#for the innocent people dragged into this

[doumadono]

was wondering how tomura shigaraki and dabi would respond to a female reader after she lost her parents to criminals and no hero came to save them? if you have any questions to clear things up dm me

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Dabi

It was one of Dabi's rare quiet moments, where he let himself sit in his usual slouch, one leg draped over the armrest of a tattered couch, fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers as his gaze was fixed on a ceiling. Smoke curled from his lips in lazy spirals, painting hazy shadows across his face.

You sat across from him on the tattered couch, your eyes unfocused as you stared at the TV.

The news had just aired another report, praising a group of heroes for their brave intervention in rescuing civilians from a hostage situation.

Dabi’s eyes had flicked toward you, catching the way your shoulders tightened, your hands clasped so hard your knuckles turned white.

You looked as if you were barely breathing.

“Something eating you?” His voice broke the silence, casual but carrying an edge that forced attention. You startled, turning to him, and his narrowed eyes tracked you through the hazy filter of smoke. “You’ve been weird ever since that report.”

You looked away, struggling to keep your expression blank. “It’s nothing. Just thoughts.”

“Oh, don’t pull that on me.”A flicker of impatience creased Dabi’s face, and he took another slow drag, eyes half-lidded as he exhaled a plume of smoke that seemed to linger, heavy and expectant. “Is that right? So, nothing’s had you looking like you’re gonna crack any second?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he fixed you with that sharp stare. Dabi’s voice was sharp, almost bored when he asked, “Since when did you start lying to me?”

His tone was flat, but it twisted something inside you, dragging the words from a place you thought you’d buried. “It’s 'bout my parents,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “They… They were killed by criminals. They were just waiting for someone — anyone — to come and save them. But no heroes came.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the faint crackle of Dabi’s cigarette. His gaze hardened, mouth set in a sharp line as he took in your words. “So they were stranded?” It was hardly a question.

You nodded, and he scoffed, flicking ash to the ground, his hand flexing like he was picturing crushing something far less innocent than a cigarette. “So, let me get this straight. These heroes get pats on the back for doing the bare minimum, but when it mattered…?”

“...They didn’t come,” you finished, the words rough, each syllable scraping against the memory. You let out a shaking breath, turning to Dabi, unable to hide the raw hurt. “I know it’s pointless to dwell on it, but I thought heroes were supposed to help.”

He laughed, a harsh sound with no warmth. “Heroes. Yeah. All they care about is their damned spotlight.” He took another drag, the smoke curling between you both like a veil. “Let’s be real — they don’t give a shit about people like you and me. We’re the background to their big, showy heroics.”

You looked down, feeling the truth of his words cut into you, bitter and sharp. “I thought they were good,” you murmured, more to yourself than him.

“Good?” Dabi scoffed, his voice was low, dangerous, tainted with a resentment that felt as familiar as it was twisted. “They’re parasites. They want to look good, sound good. But the moment they’re out of the spotlight?” He exhaled, the smoke carrying his words, thick and full of venom. “You’re just another nobody left in the ashes.”

Slowly nodding your head, you fidgeted in your spot a little, trying to find a comfortable position while pulling your knees under your chin.

“You know,” the fire-quirked villain started, voice dripping with venom, “I’d bet anything that bastard Endeavor would spit on corpses if it meant climbing one step higher on his precious ladder. Hell, he’d probably grin about it, too.” He let out a slow, bitter chuckle, smoke curling around his face as he leaned back, cerulean eyes fixed on you. “Heroes like him? They’re all about that damn rank. Doesn’t matter who they trample or leave behind in the dust.”

You flinched, the thought of a hero so revered by the world doing something so heartless hitting you like a punch to the chest. But as you looked at Dabi, saw the bitterness carved into every line of his face, you knew he believed it with every fiber of his being. And somewhere deep down, you found yourself believing it, too.

“He’s proof that heroes don’t care,” Dabi continued, his voice low, almost a growl. ��Everything they do, it’s for the spotlight. They’d let the whole damn world burn if it meant looking like gods when they finally swoop in to save the day."

He took another drag, then exhaled slowly. “They’re not worth the damn pain, you know that?” He leaned closer, close enough that you could smell the smoke mingling with the faint scent of burned leather on his coat. “Let it go. You’re wasting your breath on a rigged game. Aim that anger at the right people.”

The cigarette burned down to its last smoldering inch, and he let it drop, grinding it into the floor with the heel of his boot. His voice softened, but it was no less cutting, each word sharp and unrelenting. “Don’t waste your grief on them, on people who’d rather walk over your bones than lift a finger to help. If you’re gonna feel anything, let it be anger. They’re the ones who deserve it. People like us? We learn early on. Heroes don’t save us. We save ourselves.”

You swallowed hard, his words settling into your chest like smoldering coals. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Dabi."

"Anytime," he playfully tapped your nose before grabbing the remote to change the channel.

Shigaraki

The news hit like a brick thrown through glass.

Shigaraki had been leaning against the tattered, peeling wall of the League's hideout, his usual impatience masked beneath an outwardly calm stare as the TV anchor praised the hero squad for their latest rescue. The words commendation ceremony and heroic intervention dripped from the screen, followed by footage of the smiling, grateful civilians they'd saved.

That was when Shigaraki noticed you — frozen, your eyes locked on the screen but devoid of focus. He knew that look too well.

Without a word, he turned off the TV with a sharp flick. The silence was jarring. Everyone else had left the room, leaving only you and him in the shadows, and he could feel the tension radiating from you, thick and unmistakable. “Something’s eating you,” he muttered, voice low. He approached you slowly, each step deliberate. You stayed silent, hugging yourself as if shielding against memories that had started seeping through the cracks. “You haven’t been yourself. Not for a while now.”

Your mouth opened, as if to speak, but the words refused to come.

Shigaraki's gaze tightened, his face cloaked in shadow as he leaned down, his pinky finger raised delicately as he cupped your cheek with his calloused hand. The contact was surprisingly gentle, yet his grip left no doubt about his intentions. “I don’t like being ignored. Especially not by you.”

It was a whisper, barely more than a breath, but it shattered the barrier you’d been holding up. You swallowed hard, then looked up into his crimson eyes, feeling his hand burn against your skin like a brand. “My parents…” Your voice cracked, trembling with the ache of unspoken pain. “They were killed by criminals. They were just normal people. They thought heroes would come to save them.”

You told him everything. That people waited but no one had come. No heroes had appeared, not even as everything you loved slipped away.

When you finished speaking, you looked down, twisting your hands together, waiting. Waiting for some kind of response, some words of comfort or outrage.

But he was silent.

You glanced back up, and what you saw made your heart stutter.

Shigaraki was scratching his neck, his fingers digging into the skin, red welts rising beneath his nails, his lips pulled back in a twisted half-grin that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked haunted, unhinged, every bit of him coiled tight with a rage you could feel pulsing in the air.

A tear rolled down your flushed cheek, your chin quivering.

A beat of silence passed, and then another. Shigaraki’s red eyes sharpened as he reached his hand out to wipe the tear off with his thumb. "So no one came.” His voice was dark, edged with something colder than empathy — an understanding that cut straight to the bone. His hand stilled, but his fingers curled tightly against his neck, his knuckles white with the pressure.

You shook your head, hands clenching as the memories clawed back up, dragging you under. “No one. They… They died waiting.”

Tomura sat beside you, leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes narrowing as his voice turned colder. “They left you to rot. Left you to suffer so they could keep up appearances.” His lip curled, and he shook his head slowly, that dark, knowing smirk twisting his face. “Heroes… The real disease of our world."

He watched you, eyes half-lidded, barely blinking. He had no soft words, no platitudes, but his presence was a comfort laced with something darker, something real. “They pretend to save everyone, wear their titles like armor. But they’re weak, selfish, just waiting to play hero for the cameras.”

The flicker of resentment in his voice pulled at you, like kindling to a flame. He didn’t flinch, didn’t try to smooth over the pain — he let it breathe, feeding off your anger as if it were his own. The tight line of his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened, all betrayed the depth of his own hatred.

“You’re right,” you whispered, the words feeling sharp in your throat, sharper than they’d ever felt before. “They don’t care about people. They never did...”

His hand moving back to your face. “Then stop hurting over it. They’re not worth your pain. They’re nothing.” His thumb traced along your jaw, an unexpected tenderness threaded through his quiet fury. "I want to rip them apart,” he uttered, his tone low and venomous, voice shaking with the intensity of his hatred. “Every single one of those worthless fakes. I want to watch them decay, feel them crumble to dust.” His voice dropped even lower, so quiet you barely heard him. “I want them to suffer.”

You nodded, feeling the first glimmers of solace in his touch. It was twisted, tainted by anger, but it was real.

He leaned closer to you, simply placing a kitten kiss to your cheek before saying, “No one else gets to hurt you like this.” His voice wavered, a hint of something raw, vulnerable, beneath the anger. “Not while I’m here. Not while I can do something about it.”

[steveseddie]

gold was the color of the leaves

steddie | rating: t | wc: 1,6k | cw: none | tags: steve pov, silly teenage boys, first kiss, fluff

for @steddie-spooktober day twenty two prompt “leaves”

read here on ao3

Steve wakes up when a leaf tickles his nose– or rather, when someone tickles his nose with a leaf. He scrunches it up, swatting the leaf away with his hand. 

He easily recognizes the snigger that follows so he’s not surprised to open his eyes and find Eddie leaning over him, one elbow propped up on the grass and a devilish grin stretching over his lips.  

Steve lifts his sunglasses to scowl at him. “Are you like, allergic to people relaxing?” He asks in a bitchy tone that only makes Eddie grin wider. 

“Deadly so, Stevie,” he says, long dark eyelashes fluttering as the hand that’s still holding the leaf rests against his forehead like he’s going to faint. “It was either annoying you or dying, and you don’t want me to die, do you?”

“I guess not,” Steve says with a long-suffering sigh, but either the fondness in his voice or the way his lips tick up prove that he doesn’t mean it because Eddie’s grin turns blinding, his dimples popping. Steve is glad he’s already lying down or his knees might’ve buckled at the sight and sent him rolling down the small hill they’re laying on.

“Besides,” Eddie says, tickling Steve’s cheek with the leaf, “you’re missing out on all the fun.”

“Napping is fun,” Steve points out, swatting Eddie’s hand away again. 

“Yeah, if you’re eighty!” Eddie snorts. “Are you an old man, Stevie?”

“Eddie, I’m younger than you,” Steve deadpans. 

“Maybe, but I have a young soul, Harrington–”

Steve smirks. “If by young you mean immature–”

Hand to his heart, Eddie gasps indignantly. “Hey!”

“Dude, you and the kids spent the last hour gathering leaves in piles and jumping on them,” Steve says amusedly. He spent the better part of that hour watching them tackle each other between shrieks of laughter, thankful for his sunglasses and how they let him stare at Eddie as much as he wanted without getting caught.

Eddie shrugs. “Hm, you may have a point.”

When he moves, something in Eddie’s hair catches Steve’s eye. A leaf– proof that he’d spent an hour being tackled and rolling on the floor before he decided to annoy him.

Steve’s fingers itch to reach out and pluck that leaf from Eddie’s hair, smooth the curls down, grab a hold of them and drag Eddie down–

Steve shakes those thoughts out of his head, balling his hands into fists to keep them from reaching out. In the silence that follows, Steve becomes aware of the sudden lack of yells and laughter around them. “Where are the little shitheads?”

“Wheeler sent them to wash their hands so they can have a snack,” Eddie says, pointing at the water fountain where the boys are cleaning up and at Max and El, walking arm in arm towards Nancy and Robin at the picnic table. 

“Not you?” Steve asks, head falling back against the blanket he’s using to lay on the grass. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I told her she’s not the boss of me,” he pauses, “then ran away before she could hit me with her book.” 

Steve snorts out a chuckle.

“Besides, I don’t want a snack. I got one right here,” Eddie says with a playful wink that turns Steve’s cheeks bright red. 

He ignores the heat creeping on his face. “I swear, Munson, if you try to bite me again–” he says, thinking about last week when Eddie said he was hungry and promptly sunk his teeth on Steve’s arm.

It didn’t hurt that bad– he was wearing a thick sweater after all. What did hurt was biting his tongue as hard as he could to keep a moan from slipping past his lips from Eddie biting him.

Eddie sniggers. “I won’t bite you, I promise,” he says innocently before he leers at Steve, his face hovering merely inches from Steve’s face. “Only if you ask.”

Steve grits his teeth together. “Shut up,” he quips, shoving Eddie off of him until they’re both lying on their backs, their sides pressed together. 

They fall into comfortable silence which Steve breaks with a loud yawn. 

Eddie’s head lolls to the side, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Tired, sweetheart?”

Steve’s stomach flips at the petname. He shrugs as casually as he can. “A little, I- uh, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Nightmares?” Steve nods. Eddie grimaces apologetically, tugging some hair across his face. “Shit, I should’ve let you keep napping.”

Without giving it much thought, Steve curls his pinkie around Eddie’s. “No, it’s fine,” he says, waiting for Eddie to meet his gaze. When he does, his eyes are a little wide. Wistfully Steve wishes it’s because of their interlocked pinkies. “I don’t wanna miss out on all the fun just because I’m tired.”

Eddie's eyes sparkle and he props himself up on his elbow again, grinning at Steve. “Does that mean I can tackle you into a pile of leaves?”

“You forget I was a jock,” Steve says smugly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Eddie laughs, something between a snort and a giggle. He drops his head in Steve’s chest, making Steve’s heart stutter. 

From this angle, Steve spots another leaf trapped in the curls in the back of Eddie’s head, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from reaching for it. 

The moment Eddie feels Steve’s fingers in his hair, his head snaps up and Steve’s hand ends up cupping the back of Eddie’s neck. 

Their faces are close– so close that Steve can hear the way Eddie’s breath catches when he realizes the same thing.

“Eddie–” Steve starts, not sure if he’s going to apologize for touching his hair without permission or for the way his eyes keep darting down to Eddie’s lips in a way that he knows is fucking obvious. 

But before he can decide what to say, he hears Eddie make an impatient, needy noise in the back of his throat before he surges forward and presses his lips against Steve’s. 

He lets out a surprised yelp, thinking– holy shit, Eddie is kissing me!

The thought bounces against Steve’s skull like a ping-pong ball as he tries to get his brain working again. But before he can do that long enough to kiss Eddie back, he’s pulling away and out of Steve’s reach. Steve’s hand falls back to his side, empty except for the leaf that he plucked out of Eddie’s hair. 

“You uh– you had this in your hair,” Steve says dumbly, holding up the leaf. 

Eddie’s eyes dart to the leaf and his expression falls as he realizes that is why Steve’s hand ended up in his hair, not because Steve was making some kind of move.

“Shit,” he mutters, his doe-like gaze darting from the leaf to Steve’s mouth. That he just kissed. “Shit, fuck– I– shit.”

He scrambles to his feet, and in his haste, ends up stumbling and falling back on his ass– only to roll down the small hill. 

“Eddie!” 

Steve jumps to his feet and runs after him, careful not to trip and follow Eddie down the hill the same way.

He makes it to the bottom right after Eddie and his eyes dart over his starfished body, checking for injuries. 

“Christ, dude. Are you okay?”

Eddie groans, covering his face with his hands. “Did the fall kill me? Please say yes.”

Steve suppresses a snort. “I mean. It’s barely even a hill, so I don’t think that’s possible. You might end up with a bruise or two though.”

“Oh, you mean apart from the bruise to my ego?” 

“What?”

“You know,” Eddie gestures between himself and Steve with one hand, “because I kissed you and you didn’t want me to.” 

Steve puts his hands on his hips. “Who says I didn’t want you to?”

Eddie’s hands fall from his face, revealing his wide eyes and slack jaw. “You did?” He asks, voice going high-pitched.

“Yeah,” Steve says, a lopsided grin stretching over his lips. He knocks his Nike against Eddie’s leg. “I did, you just took me by surprise, s’all.”

Eddie lets out a tiny, startled, “Oh.”

Steve smirks. “Yeah so how about you get up so I can check you don’t have any cuts or bruises before I kiss you. Properly this time.”

Eddie squeaks and scrambles to his feet with as much grace as when he tumbled down the hill. Steve finds his eagerness fucking endearing. 

There are even more leaves trapped in Eddie’s curls now, and with an amused shake of his head, Steve plucks them out of his hair before checking for any bruises. 

Then, as promised, he leans in and kisses Eddie. The second kiss is also short and chaste and over too soon, but it’s good and Steve has to remind himself they’re in public in order to gather enough willpower to pull back. 

When he does, his brain is a little hazy and he completely misses the way Eddie’s expression shifts from dopey to mischievous so it catches him by surprise when Eddie tackles him into a pile of leaves, laughing maniacally. 

“Ha! Got ya!” Eddie whoops, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, hovering over Steve who wants nothing more than to kiss the stupid smug smile off his face. 

But he can hear the kids laughing at him and cheering for Eddie in the distance and there’s no way he can get away with kissing him even if Eddie’s hair falls like a curtain around them, offering a little cover.

So he grabs a handful of leaves and shoves them into Eddie’s grinning mouth instead.

He’ll save the kiss for later.

[callme-holly]

hii can you do handholding prompt 21 (holding hands while one is balancing on a small wall) with dally 🤍🤍

𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

[𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Dallas has always been a little rough around the edges, but there are some times when you see through the cracks

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 684

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - brief mentions of fighting and getting arrested

The sun was high in the sky, the midsummer breeze doing very little to cool the already warm air.

The street was mostly empty, the occasional car passing by, their windows rolled down, and their radios blaring, but it seemed most people were content to stay inside and avoid the heat.

Beside you walked none other than Dallas Winston, a cigarette dangling from between his lips, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders. There was a cut on his jaw, one that hadn't quite healed over during his time in the cooler, and he had several bruises littering his knuckles, none of which seemed all too new either. Dallas always did love a fight; that was something you wouldn't ever be able to change; still, that didn't mean you couldn't try.

“Why'd you do it?” you asked him, breaking away from his hold to step up onto the little wall lining the path, glancing over at your boyfriend. “Why did you bother fighting those guys in the first place? You could've just walked away." You trailed off, knowing the suggestion wasn't even worth considering.

“I told ya,” Dallas mumbled around his cigarette, his cheeks puffing slightly as he took another drag. “They deserved it, talkin' shit about us like that.”

He steps closer to the wall, reaching out to grab at your hand, steadying you as you stumble forward slightly.

“You're gonna hurt yourself, man,” he comments, poorly concealed concern in his eyes as he glances up at you. It seems he doesn't want to discuss what happened before he got hauled in, and you decide that it's probably best to just drop the topic before he snaps at you about minding your own business.

So instead, you carry on walking, Dallas' fingers laced with yours, squeezing gently. The sun feels nice on your skin, warming your face and arms, and you breathe deeply, taking in the scent of the summer air, your perfume, and the smoke from Dallas' cigarette mingling somewhere in the mix.

"You gonna let me stay the night, doll?" he asks after a moment, giving you a quick glance. He hasn't let go of your hand yet, and it seems he's entirely unaware that he's still holding it, too busy searching your face for an answer.

You look over at him for only a moment, the corners of your lips lifting into a smile at the sight of him; the light catches the blonde strands of his hair, turning them white, making him look almost angelic. But that's ridiculous—Dallas Winston is everything but angelic. One close look at him would reveal everything—all the little imperfections, the scars that marred his features and made you wince every time you saw them, the way his brow was almost always furrowed in frustration, his eyes sharp and cold, the way he was so often silent and angry, the way he could make even the most innocent action seem like anything but.

“We'll see..” You reply eventually, though you know you've already given him an answer, because you can't bring yourself to deny him anything, and he knows that all too well.

For a split second, you notice the way the corners of his lips turn up into a smile, crooked and lopsided, and you know that underneath all that toughness, there's a kid who just needs someone to care about him.

Dallas raises a brow at you, letting out an incredulous chuckle as he drops your hand, instead bringing his arm up to wind around your waist as he hauls you up and off of the wall.

“We'll see, huh?” he repeats, smirking as your arms wrap around his neck, clinging onto him as if he'd drop you at any given second. Your breath comes out in small gasps of laughter, and he leans down, bringing his lips to yours in a kiss that's both passionate and demanding. Dallas doesn't do sweet and soft; he never has, and he never will. But that's one thing you’d never change about him.

[the-nerdy-autist]

The Nazis and the KKK have endorsed Donald Trump. If you endorse Donald Trump you are a Nazi/KKK supporter directly or indirectly.

The people calling innocent LGBT people and drag queens child groomers support Donald Trump.

Not the same. Get the picture?

Get Dresdened.

I understand your concerns about the upcoming election and the potential for unrest, regardless of the outcome. It's a tense and polarized political climate, and many people are worried that the results will lead to widespread conflict and upheaval. As someone who generally tries not to let things bother you too much, this election has you feeling particularly uneasy. You recognize that there are passionate supporters on both sides - the "Kamala Harris crybabies" as well as the "Donald Trump MAGA rednecks" - who may resort to destructive behavior like rioting, burning, and looting if their preferred candidate doesn't win. The prospect of violence and chaos breaking out has you genuinely concerned for everyone's safety.

You've taken a fairly impartial stance, acknowledging that there is potential for unrest regardless of whether Trump or Harris prevails. It's a complex and divisive issue, and you don't want to take sides or assign blame to one particular group. Instead, your primary focus is on hoping that cooler heads will prevail and that the public can come together peacefully to accept the election results, no matter how they turn out. You just want to get through the night of the election results without any major incidents or harm coming to people. It's an understandable and admirable position to take, wanting to rise above the partisan bickering and simply hope for a calm and orderly transition of power. Ultimately, you're worried about the wellbeing of everyone involved, which speaks to your level-headed and compassionate nature.

[aihoshiino]

chapter 165 thoughts

Aqua Hoshigan Status: It's Officially Hoshinover

Chapters Until The Story Ends Without The 143 Kiss Being Addressed Or Acknowledged: 1

damn i guess they really did just kill his ass

I'm gonna be so real with you gamers, I kind of don't have a lot to say about this one either lol. Which I acknowledge sounds completely wild given the Everything that happens in it, but most of my meat and potatoes analysis in these reviews comes from breaking down characterization and we're flying through everything at such breakneck pace that we're barely getting any characterization.

It continues to drive me bugfuck insane that Ai is completely absent from this finale despite the importance of 15 Year Lie. Its imagery is plastered all over but whenever we return to it, we just see Aqua. Not only that, but Gotanda is the one who insists on pushing the movie through for Aqua. 15YL as a story about Ai's true self and her tragedy is now officially taking a backseat to being about Aqua's tragic death and legacy. It was already bad enough that we spent so much time in the Movie Arc not actually focusing on Ai to the extent that, as everyone pointed out, based on what we saw on-page it was basically a Sad Kamiki Movie, but this really is just pissing right in the wound at this point lmao.

The funeral scene also serves as the final nail in the coffin for any Secretly Alive Aqua copes, which is kind of a relief. I still don't like how Aqua's death played out, but I think dragging it out for four chapters then going "sorry you thought i was /srs when i was just /jk" would have been infinitely more insulting. I don't like this ending, but I can respect that Akasaka seems to be sticking to his guns on it, even if we still do have like a whole chapter left for him to whip around and go "I WAS /JK ALL ALONG!!!!" but I don't see it happening.

Anyway, yeah! The funeral! Uh. Is it gonna sound weird if I say I felt kind of like… grossed out reading this the first time? Like, I really don't know how else to explain the visceral "why the fuck is the author making me read this" reaction I had to it. I think it's just because Kana is so fucking distraught here and the drama is just so hammy and so over the top that it feels kind of… ech. I dunno. I just really didn't vibe.

It doesn't help that this is part of a much broader pattern in the back half of OnK of Aka getting us right up close into the gory details of a character's complete mental breakdown and suffering and then spend zero time or focus on their recovery. This happened with Ruby all over the Movie Arc and this many times and with this little runway to the end of the series, it just starts to feel exploitative, like a way to cheaply pull at our heartstrings without doing the work to build everyone back up after tearing them down.

also pre-emptively dreading all the fuel this is going to add to the fires of People Who Are Weird And Misogynistic About Kana but she could die saving innocent children from a burning building and people would find reasons to be shitty about her lmao

we really are not seeing ruby's reaction to finding out her brother was dead huh lol

I will say the one thing I didn't Actively Dislike about this chapter was Ruby, though. I was honestly starting to get pretty skeeved out with how many people were gleefully predicting or actively wishing for her immediate suicide purely for ship motivated reasons and I was also worrying that the story was going to pretend that Ruby doesn't like. Have a life and support system outside of Aqua. Yes, she should absolutely be affected by his death but this period of her shutting down only to drag herself back onto her feet that we seem to be getting feels way more in line with pre-Movie Arc flanderization Ruby and I'll take that W where I can get it.

god. I haven't even talked about Kamiki's supposed serial killer cult. I just don't have the strength. Like… that's self-evidently stupid, right? I don't need to explain to you why that's ridiculous and unbelievable? You don't need me to tell you why it's fucking crazy that we're getting this information about the alleged overarching antagonist of the series not only in the second-to-last chapter of the entire series but after he was already dead, right? We can just move on? Ok good. jesus christ.

FINAL CHAPTER NEXT WEEK…

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow part 47

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 44, part 45, part 46

The days pass by in a blur. Each day, the calendar marks a day closer to the fourth. Closer to the day that haunts him. The day that marks his mistake. His harmless curiosity that was so far from that, harmless. It was harmful. Where he dragged two people who didn’t need to know the secrets of Hawkins into his mess. And one person who jumps in front of danger like it can’t hurt him back into it again.

Dustin was fated to this life. When Will went missing, there was no question about it. He would always be involved in this. But Steve, Robin, Erica, they didn’t deserve to be dragged down with him.

There’s a letter on his desk from Susie, currently thriving at Camp Nowhere. Angry at him for breaking his promised return. Deciding to stay here instead of going back and spending time with her. He gave her the excuse he could, that something happened, and he couldn’t go. There was too much he needed to do here. People he couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t tell her why. She was far enough away that she never needed to know about this. Finally, Dustin could keep someone safe. Ignorant. Innocent. She didn’t have to know the darkest part of his life. He loved that for her.

It didn’t feel good, to keep a secret from her. But it was necessary.

The doorbell rings. Dustin stares at the ceiling for a few moments, hoping they’ll just go away. But the bell persists. Whoever is there pressing the button so fast, it doesn’t even stop ringing before getting cut off and starting over again.

Dustin groans. Standing and going to the door.

“Finally,” Max complains when she pushes herself through the door, Lucas following after her. “What took you so long?”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think anyone was coming over today.” The annoyance is clear in his tone.

Really, he didn’t want to do anything today. His bed was so comfortable when he woke up this morning, he barely wanted to leave it. Eyes fixed to the ceiling when they weren’t closed, feigning sleep. Body feeling weighed down. Impossible to move.

Max wheels herself into his living room, transferring to the couch. Clear that she isn’t leaving. Lucas looks at Dustin expectantly. Like he’s waiting for him to move.

Moving takes too much energy. All he wants to do is lie back down.

“We brought a movie,” Lucas finally says. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“I thought Max hated that movie.”

“I’m open to changing my opinion,” She calls out from the couch.

Lucas continues to look at him, with that worry sitting in his eyes. He’s trying to hide it, but fails. Dustin hates that look. He doesn’t deserve it. He can take care of himself, he has for this long. They didn’t need to do it for him.

His face must give away something he doesn’t realize, because Lucas nods and goes to put the movie in before Dustin can protest. Gesturing for him to sit on the couch next to Max. Refusing to start play, or God forbid sit down, before Dustin complies.

Like he’s waiting for Dustin to protest enough he’ll have to do something.

Dustin doesn’t give him a chance. Huffing out a breath before sitting on the middle of the couch. Only then does Lucas sit down next to him. Finding the remote on the coffee table and pressing play.

The opening credits roll, and Dustin forgets when the last time he’s watched this movie. It was one of his favorites since it came out. Replaying it so much he wore a hole into the VHS. It’s probably since then, he figures. Not having replaced it yet.

But the scenes play just as he remembers them. Like a comforting hug. Familiar warmth fills him, he didn’t realize how cold he was.

For some reason, he doesn’t know, tears start to form in his eyes. As the last scene of the movie ends, they start to roll down his cheeks.

He doesn’t hide it well; Max’s arms wrap around his shoulders in a hug. Her head leaning on his shoulder. Lucas mirrors her in his own way.

It hits him all at once why they’re here. With the movie he’s loved for years. Days away from one of the worst days of Dustin’s life. Of their lives. He hears Max sniffle. Hears Lucas’ breath hitch. They were all suffering from this in their own way, but they still showed up for him. They knew he needed this, even if he didn’t know that himself.

The sob breaks out of his chest without permission. Shaking his lungs. Their arms tightened around him.

“I’m sorry,” falls out of his mouth with a cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too,” Lucas whispers.

Max sniffles again. “Me too.”

They sit there until the air calms. A light weight lifting off of Dustin’s chest. Letting him breathe just a little easier now.

He clears his throat, getting rid of the residual sobs. “Why are you guys sorry?”

Lucas shifts, pulling away from their hug. “Last summer, when you came back from camp, we were all wrapped up in our own shit. We didn’t know what you found, what you were doing. If we had just stayed on that hill longer, you wouldn’t have been the only one who heard the message. We could have gone through it together.”

Dustin was glad that they left him on the hill that day, in hindsight. That way it was just the four of them in that bunker. Less people to lose. But he’s right. It was the first time Dustin went through something completely without them. The core group. It was just him, Steve, a girl he barely knew, and a child who didn’t need to be brought into this.

“You’ve been really quiet lately,” Max whispers, sitting back upright. “I’ve noticed you pulling away, but I didn’t do anything about it. I should have made sure you were ok. So you didn’t isolate like I did. I should have let you know that I was here for you, no matter what. That you could talk to me.”

He didn’t realize he was pulling away. Or being quiet. Now that she says it, he knows what she means. The conversations he missed while sitting in the middle of them. The want to just lie down and stay there. Nothing even playing in the background. Just silence.

“We’re worried about you, dude.” The concern in Lucas’ voice is ripe. “We wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Dustin’s not ok. Not right now. Physically, he’s fine. But mentally, he’s all over the place. Flashbacks come in waves, nightmares keeping him from sleep that’s worth anything. He’s more terrified now than he was the entirety of that week. No adrenaline to mask the fear this time.

“How much has Erica told you about the bunker?” he asks, voice hollow.

“All of it. What she knew, anyway. I can’t imagine what it was like to be there.”

“It was awful.” Dustin’s never said that out loud before. After it happened, they all wanted to get away from it as fast as they could. They barely talked about it. There were other things to focus on. “I don’t even know what really happened to Steve and Robin. They never told me, but I could guess.”

“We’re making plans to get together that night,” Max says. “So we can be together for the fireworks.”

“I think that would be a really good idea.”

I feel odd posting this today, and I debated waiting until tomorrow to post it. But, this chapter I'm writing is giving me a lot of comfort, in a weird way. Seeing the community these guys have support each other, it reminds me of my friends, and we do the same. It is almost therapeutic to know that I am not alone in so many way. How, even in the darkest of times, there are people out there that love me, and we can walk through this together. I hope this brings you some much needed comfort, as it did to me.

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

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[suburbia-and-brentwood-market]

Reasons why I am willing for GO finale to happen (minus NG ofc)

They kick him out and let this be his punishment. Take away this story from him and tell he doesn't deserve to have any form of ownership over this.

Cancelling this will only benefit him. He's already been paid for the older scripts (yes the ones they've scrapped out but nonetheless he's been paid). The only people that will suffer now are the rest of the team. From the director, and the main actors to the most insignificant extra and production runner and camera man, all these people were expecting some form of employment this time next year from this show and hoping to get their pay checks. Cancelling this now will leave them in a state of financial uncertainty. No one deserves that in this economy.

It's Terry's legacy. Call it what you want but you can't deny that he wanted to see this done. He wanted that ending but he couldn't write it bcs of his untimely death. What the makers need to do is get someone from his estate to finish the work (Rob Wilkins, Rihanna Pratchett, anyone)

It kind of strips him of power. Of that idea that it's him or nothing. And it kind of does that to all other men in the industry. Lets them know that they cannot keep up with their shit thinking that no one can touch them because they're "so in demand". Tell them that these stories can keep going on without them too and if they want to be a part of that thing then they need to be better human beings

further recommendations

They remove his name from the earlier series AND instead of "based on the book by NG and Terry Pratchett", it's now only Sir Terry Pratchett

He literally said he did nothing except for the vowels (I mean Sir Terry and his daughter have said that Terry wrote 90% of the thing so....) STOP GIVING HIM SO MUCH CREDIT! And in s2 most of the bits that the fandom loved the most were written by OTHER people.

The entire cast and crew involved in the making should come out and acknowledge that Neil was an awful person. I know they're innocent and they're probably feeling as betrayed as we are and don't deserve to be dragged through this dirt but they have a tiny responsibility there.

Use it as a platform to raise awareness for his victims. Make it known. Don't hide it or deny it. Instead use the show as a disclaimer for his actions. And set an example in the industry that such behaviour will not be tolerated.

[jayeltontoro]

To the people of the USA....

What were you thinking....

Which bit of fascism sold you on it.

Truthfully I think you've fucked yourselves... And because you are 'the worlds most powerful nation' I guess you'll be working hard in your vanity to drag down as many innocents as you can in your personal pain.

So the Empire morphs to its end state of 'The' Evil Empire - no caveats.

[gottalovetumbler]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 5

𝓓𝓪𝔂 6

ᵛᵃˡᵉʳⁱᵃ/ʳᵒᵈᵒˡᶠᵒ/ᵃˡᵉʲᵃⁿᵈʳᵒ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Info: Fem!Reader, lots of cussing, glass shards cutting skin

I know it’s later than usual but i still have 40 mins till midnight so it’s not late!

——— 🤬🗯️🥛———

Shortly after the tall man left, you locked up for a second time and made your way to the cafeteria. To avoid the crowds and noise you typically get dinner an hour after it’s first served but hunger forced your hand. So here you are, standing at one of the entrances into the large room, just staring.

Majority of the faces that greeted you were somewhat familiar. Many you only saw in passing save for a few select. Glancing around you catch sight of Chase just as he catches sight of you. His eyes widen in shock before he waves you over to join him in line. Muttering quiet apologies to the grumbling soldiers you pass, you join him.

‘I must be dreaming, somebody pinch me.’

‘Haha very funny. I’m just grabbing something quick and going to be early.’

‘Stressful day?’

‘You could say that.’ A loud bang silences the muttering and chatter. Looking to your right you just catch a glimpse of someone flying through the air and landing on some chairs. There’s yelling and frantic movements as people try to break the fight apart.

All attempts are futile as the fight continues turning into a brawl. Cutlery and trays start flying across the room, smacking into walls and some get close to hitting people. The yelling finally quiets as a man is scuffed by a very pissed off Ghost while two other people are dragged away by Captain Price and Soap.

Whoever those people are, they must be apart of the loan soldier because you’ve never seen them before. They continue to bicker as they’re pulled closer to the exit. The room begins to go back to normal and you turn to chase to see if he knows the unnamed delinquents.

‘Do you have any idea who the hell they are? Seems like they really hate-‘

‘WATCH OUT!!’ A voice bellows. You turn just in time to feel glass shatter as it comes in contact with your face. One of the fuckers in the fight must have shitty aim. You’re unable to think much else as you kiss the disgusting linoleum, falling faster than anyone could catch you.

——— 🏥💊🩺 ———

An annoying beep brings you back to consciousness. Your not stupid like the people in movies, you know what the beeping is. You know you’re in some sort of hospital hooked up to a monitor. You also know you’re in a paper thin gown as you shift your legs under the blanket. The only thing you don’t know, who the quiet murmuring belongs to.

The beeping stays at the same pace, not giving any hints that you’re awake as you crack open your eyes a sliver. They feel dryer than a desert even though they’ve sat closed for who knows how long. There’s 5 people in the room, three are talking in the corner, one is sitting right next to you, and one is standing at the door.

‘You cannae just attack her lik' that! Aye git that ye don’ lik' eachother 'n' ur "sworn" enemies but dae it where thare won’t be collateral damage.’

A familiar voice scolds in the group of three as he waves his hand in your direction. Not wanting to talk to the Scot you close your eyes and continue to feign sleep.

‘𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕨𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥. 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕥 ℝ𝕦𝕕𝕪 𝕤𝕠 𝕀 𝕙𝕚𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣.’

‘𝕀 𝕕𝕚𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥! 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕟 𝕤𝕒𝕝𝕥!’ The reply comes from the woman standing by the door, walking up to the trio like she wants another fight.

‘𝔹𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕥! 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕪 𝕥𝕠-‘

‘Can you lot shut up for a damn second! You’re suffocating the room in tension. Can’t even act cordial for 10 minutes while the innocent girl YOU knocked out lays on a hospital bed 5 feet away.’

That voice, that one you don’t mind. Gaz is the one sitting by your bed. At least there’s one person in this room you can understand perfectly, though the ones in the corner with Soap aren’t too hard either. Would definitely be easier if you didn’t have a splitting headache ache but they’re somewhat understandable.

‘ℙ𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕖, 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕂𝕪𝕝𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕡 𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕨. 𝕀𝕥’𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕪 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕪𝕖𝕥. 𝕀 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕥 𝕨𝕖’𝕝𝕝 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕓𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕗 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕒𝕨 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕦𝕪𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕥. 𝕎𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕒 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕥 𝕠𝕦𝕥.’

The beeping gets faster as you process his words. Eyes practically creaking as you open them fully. The only words you fully heard made your heart plummet. Two fucking days?!?!? How fucking hard did that cup hit you. Your attempt at sitting up are pushed down, like you, by a warm hand.

‘Talk’ it easy luv. You’re pretty banged up, gotta take it slow.’

Furrowing your brows cause a wave of fire across your face. Reaching up, many long and small ridges greet your finger tips. Cuts. Lots of little cuts mark your skin interrupted only in the middle by a large bandage. The damn glass not only seemingly broke your nose, but also sliced up your face.

‘Ah ah, don’t touch your face,’ he lightly takes your wrist and lays it back on your lap. ‘If you let them heal properly they won’t scar.’

‘Wha-,’ your voice cracks painfully, bringing tears to your eyes. One of the guys from the corner, clean shaven, hands you a small cup with water. Taking a gulp, your throat feels 100% better and you try again.

‘What happened? I *cough* know I got hit with something but that’s all.’

‘𝕄𝕪 𝕒𝕡𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕖𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕠, 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕞𝕖. 𝕀 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕪 𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕟 𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦.’ The woman with short hair answers, purposefully cutting off the bearded man who tried to answer first.

‘𝕐𝕖𝕤 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕠, 𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕒𝕡𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕠𝕠,’ He gestures between himself and the shaven man, ‘𝕀 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕟 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕤𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟’𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕕. 𝔼𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕒𝕕 ℝ𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕓𝕚𝕘 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕥.’

‘𝕀 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕂𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕕,’ He says to the bearded man before turning to you. ‘𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕝𝕠𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕠𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 ℕ𝕖𝕟𝕒. ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞.’

Processing what he’s said a persistent beeping finally breaks through your ears. The pace quickening to the point that Gaz quickly glances at it and turns to look you over. Not seeing any obvious signs of declining health he fixes you with a questioning stare that’s answered as you glance at the new faces. Confusion is replaced by amusement as the door is pushed open by two nurses, called by Soap.

The five retreat to the back corner of the room allowing the professionals room to work. Mortification at being caught out you avoid looking at the group and instead focus on the nurses questions. Only when she deems it a false alarm do you risk a glance and are met by two amused and three shocked faces. (Gaz & Valeria and then Soap, Rudy, and Ale)

The resume theirs spots after the medical personnel retreat, leaving just the six of you in silence.

‘𝕊𝕠….. 𝕎𝕙𝕠’𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕? 𝕀𝕥’𝕤 𝕞𝕖 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥?’ And so it begins.

——— 🤬🗯️🥛🏥💊🩺———

Hope y’all enjoyed!!

Key:

𝔸𝕝𝕖𝕛𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕣𝕠

𝕍𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕒

ℝ𝕠𝕕𝕠𝕝𝕗𝕠

[userarmand]

The wilderness that is our daughter. I think the medication has overwhelmed our boy.

[andi-o-geyser]

all my favourite characters are just me seeing them and going "damn you sure do clean up well but I'd much rather see you grinning with blood between your teeth"

[antianakin]

You are ABSOLUTELY not alone in that sentiment! At the very least you've got me, too! It definitely makes the most sense for the clones to look around as they are learning what it means to even BE a person and tend to lean towards the only person willing to speak to them and guide them and answer their questions (and there isn't a single Mandalorian who would ever do the same). I'm going to put the rest of this under a cut since it's getting long.

I've read plenty of posts about what attachment actually means in Star Wars (I've made a few myself, or at least addressed it in plenty of posts about the Jedi over the years), and I totally agree that the clones do also seem to hold similar values to the Jedi in terms of attachment, even if it comes from a very different (and arguably somewhat less healthy) place. It's not even really that they move on quickly, because part of the reason that seems to happen is more a matter of how the TV show is structured (TCW does not allow for anything to have any long-term impact on any of the characters, major events aren't discussed again once the episode/arc ends). For me, it's more seen in how clear-headed they seem to be about their situation, how aware they are of how much their situation sucks but they also recognize that if they DON'T fight, then they'll still suffer the consequences and helping protect innocent people is still the right thing to do. This is basically exactly what Rex tells Cut during that episode The Deserter. He also says something similar to Ahsoka in season 7 about how complicated the clones' relationship is to the war since they wouldn't exist without it, but none of them LIKE it, either. That recognition that they can't change the universe to suit them but that it doesn't mean they can't do ANYTHING is very Jedi-like to me.

I do think that the clones probably have a very different relationship with death than many other species simply because they'd have been raised to expect that they'd all die young and once the war starts, so many of them DO die that it would likely impact how they approach relationships. They don't seem to steer clear of relationships ENTIRELY (or at least, Cody and Rex don't seem to do so), despite how likely it is that those relationships might not last very long. It clearly does impact them when people they care about die, since Cody and Rex have that conversation in season 7's Bad Batch arc about all the people they've lost and how hard it is to be the one that survives in a war. It DOES impact them to see their own killed, it has a long-term effect on them as the war drags on, but Rex himself has said that his beliefs mean that he can't just walk away from the war, either. The only way his loved ones and his people stop dying is to do everything in his power to END the war. And that, again, is an extremely Jedi-like approach to this kind of situation and to the war itself. It's entirely possible that the Jedi helped them be able to reach this conclusion, that their guidance and openness about their OWN values and philosophies could've helped Rex learn what HIS values are. We do see Anakin helping guide Rex in an emotional moment during the same Bad Batch arc in season 7 of TCW, although I'd be willing to bet that Rex probably benefited more from Obi-Wan's guidance than Anakin's in the early days.

Obviously there is the fact that the clones seem to practice non-attachment in part because they've had no choice in entering this war and they'd likely go insane if they didn't learn how to let go to some degree, so the circumstances that led to the clones doing this isn't ideal, but that doesn't mean that the connection between their values and the Jedi's values isn't there and wouldn't help make that bond even deeper.

With the "found family/adopted family" thing for Mandos, my experience of it in the higher canon seems to indicate that it still follows VERY nuclear family guidelines (one Mando adopts their specific foundling and now they are considered parent and child, much like with Din Djarin and Grogu). This isn't really something the clones can emulate very well. There obviously are different generations of clones, but they aren't the ones choosing to produce more clones, and they likely aren't encouraged to create familial bonds with each other that way. We do also see older clones helping take care of younger ones sometimes (99 obviously has some sort of relationship with the Domino squad, there's a red-uniform clone leading a group of younglings to safety on Kamino once, and an older clone taking care of the group of younglings brought to see Mace and Anakin's ship), but even 99 tends to think of himself as a "brother" to the other clones, no matter how much older he might actually be. He is NOT their father nor do any of them really seem to see him as one.

And this, to me, might also be another way the clones and the JEDI can connect. The Jedi also don't really emulate nuclear family bonds. Jedi appear to be raised in groups when they're very young and are raised by several different adult Jedi. Then at some point when they reach teenagerhood, they presumably get chosen by a Master and become a Padawan. A lot of people see Master/Padawan relationships as very close to parent/child, but as we see with several of our canon Master/Padawan pairs, it's not always quite that clear. Anakin refers to Obi-Wan as "like a father" to him, but Obi-Wan calls Anakin his "brother" later. It's possible the relationship developed from one to the other over time, it's also possible that the two of them simply see their relationship differently. They're only 14 years apart, so it's not QUITE enough of an age difference to be obviously parent/child, but it's much larger than most sibling relationships. And also of course Anakin has already HAD a parent in his life that he still remembers as his parent (and he had the beginnings of a more parental relationship with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan was Qui-Gon's student, which muddies the waters even more). And there's Ahsoka and Anakin who are only 6 years apart or so and thus WAY too close in age to ever really be in a parent/child dynamic and they tend to be written with a more sibling-like relationship in mind (and I believe Ahsoka refers to him as her older brother to Trace in season 7). There's a comic where Obi-Wan is asked if Anakin is his son and Obi-Wan's response is "He's my Padawan," indicating that it is a DIFFERENT relationship to a typical parent/child relationship. It is something wholly unique.

And that's kind-of how I tend to see clone relationships with each other, too. They call each other brothers ("same heart, same blood" as Fives says), but it does seem to encompass something closer to "brothers in arms" than a more literal definition. But of course, they ARE clones and they DO share the same genetics for the most part, and that clearly does impact their relationships with each other, too. Their relationships with each other MIGHT have some familial aspects to them, but they also might end up feeling pretty distant since there are millions of them and they obviously don't all know everybody. Maybe some of them feel closer to other clones than anybody else, maybe some of them try to create more distance so as to better express their individuality. It's never going to fit into your basic nuclear family formulas. Maybe sometimes it gets close, maybe some of those labels can feel appropriate enough, but they'd also be something entirely and wholly unique to them, DIFFERENT from the way anyone else understands those same labels.

I like taking those "artificial" elements to the clones that could be viewed as similar to the Mandos and making them super unimportant to the clones. Specifically the armor, because the Mandos are basically defined by it. I love making headcanons that the clones barely care about their armor. They would never swap armor as a declaration of affection (romantic or otherwise). Their armor isn't SHIT, but it does get damaged and lost, so it seems a little silly to use it that way. They can't get attached to their armor any more than they can get attached to anything else. It's a practical thing to them, not a sentimental one. It also isn't something passed down through hundreds of years and multiple generations of their family the way it is for the Mandalorians. It was likely made new just a few years ago at most and they're likely the first one to ever use it and the chances that anyone would end up using THEIR armor after they died seem pretty minimal. The armor is also representative of the war they all feel such complicated things about and I like thinking that, in a happy fix-it AU, VERY VERY FEW OF THEM would keep it and plenty of them would actually destroy the armor as a symbol of their freedom.

And like with the language, there's never any indication they know it or care about speaking it, but we DO see a couple of them asking Obi-Wan about a TWI'LEK word once. We know they travel a lot and probably do have some level of interaction with locals sometime, so maybe instead of using Mando'a words, they start picking up fun words from other languages around the galaxy. Maybe they end up using a mishmash of different words from different languages and each battalion ends up with their own "dialect" almost depending on the words they learned from their various missions. They obviously are trained enough not to use them in formal situations, but it's something that comes out in their downtime maybe.

I love both the ideas about clone food, either that they have the worst creations known to man that only they could enjoy OR that they intentionally always make the blandest food possible because it's what they're used to and it's almost like comfort food to them.

One of my clone food headcanons was that the clones actually really lean towards FUSION food options. For the Jedi, we know that they obviously have a culture full of different species, but their food options might end up just full of different options of dishes from the cultures in the Order. It's not a FUSION of cultures so much as it is just a lot of variety. But the clones don't have access to all of the ingredients or equipment to manage that, so they have to make do what little they DO get. Much like with the language, I also like to think that they sometimes are able to pick up a few random food items from the places they visit and then try to figure out how to incorporate them into dishes with whatever else they've got. They're likely not trying to replicate an entire dish they've had (if they've even had the opportunity to try a whole dish), but just trying to figure out how to cook maybe one specific fruit they found or seeing if this thing that looks like a nut might make for a good garnish of sorts. And some of them could end up coming out really bad because they don't always know what they're doing, but they slowly start to learn and some of the food they create is actually REALLY GOOD, it's just... not from any one specific culture because they had to combine like flour from Ryloth and some fruit from Rodia and some of their own protein rations to try to create it. It's different, it's not BAD, but it could range from best thing you've ever eaten even though you couldn't explain what it tasted like if your life depended on it... all the way to just being a straight up acquired taste kind of dish.

And that's what clone cuisine ends up being known for because they refuse to be relegated to only one kind of food, they want to try EVERYTHING and see how it works but they have to make do with the ingredients and knowledge that they have. And in happy fix-it AUs, they would just continue to do that even after they DO have access to tons of ingredients and equipment and recipes. They COULD replicate specific dishes if they wanted, and maybe to do that sometimes too, but they also just love experimenting with different ingredients and flavors and seeing what happens.

I've decided that Rex is the one who paints Kanan's eye mask with his bird of prey design.

Kanan's feeling pretty low still just after Malachor, he's still distancing himself from everybody, and Rex decides to go try to talk to him at one point and the first thing he comes up with to say is to point out that his new mask is pretty plain. It's awkward, he regrets it immediately, but then Kanan says that it gets the job done and Rex is abruptly reminded of himself so so long ago back at the beginning of the war.

He sits Kanan down and tells him a story about how, at the beginning of the war, only a few of the clones had paint on their armor, to designate things like rank and battalion in order to make it easier for officers to find them in the middle of a busy battlefield. The paint was practical and it was limited to a very select few. But the Jedi almost immediately started trying to encourage the clones to utilize the paint less sparingly, suggesting that maybe everybody could wear at least a LITTLE paint and use more individualized designs so that it was still easy to tell the commanders and captains apart from the others when needed.

Some of the clones had taken to it with gusto, but others had been more hesitant, and Rex remembers having been one of them. He remembers telling Obi-Wan that there was no real REASON to paint everyone's armor and especially not to come up with personal designs. The armor was practical and it served its purpose with or without the paint and special designs. But the Jedi had insisted on at least TRYING to come up with his own design and if he didn't like it, he could always take it off, so Rex had given in and chosen something to paint on the armor. And, somehow, it felt a little lighter the next time he put it on. It didn't erase the horrors of war or the pain of loss or anything like that, but it helped.

He tells Kanan that the mask right now is just a reminder of the pain of the injury and whatever other feelings he's still got all caught up in the Malachor mission (guilt over what happened with Ezra, grief over Ahsoka's loss). But if he puts his own design on it, it might turn the mask into something other than a constant reminder of something bad. Instead, it's a reminder of who he is, the combination of the person he once was and who he's become. He is more than just his injury or this mission and he can use the mask to declare that if he wants to.

Kanan says he never realized Rex and the other clones had cared so deeply about their armor and Rex says that the armor itself was meaningless. It's better than what's being handed out to stormtroopers, but not but a LOT. It was the design on it that had meant something and, more than that, it was what the design REPRESENTED: having a choice about how you were perceived by others.

Kanan asks why Rex had chosen his particular designs, the bird of prey eyes on his helmet in particular. Rex explains that he chose it because he liked birds and thought it looked cool, but he's kept the helmet for as long as he has because it's come to mean something ELSE now. It's not just a cool-looking design, it's a reminder of a better time in his life. It's a reminder of when he'd been a part of something greater than himself, with the other clones and the Jedi. It's a reminder of a time when he'd had hope that he and his people could one day come out the other side of this war towards a brighter future.

Kanan looks at the mask he'd grabbed from storage somewhere or something just to keep light from hurting his eyes as they recovered and to cover up the injury from other people's stares (even if he couldn't see them staring), then hands it to Rex and asks if Rex minds sharing that symbol because he'd like a reminder of that, too. Rex remembers the 332nd and their helmets that they'd painted to look like their chosen Jedi, almost blindly giving away their individuality in favor of that loyalty that had been stripped from them anyway. And then he looks at Kanan, choosing to make himself look LIKE REX, someone who had shared his face with millions once, because he wants to honor both the connections he'd lost as well as this new connection the two of them have built together now. And Rex says he'd be happy to share.

[messiahzzz]

i’ve seen many people interpret gale’s outrage at nettie poisoning the player as concern for them. that it’s super sweet how much he cares and how protective he is over tav after they had just met. while he (naturally) does care about his companions, it should be pretty obvious that he is mostly projecting here. he states so himself:

player: are you all right, gale?

gale: yes. yes, i am. it's just that, had it been me... had it been...

gale is terrified of what would’ve happened if he had met the same fate. if all of his precautions had been rendered irrelevant merely due to the self-righteousness of some healer, acting as a judge over another’s life without being aware of the consequences. the destruction nettie would’ve unleashed, how many innocents she would’ve doomed to death, merely because she believed she was doing the right thing.

gale is furious at nettie’s ignorance.

gale: how dare she snuff out life with as much thought as snuffing out a bloody candle?

player: she thought she was doing the right thing.

gale: right? she had no right!

player: it was one hell of a surprise, but nettie came around!

gale: yes - against her will, without rhyme or reason!

gale: it's not right to feel the cold breath of death in your neck, then move on as if it was nothing but a soothing breeze.

gale: one respects life by fighting for it, and one respects death by fearing it.

once the orb becomes too unstable (if tav refuses to help gale with his condition and elminster doesn't stabilize the orb) he will state that he can’t stay any longer with good conscience. he will then leave the party immediately, search for a secluded place and wait for death to take him.

gale: i'm afraid this is where we part ways - my condition's deteriorated beyond even my capacity to salvage.

gale: it would be selfish of me to stay, when in doing so i'd be putting you, and everyone else within spitting distance in catastrophic peril.

[nodecontext: saddened - he's about to wander off into the wilderness to die, essentially]

[shannonsketches]

He said "Fuck this shit, I'm out" I'm crying. Toriyama's Vegeta was so top shelf 🤌

(From Neko Majin Z Chapter 5!)

[hearts401]

Nothing in a superhero story hits me quite as hard as a superhero seeing their sidekick/computer guy get hurt

[finisnihil]

I should check on HoyoLab to see if there's anything about the new update

*Opens HoyoLab to immediately see somebody getting flamed for disliking Jade, seeing rampant Ruan Mei hate, and seeing people call Sunday a facist*

Actually I think I need a drink.