marty  sighs  heavily  at  the  last  remaining  cigarette  in  the  pack,  the  box  has  been  crumpled  within  an  inch  of  its  non-existent  life  and  she's  pretty  sure  the  cigarette  itself  has  been  pancaked.  but  she's  a  walking  corpse  with  an  ancient  being  between  her  ribs  whispering  about  eating  the  living  so...  fuck  it,  the  flat  smoke  will  do.

she's  only  halfway  to  lighting  it  when  dark  hues  fall  on  the  other.  there's  not  an  ounce  of  fear  in  marty,  she  has  already  died  once,  what  else  could  this  masked  moron  do  ?  maybe  they'll  make  her  cringe  so  hard  the  horror  in  her  will  wanna  escape  too...  ugh  fuck,  it's  never  that  simple.  ❝  who  am  i  ?  oh  yeah  lemme  just  get  my  i.d.  out  for  the  weirdo  in  the  shadows.  want  my  social  security  next  ?  my  address  ?  get  the  fuck  away  from  me. i'm not in the mood for creepy alley comic con.  ❞

Marty is lucky Jake isn't fronting or he'd be trying to bum her for a smoke right now. Smoking is a hard habit to quit, and even without Jake fronting he can feel an itch in his lips at the mere thought of getting a puff or two. Thanks to Khonshu's influence he won't get lung cancer, a bonus that is making the habit even harder to quit.

a slight pause. he allows a moment of grace between them; not exactly brothers, but an omitted in - between. he falters amid truth and sarcasm, wanting to be honest yet playful. he has a twinge of shame, knowing better than to allow someone else's fists grace his face with ease. there's a crease between his brows, boyish features and freckles across his nose contort as lips turn upward. he can feel every nerve ignite in moderate pain. it's nothing he can't handle. ❛❛        ha - ha. these black eyes don't make me look any cooler, dee .ᐣ      ❜❜ there's a gentle punch to his shoulder. he makes it awkward.   ❛❛        it's nothin'. just haven't slept. been a long night.       ❜❜

"Yah, secret's out. Doubt anyone else wants t'hear wut I gots ta say."

Was that even true anymore? Perhaps her opinion of him differed from the others due to her absence. He was somewhat thankful for that, having someone other than Storm that he didn't need to walk on eggshells around. Word got around quickly, he was sure at this point at least someone had told her what happened in Antarctica, if she hadn't already read minds. Warren especially was probably giving off thoughts she could hear for miles, who wanted to share a space with the man who cost him his wings? Any of them for that matter, knowing he was a danger to their own kind?

Nero nodded. Sarcasm was like learning how to lasso wild steers and unbusted broncos. Did he watch a spaghetti western the other night? Maybe that was why he imagined that comparison. In any case, he understood it was difficult.

At the mention of feces, Caden visibly winces. Now that is an unpleasant image he does not want in his brain.

"It takes a nerd," Thera corrects mildly, "to appreciate a nerd." There's some qualifiers on that; she appreciates a nerd who genuinely enjoys the subject rather than just showing off knowledge, and it helps to share interests. But then, learning something new can be just as good. Sadly she doesn't think cooking is going to be one of those things!

"Cheers to appreciating nerds then," Steven replies with a soft chuckle, raising a piece of toast and pretending to well, do a toast with it. His bemused chuckle only lingers as she confides in him that her cooking skills are more similar to Marc than his.

@ma1nmenu.

Jason leaned heavily against the edge of the sink, a sheen of cold sweat clinging to his forehead. He pressed a fresh wad of gauze to the jagged hole in his shoulder, his jaw locked tight enough to crack a molar. On the metal tray beside him sat the undeniable evidence of his impromptu surgery: a deformed 9mm slug resting in a pool of iodine, bloody forceps, and a mounting pile of crimson-soaked bandages.

He shot his older brother a venomous glare from under heavy, exhausted brows. When he finally spoke, his voice was a raspy gravel, but the hostility in it was razor-sharp.

Bag of still steaming takeout is set on the nearest counter ad Dick invites himself into Jason's home. He doesn't drop by unnanounced often. He likes to give Jason his space. However, Jason has been especially quiet recently... Dick just missed his brother, okay?

"I'm not a tattle tale, Jay," Dick replies with an offended snort. Arms come to cross in front of his chest as he watches Jason slowly and painfully stitch himself up. He and Jason have had plenty of practice by now tending to themselves. It doesn't make it any less painful to watch, though. His older brother instincts scream at him to intervene but once again he wants to respect Jason's boundaries.

[Nighttime Meme from @ma1nmenu for Rex.]

[ SNEAK ] - our muses are caught sneaking in or out somewhere. ------------

Ohh, and today on 'I really don't like this ...'

Thera takes a deep breath, murmurs a cuss word.The plan had been solid, the preparation top-notch; guard positions, the timing of patrols, the moment when the concierge took his regular sniff-break for whatever illicit powder he was addicted to. The moment when she and Rex could sashay into the building arm in arm, pretending to be just another couple of guests.

Except for one thing.

She can't tell yet if it's because the concierge has had too many breaks and his boss has come to catch him, pure coincidence, or - an even less happy option - someone has ratted them out. But there's a tall Twi'lek male standing on the staff-only stairs, watching them as they walk by. Frowning. Thera sighs, is careful not to give more than a brief glance as she shifts a fraction closer to Rex.

It's easier said than done to sneak about when you're a clone. Although you can theoretically blend in with a crowd if you cover up tattoos and anything that makes you look more like an individual, sometimes it isn't your name that's the problem. Sometimes its the fact you're a clone and work for the Republic that is the real problem.

Needing to not look like a clone comes with its own fair share of problems. After all, there's only so much he can do about his repetitive and familiar face. He's got a fake beard on and color contacts in. He's got more casual clothes on and with Thera walking alongside him they look more like a couple on a walk than spies.

Now it's  her  turn to puff out an amused little bit of air. She gives a slow roll of her eyes   ( not entirely by choice;  she's a little sluggish thanks to the lack of sleep )   before turning his way again, arms folded up over her chest.

       ❝ Aw, you're  so very welcome,  Patch. ❞   As he starts with the coffee, Emily's gracious enough to help out. Not like he needed it. It really just gave her something to do other than just standing around. Guess neither of them were ever good at being still. A perk of her brows and she lets out a less amused puff of air.   ❝ Makes no fuckin' sense to be an arm 'n a leg, either.   - Especially when everyone else's tastes like shit. ❞

Not her brew, though, thank fuck. Emily doesn't know how much more she'd be able to keep together if she had to deal with shit coffee on top of everything else. At the least it meant good coffee for him, too. Coffee that's poured and steaming for them both now. Emily gently relinquishes the pot from Patchwork Jack, walking it back to the flame top to keep warm.

       ❝ Feel like helpin' me with the hens while you're here? ❞   Something else to talk about, no pressure or expectancy in her words.   ❝ I'll make you some eggs even if you don't.   - If you want, anyway. ❞

The roll of her eyes only makes his lopsided grin grow wider. "Aww c'mon you know you'd be bored without little old me." Cups are gently placed upon wooden table, and the pot is carefully passed to Emily. The last thing he needs to do is spill hot coffee on the floor or worse yet, himself.

“yup!” dazzler confirms with a grin as she takes a seat next to jean, making herself at home already. “i don’t doubt you may have picked up several languages all these years from all those missions and whatnot, but an emoji? from the jean grey? unprompted?” she laughs, warm and incredulous. “i knew somethin’ was afoot — and you caught me at a surprisingly good time, actually; tour ended just an hour shy of those whimsical texts you sent me.”

"Is whimsical what we are calling nonsensical and embarassing now?" Jean muses with a soft laugh. She's not actually that embarassed. The most frustrating thing about it is that she didn't catch herself pocket-texting her friend sooner. Jean doesn't hate emojis, in fact she'll use one or two on occasion, but only in their proper contexts. And never in a long row of them. "Really? That soon? I'm flattered that one of your first tasks for the day was to come visit me."

[Nighttime Fire Meme (I think?) from @ma1nmenu for Anakin.]

🔥🌃 ------------

Rising flames cast flickers of light and shadow over the storefronts surrounding the city square - yellow, orange, and occasionally blue when a gas module popped between rapidly charring joints. Residents of the newly liberated town gathered all around, celebrating or just watching with grim satisfaction, and in one corner teams delightedly dismantled the remains of fallen battle droids and threw the pieces into the fire.

With help - two 501st corporals went by, carrying the lower half of a Command Droid and tossing it in with a cheer.

Anakin's gaze drifts from her face to the rowdy group of men before them. Another hard fought battle has resulted in a victory and a brief moment of respite. And with their most recent success not paired with any deaths or injuries the men are in high spirits.

prism and flambae, iconic duo, platonic t4t i speak my truth ✋️🤚