#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.

[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.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

## 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 ! )

[spacebarbarianweird]

May I request an addition to the growing pile of Astarion bath fics? I feel like I've read all the ones on AO3 but I still want moooorreee!!!

It could be set right after the graveyard scene, and have tav washing his hair, rubbing his shoulders, helping him relax, all that cute shit.

I'm cool with it being fluff or smut. Ideally both. Preference is for a generic tav with AFAB anatomy.

Can't wait to see whatever you come up with!!

Sincerely,

Your favorite slutty songstress 😘

Synopsis: After the graveyard date, you take Astarion with you to bath.

Thanks @tragedybunny for beta-reading!

Tags: fluff, tooth-rotting, aftercare after the graveyard date

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The Things You Never Had

The night is intoxicating, and so is freedom.

Astarion sits up and shakes off the soil from his silver curls. Maybe, a graveyard wasn't the best place for an unplanned act of passion, after all.

You move beside him and give out a yawn. Your naked body looks divine in the moonlight.

So that is what people are supposed to feel when they have sex? Be fully present, not having to perform?

He chuckles. And he considered himself experienced…

No. It doesn't count. Forced sex. His victims. Acts of torture disguised in lovemaking. Even that night on the meadow. It doesn't count. It doesn't matter.

You sit up, placing your chin on his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, doesn't move, afraid it's all a dream.But it's not. This whole day wasn't a dream.

Cazador's body at his feet. Your voice: "Astarion, please, don't do that!" Bleeding wounds on his back.

Revenge.

Twenty-six stabs before the vampire lord is finally dead. Astarion thought he would cheer when it happened. But there was only numbness. Pain. Exhaustion.

When it was all over, Astarion fell on his knees, weeping and mourning.You didn't try to hug him, to touch him. If you did, he would snap at you and say something he would regret.

But you simply approached him with his own shirt in your hands and helped to put it on. You brought the rest of his clothes and armor, helping him to dress,in silence.

Then, you took his hand and never let it go. You left the dungeons together. If you didn't take his hand, he would have just stayed frozen in the middle of everything

But you were there. For him.

When the companions started asking what had happened in the mansion and why Astarion looked so beaten, you shut them all up, telling them to leave him alone.

You gave him space too, saying, you would be in the tavern so if he felt like talking he knew where to find you.

At first, he just sat on his bed staring in the distance, ignoring whatever was going on around him. A few hours later, when Astarion finally came to terms with what happened, he took you to his grave.

I love you. I want you. I want this freedom with you.

You wrap your hands around him. "How are you feeling, my love?"

"Never felt better" Astarion kisses your nose.

How could he be so stupid a mere day ago? Desiring power that would destroy him? Doubting you? Manipulating you?

He could lose it all in a blink of an eye.

You kiss his cheek and Astarion feels tears pricking his eyes."Listen, I'd suggest we go back before we are arrested for lewd conduct. I want to spend the rest of the night in bed, not in a cell."

Gods, you are so beautiful. Especially covered in sweat and dirt (and his release between your thighs).

He kisses you and feels your hardened nipples against his chest. Astarion would take you once again if he wasn't so exhausted after this long day. But what if you expect this? He rarely had sex with the same person more than once, and can hardly tell what he needs to do next.

Do you want to repeat when you are back in the tavern? How often will you want him inside you?

"Hey, Little Star, don't float away too far." You caress his cheek. "I love you."

If he was alive, his heart would skip a beat. "Yes, you are right... We need to go back. Damn, we look like we've been robbing graves!"

"And whose fault is this Astarion?" You laugh while putting your clothes on.

He pulls up his trousers and tucks the shirt.

"Hey, who is there? If someone is fucking on graves again, I swear - "

"This is a guardian! Let's go!" you push Asatrion a bit and, laughing, you leave the graveyard.

 The inn is empty except for the tavern innkeeper, who glances with a slight hint of disapproval. "Were you two robbing graves?"

"Yeah, sort of," you scratch your scalp.

Astarion is ready to go upstairs to fall onto his bed but you stop him.

"Where are you going?

"To sleep?"

"Like this? Astarion, you aren't a slave in the kennels anymore. You need to take care of yourself. Hey, we need a bath!"

The innkeeper sighs. "I’ll get it ready. A big one, I suppose?"

"Yep. One very big and hot wooden bathtub!"

Astarion sits on the bench. The dirty shirt itches, and he also feels soil in his trousers and pants. "One? But about you? I think you need a bath, too."

"Mm-hmm."

When the bath is finally ready, you close the door and undress yourself once again. Astarion hesitates. Suddenly, he feels very vulnerable.

"You want us together… in there?"

"Yes. Oh… I am sorry. You don't want to?"

"I - I don't know" This is ridiculous. You saw him naked at least twice, why does the idea of undressing now scare him so much?

You approach him and put your hands on his shoulders. "I want you to bathe. You need to wash it all away. The dirt, the sweat, the blood. If you aren't comfortable with me by your side, it's ok. I will come when you finish. If you don't know, it's also fine. I will leave once you feel off, ok?"

Astarion slowly takes the clothes off. The hot air makes him feel like he is going to lose consciousness,

Avoiding looking at your eyes, he steps into the hot water. You giggle.

"Relax! You are safe! No one will ever harm you again."

But he can't. He doesn't understand what to do next. He doesn't perform, he doesn't act and it scares him. Astarion presses the knees to his chest as if he was cold.

You sit on the edge of the tub, and carefully touch his cheek."Can I join?"

Hells, what do you want from him? 

"My love, if you want to have another round, we can do it in bed. Why all this prelude?"

You give out a laugh in answer

Shit, did he do something wrong? He won't bear it if you suddenly get angry and leave him like that.

"Astarion, it's not a prelude, and I don't want the second round. I can't shut my legs properly, give me a break. It's called aftercare."

"After - what?"

You submerge your legs under the water. "It wouldn't be nice of me to leave you all alone. Come on, let me bathe you. Besides, we are both extremely dirty right now."

He nods, and you immediately make him sit between your legs."Let's start with your hair."

A small bucket of water splashes above him, making his hair wet. You start massaging his scalp, gently touching the tips of his ears.

"Lean forward a bit, please." He obeys. "Yes, much better. You have such lovely curls. Soft like silk. You know, I love being a small spoon, because I can bury my nose in them."

Astarion presses his knees even tighter. The whole situation is … surrealistic. He's just had the first and best sex in his memory, and now the same person, who literally dragged him from hell, is washing his body as if he is an innocent child, not an "elven prostitute" with a broken and dirty soul.

And to make it even more dream-like you kiss his cheek."You are so strong, so brave. I am so proud of you." You kiss his jawline and massage his hair, making sure it's all clean of dirt and blood."I am so happy I have you, Astarion." You murmur.

You splash away the soap off of his hair, take a sponge, and start rubbing his arms and shoulders as if trying to wash away all the nonconsensual touches. Another kiss, on the nape of his neck. "Are you still here?"

"Yes," he squeezes out the word.

Your fingers brush softly over his chest. Then you pull him forward a bit to get full access to his back. He shudders.

No, not scars. Don't touch them.

"Astarion? Can I wash your back?"

He hides his face in his palms. Nothing bad will happen if you do. Nothing…

"I will stop if you feel bad, ok? I won't hurt you."

He nods, and he feels the first stroke. Then another. And yet another. You hum something while washing his back with the same sponge you used for his hands.

From time to time you stop to kiss his skin. Or to rub your breasts along his spine.What kind of intimacy is that? Somehow, it's not sexual. It's warm and tender and he feels like melting.

"I love you, my sweet Little Star."

And then he can't take it anymore. Astarion bursts in tears. His body trembles as if the water was freezing cold.

You immediately take your hands off."Astarion?"

He weeps, muttering something indecipherable.

He feels so loved. So cared for, so protected.

"No, don't - please…."

"I am not doing anything" your voice sounds worried . "I can leave if you want."

The idea of being alone forces Astarion to look back at you."Don't you dare. Please, do this thing again."

"Ok then. But you tell me if it's too much."

"Too much?" he chuckles. "Darling, there is never too much from you"

"So, you are back to normal, Astarion?"

"I've not gone anywhere."

You both loudly laugh, and he finally relaxes, putting his head on your chest, and you rest your back on the wall of the bathtub.

You lie together like that for eternity. Lazily, you wash his stomach and chest with a sponge, meanwhile Astarion suddenly finds comfort in drawing invisible circles on your knee cap with his thumb.

"Thank you," he mutters.

You kiss his forehead, and he feels like crying again."You know, if this is what you want to happen after we have sex, I absolutely don't mind" he grins.

"It doesn't have to be connected with lovemaking, Astarion. We can do it just like that, because we want."

You tug him tighter, and he can feel your heartbeat. It's so close he can mistake it for his own.

And then, he can't stay like that anymore.

He frees himself of your hands, turns around and kisses you, cupping your cheeks."I want to do the same to you." he mutters.

"You don't have to. It's not an exchange."

Not an exchange… Another strange concept. He felt so good, why don't you expect to get the same treatment?

"I-I want to do this."

"Promise me, you aren’t doing this because you think you owe me."

"Stop resisting and turn around."

You put your chin and your arms onto the edge of the bathtub, baring your back.

Astarion takes the sponge and rubs your skin with it.

His.

You are his. And he is yours. The idea of belonging doesn't trigger him as much as he thought it would. Unable to resist, he starts planting kisses all over your back.

So beautiful, so brave, so kind. 

He pulls you to himself, getting access to your breasts and using the soap to clean their skin.

Astarion hesitates once his fingers get to your hair but before he manages to think about anything up you have mercy on him and simply submerge under the water returning back in a second.

He gently washes your head making sure the graveyard earth doesn't stick to it anymore.Then, once he knows there is nothing more to clean, he just hugs you, feeling the tears pricking his eyes once again.

For some reason, his body doesn't feel dirty anymore - as if you scrubbed his past away.

Yes, you did it. He is new. He is innocent. He is redeemed. Nothing will ever change it.

Later, you lie together in your shared bed, too small for two people, legs and hands intertwined.

"I want to remember this" he whispers once you find a position comfortable for you both.

You mumble something in the crook of his neck falling asleep. Astarion tugs you closer, listening to your soothing breathe and heartbeat.

Yes, he can get used to all this.

--

Tag List

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-alll @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar@elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric

[sibylsleaves]

Buck thinks it’s normal that when Eddie starts talking about how if Chris wants to stay in Texas Eddie is going to have to move back there too, something in Buck’s brain automatically goes “well I guess we’ll just be moving to Texas then?? I guess??”

ok like yes this is definitely where my head is at and this is going to sound so controversial but I do almost feel like the concept of a life separate from Eddie's is MORE unthinkable to Buck than the concept of a life where Eddie is dead. Not WORSE, never WORSE, but more unthinkable.

Because they're first responders, and the idea of one of them dying is just never that far from their every day reality. It's something they all have to come to terms with, and deal with, and talk about (which they have...the will scene, for one).

But the idea of them living their lives separate from one another? I mean I do think this is the reason why they took the route they did with Eddie in the coma dream. Eddie being dead is of course the worst possible scenario Buck could ever live through. But Eddie being ALONE, Eddie existing out in the world WITHOUT BUCK is actually more unimaginable to him. Because why and how would either of them ever let that happen?

So yeah idk I am having thoughts of Buck having to envision some kind of future where he and Eddie are both like, alive and fine, but not in each others lives (or not in each others lives in the same way) and I think that could be the thing. It's kind of like how Chim knew he had to follow Maddie after she left. If Eddie left, I think Buck would need to follow him, and I think that would finally make him confront what his feelings are. Because you can let a good friend, a best friend, even, move away and you can stay in touch and still love each other from afar. But you can't do that with a partner.

Another juicy version of this (to me) is if BUCK is the one contemplating leaving (maybe for a serious romantic partner, just to drive the point home?). And he realizes that while he's had to deal with the idea of losing Eddie, he's never had to deal with the idea of leaving him. and he CAN'T.

[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.

[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. 🙈♥️

[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

[ournachojesus]

Hello, this is a Death Note time loop AU. Light and L are stuck in a loop, it starts with Light’s death in the manga. They are the only ones that remember the loops. After the loops start instead of it ending after both of them are dead it only requires one of them to die to reset. What I talk about at some points will be pretty dark (murder, torture, abuse, etc). Not all in this post (does include some of that already) but this AU in general. Since it will involve a lot on how their mental health declines and along with their already… morally interesting self’s I explore how they behave. This is my warning and I’ll make a warning for each post for this.)

Light and L are stuck in a limbo in terms of the Kira case. If either dies they both reset. It's a spiral of them both sometimes playing the game they did but on a much higher level on some cycles or on sight beating the shit out of eachother. First time and second time is obviously different, third to tenth time they work together, after twenty times it breaks down into the spiral. Once they hit loop fifty is when they finally show more obvious signs of breaking. Light is unavoidably killed by Ryku and L is just doomed by the actions of those around them. The death bells ring for both of them but after Light dies and the first reset happens, they no longer have to wait for the other. No loneliness in being the one alive or the one dead. Locked even further into this relationship of only being able to understand eachother. They are smart but not emotionally so (manipulation isn't the same as emotional intimacy or empathy), the resets make things far worse.

Some resets further down the line L just straight up kidnaps Light (before Kira suspects are even chosen) and keeps him till the death bells ring. Like, this would be one of the more psychologically more dangerous situations during the cycles. Along with Light's 'puppeteering phase' where he keeps using the death note on many loops to make L do things against his will then killing him. Both involve torture of taking the free will and autonomy of the other. Something the really messes with both of them since they crave to be atop things. To be able to understand and move the situation in their favor. In both incidents it’s at a time when both individually have breaking points. Since the other is basically burned out to the extreme due to cycles they can’t even use logic to figure out the why when these things happen. Other people? Sure, easy as pie. Eachother? Nope. Can’t get a read. That similar thought process thing they have has no way of happening when it comes to trying and understanding their own feelings.

They are both immoral and shattered characters. They weren't broken in the begging, just already in many pieces and no one took the proper time with either of them to actually make either of them have some emotionally healthy habits. Born with the need for a little more help and no one helped them. Intelligent children are just assumed to be more mature than their age. Regular children are unfairly expected to understand norms and the world when they’re just basically learning from scratch from everything around them, how do you think adults treat intelligent kids then? Pushing them harder, supporting them less. Light and L I don’t expect to act like everyone else, what I’m saying is that they lack empathy for other people a lot of the time because they weren’t given enough attention when being taught that. Kindness is something they think their both don’t, L with his work and Light with being ‘God’. The perception of kindness is warped. Sorry about that rant, back to the AU.

So, ya. It’s a burning pit of corpses in terms of how it goes down. I can go into more detail on the two incidents but I’d do it on another post if people wanted that.

Misa finds out basically everytime, like more people notice depending on how careless both of the boys are in that loop but Misa just figures it out each time. Rem helps with some of those times but it’s majority of Misa doing the heavy lifting. Why? Misa isn’t dumb and she has great luck. Luck and her general genius she already had when it came to interacting with people. Misa is a lost soul who depends her happiness on other people, I don’t know how she got this unfortunate codependency need from (probably some trauma). Anyway, she wants to help them but…

Light is mad, eventually L is to. It’s a lot of frustration of Misa not being apart of their loops but constantly finding out and doing similar things (aka the solutions she proposes or what she does to help. Reminding her becomes a hard task for them both with how things in their minds start to fall apart and her small comforts are numb since at some point they only feel like the only real people). They are trapped in a way where if they keep coming across something that doesn’t help then it just drives them mad. This would probably lead to a couple loops of them doing something horrible (like criminally so) to Misa and either Rem gets their asses or Misa’s good luck manifesting in another way.

Light and L would at some point do something to eachother (this means during the incidents since I left that vague and whatever other things) or other people like Misa. To highly intelligent people with crumbling sanity, shit morals, and highly messed up feelings/relationships? They are going to do things worse than just killing people. Being killed isn’t the worse thing someone can do to you.

About the real people thing, when you are the only ones that can change and grow? It feels like everyone else is an actor or NPC. While things can change for those around them based on their actions, no one remembers and the only reasons these new things happen is because of how the boys act. This wouldn’t seem super bad since you may be thinking I see L and Light as to people that don’t care. No, they do. They just have a hard time with it. It hurts and they don’t understand why. Their families (or people I’d say are close enough with them to be called family) can’t help, will never change with the, and are growing further from them as they start to lose the memories they had before the loops since it’s getting harder to keep everything in check with how long it’s going on for. Their emotional state also affects their memories. At some points they just huddle together, no crying or speaking. Just cuddling.

The longest they live is on the day Light originally dies, but getting L to the point is hard. Cause after the day he originally dies they had a hard time making plans on his survival. In later loops it’s not as bad.

At the end of the loops, what the ending would be? An end to the loops… I have two/three ideas on that but I’d need to see. I want to better organize the events that would happen, their mental health declines, and some other things. Picking an ending now when I’m still trying to figure out how Light becomes not a sexist? I need my details figured out first!!

Hope whoever reads this long AU idea post enjoys it. Posting more is unsure for me.

[phoenixyfriend]

Do you want another Jangosoka concept?

Concept is that Boba finds a… something on Tatooine that looks like Weird Force Shit. He does not know any Jedi or Sith, personally, but he knows three people who do have connections to Jedi:

Han Solo, whom he has on speed dial despite hating each other, and losing most of his contacts with his comm when the Sarlacc ate him

Din Djarin, whose kid goes to school Somewhere With Jedi? Maybe? he's not entirely clear on how much contact Djarin has with Skywalker these days

Bo-Katan Kryze, who has Ahsoka Tano on speed dial

Obviously, he goes through Bo-Katan first, because Ahsoka Tano knows more about general Force things than the latest Skywalker, and has less of a Direct Grudge against Boba himself.

So he makes a call and tries to ignore the Weird Force Thing that he just poked. He waits a few days.

Ahsoka shows up. She holds the thing. It is confusing.

They have a stupid argument built on Uncomfortable History at some point, and Boba being a grump, and he snatches it from her, managing to slice his finger on one of the edges.

A few drops of blood get on the weird force thing, and there is a flash of light, and suddenly there's a half-dead Jango Fett in the room.

Like "He has visible burns on his neck from Mace's lightsaber, but still has his head, as if he was pulled through time from the very moment before of his death."

Which Big Oops

Boba is panicking. Ahsoka is trying not to admit she's freaked out. Jango is. clawing as his throat dude stop that.

Ahsoka's the one that had enough brains to call for a medic and keeps sitting at his side to keep a Very Judgemental Eye on him, but she's. You know. Jedi. So Jango is constantly suspicious of her.

(He thinks Boba is a faulty fast-aging clone, like 99, because that's the only thing that makes sense.) (Also he doesn't acknowledge Ahsoka's "I'm not a Jedi" thing.)

Ahsoka's had thirty years to come to terms with the death of her people but she's also, for obvious reasons, still judgmental as fuck and has a lot of questions.

But also this was necromancy, which is Sith Or Nightsister Bullshit, and she needs to make sure he's not about to get possessed and go hunting for Force Sensitive babies or something insane like that.

(The reason the object drew Jango is because of the totally coincidental identical DNA. Turns out the object is intended to bring back the dead using a body sample of the corpse, but identical blood will do if there's a dead person with the same.)

IDK where exactly it goes from here but it's 44yo Jango, 45yo Boba, and 49 Ahsoka Plus Fennec, who's just hanging around

They need to bring around someone Jango actually knows and will trust, because obviously Boba is a fake and Ahsoka's a liar and this is all some weird Jedi trick.

Options are Maz Kanata (who's definitely old enough to remember him), or Bo-Katan herself, except they try Bo since she's closer and it turns out she was still a toddler when Jango went missing so that's not going to help at all.

Mij or one of the other Cuy'val Dar could theoretically still be alive, and Sabine has parents that might have known him before they joined up with Pre.

Fennec knowing him would be a BIT too easy.

I'm imagining that the call goes as Boba explaining that, well, there's this one guy that he knows, that his dad was close with, but the Sarlacc kind of ate his comm unit and he hasn't had the time or resources to hunt down all his contact numbers and whatnot yet, so he's not sure how to go about actually calling the guy, and so they have to politely ask Bo-Katan if she, as Mand'alor, can find the contact information for one Mij Gilamar. Boba's pretty sure he's still running a clinic on Insert Planet Here, so it shouldn't be too hard to get, it's just kind of impossible from Tatooine.

[maidstew]

lily, please elaborate on your clemmie and lyssie post 😔🙏🏽

i know i did this to myself but i’m actually nervous to write this out because i don’t think anyone is going to agree with me but here i go!

before i start- i do want to clarify that i love both characters and this is in no way me hating on clemmie or implying that lysistrata is perfect! clemmie is miles ahead in terms of being caring versus her peers.

however, i do not see clemensia as a truly good, kind person. (again, this is all my personal interpretation and i could be way off!)

a few things stick out to me about clemensia that make me feel this way (pre-snake bite, obviously! def unfair to hold post snake-bite against her).

the first example is when they are discussing how to force people to watch the games.

clemensia says-

“The real problem is, it’s sickening to watch”

lysistrata says-

“Most of us don’t want to watch other people suffer.”

to me, i see this as lysistrata acknowledging and putting focus on the children suffering- where clemmie focuses mainly on how it makes her feel to watch.

clemensia also talks about her first meeting with reaper-

“Mine wouldn’t speak. Not a word”

not horrible by any means- but it still feels lacking in empathy (and not great that she referred to reaper as ‘hers’).

another example that comes to mind is when clemmie and coriolanus are discussing the games after arachne death and she says this-

“Yes, or make them Avoxes, or something,” said Clemensia. “It’s awful, but not as bad as the arena. I mean, I’d rather be alive without a tongue than dead, wouldn’t you?”

this isn’t a bad thing necessarily! but to me, i see it as misguided and failing to actually put herself in the shoes of these children and sort of failing to have genuine empathy.

another example is regarding iphigenia-

“Clemensia had once told Coriolanus it was the only revenge she could take on her father, but refused to give any more details.”

again, miles ahead of most of her peers because she refused to elaborate further but i believe that exposing that to coriolanus at all was a deeply unkind thing to do.

and then here are some examples where i see lysistrata displaying kindness (though i’m aware that it may be unfair to bring up things lysistrata did during the games bc clem didn’t get the same chance to bond with reaper!)

she makes the effort to help jessup even before he protects her in the bombing-

she’d apparently been working hard to connect with Jessup “I brought you some cream for your neck,”

she is grateful to jessup after he protects her instead of just assuming that her life is worth more. she’s also willing to speak out and tell everyone this despite knowing how people view district citizens.

“She’s going around saying that big, ugly boy from District Twelve protected her by throwing his body over her, but who knows? The Vickers family loves the spotlight.”

it’s also worth noting that coriolanus follows this up by saying he’s never seen a vickers trying to claim the spotlight.

she also says this-

“And who wouldn’t rather be the victor than the defeated?”

“I don’t know that I have much interest in being either,” said Lysistrata.”

which i think is very decent considering she lived through the war just as much as her classmates.

she displays empathy and understanding for dill & reaper when her classmates do not-

“Isn’t he the one who promised to kill all the others?” asked Pup.

“Doesn’t look so tough to me,” said Urban.”

“She’s his district partner,” said Lysistrata. “And she’s almost dead now. Tuberculosis, probably.”

she’s also quick to call out her classmates during the games-

“Like musical chairs,” said Domitia with a pleased look.

“But with people dying,” said Lysistrata.”

when jessup has rabies and is chasing lucy gray-

“If Jessup can’t win, I want Lucy Gray to. That’s what he’d want. And she can’t win if he kills her,” she said. “Which might happen anyway.”

to me, this shows that she has been able to empathize and understand who jessup is as a person.

also while other classmates display anger or frustration at losing the prize she says this-

“Coriolanus could barely hear Lysistrata whisper, “Oh, don’t let him die alone.”

because she cares about jessup. she also sends food to lucy gray directly after that.

and of course there’s this interaction which i think speaks for itself-

“I do.” She took a deep breath. “What I’d like people to know about Jessup is that he was a good person. He threw his body over mine to protect me when the bombs started going off in the arena. It wasn’t even conscious. He did it reflexively. That’s who he was at heart. A protector. I don’t think he would’ve ever won the Games, because he’d have died trying to protect Lucy Gray.”

“Oh, like a dog or something.” Lepidus nodded. “A really good one.”

“No, not like a dog. Like a human being,” said Lysistrata.”

but the fact that she firmly and openly asserted his humanity in front of the entire capitol essentially is massive to me.

and of course there’s the fact that she had been nice to sejanus-

“Snow had invited Festus and Lysistrata to join the party, as they’d liked Sejanus better than most of his classmates and could be counted on to say nice things.”

of course this is all rambling that doesn’t actually answer the question but i feel like it was important to try to explain why i saw them as slightly different.

essentially i think my thoughts on kind vs nice can be summed up by this quote-

Niceness, then, is often expressed through words or gestures, while kindness is often expressed through acts.

and lysistrata proved repeatedly that she is willing to act by speaking up consistently despite how taboo it is in the capitol. whereas i don’t view clemensia as someone who would be as willing to directly assert a district citizens humanity so publicly (again, my own personal interpretation.).

because of this- i believe lysistrata is a lot more likely to get herself in trouble quicker by opening her mouth and sticking up for the district citizens, especially after this experience. whereas i do not think clemensia would be as likely to risk her safety to do so.

[running-with-the-feels]

Obsessed w da subscorp hcs, please sir may I have some more 🙏🙏

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEE alright lets go!

Hanzo fell first but Kuai Liang fell harder. Not to say that Kuai Liang love Hanzo more tho, more like he's a lot less normal about it.

Hanzo realized he was in love with Kuai Liang about a year or so into their alliance and felt very guilty about it for two main reasons. 1) Harumi, though he knows that she wouldn't hold it against him it still feels a like he's betraying her, especially bc Kuai Liang is Lin Kuei and 2) Bi-Han. It feels cruel to love Kuai Liang when he robbed him of his brother and Hanzo doesn't know how to deal with it.

He makes his peace with that eventually, mostly he comes to terms with his feelings after Quan Chi is dead and both Harumi and Bi-Han have been avenged (which would be about four years of angsty pining) and then just hides them bc he doesn't want to put pressure on Kuai Liang, he doesn't want Kuai Liang to feel obligated or like he has to reciprocate and he's also afraid that Kuai Liang will hate him for it (bc Bi-Han) and that he'll lose his best friend.

Kuai Liang on the other hand has absolutely No Idea that he is in love with Hanzo for the longest time. Like, it is obvious to everybody else, and he knows that he feels Something, but he just thinks its friendship (bc he's experienced so little of that in his life)

There's nothing serious that sparks the realization for him it just sort of happens one day and Kuai Liang kinda shuts down from shock.

He tries to hide his feelings too, bc he knows that Hanzo is still grieving his wife and doesn't want to hurt him by acting like he can replace her (which neither of them would do but yknow, he worries) but Kuai Liang is not as good at being subtle about his emotions as Hanzo is so pretty much everybody but Hanzo can tell

It all comes to a head when Hanzo almost dies and Kuai Liang just refuses to let that happen. Like, Hanzo is bleeding out as they're trapped and Kuai Liang fights their way out like a god of war (which Hanzo thinks is hot) and then, as soon as they are safe, Kuai Liang is kissing the daylights out of him in relief

Johnny Cage runs a betting pool on when they are going to get together and Kung Jin wins thanks to help from Takeda.

Hanzo is incredibly protective of Kuai Liang even though he knows full well that the cryomancer can protect himself, he simply refuses to risk it so whenever Kuai Liang is in danger, Hanzo is there with him, taking hits to protect him.

They do fight about that sometimes, bc both are worried about losing the other and neither is willing to compromise.

Kuai Liang is incredibly possessive, not in a "You are my property" kind of way but in a "I need people to know that you are spoken for and that we belong to each other" Kind of way, so he tends to leave a lot of hickeys on Hanzo whenever he gets the chance

Hanzo is Fully on board with that plan and will sometimes, when not wearing armor, wear clothes that show off as many of the hickeys as possible. He also tries to make the hickeys last longer by pressing down on them with his fingers, which doesn't really work but he tries

whenever Kuai Liang sees him do that he drags him off to a darkened corner to leave more hickeys

Both of them have nightmares and even before they get together are the only people who can calm each other down afterwards.

Hanzo once had a nightmare of Quan Chi coming back from the dead and killing Kuai Liang and teleported over to the Lin Kuei temple (directly into Kuai Liang's bedroom) in a panic to check that he was still alive. Kuai Laing woke up and stayed up the rest of the night talking to him and calming him down

That led to their habit of sleeping in the same bed to ward off the nightmares, which is the only remedy they have found that works.

Frost gives Hanzo a truly terrifying shovel talk after he and Kuai Liang get together, and while he used to think she was arrogant and rude (not that he'd tell Kuai Liang that) he now counts her among the very small number of people he actually fears bc he knows that come hell or high water she will make good on that threat.

That's all I've got atm, but lemme know if you want more!

[riality-check]

part two of angsty soulmate things, a continuation of this

There's an after.

It's not that Eddie isn't grateful that there is one. He's like most people only in the sense that he would rather be alive than dead. And while being eaten by demonic bats is a very metal way to go, it's slow, and it hurt like hell.

Not worse than cutting the string, but it still hurt.

Eddie isn't ungrateful for the after. He's just confused as to how he got here in the first place, and he's scared because there isn't supposed to be one.

But he doesn't want to think about that. That train of thought makes him nauseous, and he's barely been able to eat anything as it is.

Hospital lights, he thinks instead, are a constant. They're the same everywhere, that bright, sterile white that makes people look sicker in a place that's supposed to make them healthy. In the chair next to his bed, for example, Steve looks like he should be admitted himself.

His skin is paler than Eddie's ever seen it, the bags under his eyes could more aptly be called suitcases, and, most concerningly, his hair is flat.

Steve "the Hair" Harrington's hair looks lifeless. Eddie really screwed this up, didn't he?

He wonders if there's adverse effects to cutting the string. Other than the pain, of course. Long-term stuff is probably a better way to put it.

He tries to remember back when Mama did it, but that was a while ago. Maybe seven years now? His recollection's a bit fuzzy, but he remembers her being almost sick, even after the pain stopped.

Then again, Mama was always sick, one way or another. So even if she's the only example he has, she's probably not the best one.

Steve stares at Eddie with wide, red-rimmed eyes. He really does look like hell.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, to crack a joke, to do anything to make Steve look a little better, but Steve beats him to the punch.

"What happened?" he croaks.

"I died," Eddie says. It's not a lie. Wayne told him, when he first woke up, that it took three rounds of CPR to get his heart started again.

"Bullshit," Steve says.

"It's not bullshit."

"I know your heart stopped," Steve says. "But you didn't die."

He holds up his hand, and Eddie sees, stark black on his sickly pale skin, the remnants of a string curled around his finger. Black like a brand, like a tattoo, whatever.

It's there, and everyone knows black means death. Permanent death.

(Or, if they're a nutcase or a gullible middle schooler, a dagger. But normal people don't believe in those, so normal people don't ever consider that a possibility.

Hell, even Eddie wouldn't have if he didn't do it himself.)

"What. Happened."

If Eddie weren't in a hospital bed, he'd come up with a better lie. He'd say something about the bats, or the Upside Down, or, hell, he'd blame it on Vecna.

Nancy came in and told him the bastard's dead, so. It's not like he'd be able to counter it.

But Eddie is exhausted, mentally and physically. It's finally setting in, after the first few minutes of being awake, how tired he is, and how much pain he's in.

So, instead of lying, Eddie just says, "I'm sorry."

Steve frowns, confused. "What do you mean you're sorry? Eddie, I just want to know what happened. I'm scared out of my mind because this shouldn't be happening. You're alive. We should still have a string."

Eddie sees, clear as day, how he can use this as an out. He could lie so easily, could blame it on some occurrence within that parallel world. Steve would nod and accept it, not because he's stupid, but because literally anything, so long as it's awful, is possible there.

But Eddie thinks beyond the now very often, though most people are surprised by that. He thinks about how Steve will want to be with him; every time Eddie thought about his soulmate, the string appeared, so Steve was constantly thinking about him. He thinks about them five, ten, twenty years down the line. He thinks about forgetting the lie, about being inconsistent, about Steve pushing and pushing like he seems to do sometimes until Eddie breaks and tells the truth.

No. Finding out then would be so much worse.

Eddie has an out, but he's choosing not to run. Last time, that was a terrible decision, but no one, except for Wayne, really, has ever said that Eddie was smart.

So, he tells the truth.

"I cut it," he says.

Steve continues to stare at him. "What?"

"I cut the string," Eddie says. "With a dagger."

"Those don't exist."

"They do. One showed up for me. I used it to cut the string because I thought I was going to die, and I didn't want you to feel it," Eddie says.

"You're lying," Steve says, voice wavering, face crumpling.

"If I were lying, I'd do it better," Eddie snaps. He's exhausted and doesn't want to fight but he knows that's what's going to happen.

Steve thought about his soulmate constantly. Eddie cut the string.

"Do you know what it felt like?" Steve says.

"Yeah," Eddie says. "It was the worst pain I've ever felt."

Worse than the bats that laid him up in here, worse than the surgeries and the pull of stitches every time he tries to move. Worse worse worse.

"Me too," Steve says, and oh, he's gone quiet. Cold. The tone seeps into Eddie's bones, and he really, really doesn't like where this is going.

"You made me feel the worst pain of my life when we were going against Vecna," Steve says. "It hurt so bad that Robin was ready to drag me out and leave Nancy by herself. You put us all in danger."

"I'm sorry," Eddie says, but he can barely get those three syllables out before Steve keeps going.

"You put us in danger, you put the rest of the Party in danger, and for what?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"It still fucking hurt!" Steve shouts. "It still hurt. You did nothing. You accomplished nothing."

Eddie will not cry here. He won't.

"Steve-"

"Did you know that I thought about you every day?" Steve whispers.

"Yes," Eddie says, because fuck it, why not be honest? He has nothing left to lose.

"Do you know how excited I got when I saw the string? When you thought of me, too?"

"No," Eddie says because he stayed away from Steve Harrington all throughout high school on account of the principles and stereotypes he's realizing weren't true at all.

"I didn't think you would," Steve says. "Because you didn't fucking think, even for a second, about anything besides what? Your own guilt?"

Eddie won't cry. He won't let Steve have the satisfaction of seeing him do it.

It's getting harder, though.

"I thought of you," Eddie says instead.

"First time?" Steve asks mockingly, and before Eddie can say anything to that, he's out the door.

Then, and only then, does Eddie let himself cry.

It hurts.