#like 'domicile'?

[phantom-of-the-501st]

On CX-2 Being Tech

Don't get me wrong, I am still on the "CX-2 is Tech" delulu train but we only have 4 episodes left and if it is him, how are we supposed to tackle all of that in a short amount of time?

We're talking a revelation that it is Tech, the Batch coming to terms with that, whatever brainwashing he will have had to go through (is that gonna be reversed, is he left like that?), having him come back to the squad, or maybe even accepting that he is just gone now etc. etc.

That's a hell of a lot to fit in and I'm not totally convinced they can do it 😬

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

best problematic duo in the games fr

[slamminslamminmcgill]

house telling you to come to princeton plainsboro for a dick appointment where he hooks you up to IV ketamine and fucks you in your bed

[ooklet]

impossible to own a dial soap bar in a 1bdr apartment without all 700 sq ft smelling aggressively of SOAP

[niobiumao3]

Look all I'm gonna say about CX-2 is he has more screen time this season than Echo.

I really struggle to believe he won't pop back up in the finale. Probably as Tech. Maybe not. But he's definitely not just gone, not anymore than those other CXes are (one of whom could easily be Wolffe).

[bibleofficial]

my neighbour below me got ‘locked out’ of his flat (the literal door handle broke lol) & he rang my buzzer & asked if i had a screwdriver so i went down there & was like omg hello owo here’s ur driver & i met him for the first time & he is indeed a boy 😭😭 so i was helping him by providing moral support i.e. offering to help him cut the door down as i’ve a saw, & then i remembered alllllllll the fuckin chicken wire i’ve left over from trying to make gloria a lid & we managed to make little hooks & fish out parts but it turns out the turning mechanism is what broke not the bolt so we just had to. turn the lil washer in front 😭😭😭

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Man didnt someone just get cancelled for bullshit preschool behavior like this

[yeehawgeek]

whatre we gonna do if cx-2 is just some rando? what are we gonna do if this season ends and tech is still dead?

[snowshinobi]

endermen really be like don't look at me while I fix your poorly decorated home

[somedreamlove]

Of course Dream loves Neptune—the astrological planet of dreams!

[godblooded]

if you’ve ever written with kitty sincerely i hope her accent is as funny in your head as it is mine.

[nazukisser]

i have no idea where i'm going with domicile. hopefully its not a mess

[falconfeather23435]

& of course, the biggest giveaway:

-“domicile”

If Clone X-2 isn’t Tech, then the writers are playing a cruel joke on us. You can’t tell me all the similarities/parallels aren’t intentional.

-“Why have I been activated?” (Pretty sure these guys aren’t programmed to question why they’re being sent on a mission.)

-CX-2 has fancy gadgets/tech that the other assassins didn’t. (The thing on his arm = Data Pad 2.0)

-His speech patterns are similar to Tech’s—he definitely doesn’t sound like a reg.

-He’s clearly very intelligent, thinks outside the box, and is adept at improvising.

-After having a ton of rocks dumped on him, he begins limping on the same leg as Tech’s broken femur.

-His grunt sounds exactly like Tech’s.

-He blatantly disobeys orders.

-He‘s fallen from a significant height twice.

-When he crawls out of the water in 3x07, the scene and his animation are identical to when Tech crawls out of the water in 2x09.

I’m not going to outright say it’s Tech, but if it’s not, then someone went out of their way to lead us all astray. For those of us who desperately want Tech to be alive, it’s a cruel way of getting our hopes up only to let us down.

[greater-than-the-sword]

Long-distance truckers were a kind of nomadic mercenary guild existing throughout the Diesel Era of the United States.¹ They lived in their Trucks, an enormous mobile caravan-like structure.² Although some purchased the Trucks outright, others held them in trust from their corporate³ patrons⁴. Truckers would frequently decorate and customise these caravans, modifying this hostile space into a kind of domicile. They lived a solitary lifestyle in which their only contact with other human beings was the frequenting of their vast system of trade posts along the great East-West trade routes.

[alltoowsll]

trying to find TikTok’s tax domicile is so hard wtf

[enviedear]

LOVING ALONE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | jason having (what he thinks is) an unrequited crush

CW | lovesick!jason with issues accepting love, just-a-buncha fluff. 1.6k words. 🎧ྀི

your eyes flicker to your window for the hundredth time in ten minutes. there's an attempt at forcing your gaze back to your book, but your concentration on it has long since shattered. it's impossible to concentrate on anything other than him, perched on your fire escape right outside your window—JASON TODD.

he thinks he’s so subtle, as if you'll never notice when he parks himself on your fire escape like some sort of gargoyle. you smile slightly at the thought, heart pounding a little faster than it should. a condition that makes itself apparent far too much when your mind drifts to him.

he's silently taken on a sort of sworn protector role, separate from his nightly redhood rendezvous. you count yourself lucky to have his presence around your domicile so often. you truly never got over the culture shock that was gotham, but jason helps. even if he decides to go to great lengths to try and hide it.

outside, in the frigid and everpresent putrid gotham air, jason todd sits in complete rumination. he has goosebumps marring his arms beneath his leather jacket, but he pays them no mind. no, he's far too busy listing all the reasons he should just leave, why sitting outside under the guise of guard is utterly stupid, but still, he sits.

he runs a gloved hand through his hair, tugging slightly. he feels pathetic. how can he meet death, the criminally insane, survive things that would kill most—and somehow, he's shocked still with nerves at the very idea of knocking on your window.

in his head he has it all pictured, if it went perfectly. you'd come to the window, a confused look on your face until you spot him. he'd pull some stupid line, something he heard dick use once, and it'd make you laugh. he loves hearing that, more than anything. then he'd crawl in—spend the rest of his night with you, doing anything. and in his head, that's perfect.

but the underbelly of that dream keeps him rooted to your fire escape. to him, there's no way you could ever share his sentiments. you refer to him as a friend and no matter how much he wishes for something else, he can't change reality. can't force himself to make something more out of what you give him.

between the blood on his hands and the rage he can never seem to fully rid himself of, he's come to the aimless conclusion that you deserve someone better. someone more delicate, someone who doesn’t live with one foot in the grave. but every time you laugh or shoot him an easy smile, it gets easier to admit that he’s too far gone.

you deign the separation foolish, but still, you give yourself one more attempt at reading before you put your book to the side. really—you just wish he’d just say something. you’ve thought about saying something yourself, more times than you care to admit, but the timing never feels right. besides, there’s a part of you that wonders if jason even realizes you’ve been waiting out for him.

every time you joke or tease, you can see some struggle behind his eyes. as if he wants to let go and laugh with you, but something—himself—holds him back. your very own sisyphus—his very own boulder to carry up a labyrinthine mountain.

maybe it’s his past and the walls he’s built around himself, but you’re over him expecting you to be afraid of him. you wonder how much more evident you need to be. if anything, you wish he could see himself the way you do—intense, yes, but also loyal and good, even if he doesn’t believe it.

he proves it every night when he stands watch outside your shitty apartment.

with a sigh, you stand up from the couch, moving toward the window. he’s always so close, and yet there’s a distance he keeps in place—you’ve had enough of that.

you slide the window open, leaning out just enough to catch him mid-step as he’s about to leave—flee moreso. “going somewhere?”

he turns on his heels, red helmet in his hands, "figured you'd be asleep."

you hum, eyes narrowing, "already? it's six pm on a saturday."

“just didn’t want to bother you.” he admits, voice low, almost timid. he doesn’t meet your eyes, and it’s frustrating how hard he tries to hide, even from you.

“you’re not bothering me, jason.” you say softly, leaning on the window frame. “you never do.”

jason looks at you then, something uncertain flickering in his gaze. his lips dart out to quell his chapped lips—you hold his stare, hoping he can see what you’re trying to tell him, wordlessly.

that you want him here, that you’ve been wanting him all along.

“i can stop by for a few.” he finally says, adding a shrug to the end of his sentence.

you smile, opening the window fully as invitation. jason crawls in, a rather innocuous task but given his stature, always surprises you.

“i have pizza and brownies. saturday special.” you tell him, a persuasion. you want him to eat.

“sounds good.” he’s in the middle of slipping out of his redhood garb, clad in a skintight athletic tee and his cargos—mask sitting on your coffee table. “i’m gonna change in the bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

before his fingers can grab his duffle you start, “why don’t you shower here? i know you don’t have any of your usual stuff but—”

he cuts you off, “i couldn’t. i’m already eating your food…and using your fire escape as a landing spot.”

“jason, seriously. shower here. i’ll heat up the food and put on some tv. it’s a saturday.” you’re not one to beg, but this is treading the line.

his shoulders sag, but there’s a small smile on his face, “thanks, sweetheart. you’re too nice to me.”

his tone is sarcastic, self-deprecating, and that annoys you slightly. you want him to know that he’s welcome here, wanted. needed.

“i like it when you’re here, you know.” you feel like sparking a match, timid flames sparkling. “i miss you when you’re gone and everything.”

he quirks a brow, "what are you tryin' tell me?"

you feel silly at his question, the air around you seemingly buzzing. jason peers down at you with a raised brow, as if he's genuinely confused by the sentiment. as if he's baffled by the notion he could be someone to miss.

your breath hitches as you debate your next move. you're walking a thin line between saying too much and not enough. you could play it safe, keep your cards close to your chest—or you could be honest. near painfully so.

when you find your voice, it comes out soft, "i'm trying to say that i like it better when you come inside instead of sitting on my fire escape. i don't want to be a landing spot for you, i want... more."

he clears his throat, shifting on his feet, "you don't want that." he seems to take a step back, not physically, but mentally. his face goes still, chest breathing even, mind anywhere but the present.

you groan, annoyance evident, "i do though. you have to see that in some way by now." you step towards him, "sometimes i think you feel the same way."

jason’s gaze flickers toward the floor, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed the line, if he’ll pull away entirely. but then he looks up, eyes darker, severely sincere. “you have no idea what you’re asking for.” he cautions, but his voice is lower, almost a whisper.

you smile softly, finally letting your hand touch his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath. “maybe i do. maybe i’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“i mean it.” you reply, sincere in your admission. “i’m not afraid of you, jason. i’m afraid of what happens if you keep shutting me out.”

he grumbles at that, a half-willed attempt to argue against your point. you stay quiet, urging him to continue where you left off. you watch his face contort through a realm of emotions—confusion, fear, and then, thinly masked and wistful poignancy.

“i’m not shutting you out. if anything, i’m protecting you.” he finally decides, arms crossing over his chest, eyes scanning the wall behind you. nervous.

you shake your head, fingers reaching for his twisted expression, finding home on his pink-tinted cheeks. “i don’t need you protecting me from you. i need you to want me as bad as i want you.”

your words are bold, maybe overconfident, but you mean them to the fullest extent. you’re so beyond exhausted of attempting to disregard or conceal your feelings. even if jason’s not, you think he deserves to know.

jason todd looks you over. his eyes raking you up and down like you’re some high valued product—and he’s unsure wether to take the bid or let it pass by. in the time you’ve known him, even in the thralls of his vigilante persona, he’s studied things. eyes pointedly and silently assessing his situation, no matter how far removed he is from his upbringing—his “father” lingers in his antics.

finally, he chuckles, low and more timid than usual, “you don’t know how badly i want you, sweetheart. but…” he stops himself, and you’re grateful because you would have done it yourself if he had continued on with some rebuttal. “fuck. you’re all i want.”

it comes out like a beg, pleading that rarely works it’s way onto his features. you smile, and pull him closer. his arms uncross, opting to gingerly hold your shoulders. still timid, unsure.

“you should know how much you mean to me. you do such a good job of showing me…keeping watch and never letting me eat alone. it’s sweet, you’re sweet. i want you to know it.” you keep his gaze when you speak, hopefully drilling each sentiment permanently into his consciousness.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, “i believe you. swear. i just… this is new. i never thought…” he falters off, equal parts unsure and dumbstruck. “i like you a lot. i didn’t know you felt the same, sweetheart.”

you grin, inching your face closer to his, “well i do. deal with it.” your tone is teasing, playful. pulling him back into the safety of reassurance—what you want him to anticipate from you.

it seems to put jason back in his element, “oh? you have demands? usually that’s my thing.”

you laugh, “could always be our thing. the demanding couple—sounds inspired, don’t you think?”

“something like that…” his smile is soft, “but for now, i think i’m fine with just being yours.” he says it so earnestly, no thought to it. just the truth, and it feels damn good. it envelops you just the same as his arms, wraps you up in utter victory. love hard fought—and it feels so sweet.