his muscular arms, simply admiring how the moonlight makes her skin glow. The stars in the sky could never compare to the way her eyes constantly shine. He knows that she would never be able to see the beauty he sees. Her damage prevents her from seeing the wonderful things he sees, but he has no issue showing it to her. He would gladly spend the rest of his life showing Y/N all the things that make her the stunning woman she is.

“What?” Y/N questions, blushing slightly from him staring at her for so long. “Do I got something in my teeth?” A dopey smile covers her face at her attempt to joke.

“I’m just looking at the most beautiful woman in Panem,” he answers simply with a shrug. That’s all.”

Y/N giggles, “Don’t you know, Mister Mellark?” She laces her hands with his, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

It was moments like this, holding her in his arms where Peeta momentarily forgets of their circumstances. He forgets that they’re under the control of tyrannical dictator who could easily torture them and their family for their forbidden romance. Staring into her sparkling e/c eyes, it made him realize that there has to be more than this. There has to be more for them somewhere. Where they can be together without worrying about being executed. That’s when Katniss’s words echo in his mind.

“Run away with me,” he blurts out.

Y/N’s eyes go wide, “What?” She asks incredulously, not believing what she’s hearing.

“C’mon Y/N,” he begs with a sweet desperation. “Think about it. If we left now, no one would know. We could run away somewhere, away from here. We could be happy.”

His words sound more than enticing. She wants to, more than anything. But leaving her family to face the consequences of those actions is out of the question. Her realism prevents her from even dreaming of such a possibility. She knows they wouldn’t even make it to the entrance of the Capitol before being shot down by Peacekeepers.

“Peeta…” Y/N says softly, her tone already giving away her answer. “You know we can’t do that. They’d find us in a week,” she frowns as she watches the light behind his eyes dim.

Disappointment radiates around them. Y/N loves his determination to get them the life together that they want. The two teens never thought they’d meet someone they’d connect with so deeply. They don’t even know the jealousy they invoke from the very few people who do know about them. The romance they share is something everyone would covet, even though it has to be hidden.

The blonde sighs defeatedly. She’s right. Even if they did somehow miraculously get out of the Capitol unseen, they’d still have the issue of finding where to run to. “I know,” he admits quietly. “But it doesn’t hurt to think about. Just you and me in an abandoned cabin, far away from all of this.”

Y/N squeezes his bicep with a sad smile, “Maybe someday.” Hope is a dangerous thing for people in Panem, especially false hope. Staring into his eyes, she almost believes that it could be possible. Perhaps she does deserve that happy ending despite the atrocities she’s committed.

The couple simply spends the next few hours in each others arms. They exchange stories of their homes, their families, the hobbies that distract them from the life they live. Y/N can’t wait to bake with Peeta one day. The way his eyes light up when he talks about being in the kitchen, it makes her wish she had taken up the art sooner. Peeta on the other hand is always entranced when she talks to him about her passion for dancing. He’s seen her on the dance floor a couple of times and he can see how much she truly loves it. It transports her to another world.

Y/N even takes it upon herself to show him a simple waltz on that rooftop. The two break into a fit of giggles every time Peeta accidentally steps on her toes or when he gets too focused and his tongue subconsciously pokes out of his mouth. Even though it’s been a few hours, it still doesn’t feel long enough. They continue to talk about meaningless nothings, but as soon as the sun rises from its long slumber, they know their time has come to an end.

“I don’t want you to go,” Y/N mumbles, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. His grip on her waist is tight as he holds her as close to him as she can.

“I don’t want to go either,” he whispers, kissing her temple. “But it’s not for forever, okay? We’ll see each other soon. I promise.”

And how right he was. But he was right in a way that made both him and Y/N sick to their stomachs. When he promised her they’d see each other again, she didn’t think it would be under the circumstances of them both being reaped for the 75th Hunger Games.

Y/N seethed with anger the moment she heard the words leave Snow’s mouth. She had gotten home only moments before the announcement, and as soon as he walked into her large house in the Victors Village, that is what she was met with.

There aren’t many other Victors in District Nine, and she’s well aware that none of them hold as high of a reputation as her. So deep down, she knew her name would be the one called. She would be forced right back into the place that made her a monster in the first place. Sixteen years old and she’s now been reaped twice. Looking at her Tribute partner on that stage, she knew she’d be able to take him. He’s older, no doubt his reflexes have been impaired due to lack of time training. Her only having won two years ago gives her a certain edge, and not too be blunt, but her young age comes with its perks as well.

When they arrived at the Capitol, her and her Tribute partner are briefed on the other Tributes who were reaped. Her stomach twists in knots as she watches Finnick’s face flash across the screen. He’s basically her older brother and now they have to fight to the death. She bites her bottom lip anxiously as their “mentor” continues to show them their opponents. Y/N bites her lip anxiously as he moves onto the District Twelve Tributes. She knows Katniss doesn’t have a choice as she is the only female Victor, but she hopes with every fiber of her being that Haymitch is the person she sees next on that screen.

Peeta Mellark.

Her heart shatters into a million pieces. At that moment, Y/N told herself she would do anything to get him out. She would kill whoever it takes and even sacrifice her own life to make sure Peeta survives. He has too pure of a soul to be put back into the arena, but the odds never seem to be quite in his favor. Or any of their favors for that matter. Her fists are clenched so tightly that they’ve turned pale. An intimidating frown etches its way onto her face as they’re released to their stylists to be prepared for the Tribute Parade.

Being from District Nine, she wasn’t expecting much. The stylist she had during her games practically put her in a burlap sack with pieces of wheat in her hair and called it good. She’s escorted down the hallway, but becomes increasingly confused as two Peacekeepers emerge from both sides of her.

“Miss L/N, come with us. The President has requested your presence,” the taller of the two guards announces.

She furrows her eyebrows. What would Snow want with her only a few hours before the Parade? She’s used to being summoned to see the President due to him keeping her on such a tight leash, but she wasn’t expecting a call from him during the preparation process.

They stop at a wooden door, covered in a dark burgundy paint. There’s a small golden snake that rests in the center, serving as a way to knock on the door. The Peacekeeper to her right utilizes the tool and a small “come in” is muttered by their dear leader. The second Y/N’s foot makes it through the door, she feels the need to vomit. The venomous smile on the man’s face is enough to make her question the decision she made to try and survive the arena the first time.

“Miss L/N,” he greets, “Please, take a seat.”

Knowing better than to fight the titan in front of her, she slowly inches down into the armchair in front of his desk. He retains his smile, his gaze never leaving her form. He folds his hands together and rests them on the desk, “How unfortunate we have to meet again under such pitiful circumstances.”

She swallows thickly, “Yes, I suppose it is quite a shame.” Her voice is as polite as she can make it. Her posture is rigid and her tone is ice cold. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of her, but he does appreciate her effort to save face.

“Miss L/N, are you aware of why I have called you here?” He asks as if he was a teacher trying to teach a lesson. Y/N knows there’s something much more sinister going on, but she finds herself becoming too afraid to know what it could be.

“No,” she replies shortly.

He lifts an eyebrow in amusement. A small, almost disappointed sigh escapes his lips as he fiddles with one of the many white roses in the vase on his desk. “Perhaps a visual aid will help you understand why I’ve requested your presence.”

He presses the button on the hologram sitting at the center of his desk and Y/N’s breath hitches in her throat as an image of her and Peeta kissing on the rooftop flashes in front of her. Her jaw falls slack. She thought they were careful. There had been no cameras the previous times they’ve met there. No Peacekeepers were around. It made no sense. He wasn’t supposed to know.

Dread fills her entire body. She had been gone from Nine since yesterday. He could’ve easily slaughtered her entire family in that amount of time. Was this why she was reaped? What if he tries to kill Peeta specifically in the arena because of this?

“Relax, my dear,” Snow’s smug expression makes her blood boil. He flicks of the projection before focusing fully on the girl in front of him. “I understand the appeal of forbidden love. It’s rather exciting, is it not?” Y/N can feel him about to sink his teeth into her soft flesh. She can feel the numerous amount of threats about to leave his lips. “Unfortunately, your love story with Mister Mellark is not apart of the narrative I’ve so carefully curated.” She’s startled by how calm he sounds, but that has always been the unnerving thing about Snow. No one ever knows what truly goes on in his mind as he hides his true intentions behind his politics. “I truly am disappointed that you haven’t been honest with me Miss L/N. I thought we were better than that.”

Y/N’s at a loss for words. She simply stares at the President, digging her nails into the supple flesh of her palms as she tries to hold back the anger bubbling inside of her. “The relationship between Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark is one that inspires hope,” he begins. “It distracts the people of Panem, keeps the system in balance. Our citizens have fallen in love with their love. They follow their story. The last thing we need is a scandal, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her eyes are steely as she grits her teeth, “Yes sir.”

“The star-crossed lovers will not be interfered with,” he instructs. “And if I find that you’ve continued this dalliance, I am well accustomed to finding a suitor for you myself. Perhaps through the same methods of your dear friend Finnick Odair?”

There it is. The threat she was waiting for. She knows all about Snow and how he sells the Victors deemed desirable. He never sold her when she won because she was too precious too him. Her talent for dancing and kind persona are what kept him from selling her off to the highest bidder. He figured she would be more valuable as an item people could see, but not touch. Clearly he is willing to sacrifice that because of her defiance.

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” she says, keeping her voice as steady as possible. Anyone listening to this conversation would believe it is as civil as it could get, but the look behind both of their eyes suggests a silent duel is going on between the two. Neither of them blink as a satisfied smile appears on Snow’s face. “Whatever you saw, it won’t happen again.

“Good,” he nods approvingly. “I knew I could count on you to be sensible.”

Y/N stands without another word. She dusts herself off as the Peacekeepers open the door for her. As soon as she’s rounded the corner to head to her stylist, that’s when the tears start cascading down her cheeks. She puts a hand over mouth to muffle her sobs as she sinks down onto the floor. She should’ve known that their secret wouldn’t have stayed that way for long. Snow always has a way of finding things out, and now she’s not only out her life in jeopardy, but Peeta’s as well.

That’s when she realizes that he doesn’t even know what just happened. She squeezes her eyes tightly in pain, knowing that she’ll have to end things with the only person who’s managed to make her feel whole again after emerging from the arena. Picturing the heartbreak on his face is enough to make her want to beg someone to kill her in the bloodbath. But she won’t. She can’t. She made a vow to herself that she would protect Peeta, keep him safe. Even if they can’t be together, she won’t let him die.

Her tears dry and a certain determination fuels her to keep moving. She wipes her face and forgets all of her emotions on the floor she just left. There’s no use in mourning. She needs to be in the correct headspace if she’s going to get him out.

And she will.

————————————————————————

Pt. 2 anyone?

[hikarry]

Please please please write Crowley saving Aziraphale from the library of Alexandria like you mentioned in the Caesar post! Please!

Sometimes following Hell's orders wasn't so bad.

Win Julius Ceaser to our side.

Easy! The bloke was practically with a foot in Hell anyway so Crowley just had to nudge from time to time and pretend like the man's rotten personality was all his doing.

Crowley liked life in court. There was always something to drink, and he could mostly lazy around not doing much without being disturbed.

And, of course, he could always go down and mingle with the common folk - Read Aziraphale - whenever he pleased. Cause of course the angel would be where a gigantic library was. It was the type of thing that would be a perfect trap for Aziraphale anytime.

"You are not seeing the grand picture, dear boy. This is most of humanities knowledge! All in the same place! For eternity. Being shared through generations of brilliant minds."

"Bit of a bad idea, if you ask me." Aziraphale stopped stocking some scroll and looked up at him, upset expression on his face. "No, listen, it makes sense: imagine you have some...precious stones you really don't want to lose. If you are stupid you will hide them all in the same place, but if you actually think about it, it would be smarter to hide some of them in different places. That way if some of them were stolen, you still had the rest."

"No one is going to steal the Library of Alexandria, Crowley."

"That was not my point. Having all this knowledge in the same place like a sitting duck is my point."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and went back to stocking the scrolls.

"Did you just come here to complain?"

"No." Crowley crossed his arms over his chest, pretending to be as nonchalant as possible. "Do you want to have dinner? Same place?"

The angel thought for a couple of moments and, for a second, it almost appeared like he was going to decline, when he smiled up at him.

"Of course. I'll meet you when the sun sets."

The Civil War did throw a rock on his plans. Not because the restaurant was closed or because his time was filled, but because Aziraphale refused to leave the library no matter what. No one was permitted in without a good reason and, apparently, being Crowley wasn't a good reason.

Suddenly life at court became boring.

War this. Soldiers that. Can't humans just behave for a century or so? There's always something happening. And almost never something good.

He was bored and he felt lonely. Caesar was doing just fine at crawling his way into the pits of Hell without his help so maybe it was time to end this assignment...and be sent somewhere else. Which he could. And he should. But Aziraphale was right here. Last time they had been together was in Rome. He wouldn't confess it to anyone, but the last thing he wanted was to leave the angel behind. Not while he still had, technically, an excuse to stay.

Being a demon has some perks. You can see slightly better in the dark. You can hear noises apparently Humans cant. Your sense of smell was excellent. So quite faint smell of smoke didn't surprise him. They were amidst a civil war. There was always something or someone on fire.

But the Demon Crowley had something else no other demon had. Creativity. Creativity that could quickly borderline paranoia if he allowed his thoughts to run wild. Which he learned a long time ago to never do. So, even if a bad feeling crawled up his spine every time the smoke crossed his nose, he ignored it.

As the days passed, Crowley's unease grew despite his efforts to dismiss it. The scent of smoke lingered in the air like a persistent whisper, taunting his senses with its ominous presence. His usual nonchalant demeanor began to crack under the weight of uncertainty, a nagging feeling gnawing at the back of his mind.

He found himself stealing glances towards the library, where Aziraphale remained cloistered amidst the scrolls and tomes, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil outside.

One evening, as dusk descended upon the city, Crowley's fears materialized into a stark reality. The distant echoes of chaos grew louder, punctuated by the unmistakable crackle of flames devouring everything in their path. Men ran throught the streets with buckets in hand, all towards the same direction. Amidst the yells and whispers, Crowley caught the last thing he wanted to hear. Panic seized his heart as he tossed the goblet of wine somewhere, racing throught the streets towards the library, pushing random people from his path maybe a tad more stronger than he should.

It wasn't necessary to reach the library, many meters behind he could already feel the heat. The once majestic edifice now stood engulfed in flames, the inferno raging uncontrollably as tendrils of smoke billowed into the night sky. For a moment, Crowley was frozen in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend the devastation unfolding before him. Some men with idiotic little buckets tried to kill the flames, but it was less than useful. A group of women stood to the side, kneeling around a group of six dirty and injured men. Some were being cleaned with wet cloths and others were already being fixed up the best the women could in such short notice.

"Mr. Crowley!" His brain was a bit too offline for him to notice one of the women getting up from the group and walking in fast pace towards him. His eyes met hers, tears still spilling down her perfectly rosy cheeks. "What are you doing here?" She held him by the arms, squeezing them. He knew the woman, even though that information took a while to connect. Maris was one of the female students Aziraphale insisted in maintaining and probably the only one Crowley didn't find annoying.

He held her by the forearms, feeling how her petite body was trembling of both exhaustion and fear.

"Aziraphale." He squeezed her arms slightly, forcing her to focus and look up at him. "Where is he?"

Maris' breath got stuck in her throat as her eyes looked over Crowley's shoulders to the inferno of a library, still being consumend like a raging forest. He let go of her arms and turned around, already walking towards it.

"Mr. Crowley! Don't! It's not worth it anymore! It has been too long!"

He had never heard such nonsense from such a little soul.

Crowley ignored Maris' pleas, his determination overriding any sense of self-preservation. With each step he took towards the blazing inferno, the heat intensified, licking at his skin with searing intensity. But he pressed on, driven by a singular purpose: find Aziraphale.

As he drew closer to the library, the flames roared like a beast unleashed, devouring everything in its path with insatiable hunger. It wasn't Hell Fire, thankfully. But even normal fire could do a considered amount of damage to an angelic corporation. The air was thick with smoke, stinging Crowley's eyes and choking his lungs with every breath, so he decided to stop breathing.

Through the billowing smoke and flickering flames, Crowley caught a glimpse of a figure laying amidst the wreckage. It could only be Aziraphale. Carefully, Crowley turned him around just to find 5 or 6 big scrolls Aziraphale appeared to be holding onto against his chest with the might of God herself.

"Aziraphale?"

Crowley's heart pounded in his chest as he knelt beside him, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to gently shake the angel's shoulders. He opened his wings, trying to keep the heat away from both of them. "Angel, wake up," he urged, his voice strained with concern.

Slowly, Aziraphale's eyes fluttered open, clouded with confusion and pain. He blinked up at Crowley, his expression dazed as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

"Crowley...?" Aziraphale's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"We need to get you out of here," Crowley replied urgently, taking a quick look around, before looking down at the pale angel below him, his mind racing. "Can you stand?"

Aziraphale attempted to rise, but a sharp intake of breath betrayed the pain that coursed through his body. Crowley cursed under his breath, realizing that Aziraphale corporation's injuries were more severe than he had initially thought.

"We can't stay here," Crowley insisted, his voice firm despite the panic that threatened to consume him. "C'mon."

With great care, Crowley wrapped Aziraphale's arm around his shoulder, taking on the majority of his weight as they stumbled through the smoldering wreckage of the library. The flames danced around them, their heat searing against Crowley's skin as they fought their way towards safety.

Together, they stumbled through the library, each step a test of their endurance as the heat pressed in on all sides. Crowley could feel Aziraphale's weight bearing down on him, the strain of their escape taking its toll on both of them.

With each passing moment, the flames seemed to grow closer, their tendrils reaching out hungrily to consume everything in their path.

Finally, they emerged from the burning wreckage, gasping for breath as they collapsed onto the ground outside. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the suffocating heat of the fire, but their ordeal was far from over.

Aziraphale was limp once again and keeping conscious was a game of roulette. They couldn't just stay there on the ground hoping Aziraphale would come back to himself. There was only one place they could go where Crowley could actually look after him.

Carefully holding the angel on his arms, he looked quickly around before opening his wings. It was night and most people were either locked at home or too worried with the fire, so he had a chance to get home without being undetected if he was careful with his trajectory.

When he was mere meters away from the house, he snapped his fingers and opened the door, trying to lose as little time as he could. Inside it was supposed to be dark, if it wans't the reflection of the flames that invaded the whole city.

Crowley tucked his wings away before stepping through the threshold, quickly walking to near the window where the bed was. Aziraphale was running a bad fever, and just now he noticed the burns on his face and down his arms. He wasn't an angel. He couldn't just snap his fingers and fix Aziraphale, so the human way it had to be.

Crowley gently laid Aziraphale down on the bed, taking care not to aggravate his injuries any further. He fetched a damp cloth and began to gently clean the burns on Aziraphale's face and arms, his movements slow and deliberate as he worked to ease the angel's pain.

Despite his best efforts, Crowley couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him. If only he had acted sooner, if only he had listened to the warning signs instead of dismissing them, perhaps they wouldn't be in this situation now.

As he worked, Aziraphale kept falling in and out of consciousness. When Crowley leaned over him, trying to take off the cloth hiding his bleeding chest, Aziraphale's eyes opened, half-lided, but looking up at him.

"Sleep, angel."

Aziraphale didn't answer. Instead, just closed his eyes and a stray tear ran from the left one, which Crowley was quick to clean with the back of his finger.

He cleaned the angel's chest. The only thing he could think about to help with the burns was ointment, but that would burn like true Hell Fire and Aziraphale appeared to be in pain enough...but, maybe, he should take the chance the angel was unconscious and just do it?

Screw it!

Crowley miracled the ointment and sat on the side of the bed. As soon as his fingers toutched one of the burns on Aziraphale's chest, the angel's hand snapped up, grabbing Crowley's hand by the wrist and pulling it away from him.

Crowley froze, his heart skipping a beat as Aziraphale's hand closed around his wrist with surprising strength. He met the angel's gaze, seeing the pain etched into his features despite the half-lidded eyes.

"Aziraphale, it's me," Crowley said softly, trying to reassure him. "I'm just trying to help."

But Aziraphale's grip only tightened, his expression clouded with confusion and fear. Crowley could see the struggle within him, the battle between his instinctual reaction and his trust in Crowley warring behind his eyes.

"Please, let me help you," Crowley pleaded. He could feel the burn of Aziraphale's skin beneath his fingertips, the heat radiating from the wounds.

For a moment, Aziraphale remained tense, his grip unyielding. But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, his hand began to loosen, his fingers trembling slightly as they released their hold on Crowley's wrist.

Crowley let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging with the weight of it. Carefully, he resumed his ministrations, applying the ointment to Aziraphale's burns with a gentleness born of both necessity and affection.

When he was finally finished, he got up to wash his hands and grab another cloth, wetting it before walking back towards the bed, depositing it on Aziraphal'e forehead.

The angel's breathing was still ragged, but at least he wasn't bleeding on the sheets anymore and his expression seemed more serene.

Crowley sat by Aziraphale's side, watching over him as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

As the hours passed, Crowley remained vigilant by Aziraphale's side, his senses attuned to any change in the angel's condition. The fever seemed to ebb and flow, leaving Aziraphale restless and agitated one moment, and then peaceful the next.

It was during one of these fleeting moments of calm that Crowley found himself studying Aziraphale's face, the soft curve of his lips, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. And in that moment, Crowley realized something he had been reluctant to admit to himself before.

He cared for Aziraphale. More than he cared to admit. More than it was smart.

The demon put a new cloth on the angel's forehead and brushed his curly blond hair back with his fingers, leaning over him much without noticing. Aziraphale was completely out of it so...maybe? Crowley took a deep breath and, before he could find more than one argument to how idiotic he was about to act, he laid his head carefuly on Aziraphale's chest while his left hand stayed on the curls. He just needed a second. To think. To process the nightmarish night they had just been through. If he had arrived any later Aziraphale would have suffocated or burned out of his corporation. All because of some ridiculous scrolls.

"Stupid." He murmured, sliding his face up Aziraphale's chest and hiding it on the curve of the angel's neck, much without thinking. Aziraphale was unconscious, he would never know anyway.

With his eyes closed and the constant breathing of the angel against his ear, Crowley allowed himself to finally relax, closing his eyes. That didn't last long though, because all his body tensed up when he felt a hand on his short curls. He didn't move. Didn't breath. His mind rushing to try and find an excuse. But no questions ever came. Instead, Aziraphale let his face lean more against Crowley's, visibly still unconscious.

Crowley's heart raced as Aziraphale's hand gently caressed his curls, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. Despite the tension that coiled within him, Crowley found himself leaning into the touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he allowed himself to bask in the moment of intimacy.

For a fleeting moment, Crowley allowed himself to entertain the possibility that Aziraphale was awake and aware of his actions. That he was reaching out to Crowley in his own way, seeking comfort and solace amidst the chaos that had engulfed them. But deep down, Crowley knew that it was nothing more than wishful thinking.

As the night stretched on, Crowley remained by Aziraphale's side, his head resting against the angel's chest as they both drifted into an uneasy sleep. In the quiet of the room, the flickering flames outside casting dancing shadows across the walls, Crowley found a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in centuries.

There ya go! Sorry it took me a tad longer than it should have. I had a lot of inspiration, but didn't know which path to choose. Alas, didn't want to make it too long either. Hope it satisfies you!

[daily-vitamin-vbs]

Welcome to the VBS Pharmacy!

my name is Nobe (or 野別), pronounced as “No bae” haha I’m half Japanese with Italian roots- but that doesn’t really matter whatever. Anyway I go by any pronouns and uhhhh I have horrible memory. Sorry in advance

Our vitamin gummies are safe to take with other vitamins, they just give a little buddy for the vitamin! Kohane vitamins for kindheartedness, diligence, and joy An vitamins for happiness and productivity Akito vitamins for good vision and immune system Toya vitamins are good for your blood, brain, and lifestyle

I guess… just don’t touch anything you aren’t gonna buy? oh and please don’t touch the fruit basket, my boss put it there for uhhhh what was it. “prosperity”?? Anyway it’s been there for a while it’s probably all yucky and rotten lmao Enjoy your time here!

01110011 01100001 01101110 01101110 00100000 01110000 01100101 00101101 01101010 01101001 00100000 01110011 01100001 01101011 01101001 01110011 01100001 01101110 01101110 00100000 01110000 01100101 00101101 01101010 01101001 00100000 01110011 01100001 01101011 01101001

01110011 01100001 01101110 01101110 00100000 01110000 01100101 00101101 01101010 01101001 00100000 01110011 01100001 01101011 01101001

((GUESS FUCKING WHAT 💯 ooc in (( or // and in blue if I remember

Not much disturbing imagery, currently I only have one instance. And it’s not exactly threatening- I wanted to have a more mild one for people who aren’t as comfortable with it <3 I’ll still tag it.. currently there should be no actual gore so you should be good with that.

trigger warnings for this blog is Mentions of, well, drug use Mentions of death, or something like it. glitches in videos ummmm random shit in Japanese guilt being handled badly but in a metaphoric way. a lot of this is metaphoric You don’t get threatened though 👍

JST time zone.

AND MOST CODE WILL BE BINARY. And uh Japanese. And/or Caesar cipher. The shift is encoded in the binary in this one, as well as a pretty important thing in this story. please complain to me if you can’t figure it out.

tags for now are #vbs vitamin #not vitamin #pharmacy mail ^asks #nobe speaks #maybe… lore? ^gonna be a lot of that. read people #epicly canon lore ^Nobe doing goofy shit #Oh The Horrors ^rambling, that’s what I call my scatterbrain/speculated adhd #ooc post

[brother-emperors]

hey there kay! could you please elaborate on antony being a rotten archetype of a gladiator? cos to me he always was this stereotypical macho warrior, and now i just can't stop thinking about this

part of it is my own brand of bullshit: that things repeat, and the repetition is Worse. the alliance between Octavian-Antony-Lepidus is a worse version of the alliance between Crassus-Pompey-Caesar. Antony-Octavian is a worse Gladiator-Statesman dynamic to Cassius-Brutus (Agrippa-Octavian are something else, and exempt from this thought exercise) Pompey-Crassus are a more volatile version of whatever Sulla-Lucullus had going on. etc.

so Antony is a decayed (or rotting) archetype of a Gladiator Archetype because he’s trying to occupy several different political stages but does not adhere to the rules of their respective genres. You do not, actually, get to have your cake and eat it too when each of the stages you desire to occupy want to do violence to the other stage.

He's most remembered as a soldier and a lover, though, so I tend to line him up more with a Gladiator since gladiators occupy a similar conflicting space to what Antony occupies.

Spectacles of Gender: Enacting the Masculine in Ancient Rome and Modern Cinema, Darlene Juschka

the ones that clash the most are Antony's empire building agenda with Kleopatra (rivals with Octavian in this) and Antony's theatrical-dramatic-soldier identity. Cicero uses gladiator as an insult for Antony, but Antony does enjoy occupying a gladiatorial space. The arena IS theater and it IS political theater, and the arena of war and politic is a place where everything intersects for a spectacle of violence. the body gladiator is one that is admired and rejected because it occupies a third conflicting space in Rome, much like Antony's blurring of traditional-acceptable behaviors and social norms.

the problem with Antony is that he doesn't fully commit to the demands of the role of the gladiator, fractures over his identity as an empire builder (specifically his identity as a Roman and how he is rejected fully by the Rome that Octavian has been building in his absence), and collapses inward as a military leader (Parthia, Actium)

ULTIMATELY what makes him a Decayed Gladiator Archetype to me is that, to walk back to War and Politics as an Arena of Spectacle, some gladiators who died in the arena were given monuments, remembered, grieved, whereas Antony is denied all of that (compared to previously mentioned Gladiator Archetypes, Sulla gets his funeral, Cassius' reputation is allowed to live on through Messalla Corvinus, etc)

[hotchocolatefanfics]

The King's Shadows

The one time Sylva and Lightning questioned their loyalty to Proximus. A one-shot character study for Lightning, Sylva, Proximus and (kind of) my OC Athena.

Tw for implied physical abuse!

~~~~~~ 

“What a wonderful day!” Proximus declared loudly. His greeting repeated by the apes gathered around him. 

Of course everyday was wonderful in his kingdom but today was especially wonderful as his people will soon find out. 

Lightning and Sylva already knew. News travels quickly in the highest ranks, especially in the old ship where voices traveled everywhere in it’s rusted walls and the quick scurrying of feet and rushed whispers of the midwifes and servants were no exception. Sometime yesterday, the queen’s labor had started and by the early hours of the morning, two baby bonobos were born.

Between Queen Athena and his many partners, Proximus Caesar had many children but none of them had been twins until now. 

“Twins!” Bellowed the king. “Caesar has blessed me with a son and a daughter!”

“A son and a daughter!” Chanted the apes. Sylva wondered how many of them actually cared about the news or if most only followed the king’s lead out of reflex. 

It didn’t really matter either way. A rare and truly wonderful thing has happened to their king, demanding a celebration from the kingdom. 

Lightning caught the silverback’s eye and the two smiled at each other. The pride in the chimp’s eyes reflecting Sylva’s own.

“SAY! His words!” 

“APES! TOGETHER! STRONG!”

It was amazing how far they, and Athena, had come.

——-

There was no attempt at the vault today. Nope, the birth of the twins was to be marked with a tremendous celebration! Apes of all ranks enjoyed the best tasting fruits and food in the kingdom, several apes were playing music while others danced about. Most were more interested than eating than anything else. 

Proximus normally wouldn’t allow anyone to see Queen Athena or his newborn children but this was different. This time, he insisted all the apes in the kingdom get a chance to view their new prince and princess.

That included Sylva and Lightning. 

“So much to tell her!” The chimp was practically bouncing about like a child. “What we saw! Our adventures!”

“Your furs.” Sylva added as Lightning’s fur scarf rubbed against him. 

“That too!” He beamed with delight. “Think she love it?!”

Sylva could only chuckle at the chimpanzee. Despite all this time apart, he was just as giddy at seeing Athena again as if they had never been apart. 

Life at the coast was peaceful but very difficult before Proximus took the throne. Fun days playing in the water and falling to sleep to the sound of ocean waves were only temporary comforts that couldn’t solve the lack of drinkable water or good food resources. It was hard but Sylva, Lightning and Athena still had a good childhood and largely because of the bond they shared. 

Before they were hunters and she was queen, the trio used to play together at the beach and exploring the coast: building sandcastles, splashing each other with salt water, climbing on rocks, playing in tide pools. Their dynamic was mostly the same, Sylva being the serious one and Lightning having the craziest ideas for fun, only Athena encouraged the chimp’s chaotic nature and made it her personal mission to get Sylva to laugh. 

More often than not, she failed but she’d never let him forget it if she caught a giggle out of the gorilla.

That warm, sweet nostalgia for those days suddenly melted the moment they stepped foot into…What was this place?

They had expected Athena to be in the royal room, where Proximus lived. Not here. They had never been to this part of the ship before. It was cold, dark with hardly any light, and smelled more rotten than the rest of the ship. 

It was dry at least, though the many holes in the walls suggested sea water could get in. 

The other apes continued to follow the midwife down this hall. Most didn’t seem to notice but other apes that had been around longer glanced around in bewilderment. 

One other midwife, passed them and Sylva quickly stopped her. “Where are we going?”

The female chimp wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her blue cloak hid most of her face. “Queen’s quarters.” She quickly replied before joining the others. 

Queen’s quarters? Sylva and Lightning glanced at each other. 

Athena lives here?

“Wrong.” Signed Lightning. He wasn’t as good at signing as other apes were but he knew enough to make conversation. “Human pet should be here. Not Athena!”

“I know but…” Sylva’s hands froze mid sign. Realizing how absurd this actually was. If Athena was queen, than surely she’d share the king’s quarters. Perhaps the midwife misspoke and Athena was just here for the birth? But that wouldn’t make sense either-who would want to have a baby in a place like this?

At a loss for words, the silverback gave up and followed the other apes. Lightning hesitated, glaring in disgust at his surroundings before following after. 

The hallway lead to a chamber that looked like it had been repaired at one point. Inside stood Proximus, along with his partners-wait, his partners are the midwives? And other apes that Sylva and Lightning had seen around but..They all look like him?

Wait, how many children does he have again?

“Behold!” Proximus proudly held up his hands. Each holding a tiny, newborn baby. A sight as impressive as it was terrifying. “My heirs! Princess Julia and Prince Arlo!”

“Julia and Arlo!” The apes bent their heads, much like they did earlier. 

Both babies whined unhappily, either from the many voices or from being held like that. Sylva wished he would just put them down. 

Lightning didn’t like it either. He tried to distract himself by glancing at the other apes around Proximus. He quickly recognized Athena’s other children: Farah and Albus were standing straight which made them look like guards while Felix stared at the ground and little Orchid was clinging to-Athena! 

He quickly elbowed Sylva but the gorilla realized it was her at the same moment.

They couldn’t believe it was her. Athena was the same age as they were, yet she looked as though she aged since they last saw her. Laying on her nest, she just looked so tired. So exhausted. 

Satisfied with his show, Proximus finally brought down the newborns and gently returned them to their mother. 

“You have done well, my Cleo.” He whispered to her, ignoring the fact that she was more occupied with the babies than him. “Thank you for these gifts.” 

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, which made Athena cringe. Once she would have fought back and spat in his face, but it was just so much easier to let him do it and get it over with. 

Neither of them heard what the king said, but Sylva and Lightning saw the discomfort on Athena’s face. 

The high ranking apes sang their praises for the king and his family and the other apes acknowledged Proximus and the twins with a silent bow and left. Not wanting to spend any more time than they had to. 

As the apes slowly started leaving and Proximus was surrounded by his closest followers, Athena hoped she could sleep soon. Everything hurt so much, not helped by Proximus’ voice echoing around her or the unwanted stares and visits by his apes. 

She initially ignored the footsteps that approached her now, an empty nod and thank you already at the tip of her tongue when-

“Athena.”

Her eyes met the gorilla in front of her. A chimpanzee knuckle-walking to them. Two more of the king’s loyalists, no different than the ones praising him, but the concern in their eyes surprised her. 

Athena looked worse close up. She wasn’t just exhausted, she was withered. Like a wilted flower. The fact she just gave birth to twins could explain her red eyes but not her thin, almost bony frame and pale face. Scars that neither of them recognized covered her arms. 

Aside from the royal cape covering her, she didn’t look like a queen. No, she looked sick, broken. Worse than even the most injured and weakest apes they brought to the kingdom.

Her children eyed Sylva and Lightning suspiciously but didn’t say anything. Felix shifted uncomfortably, Orchid seemed to position herself between them and her mother, and Farah and Albus watched them closely. It was as if they were protecting their mother, or getting ready to, which only made Athena’s appearance more concerning to them. Sinister even.

Why did they feel they had to protect her? How did she get those scars?

Sylva had so many questions but they all sounded stupid. Athena clearly wasn’t ok and while he knew Proximus was likely to blame for this, he couldn’t let himself think that way about his king. His mind wouldn’t allow it. He was his king after all, and this was his queen. 

…But Athena was his friend first…One of his first, and only true, friends..

He gently placed his hand on her head, feeling how warm she was. Too warm. 

Lightning asked the very question Sylva was thinking of. “Athena sick?”

It was at that moment that Athena suddenly realized who these two were. No…Sylva…Lightning…

They had changed, just like she feared they would. Athena had never accompanied them on their travels nor knew where they had gone, but she knew they had kidnapped apes. Killed apes, all in the name of ‘Caesar’. The gentle and serious gorilla that used to be her friend, has turned into a brutal and bloodthirsty killer and the cheeky chimp goes along for the ride of it. 

Her eyes welled up with tears as she shut them. Not wanting to look at her former friends anymore.

“Go away.” 

Sylva and Lightning were taken aback by her quiet demand. “Wha-?”

“Go away!” Athena shouted at them, startling her children in the process. “Stay away from me!” 

Please, just go. Tears blurred her vision. You two make me sad. 

She was looking at both of them but it felt as if she were looking at Sylva in particular and, despite being much larger than her, the silverback shrunk at her angry glare. 

The chamber had suddenly gone painfully quiet as Athena’s yelling got the attention of the other loyalists. Proximus himself was now looking at them, though he had an amused spark in his eye. 

Dismissing his other followers, he approached the bewildered gorilla and chimp.

“Long time, yes? Since you. Last saw her?” 

There was a very noticeable change with the children as their father approached. Albus and Farah now stood in front of the nest, their lips parting into a warning snarl. Felix moved to join them but chose to be closer to his mother, sister and the babies. An arrow clutched in his hands as a make-shift spear. A low growl could be heard from Athena as she held Orchid and the newborns closer to her chest. 

This seemed to confirm Sylva’s earlier suspicions. 

Turning to look at the king, Lightning bluntly asked: “What did. You do to her?” He normally wouldn’t be this bold, this demanding and almost hostile to his king but seeing his old friend like this sparked something in him. 

Proximus only chuckled his question and shrugged his shoulders. “She’s tired. Hard birth, big babies.” 

Ok, Lightning knew nothing about babies and births, but the twins seemed no bigger than an average baby ape. Even gorillas aren’t that big when they’re born!

“That not what I meant!” He barked and gestured in Athena’s direction. “What happened to her arms?!” 

Sylva glanced at the chimp, a bad feeling brewing in his gut. He wished Lightning would shut up. 

Proximus’ chuckles only made him more nervous. Actually, he seemed to be enjoying this. “Rough start. Remember? Athena try to escape. Ask you to go with her. You refuse and bring her back to me.”

Oh…Sylva felt sick and any confidence Lightning had left him. That’s right. 

Athena did try to escape soon after her wedding to the king. She was trying to tell Sylva and Lightning something, begging for them to come with her, but they wouldn’t listen. Sylva had carried her back to Proximus himself…Dragged seemed more accurate though. 

“She knows her place now.” Proximus went on. “Babies are powerful, Sylva and Lightning. Threaten baby, threaten child, control the mother.” 

Sylva’s eyes went wide, remembering how the king held his newborns up earlier and how the other children protected their mother. Proximus Caesar was a ruthless king but he wouldn’t hurt his own children, would he?…Or worse..? 

“What kind of father are you?” He blurted out though he didn’t want to know the answer. 

Proximus ignored the question anyway, smirking at the gorilla. “You are loyal to me. And only me.” He glanced to Lightning. “Any ape who doesn’t, dies. Remember that.” 

Sylva and Lightning could only glance at each other in mute shock. Now they understood why Athena didn’t want them around her. Why her children guarded her. In their loyalty to Proximus Caesar, the gorilla and chimp had become extensions of the bonobo. They have kidnapped and killed apes, and hunted humans for him. Not to mention the fact they practically betrayed her.

Loyal to Proximus Caesar. Apes together strong. For Caesar.

Athena had no reason to believe they wouldn’t follow his orders. They already killed and kidnapped other apes by his command without question…But none of those apes had been infants! Taking an entire clan with babies and small children? Sure, but no harm ever came to them! 

Sylva always ordered the young ones stay with their parents at all times-And Lightning would gladly offer his horse to any pregnant ape! Neither of them were capable of…

But what if…? Sylva glanced back at Athena and her children. What if Proximus ordered us to? 

He wanted to believe he and Lightning would fight back, refuse to follow that order and demand the other loyalists…But would that be an option for them? If Sylva and Lightning refused to do it, would someone else do it?.

The silverback had never once considered what he did as wrong or that he and Lightning were monsters but, for the first time, he realized that’s exactly what they were to Athena. Not just her, but to all the other apes they captured. Maybe even to Mae. 

Monsters.

[tonberry-yoda]

What about headcanons of Caesar Zeppeli 💙

oh hecc yeah! love this bubble booty boy

he's such a flirt omg

like always expect him to be teasing or flirting with you nonstop

ESPECIALLY in front of jojo

just rubs it in his face tbh

speaks to you in italian and you dont care if you dont speak it, it's beautiful

buys you a bunch of stuff fr

spoils you rotten

expect god tier kisses fr

like literally he has the best kisses in the world

and then he'll talk to you in between kisses and-

*dies*

sorry

he's gorgeous

will fight for you

calls you cheesy, but very romantic names lol

kisses your hand all the time

please cup his face and call him pretty

he's your pretty boy and your pretty boy alone

dances with you in the rain :)

if you dont already know italian, he will teach you

smells really good like nice soap (get it... bubbles tee hee)

please flirt with him in front of jojo because it will always catch him off guard and make him blush while jojo is mumbling and being a baby fr

never forgets to remind you how beautiful you are

will take you on VERY romantic dates

you are his world fr and he will never stop loving you

~~~~~

jjba masterlist --- pinned post

@tonberry-yoda

[zorotitties]

The fact that people will sit and say to you with a straight face that One Piece isn't political absolutely blows my mind. Because... how can you be that dense? How can the entire purpose of the story fly right over your head?

The celestial dragons who control basically every aspect of the world, down to its government, who won't even look at poor people. Who would rather destroy an entire village that's been neglected, and throw trash into it for years. Who would rather burn an entire town to the ground with the people in it because they'd rather get rid of the "problem" instead of fixing it. Who would rather lock people out of their noble land and listen to their pleas as they burn to death than even try to show compassion for someone less fortunate than them.

Or Big Mom and Totto Land. Where she gives everyone the ultimatum to either stay, or she takes their life. Not to mention she takes a piece of their soul every time in order to create more homies, which are literally her servants. Sure big mom's ultimate goal is to unite every race in harmony and she wants everyone to be friends but she goes about it entirely the wrong way, and even goes as far as having Caesar Clown experiment on literal children so she can have man made giants in Totto Land.

And then there's Wano. Where the people of Ebisu Town were thrown scraps of rotten food and poisoned water to consume because Kaido and Orochi couldn't care less if they lived or died. Where they were so tired of the cries and moans from the sick and dying, that they gave them defective smile fruits so that they would never be able to do anything but smile and laugh. No matter how much pain and suffering they experienced, they could never show that again, and it was an effective way for Kaido and Orochi to sweep those suffering people's problems under the rug. Because watching them smile and laugh despite it being disingenuous and painful for them, was easier than caring and fixing the issue.

Oda regularly dogs on rich people and shows how truly awful they can and will be. One Piece is about how despicable the world government is and how a group of anarchists (aka pirates) literally help liberate thousands and thousands of people. Luffy has liberated so many groups of people, so many countries and villages. And all because he wanted to. How can you sit there and say One Piece isn't political?! And I could go on and on about the topics I didn't discuss, like slavery, human trafficking, racism, and corrupt government, but I'm tired and don't have the energy to write. Maybe I'll save that for another day

[manorpunk]

At the heart of every work of speculative fiction is a “what if,” a divergence which demarcates the line between worlds: what if aliens made contact with us? What if we suddenly had access to supernatural powers? The heart of Manorpunk 2069 is this: “what if it just keeps going like this?”

It is the most difficult question of all, because things quite clearly cannot keep going on like this, and my bravery in tackling this question directly shows why all other spec fic authors besides me are cowards, and probably reactionary.

That was a joke. Spec fic authors are not automatically reactionary. Authors of alternate history fiction definitely are, though. “Ohhhh what if the South won the American Civil War” oh you mean what if the Southern planter class survived and continued to enforce a program of white supremacy and oppression? Why I can hardly imagine such a world.

That was also a joke. My apologies. I am speaking to you as Manorpunk’s figurative father, and being a first-time dad, I cannot help being mawkish and overwrought, showing off baby pictures and trying to guess whether the audience is overcome with a new depth of emotion or simply trying to stifle a yawn.

In any case, I am here to give you the short version:

A series of crises known uncreatively as the Polycrisis struck America in the 2030s: climate change-fueled natural disasters, crumbling infrastructure, the final hollowing-out of the federal government, and the biggest goddamn real estate crash you’ve ever seen.

You can argue whether the real estate crash was the ‘biggest’ or ‘most important’ of the Polycrisis’s constituent parts, but in any case, it was the kicking-in of the rotten door that was America’s economy, and things just kinda… stopped working. Power became decentralized and regionalized, first to whoever could guarantee basic services and infrastructure (because neither the federal government or corporate finance sector had any will or ability to do so), soon coalescing into a half-dozen or so regional power blocks.

Oh, there were a couple more failed wars. Well, just one, really. There were the “IMF Wars” from 2035 to 2037, where the IMF and World Bank were forcibly removed from sub-Saharan Africa by “Chinese-supported Sankarist rebels,” which is how America referred to a democratically-elected government, but that wasn’t really a war-war.

China did give them a fuckton of support though, by the by. The 2030s looked like a hopeful time for the global south, as America fell apart and China hadn’t swallowed the world whole yet.

Speaking of which - at this point you may be asking yourself, “but where is the contingency? Where is the Innocent? Where is our Caesar, our Napoleon, our great Hegelian figure who holds the moment in his hand like a fly trapped in amber?”

Turns out it was Xi Jinping.

Yeah. Sorry.

As you might imagine, China was getting pretty sick of America dicking around. The American economy was collapsing so furiously that it was starting to threaten the export market for Chinese manufacturing. And, y’know, there was the Taiwan War.

Shit, right, the Taiwan War. It was hardly a war - China sank a couple US vessels, the US realized they had fallen too far behind on military tech and tactics, war’s over. The real fight, everyone knew, would be at the bargaining table.

What happened next goes by many names - the Great Bailout, The Reverse Marshall Plan, America’s Bride Price, The Gweilo Divergence, and “using the barbarians to control the barbarians” - a reference to the Self-Strengthening Movement of the Qing Dynasty. That one’s a thinker.

Anyway, China basically bought America. Second Cold War: over, winner: China, victory: flawless. As a fun footnote, the Great Bailout was finalized on September 4, 2039 - the 200th anniversary of the First Opium War.

It was more complicated than that, obviously - it was a tangled mess of playing musical chairs with corporate boards, merging and splitting and shuffling around. A controlled flood of investor money. The tactics were similar to how they had taken - right, I almost forgot, Russia was basically a Chinese protectorate at this point, and China did a similar economic shuffle to Russia after the Russo-Ukraine War.

Anyway! Short version, the timeline has made it to the 2040s and China just sort of swallowed the world whole. Tune in next time to see how that goes!

[scourgeofshadows]

NEW CAESAR POLL JUST DROPPED >:D

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

aftermath 3

A dark blue, fish-eyed globe turns itself across the screen, starting in Canada and traveling eastwards around the world. Five words flash over the globe: TOTAL - TAKES - WORLD - TOUR - AFTERMATH!

A static flash to Fiji, at the beach: 

---

Ass looks back to the other teams, all waiting in anticipation. Chris rubs his hands together, chuckling to himself as if he’s been waiting for this. 

“Albert and Michela never kissed. Mal lied to… well… to cover for us,” Ass says. “Courtney and I are the ones who kissed.”

Max’s expression drops. Michela sighs a breath of relief. 

Julia turns red. 

“YOU… YOU WHAT?”

---

Then to in the plane, on the way to Sweden:

---

Max trails off again, and sighs. “I feel like if this doesn’t work out, nothing ever will,”

Kelly’s smile droops a bit and they turn away from Max. 

---

The Title Card flashes again and fades into a pink, warm-lit studio. The peanut gallery is crowded now as former contestant upon contestant squeezes into the narrow rows. Patrick steps onto the platform and forces himself a seat between Alistair and O, elbowing them both out of the way to make room. Scruffy smiles as the camera settles on them, though they don’t look entirely happy. Peter waves both hands merrily. 

In the other corner of the room, Joner, McLovin, and Sha-Mod are crowded around an amplifier, each holding a different colored plug as they scratch their chins and flip coins to see what goes where. 

Finally, the lights dim. The audience chatter dies, blowing out like a candle. McLovin shoves a red plug into a blue socket and electrocutes himself, then lies flat on the ground as a single spotlight hovers over the center of the stage. 

Then… 

Nothing. 

The audience waits for a little longer. The peanut gallery begins to exchange confused glances. Joner and Sha-Mod poke McLovin’s unconscious form until even he stirs. 

A harsh whisper comes from backstage. “I don’t want to,”

“Well, I’m busy!”

“I’m busier!”

Finally, the sound of dull footsteps echoes across the dead-silent stage. Noco- shoulders slumped and eyes focused on his feet- trudges into the spotlight. He sighs dramatically as he pulls out a cue card and reads off it in a voice so monotone it sucks every ounce of charisma from everyone else on stage. 

“Welcome. To the Total Takes Aftermath. I’m your no-co-host, Noco. Today we have a very special episode. So get ready for mayhem. Drama. And more drama,”

He sighs and tosses the cue card aside. The audience responds with scattered applause- though before Noco can say anything to sour the already rotten entrance, Caesar slides in. 

“Thank you for your patience, everyone! We’re a little behind schedule today, but don’t worry- we’ve got an action-packed episode,” he winks. “Unfortunately, due to… a scheduling mishap,” 

He pauses to glare sharply at Noco. 

“Your would-be old-new co-host, Bonnie, has been sent out on the field! They’re traveling from continent to continent, interviewing Total Takes superfans!” Caesar says. His eye twitches. “Stay tuned for our first superfan, who is inexplicably Noco-Obsessed! Somehow!”

The peanut gallery seems to let out a collective groan. 

“Didn’t you take that blonde bimbo out last episode? What happened to her?” Scary snaps. “Darwin help me, you romantics must have some kind of brain damage...”

Noco shrugs. “The date went fine. I picked her up, we went to a fancy restaurant, and then I talked to her about my theories for two hours. She hasn’t called back,”

“Unbelievable.” Scary says, completely monotone. 

“ANYWAY! The schedule,” Caesar says, tapping his watch. His smile is as bright as always, but he seems far more jittery today. He leans in to mutter to Noco. “Remember that your little stunt has prevented me from even one conversation with Bonnie since they came back. You are on thin ice!”

Noco rolls his eyes. “What? I don’t like travel. I didn’t want to do it,”

Caesar looks like he’s about to wring his neck, but quickly straightens his posture and turns back to the audience as the overhead monitor lowers. “Now, let’s check in with Bonnie in… somewhere in the desert, USA?”

A loud static screech jolts the peanut gallery, forcing everyone to cover their ears as the monitor hums itself to life. The image finally settles in on the beloved goth, shielding their eyes from a cloud of dust whipping around them. Nothing besides Bonnie against the grayish-brown backdrop of sand is visible. 

“H-hello? Can you hear me in there?” they shout into the microphone in their hand. 

Caesar runs before the monitor, shouting as if they’re separated by a pane of glass. “BONBON! Are you okay!? Where are you?”

“Hell- I mean, California!” they shout back. “Who is that?”

“It’s me, Caesar! I’m so sorry about the scheduling conflict, if I had known-”

“BOOO! Get on with it!” Noco says, kicking back on the couch. He sets his feet on the table. Caesar’s eye twitches again. 

“Alright… yeah, okay!” Bonnie shouts. “I’m here with, uh… um… What was your name again?”

The camera zooms out to an annoyed-looking teenage girl in khaki shorts and Tevas. She scoffs. “It’s Anna, interview-person-thing”

Bonnie grits their teeth and points at her. “Listen, you hippie-wannabe, I didn’t sign up for this, I’m not a people person, and if mauling you with my bare hands is what it would take to get back to the studio and see my best friend again for the first time in weeks, I would gladly do so. You do not get to push me around!”

“Wow,” Noco clicks his tongue. “Ruler of boundaries over here, huh?”

Caesar shoots him a glare. Back on the screen, Anna looks sheet-white. Bonnie sighs, mumbles an indistinct “Sorry” and then clears their throat. “Okay, so… You’re a Noco fan, huh? What’d you hit your head on?”

Noco glares at the screen while Caesar chuckles. The teenage girl on screen looks more than displeased. “He’s a hell of a lot better than you phonies. Noco keeps it real,”

Bonnie rolls their eyes as Noco cheers and snaps his fingers. “She gets it,”

“I like, like Total Takes, or whatever, but the drama is so fake! And I like, totally value honesty and genuineness,” she goes on. “I mean, let’s be real, these plot points- it’s like they were written in a drama show. Like, the ships? Totally rushed! The hate is so contrived! When Noco started pointing out the inconsistencies, I listened. As president of the Noco Fan Club in the Pursuit of Truth, I say Chris McLean RELEASE THE RECORDS!”

Bonnie grits their teeth while Noco claps in the studio again. “Again, nothing on Total Takes is staged,” they sigh, massaging their temples. “What the hell happened while I was on World Tour?”

Caesar shakes his head. “So much, Bonbon. I wish I could catch you up, but-” 

The dust storm suddenly picks up and the two scream right before the screen fizzles out. 

“Bonnie? BONNIE?”

Noco pops a stick of gum in his mouth and slouches on the sofa again while Caesar runs around the room, trying to get a better connection by pulling at cables and shouting at interns. He runs back in view of the camera, looking disheveled. “We’ll be right back!”

---

The studio fades back into view, scattered applause following. A silence hangs over the room for a moment before Noco sighs dramatically, sitting up and spitting his gum onto the floor. 

“Welcome back. I’m your substitute host. Or whatever. I think Caesar’s on the roof, waving around the antenna to get a better connection. But while I’m here…” he stands, walking back and forth on the stage. “Let’s talk about my theories.”

“Do we have to?” Scary mumbles. 

Patrick nods. “Yes, I’m with the freak. I’m tired of listening to you prattle on,”

“You’re just scared of the truth!” Noco hisses, pointing at the peanut gallery with pure malice. “I have proof!”

A sudden scoff from backstage. The peanut gallery turns to the source of the intrusion as a brunette in a bow walks into the spotlight, rolling their eyes. The audience cheers and they wave. 

Noco says nothing for a long moment, his arms crossed and gaze pointed in no particular direction. Then, finally, he mumbles. “Staci, everyone,”

The crowd cheers again, and the aforementioned takes a seat on one of the plush chairs adjacent to the couch. “Hi, everyone! It’s so great being back!”

Another round of applause. Noco rolls his eyes. 

“Sorry for the intrusion, but I just couldn’t help myself,” Staci says, gesturing towards Noco. “I read the evidence binder you left on the coffee table backstage, and I’ve gotta say- as an aspiring PhD student, that’s some sloppy work.”

Noco raises an eyebrow. “Sloppy? Please. I could put your whole life on blast without even trying,”

“That’s the problem! None of your research is academic, or even investigative, like someone would expect from a journalist making such a big deal. It’s “gotcha” journalism at best, and at worst… pure speculation with some unreliable sources. You know that eyewitness testimony is the lowest form of evidence in any field of science, right?” Staci goes on. 

Scary snaps their fingers from across the room. Alistair shouts “Gettem!” and Patrick rolls his eyes. 

“The majority of your “findings” are based on internet theories- and yes, I source-checked- and testimonies from former employees. As someone who was on Total Takes, I can say that none of the interns are reliable sources. Memory is fickle, and going through trauma- like all of us have on TT- can totes skew perception and behavior,” she pauses to smile. “I started a psych class last week. It’s really helping me understand people.”

The peanut gallery claps again, and Noco’s eyes lower. 

“You know nothing. You’re like the rest of them- plants!” he snaps. “I’m a journalist!”

Staci scoffs again. “You’re a gossip columnist at best. Stalking someone’s social media isn’t “gathering evidence” it’s being a teenager,” 

“And it’s immature- and rude!” Peter shouts from the audience. Staci nods. 

Noco grits his teeth. “As if I’d trust any of you. Chris is paying you to keep quiet. All of you! My fans know!”

“Ahem- as an engineer, as well as an expert in friendship and romance, I’m pretty sure those girls just think you’re cute,” Staci crosses their arms. She looks thoroughly unamused. “You can go ahead and dig up whatever dirt you want on me- I’m a clean record. My blogs are all public access!”

Noco growls, standing up to shout before Caesar jogs back in the room, covered in wires and holding an antenna. “Back!”

The peanut gallery breathes a collective sigh of relief as their usual host tries to untangle the web of cords he’d cocooned himself in. “We, uh- had a little trouble with the connection, but I called some guys to check it out. Where are we?”

“Nowhere, really,” Scary grumbles. 

Caesar’s eyes turn to Staci. “Stace! Got your segment done already?”

She shrugs. “Kind of. Ass is still backstage, though,”

“Perfect, someone bring them out. We’ve got a very special treat for you all today- welcome to our second-ever Second Chance Challenge!” Caesar says, pacing the stage quickly. “By popular audience demand, five former contestants will be competing right here, right now, for a chance to get back on that plane!”

The peanut gallery turns to each other as the audience ooh’s. 

“No way,” a voice says from behind the benches. Ass walks back on stage, arms crossed. “No one in their right minds would get back on that death trap!”

“Not even for a million dollars?” O asks, eyes wide. 

“Not even for romance?” Peter says. “You and Courtney-”

“Courtney is perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. They’re not stupid,” Ass says. “Besides, I had my moment. Let someone else take my place on death row.”

Caesar shrugs. “Fair enough. Now-”

A sudden ringing interrupts him and an intern rushes in with a phone. Caesar flips it open to listen to an indistinct voice on the other line. He nods along before suddenly going pale. “Grounded? What do you mean, grounded?”

The voice says something else and then the line goes cold. Caesar tries to put on a smile, but to no avail. “Haha… looks like Bonnie’s plane is experiencing some technical issues… and they’re stuck there for the time being! Hahahaha. Isn’t this great?”

“Mmm… I love my cell reception!” Noco says merrily, holding up his phone like a holy artifact. Caesar looks like he’s about to kill him as Ass steps into frame and leans in to whisper. 

“Hey, Loverboy. I don’t wanna dig myself a grave in your personal biz, but before I left, Mal was blabbering something about one of the upcoming challenges being in the southwest U.S.. She’s a nutcase, but she’s good at predicting that crap,” they mumble. “Just saying.”

Caesar thinks for a moment, and then nods. He turns to face the audience. “And we’ll be right back- I’ll be right back, I mean. In the meantime, your co-host Noco will explain the rules of the game.”

“Game?” Alistair asks from the peanut gallery.

They turn to Noco expectedly as Caesar hurries off stage, pulling the Takes Three Trio with him. The sullen boy stares for a moment, and then sighs. 

“We’ll be distributing these lame cans of peanuts. Some of them have a ticket back on that flying death trap. Blah, blah,”

“Let me guess- this is staged, too?” Scary says, rolling their eyes. 

Noco sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Unfortunately, this one is real. I packed the peanuts myself,”

The peanut gallery cheers as a few interns distribute the goods. Scruffy and Staci clink their cans together, Scary tosses hers to the side and returns to her chemistry book, and O, Peter, and Alistair hold hands around theirs to manifest good luck. 

“And one for Mr. Deep Blue Sea,” Noco sighs, tossing a can aside for Caesar. “This is dumb.”

The first cans open- O, Peter, and Scruffy sulk as they dump out their cans of regular old peanuts. Patrick growls in frustration (not in the metaphorical sense- he actually growls like a dog) and attempts to crush the tin can in his fist. After trying two or three times to make a dent, he chucks it across the room, nailing McLovin in the head as the Trio returns from backstage. 

He storms over to Noco. “I demand a new can,” 

“No can do,” Noco says, chuckling to himself before his expression turns sharp again. “All sales are final.”

“Listen here, you miserable little emo-”

Scary rolls their eyes. “Stop whining. You can have mine,” they kick their can over to him, and he nabs it with a victorious smile. 

“Nerd,” he says to Noco as he tears open the can lid. A tiny, spring-loaded solid-gold Chris head pops out and punches his eye. 

Ass pops a peanut in their mouth, watching as a Chris head jumps out of Staci’s can. She squeals. Alistair claps behind her as another shining golden host appears. 

Caesar looks from side to side, cautiously surveying the stage as if he might be attacked as he clutches the can in his hand. He peels back the lid with a loud scrape, and… nothing. “Dammit,” he mutters. 

“Hey, don’t worry, bud!” Joner says, holding his own Chris-infested can. Behind him, Sha-Mod and McLovin struggle to peel back the top on the latter’s peanuts. “If I get back on, I’ll get Bonnie for you!”

He sighs. “Thank you, Joner, but... I hope you don’t take offense to this, but I don’t have a lot of faith in you boys,”

“None taken!” Joner grins as the two other members of their trio open their can behind them, unleashing the spring-loaded Chris directly on McLovin’s chest, sending him flying backwards. 

“And that’s our five,” Noco says, rolling his eyes. 

Patrick walks up to the center of the stage with swagger, not unlike a peacock. Staci and Alistair follow, while Joner helps drag McLovin alongside them.

Caesar surveys the lineup and sulks, his shoulders slumping. Another intern appears, waving a phone out to him, which he begrudgingly takes. “Hello? OH! We’ve got a connection, someone lower the monitor!”

The large TV screen comes down with a mechanical whir, and flickers to life. Bonnie is standing in the middle of a sandstorm, shielding their eyes while coughing. “C-Caesar?”

“Talk about a mouthful,” Noco comments, standing.  

Alistair scowls at him. “Is this really the time for your twisted sense of humor?”

The audio blips in and out as they speak. Caesar runs up to the screen, putting his hand on it as if it were a pane of glass. “Bonnie, can you hear me?”

“I can-”

The monitor suddenly falls dead, a black screen replacing Bonnie’s shuddering form. Caesar’s pupils shrink and he stares in disbelief as Noco walks back on stage, holding a plug. 

“What? We have a schedule to keep, don’t we?”

Caesar’s eye twitches again. The five selected players, standing off to the side now, shake their heads in disapproval. 

Staci crosses their arms. “Is it your job to make everyone miserable?”

“Uh, duh? I’m not called Noco for nothing,”

A distant-sounding voice comes alongside them. “You know what?” Caesar says. “He’s right.”

“Caesar, you don’t have to-” Staci starts, but he holds a finger to his lips to shush them. 

“We’re keeping a schedule. Takes Three Trio- myself- we’ve prepared a special little song for Noco, to express our gratitude,” he smiles. “It’s all water under the bridge now.”

Noco raises an eyebrow, suspicious. Joner and McLovin salute, and Sha-Mod runs up between them, and all three of them pull various instruments from behind their backs. 

Caesar adjusts his bowtie, looking rather calm, and then taps his microphone. “Hit it!”

The Takes Three Trio starts up a jolly jig as the host clears his throat. “Here’s an open letter to a treasure of a guy!”

Noco nods along. “Uh-Huh,”

“Whose behavior on this show always makes us sigh,”

“Hm?”

“He’s a nasty, lying schemer, who calls himself “your host!” Without the help of social media, his job would be toast!”

Noco opens his mouth to say something back, but every member of the peanut gallery delivers a quick “Hush!”

“He’ll call himself a journalist, but he failed his English class! He’s just so full of you-know-what, he has to double wipe his-”

“HEY!” Noco snaps. Caesar brushes him off. 

“He started his own rumor show, under Blaineley and Josh’s nose, and when they found out he was fired and sent down here to host!” 

Caesar points directly in his face. “He’s not the guy you think he is, so don’t drive yourself loco. He plagiarizes all his work, and his real name isn’t Noco!”

“He’s a phony, scheming, wannabe-host, and his real name isn’t Noco! He steals and lies, he’s evil, folks, and his real name isn’t Noco!”

Caesar stops between the Takes Three Trio and they shout the last line together. “It’s Isaac!”

Noco crosses his arms, glaring. He has nothing to say for a few moments, before finally clearing his throat. “You couldn’t come up with anything better? I-”

“Meep! Meep!” Caesar holds out his hand, folded to resemble a mouth. 

Noco stares in silence for a few minutes. “Lies, and-”

“Meep! Meep!” the host flaps open the hand-mouth, cutting him off. 

“Really? This is so immature. You’re-”

“Meep! Meep! Meep! Now, let’s get on with the show,” Caesar says, straightening his tie again. “Time for our Second Chance Challenge! One out of five of these players is about to play for another chance at the million! Staci, Alistair, Joner, McLovin, and Patrick- are you guys ready?”

No response. Caesar goes on anyway. “Time for Total Takes; The Board Game! Each of these squares in front of you represents one of our final contestants. Each has their own personalized challenge, depending on who you land on.” He tosses Staci a large foam die. 

“Fail, and you’re out! Once you’re off the board, I’ll be asking you your final question. Whoever gets this query right gets a one-way ticket back to Total Takes. Ready?”

Everyone shakes their heads- except for McLovin and Joner, who high-five. “Looks like Staci is up first,”

Staci bounces the die in her hands for a moment before tossing it across the board. It lands on five, and she claps excitedly and runs across the spaces, standing on a tile decorated with Julia’s face. 

“The Julia challenge- safe pick!” Caesar says. A table with a computer on it drops from the ceiling. “You’ve got two minutes to hack into this government website. Time!”

Staci stares as Caesar clicks his watch. “But I-”

“C’mon, Stace! You’re an engineer!” Alistair shouts from the other end of the board. 

“Civil engineer, not software!” they cry back. They hurriedly type on the computer, but to no avail. As Caesar’s watch rings, they grunt in frustration. 

“A valiant effort. Patrick?”

Staci kicks the die to the beginning of the board, and the aforementioned picks it up with a smirk. “Please… a little board game? What am I, five?”

Caesar rolls his eyes. “Just toss the die,”

Four. Patrick steps on Albert’s square and chuckles. “What? Do I have to hug a tree?”

“Close!” the host chimes. A tree falls from the ceiling, landing before him. Patrick raises an eyebrow as a belt of chains lands on his head, sending him to the floor. He begrudgingly stands, holding the iron. 

“What’s this?”

“Your challenge is to chain yourself to this tree as this intern attempts to cut it down with a chainsaw! Chicken out, and you’re done,” Caesar says merrily, gesturing to a uniformed blond man, revving the biggest chainsaw Patrick had ever seen. 

He gulped, but picked up the chains anyway, fastening himself to the trunk. “No big deal. I’m not chicken,”

The chainsaw whirs to life, but before the intern can even step onto the game board, Patrick wiggles free of his constraints and scampers across the stage. 

“That’s what I thought,” Caesar smirks. “Joner-”

“Can we go together? As buds?” Joner says, holding McLovin’s hands with a pout. The host sighs, and then relents. “I suppose it’d save us some time. Joner and McLovin, you’re up,”

Two. They take exactly two steps forward, and stare at the pink tile beneath them. 

“Oh, this is delightful,” Caesar grins. “Michela’s challenge: defend yourself from eighty-three hungry rats with nothing but a hockey stick.”

“What?” Ass snaps from the peanut gallery. “That makes no sense!”

Joner shakes his head. “No, that’s Miccy,”

“Very Miccy,” McLovin sighs. 

Caesar hands them exactly one hockey stick and backs away as a nearby cage opens, and dozens of rats clamber out. The host watches with the peanut gallery, wincing as the two boys shriek. 

“Okay…” Caesar says, making no attempt to stop the rats from carrying McLovin and Joner away with them. “Alistair- it’s all on you. If you can make it across the board and answer the final question, you’re back in the running.”

“Wooo! Go Alistair!” Peter and O cheer. He waves to them. 

“I’m pretty confident,”

“Sure,” Noco murmurs from the suede couch. “All this friendship and smiles crap is making me sick.”

Alistair picks up the die and gives it a few good shakes before tossing it. It lands on a six, and he steps across the board. 

“Kelly’s challenge- write a nice haiku about someone everyone hates,” Caesar reads off the cue card, tucking it back in his coat. “Say… Julia!”

“Hey!” Scruffy shouts from the peanut gallery. They are ignored. 

“Oh, performance poetry! Simple,” Alistair says, crossing his arms. “Julia, so smart. She hacks, attacks, and bites back. What a piece of art!”

Caesar hums to himself for a moment. “I suppose I’ll count that as positive. Roll again!”

Scruffy crosses their arms and grumbles to themselves. “I could’ve done a better one,” Staci pats their shoulder.

Noco rolls his eyes. “Can we get on with this?”

Fren tosses the die again, rolling a five. That sends him off the board, and to the final question. Caesar pulls another card from his blazer pocket and clears his throat. 

“As the rules dictate, anyone who answers this question correctly earns themselves a non refundable trip straight to Total Takes. Alistair- are you ready?”

The British boy nods, crossing his arms. 

“Alright. Here’s your question: “What is Albert’s philosophical school of choice?””

Alistair pauses for a moment, rubbing his chin as he thinks. “It’s just at the tip of my tongue… it’s… Nigeria- no, that’s a country. Nickel? No…”

“You people can’t be serious. Are you all so happy-go-lucky and gullible that you can’t even recognize the core fundamentals of misery?” Noco snaps. Caesar tries to hush him, but to no avail. 

“And you think I’m the phony. Well, I think all of you are naive, immature, annoying little rays of sunshine who don’t even know what nihilism is!”

A faint ding sounds, and the stage lights up in colors. The peanut audience gasps. Caesar glares. “Great! Look what you’ve done!”

Noco raises an eyebrow. “What’s-”

“Isaac, you’ve just won yourself a chance at a million dollars,” Caesar grumbles, massaging his temples. “You know what? This is fine. Fine! I can’t trust anyone to rescue Bonnie, but hey- at least we’re getting rid of him!”

“That boy’s gonna get eaten alive,” Ass shakes their head. The peanut gallery nods in solemn agreement. 

A long pause follows, and then a wide, terrible grin spreads across Noco’s face. “Please. This is great! I’m finally going to prove everything I already know! Total Takes is pre-written, Max and Julia have been dating in secret, and everyone is miserable. I’ll see you suckers on TV, when I’m running my own show! This is my break!”

Caesar rolls his eyes as the former co-host walks off, making sure to flip off the audience before he disappears backstage. 

“Well… that’s our time. Our next aftermath will be at the finale, so stay tuned!” he sighs, turning away from the audience. “I need to lie down.”