#how do you come to terms with something being dead and alive at the same time. how do you make up the mind to drive the nail in the casket.

[ame-to-ame]

:|

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

His Name | Soulmate!AU

~1.1k words

Jason Todd. That's the name that etched itself on your thigh the night of your sixteen birthday. Which is great, you have a soulmate. The issue is that you know– knew a Jason Todd. He happens to be six feet under the dirt in a graveyard you visit every Saturday. Which is not so great.

Being soul bound to a dead person gets you a lot of pitying glances from the people you know. You tell them there's more than one Jason Todd in the world. It makes your family shake their heads. You try not to dwell on the heartbreak on their faces when you tell them that, when they think you can't see it. They saw you and Jason together when he was alive. There won't be another Jason Todd in your life.

It's something you've slowly come to terms with, when no other Jason Todd finds their way to you, the idea of never seeing your name permanently marked on someone else's skin. The fact that you might never really have the person that's supposed to be yours.

That's why you might have reacted kind of poorly when Red Hood brings you up to a quiet rooftop, tugging off his leather jacket in front of you, dragging the material of his suit up and over his forearm to reveal your name on his skin.

You weren't even doing anything dangerous to get here, just at the wrong store at the wrong time, while some third-rate rouge went on and on about conquering the city. Standard Gotham experience.

What wasn't normal was Red Hood crashing through a window, brutal and efficient with every movement until each person with a gun was knocked out and beaten on the floor. Sure, you were aware he wasn't exactly a crime lord anymore, labeled a 'turned vigilante' by the press, but press also said he doesn't tend to leave crime alley. And you definitely weren't in crime alley. None of news stories of him saving people exactly calms the adrenaline coursing through you when he picks you up like it was the easiest thing in the world for him, hoisting you like you're made of glass over his shoulder and grappling you both to a nearby roof. You're alone before you even have time to process it.

You stumble back when he gently, so gently it makes your heart stutter, sets you on the ground. "Who do you think you are? You can't just grab people–" your biting words cut off as you register the black lettering across his skin. Your name. Your name is there. On Red Hoods arm.

You reach out to touch it before you can stop yourself, fingers trailing down his forearm and over each letter of your name. He lets you, not speaking words, only sighing in what sounds like relief. You force your gaze from the mark you could stare at forever to meet the glowing eyes of his mask. "You're- Jason Todd?"

He nods, every nerve of his body completely locked on you. It doesn't clear anything up. He can't be Jason Todd, at least, not the one you buried.

You make a face and step back, crossing your arms, "Yeah right."

He seems to blank, arm still held out, showing your name permanently engraved on his skin. "Yeah, right?" He echos, deep and robotic through the modulator of his mask.

You set your jaw and nod.

He tilts his head, lifting his arm higher to make you see the mark. To see your name. "Do you think I faked it?"

That makes you falter. Why would he? There's nothing to gain by pretending to be your soulmate. "Well, no. But you still could have the wrong person."

He exhales a laugh, breathes out your name with more fondess than you've ever heard. "Always so stubborn."

Your frown. Sure, maybe you could be stubborn but he doesn't know that.

He says your name again, reaching up to tug his hood back, reaching for his mask.

It makes you freeze, eyes going wide in shock when you make out his face. Jason. Your Jason. "How–" You start, but can't quite manage to finish, eyes darting over the face that's so familiar, only older, more tired, more scarred. But his eyes are still the same. Intent and focused and bright when everything around him is dark.

"It's a long story." He says softly, before starting to ramble, nervous to upset you, to lose any chance of knowing you again. Any unease you felt around Red Hood fades as you recognize the boy you grew up with in him. "Maybe I could tell you? Over coffee? I have safe house nearby. But, only if you're comfortable. Or we could meet during the day, if thats better?"

His voice sounds more familiar without mask, and you study him, almost accusing. "You didn't have to kidnap me to tell me you're alive. Or that you're my soulmate, you know."

He stumbles over your words, taking half a step closer to you. "I didn't! I mean, I wasn't trying to. I swear– I just couldn't take all of this off down there." He gestures to the mask, a little frantic to gain your approval.

It brings a small smile to your face, and he stops still at the sight of it, breath catching in his throat as you speak, "I'm glad you're here, Jason."

"I'm glad you're safe." He exhales out, eyes softening and tension draining from his muscles in relief.

You can't quite fight the urge to reach out for him, so you do, taking his hand and gently flipping it over so you can read your name again. You have questions, absolutely. Gripes. Proably a lecture that he should have come seen you sooner. But you settle on how right this feels in your bones, how your soul feels like its missing piece slotted into place. "Do you have creamer?"

"Creamer?" He asks, voice airy and memorized by the feel of your skin against his hand.

"For the coffee?" You prompt, smiling a little wider at his dazed expression, his eyes following your hand, like he can't believe you haven't run screaming for the hills.

"Yeah. Course. Anything you want." And when he focuses back in your face, you know in the very essence of what you are that he means it.

"Coffees a good start." You say, a little fond as you pull away your hand away, and he reluctantly lets your fingers slide from his.

"Coffee it is." And it is a good start. To know your other half again, to follow the warm, soothing feeling in your soul when you touch him, you'll try as many starts as it takes.

[animeshotsh]

In every universe? | JayVik x Kid!Reader

Notes: ANGST - Timeline is messy as hell but i dont care - Fake with me that Jayce and Viktor finds Kid!reader earlier in terms on time - ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE - Character death - Grammar mistakes - S2 SPOILERS -

Alternative universe of this series

"But why do you have to stay mom?" A young voice asked Jayce who was mumbling while writing.

"Mom's has to work" Viktor softly said petting the youngest hair seeing as Jayce was too focus on the equations to even respond back.

"But, the lab at the Academy is bigger" You said again trying to understand why your dear parents have been working at home more and more.

"This is a sectet project Spark" Jayce responded turning to look at you, a soft tired smile on his face "And you must not tell anyone about it"

"Not even Heimerdinger ?"

"Specially not him" Jayce nodded to himself then to you and Viktor "I will pick you up from school and we can get some ice cream, deal?"

"Yes!!" You responded way too happy

"Alright, we must go if we dont want to be late, I have lectures to give" Viktor reminded both of you, passing you your bag and giving Jayce a kiss, "See you later"

"See you two later"

"Bye mom!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The old beautiful house and lab was now a memory, a horrible explosion replaced it.

Two bodies were found, one from a girl from the old undercity and the other one was Jayce's body.

From that event the division between the cities started to shatter and a new one was born. The place was left untouched, like a memorial of the event that caused the union.

But that for Viktor and you was never enogught.

That day you stayed back at school, Jayce had no showed up so no one could get you. It was almost night time when Skyler did appear with a sour look, you were confused but went with her.

You ended more confused when she took you back to the Academy, a tired Heimerdinger went to you rubbing circles on your back.

Then you saw your dad, Viktor was sitting in front of a cold tea, his hands covering his face. When he hear the footsteps he looked up to see you.

His look, his golden eyes were reddish now, it was all you needed to understand that something terrible had happened.

He got you in a warm and almost possesive embrace, more cries could be hear from him as he hugged you and said multiple times how sorry he was.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Its that day again, right?" Powder asked you giving you a drink as you nodded

"Yeah...Dad is, well he is still working and going but this day just makes it all more difficult"

Powder nodded knowing it was the same for her and the rest.

"You know, it never leaves" She started, repeating what Vander had said all these years back "You just learn to live with it"

~~~~~~~~~

The visit to Jayce's gravestone never got easier, Viktor swear he path got longer each time and his leg pulled him back more and more.

"Dad?"

Your voice broke his toughts, obscure ideas once more, what if in another universe the three of you got to live? See the city change together? Make it a better place?

He knew he was playing with dangerous forces but....but he was sure he was close, close to open a gate to a different place, one where Jayce was still alive and with him, and you were with them, growing and being brillant.

"Im coming Spark" Viktor softly called, the vision of Jayce's gravestone was a reminder that no, not in this universe.

In this universe Jayce Talis was dead, and he was going crazy without him.

[life-is-more-than-just-a-game]

♠️ "Scars don't make you a monster." ♠️

A/N: So, someone gave me this request via direct message and what should I say? I really do like this idea and I'm pretty happy about the fact that I can wrote about it! 🫶🏻

Characters: Niragi

POV: fem!reader ; Fluff

Warnings: Not given.

It's in the middle of the night. I have never been the person who has problems sleeping through the night. Even the biggest noises couldn't stop me from slumbering soundly. In summer, I can leave the windows open and listen to the buzzing and singing of the insects without a care in the world until I drift off into dreamland. Wind and weather don't stop me either. You could say that my body is able to adapt to all the conditions of my environment. So ... even now, when I realize in my sleep that something - more someone - is missing next to me.

I've noticed it all along. Even when I met Niragi again, I had the feeling that he had changed. Not in terms of his appearance- at least that was never the deciding factor for me. Admittedly, when I saw him again for the first time after the witch hunt, I was ... shocked. Because of several aspects. His scars - his burnt skin - was one thing, but seeing him again when I once thought he ... would no longer be with us, that was the crux of my reaction. That I drew in a startled breath. That I looked at him in shock and, of course, in tears, which I had swallowed at that moment. I was ... simply happy. To see that he was still alive.

Anyway, this is the first time I've had to open my eyes in the middle of the night because my body couldn't adapt to my surroundings during sleep. As soon as I went to bed, I had a feeling that something was wrong with Niragi. And it looks like I'm about to find out whether my gut feeling was right or not. Deep down, I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from him. I want him to tell me what's going on in his head right now. How he feels. What is bothering him. If something is bothering him.

Looking thoughtfully at my partner's side of the bed, I gradually start to move, hoping it won't take me long to find him. So, sighing and wearily brushing my hair out of my face, I get up and put one foot in front of the other to look for Niragi, who apparently hasn't even bothered to really hide.

"Niragi, what's wrong?" I rub one of my eyes sleepily and look just as sleepily at the boy standing on the balcony of the building where we've set up camp today. "Come back to bed, it's still pitch dark."

"I can sleep when I'm dead." It's not that I wouldn't expect him to say something like that- but what worries me is the way he says it.

Instead of saying anything, however, I just stand still for a moment and stare over at him. He doesn't even dare to turn towards me when we talk. I don't know him like this at all.

"I'm worried about you," you say in a calm tone as you walk towards him, aiming to stand next to him so you can look over the rooftops of the city with him. "Somehow I don't recognize you anymore," you continue, "where's the Niragi I met at the beach? The one with the big mouth and the high self-confidence, with the will of a leader?" Silence.

A moment later, all I hear is a hysterical giggle, which was obviously not the result of amusement or mirth. No, it sounded ... forced ... and hurt at the same time.

"He's been burned." Such a simple answer, but one with such great significance. "You should really go back to bed now."

"I'm not going anywhere." Determined, I now walk the last few meters towards him, after which I stand next to him. "Not without you." Unlike what I had planned, however, I don't stand so that I can see the loss, dark surroundings, but so that I am facing Niragi directly. "I knew something was wrong with you. I could tell by looking at you. Even yesterday, when you wished me a good night, your eyes betrayed you- so please don't pretend you don't care." Pause. "You are a human being. Not a robot."

"I'm a monster, Y/N!", he yelled at me and I jumped back a little because he turned around so suddenly and unexpectedly to finally look me in the face. "I can't even understand how you could even look at me on the street without throwing up right at my feet!" But just as quickly as he hit the ceiling, he quickly calmed down again.

I am sad. Is that really what he thinks? Does he really see himself as he has just described? As a monster? Oh, I'd love to ask what makes him think that, but I won't. I know the reason. His burns. The scars Chishiya left on him are the reason he speaks so poorly of himself. And it hurts. It hurts to know that a person in whom you see everything wonderful and whom you love for who he is, thinks of himself like that.

"Oh, darlin', that's not true ..." I realize how pitiful I'm looking at him right now, the softer his features become and the more he shows his mental pain to the outside world. "Please, don't say that ... Scars don't make you a monster."

"Just tell me how you can look at me like that without being afraid of me. How you ... how you can hold me in your arms without being disgusted by my skin. Without worrying about hurting me or feeling the need to puke your soul o-" I don't want to hear about that.

I understood the question. He wants answers? He'll get them. My way. The way in which I don't let him speak, but simply put one of my arms loosely around his neck to pull him into a loving kiss that for just a moment - a brief moment - is supposed to make the world stop for him.

Something that seems to work well. At least he abruptly matches my rhythm and wraps his arms around my waist to press me closer to him. To be able to feel me even better. To feel that he is not alone. Will not be alone. And to feel that there is someone who can be there for him and wants to be there.

I ... have to admit that no kiss with him was as beautiful as this one. Niragi is a rough person. He gets what he wants, his kisses were molded to his personality. Ungentle. Lots of tongue and especially biting. All the more reason for me to enjoy the kiss we're sharing right now, because who knows if I will ever experience this again.

Nevertheless, you should stop where it gets most beautiful. Although the really nice part - for him - is probably only now. One answer. An answer that will answer all his questions in one fell swoop.

"I love you," I breathe to him, tilting my head a little to the side as I look up at him and into his eyes. "That's why I can do all this, Niragi, it ... It's not as complicated and complex as you might have thought." I gave him a little smile and I can see it in his face- he's smiling a little, too. "And now come back to bed. You need to rest a bit and give your injuries a treatment. And by the way ... I'm tired and want to go back to sleep." Laughter, which only comes from me, but that's okay- his smile is enough for me. "Plus, I'm in desperate need of a good cuddle from you right now." Now, I can hear him chuckle a little and damn, it's the most beautiful I could ever hear coming out from him.

After another peck on the lips from him, I take him by the hand and walk him back into the building, where a place to sleep is waiting for us. In passing, I hear him say "I don't deserve you ...", which was probably only meant for him. But ...

"If everyone only got what they deserved, they couldn't possibly be happy in their lives, don't you think?"

A/N: Damn, I enjoyed writing this so much. Thanks for you request, stygianoir! Hope you enjoyed reading it as well. 🙈♥️

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

The Double-edged Blade of Chance

Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade. 

Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight.

“Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

"Why would I be a ghost?”

  

@deadonmayn Day 5: Soulmates | Pretend | Jason and Danny were childhood friends | "I never thought I'd see you again."

TW: Major Character Death, Child Neglect, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Depression

AO3 link

   Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, though. Maybe it was small, but it was a chance. For those born with black ink scrawled across their wrists, it was a hope. A perfect match who could understand you on every level straight down to your atoms was waiting, and maybe you would meet them today! Or tomorrow. Or a year from now. Or… never.

   Sometimes, life is cruel. Sometimes, black letters burn and scar. Sometimes, your soulmate dies before you can ever meet them. Words on your wrist were a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade. 

   On average, most people didn't meet their soulmates until their twenties or thirties. Jason Todd was not most people.

   Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight. Lungs burning and legs shaking with adrenaline, he sprints with his singular pilfered apple. He's not being chased, but it's better to create distance between him and the scene of his crime. If the past six months as a street kid has taught him anything, it's that caution is a virtue. Caution keeps you alive. 

   He falls back into muscle memory, allowing his feet to carry him through familiar shortcuts. Jason rounds another corner into a dirty back alley only to ram into something face first. There's a startled yelp and before he knows it Jason is horizontal. The only thing separating him from the ground is a scrawny torso. Jason's about to throw himself away from the poor schmuck when there's a burst of pain in his back. He rolls and lands on the asphalt with a pained groan.

  The other kid scrambles away from him with panicked, pale blue eyes. He looks the same age as Jason, skinny like a twig with a loose-fitting NASA shirt and unruly black hair. If Jason had seen him walking down the street, he would never have guessed he knew how to throw a punch. 

   The kid scans him up and down, suddenly embarrassed, “Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

   Jason is so busy nursing his kidney that he doesn't register the significance of the words. Instead, he snaps back with incredulity, “Why would I be a ghost?”

   The kid stares at Jason with wide eyes. His mouth opens and closes, gaping like a fish out of water. Whatever. Let him have his crisis, it's not Jason's problem. He dusts off his apple and stands to leave.

   "Wait!" 

   Jason yanks his sleeve back out of the other kid's grip, "Don't touch me!"

   "Sorry…" he shrinks back and the expression on his face is so heartbroken that Jason almost feels bad, "Please don't go!"

   Jason ignores him. He has things to do and places to be. Winter will be coming soon, and his abandoned apartment has very little in terms of blankets or jackets. A cold street kid is a dead street kid. 

   “Just-” the kid cuts in front of him. Jason stops short. Twig kid rolls up his sleeve, holding his wrist so close to Jason’s face that he couldn’t look away if he tried, “Look!”

   Jason freezes. His eyes scan over the words once, twice, and then a third time. 

   Why would I be a ghost?

   Jason can feel the scowl evaporate from his face, replaced by a softness he doesn’t know what to do with. Gently, ever so gently, he brushes over the words with his thumb. He doesn’t need to look at his own wrist to verify. Now that his head isn’t so far up his ass, the words the other boy uttered finally click and he knows that this is his soulmate.

   “My name is Danny!”

    Jason lifts his eyes to meet his soulmate’s. Danny’s grin is brighter than the sun itself. Something unfurls when he sees that smile. His lips tick upwards.

   “I’m Jason.”

   And so begins a beautiful friendship.

   Danny’s parents were… interesting to say the least. Jason had never met them himself, but he sure heard about them a lot. The two were self-proclaimed ghost hunters, and Mrs. Fenton was a trained martial artist. They had taught Danny from a young age to defend himself and instilled a fear of ghosts while they were at it, hence Jason being floored with a kidney punch.

   Other than that, the Fentons were hands-off. They didn’t pay much attention to Danny or his older sister, Jazz, so the two were mostly left to their own devices. Jazz couldn’t entertain Danny all the time, so he had taken to slipping out of the apartment to explore. 

   Jason may have been young, but even so, he had an inkling that the Fenton parents could have been doing a better job… well… parenting. Then again, it wasn't as if Jason had room to talk. Willis’ form of parenting had been more fists than words, painting out the rules of the house with black and blue bruises. Catherine had been good to Jason, even living under the smog of Willis Todd’s anger. She had taught Jason to cook (recipes he still knew by heart) and would read to him late into the night, fingers skimming old pages (Jason still carried the old, battered copy of The Little Prince with him, one of the few belongings he grabbed before fleeing CPS). Even under the drug-induced haze, his mom had tried her best. When she became too ill to do much of anything, Jason paid it forward as best he could. 

   There were some benefits to all of this. With the Fentons paying so little attention to anything outside of work, Danny could sneak supplies to Jason no problem! Suddenly issues like food or clean water were no longer as pressing, and Jason had a lot more free time. Naturally, he spent it with Danny. Jason taught Danny how to slip in and out of Gotham’s shadows unnoticed, and Danny taught Jason all of the things he learned in school. Danny would tell Jason stories written in the stars such as Orpheus’ lyre and Orion the hunter. In return, Jason would read his battered copy of The Little Prince to him under the trees in the park.

   Like all good things, it had to come to an end. 

   It happens a little over a year after their fateful meeting. Danny arrives at their spot dragging his feet, eyes watery. Jason abandons his book on the grass beside him in favor of rushing to meet his soulmate, who all but collapses sniffling into his arms. They sit in the shade of their tree, Jason running his hands through Danny’s hair as he cries into his dirty shirt.

   “What happened?” Jason asks once the other boy has calmed some.

   “We’re moving.”

   “What?”

   “Mom and Dad want to move someplace in Illinois. Something about ectoplasm readings. They said we’re moving out by the end of the month!”

    It feels like the ground drops from underneath Jason, nothing but a yawning chasm beneath his feet. Moving? To Illinois?

   The tears return to Danny’s eyes with a vengeance, “I don’t want to move! I don’t want to leave you!”

   Jason sets his jaw, tugging Danny back into a hug. He swallows the lump in his throat with false bravado. “It’ll be okay, Danny. You wanna know why?”

  Danny makes an inquisitive noise, wiping his face on his shirt as Jason pulls away. 

   Jason reaches for Danny’s hand, turning his palm up to the sky. He stretches his arm out next to Danny's, their soul marks brushing next to each other. 

  “We’re soulmates, Danny. The universe decided that we are two halves of a whole. Fate decreed that we are meant to be together,” Jason poured the conviction into his words, “We’re soulmates, and soulmates are magic. Even if you leave for weeks, months, or years, I know we will find each other again. We’ll be together someday.”

   Danny gawked at him, wide eyes a pantomime of when they first met. He stared at Jason, and then- 

   “You read too many books, Jason.”

   Jason rolled his eyes good-naturedly, shoving Danny into the grass. Danny giggled as Jason fell beside him with a huff. They stared up at the branches of the trees. The leaves swayed in the breeze. Jason follows them in captivating circles, his soulmate a soothing presence beside him.

   “You really mean it though?” Danny asks.

   “Mean what?”

   “That we’ll be together again?”

   “Of course,” Jason easily confirms.

   It’s the most sure Jason has been of anything in his life. 

   With Danny gone, there is no steady supply of food or blankets. Jason quickly finds himself reacquainted with hunger and desperation. After the third consecutive night of dumpster diving with no reward, he decides something has to change. Armed with a tire iron, Jason makes money the only way he can. 

   Six months after Danny leaves, Jason steals the tires from the batmobile. Batman found this more amusing than aggravating, and the next thing Jason knows, he’s stepping into the role of Robin. Jason! As Robin! Who would have thought?

   The new gig comes with some super awesome advanced tech. With all his work for Bruce, Jason figures it's only fair that he gets free reign with the batcomputer, or as Jason likes to call it, his best chance at finding Danny. 

   The batcomputer is one of the most advanced pieces of technology in the world. It's hooked up to satellites, has access to almost every database, and can run ID checks in seconds. Theoretically, there should be nothing stopping Jason from finding Danny. And yet…

    It's like he’s disappeared.

   All evidence of the Fenton family only dates to before their move. It doesn’t make any sense! There should be paper trails or social media posts or something! Anything! Jason searches for weeks but it’s as if Danny stopped existing as soon as he moved.

   Jason doesn’t give up. There has to be something he’s missing, one little thread poking out of the seams. A single tug is all it takes. He just has to find it. He keeps looking.

   He keeps looking for years. 

   He hangs on to hope.

   Jason is fourteen when his hope shatters.

   The night starts off normal. Jason dons the Robin suit and joins Bruce on patrol. They run through Gotham, stopping an arms deal and tying up a few muggers. Jason stops to take a breath, looking out over his city. 

   Jason loves this. He yearns for the whip of the wind in his face as he swings between gargoyles and fire escapes. He likes to help people, to defend others from the scumbags that think they rule the streets. Jason loves being Robin. Danny being here with him is the only thing that could make it better. That’s why Jason stays up high near the stars. It makes him feel closer to Danny, wherever he is.

   Burning pain makes Jason stumble in his steps. He clutches his wrist with gasping breath, wondering what he’s been hit with and when. Quickly, he removes his glove, throwing it to the floor.

   His stomach fills with icy cool dread.

   “No…” Jason mutters, eyes wide as saucers as the black ink on his wrist begins to fade, “No no no no no-”

   He digs his fingers hard into the words as if that will stop the color from leaching away.

   “No! Don’t do this! Please, Danny, don’t-” his voice cracks with a sob as the black becomes a pale grey, “NO!  You're stronger than this, you jerk! Don’t give up! Fight!”

   Bruce lands on the roof with him. He says something, but Jason isn’t paying attention. 

   “Don’t… don’t leave me, Danny. Don’t leave me alone.”

   Jason would normally never cry in front of Bruce, but he doesn’t care about Bruce right now.

   “You can’t leave yet! I’m supposed to find you! Do you hear me, you asshole?! You're not allowed to leave!” 

    The words are nothing but pale scars. It’s over. It’s done. The burning fades to a numb nothingness. Jason throws his head into his forearm and screams.

   Nothing will ever be the same.

   Bruce takes Jason home. He refuses to speak, not even to Alfred when the butler greets him with the offering of a hug. Jason walks right past his open arms to the bathroom and takes off his suit. Jason doesn’t feel like Robin right now. Jason doesn’t feel like anything.

   He showers just to be done with it, unfeeling of the ice-cold spray. Like a preprogrammed machine he runs through his routine.  Water. Shampoo. Soap. Rinse. Dry. Jason heads straight to his room when he’s done, not even bothering to brush his teeth. Burying himself under his bed covers, he cries until he passes out from exhaustion.

   It doesn’t get any easier. 

   Jason pushes the misery down and gets through the next day one step at a time. Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. He goes to school, forcing himself to pay attention rather than sink into tempting numbness. Danny would have been so excited that Jason was in school. Danny would have wanted him to learn. 

   He comes home to Wayne Manor feeling, ironically, like a ghost. Alfred’s food tastes like chalk. Dick’s endeavors at movie nights and days out are about as tempting as swimming in the polluted harbor. He still joins Bruce as Robin, but he leaves the batcave feeling angry, hitting harder than he’s ever hit before. As if that will change anything. As if that will bring Danny back. 

   Sometimes, Jason draws over the scarred words on his wrist with a black marker. He pretends that Danny is still out there somewhere in bumfuck Illinois, waiting for him. It helps.

__________________

   Danny Fenton was unlucky. The very first sign was his workaholic parents with their conditional attention and lack of safety precautions, leading to his eventual early demise (Also known as sign one hundred and twenty-six, not that Danny was counting). Then there was the whole Oh Shit I’m a Ghost revelation quickly followed by the Oh Shit My Parents Want to End Me realization. Danny could only assume that he pissed off some ancient deity in a past life. 

   So yes, Danny was extremely unlucky, but he did have one thing going for him: Jason. 

   How many people got to meet their soulmate so early in life? Perhaps all of his luck had been invested in Jason. Jason with his vibrant blue eyes and dirty hair. Jason with the soft voice he used for Danny alone. Jason with his stubborn hold on childlike wonder despite being faced with the worst Gotham had to offer. 

   Danny may be unlucky, but Jason made him feel like the luckiest guy on Earth.

   He thought about Jason frequently. Idly tracing the words spread across his wrist, Danny would let his mind drift. Sometimes, he relived old memories. Other times he dreamed of their future together. 

    He imagined moving out of his parent's house and into one of his own. Jason would move in with him, warm and safe for once in his life. He’d be free to focus on learning like he so obviously wanted. Danny would go to work and Jason would go to school, but they would always come back together at the end of the day. Jason would pull out a book and Danny would curl against his side. Jason would get that adorable scowl on his face when something happened he didn’t like, and Danny would kiss it off of him with so much sweetness that Jason would forget what had annoyed him in the first place. 

   The honeyed kisses were a new addition to the fantasy, but not an unwelcome one. 

   Danny also thought about the present. He wondered what Jason was doing now. Was he still holed up in that awful abandoned apartment? Did he have warm enough clothes for the upcoming winter? Did he find enough food to last him the week? Did Jason feel Danny die? He must have been so scared…

   Moving away from Jason was the worst thing to ever happen to Danny, including the portal accident. Four states away, there wasn’t much he could do to help his soulmate, and he had no way to contact him, no way to check on him. His parents barely left the lab let alone the house, so a family trip to Gotham was out of the question. He had thought about flying there himself after the whole dying and becoming a halfa thing, but between the ghosts coming through the portal and his parents, he couldn’t leave Amity Park unprotected. 

   Danny thought he had a solution to the issue when he met Clockwork. While they may have started off on the wrong foot, these days the two were on better terms. Danny would even go so far as to call him a friend. Perhaps Clockwork would be willing to help a guy out and pause time for a bit. Only for a few hours! Just enough time for Danny to return to Gotham, find Jason, and establish some form of contact. Surely that wasn’t too tall of an order!

   Evidently, it was. Even after bargaining, pestering, and begging for what felt like hours (it could have been days or it could have been minutes, time was weird in Clockwork’s lair), Clockwork still refused. 

   Danny tried Nocturn next. It was more out of desperation than anything. His relationship with the ancient was still rocky, and he wasn’t expecting much to come from it. To his surprise, Nocturn agreed to help him but only once. Just one dream. Just one chance. 

   Danny is so excited he has trouble falling asleep. Eventually, he gives up and knocks back some melatonin. He’s willing to see the ceiling children if it means he also gets to see Jason. Danny closes his eyes.

   When he opens them, he is standing in a library. It’s fancy, fancier than Gotham’s library. The shelves are decorative polished wood and filled with books in better condition than any Danny has seen in one before. One wall is bare of any books or shelves. A stone fireplace with glass doors resides against it, exuding a comforting heat that makes Danny’s eyes droop even while asleep. The couches and chairs near the pit are so plush and pristine that Danny is certain this is a private library. No way would any public seating be this clean.

   It's all very nice, but not nearly as nice as the sight of the teenager residing on the furniture. The round baby fat that had shaped his face had begun to make way for a chiseled jaw. He's put on weight, no longer as gaunt as Danny remembers with more muscle. The skinny, starving kid Danny had known is no more.

   He's older now, almost unrecognizable, but that furrow in his brow as he reads and the slightly crooked nose gives him away. This is Jason. Danny's Jason. 

   "Jay!"

   Jason startles, dropping his book. He scrambles to his feet, tense as he stares uncomprehendingly at Danny. It hurts to not be recognized, but Danny understands. He looks different too.

   "...Danny?" 

   Danny can't find the words to respond so he settles for a smile, opening his arms in invitation. 

   Jason catapults into them. They clutch onto one another. The embrace is familiar but different, arms lankier than they used to be. Jason shakes like he’s crying. Danny thinks he might be too.

   Jason finally pulls away, hands running over Danny’s shoulders and arms,�� "This… this isn't real. I'm dreaming."

   Danny laughs, "Well that depends on your definition of real. It may be a dream, but I'm still here."

   Jason’s hands raise to cup Danny’s face, "You died.”

   "Yeah,” Danny can’t help but lean into Jason’s palms, fingers rising to brush over his soulmate’s.

   "I don't care if it isn't real, I-" Jason swallowed. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Danny’s, "Can we just… pretend it is?"

   "Of course, Jay."

   Jason plants a kiss on his forehead and drags him over to the couch. They collapse onto the cushions, Jason’s chest breaking Danny’s fall and strong arms wrapping around him.

   "I missed you," Danny says into his shirt.

   "Not as much as I missed you."

   "You look better. You look like you've been taking care of yourself."

   "Sometimes."

   "Only sometimes?"

   Jason laughs.

   For the next hour or so, Jason tells him about his life as Batman’s sidekick, Robin. Life in Wayne Manor has been beneficial for him. His smile is fuller and more carefree as he talks about his latest patrol than it ever was when he was living in the apartment. He seems happy in a way that Danny rarely saw.

   "I'm so proud of you, Jay."

   Jason doesn't say anything in reply, but he doesn't have to. His wet eyes are response enough. He's quiet for so long that Danny's convinced he's broken him. 

   Then Jason leans in, slowly, oh so slowly. Danny's heart flutters. He closes his eyes, tilting his head forward. He prepares himself to feel the press of lips against his own and then-

    His alarm goes off. 

    Danny's eyes fly open, surveying his room in frustration. He never got Jason's number. Fuck.

   There’s nothing to be done except to continue on with life. Between school and ghost fights Danny still finds time to pester Clockwork. It’s the same song and dance each time but Danny is nothing if not persistent. Occasionally, his attempts are rewarded with glimpses into his soulmate's life. Just little everyday things like Jason doing his homework or cooking with an older man in a suit. This of course led to Danny pushing for more, something like an actual conversation or contact information, all of which Clockwork refused to provide. It didn’t stop Danny from asking. 

   If Clockwork truly wanted Danny to stop then he shouldn’t have rewarded his behavior in the first place.

   It's not long after Nocturn’s favor that Danny finally wears the old cog down.

   “Come on, Clockwork! Please?” Danny whines, tugging on the ancient’s cloak, “I just want to talk to my soulmate!”

   Clockwork ignored him, peering through another screen.

    “It’s not like we haven’t already met! How could there possibly be any harm in us talking?”

   Clockwork stopped, considering. This had never happened before! Danny waited with bated breath.

   “I’ll let you see him-”

   Danny cheered, happily doing loop-de-loops in the air. 

   “I wasn’t finished,”

   Danny stopped cheering.

   “I’ll let you see him, but you can’t interfere.”

   “Interfere? Interfere with what?”

   Clockwork frowned, “Some things are destined to be. If I take you to him, you can’t stop what is about to happen. For better or worse. Are you sure this is what you want?”

   Danny stilled, considering. This didn’t sound like he was going to talk to Jason. It seemed like this would be a mere passive observance. It wasn't much different from watching Jason through Clockworks’s portals. Whatever. Danny would take what he could get.

   “I’m sure.” Anything to see Jason again.

   “I foresaw as such.”

   Danny barely has time (heh time) to register the sad look Clockwork shoots his way before he’s portaled out of the ghost’s lair. One blink he is staring at the gears and cogs in the walls, then next he is standing in a warehouse. Alone.

   “Clockwork?”

   There’s no response, so Danny investigates. It's hot. Hot enough that Danny feels like he is sweating despite his intangibility. The warehouse is filled with boxes upon boxes. As he wanders further in, he begins to hear signs of life. He peers between the crates.

   A few musclemen are unloading more crates to the floor. Someone out of sight sounds like they’re laughing. No not laughing. Full-blown manic cackling. That’s a villain's laugh if Danny has ever heard one.

   He peaks around the corner to get a better view and nearly reels back. That’s a clown. A fully dressed clown. Green hair, white face paint, and all.

   Danny hates clowns.

   “What? What’s going on here?”

   Jason!

   Danny looks over his shoulder in the direction of the footsteps.

   “Just step over here and you’ll understand everything, Robin.”

   A blonde woman rounds the corner, Robin, Jason, following close behind. They walk past Danny and right into the clown. 

   “What?!” Jason leaps between the woman and the gun lime-flavored Mr.Mime is aiming squarely at her chest, “But you said…”

   “I lied.” 

   The woman is aiming a gun at Jason’s head. Danny growls, but it goes unheard.

  “I can’t afford to have you stirring up trouble. I’ve been dipping into the medical funds myself. If you blow the whistle on the Joker, the investigation will certainly uncover my embezzling. Sorry about that, kid. Looks like you picked the wrong person to trust. ”

   “Clockwork,” Danny asks the open air, “what is this?”

   Jason is surrounded but his eyes are solely focused on the woman. He looks devastated.

   “What should we do with him?” the woman asks the clown. 

   “Something I’ve wanted to do for years,” The clown lets out another one of those awful cackles. 

   Danny doesn’t think it would be possible to hate this guy more than he already does, but then he pistol whips his soulmate across the chest hard enough that he hits the ground.

   Jason gets up again. He’s always been tenacious, Danny thinks as he watches him punch the clown in the gut. He feels a glimmer of satisfaction. Jason will be okay. He’s giving the newest additions to Danny’s shitlist a solid beat down, and Danny gets a front-row seat.

   But then one of the gym bros knocks Jason to the floor again. He follows it up with a kick to the ribs. Jason lies there heaving, and suddenly Danny isn’t so certain anymore.

   The clown approaches him, dragging a crowbar against the concrete with a harsh scraping sound.

   “This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me.”

   Danny tries to rush forward. He wants to tear that crowbar out of the clown’s hand and hit him so hard that he loses his teeth. He wants to grab Jason by the collar of that stupid outfit and fly him far away to safety. Danny wants to, but he can’t. His feet are rooted to the ground. His arms refuse to lift from his sides. His head won’t swivel on his neck. Danny can’t even switch off his invisibility. All he can do is blink as the crowbar careens into Jason’s ribs.

   “You can’t interfere, Daniel.”

   “Clockwork,” Danny grits out, quiet and desperate, “Clockwork, please.”

   He feels a hand squeeze his shoulder, “All is as it should be.”

   No no no no no no no no no no no no no-

   Danny isn’t sure how long he’s there, frozen uselessly in place as the maniac clown brings the crowbar down on Jason’s body over and over and over again. Eventually, he seems to get bored and decides to leave Jason to the mercy of a bomb. With a grand flourish to the ever-so-helpful timer, he leaves Jason bleeding on the floor. That woman is there too, but Danny doesn’t care about her. 

   Finally, Danny can move. He collapses next to Jason, cradling his beaten face in his hands and murmuring nonsensical platitudes. Jason’s breath wheezes shallowly, unseeing gaze fixed far away. 

   The clock ticks down. 

   Jason doesn’t make it to six minutes. 

   Danny chokes back a sob as the words on his wrist burn. With utmost care, he brushes Jason’s eyelids shut. Danny presses a kiss to his forehead. It still feels warm against his own ice-cold lips. Taking Jason’s limp hand in his own he leans back. He waits. He hopes. 

   He doesn’t have to wait long. 

   Danny almost thinks that Jason’s- no, the body’s eyes have opened once more. The color gives him pause though. Vivid green eyes like his own blink open in place of blue. A pale, wispy figure sits up, legs remaining within the corpse as if superimposed. The domino mask that had covered his face has been replaced by what looks like permanent grease paint. The Robin uniform is a mess even in death. The holes and tears have carried over, but thankfully it's no longer bloodstained. Jason’s wounds are all but gone except for a single glowing ectoplasmic scar running from his hairline down to his cheek.

   The newly formed ghost’s chest heaves in a mimicry of desperate breathing. Danny remembers it from when he first died. He had also panicked at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. It's hard to break such an ingrained instinct. 

   Danny feels his soul mark tingle, and though he doesn't look away from his soulmate he can see the green glow of the words in the corner of his eye. 

   “Jason?” Danny drops the corpse’s hand in favor of reaching for Jason’s.

   Jason’s eyes whip around wildly, landing on Danny. His chest slows to a stop, “Danny?”

   “Yeah, Jay,” Danny lets out a broken laugh, tears pooling in his eyes, “It’s me.”

   “Danny!” Jason lunges for him wrapping his arms around his waist, “I never thought I’d see you again,” he choked out, voice watery with emotion.

  Danny clutches him back, gloved fingers curling into the fabric of his cape, “I wish it were under better circumstances. I’m sorry, Jason,” Danny sniffs, tears soaking into the fabric of Jason’s shoulder, “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   “It’s okay! Well, not really,” They pull back to look at each other. Jason tucks a strand of hair behind Danny’s ear, fingers lingering to trace his jaw, “but I get to see your pretty face again so I can’t complain.”

   Danny flushes green but still manages to level Jason with a look, “That’s stupid and you know it! You have every right to complain you just-” 

   Danny cuts himself off with a small, distressed noise. Danny has died before. He knows what it’s like. And now Jason has too. They both know. There are no words.

   “Yeah…” Jason trails off, eyes lingering on his body, “Yeah. But you're here, right? You found me!"

   Danny smiles, cupping his soulmate's face in both hands, “Always,” he presses a chaste kiss to Jason’s lips. Even after it ends their foreheads remain touching. 

   “I missed you,” the grin Jason gives him could only be described as dopey.

   “Not as much as I missed you,” he teases back.

   Jason pulls him into another hug. They hold one another until their tears finally dry up. It reminds Danny of the good old days, running rampant through Gotham’s streets and finding solace from everything awful in each other. 

  Suddenly Jason starts to giggle. Danny doesn’t know why but his joy is contagious and soon Danny is snickering alongside him.

   “Why are you laughing?” Danny asks between unneeded breaths.

   Jason slips his tattered glove off, displaying his soulmark with a wiry grin, “I just realized I’m a ghost!” Jason giggles again, “And so are you!”

    “Why would I be a ghost?” Danny deadpans, which only causes Jason to laugh harder.

   Danny glances at the clock. One minute. “We should leave.”

   Jason nods, standing up before Danny can even move and offering his hand. Danny takes it, rising to his feet. Their fingers remain linked together as they phase through the wall of the warehouse. They turn to watch it blow with a sense of finality. The flames licking the sky feel like an end, but also a new beginning. 

   Danny turns away from the ruins and focuses. His fingers sharpen and tear through the fabric of reality, opening a swirling green portal into the Infinite Realms. 

   He holds the portal open with one hand, extending the other back out for Jason to take, “Together?”

   “Together,” Jason’s fingers clasp his own.

   This time, they don’t have to pretend. 

[ollieink]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃!

childe x fem!reader ( wc 4.8k)

inspired by 'pretty poison' written by the very talented vent1k1n on ao3, literally so good. never thought strip russian roulette could be so smeggsy wtf.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | dead dove: do not eat, non-con, rough sex, size difference, bit of gunplay, spitting, forced orgasm, corruption, yandere undertones, threats of murder, childe is a menace, reader has a petite body, dash of angst, russian roulette, mafia alternate universe, betrayal, please don't read if you're not comfy with these themes.

"Tartaglia is heartless."

That's what papa's soldiers said after he asked for your hand in marriage. It was a way for both ruling families to finally come to terms. Some were against it, others hopeful. And you had to admit, Tartaglia was hypnotizing. You saw him from afar one time, two times, a couple of times—from across the bridge that separated papa’s territory from his. He was the ocean come alive, all the good and all the bad. When he crossed that bridge to meet you, everything people warned you about him burnt to the ground.

Your chest fluttered on the wedding night, but it wasn't what you thought or hoped it would be. Tartaglia merely wished you a good rest before departing to his room. Of course, this wasn't a marriage of love ( you'd gotten carried away in your fantasies ), but rather a strategic move on both mafia families. Even then, the painful sprout of thorns in your chest didn't go unnoticed. Maybe it did for him. Or perhaps he did notice and just didn't care.

Papa didn't want you seeing all the bad things he did, so violence was a thing that happened from a distance. It was the same with Tartaglia. He'd tell you to go to your room when his men came in for a meeting, reassure you everything was okay—that you didn't need to worry your pretty head off. Perhaps he truly cared about you ( even if it wasn't the starstruck love you hoped it to be ), and that fleeting period in your life was the happiest. That is until you peeked into the basement of his manor, and a pair of dead blue eyes looked back.

You’re not supposed to cry over a stupid boy.

The sky has given way for a thunderous storm. Loud cracks of thunder light up the city, matching your heart's ferocious churning as you think over and over again: why, why, why? It pours rain as you pound on various doors for refuge, but everyone knows better than to open them at this hour. Crossing the bridge is a death sentence; Tartaglia’s men are stationed there, and they'd surely capture you on sight.

Afraid that he’ll catch up, you run into the city’s emptiest corner—an unsuspecting alleyway where the city lights can't reach. There’s nothing but rubbish here: overflowing dumpsters, shattered alcohol bottles someone must've thrown in a drunk daze, vulgar graffiti on the walls. Buildings tower overhead, placed so close together only a few people can walk through at the same time. The path winds 'round and 'round. You aren't sure where you're going, as long as you get away from here.

More lightning cuts through the pouring sky, and amidst it, a sweet voice calls out for you.

“Darling~”

All the hairs on your body stand, and you run faster than ever before. He's still using that sickening term, as if you really do hold a special place in his heart. Even if it wasn't real, you were content being something he felt obligated to take care of—because you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered when his hand tightened over yours, how he looked standing bare feet in the ocean shoreline. And you were happy being just an afterthought to him. But this is too cruel for you.

"Come back to me, darling. I'm sorry if I scared you."

His footsteps are getting closer and closer.

The alley takes a quick turn, and what you see next crushes all hope of getting away. A wall.

No, no no no no.

There must be another way out, but everywhere you look is a dead end. When the heavy footsteps finally stop a few meters away, you turn around. With a violent crackle of thunder, light briefly fills the alley; it barely makes a dent in Ajax's dark blue eyes. The electric crashes through the sky reflect off the taut muscles—wet with rain—on his arms. His black shirt, soaked all the way through, clings tightly to indents of hard flesh on his torso. And a smile haunts his face, kind like you remember.

"Why are you running away from me?" Ajax takes a step closer and reaches out a tempting hand. It's his left one, and the two rings on it are evidence of your weak union. "Let's go home, my love." He beckons in that familiar, gentle tone he only used with you. It made you feel special, but now you know it's just a trick.

“Bastard!” You scream with all the broken pieces of your heart. “You were just using me! I saw what you did to my father’s men in your basement, what you said about killing me! It’s a low move, you know—to murder someone in their sleep.”

Your words stir a devilish grin from him, and all traces of sweet, sweet Ajax disappear in an instant. "Ah, so you heard that too." He steps closer again, and the cobblestone wall hits your back. "It's a shame, ya know. If you weren't so nosy, I would've let you alive for a bit longer. Maybe we could've had our first kiss on the lips too, hmm? Bet you would've liked that. I know I would—you were always so kind to me. A bit too kind."

"Get away from me! If papa finds out about this, he'll kill you!" you scowl, hoping to get some leverage over this situation. But Tartgalia is a proud man. He simply laughs, as if you're a child throwing a silly tantrum.

"Well, he isn't here right now is he? It's just you and me." As his hand lifts, a flash of lightning exposes a revolver nestled against his palm.

"Ajax. . . ?"

Even his name sounds unfamiliar. The remaining bits and pieces of your heart break, not instantly, but in a way that hurts much more—slow and agonizing, holding onto hope that you know doesn't exist.

Blue eyes sweep up your body, savoring your disheveled appearance under this stormy night. Your plush thighs look so squeezable, and oh, that teeny tiny waist that's just begging to be held down.

“Let’s play a little game. It'll be fun."

Despite his voice sounding playful, the cold smile twisting his mouth wrecks shivers through you. He opens the gun to reveal six bullets settled ominously inside. “Each piece of clothing you take off, I’ll get rid one bullet. You have ten minutes before I pull the trigger, darling. Let's see if you're alive then. And if you are, I'll let you go. Promise." He chuckles at the way your eyes widen fearfully; it’s just too adorable. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

There's no way you're going to listen to him. He already messed with you enough—from the wedding vows, the delicate cheek kisses, and late-night strolls along the beach. All of it was just a pretend game for him, and the thought boils your blood just as much as it hurts.

“That game's stupid. I’m not doing anything for you."

“So, you’re gonna play tough, eh?” Tartaglia hums, unbothered by your disobliging attitude. In fact, the smirk on his face gives you the impression that he enjoys it. He points the revolver aside, and with a spark, fires it. A shrill noise reverberates through the cramped alleyway, and you jolt as the bullet whizzes past your cheek. “I won’t miss next time.”

Angry tears sting the corner of your eyes. “You’re fucking disgusting."

"You have ten minutes, sweetie. Or would you rather just let me end it all for you right now? I promise it won't hurt." There's a slight pause, then Childe's grin widens even more. "Or perhaps you want to spend your last moments as husband and wife? I know we never got the chance to be really intimate."

He'll shoot you if you try to run. For a split second, you consider trying to reason with him. Maybe he really did feel something—even if it was the most empty-minded feeling that ever crossed his cold heart. But that hopeful thought quickly vanishes. Ajax doesn't exist. He never did.

Finally, with a long exhale, you hesitatingly begin to slip off one heel.

“Mmm, good girl.” He takes out one bullet, letting it clang against the floor and roll by your feet. His gaze feels sharp along, glued to every movement, every nook and cranny of your exposed skin. When you get the other heel off, Childe hums cheerfully and drops another bullet. Papa always told you to be brave, but you’re shaking uncontrollably under this heavy aura of death. Your fingers tremble as they loosen your dress, and when the ribbons slowly but surely come undone, all the silk cascades into a bundle of light pink. A slight sigh comes from Childe the moment your adorable, white undergarments are revealed—so untouched, so innocent. Your skin suddenly feels too uncomfortably tight under his heavily inspecting eyes.

Childe chuckles as you hug yourself ( to cover up and protect yourself from the stormy weather ). Seeing you like that—all vulnerable and small—it's just too cute. He lets go of another bullet, and it lands with a sharp ting.

"Come on, take it all off," he playfully orders.

It's a decision between pride or life—an easy option for most, but difficult when it ends up in your hands. "Go fuck yourself." When you make no effort to strip any more, merely scowling at him with dewy eyes, the blue-eyed man breaks into wild laughter.

“You’d rather die than let me see you naked? Ah, how cute, but. . .” He closes the metal cartridge, spins it, then lifts the gun back up to you. “I’d think twice if I were you.”

"If you lay a finger on me, papa won't let you get away!" you glare at him, but all it does is stir a snicker. Suddenly, Childe steps forward and kicks your knee out. You hit the floor coarse with wet dirt. “Hey—!” Tartaglia wastes no time listening to your protest. He carelessly turns you over with his shoe, then presses the underside of it onto your stomach—a sharp contrast to the way he always treated you like glass. It was that side of him you learned to love, not the heartless man everyone viewed him as. Perhaps if you'd been smarter, you would've seen right through him. How love is but a fool's game to him. And how it was always his plan to use you.

A flash of thunder lights up the sky behind him, and the rain falls harder.

Your face contorts with rage. “Fuck you!"

“Quite the dirty mouth for such a sweet girl," Childe coos, kneeling down to harshly grab your chin. "Haha, you look so cute when your cheeks are all pushed up like that."

He leans in, and suddenly, a pair of lips capture yours—sweet and creamy as if he just finished a glass of honey. His tongue breaks into the wet cavern of your mouth, exploring the darkest corners. You feel the metal of his piercing, how it presses against your tongue. Each groan he makes resonates deep within your chest. Determined to resist in any way you can, you bite down hard enough to split open his bottom lip.

Tartaglia jerks back with surprised laughter, dragging his pierced tongue over the blood. "I always expected you'd like it rough, darling. But it's fine—I like it too." As if taking your defiance as a challenge, he curls his hand into the back of your hair, and with a harsh tug, smashes your lips together in a desperate frenzy.

"Mmph!" The sheer force of his kiss muffles your voice. He forcefully pushes down your jaw, giving him enough room to shove his slithering tongue inside again. Saliva trickles down into your throat, and his mouth hums against yours; it urges you to amuse him more. You refuse at first, but as his disgusting saliva builds up from just how sloppy the kiss is, you're forced to take tiny gulps, and those gulps soon turn into hesitant swallows.

After a long moment, he finally pulls back. “That’s right. Drink it up, filthy little thing.” In a fit of rage, you spit on his face, and he recoils to wipe it off his cheek. Instead of seeing anger on his face, there's nothing but the flushed look of unhinged amusement. He suddenly jams his gun into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden intrusion. He hovers a finger over the trigger with a smirk on his face. “Wanna try that again?”

Tears blur your vision, but they're quickly blinked away. You won't let him win. You won't let this bastard get the better of you.

"That's what I thought." Childe moves the gun to the side of your head, showing exactly who's in charge. His other hand settles upon your pelvis; it nearly folds across the entire width. "So tiny. . ." You flinch as his touch moves lower, caressing all the subtle curves and dips of your flesh. "Ever been this intimate with anyone, darling?" He plays with the band of your panties, letting it smack against your hip after every tug. The ginger coos, as if your reaction was somehow an answer—the way you tremble, the way you glare at him with such lovely flushed cheeks. "Mmm, guess not. But that makes it more exciting, right?"

He suddenly turns you around, easily jerking your limbs until you're sitting on his lap. His hand falls from your neck, between the valley of your breasts, then to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Thorns sprout from the pit of your stomach. It's tingly, prickly, threatening to swallow you whole from the inside out.

"Don't touch there!"

Tartaglia lets out a low chuckle, pushing the barrel of the gun carelessly against your jaw. "Stupid girl, don't you see what position you're in? I'll show you what a man can do to someone so weak." The pads of his fingers are rough, so embarrassingly intimate as one traces your slit. "First, I'm gonna put my cock in here." He slips a gloved finger inside, and you keen at the unfamiliar disturbance. Tiny hands grip onto him tighter, desperately searching for purchase with each scarlet mark it leaves on his skin. You want to scream at him until your throat bled, but all you can muster are pathetic little whimpers.

His voice dips lower, husky with sweet poison. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you like this." His finger slowly drags in, out, in, and out. Each movement is earth-shattering, something you've never experienced before. It renders you completely useless. And despite how much you try to fight it off,fs you're losing yourself to him—body squirming, hips bucking disgracefully against his gloved hand.

"Think you can handle the real thing, sweetheart?" Childe's teasing remark reduces you to a mess of shame and boiling hot anger. You want to tell him to shut up, but your teeth are gritting together to prevent any more noises from coming out ( you don't want to feed his bloated ego any more than this ). However, as he curls his finger and hits a sensitive wall of flesh inside you, an embarrassing mewl chimes from your throat. "Heh, this wet already with just one of my fingers. Didn't realize my wife was so slutty."

"Ah!" You pitifully claw against his shirt, squeezing your legs together to make the electrifying feeling stop. But Childe doesn't give you time to rest. He holsters his gun and forcefully spreads your thighs—smeared with wet dirt, gravel, and slick—before shoving in another finger. The added friction makes you kick your feet in protest. "Nghhh! No, st-sthawp, Ajax!"

Childe's ears perk up at how his name sounds along your pretty tongue. It was something he shared with you after a night of heavy drinking. He never planned to reveal it, but the alcohol influenced him more than he thought. And perhaps it was also because of the way you looked while basked in silver moonlight.

"I hate you!" With an infuriated shriek, you pound against his chest, but that only seems to rile him up even more. His fingers hit even harder, deeper, faster. "Agh! Mmmf, n-no. . . I hate, nghh, h-hate you!"

Tartaglia lets out a snicker. "But you look like you're loving what I'm doing to you. It's not good to lie, you know that, right?" The repulsive, sopping noises of him toying with your cunt mortifies you. There's some pain, pleasure, and an exhausting sense of weakness as you're unable to do anything but lay there. "If you come on my hand, I'm gonna have to punish you for lying~"

Your stomach coils up into a wad of throbbing nerves. The lack of control is terrifying, but you still try to be defiant. "I'm not, ah, going to—!" After a harsh thrust of his fingers, with a loud cry, your body releases all that tension onto his glove. Everything goes blank for a second as your chest heaves up and down. It's so dizzy, the world is spinning.

"Mmm, looks like you need to be taught a lesson on how to be a good girl." His fingers pull out with a squelch, going to unbuckle his belt. There's a very noticeable bulge in his pants. And when he wrenches the restrictive garment down, releasing his hard, massive, swollen cock, new profound terror seeps into your guts. He's planning to put that disgusting thing in you; the thought is horrifying. You try to scurry away, only for his toned arms to push you back down. "Don't run from me." With a smirk, Childe turns your little body around to face him. His weight presses against you, slowly until you're both on the ground. The rain hits his back, droplets rolling down his sharp jaw and onto your face. "This might be a bit rough on your tiny body."

Before you can comprehend his warning, he pulls your soaking wet panties to the side and snaps his hips forward. The painful disturbance makes you wail, your cramped insides trying to resist Childe's member with all its might. It burns. White hot, like a metal rod dipped in lava. For a second, your body shuts down, vision blacking out before startling back awake.

"N-No, hurts. . . 'Jax!"

He jerks his hips, forcing his big cock deeper.

You're gonna die. He's going to kill you.

"Tight—" he hisses, then sucks in a breath that shifts into laughter. He's enjoying it; the cold sweat dripping down your face, how you kick, whimper, your sensitive insides gripping him so intensely. "Hahaha! I can't fuck you stupid if you're gonna keep clenching down me like that." He's smiling, like this is all some kind of joke. However, when you suddenly squeeze even tighter around him, that attitude breaks a little. Teeth gritting hard, Childe buries his head into the shallow dip of your shoulder. He's holding you so close with shivering arms—you can almost confuse it with love. The tender kind you prayed for, something that consumes you whole as if passing through a cloud heavy with rain.

After composing himself, he finally lifts himself back up to look you in the eyes. His face is contorted into a look of pleasure: red cheeks, eyes sharp with wicked amusement. "Ghh. . . W-What did I just say?"

You squeak as he rolls his hips, slipping in a few more inches you didn't realize existed ( it already feels so full ). When he makes a small pump to adjust to the wet heat, your eyes squeeze shut at the throbbing pain. It's too big—the tip feels like it's going to tear through your cervix. But just as you think it's pushed all the way to the hilt, your eyes go wide as he forces in a few more inches inside.

"Ahhh!" You glance down, horror flooding your veins at the sight of there being more to take in. His cock stretches past your limits, making your stomach protrude a little with its shape. The filthy sight burns hot shame throughout you. He's really inside. Not wanting to look at it anymore, your eyes wander elsewhere, but Childe isn't merciful enough to give you that salvation. He takes your chin and forces it forward.

"Look at me."

It's cold enough to see his heavy breaths come out as wisps.

The ginger flutters his eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling before he fucks you loose. “Such a needy hole for me. So tight, and so fucking warm." When his member draws out slightly, the glossy sheen covering his hard, veiny skin makes you dizzy.

“Let go of me!” you command him, holding back the hot tears brewing in your eyes. In an attempt to relieve the pain, you lift your hips off the hideous thing, but a strong hand grips your waist and jerks you back onto it.

“Mm, now what did I say about not running away?”

Childe pulls himself out to the tip.

Knowing what's coming next, you shout, "W-Wait!" A screech claws out of your chest as he slams back inside with a heavy, wet squelch. Searing pain unfurls inside your weak body, the excruciating thrust of his thick cock too much to handle. You tremble as he withdraws again, agonizingly slow as if to see what other cute reactions you're capable of making. "No, stop—!" He doesn't listen, chuckling as you scratch the muscular jut of his shoulder blades.

“Haah, fffuckk, that’s good,” he admits, thrusting hard back inside with a grunt—so brutally you think for a moment that something split inside you. It’s his massive girth that stretches your insides uncomfortably, the way he’s so much bigger, how he didn’t bother being gentle. The tears you’ve been trying to hold back spill out, and you scream as he sets an unforgiving pace. His body is much bigger, stronger than yours. He easily rocks you back and forth—like you're just some fuckdoll for him to use whenever and however he pleased. All your cries and the way you slam your fists against him are ignored. “Aww, are you crying?” His voice drips with mockery.

You hate it. You hate it so much.

Your hands push against his chiseled stomach. "Get out of me!"

Tartaglia laughs in a way that makes your cheeks burn helplessly. "You're still fighting? Don't you see it's useless, stupid girl." He squeezes your wrists together and pins them above you. There's no way he can possibly hold you down with just one hand, so you struggle, and struggle, and struggle. But nothing budges him at all. His lips are back on yours: kissing hungrily, teeth biting, tongue not wasting any drop. The hot and slimy kisses trail to your collarbone, leaving thick trails of drool. It's like he's salivating at the thought, the feeling, the everything about you.

"I'm not your toy!" you scream at him.

The blue-eyed man lets out a stuttering breath, followed by a snicker. "But you're my wife, which means we're bonded together for the rest of eternity. Remember our vows? Until death do us part." He groans, shifting his weight back a little to get a full view of your adorable face—all red and tear-streaked. “Haaah, you’re so cute when you make that stupid face. That kind of expression would drive any man wild, so don't go showing anyone else." Childe lowers himself to whisper in your ear. "Or I'll get really mad.” He grabs the plush of your thigh, jerking it onto his shoulder to better fuck you into the concrete.

"Ah! Stop, Ajax!"

"That's right, say name name just like that. Go on, cry it all out," he grunts. The shameful wet noises of his hips pounding into your cunt—over and over—fill up the alley. You want to block it out and only listen to the crackles of thunder, the rain as it swallows you up in a bitter cold. But each thrust of his dick breaks your resolve little by little. You’re afraid of someone stumbling down this path and seeing you like this, but you also yearn to be saved.

"H-He. . . lp." It hurts to say anything; your throat is hoarse from all the screaming and pleas for him to stop. "Papa, help me. . ."

The moment you call out for your father, Childe's grip tightens into steel. A punishing thrust rips a cry from you, trembles wrecking through your lithe figure. "Pay attention to me." His voice comes out a low growl. Your vision that was starting to black out returns abruptly. "Who's fucking you right now? Who's making you their bitch? That's right, me. So just forget about everything else and only look. at. me."

There's something so harsh about his words and it confuses you. You've never him like this before—the way he's looking at you with those terrifying eyes.

He glances at the slick gathered between your hips. "We're making such a mess. Finally consummating our marriage after all this time, hm?" Childe takes your left hand, and in a surprising gesture of intimacy, kisses the rings on it. You watch in disbelief as he lifts your hand to his cheek, nuzzling against it—like your warmth is his only flame in the middle of a freezing winter. A strange look dawns his face; you can't pinpoint it no matter how hard you try.

You flinch from his touch despite how gentle it is. "N-No, stop. . . I can't do it anymore. I'm gonna die."

Something flickers across his face, but it's quickly covered up with a smirk.

"Mmmf, you're tightening up again," he heaves out. There's no smile on his face anymore, a concentrated expression taking its place. You feel every bit of his sweat on you, as well as the way your ribcage rattles with how resonating, deep and full his moans are. "I s-should've been, agh, doing this more often while I—ghh!—had the chance." Suddenly, his eyes narrow, cock quivering. "S-Shit, 'mm close. Gonna fill you up nice and good. You'd like that, yeah?"

When you shake your head frantically, he takes out the revolver again and aims it between your eyes, hand trembling slightly from the intense pressure wrapped around his cock. “I’ll blow your, nghhh, p-pretty brains out after I fill you up.” That dark promise widens your eyes in fear; the adorable reaction makes him bursts into wild laughter. But from the way he bites his lips soon after, eyes filled with desire, it's clear that he's struggling to keep himself composed. “Ah, that look on your face; it’s too good! There's still two bullets inside. I’ll do it, darling. I’ll really kill you.”

"Ajax," you plead with a cracking voice. The look on your face must've been priceless ( maybe it was the despair, the defeat, the betrayal, who knows ). His body suddenly shakes with hearty laughter.

"Ha, hahahah! You can be so, so, so cute when you want to be." Childe lets out a low groan. With one last violent thrust, he releases all his cum—in hot, sticky spurts that leave you shivering—deep deep into your womb.

Everything goes numb, the loud thunder and pouring sky becoming white noise.

You stare up at Childe as he spins the revolver's cylinder one more time. The bullets in their cartridge rotate with a clinking noise, metal on metal, beckoning death from its slumber. There's a chance you'll die, and a chance you may walk out of here alive. But your heart is broken, and no one can survive without a functioning heart.

Childe smiles; it isn't playful but rather weak. "Ha, don't look at me like that. It makes me feel kind of bad. But don't worry! If you survive this, I'll let you go like I promised earlier."

He presses the nozzle against your forehead slowly—perhaps to prolong your despair, or maybe it's because of something else. You think you see something change in his blue gaze, but those eyes are still dark—as heavy and cold as a thousand seas. Even then, you find yourself clinging to that tiny spark of light.

"I love you."

The words spill out from your mouth.

Tartaglia sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes widen, filling with some strange emotion you've never seen in them before. After a bit, he squeezes them shut, as if your words seared his flesh. "Don't say things like that either." He finally looks at you with an unclear expression, one that surely isn't warm but not cold either. "It makes me feel like I'm gonna do something I regret."

His finger moves to the trigger.

And you wait for what's to come.

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## 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 | thank you for reading! got sick and tired of proofreading, so you'll probably find grammatical errors or clunky sentences. but wow i actually managed to write something kek.

( 10.21.23 ) ( © ollieink | my box is always open ! )

[lover-of-mine]

Hello love, I read your masterpost about color theory and I find the last part about how Eddie is wearing a lot of black in season 7 interesting, because it caught my attention too.

Do you have any more ideas about that? Because every episode we get more moments of Eddie wearing black in important scenes, like him meeting Shannon's clone in today's episode!

Have a good day!

Hi, darlings, thoughts on the black. I have thoughts on the black and I have theories about the black, but I actually only solidified them after talking about it with @stagefoureddiediaz and honestly, if you want costume analyses she's the blog to go because her insights get me mindblown all the time because she talks a lot about patterns I kinda saw but didn't fully understand were there, so seriously, props to her with this one.

But to talk about Eddie in black, I'm gonna go back to Shannon in s2. And his love interests in general.

Shannon was a character that was always wearing color, and she always wore warm, bright tones, and considering Eddie's earthy, somewhat muted, still army colors palette, she literally brings color to his life. They go as far as making this quite literal in 213, because the hospital scene, Shannon is literally a point of color in this very dark moment, since most people around are in darker colors, her orange stands out. And obviously, the yellow she died in is a staple.

Ana was very muted when it was about the 2 of them, she was allowed color when it was about Chris, but about Eddie, it was black, white, or soft colors.

Marisol also follows that same pattern, she's mostly in black and white adjacent stuff, but she was allowed color during Chris' date and when Eddie was daydreaming Shannon. But with Marisol is worse, because Ana was allowed he's baby blue outfits, and Eddie had color around her, Marisol is just whites, greys, and blacks. And Eddie too. She brings no color to the table.

And the thing is, Eddie has been looking for the yellow. In very simple terms the dude has been looking for the color he thinks Shannon was supposed to bring to his life. I think that was even more exemplified by the way the daydream about Shannon didn't have the usual muted colors flashbacks have in the show.

And the thing is, black is the absorption of all colors, right? Dude is trying to find something to absorb, to get that color, but he has nothing to show for it because these relationships don't bring color to his life in any way. I think this even ties to the way he keeps getting hit by the sun when it comes to Buck or gets some random pops of color even if his outfit is black when he's around Buck, maybe even the random rainbow lens fair that keeps happening this season on him. But he is trying to force something that's not there and it's never gonna be there, if you mix black with white all he's gonna keep getting is grey. And when you think about the implications of black, the association with mystery, something hidden, and, yeah, even mourning, Eddie being consistently in black can also be a way for him to hide behind the ghost of Shannon and never face what he's actually searching for, because he can't get what he wants. He will never have the future he planned with Shannon, he's never gonna be able to fix the mistakes he's made. He needs Shannon to tell him is okay he fucked up, but that can never happen because she's dead so he's holding on to the widow status. It's something I talk about a lot, Eddie was always written to be the tortured widower, even when Shannon was alive, he already had the archetype, and considering we found out they met when they were 14, Shannon is literally all he knows, but the Eddie we meet and deal with, only knows her when she left him and he's searching for that color the plans you can only make when you're a teenager going through you first love give. But considering the black he also has nothing to give this woman he meets in this quest, he's not reflecting anything back because he wants a do-over and that's not something someone can give him.

Also, no one asked but I gotta say it, I am obsessed with the way Kim is blue where Shannon was yellow/orange, but she is also in neutral colors when interacting with Eddie.

And he is still very much in black interacting with her.

But the blue/yellow thing is interesting because when you look at a color wheel, they are on opposite sides. They are complementary colors and complementary colors create contrast and it's very deliberate the way Shannon was warm-toned and Kim is cool-toned.

But the idiot (affectionate) is still in black, because he's not reflecting what he needs, he's absorbing what he thinks he wants.

But that's just a theory, a game theory. (Sorry, I read this back and my brain filled the space with this, I had to say it okasoasoaksas)

if you read this, I love you 💜

[heyclickadee]

I understand that people are going to cope how they are going to cope, and trying to find meaning in the handling of Tech in season three is part of that, but it’s also okay to criticize the show.

I like a good character death. Tech’s departure was not that. My issue is not that he’s presumed dead, my issue is that it and the handling of it is nonsense. So (I once again get very negative about my favorite show under the cut):

1. When you kill off a main character, you really have to kill them off. How you do so can vary from story to story, but you really have to do four things:

One, you need a good reason to kill them off in the first place. (“Stakes” is not a good reason. A secondary character, sure, but not a main one. More on that in a minute.)

Two, you need to make it perfectly clear that the character is, in fact, dead.

Three, you need to show the other characters processing and accepting that death. This is important because doing so will allow the audience to do the same and let the character go. This is especially important if you’re writing for a young audience.

Four, you need to make it explicitly clear that the character cannot come back. This is especially true in sci fi or fantasy. Especially if you’re the Character Resurrection franchise.

And guess what the show didn’t do?

Any of that. Any of it. What it did instead was ambiguously remove Tech from the story (uniquely in a show that loves making us watch characters die on screen; last time we saw Tech for sure he was alive), never gave a good reason for doing so in or out of the show, never showed us any character working through the impact of his loss (even though there was ample opportunity for Omega, especially, to do so), and ripped the “could he come back?” box wide open by parading CX-2 in front of our faces. It is never, at any point, handled like an actual main character death. It’s handled as a plot point from which the narrative moves fairly quickly, and treated by all parties as an absence. By all the rules of storytelling, Tech isn’t dead. He’s just ambiguously gone. And that means the writing team did a terrible job if what they wanted to do was kill him off. We should not be debating this after the show has ended if he’s actually dead.

2. I understand why some fans are trying to find meaning in losing Tech. I am not, because that meaning is not offered by the text itself. And, if the plan was to never bring him back, it should have been.

We are not, for example, offered a lesson about how not everyone comes home from the war. In order for that to have been the case, we would have needed to see someone, probably Omega, working through that. We would have needed to see her refusing to accept that Tech is gone—like we do in Plan 99, by the way—and slowly coming to terms with the idea that her brother isn’t coming home. But we don’t get that, not even as subtext.

Something else we could have gotten that would have worked with all the little visual reminders of Tech, empty chairs, name-drops, and even the CX-2 leading? The batch being so haunted by losing Tech and not really knowing what happened to him for sure that they start seeing him everywhere. But for that to work we would have needed, again, to see that as an explicit subplot where someone, probably Omega, again, gets really invested in the signs that Tech is coming back and even starts assuming that CX-2 is him, only to realize that she’s seeing what she wants to see and having to accept that Tech isn’t coming back, but that she can still keep Tech’s memory alive by following in his footsteps. That’s something you can kind of project onto what we’re given in the epilogue, but you do have to project it, because it’s entirely absent from the rest of the show.

As is, Tech’s sacrifice isn’t given any weight. From a narrative perspective, it was an incredibly contrived set of circumstances that accomplished nothing except punting Tech off a train, and gave Tech no choice but to remove himself from the story—exit, stage down. Losing Tech doesn’t, even sub-textually, serve as anyone’s motivation. It does nothing to move the plot or anyone’s character development forward. The primary motivators of season three were Omega’s kidnapping, Crosshair’s PTSD, and Hemlock needing to get Omega back.

Tech’s absence does nothing to move anything forward and only really serves to slow the plot down and make the others struggle to do anything because he’s not there to carry the team like he did in the first two seasons—and nothing about that would have played out any differently if Tech spent the season in a coma in a bacta tank. The only part of Tech’s sacrifice that has meaning is that he loved his family enough to offer it. And that is profound, but that’s not something that would be negated by a return because the love and the offer remain. As for his presumed death? His return couldn’t have taken meaning away from that, because the show never gave it any meaning in the first place.

And no, Tech “dying” isn’t something I have to accept. Tech isn’t a real person, he’s an idea, and an idea that didn’t come to fruition. I can point out the ways the handling of his departure didn’t work all day if I want.

3. CX-Tech was not an overly online theory. I need people to understand this. It was an assumption made by most of the casual audience. My sister, who has no contact with the fandom and doesn’t like me discussing the show at all until she’s seen it, assumed he was Tech. My brother-in-law, who was a die-hard Tech-has-to-be-dead-shut-up guy for the entire hiatus and the first half of season three, was convinced he was Tech. Every kid I’ve spoken to who watched the show thought he was Tech and is deeply confused that he got speared like that. My brother, who doesn’t even watch the show but who does walk by when I’m watching it sometimes, thought he was Tech. You can’t get more casual and away from the fandom than that.

The thing is, the answer we get isn’t that he’s not Tech. It’s, “We’re not telling.” Which means that as it currently stands, a season-and-a-half of CX buildup amounted to a five minute boss fight and a non-answer. That’s…not something that works! That’s atrocious writing if that was the whole sum of their intent all along.

And you can say, well, that was a clever misdirect! Plot twist! Except, one, misdirects and twists only work if the real answer is more satisfying than the false one, otherwise it just falls flat. Two, if it was a misdirect, it’s not one the creative team is willing to own. No one will touch the Tech-CX-2 parallels with a twenty-foot pole, except the Kiners, who have incredibly meaningful explanations for every musical choice but then say shit like, “that chord just sounds good in brass” about Battle of the Snipers (…before going on to say that the four note lose motif from “Plan 99” is Tech’s leitmotif…which is also all over Battle of the Snipers…and is only there according because the batch is divided in that scene, a scene in which Crosshair’s leitmotif is entirely absent even though he’s just supposed to be fighting his own dark side represented by a guy who’s totally not Tech. Sure. I’m going to go eat drywall.) Because acknowledging that and saying that was supposed to be Tech will just make the audience angrier, and they may not even be allowed to do so, and saying that it is Tech—you can understand why they can’t do that, right? The implications are horrific. But that horrific implication is probably what at least some of the casual audience who will never interact with the fandom or a single interview is going to walk away with.

4. The thing that bothers me most about all of this is the combined toxicity of the fandom and the leading from the marketing and social media. Part of the fandom saying that there were never any signs Tech could have survived (in Star Wars, no less) is starting to feel like gaslighting; and while I don’t think there was any malice in the leading in the marketing and social media—I’m even willing to give a tiny bit of leeway for the creative team maybe knowing something we don’t yet—it was handled badly, expectations for this season should have been set early and clearly, and as of right now it all feels like an incredibly cruel prank at autistic fans expense, whatever the intent may have been or may still be.

5. And finally, here’s the thing: I’m willing to give the writers a bit of leeway on this. I’m willing to grant that some choices may have been out of their hands for unknown reasons. I’m even willing to say that maybe they’re not really done with this story yet, that The Bad Batch could just be the first chapter of a longer show that was split up for stupid business reasons, and that the finale is the way it is because they had to have an ending of sorts without actually resolving anything. I’m willing to grant a lot of grace there. In fact, I actually think there’s a very good chance we’ll still get Tech back alive in canon, and sooner than later, if only because no one (not even the voice actors) seems happy about this, most fans are coping but disappointed at best, the creative team got asked about Tech non-stop for a solid year and a half, and the writers don’t seem at all committed. We know from the rest of the show that they know how to definitively kill a guy, and, frankly, Tech in the first two seasons comes across as something of a writer favorite. They like using him!

But whatever I’m hoping or suspecting, and whatever leeway I’m willing to grant the creative team here, the final product is all we have right now. And I am going to criticize that final product for badly handling a (presumed) character death and straight up breaking the central conceit of the show in doing so.

[thevoidstaredback]

Four days into the investigation, Constantine and Nightwing called a meeting between everyone involved. All the Justice League and their affiliated branches/teams were aware of the situation and were being kept informed, but only a few were actively working on the case.

Around the table sat Batman, The Flash, Zatanna Zatarra, Phantom, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Captain Marvel, Aquaman, Raven, Wonder Woman, and Deadman. Constantine and Nightwing were standing at the head of the table.

“Did you guys find something?” The Flash asked.

Constantine nodded. “Yeah. Most of the Spirits we talked to weren’t very helpful, neither confirming or denying the magic theory. However, speaking with Lady Gotham got us closer to an answer.”

“Spirits?” Green Lantern asked, “As in ghosts?”

Deadman huffed a chuckle from his seat beside Phantom. “Close. Ghosts are less…friendly? Less likely to engage with humans. Spirits do their best to help the living, usually by protecting them.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m a horrible example of a ghost, and Phantom here is a Spirit. Make sense?”

“Um…”

Phantom shook his head. “Just use ‘ghost’ as a collective term for right now.” He looked back up to the two at the front. “You were saying?”

“Right,” Nightwing coughed into his fist. “She said that ‘unresolved pasts will always come back to haunt you’ and to ‘start at your beginning’. She also said ‘humans rarely learn from their mistakes’.”

“Well, that gives us exactly nothing to go on.” Aquaman leaned back in his chair. “Did she say anything else?”

“Nope.”

Zatanna shook her head. “No, there’s something in her words.” She looked up at the two. “What exactly did she say to you?”

“‘You will find that unresolved pasts will always come back to haunt you. Old enemies to reappear, old loves to return, old families pulled together again. My advice to you is to start at your beginning. Fate is a circle and humans rarely learn from their mistakes’.” Nightwing quoted easily.

Raven hummed this time. “‘Start at your beginning’. Who was she talking to?”

“All of us?” Wonder Woman offered. “We could all have a piece of the answer hidden in how we started.”

“That would be an astounding coincidence.” Green Arrow said, “The chances are basically none.”

“But not zero,” Batman said.

“Think about it,” Captain Marvel leaned forward slightly, “Old enemies, old loves, and old families. People we’ve hurt or who’ve hurt us could be working together.”

“On a scale his size?” The Flash wondered, “They have no way of knowing who’s on the investigation. Besides, none of the victims have any kind of relationship with any of us.”

“Don’t they?” Deadman drew everyone’s attention, “All of their medical records show that they were all perfectly healthy and unhurt before suddenly not waking up anymore. Constantly, they’re being monitored to make sure they stay alive.” He turned to Phantom, “Sound familiar?”

Phantom didn’t say anything for a long while, mulling the words over in his head. No, the facts didn’t sound familiar. They didn’t even piece together a familiar picture, but he had a feeling he knew what Deadman was getting at.

“Phantom?” Green Lantern tapped the table in front of him.

Phantom hummed. “You must not know me as well as you think I do if you think that’s how my origin story goes, D’man.”

“Yeah, but you realized the same thing I did, didn’t you?”

“Either of you care to share with the rest of us?” Raven’s voice drew their attention back to the eyes on them.

It was Constaintne, however, that spoke next. “These people are all sitting in a state that a lot of people would consider limbo. They aren’t dead, but they aren’t very well living, either.”

“So, they’re all sitting in between life and death?” Aquman asked, “Is that what we’re supposed to get out of this?”

“‘Start at your beginning’,” Nightwing quoted again. “How many of us have died and been brought back to life somehow? Or visited an afterlife and survived?” The group shared looks around the table.

“Myself, Flash, Green Arrow, Green Arrow, Aquaman, Raven, Deadman, and Phantom have all died before, however temporarily.” Batman answered. “Constantine, Deadman, and Phantom are the only ones to have visited an afterlife.”

“Nine out of the thirteen of us here,” Green Lantern looked at Green Arrow, “Still think it’s a coincidence?”

“So, what now?” Captain Marvel asks. “We know who the zombies and ghosts on the team are. What happens now?”

Batman locked eyes with Phantom. “Did you find anything during your trip to the Realms?”

Phantom shook his head. “She didn’t tell me anything. She even prevented me from talking to literally anyone. I’m pretty sure She was laughing at me, too.”

They could all hear the capitalization on the word ‘she’.

“Let’s focus on the next part. ‘Fate is a circle and humans rarely learn from their mistakes’.” Wonder Woman said.

“Fate is a circle’...” Phantom muttered. He thought back to everything he could remember. His parents building the portal, him turning it on, the almost daily ghost attacks, Vlad, the G.I.W., Pariah Dark, becoming King, getting locked out of time, being summoned by and working with the JLD, working with the JL, Red Robin being pushy, Nocturne CopyCat. There has to be a connection in there somewhere, but where? Who? “‘Humans rarely learn from their’-” He cut himself off, jumping from his chair. “That’s it!” he shouted, followed by, “Shit!”

“What?” Constantine called, “What is it?”

“A portal! Someone’s trying to make a portal into the Realms!”

Part 16 Part 18

[not-too-many-eyes]

Fuck it. Putting my Trans Eva Ushiromiya Agenda on main as well. I am only in the middle of Ep 3, but also I do have some thoughts on her relationship with Evatrice.

Eva feels a bit like Schrodinger's Cat to me in Ep 3? In the sense that she's both Ushiromiya Eva and Evatrice. Head and Golden Witch. Human and Witch. Real and Illusion. Child and Adult.

Evatrice is Dead and needs to revive herself, but Eva Ushiromiya is Alive but hasn't fully gotten rid of Evatrice because she hasn't:

Like uh...All Umineko Characters, Eva has struggles relating to those binary and strictly defined conceptions and interpretations of people and gender and how they should act or are perceived by others. But a lot of her existence within it is defined by her duality and her inability to strictly conform to it.

As despite her efforts to:

Her efforts in trying to come to terms with the realization that her dreams of being:

"Anything more than a woman" are impossible.

She very much Performs Gender and her Role when she starts "growing up" which is a big part of what upsets Evatrice:

That she ultimately forgot about her and started to act as a good wife and a good woman, abandoning all her dreams and forcing them onto her son. Resigning herself to a life she didn't really want all that much in the first place.

I think it's interesting as well that the role as the Ushiromiya Family Head is regarded In Universe to be a patriarchal one? Or at least considered something that is only to be taken up by a masculine figure. While, The Golden Witch Beatrice, has been obstinately been depicted as feminine.

Thus, taking up both roles at the same time is its own sort of contradiction in 10 different ways. Not even just in terms of gender. The Head of the Ushiromiya Family is the one who governs the "civilized" portion of the island while The Witch governs the forests for example. Evatrice has the whole island now and has:

It's also interesting to me what specifically Hideyoshi highlights when he's slapping Evatrice and telling her to remember that he's her wife.

He talks about how fragile a life is and how cruelty is something you grow out of which. First of all:

But also he also brings up her proficiency in the Kitchen. Her role as a mother and wife is what Hideyoshi tries to remind her of here as she plays out her childish fantasies of being able to do anything she wants. That she is not Beatrice but Eva.

Though that is also wrapped up in its own questions. As Beatrice is a name Inherited. Is it really your name if you inherited it from Someone Else? Beatrice as a name is a symbolic thing that represents something.

There's a lot going on and, unsurprisingly, trying to constrain Eva and Evatrice to rigid categorization of what they represent causes problems. Like- their fragmented in this manner because of that inability to reconcile Eva as a whole person, to continue off the themes of compartmentalization and idealization and 129848329498 other things relating to how people are perceived by both others and themselves. But a big part of that is with how Evatrice and Eva aren't different people. I just think it's fun as a read.

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine reuniting with your brothers after many years since their deaths

After many years, you finally return home and reunite with your family.

Requested by Anon

Hello💕 hope you been well, I was wondering if you could doa continuation of that imagine about being a son of Fëanor but not taking the oath, something about reader meeting his brothers and father in the hall of mandos, with all comfort and angst please 💕💕

Continuation of this: Imagine being one of the sons of Feanor, but...

Warnings: dead characters come to life, a bit angst, mentions of your blind eye and disownment, fluff, reunion, you make amends with your brothers and father, from angst to comfort.

----------------------------------------------

- After many years of living in Middle Earth, surviving the events of the first and second ages, and witnessing the end of Sauron. You were finally allowed to return to the Undying Lands, your home. 

- You once thought you were not worthy to return due to the oath and the actions of your father and brothers, even though you did not participate in any of their crimes and were disowned. So, you were shocked to learn through Glorfindel that the Valars had seen your actions as noble and granted you the right to return. 

- After years of being named the Traitor, the Unloyal, and the Forgotten by your brother’s loyal followers. Words could not describe the relief you felt. 

- You were eager to return to your home after so many centuries. However, you did refuse to leave Maglor behind, so before your departure, you tracked him down and brought him back to Elrond, who took care of him and convinced him to return home with you. The reunion was filled with many held-back emotions, and many things were finally resolved through talking. 

- After that, you finally returned home. 

- The feeling of joy filled you when you saw Aman and its familiar landscape. You felt eager and nervous when you finally arrived at the port and saw many familiar faces waiting there. 

- You watched Elrond reunite with his wife and Galadriel with her family. It was a joyful sight until you noticed the familiar red color of hair among the people and the gentle eyes of your mother. 

- Seeing her forced the tears out from your eyes as you had missed her terribly. You and Maglor embraced her as she was joyful to see two of her sons return home alive. You felt regret that you could not do the same for the rest of your brothers, but she hushed those thoughts away, as two of her children returning home was better than none. 

- You then introduced your spouse and children to her, who she welcomed with open arms. 

- You were then reunited with your uncle and the rest of the cousins who had been re-embodied and were joyful to see you again. Even after many years, you still felt strong familiar love for them as you had looked out for each other since Helcaraxe. 

- However, as time passed and you and your family adapted to the life of Valinor, you began to think about your father and the rest of your brothers. They had yet to repent and heal from the events of the first age thus they were still contained in the Halls of Mandos. You did not know how to act on those thoughts as you felt scared yet yearned to see them again. Even if you were still technically disowned and did not separate from your brothers on good terms, you still held love for them. 

- The scar in your eye has faded over the years, leaving only a faded line. Your eyesight never truly returned, causing it to remain white like a pearl. You did not mind it as you were used to having it. However, it still reminded you of the day when your father raised his sword at you and disowned you from his family. 

- You shared these thoughts with your family. Your mother and Maglor encouraged you to see them if that was what you wished. Doing so might heal some unresolved wounds within yourself. Your spouse also supported the idea, even if they had reserved thoughts about your father after hearing what he had done to you. 

- After that discussion and deep consideration, you decided to visit the Halls of Mandos. 

- The halls were eerie and made you think about scenarios if you had been killed and come to this place. The events of the first age were recorded in the halls, giving you a sense of nostalgia and sorrow. Even if you wanted to forget such events, you understood some records were important so future generations would not make the same mistake. 

- Mandos permitted you to seek your brothers and fathers after hearing your reasoning, and you were left searching for them among the spirits that had yet to heal or be re-embodied. 

- The first of your brothers to be found were the twins. Seeing them together again made you feel relief and your reunion was a happy one. 

- Caranthir was the next. He felt regret because the last time you saw each other: he had lashed out at you and said hurtful things. You assured him that you had forgiven him a long time ago. 

- Celegorm and Curufin were the next and though they did many terrible things while alive, especially seeing you as the traitor of your house. They admitted to their wrongs and understanding of your decision not to swear the oath. They no longer held it as an act of cowardice and unfaithfulness. In fact, they claimed how you had been wiser and even daring for standing up to your decision. 

- You made your peace with them and continued looking. 

- You then found Maedhros as he had been filled with a lot of shame that he made himself harder to find. It was a good thing that you were better at looking. 

- You two talked for a long time and he felt grief for what he had done and said to you. It was a deep discussion and you told him you held nothing against him. Even after everything, he and the rest of your siblings never stopped being your brothers. 

- The hardest one to find was your father. 

- Your brothers shared that your father had felt guilt over his actions, especially for what he had done to you, so he most likely hid himself away from you. With their help, you managed to locate him. 

- You found him alone near the tree where your grandmother resided in her eternal sleep and sat down beside him. 

- You did not give him a chance to avoid you and you two had a proper talk since the first age. He expressed his regret and admitted he fell into madness during the darkening. You saw how he avoided looking at you, more specifically your blind eye. It seemed your eye was an awful reminder of what he did to you. 

- You stopped him from rambling and told him how you stopped blaming him years ago. The circumstances back then were awful and you understood that your grandfather’s death was the last straw for him, causing his madness. The only one to blame for it all was Morgoth as he was the one who orchestrated it and took advantage of your father’s vulnerability.  

- Your father praised how wise you had become and how he was grateful that you did not follow him blindly like the rest of your brothers. 

- You grew wiser over the years, thanks to your experiences, even if they brought you a lot of pain and sorrow. 

- You embraced him and together you wept, finally being able to let go of the pain and be at peace with your past.

Tag list: @4mnd4aph

[11queensupreme11]

So…kinda depressing ask but Demeter’s recent death kind of had me wondering, especially since you mentioned in an ask once LONG ago—so long ago that’s it’s to the point I can’t even find it anymore 😭—that Poseidon wouldn’t kill his siblings just severely mutilate them.

((I’m assuming u totally ditched that when it came to Demeter’s death—which is totally fine cause either way it flows well with ur story and ur description of Poseidon because if Demeter is permanently dead it checks out because she took something from Poseidon that he would never forgive and he would see that as a betrayal which would, in his mind, justify the killing. And if she is still alive (although I don’t see how that could be possible- how can u stay alive when you’ve been…ripped apart 😭😂😅) but living like Adamas then that’s also possible since she is his sister and he’s spared his siblings before (adamas) after mutilating them of course.))

All that to say, it got me wondering. Could and/or would Poseidon or any of the other yans, if they ever became like SUPER (astronomical levels, really) upset with Percy. Result to…killing her? Could they?

yeah demeter is permanently dead, no coming back at all. no revival, no reincarnation, etc. i'm pretty much going the canon route on how deaths are handled! so in ror, when gods die they go to niflhel! same goes with the human souls in the after life (and by that, i mean, after dying in midgar, if they die again in helheim/valhalla, they go to niflhel)

in the ror wiki:

HOWEVER!!! the only difference is that in my fic, gods don't have souls. instead, they're made of divine essence. so for the sake of my fic, when a god dies, their divine essence is destroyed

so yeah, no coming back for demeter or zagreus 😅

as for ur other question.......

the yans absolutely CAN kill percy. ror characters are ridiculously op in terms of physicality, especially the gods cuz i gave them a huge buff. do you guys recall those brief lines i'd type up throughout previous chapters that are always something like "he gripped her arm so hard had it not been for the Curse of Achilles he would've snapped her bones" and stuff like that? yeah i was being fr, these gods can easily crush her to death on ACCIDENT 💀 it's the whole reason i set the story in-between pjo and hoo so she would still have the achilles curse! they're gods who don't interact with humans, they don't know how to be gentle 😭 even a high five could've ripped her hand off or shatter her lmaooo

as for cú chulainn, he's in the same boat (in terms of physicality). since i'm not going with canon (cuz it was too late for me lol), cú chulainn will be the "human with the strength of a god" kind of demigod, like what heracles was pre-ascension. so since he has the strength of a god, he could ALSO kill percy, HOWEVER. unlike the gods, he knows how to actually be careful so he has a lesser chance of actually killing her. the only issue is his ridiculously op gáe bulg which is canonically stated can't be "dodged nor guarded against". if ra and morrigan weren't fast or strong enough to dodge it, there's no damn way percy can 💀 again, the curse of achilles will save her here AS LONG AS SHE KEEPS HER FRONT FACING TOWARDS THE SPIKES. if she has her back to it..... 💀💀💀💀 but i can't see a scenario where he'll ever be so mad he uses that weapon on her.

also there's his freaky 👹goblin mode👹 thing i forgot to mention, but that hasn't been talked about in the manga yet and so far, from the myths, it just makes him more stronger and uncontrollable. if he were to get angry and get into ríastrad then yes, she'll be in a lot of danger 💀

so yes. the yans absolutely CAN kill her, but they won't ever be angry enough to actually want to murder her (excluding beelie's demonic destrudo ofc). the most likely scenario is that they accidentally kill her in a fit of rage. the gods have a higher chance of doing this, cuz they can literally just obliterate her or smite her without needing to even think that much.

[theheirofthesharingan]

I don’t know if you’ve talked about this here but what do you think was Itachi’s motivation for torturing Sasuke?

I did. I wrote about it here and some relevant words here too. The first post will answer most of your questions, but I'm going to answer this one anyway.

Itachi did not torture Sasuke because he thought he was doing something right. He knew he was very, very wrong, but it was necessary because he'd been threatened by Danzo that if his brother learned the truth, Sasuke would go against the village, and get killed.

Danzo, even when Itachi was alive, sent Sai to kill Sasuke, on the name of protecting the village, whereas he wouldn't do anything about Orochimaru, knowing full well Team 7 was actually chasing Orochimaru as well.

Think from Itachi's POV who was leaving his brother in Konoha.

Konoha was a place Itachi had killed his parents. The same place and the people in power to whom he lost Shisui. Sasuke, a defenceless child, could be in a much worse state. Itachi hoped if he were cruel, Sasuke would have a reason to want to live and get strong. Uchiha are driven by emotions and that's what helps them get stronger. Sasuke with Sharingan or MS would have a better chance at survival than a Sasuke who had no access to those powers.

One more thing is that he wanted Sasuke to kill him. So, Sasuke hating the monster that Itachi had become was important. And after killing him, he wouldn't want Sasuke to live in a regret that he'd killed a brother who loved him. Therefore, he wanted Sasuke to remember him as a monster, so that if anyone ever told him 'Hey, your brother loved you', Sasuke would only remember all the pain Itachi had caused him, not all the love he had in his heart. Because Itachi knew what that would do to Sasuke.

In his whole life Itachi had never known a life that was not traumatizing. That was like a default mode for him. To him, a life like that was still better than being dead. He still cried leaving Sasuke, because causing him pain was the last thing he wanted to do.

And when he returns the second time, Itachi didn't want to come across Sasuke at all. He sees Sasuke from afar and learns he's alive and he leaves before Sasuke can even spot he was there. He then leaves the village to capture Naruto. Itachi's purpose of coming to the village was to check on Sasuke. He does that when he sees him. The next was to show Danzo and the elders that he was still alive and he does that with confronting the Konoha Jonin. And then he follows Jiraiya and Naruto out of the village. If it was only to leave the message that the Akatsuki were after Naruto, he could have done it easily without having to follow Naruto out of the village.

He did it because he didn't want to come across Sasuke. Sasuke isn't a sensory-type ninja, so how would he know where Itachi was, even if he were to learn that he was back in Konoha? He wanted to see Sasuke only when Sasuke was ready to kill him. But things didn't turn out that way.

It's not Sasuke's fault that he was there and Itachi was 10000000% wrong in going to the extreme to torture him, but I despise the narrative that 'Itachi was a cruel and manipulative bastard' when literally every single moment leading up to this moment tells us he was trying to avoid Sasuke, let alone hurt him.

Itachi 'manipulated' Sasuke - the word manipulation works only with your textbook definition of the term because a lot of lies and deceit was involved in how Itachi treated the whole thing, but manipulation always is done with the purpose of using someone for their own good and with a self-serving goal in mind.

Danzo manipulated Itachi to exterminate the Uchiha clan. Orochimaru manipulated Sasuke because he wanted his body. Obito manipulated Sasuke so he could use Sasuke against Konoha. Kabuto tried to manipulate Sasuke to fulfill how own goal of attacking Konoha.

What personal, selfish goal did Itachi have in mind that he wanted to achieve by making Sasuke live? His safety? His life?

The foundation of Itachi's morals was rather fragile because of the way he'd lived, killing people, preferring one kind of lives over the others, and having to make the decisions where lives were always at stake and he had to save them. To him, either it was a strong, powerful, and traumatized Sasuke or a dead Sasuke. And he loved Sasuke too much to kill him. And if he had some better options (in which he was certain that Sasuke would be happier too) he would not have taken the extreme measures. He saw the world was cruel to the Uchiha and once he was gone Sasuke would be all by himself. He only understood Sasuke had a better chance because he had Naruto. But it happened after he had already hurt Sasuke enough.

As outsiders, yes, we understand he choices he made were messed up and thoroughly wrong, but they were made in wake of the life and experiences he'd lived through, and violence and hopelessness he'd experienced firsthand.

[decepti-thots]

Ultra Magnus for the headcanon asks, please!

Headcanon A: realistic

I think that while the existence of the Magnus armour stuff is officially only known by a very tiny number of people in Autobot high command, it's not nearly as unknown in an unofficial sense as one might assume, and a not insignificant number of people with some amount of security clearance and/or regular interaction with Magnus know about it and gossip. Obviously we have two concrete canon bits of proof for this (Bumblebee shouldn't know, but was told by at least one Magnus armour wearer, and Ratchet guessed despite never being told), but I think it's gotta be something that over the years has spread enough that it's a little bit of an open secret tbqh. The guy keeps dying and then popping back up with a noticeably different personality. Any medic treating him has the same opportunities as Ratchet to notice. They're robots where the concept of a loadbearer is a clearly known possibility and the propaganda possibility is not that hard to infer! I feel like the number of people who guessed that something was up cannot be anything close to zero, or even just a couple higher ups. Like. It's been gossiped about. You know.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Due to spending two years in direct collaboration with Verity, he has a baffling knowledge of the very specific segment of Earth pop culture that appeals to a teenage girl from the USA in like the late 00s/early 10s. Specifically a rebellious nerdy one. He legitimately knows more about it than he ever knew about Cybertronian popular culture. This never comes up until he offhandedly mentions some random thing within earshot of Swerve that is so incongruous it causes him to mentally bluescreen. How the fuck do you know about that Magnus. What the hell.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Magnus is going to carry the guilt of dismissing Rewind's insistence Dominus was somehow alive the whole time with him for the rest of his life. The realization that Rewind was right but they confirmed it too late for him to do anything about it until the very second it was too late, in a time and place where Magnus was present and might have been able to make a split second decision that helped if only he was there, must be such a fucking thing for him. Let alone that as Ultra Magnus, if he had believed like Rewind did, he'd have possibly had the resources to get answers much, much earlier, if he'd tried.

Realistically, he had every reason to assume Dominus was dead. Rewind was being unreasonably optimistic, especially when the comic implies that Minimus was cut off from the literal sparkbond they had in a way that in any other situation would be definitive proof Dominus was dead. But he wasn't! And he missed every chance to intervene by like, the tiniest margin. You have to assume that on some level he's got some fucked up feelings about that.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own

I know Roberts said he thinks that Megatron becoming an Autobot without all the code-test stuff that Tailgate went through wasn't an issue because realistically, Megatron would know it back to front. I don't even disagree with him, I absolutely believe that he would, it makes sense. But it's objectively too fucking funny to imagine Magnus putting Megatron through the 'you WILL listen to my three hour lecture on the syntax of this one sentence being Extremely Legally Important' gauntlet and I simply choose to believe this did happen but off-panel and Magnus absolutely kicked his ass about it in terms of sheer Knowing His Shit about it. Way too funny to pass up tbh. Megatron thought he knew and understood it very well (and to be fair: he did, compared to every not-Magnus person), but he got grilled. Magnus quite enjoyed rebutting every single interpretation Megatron had by way of ludicrous pedantry.

[safedistancefrombeingsmart]

What did John say in his letter to Sherlock? We never find out and I regularly wonder what John could have written. Here's my version of John's letter.

(Also, this is my 1st time writing anything, so this is a bit nerve- wracking stressful. Not a native speaker, not beta'd/ britpicked, and so on.)

Warnings: nothing too bad, just a bit lot of angst.

Broken

You broke me, Sherlock. You broke me in so many ways and I don't know if I can ever recover from it.

I have been damaged before. By Mum and Dad, by Harry. Bit by bit, piece by piece I rebuild myself, every time. Then came Afghanistan and it broke me more than anything before, inside and out. It took away my career, my future and I was certain that I could never fix what the war took from me. I was ready to end it all, on my own terms.

But then I met you and to my surprise you could repair what I could not, not on my own. You gave me purpose and brought back joy to my life. I felt alive. Needed. Happy. I don't think I've ever been this happy before, and I am sure I never will be again. I was convinced that you would never do anything to harm my happiness. But you did.

You broke me, shattered me when you jumped off that damn roof. You crushed my heart into a million pieces when you leapt into inevitable death, when I saw your skull cracked open and your dead eyes and the blood. So much blood. I didn't know that it was just a magic trick. A lie. Why did you have to lie to me, Sherlock? Not trust me enough to take me with you? I would have gone everywhere with you, done everything for you. Everything. I think that's what hurt the most. You not trusting me. I trusted you. With everything I had. And you broke that trust by not trusting me.

I don't know how I managed not to fling myself off that same roof. Oh, I've thought about it. Many, many times. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't do this to Mrs. H. or Greg who had already lost a son (or close enough) and a friend. I could not be that selfish. Yes, I thought you were a selfish bastard. Doing that to us. To me. Even made me watch. Cruel doesn't even come close to describe what you did. Did you know that I don't dream about Afghanistan anymore? I dream about your Fall and the cracked skull and the dead eyes and the blood. And how I failed to save you. You never needed saving, but I didn't know that and it haunts me to this day.

I don't know what Mary saw in me. I was a grieving, broken man with no purpose. But she insisted that she liked me and I couldn't convince her that I wasn't worth her time. She distracted me from the grief and in a way she saved me, not unlike you did when we first met.

And then you came back. And I should have been happy, right? The miracle I had asked for so many times. But you treated your return like a joke, like it didn't matter -like I didn't matter- and you ridiculed me and something else inside me broke and this time I broke something of yours in return. Sorry about the nose, but I was so FUCKING angry and you kept talking and you kept being an enormous prick and it made me so angry.

Mary thought she talked me around, to see you again, to talk to you again. The truth is: I needed no one to talk me around. I could have never stayed away from you for too long. As soon as (most of) my anger had vanished,  I was drawn back to you like a moth to the light. And I thought that, maybe, I could be happy again. With you AND Mary by my side. And a little girl on the way.

And then you got shot and I nearly lost you. Again. My heart shattered to pieces, again, while I waited for news at the hospital. And as if it wasn't bad enough with you nearly dying, it was bloody Mary who tried to break me this time by breaking you. How could you not see who she really was? The world's only Consulting Detective and the smartest man I have ever known, and you didn't bloody know??? I could not leave her, not with Rosie on the way. I didn't want my little girl to grow up without a father. I promised her to be a better father than my own and I could never break this promise. Not before she was even born. But you made me break that promise. You didn't pull the trigger, that day in the aquarium, but you might have as well. You SWORE to protect Mary so my little girl would have a mother and she still died. I cannot care for Rosie, not on my own. I can barely take care of myself.

I am a broken man, Sherlock, I am not the man I want to be. Not anymore. I am a washed up soldier and doctor, a single father who can't take care of his daughter, a son and brother being only 1 step away from following his father's and sister's footsteps and becoming a full blown alcoholic.

I can't be near you anymore. Not until I get better. And I don't know if I ever can. I do not trust myself, with all the anger and sadness and guilt and broken promises. Maybe this time I am broken beyond repair.

Do not contact me. Do not follow me. Do not spy on me (same goes for you, Mycroft!). Don't even think about me. Do not! Sherlock, I mean it. This time it has to be my way, not yours.

I don't know when I can bear to see you again, if I can bear to ever see you again. And this thought breaks whatever is left of my already broken heart.

John

(AO3 link)

[bloodychazorite]

Q!Slime Rant :DDD

I think Q!Slime deserves to snap, or–at the very least–be bitter.

It is insane how the other members of the other members have been treating him, ever since he lost his daughter. Mocking him, ridiculing him, bringing him back over and over again to that moment. Gods forbid, however, he does the same for a second, asking the–perfectly rational, by the way–question of whether or not the eggs are actually okay. Everyone knows JuanaFlippa is different from the other eggs, being brought back a few times now. And even Slime doesn’t know this but the other residents of the island suspect that Juana is code and trying to infect him. They know she’s different as well, so the question isn't insane.

Wilbur openly poked him, calling him a Misclicker but as soon as he brings up that valid point of Tallulah maybe not being okay, he snaps. (Also this hypocrite was yelling at Phil for not doing anything? Oh my gods.) Bad brought up Flippa’s death and Charlie’s mistakes and failures every chance he got and gave him an egg named after his dead daughter during his fucking breakdown. I’m aware that he’s a demon and maybe that contributes to the fact that he has harshly different standards of what’s okay, but that is an insane action to jump to. When your egg is alive, it’s a lot easier to mock those with dead children, isn’t it?

No one is even remotely attempting to help him with the Code Virus.

They are laughing, and they are pointing it out, but no one is doing anything. Each and every one of them knows that Charlie will be stubborn if they tell him it’s Flippa. Denial is his favorite stage of grief and he’s hardly left it since he first got on this island. But that doesn’t change the fact that people know something is wrong and no one has tried to help other than a brief, “Are you okay?” Or an “Are you feeling alright?”

Clearly not!!

I’m not saying he was a perfect saint, and I’m not saying he’s never done anything wrong. For a while, he was a terrible parent. But he was trying to change, and even succeeding in a few aspects. He loved his girl and was trying to change for her, even before she died for the first time. 

Each time he had something taken from him, he got worse. 

Every time his daughter died, Mariana left, Tilín’s death, everything makes him worse. 

No one tried to help him then, and no one is trying to help him now. 

He is far from perfect, but he hardly deserves the endless amounts of suffering he’s been subjected to, not many people do.

A person is deteriorating, decaying, being eaten alive from the inside out in front of each of the island’s residents. People are watching decomposition happen in real time, mentally and physically. In the mental aspect, they’ve been watching it happen for months.

I hope Charlie goes full corrupt and eats all their asses.

Y'know what? Not even that!

I hope he goes full corrupt and they have to lock him up or contain him somehow because he becomes a danger to others or a contamination issue. 

Maybe he drags himself around the island, voice hollow and teeming with glitch after tic after error.

Perhaps the Federation could step in and drag him away kicking and screaming desperately for his daughter, wailing and sobbing for anyone to listen and save him, forgive him.

He could lose all concept of his humanity, entirely a shell of his former self, and every person he speaks to can hardly find his soul behind his eyes until he sees Flippa. Not even José cheers him up anymore. The only light in his eyes is the unnatural green gleam against his now dull blue eyes when his gaze meets Flippa’s.

And I hope that–no matter what–every member of Quesadilla Island has to come to terms with the fact that they did nothing to help a suffering, mentally tortured friend, and now there’s a chance that they’ll never get him back.

Anyway I’m insane how's your day going :p