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jawabear · 4 years ago

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Feelings are hard (Mandalorian x Reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for ages and finally decided to post it because I kind of like it. Sorry for any mistakes.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, Soft Mando, Mando really wants some love, but poor boy is so awkward, Pedro Pascal comes with his own warning

Summary: As a Mandalorian, Din doesn't have much grace when it comes to feelings but maybe he has another way he can express himself

Feelings were not something the Mandalorian knew well. He had blocked most feelings off from himself. He couldn't have feelings of compassion, love, sadness or anything else like that with the job he had. He felt felt guilty after every bounty he went after, he would be no good at his job. He probably wouldn't even be a Mandalorian if he had any such feelings lingering in his body.

But since meeting the child, his feelings were slowly sinking back into his life. He felt protective over the small creature. The thought of loosing him made the Mandalorian sad beyond belief, he desperately cared for the child, he was defiantly becoming more human with each passing day.

This child of his had been a sort of charm for Mando. A bad luck charm in the sense that where ever they went, trouble was sure to cross their path. There were still people looking for the child and Mando would do anything to stop them, to get him and the child to safety as quickly as possible. But a good luck charm in the sense that if it weren't for the trouble the child brought with him, Mando would never have met the woman who made him feel what love is.

Their first meeting was a blur. A gang and pinned Mando and the child in a corner, seeing no escape, he held the child protectively close to him as he waited for the shooting to start. And it did. But he ever seemed to get hit. She had come to their rescue, effortlessly shooting down the gang members without breaking a sweat. She had introduced herself as (Y/N) and asked why those people why shooting at him. He explained his situation and she offered them a safe place to sleep for that night, fit with food, water and any fresh supplies they may have needed.

Since that meeting, the three of them had traveled that galaxy together. She had agreed to go with him, saying that she had nothing left on that planet anyway. She wanted to see what other planets there were in the galaxy, she wanted to live a little. He was happy to take her on board, he knew he could use someone of her skill to help him out on difficult bounties and he could use an extra pair of hands to help look after the child.

Currently, the two bounty hunters walked through the bustling streets of the cities market. Mando wasn't phased by what the stalls had to offer, he had seen countless market stands in his time, some far better than this, and some far worse. But what he enjoyed about it, was seeing how (Y/N)’s face lit up with every stall she stopped at, even if it wasn't selling anything interesting.

She was a person deprived of any sort of experience of the outer worlds. Only knew the sands and hills of her own planet, she had probably never seen so many people in her life, let alone all the bright colours, exotic foods, music and dancing. He was in awe at her expressions as she took her time to take in everything she could before moving onto the next stall. Mando was patient with her, he was thankful his face was covered, he probably looked like a dazed idiot, he was smiling like one at least.

His heart swelled when she would speak to the person behind the stall to ask them about an item in their table, hearing her voice filled with gratitude when they would offer her a taste of a food, whether that be from her obvious excitement about the new world she was discovering, or intimidation from her bounty hunter demeanour and outfit. He kept a slight distance between him and her, wanting her to experience it fully without his input to tell her what was what, but he would step in when a dodgy guy would approach her, her innocence of the world making her and easy target, even more so, the fact that she had the child in her arms.

"You don't seem to be enjoying this as much as I am, Mando" she pointed out, her eyes scanning over the various jewels and precious stones that laid out on the stall in front of her.

"I'm enjoying watching you" he mumbled, she looked at him over her shoulder and laughed slightly "that came out a little creepy. I meant, I'm happy seeing you so excited by all this. I know what it's like to experience things like this for the first time" he tried again.

"Am I waisting your time?" She asked him nervously "you can go if you want, if you've got somewhere else to be, we can meet up later"

He shook his head, walking closer to her and looking over the table himself "I'm not leaving you out here alone. And you're not wasting my time. I came here for you. I wanted you to see all this" he admitted quietly.

She looked to him with soft eyes, he felt like he was melting under her gaze. "Thank you Mando" she smiled to him. He nodded and looked back over the table, as did she. Her smile remained on her face as the Trader would offer her to hold the stones, he watched as she ran her hands over each stone, memorising the smooth or rough texture of each one she was handed. He took further notice of how she seemed to hold one in her hands for longer then the others. It was a white stone mainly, however, it was in necklace form. It was the shape of a crystal he figured, but it shone differently to the average crystal he was used to. It seemed to glow with a bold line of light blue, it looked like a tiny galaxy inside it, only it wasn't black like he was used to. He saw how it reflect the own galaxies in her eyes. How she stared at it with such amazement, she seemed to get lost inside the crystal, taken by its beauty completely. Now she knew how he felt each time he looked at her.

Reluctantly she handed it back to the Trader who gently placed it down in the table. She thanked the Trader for her time and heard the child coo in her arms. (Y/N) looked down to the child "I think he's hungry" she observed "I'm pretty hungry too" she laughed.

"Right. I think I saw a Cantina down that way" he said pointing back the way they had come. "You go ahead down there with the Kid, I'm going to stock up on some supplies before we head back to the ship" she nodded and turned from him, she began making her way to where he had pointed.

After they had all eaten, they found theirselves back on his ship. It was dark now, the child was sleeping after the big meal he had eaten, leaving Mando and (Y/N) awake alone with each other. Mando had landed his ship up in a ridge that looked over the city square. (Y/N) sat in the gateway of his ship, staring out into the horizon in awe. She could see colourful light of lanterns and fires, she could hear the soft sound of music, singing and laughter from the residence down there.

"Mind if I join you?" Mando spoke suddenly from beside her, making her jump slightly and look up at his figure. She nodded to him with a soft smile. He settled on the floor next to her and looked out over the city as well.

"I've never seen anything like this before" she whispered, she hugged her knees close to her chest as he chin rested between them. "All the colours, all the people. I've never heard such music or laughter before. I've really been missing out"

"I'm happy I'm able to show you the universe (Y/N)" he nodded.

"I'm thankful for you Mando. For everything you've done for me. For bringing me with you, for getting me off the planet, for showing me all this, for giving me a purpose"

He was silent for a moment before taking in a deep breath "Din" he finally said.

"What?" She asked as she turned to face him, but he wasn't looking at her.

"My name...is Din. Din Djarin. When we're alone, call me that"

"Okay...Din" he liked the way his name sounded on her lips. He liked hearing his name again. It had been so long since he was called anything other then his job title. He was slightly surprised he still remembered his own name.

"I uh.." he paused for a moment as he reached into on of his many pockets and pulled something out of it "I got you something" he held up the necklace she had admired earlier, her eyes widening at the sight of it again.

"D-Din" she stuttered as she reached out to gently take it from his hands to admire it again.

"I saw the way you looked at it earlier. I loved the way you looked at it, I wanted to see it again. I want to see that look everyday, so I thought I would get it for you" he admitted sheepishly.

She was speechless. Her eyes flicked between him and the necklace, she didn't quite believe what was happening. She felt like the luckiest girl in the entire galaxy. To anyone else, it wouldn't be that much, but to her, someone who had been so deprived of the world, it was everything. "Thank you" she whispered. She could feel tears forming in her eyes. She handed it back to him "can you put it on me?" She asked quietly. He nodded, she turned slightly so that her back was too him. She lifted her hair to allow him better access to her neck. He placed the item around her neck, securely fastening it at the back.

"There" he muttered. She dropped her hair and returned to her original position, looking down at the crystal and smiling. "(Y/N)..." he began "I need to tell you something" she looked at him with worry. She pressed a gently hand against his thigh that made his heart flutter.

"What is it?" She asked him.

He looked at her for a moment, getting lost in her eyes. He blinked a few times before speaking again "I...I haven't know feelings in a long time. My way of life denied my of any. But...my life is different now. Now I have the kid, and I have you. Feelings have snuck their way back into my life. Thanks to you and the child, I have recalled the feelings of compassion, happiness, sadness, comfort, anything like that. But thanks to you...I've began to feel something that I never have. I think I'm madly in love with you. I'm in love with your innocent. With your wonder. I'm in love with the way you care for the child. I'm in love with the way you are able to so effortlessly handle any situation, how easy you make taking down twenty men look. I'm in love with you face, your smile, your eyes. I'm no good when it comes to feelings or words, so this probably didn't come out how I wanted it to. But I don't think I understand how much I love you yet, but I know that I do. And regardless of whether you feel the same way for me or not, I don't think I could live without you"

She shuffled closer to him, a smile once again on her lips "I'm awful too when it comes to feelings. But I love you too Din. I love the way you make me feel. I love the way you protect me and the child, how safe you make me feel. How you'll hold me after a tough mission. How you take me to places like this so I can get a taste of what the galaxy has to offer. And I too may not understand her how much I love you, but I love you. And I can't live with out you, I wouldn't be alive without you"

He brought a gloved hand to her cheek and she leaned into the touch. "Close your eyes" he ordered softly as he removed his hand. She nodded as did as she was told. She was confused at his sudden request, even more so when she heard a slight hiss. The sound of metal hitting the floor had her slightly worried.

"Din, what are you doing?" She asked.

"Just keep your eyes closed, okay?" He said "do not open them until I say" she nodded again, her eyes tightly shut. The feeling of his gloves were once again against her cheeks. She then felt something warm against her face, it felt like warm air, coming out in steady beats. She was about to talk but all knowledge of words slipped from her mind the moment his lips pressed against hers.

She didn't know how to react at first. Her heart rate increased, it pounded against her chest so hard that she was sure he would be able to hear it. The kiss was gentle, it was soft, it was something ten times better then what she could ever imagine kissing him would feel like. He hands slowly raised to his cheeks, resting against them. She basked in the feeling of his skin under her fingers, it was slightly rough, not as smooth as she had imagined but she didn't care, she could feel him. The real him. Her thumbs traced over his cheeks as their lips moved together in perfect sync. They had fit together perfectly. They were two halves of one piece.

The need for air was calling and caused the two to part from each other, they stayed in close proximity, their hands did not move from each other. "Wow..." she breathed quietly with a smile on her lips. He didn't respond at first. He looked over her face, seeing how her cheeks were dusted with a light shade of red. A dazed smile on her rosy lips. He wanted to see her eyes. He wanted to see if they showed the same amount of love and adoration as his. But he didn't know if he could allow her to see his face. No living creature was allowed to see him. That was his code. But if he put his helmet back on he couldn't kiss her again.

"Open your eyes" he whispered.

"But...I'll see you"

"I know. I want you to"

"A-are you sure?" He nodded and saw her gulp. She pulled her head back and slowly she opened her eyes. She drew in a sharp breath when her eyes met his. He wasn't anything like she had imagined, he was so much better. She fell instantly in love with his dark eyes, his sloped noise, his scruffy facial hair. She felt her eyes brim with tears but her smile was bright. She pulled him in for another kiss. This one was different. It was better because she had seen that face of the man she loved.

Suddenly, there was a massive bang and burst of bright colours that made her jump and curl herself around his body in fear at the sudden noise, he managed a soft laugh as he slipped his arms around her waist "what was that?" She asked, her voice small and timid.

"Nothing to be afraid of" he assured her "they're fireworks. People set them off at festivals and special occasions. Another reason I wanted to bring you here. I thought you might enjoy the show" she heard another bang and quivered "it's okay (Y/N), it's nothing to be scared of. It's quite beautiful to watch, you're safe"

She slowly pulled away from him and he nodded in reassurance. She didn't move far from his body but she turned her head to look back out over the city. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Her face framed by the beautiful explosions of vibrant colours that filled the night sky. She let out soft breaths of amazement with each one. She held onto his hand tightly, his eyes were fixate on her, watching as her face lit up.

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek making her smile ever brighter. She then rested her head on his shoulder, his head resting against her. They both let out sighs of content as they relaxed in the comfort of each other's hold and enjoyed the dazzling display of colour that felt as though it were put on just for them.

Masterlist

17/05/20

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #star wars #fluff #pedro pascal #fanfic

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livlepretre · 4 years ago

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I was just catching up with your blog, and I saw your klonnie post. It just got me thinking about how literally anyone in the narrative would have been more logical to pair Klaus up with than Caroline. I’ve read all your posts regarding why Klaroline does not make sense. 100% agree. I feel like Caroline is just who they went with because committing to a real Klaus love story would have taken way more time than the show had, and Caroline was the one who had the least commitments elsewhere in the narrative. I mean, there are plenty of plot heavy episodes where Caroline just disappears for no reason, and it’s obvious that the writers just didn’t have anywhere to logically put her. I honestly believed during my first watch through that Klaroline was just Klaus trying to put Tyler in his place. He never interacted with her before the episode where Tyler challenges his authority and refuses to bite Caroline, and then after that episode, he was being ooc and fake charming with her. I just thought Klaus was trying to get her to sleep with him so he could show Tyler that he was the one in charge and could take anything he had. Color me surprised when that was never the case.

Anyway, this all got me thinking about what individual arcs Caroline got, and I can’t really think of one after her becoming a vampire and getting tortured by her dad. After that, the show kind of played “pass the Caroline.” She would get passed around during episodes where she was either tagging along with Stefan, Tyler, or Klaus. Obviously it’s okay for your characters to be in scenes with each other, but the problem is you could take Caroline out of the season 4 sire-bound breaking storyline or the delena ft. sad Stefan storyline and nothing would really change. She is really on par with Jeremy and Matt in which she could just leave for a while and make a reappearance later like nothing happened; however, unlike Jeremy and Matt, she isn’t treated this way in the narrative. Caroline is made out to be more important than she is. I didn’t realize how long this ask would be, but if you could change the story structure of TVD to fix this, how would you do it? Would you have written Caroline to have more individual storylines or would you have decreased her role? Maybe it’s just me and you would keep her the same. Idk. Either way, I’m very interested in your opinion. Especially because Caroline is the more utilized and loved character throughout this fandom and fanfiction, and I don’t know why.

first of all “catching up with your blog” what kajfklajdfklajdf

sorry it’s taken me a few days to reply, I’ve been mulling this over and it’s been kind of a long week so I’ve had to gather the bandwidth to answer

I agree with your analysis about why the show chose Caroline as Klaus’s love interest... I’ve always said that it was just so painfully obvious that they wanted to give Klaus a love interest from amongst the heroines (which: rude, he already had a love interest, it was Stefan) because he was interesting and hot. And I always assumed they picked Caroline because 1) Elena already had too many love interests even though she and Klaus had history and wicked chemistry so this still to me remains the obvious choice 2) Bonnie would have actually had moral problems with Klaus (but would still have been a great choice because then we could explore those morality issues with Klaus) and 3) they wanted to do another “bad boy” romance without actually digging into the fact that Klaus had crossed lines for us as an audience that were SUPER hard to come back from, namely: MURDERING MAIN CAST MEMBER JENNA. (I would argue that this is different for us as an audience than Vicki’s death because Vicki died at the beginning of the show; our emotional investment in Jenna was significantly higher after 2 full seasons with her.) So, Caroline becomes the path of least resistance because Klaus has no serious, personal history with her, and she’s not as prone toward actually making moral judgment calls as Bonnie is-- for example, she’s shown to be significantly more flexible about murder and mayhem than Bonnie is.

I’ve never thought about the fact that it was partially just that the writers didn’t have any great ideas for Caroline’s personal storyline though, and that really brings up 2 huge questions: 1) DID they assign her the Klaus romance because they didn’t know what else to do with her? and 2) did that romance storyline actually deprive her of other (better) storylines?

This got me thinking about Caroline’s storylines in a broader sense, and her place within the narrative structure. I think of TVD as having 3 types of main characters:

A-level characters-- Elena, Stefan, and Damon are the only A-levels, as they appear in every single episode and the plot falls apart without them

B-level characters-- Bonnie, Caroline, and then later Klaus would all fit in here-- characters that are in most episodes, and have their own independent side plots that are ongoing, sometimes for long periods of time -- we know they’re B-level and not A-level because sometimes they disappear for a few episodes-- in other words, they’re not essential every episode like the A-levels

C-level characters-- the rest of the main cast-- Tyler, Matt, Jeremy, Jenna, Katherine, Rebekah, etc-- these characters sometimes have ongoing plotlines (the werewolf plot, the Hunter plot, the serial killer plot, etc) but they’re literally dispensable to the overall plot-- the writers feel comfortable having them come and go as necessary, and we often experience them through the perceptions of the higher-leveled characters--they tend to actually be the object of higher level plots as well-- Damon kills Jeremy to move his plot along with Elena; Matt scheming against Caroline’s vampirism is actually part of Caro’s plot; Katherine is mostly a narrative tool to use with the main 3; Jenna’s death isn’t even about her at the end of the day from a narrative perspective but about Elena, etc.

So when thinking of the basic structure in this sense, that issue you brought up where Caroline doesn’t have enough of her own storylines really comes to light. Part of that I think is that functionally, she has less to offer-- Bonnie is a great counter point, because she often has her own storylines, and she serves a super strong narrative purpose of 1) witch and 2) the moral center on the show-- like, usually the only one who doesn’t forget what’s right and what’s wrong from a basic human perspective. Klaus also has his function as villain, though he gets derailed by the show not killing him off when it was time.

Caroline meanwhile... the show probably took her as far as they could with her being human, and turning her into a vampire in season 2 was incredibly strong and compelling storytelling. It brought Caroline into the main fold of schemers, it gave her agency, and it put all of her problems with her family and friends and self-esteem under a microscope lens. Season 2 is Caroline’s strongest season because it offers her the most development and gives her both a functional role as baby vampire-- working for Katherine, working with the gang, trying to keep the big secret from her mother-- as well as a satisfying emotional arc. The issue is that she just doesn’t have a ton of places to go as a character once the issues with her parents are resolved midway through season 3 and a lot of her self-esteem issues had actually been tackled... The only other storyline I can think of that was HERS was her mother’s death, but I never finished that arc and never got to no humanity!Caroline anyway, so I don’t have much to say on that topic. I will say that the show REALLY drove Caroline’s storyline into the dirt when they turned Elena into a vampire-- having two baby vamps on the show was WAY too many. We’d already gone through this with Care, but also, Elena is an A-level character-- anything she goes through necessarily usurps the power from any similar story the writers could have told about Caroline.

So. The Klauroline romance. (Apparently I’ve been mispelling this ship for a decade but honestly you can’t expect me to stop now.) I think they gave Caroline to Klaus (rather than giving Klaus to Caroline) as a love interest for the reasons stated above, but it really did limit her character; I’ve gone over my problems with it ad nauseam here on this blog. The whole thing just spun Caroline around in circles forever-- I remember dreading that this ship would be canon but the show just kept spinning the Klaus/Caroline/Tyler wheels for two seasons without ever really progressing anything or changing anything, just always always always spinning in place, with Tyler disappearing to make room for the other ship but the writers also not actually committing to anything... It really does get in the way of Caroline’s character development.

So, how to fix?

Well, first off, I think Caroline (and Bonnie, and Klaus, and everyone else) should stay in their lanes as B or C level characters-- the show didn’t have enough stories to give every single one of them main character status, and that’s okay.

But if Caroline is a B-level character, she still needs her own stories and subplots interwoven throughout the show.

The obvious thing that comes to mind is something I’ve said many times-- Fix Klauroline so that it actually makes sense and doesn’t break character-- give them a subplot where they have to work together and learn to rely on each other or see each other differently than how they expect-- literally TVD is amazing with tight, action packed episodes-- it would have taken ONE episode to establish this, and then have the relationship progress as a subplot-- not as Caroline’s main plot-- give her other things to work on with the team and let the Klaus thing develop alongside it.

Other things: the issues with her parents probably could have been extended to be season 3, honestly, with her facing her vampirism more in season 2-- or she could have gone off the deep end earlier, or she could have wound up in trouble with the council, or she could have taken a more active role in trying to kill Klaus other than just “bait” which would have been great because then she would have had to face her feelings about it directly, or she could have been the one to investigate the vampire lab at Whitmore and maybe end up briefly imprisoned or whatever-- I personally think Elena should have only been a vampire for one season, which would have made Elena actually face her moral crisis, but also opened up the space in the show for Caroline to get the young vampire storylines the way that Bonnie gets the witch storylines.

The show gets into this weird habit at some point of forgetting that it’s really about the main three and not supposed to be a HUGE equal ensemble show-- if you look back at the promotional materials, it was originally always the three of the main triangle, but by seasons 5 & 6 there’re these photos with like all dozen cast members... equalizing things didn’t actually help Caroline’s or Bonnie’s or anyone else’s storylines because it stripped down the time we spent with the main story and it meant adding a lot of frustrating swimming in circles for the others (how many times was Bonnie dead? I can’t keep track anymore)

Sorry this is so rambly, I hope it made sense! I have a lot of feelings about Caroline-- I really loved her and the handling of her storylines from season 3 on has never sat well with me.

(As for why Caroline is the fan favorite, I do have a theory: she actually tells us what she’s thinking and feeling, so it’s easier to connect with her. Elena meanwhile rarely ever explicitly states her emotions, instead tending to brood and force us to work through what her silences mean, and Bonnie tends to bottle until she explodes--which is still easier to empathize with than Elena, because at least Bonnie eventually tells us. Meanwhile, Caroline gets upset, or she gets drunk, or she has long conversations where she spills her heart out to Stefan or Elena or Bonnie or anyone... so it’s easy to jump on board with her. That’s my theory at least.)

#anonymous #tvd meta

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bornintartarus · 4 years ago

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Posted for the annual Jason Todd Birthday Week! Also on AO3

Jason's feet are numb as he walks the lonely streets of Gotham. They are barely protected against the ice and snow he treads upon, covered in the remnants of shoes that had been brand new five years ago. He wiggles his toes to bring back some warmth as he walks, hands tightened in his tattered jacket pockets. One of his hands is clenching the leather wallet he picked off a businessman chattering on his phone, the other a bracelet he stole from a woman when she helped him up after falling to his knees in the snow.

A stab of guilt worms its way into his young heart and he squashes it down resolutely. His mom needs this money, he needs this money. It's the only way they'll survive past this stupid winter.

Winter in Gotham City is much like everything else he's experienced in his life this far, brutally unforgiving and a death trap on the streets if you weren't careful. It makes him shiver in his sleep, the wind's screaming jolting him awake in the middle of the night. He loves his city, it's the only home he's ever known, but that doesn't stop him from being tired.

The stealing is rough, but it hurts less than coming back to his mom without anything to feed her. It doesn't help that she's getting weaker by the day, barely accepting anything to eat anymore. Jason fondly remembers the days before his life became a living nightmare, before his dad left and they were living out in the cold.

His mom was filled with life back then, her cheeks pink and eyes glowing. She was healthy, not starved and always exhausted. He had sobbed at first when he realized what the drugs were doing to her, depriving him of a mother who was actually capable of taking care of him. There is no sparkle in her eyes now, all traces of mischief and adventure gone.

Jason realizes that he doesn't really know his mom anymore.

Wind whips at his cheeks, pushing hair in front of his eyes. He brushes it aside with trembling fingers and readjusts his hood to cover more of his face, gasping when the wind steals its way through the cracks and engulfs his ears in the freezing cold air.

Better hats, better socks, better gloves- there's a list of clothes he needs to survive this season, all with expensive price tags. It's either being cold or going hungry, and even at eight years old Jason's smart enough to know which one will get him killed first.

He has an actual list too, one back in that ramshackle shelter he and his mom call their home. He used to carry it with him, but just looking at the store windows made him want to tear it to pieces with desperation. They need food that isn't stale, water that's hot, clothes that actually fit. He doesn't know how much longer he can go on like this.

They've only been out on the streets for two years now, and a part of him swears he's never been this cold. He spent the last couple of days nailing scraps of wood and plastic garbage to block up the cracks at their little shelter, trying to root out where the cold air forces its way in. He spends the rest of his time out on the streets, scrounging for anything that can substitute for blankets and stealing things here and there from people to buy food from the dingy convenience store around the corner.

He takes the time to check on his mom, usually just to reassure himself that she's still breathing.

"Hi mom."

His throat closes up and not for the first time he wishes he was less of a crier.

"I have to run out to get some things."

No response.

Jason sniffles and holds back tears. He can do this, it's been two years, but seeing his mom like this never fails to cripple him.

He clears his throat. "I'll be back soon."

He doesn't expect a reply as he whispers a quick "Love you" and bolts away.

So that's what he's doing now, out in the cold. As he passes the Gilzean's Turf he keeps his head as low as possible, making himself smaller as he inches away. He's perfected the art of being invisible over the years, the only way to get away with trespassing on another gang's land. He knows that the gang members in Gotham have no qualms about killing children, hell, half of them make a living by selling drugs to kids in public schools. The thought makes his blood boil with anger.

He skirts around one of the drug dealers, hands inadvertently clenching around his stolen items. If he's caught with the wallet and the bracelet he'll be a prime target for life.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally passes safely, but something bright stops him in his tracks.

The store window is closing for the day, but the lights are still on and the cakes are on display. He hasn't seen anything this beautiful in the two years he's lived on the streets. The cakes come in all shapes, colors and sizes, but the one that catches his eye is fire engine red, yellow and orange icing swirling on top to imitate flames. The whole thing has a ridiculous toy fire truck on the top, and at that moment all Jason desperately wants to know is if it's edible or not.

He's stomach is growling with hunger while his mouth waters in vain. His fingers twitch at his sides restlessly. He doesn't know how long he stands there, cold, tired, hungry.

It's his birthday.

He's turning nine, he knows he's turning nine. It's his second birthday on the streets and he misses everything he's lost.

He misses his full stomach, his friends at school, his warm bed. He misses his books and toys, and the way his mom used to laugh when they spent time together.

He misses it all, and none of it is coming back. The feeling hurts more than anything he's ever felt, and he wonders if the hollow feeling in his chest will subside over time.

Suddenly, someone in the store shuts off the lights and the cake vanishes from view, a pang of misery resonating within him. It's gone, and some lucky kid will probably eat it tomorrow.

He stuffs his shivering hands back into his pockets, hands immediately finding the wallet. At least they'll have food tonight.

He makes his way back home after stopping at the convenience store, purchasing two cans of microwavable soup and a bottle of water with a $20 bill. The cashier looks suspicious as he hands over the change, and unease ripples through his empty stomach until he leaves.

He wastes no more time getting back, drinking the cold soup straight from the can. It's the cheapest he could find, greasy and too salty, and the chilly liquid does nothing to prevent the chills racking his skinny frame. Pouring the other into a chipped ceramic Tupperware container, he makes his way to his mom.

"Mom?"

She's awake this time, eyes glassy. Catherine Todd is right in front of him, but all Jason wants to do is cry about how far away she is.

"I brought you soup. You need to eat some this time, alright?"

She turns her head to face him briefly but doesn't respond. He sits next to her and tries to stop his hands from shaking as he feeds her small spoonfuls of soup.

She gets through half of it before she's pushing him away. He leaves the bottle of water next to her, knowing with a heavy heart that he'll find it unopened in the morning.

He pecks her on the cheek and pulls their best blanket over her, pausing to say goodnight before he leaves.

He knows that it'd be warmer if they slept together, but he knows he can't handle seeing her so frail for longer than an hour, and his crying upsets her.

He pulls out his raggedy piece of carpet to cover himself with to bed. He found it a couple of weeks ago in a garbage can, it's the warmest thing he possesses.

He makes a wish, hoping that his mom will live long enough to be there for his tenth birthday.

He dreams of red fire trucks.

___________________________________

ii.

It doesn't take long for time to pass; the days blur into weeks and weeks into months. The cold fades away and suddenly Gotham is warm again, bathed in summer light. The trees grow new leaves, the birds come back, and in no time at all the world moves on.

Wayne Manor hasn't changed in the slightest. The famous Robin costume hangs in the cave, Batman's proudly standing next to it. The manor is spotless as always, the endless hallways and rooms free of dust. The banisters are polished, the fireplaces cleaned of any ash.

Bruce's life simultaneously feels normal and completely out of order at the same time.

He still gets dressed in the morning, still eats breakfast and leaves for Wayne Enterprises. He still deals with boring meetings and pesky co-workers who won't stop staring at him.

It's difficult to get out of bed nowadays.

That, at least, is new. The wretched feeling of hopelessness weighing him down like an anvil. It makes his head hurt and his hands shake. His chest is left feeling tight and it’s always hard to breathe.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it, he knows almost everyone can see the change in him now, and a part of him hates himself for being weak while another part can't muster up the energy to give a damn. Lucius gives him pitying looks whenever he drifts off during a conversation. The league members are more gentle with him now, speaking in low tones without the biting remarks from before. Alfred tries his best to hide his concern when Bruce wakes himself up in the middle of the night screaming his son's name.

Everyone treats him like glass now, fragile, delicate, and liable of shattering. It doesn't help that it's exactly how Bruce feels, like one wrong word could break him for good. The only time he can remember hurting this bad was when he was eight years old and kneeling in front of his parent's bodies in that god forsaken alley.

He lets out a whimper of despair when he remembers finding a 10 year old Jason in that very alley, wrench in hand and grime on his face. He shoves his head into his hands to try and bury the memory, pulling at his hair.

The boy had looked so guilty, crouching in front of the Batmobile. He reminded Bruce of a scared cat, frightened to come forward but fierce in a fight.

He brought the kid a burger.

It had seemed logical at the time, Jason was obviously starving and he figured it was a smart way to get the boy to trust him.

That memory used to make him feel proud, now all he feels is nausea churning through his stomach.

If Jason never met him in the first place he'd still be alive. Maybe hungry and out of school but still breathing.

Adopting Jason had been different from adopting Dick. Dick was cautious as a child, still grieving over his parent's gruesome deaths. When Bruce looked into the acrobat's eyes he saw himself, someone desperately alone who needed love and support. When Jason was brought into his life it was sudden but welcome, and it made Bruce feel a little less lonely in the Manor since his first child spent most of his time in the Titans Tower.

Loving Dick felt like a responsibility, in a way. The boy deserved the attention Bruce had been deprived of after Martha and Thomas Wayne were murdered. It made him proud to witness Dick's journey through teenage years, standing by his side in some of Gotham's darkest moments. He's fought Penguin and Scarecrow and Riddler, and he gets better every time.

The arguing was new, but Bruce knows it's normal. He just wishes it didn't rile him as much as it does. Their fighting is loud, angry and sharp. Words are tossed around, ones that hurt, and they make Alfred sigh sadly. He can't help but feel annoyed at Dick acting out, but he knows that Dick hates it more when he gets left out.

It doesn't take long for Dick to realize he needs some space, and Bruce doesn't stop him when he leaves to train with the Titans.

But in that amount of time Jason Todd has wormed his way into his heart, slowly but surely. He manages to fill the gaping hole in Bruce's heart, and he comes to love the boy more than anything. While his love for Dick is as natural as breathing, instinctual at this point, his love for Jason is all-consuming, and it burns inside of him like a roaring flame.

Dick was never happy about Jason's presence in their lives, and he'd told Bruce once that it made him feel replaced and unwanted. It was hard work, but eventually the four of them had learned to make it work, coexisting with some semblance of normalcy. Nothing made Bruce happier than seeing his sons get along, and it made his heart swell with pride.

Life was good. Dick came by the manor more often and they fought less, Jason was settling in nicely, Alfred was overjoyed. Their small family wasn't normal, but Bruce gave up tradition when he put on the cowl for the first time.

Bruce wants that life back so badly. His heart aches and his head burns with memories. Dick is grieving as well, in his own way. It hurts to see Dick at his worst, awakens something primal in him that screams and shouts, demanding his attention. Dick runs himself ragged, stubbornly contributing to the Titans Team and Gotham at the same time. When Bruce voices his concerns, Dick shouts at him, cries out that he’s doing the best he can.

It makes Bruce feel even more like a failure.

In the end he holds Dick while he weeps and tries to pull himself together, because Dick’s grief is his fault, Jason’s death is his fault.

Today is as bad as any day, his legs feel like dead weights and his brain is mush. He knows how to get past this, he’s been battling this feeling for almost a year now. He swings his legs to the side of the bed and pulls himself upright.

He picks up the phone lying on the bedside table next to him and starts scrolling through his notifications. He reads through the schedule Lucius has made for him for the day, making mental notes as he goes along. He makes adjustments when needed, planning on the meetings he’ll attend. He swears internally when he realizes he’s overbooked for 5:00. He wastes no time switching to his calendar, searching for a free spot when he freezes.

The date is there, staring him in the face like a warning sign. He gazes at the letters almost hypnotically until they’re etched into his brain.

August 16.

He barely gets the chance to register the fact that his legs are moving until he’s crouching on the bathroom tiles, throwing up his dinner from the night before. Sweat beads his forehead as heaves, unable to focus on anything except the fact that it's August 16.

When it finally ends he pulls his legs forward and haunches himself up into a ball on the floor, head tucked inwards. Tears escape and he sobs, grief tearing his heart in two.

17. His little boy would have turned 17 years old.

The realization makes panic seize his chest until he’s gasping for air, fingers trembling as they scramble for purchase. There are hands on his shoulders, warm steady ones pulling him out of his head.

“Bruce, it’s gonna be alright.”

The words float towards him like distant echoes.

“I need you to breathe for me B, c’mon.”

He’s had panic attacks before but in his experience there’s no way to be fully prepared for one. His throat feels like it’s closing up, palms sweaty. His eyes bounce back and forth manically, finally settling on his eldest son.

“That’s good. Focus on me now.”

He tries his best, and eventually his breathing slows. Dick eases himself onto the floor gracefully, covering Bruce’s trembling hands with his own.

“Talk to me Bruce.”

After months spent alone, struggling to get through the days and dealing with his grief alone it’s all that’s needed to break the dam.

“He would have turned 17 today.”

The words are barely a whisper, but he can’t stop the tears that roll down his face from the confession. Dick squeezes his hand and gives him a silent nod of encouragement.

“If I hadn’t gotten him involved with being Robin in the first place he’d still be alive today.”

Dick shakes his head firmly.

“This is my fault, Dick, I-”

“Remember when he put on the suit for the first time?”

His brain scrambles as he's taken back to that day. Like he’d ever be able to forget. Jason was so excited he’d been worried about him falling off one of the buildings while he ran and leaped, doing somersaults in midair.

“He put it on and preened in front of a mirror, then jumped onto a table and screamed about it being the best day of his life, remember?"

Dick laughs softly and Bruce can't help but return the favour with a watery chuckle.

They sit for a few more moments, collecting their thoughts. Dick turns to face him.

"Here's what we're going to do B. You're gonna change, I'm going to help Alfred with breakfast and call Lucius to tell him you're taking the day off."

Bruce groans. "No, Dick, I've got the product launch meeting to supervise, the company's been working on it for months-"

His eldest gives him a hand to help him off the floor and glares at him. "You're taking the day off. Don't make me bring Alfred into this."

He finally relents, heading back to his bedroom to find some clothes. Dick retreats to the kitchen, grinning victoriously.

He abandons the suit he was preparing to wear to work and picks out the softest sweatshirt he owns instead. His phone rings unexpectedly and he grabs it, expecting it to be Lucius.

"Bruce?"

Clark's soft voice rings through the phone and Bruce's breath catches. He hastily presses it to his ear.

"What's wrong? Is it Metropolis or the Justice league?"

He's already running the scenarios through his head, calculating the amount of time it'll take to grab his batsuit and get there.

The voice on the other end halts, Clark clearing his throat. His unease grows.

"No, Bruce." The kryptonian sounds surprisingly gentle. "This is about Jason."

Ah.

Bruce takes a minute to wipe the tears stubbornly forming at the corner of his eyes again. Clark uses that silence to continue.

"Look, I know what today feels like for you and your family. I've been there."

The emotion in his voice instantly lets Bruce know that his friend is talking about Jonathan Kent. Clark's father had passed away two years ago from a heart attack. The memory is still fresh in his mind, Clark barely holding himself together as he spoke at the funeral, clutching his mother's hand.

He swallows. "It's just hard-" his voice cracks with emotion and he starts over. "Hard to move on. A part of me feels like I'm just leaving him behind if I forget the moments we spent together."

He doesn't feel like locking his emotions away this time, he's been doing it for the last couple of months and it's definitely making him worse. The reasoning makes him feel significantly better about his breakdown.

"How are Dick and Alfred holding up?"

"Better then I am, but at this point I have no idea. A part of me is afraid that Dick's distracting himself from his grief by taking care of me instead. He's spreading himself too thin with Gotham and the Teen Titans and-"

Clark stops him before he starts spilling his soul into the phone. "Alright, so work through this together. It's pretty obvious that you both need each other right now."

"I know he needs me but I don't know how-"

He can hear Clark's smile through the phone. "Bruce, c'mon, you're overthinking this. Just be there for him, trust me."

Bruce swallows audibly. "Alright."

"I'm here too, if you need me. For anything."

And shit if that doesn't make him want to start crying again. He manages to whisper his thanks and accepts Clark's casual "Anytime."

He hangs up, and heads downstairs, eating breakfast with Dick and Alfred. The rest of the day passes without incident, Dick calls Lucius and they spend his day-off relaxing in the manor and taking strolls around the grounds. Overall the day is one of the best he's had in a long time.

That doesn't stop him from going to visit Jason's grave in the middle of the night, shakily opening up his copy of Oliver Twist and reading it out loud until his tears start to blur the words.

___________________________________

iii.

He spits out curses as he walks down the street, breathing laboured under his signature red hood. His ribs are bruised and he can't seem to muster up enough energy to hide his brand new limp.

Black Mask's men had attempted to take over some of his turf once again. Usually Jason didn't mind, it was pretty low on his list of concerns. He let them have it for a couple of days before moving in, killing most of the idiots on sight. He figured Black Mask would get some better men by now but it seemed he was as much an idiot as they were.

The problem with this particular spot was that it was home to an apartment he'd brought earlier and rented out to a couple of street kids. They were all minors, some of them living on their own while others lived with roommates. If Jason was loyal to anyone it was those kids and he wasted no time going in with guns blazing.

Not exactly the nicest way to start off his 23rd birthday but hey no one could say it hadn't started off with a bang.

At least all the kids were safe. Most of Sionis's men were dead, but that was normal at this point. One of the kids stopped him as he left, concern painting his features.

"You look like shit man, stay here."

At least the kid had spunk; not all of them were brave enough to approach him. He looked about 15, barely fitting into clothes that were dirty and about two sizes too large. Jason searches his memory for a name, comes up blank. He might have been one of the kids who tagged along when he'd picked up someone else.

His musing is interrupted as the kid steps in front of him.

"I'm serious, you look like you're about to keel over."

Jason ignores the lightheaded feeling as his surroundings spin lazily around him. He clears his throat.

"I'm good. Make sure you lock the windows and doors tonight, call me if anything happens."

The kid nods, looking unconvinced. Jason pushes forward.

All he wants to do is spend the night snoozing in one of his safe houses, but the thought of sleeping in one of his cots makes him groan with discomfort. The possessions he keeps in his safe houses are always meager, he doesn't want to lose his supplies over something as stupid as being caught.

He prepares to walk home and scowls when he realizes he's going to need to stop somewhere for food, his stomach is growling. He makes a right on the next street and propels himself to the nearest grocery store, grateful that it's a dingy place with hardly any customers.

He ducks into the alley next to it and ditches his helmet, breathing in the fresh air as it comes off. He swaps it for a baseball cap and covers up his suit with a light jacket. He zips it up as he makes his way into the store, head down and steps purposeful.

He browses the shelves and picks out some water bottles and stops at the freezers to grab microwave lasagna. He grins at the thought of Alfred shuddering at his meal choices, he could practically hear the man complaining about the unhealthy ingredients used.

On his way to check out he finds a table cheerfully advertising cupcakes that are 50% off. They look like they're on the verge of expiring but it's been a while since he's had something sweet. He shrugs and picks up a pack that isn't too crushed.

He dumps his items on the conveyer belt and roots through his pocket for money, groaning internally when the price totals to $27.88. Money isn't hard to find nowadays, what with all of the connections he's gathered over the years, but a small part of him is still a starving nine year old desperate to feed himself with the little he has.

He wonders dimly if that part of him will ever fade.

He's startled out of his thoughts for the second time that night but the woman behind the cashier. He knows he needs to bandage his wounds and sleep it off, but he can't do that unless he focuses and gets his ass back to the safe house.

The woman's name tag indicates that her name is René and she peers at him worriedly from behind her glasses.

He flashes her a tired smile. "Sorry, I'm a little distracted tonight." He hands over the cash and she busies herself with the register, printing out his receipt. While the machine spits out the paper she turns to face him again.

"Are you alright? You look like you were hit by a car."

Even when Jason was a street kid, he loved to watch people. It was a great way to practice his thieving skills, finding out who would be an easy target long before slipping his hands in their pockets. One thing all citizens in Gotham had in common was their bluntness when it came to the crazy crime sprees and sudden robberies. Barely anyone batted an eye when there was a home invasion, and unless the body count was above five it wasn't even featured in the local newspapers.

To outsiders the cold disinterest might've been considered cruel, but it didn't take Jason long to figure out that it was the way that people coped. Keeping yourself numb kept the pain at bay, and he could probably relate to that fact more than anyone.

So René's reaction to an injured young man showing up at her store instead of a hospital wasn't surprising, but at least he could deal with this.

"I'm fine. Just ran into some people, you know how it goes."

She nods as she bags his items, pausing with the cupcakes.

"You sure you want these? I know it's technically my store but you seriously don't want to know how long they've been on these shelves."

He can't stop the sudden bark of laughter at her words and tries to stop himself from doubling over and crying out. He's starting to reconsider his original evaluation of the state of his ribs.

In the end all he manages is turning away and wheezing, trying to quell the coughs that makes his insides feel like they're on fire.

René stares at him with unease, looking like she wants to simultaneously pat him on the shoulder and take a couple steps back at the same time.

She settles for grabbing him a bottle of cold water from the fridge behind her, unscrewing the cap and pushing it into his shaking hands. She glares at him until he relents and takes a gulp, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat. He keeps his eyes on her as he finishes it.

"Thanks."

"If you start coughing up blood like the dude in the horror movie I saw last night I'm kicking you out. I'm not staying overtime, I got a girlfriend to binge Stranger Things with," she warns, not unkindly.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He gives her a smirk, or tries to. He'd like to think he pulled it off. "And yeah, I'll take the cupcake. I am the birthday boy after all."

She raises an eyebrow. "No kidding? I'm guessing the blood and twisted ankle is from a surprise party gone wrong?"

He doesn't grin this time, eyes focused on the bags containing his items.

He keeps his tone carefully uninterested. "Nope. Decided to celebrate the occasion on my own this year."

He doesn't miss her sigh. Once you move to Gotham you see some things on a daily basis that make you stop questioning the why behind the crimes. It's just a fact of life at this point, trees are green, pizza is good and Gotham is where bloodthirsty maniacs call home sweet home. She's probably seen thousands of tired, ragged kids on their own stumbling into her store just like he's done tonight.

The thought stirs up the familiar rage he's been carrying with him since he was little. The sick feeling that haunts him as he sleeps, the knowledge that the children in his city are raped, beaten, kidnapped and killed almost regularly.

He grabs his purchases and avoids René's gaze, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He knows he's practically running out of the store but can't seem to give a damn.

He's already outside when he hears it, the shout muted through the glass doors.

"Happy birthday!"

It's enough to stop him in his tracks as he contemplates going back. She was nice to him, there's no reason to leave things awkward.

He settles for sticking his head back in the door and yelling out a "Thanks!" before bolting.

He heads back home, head throbbing in tune with his heart. He shrugs off the dizziness as he walks, pausing to catch his breath as he leans against the wall of a building. He inhales the sharp smell of cigarettes and gasoline, a combination he's been familiar with for longer than he can remember.

Cars speed past him, the bright lights almost dizzying as they flash across his vision. He rubs his hands against his eyes to get rid of the bright spots, trying to quell his rising nausea.

Miraculously he makes it back in one piece, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse on his cot and pass out. He heads to the small shower and runs the water until it's hot, shedding his jacket and dirty armour. He climbs in and sighs out loud at the blissful feeling. He shampoos his dark hair, fingers dragging through his scalp as he works in the soap until it starts to foam.

He rinses it all off, wincing slightly when the hot spray of water hits the worst of his bruising. He grabs a towel and grabs some clean clothes, settling into a comfortable tee and a pair of sweatpants. He dries his hair methodically, swiping the first aid kit from his bathroom cabinet, an ice pack from the fridge and his plastic bag of items from the store.

He settles on the cot and cleans out his wounds with antiseptic. One of the cuts is deep enough for stitches, and he clenches the muscles in his jaw as he passes the needle through his skin. It's a task he's done countless times before, usually without anesthetic. He finishes the job neatly, snipping the thread and dabbing it with antiseptic before wrapping up the whole thing in gauze bandages.

He works on the bruising on his torso next, which is covered with black and blue. He rubs salve over the worst of them and bandages the rest.

His leg is last, his ankle throbbing from the walk home. He focuses on the part that's swollen and red, grimacing as he alternates between pressing the ice pack to his ankle and the bump on his head. He's fairly certain it's not bad enough to be a concussion but it's giving him a headache. He makes sure to keep his ankle elevated and rifles through his purchases, pushing the conversation with René out of his mind.

He's starving, hasn't had anything to eat all day. He's too exhausted to muster up the energy to get back up to heat his frozen dinner, so he leaves the lasagna for now and grabs the cupcake instead.

It's minuscule, barely the size of his palm and covered in bright yellow icing. Little blue sprinkles are scattered on top. He unwraps the white wrapper and takes a cautious bite.

It doesn't take long for him to register the taste and he spits it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeves. The cupcake is definitely stale, rock hard and inedible. Imagining Alfred's disapproving face makes him grin.

He decides that at least alcohol is worth getting up for and heaves himself off the cot. He's careful with his ankle, maneuvering his body to ensure that most of his weight is on his good leg.

He scoops up the frozen lasagna from the floor and heads to what substitutes for his kitchen, containing just a tiny fridge and a microwave. He puts his meal in a microwave safe dish and watches it as it cooks, grabbing a spoon and a can of beer while he waits.

The friendly beep signals that it's done, and he curses when the plate burns his fingers slightly as he walks back to his cot. He studies the books kept carefully organised on his shelf, picking one at random.

Finally he settles, sighing in relief when his twisted ankle is cushioned and iced once more. He pops the lid and takes a satisfying swallow, putting it aside to eat the lasagna.

Happy birthday to me! He thinks sarcastically. The lasagna is warm but doesn't even come close to some of the after-school snacks Alfred had made him when he was 13.

He digs through his food, pausing momentarily to flip through the book. His heart hardens when he realizes that it's a battered copy of Gone With the Wind. Memories flit through his head, Bruce reading it to make him fall asleep and Dick taking him to a library to renew his borrowed copy for the billionth time.

He figures that it's poetic enough for the occasion and opens it up to page one.

“Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. …eyes… brows… lashes… magnolia-white skin…so prized by Southern women… bonnets, veils, mittens… against hot Georgia suns.”

He smiles at the familiar words, nostalgia overtaking him as he reads.

___________________________________

iv.

Steph and Cass were the first to bring it up, crashing into his current safe house like they owned the place.

He will grudgingly admit that it isn't entirely unwelcome, spending time with his sisters makes him feel less like a bastard.

That didn't mean the topic was a good one, and Jason is willing to ditch his very nice safe house in an attempt to escape.

"Please, Jason? For us?"

Steph is practically begging at this point and Cass is looking more and more like a kicked puppy every minute.

"No. Not a chance in hell."

Steph rolls her eyes. "C'mon big bro, live a little! It's not like it'll kill you."

Cass, the little devil that she is, grins at that while he groans.

"You did not just bring up the death card." He stabs a finger in her chest. "I'm the only one who gets to use the death card."

She blows a raspberry at him at him and winks. Cass tugs on his shoulders.

"It'll be fun."

Jason snorts. "Yeah right. Spending a whole evening with my greatly extended family for a birthday bash sounds exactly like fun to me." sarcasm drips from every word as he puts air quotations around "birthday bash".

Cass hits him and glares at her.

"Alright, ow, you don't have to be mean!"

Steph grins. "Does that mean you'll come?"

Jason shakes his head and dodges the expected blow from Cass. He smirks. "No, that means I'll consider coming."

Step shrugs. "Good enough."

Thankfully that's the worst of it and they spend the rest of the time eating chips and playing Mario Kart.

His luck doesn't last though and Tim is next. They're barely halfway through staking out a weapons drop-off when the interrogation starts.

"So, your birthday's Sunday huh?"

Jason lets out a laugh. "Subtlety was never your element."

"Everyone's hoping you'll-"

Jason waves him off. "Yeah, yeah, show up at the manor out of the blue and spend the evening with you guys, Cass and Steph already gave me the rundown."

Tim smiles at that. "I'm not surprised.” He frowns thoughtfully. “I am surprised that you didn't agree right away though, those two are fierce when they want something."

"And I'm not?" Jason can't stop himself from asking or the annoyance that comes with it.

Tim puts on a mock expression of sadness. “Don’t worry Jason, I’m sure the street thugs are still scared of you. But face it, Cass is a full blown assassin, you couldn't compare in the slightest.”

Jason shoves the younger teen and Tim cackles. “Fuck off!”

As Tim regains his balance the truck beneath them finally starts its engine. He knows Tim still wants to continue the conversation but he brushes him off hastily.

“Too bad, guess we’ll have to finish this later!”, He sings, unable to contain his smugness.

Tim scowls. “Whatever dude, but don’t come crawling back to me when Dick finally makes his move.”

And with that happy thought the pair are off into the night, conversation forgotten almost immediately.

As the week progresses he isn’t surprised to see Dick’s number ringing on his cell in the middle of a turf war. He ducks behind a car as the gunfire gets progressively louder as he groans out loud.

“Dickiebird, make this quick. I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Are those guns?”

Jason smirks despite his situation. “Nah, just some moron doing fireworks in his backyard.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“Who are you to judge, going out in spandex at night-”

“It’s not spandex, dammit, how many times are we going to argue about this-”

Jason cuts him off again. “Whatever dude, told you, I'm a little busy-”

His brother snorts at the end of the line. “Sure. What a busy life you lead, without a day-job and any personal relationships that haven’t been forced onto you by your loving family.”

Jason grins. “Hard day at the police station, Officer Grayson?”

Dick sighs audibly. “We’ve had three complaints filed at the station for incidents relating to this one stupid cat who invades people’s backyards. The little guy’s a menace and has no owner. I’ve been talking to angry neighbors all day today and i’m pretty sure Rowell broke the coffee machine too but he won’t admit it and I haven’t had any goddamn coffee all day today-”

Jason rubs at his eyes, trying to quell the headache that’s already forming. “Slow down, you’re starting to sound like Tim. Remind me why you work at the police station again?”

Dick sighs again and the sound flashes Jason back to Bruce after he used to return from a long day at Wayne Enterprises.

“To help people legally”, Dick drawls, annoyance creeping into his words.

Jason snaps his fingers intentionally knowing his brother can’t see him. “Exactly! If you weren’t so hell-bent on being a good person you might be less miserable on a daily basis!”

“Shut up, Jason.”

“Make me. Any reason you’re calling me in the first place?”

“Just wondering if you have plans for Sunday-”

Jason hangs up.

He’s starting to tick off the family he has left, he doubts that Bruce or Alfred will approach him and that leaves Barbara, Damian and Duke.

He decides to grab some coffee and a croissant before heading out for the day, stomach rumbling at the thought. For once he’s not in a hurry, so he smiles at the woman at the cafe who brings him his order and settles down to enjoy it on one of the park benches.

He’s taken his first bite when Damian slides in next to him, trying not to choke at the sudden appearance of the youngest Wayne.

Damian notices his reaction and smirks like the little shit he is, folding his hands neatly in his lap. After he gets over his shock he’s taken aback at how casually Damian’s dressed.

“You look relaxed”, he points out, sipping his coffee.

Damian scowls. “Tt. Jonathan’s convinced I need to blend in using civilian attire.”

Well that makes him grin. “Jonathan Kent huh?” He elbows his brother in the ribs. “Spending a lot of time with him lately, aren’t you?”

The shade of red peppering Damian’s face is gratifying and he can’t stop himself from laughing out loud as his brother fumes silently.

"There's nothing going on between me and Kent, you imbecile, and even if there was-"

Jason puts his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, jeez. But if you ever need advice or someone to talk to, I'll be here."

The offer seems to take Damian aback and his shuts up, looking thoughtful. "We'll see," he finally mutters.

Jason claps his hands. "Awesome. I'm guessing you're up next to torture me about my birthday?"

Damian nods. He puts a warning hand on his arm.

"Don't even think about running away. I'm a trained assassin, I will find you."

"Having fun is hard for you isn't it?" Jason replies idily, staring up at the blue sky.

Damian ignores the jibe. "Think about Bruce's face, Todd. He'll think he's finally gone delusional if you end up showing up."

Jason opens his mouth with mock surprise. "Are you trying to bribe me with the opportunity to give your own dad a heart attack?"

The younger boy sniffs. "He can handle it. The others just want you to be there."

He doesn't include himself in that sentence but Jason gets the message. Damian wouldn't be here if he didn't care.

Oh, how he hated to disappoint.

Damian shakes his head resolutely, a gesture so Bruce-like it gives Jason deja-vu.

"I thought that'd be your response. Which is why I came up with a back up plan."

Well fuck if he doesn't like the sound of that, recalling Damian's earlier threat when he consideres running away for the hundredth time. Damian bends over to rummage through the bag he brought with him, and Jason smiles when he sees the amount of knives instead and something that resembles a katana sheath.

Eventually his brother finds his phone and presses a few buttons, handing it to Jason with a smirk as it rings steadily.

Jason contemplates dropping the phone and stamping on it until it shatters when the person on the end picks up.

"Master Jason, I assume that's you?"

He freezes like a deer in headlights and Damian's smirk grows impossibly wider. The little shit! He knew this was going to be a deathtrap.

"Master Jason, you know it's rude to leave someone waiting."

The british accent is one he hasn't heard in a while, and the familiarity of it makes him want to tear up. He holds the phone up to his ear with a shaky hand.

"Hi, Alfred."

"Ah, you're alive. I'm assuming Master Damian has explained what this is about?"

He shoots his brother a dirty look, the other inspecting his fingers smugly.

"Yeah, he may have mentioned it."

"Excellent. You'll be at the manor on Sunday then?"

His throat is dry. "Or course."

"Wonderful. Come no later than 7, Master Jason, the others will be delighted."

"I'm sure they will", he mumbles.

Alfred hangs up after they exchange goodbyes and he hands the phone back to Damian.

"You're a cheater."

Damian shrugs. "Honestly, you should have expected that to happen eventually."

"Demon spawn," he mutters under his breath.

"Piece of shit," the younger retorts.

Jason raises his eyebrows but can't exactly say that he's surprised and resigns himself to his fate, but not before delivering some well-deserved pay back.

"So, about Jon-"

Damian shoots him a warning glare and leaves.

"Karma's a bitch little wing!" he yells at the quickly retreating form, ignoring the annoyed looks of the people around them. Jason sighs and finally finishes his croissant in peace.

So now he's standing in front of Wayne manor, trying to school his features into something that doesn't look like apprehension. He's wearing casual clothing, jeans and a sweater. A part of him wanted to wear his full Red Hood suit just to get under the idiot's skins but there was no way he was wearing full bullet proof armour all evening long.

He jogs past the fancy garden sculptures and fountains, letting himself into the unlocked house. He makes his way through the foyer, finding his family huddled around an Xbox playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare.

The group is laughing, smiles all around as they banter back and forth. His heart aches dimly to be a part of that something, an intense yearning to be integrated into their family dynamic. It looked so easy.

The moment's ruined as soon as Dick spots him and wraps him up in a hug. "You made it!" The grin on his face is blinding. "Guys, birthday boy has arrived!"

Fuck this. This family sucks.

"Jesus Dickface, get off-"

"You're crushing him Dick", Barbara says, tone reproachful.

And jeez, literally everyone is there. Tim, Duke and Steph are crouched on the floor, still engrossed in the video game. Damian is standing beside Dick, looking too smug for his own good. Barbara and Cass are right behind them.

Someone starts to ruffle his hair as they walk past. He's about to shove the hand away when he sees who it belongs to.

"Aunt Kate?"

Kate grins. "Good to see you kid. Happy birthday!"

"I wasn't expecting you to be here."

Kate shrugs. "Life's been slow recently and besides, there was no way I was going to miss a Wayne party!"

He laughs at that, making his way over to give her a hug. Kate has always been one of his favorite people, he distinctly remembers the chocolate she used to smuggle to him when Bruce wasn't looking and she hung out during patrol.

Bruce and Alfred are next to enter the room, and Jason smirks when he sees Bruce stop his sentence abruptly when he sees his second son. Jason catches Damian's eye as he winks.

"Hey Bruce."

Bruce cautiously steps forward, unease rippling across his features. Things have been better lately but some wounds take longer to heal then others. He squashes the guilt as Tim's bloody face flashes beneath his eyelids.

"It's good to see you Jason."

Jason spreads his hands. "It took some convincing," he replies, words directed at the others. Tim smiles and Dick laughs.

Alfred wastes no time drawing him into a tight hug, one that no one comments on after Jason gathers his composure.

Alfred smiles brightly at all of them, and fuck, Jason knows that coming was worth it.

"Dinner will be served shortly, if you all want to follow me to the kitchen?"

There's a mutter of agreement around the room and Jason is soon swept into various activities. Dick grabs the plates while Bruce helps Alfred with the dishes. Cass and Duke chat as they swipe cutlery while Tim and Steph set the table. Damian carries the knives, rather ominously in Jason's opinion but no one bats an eye.

There's some jostling as everyone finds a seat, Damian and Tim shoving each other to get the chair next to Dick. Cass finally sighs and switches with Tim, whose face brightens considerably.

He chats to Dick quietly about things in Blüdhaven, Bruce resuming his conversation with Alfred and Tim. The girls talk about school, Damian bringing up the art show he's participating in next week. The food is as good as he remembers, roast paired off with potatoes and countless salads, sauces and side dishes. Unfortunately there's no alcohol but he eats enough for two.

As the food is cleared away and multiple praises are directed Alfred's way for the meal, they drag Jason to another room. He grins when Steph pulls out the alcohol.

Damian and Tim groan out loud and Kate shoves them. "Don't worry, I'm sure there's juice in the fridge", she teases. Damian scowls at her.

Alfred informs them that he'll be in the kitchen preparing dessert and he leaves promptly, Damian following him to the fridge.

Bruce raises an eyebrow at his daughter. "We do have better drinks."

Steph shrugs. "I'm convinced there's a difference between getting drunk on fancy red wine and getting wasted on cheap beer that's past its expiry date."

Bruce relents, an incredulous look on his face. They sit in a circle, passing chilled bottles around.

Steph grins. "We're gonna play 'Most Likely'."

A mixture of gasps of delight mingle with complaints as the room descends into chaos again.

Steph raises a finger and whistles piercingly. "Ah ah ah, no buts. We're playing. It's simple, one person says a scenario and everyone else chooses a person in the group who they think is most likely to do it. The person with the most votes takes a drink."

Duke opens his bottle and takes a gulp, laughing at Dick' expression, Damian returning with cranberry juice for Tim and himself.

Cass laughs. "I'll start. Most likely to set the manor on fire?"

Bruce chokes at that one, eyes flashing dangerously. Jason grins. The votes are casted here and there but when he counts most of them are on Kate.

The woman in question smirks and gives a mock bow as she takes a swig of her beer.

"Can't say that I disagree."

That makes a bunch of them nod and laugh out loud. Kate swallows and starts the next question. "Most likely to get punched in the face by a stranger?"

Jason can count six other hands pointing at Dick, including his own.

The five others are pointed in his directions, but like Kate's answer earlier he can't really argue. He's gotten punched by tons of strangers, usually people undercover for Roman Sionis or other drug dealers he's managed to piss off. He takes a mouthful of beer, smiling from the burn.

"What are you talking about?" Dick complains. "I'm a nice person!"

"Sure, but you're also oblivious as fuck-"

"Language." Bruce mutters.

"-and you can't catch a hint to save your life. I can name some of the girls and guys who've flirted with you and didn't get a reaction," Tim finishes.

Dick pouts dramatically and takes a drink. "Most likely to giveaway hints by accident while playing poker?"

That one causes an uproar and Jason can't really choose who gets this one. They're all pretty decent liars, they have to be in their line of work. He ends up picking Barbara, only because she's had trouble keeping Batgirl a secret from her dad.

He's not the only one who brings that up and the votes are tied between her and Duke. The pair each take a drink.

Duke chews his lip as he thinks, brow furrowed in concentration. His face lights up when he figures out what to say.

"Most likely to use their kids as an excuse to get out of commitments?"

Simultaneously, everyone points at Bruce, who looks guilty and amused at the same time.

"How many times did you tell Wayne Enterprises I was sick as a kid to leave a meeting early, B?" Dick asks with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce smirks. "Not nearly enough times, those meetings give me migraines."

He unscrews the cap and takes a long swallow, his kids cheering. He shoots Steph a look. "You prefer this to red wine?"

Steph grins and nods, Cass and Barbara agreeing along with her.

Kate claps him on the back. "That's more like it!"

Bruce smiles and proceeds with the game. "Most likely to kill someone out of spite."

Jason counts two fingers pointing in his direction, one at Tim while the rest point to Damian.

The youngest Wayne scowls, raising his glass and taking a grudging sip of his juice, eyeing Dick's bottle wistfully. Dick gets the memo and pulls his beer away from his younger brother, tightening his hold just in case.

The game continues for the next hour, all of them getting progressively more drunk as the sun sets. Tim's declared to be the 'one who's most likely to be a criminal mastermind', Bab's 'most likely to run for president'. Alfred steps in just in time to win 'most likely to manage to survive while being stranded on an island'.

Overall, Jason is happy and sleepy and wasted.

The cake is brought out, cheers ringing out as plates and forks are passed around. The cake is shoved in his hands, and he takes a moment to blink with surprise.

"You made a cake in the shape of my helmet?"

It's really the only possible explanation, the cake is absolutely drenched in red frosting. It's in the shape of an oval, frosted white slits substituting for where his eyes would be. It's bigger than his actual helmet, and Jason turns it around to inspect it from all angles. A single candle glows brightly on top.

He stares at them. Dick and Alfred are squeezing his shoulder supportingly, Tim and Duke flashing him grins. Kate looks nostalgic as she hands him a knife, Damian's face carefree. Barbara starts to sing happy birthday softly, Steph joining in while Cass gives him a hug.

"Happy birthday chum," Bruce whispers, eyes bright as they reflect the flames. He smiles in response and blows out his candle.

Tim nudges him. "What did you wish for?"

To stay here forever.

Jason snorts. "I wished that one of those birthday presents you all suck at hiding contains a new gun."

Dick laughs at his response and Alfred smiles. Cass gives him a comforting look however, and not for the first time Jason's taken aback at how well she can read him.

It doesn't take long for everyone to settle down with a piece of cake. Jason takes his first bite and sees stars. It's just moist enough and the icing melts perfectly on his tongue. He gives Alfred an appreciative nod.

As the plates are returned to the kitchen they all find themselves in front of the TV, arguing on which movie to watch.

"For the last fucking time Dickface, no one wants to watch Dumbo because it makes you cry every single time his mom gets taken away!" Jason retorts.

Tim opens his mouth hopefully.

Damian cuts him off before he can even speak. "The same goes for you, asshole. No more Lion King fiascos."

Tim shoves Damian and he stumbles, both of them tackling each other to the ground. Kate claps slowly while Bruce breaks it up.

Jason takes the opportunity and steals the remote, grinning with triumph.

"It doesn't matter what you losers want, it's my birthday so I'm picking." There's a chorus of groans and Jason's smile widens. He scrolls through the Netflix suggestions and finally decides on Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

Steph yells with excitement and throws a pillow at Duke who groans, Cass's features morphing into one of confusion.

Barbara shrugs. "It's a classic."

Jason whoops as the movie starts, all of them fighting for popcorn and soda. Halfway through the film the mood gets increasingly more relaxed. Dick’s head is on his shoulder, Damian’s fighting for more leg room with Tim on his other side. The girls are spread out on the floor, Cass’s head in Steph’s lap, Babs sitting comfortably in her wheelchair beside the couch. Duke is falling asleep on Bruce, who Jason realizes is already asleep, snoring lightly into the cushions. Kate’s perched on the edge of the sofa’s armrest, watching the movie with interest. The only person who still looks dignified is Alfred, lounging in a chair he’s pulled up.

The movie marathon continues with Steph’s suggestion, Mean Girls, and they’re halfway through King Kong when they finally shut off the TV. Alfred wakes Duke and Bruce, Cass and Tim pulling Jason through the room for presents.

The pile of presents is larger then he would have guessed, boxes covered in shiny wrapping paper and small parcels. Everyone scrambles to sit around Jason, pushing their gifts forwards. He doesn’t know if he should be amused or terrified at the looks of eagerness around the room.

Kate gives him her present first, grinning slyly at her cousin. Bruce frowns, knowing he’s not going to appreciate what’s in the package. Jason tears the wrapping paper and lovingly pulls out one of the knives from its sheath.

He holds it out and tests the balance. “Well these’ll be useful.”

Steph hands him his present next, the weird object decked out in black wrapping paper with comic style font all over it. He squeezes it and scowls immediately. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Steph shakes her head, eyes bright with mischief. The plushy Jason’s holding is a frog that looks like it’s seen better days, a dirty brown color that may have originally been green. One of the buttons used for eyes has popped off and he's pretty sure the hole at the bottom has been leaking stuffing for years.

He holds it up to face her and she smirks. The others are laughing as well. "What the hell is this?"

"Your birthday gift!", she sings. "Found him at a thrift store last week and I couldn't just leave the poor guy there, his eyes are so full of love, you know?"

"You mean eye, singular,” he points out.

"So he's a cyclops, why does it matter? Turn it around."

He does, biting back the urge to start laughing uncontrollably. The front of the sorry looking toad indicates that his name is Jason. He groans out loud when he sees the tell-tale smear of sharpie under the frog's name.

Jason Toad.

Dick throws his head back and laughs, while Babs gives Steph a high five.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny. Now shut up or I'll leave him here." He abandons the plushy and grabs the nearest gift instead.

The package is soft and he crinkles the wrapping paper as it tears. His breath catches when he finally sees his present in its full glory.

"Whoever brought me this is automatically my favorite sibling." his gaze slides over to Damian and Tim and reconsiders. "Unless it's Replacement or Demon Spawn, they can be promoted to third."

Tim rolls his eyes and Damian shoots him a disinterested stare.

"Be nice Master Jason", Alfred chides lightly.

Duke puts a hand on his shoulder. "Guess I win then."

Jason grins at the other man. "Thanks dude, way better choice then the toad."

He wastes no time pulling on the soft leather jacket, stretching his shoulders out comfortably and digging his hands into the pockets.

Tim's present turns out to be a key-chain with a mini chainsaw attached, because "Bruce wouldn't let me buy you a real chainsaw."

All of his other gifts are just as good, Alfred gives him Bluetooth headphones, a brand new copy of Life of Pi from Dick plus boots and eyeliner from both Barbara and Cass respectively.

Damian's present is one of the last and when he pulls apart the wrapping paper he’s left with a thin rectangular box. He stares at his younger brother.

“If this is jewelry it better be nice.”

Damian shakes his head, a small smile forming on his lips. “Better than jewelry.”

The gift turns out to be bullets, all of different sizes and shapes. They’re organized carefully, each with a label attached underneath.

Jason studied one that’s sleek and silver, little slits in the sides. The little lettering in the case lets him know that this one is filled with gas. He grins.

“Are these personalized?”

Damian nods. “Each and every one, tailored to your favorite gun. I modified the version father uses for his Batarangs and transferred it to work with bullets.” He shrugs. “I figured they were more your style.”

Jason stares at him, silent for a beat before turning back to the weapon. “Fine, I guess you can be my fourth favorite sibling.”

Tim huffs. “I helped him with the tech.”

Damian elbows him smugly.

He almost doesn't register Bruce standing in the back until the chatter dies out. His adopted dad looks like a kicked puppy and Jason feels an unexpected fondness shoot through his heart.

"You have something for me Bruce?"

Suddenly something is roughly being shoved into his hands and he stares at the thin object for a second. The room goes silent, the entire group fixated on Jason and Bruce.

The slips of paper are familiar and he swears he's held them before. He turns them over to read the minuscule writing.

Gotham City Knights vs Gotham Giants

Featured in Gotham City Stadium

Mon Aug 31 2020 7:30 PM

“You got me baseball tickets?”

Bruce clears his throat and presses on, looking uncomfortable. “You used to love going as a kid, and I brought two so you could take someone with you if you wanted.”

Jason’s voice catches and he swallows around the lump in his throat. “Sure, are you free Monday?”

Bruce’s “Yes” sounds more like a croak but it’s there, an open invitation to spend some time together. It’s not an apology but it’s a start, and he’ll take it. Jason’s heart swells.

After that they all goad him into sleeping over, an offer he would have declined if not for Alfred’s stern glances. They decide to grab some pillows and blankets and settle on the floor, everyone comfortable and sleepy.

Well, if anything, it’s not the worst birthday he’s ever had.

#jtbdayweek #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #kate kane #clark kent #Alfred Pennyworth #bruce wayne #Duke Thomas #barbara gordon #cassandra cain #Stephanie Brown #Happy Birthday Jason!

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prince-everhard · 4 years ago

Text

Prince’s Whumptober 2020 masterpost

Gonna have links, titles, summaries, and all that jazz under a readmore because i decided to really push myself and do all 31 prompts separately. Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged my work; your support means the world to me and makes me want to keep writing!

multiparters here have been listed in chronological order rather than posting order for ease of reading.

FAHC

No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

Title: another duck joins the flock Fandom: FAHC Character(s): Geoff, Michael Rating: T Warning(s): blood, handcuffs Wordcount: 728 Summary: Or how the Fakes gained their most famous muscle. [tidied up/expanded this never-to-be-posted fahc wip for whumptober]

Naruto

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped

Title: and the worst part of waiting is the anticipation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Team 7 Rating: T Warning(s): blood, vomit Wordcount: 951 Summary: Team Seven gets captured. [part of the whumptober au]

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

Title: A Teaching Moment Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura, Kabuto Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 498 Summary: Kabuto makes her an offer she can’t refuse. [part of the whumptober au]

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

Title: Graduation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura, Kabuto, Rating: T+? Warning(s): blood Wordcount: 835 Summary: Kabuto has one more test before Sakura can be considered a true medic-nin. [part of the whumptober au]

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

Title: Arboreal Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Sakura Rating: T Warning(s): needles Wordcount: 803 Summary: It was only a matter of time before Sakura found something that could help her escape. [part of the whumptober au]

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD “Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

Title: no good deed goes unpunished Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Naruto, Teuchi, Kyuubi Rating: T Warning(s): violence against children Wordcount: 972 Summary: Something goes wrong on his seventh birthday. Naruto might never be the same again.

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

Title: Degradation Fandom: Naruto Character(s): Kakashi, Sakura, Naruto Rating: T Warning(s): dismemberment ment Wordcount: 187 Summary: Kakashi knows that power comes with a price.

Dragon Age

No 6. PLEASE…. “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”

Title: Like Dogs Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Tabris, Shianni, Soris, Nelaros Rating: M Warning(s): implied/offscreen rape, violence against women, blood Wordcount: 1640 Summary: It was supposed to be a good thing, getting married. It wasn’t. [this is really just a love letter to the origin that fucking shooketh me]

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt

Title: all’s fair but war is not without casualties Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Cousland, Alistair; ex-Alistair/Warden Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 695 Summary: Ten years after the Blight ends, Elissa Cousland runs into someone she never thought she’d see again. It, uh, doesn’t go quite as planned. [mostly canon compliant; Loghain is spared and becomes a warden]

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

Title: Duty Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Cousland, Eleanor, Bryce Rating: T Warning(s): blood, betrayal, last stand Wordcount: 633 Summary: Even without interference, history marches on. A what-if scenario if Duncan wasn’t there to recruit the Cousland. [part of iron & ash]

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

Title: To Ostagar Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Cousland Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 545 Summary: Jasmine is determined to get vengeance for her family. [part of iron & ash]

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

Title: Consequences Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Surana Rating: T Warning(s): none Wordcount: 368 Summary: Surana helps her best friend escape the Circle, and the consequences are more than she bargained for.

No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

Title: Corrupted Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Mahariel, Duncan Rating: Gen Warning(s): none Wordcount: 192 Summary: It’s a long journey from the Brecilian Forest to Ostagar for someone with blight sickness.

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Title: Big Sister Instinct Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): Female Hawke, Unnamed Templars Rating: T Warning(s): torture, violence against women Wordcount: 325 Summary: Marian Hawke would rather die than betray her family. She might even just get the chance to do it.

Mass Effect

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

Title: never forget to bury your regret (before it buries you) Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Male Shepard, Human OC Rating: T Warning(s): cave-in, blood, character death Wordcount: 450 Summary: Survival training goes south in the ICT.

No 7. I’VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Title: First Contact Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Turian OC, Human OC Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, broken bones, vomit, vehicular crash Wordcount: 1150 Summary: Decimus isn’t ready to die, but he’s especially not ready to die on a stupid scouting mission to a stupid alien colony. [set during the First Contact War; probably not canon-compliant but idgaf]

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

Title: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (and what does makes you scarred forever) Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Edi, Tali’Zorah, Garrus Vakarian Rating: T Warning(s): panic attack, open space Wordcount: 662 Summary: Shepard isn’t afraid of getting spaced. No, really. [a closer look at the geth dreadnought mission]

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

Title: Torfan Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Major Kyle Rating: T Warning(s): blood, guns, drugging Wordcount: 589 Summary: How the Butcher came to be.

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

Title: Rest Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Shepard, Anderson; referenced Shepard/Vega Rating: T Warning(s): blood, character death Wordcount: 1018 Summary: A father-daughter moment after they open the arms of the Citadel. [part of Alder]

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Title: they found you on the floor Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): alcohol, vomit, underage drinking Wordcount: 348 Summary: Like mother like daughter; Shepard deals with her trauma after Mindoir. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

Title: there’s easier ways to die Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Ashley Williams Rating: T Warning(s): DTs, vomit mention Wordcount: 368 Summary: Shepard takes a stand against her own demons. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

Title: you crawled up on your cross Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Jacob Taylor Rating: T Warning(s): alcohol Wordcount: 645 Summary: Shepard gets a morale boost from a crewmate. [part of Gloria Shepard]

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

Title: Cornered Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): broken bones Wordcount: 1281 Summary: Garrus gets into some trouble. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

Title: Ancient History Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Female Shepard, Garrus Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, death, self-destructive/suicidal actions Wordcount: 1223 Summary: Jane is an enigma and Garrus just wants to figure her out. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

Title: After Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard Rating: T Warning(s): injuries, death Wordcount: 440 Summary: Jane comes for Garrus after the gangs’ assault. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

Title: Debt Fandom: Mass Effect Character(s)/Pairing(s): Garrus, Female Shepard, Mordin; mutual pining Shakarian Rating: T Warning(s): painkillers Wordcount: 590 Summary: After the gangs’ assault, Garrus overhears something. [part of the omega non-reaper au]

Undertale

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

Title: Drowning Fandom: Undertale Character(s): Toriel, Asgore Rating: T Warning(s): character death, child death Wordcount: 156 Summary: Asriel brought Chara home one last time.

[replacing no. 27] Alt 7. Found Family

Title: The Door Fandom: Undertale Character(s): Frisk, Papyrus, Sans Rating: Gen Warning(s): none Wordcount: 357 Summary: Just a little look at what could be a meeting with Gaster

Red vs Blue

No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

Title: Being a twin is a Hard Thing Fandom: Red vs Blue Character(s): South Dakota Rating: T Warning(s): psychological trauma Wordcount: 281 Summary: In the days before Wash finds them, South gets… introspective. [canon compliant? taken from a wip I was never going to finish so I fleshed it out for whumptober instead]

Original Fiction

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

Title: please leave a message Rating: T Warning(s): blood Wordcount: 537 Summary: A detective’s work is never done. Antonia deals with the news that her most famous case’s subject is on the run again. [original fiction]

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

Title: Secondary Location Rating: Gen? Warning(s): kidnapping Wordcount: 143 Summary: Antonia wakes up on the wrong side of the city. [original fiction]

#whumptober2020 #prince fic #masterpost #long post #holy shit y'all i did it

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scripttorture · 5 years ago

Note

(1/2) I am writing a fantasy story and I wanted to have a character who undergoes a type of solitary confinement but not really? They would be isolated from practically everything except to analyse data and send reports but never receive any form of communication other than orders. But I was on the fence of whether or not I wanted to have them have a magical "bond" with their twin, meaning they would be able to sense each other and know they were alive but be unable to communicate anything else

(2/2) Solitary confinement cont: though, I guess they could sometimes be able to communicate emotions if they were feeling it really strongly. would this still be considered solitary confinement? Would the symptoms be lessened? I’m planning for them to stay in that situation for at least ten years if not more. Would it even matter if they could sense their twin, or would they be affected just as “strongly” as if they were alone? Also, what /would/ be a realistic reaction to this kind of torture?(3/?) Solitary confine cont: sorry for being such a bother. but i’m also not sure if this will be a factor in predicting symptoms in my character, but they would be forced to sit in one place and be unable to move anywhere else other than the desk they work at. They will still be fed and such; the food will come to them.(4/?) solitary confin cont: sorry i forgot to ask in the last one: would the character still be close to the twin after they got out? With or without the bond? Would further isolating themselves except from the people they used to be very close to before the confinement be a reasonable reaction to this experience? Would social isolation be a feasible reaction period? Would it still be possible for them to get better and heal? Would it be realistic for them to continue living instead of suicide?

OK so there are a lot of complicated and interrelated questions here. Given the story you’ve described I think the best thing I can do is start with the problems in the scenario as it is, then suggest some changes and then talk about long term effects for a survivable, altered scenario.

What you’re describing is solitary confinement and you’re also describing other forms of torture. You’re underestimating the damage of both by a really large degree.

And that’s not your fault. It’s hard to find good information on this stuff; that’s why I’m here.

Honestly I think this would kill your character in under a year even if they didn’t attempt suicide.

You’re not describing a stress position. But being forcibly confined to a chair 24/7 is a recipe for pressure sores. Combine that with whatever solution they have for basic excretion and- well even the best scenario I can think of (regularly changed adult diapers) would lead to serious infection.

Combine that with the sleep deprivation being trapped in this position would cause and you have recurrent, serious infections that would probably lead to death.

I haven’t factored in solitary confinement at all yet. The ‘safe’ period for solitary is about a week. Anything after that is prolonged. Ten years is incredibly extreme.

And the research we have on solitary clearly indicates that the effects are even worse when the victims are children (which includes teenagers). It’s also worse when other tortures or elements of neglect are present.

And I’ve only really mentioned one possible injury that a long term restraint torture like this could cause.

I don’t want to go overboard hammering this home. We’re taught to underestimate the damage ‘clean’ tortures like solitary confinement and the restraint tortures you described do. You get the idea.

You can read more about solitary confinement over here.

You can read more about sleep deprivation here.

First of all I really think you need to reduce your time frame by at least a factor of ten. Very few people survive ten years of sustained abuse.

Yes it is possible. People in forced labour scenarios or slavery do sometimes survive this long. But your scenario is inflicting constant physical damage over that time period. A year in captivity is a much more reasonable time frame.

If keeping the characters separated for ten years is important then you can still keep that separation while making sure the character is only tortured for a year or less.

This character’s effectively enslaved and it sounds like a modern or sci fi setting.

That often involves moving people across state or national boundaries and taking their documentation away. Establishing someone’s identity and getting replacement documents after they’re released can take a very long time. Especially if the country in question has policies that require paying for documentation.

It can get even more complicated if there’s a language barrier in play.

If slavery victims are rescued by police and are willing to testify that often requires staying in a particular area. If the survivors are in a witness protection program of some kind (not uncommon because a lot of these people are under threat from other slavers) then the survivors might not have much control over where they’re staying or for how long.

If this is big enough that national security might be brought up then they might not even be allowed to contact anyone.

Court cases involving slavers and gangs can easily take up several years.

Add on top of this the severe symptoms that any torture survivors suffer from which can lead to people being institutionalised and you have a lot of reasons why these twins might not have been able to contact or see each other for ten years.

This isn’t just more realistic, I think it would give you a stronger story as well. Because it gives the survivor twin things to do, allows them to develop as a separate person and you can use the things they choose to do to tell the audience about them.

When your character’s alone in a strange place and they’ve just been through hell what they do next tells the audience a lot. You can show their beliefs, their personality, their goals or priorities. You can show whether any of those have changed as a result of abuse.

Their core beliefs, the things they hold most dear, are unlikely to change. But torture can cause big changes in personality and perspective. The key thing to remember is that this change can’t be controlled. Torturers and slavers can’t ‘make’ a victim change in a way they want.

You might want to have a look at this post here on the common stereotypes around survivors and torturers.

Next I’d suggest you don’t describe the character as being constantly at a desk.

The majority of the lethal problems that could cause would be reduced hugely if the character can move around relatively freely for an hour or so a day. Even if this time is while they’re asleep.

I’d suggest a scenario where the character is removed to a cell for the night everyday and allowed between 6-8 hours rest every night.

Keep in mind that 6 hours would still be sleep deprivation with all the short and long term effects that causes.

The cell should be at least big enough for them to lie down comfortably, with appropriate bedding. They should also preferably have access to a bathroom with at least a toilet.

This would still be solitary confinement. The definition is less then 1-2 hours of human contact daily (some academics and law systems use less then 1 hour some use less then 2).

It has to be social contact. Being in the same room as someone who doesn’t respond doesn’t help and may actually make things worse. It doesn’t necessarily have to be based on verbal communication; based on what I’ve read it seems as though positive interaction would still help despite a language barrier.

But a nebulous magical connection that only really says ‘your twin is still alive’ doesn’t sound like social contact. There’s no communication, non-verbal or otherwise. So I don’t think this would be a protective factor. I think it has the potential to have a negative effect actually, making symptoms worse.

Because I think it sounds like it could be similar to being in a room with someone who refuses to socialise, constantly. And for someone in solitary confinement that’s a little like the equivalent of leaving a meal just out of reach of someone whose starving.

I can’t say that definitely for obvious reasons. So I’d suggest assuming that at best it has no effect on the situation.

The realistic reaction to the scenario I’ve suggested is lifelong mental illness and possibly physical disability as well.

The majority of tortures produce the same symptoms. Not every survivor experiences every possible symptom but the possible symptoms are pretty consistent.

Solitary confinement actually causes some unusual symptoms. So do starvation and sleep deprivation. I suspect this is because they’re all a systematic deprivation of something we need to function.

You can find the possible symptoms of solitary confinement, along with a few statistical estimates on the likelihood of different symptoms, in the solitary confinement masterpost.

If you’d like to know more about what those symptoms look like in practice there’s a source linked to in that masterpost by S Shalev which contains a lot of different accounts from survivors. I think you’d find it useful. It’s available for free online.

We can’t predict who will be prone to what symptoms. Right now we just don’t know why individual survivors develop particular symptoms.

So I suggest consciously picking the symptoms you want your character to come based on what you think will add to your story and character.

If a symptom creates interesting problems in the narrative, increases tension in the plot or lets you show the audience something about the character, then it’s probably a good pick.

I’d strongly suggest picking physical symptoms for solitary confinement as well as psychological ones. Most people don’t know it can cause physical symptoms and it’s important to include multiple aspects to capture the experience.

Once again, I suggest you read the survivor accounts in Shalev’s Sourcebook. Personally I’ve found reading what survivors say to be the best source for understanding their lived experience.

In this particular case after a year of restraint torture and limited opportunity for physical activity I think physical weakness, chronic pain in the legs and back, and possibly difficulty walking are all likely.

I’m not sure how good the chance of physical recovery would be because I’m not a doctor. The survivors who report these sorts of injuries after extremely long periods in restraints are often denied medical treatment after release. And appropriate medical treatment could make a lot of difference.

I suspect the chronic pain at least would last a long time. Possibly for the rest of the character’s life.

It wouldn’t be unreasonable to have them using a cane or finding it difficult to walk long distances.

Now I want to stress that recovery is possible.

Torture survivors are not passive objects forever ‘broken’ by what they survived.

They’re ill. They’re often disabled. But they do often go on to live full and happy lives.

It’s a long process and it’s often about finding a way to live with mental illness.

But it’s possible. Torture survivors go on to do all sorts of things. They’re artists, teachers, home makers, religious leaders, cooks, philosophers, scientists, historians. They do build fulfilling lives.

If reconnecting with family and friends seems like it would be a part of that for your character, then yes that’s probably something you should include in the process.

Would it be easy? No.

Recovery is long and difficult. And people change when they’re apart from each other for long periods, especially if they’re still growing up.

Family and friends of survivors often say they don’t recognise their loved ones any more. Especially if they’ve been held for a long period of time (ie months).

That’s understandable. Mental illness changes people. It can feel like a survivor comes back as a ‘different person’.

I think, for reasons that have nothing to do with solitary confinement, rebuilding the relationship would take a lot of time for these characters. Perfectly possible, but hard. There’d be a lot of miscommunications, arguments and problems along the way.

Because suddenly having to navigate severe mental illness is hard. And because dealing with healthy people who don’t understand when you’re severely mentally ill/disabled is hard.

Torture generally can result in social isolation in the long term. This isn’t always the survivor’s choice but yes, sometimes it can be.

For some survivors their symptoms and triggers are such that they find avoiding people the ‘easier’ option.

It’s not a good solution. In the long run it makes mental health problems worse. But it’s understandable. Society isn’t set up to accommodate people with mental illnesses and socialising can be very difficult.

So, yes. Depending on the symptoms you pick for the character a certain amount of withdrawing would be normal. However this is not the same as some kind of voluntary solitary confinement.

As for the final question-

Whatever the torture and the time frame suicide is always possible. Depression and suicidal ideation are common symptoms.

You’re proposing an impossibly extreme time frame. If the scenario was ‘just’ solitary confinement I’d say suicide was incredibly likely.

Even with the shorter time frame I’ve suggested we’re talking about an extreme period of time. It’s over fifty times the safe period. Suicide attempts are incredibly likely and sometimes the difference between failed and completed suicide is just how attentive the guards are.

I think that in a year of solitary confinement, forced labour and torture- Well it would be surprising if someone survived that and had never once felt suicidal.

Acting on it is a different thing.

I wouldn’t suggest a scenario unless I thought there was a decent chance, realistically, of a character surviving. And I do that while keeping in mind that suicide is a factor.

I think if you want to write this in a way that means the character has never ever felt suicidal then a more reasonable time frame is 1-3 months solitary and the removal of every other torturous or neglectful element from the story.

Even then, some people feel suicidal after a month in solitary confinement.

The realism of suicide depends on more then what a character survives. Their options for professional help, medical attention they receive, community support and practical things like whether they can get a job that pays enough to feed themselves all make a difference. So do cultural attitudes to suicide and policies in place to prevent it.

At the end of the day though, you’re the writer. You control these elements. And you can set every single one of them up in a way that makes suicide less likely.

I hope that helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw suicide #tw child abuse #Effects of Solitary Confinement #clean torture #solitary confinement #restraint torture #sleep deprivation #time frames for solitary confinement #writing victims #writing recovery #fantasy ask

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ahomeganeyatsu · 6 years ago

Text

Ran Off in the Night (Part 3)

Monday dawned cloudy and just as windy as Sunday. Somewhere between 3 and 4, Lucas had dozed off. In his own humble opinion, that was better than nothing. Monday brought Madam Rigaux and Lucas could not afford face-planting on his desk from being sleep-deprived. It has only been three weeks since school started but he was already in her bad books. (Maybe he should have reconsidered sitting next to Arthur in that class.) Despite the insufficient sleep, he was also feeling better. It didn't hurt too much when he breathed nor did his body protest at movement. The events of Saturday night were still patchy at best―much to his chagrin. But a guy could hope, right?

He went through his morning ablutions with the same mindless tenacity Mondays afforded. He debated wearing the hoodie to school, but the prospect of fielding questions from his friends were already giving him mild anxiety. Lucas may be the master at lying, but even he had his limits. The best lies were the ones that held a kernel of truth in them. He couldn't just tell them he has no fucking idea where he got the hoodie. Or it didn't sit quite well that he's feeling good. As if there should be something wrong with him.

And perhaps there was. Lucas wasn't the type to get black out drunk. He was even careful to limit his weed intake because it messes with him. It was never good to mix too much alcohol and weed when Lucas was what he was. It was asking for trouble. I mean, look where it got him last Saturday. A new hoodie―albeit a really comfy one―and a spotty memory.

He stared at the hoodie in his hands before sighing and folding it up. He placed it gently at the foot of his bed, his fingers lingering on the soft black fabric. Lucas puffed his cheeks and blew out another breath. He seriously has got to put a stop to this fixation on the damned hoodie. He grabbed his bag and phone, and finally exited his room.

Mika looked up from his mug, only dressed in boxers and his half-opened, offensively bright yellow robe. “Good morning, kitten. You're up early today.”

“And you're much chipper from what should be humanly possible on a Monday morning,” he retorted. He opened a cupboard to get a mug and poured himself the much needed black nectar of the gods. He nearly moaned as it touched his tongue, but promptly held himself back. He could not afford Mika holding that over his head.

“What can I say?” Mika gestured to himself as a showman would to the next wonderful attraction. “I'm a ray of sunshine that people desperately need in their lives.”

“Uh-huh.” He ignored the tirade Mika was warming up to. Finishing his coffee in silence as he checked any new notifications on his phone. He liked Arthur and Yann's posts from the party last Saturday and caught up in their group chat. Arthur had messaged him to compare their homework, completely forgetting that they've been assigned different problem sets to answer. He typed another text to his dad, reminding him of the transfer. He was running low on food and the meal tickets in the cafeteria could only take him so far. Lastly, he sent a text to his maman, checking up on her and telling her he was alright and not to worry.

Though their relationship may be rocky at the moment, Lucas loved his maman. He put majority of the blame on his dad for what happened to their family. But at night, alone in his bed and only his thoughts for company, Lucas blamed himself for their divorce. Knew it was because of him. If he wasn't like this, if he had been normal, not worrying his maman, not stressing his dad―maybe, just maybe, his parents would have worked out. Maybe he would still have a family.

What's done is done now, and Lucas had to deal with the aftermath of it all.

“I'm off,” he declared as he drank the last drops of his coffee. He placed the mug in the sink. Mika had dish duty today and Lucas was taking full advantage of it. He was about to step out of the front door when he heard Mika call him.

He rolled his eyes and turned to face him. The sarcastic remark died at his throat as he took in the expression on Mika's face. It had the teen automatically straightening. The expression was the same one he had when he had offered Lucas to sleep in the basement. It's wasn't a good deal, but during that time it had been ideal, practically god-sent, in Lucas eyes. He understood that whatever Mika was going to say next, it was serious.

“Lucas, don't repeat what happened yesterday. I don't want you staying out that late again. Not without telling any of us.”

He didn't say he hadn't planned on doing it again. Nor was there any inclination in him to even repeat the act in the foreseeable future. Lucas only nodded. It was enough of an answer for Mika. With that, he left the flat.

Lucas might be imagining things. Or he might not be.

Being him, it was usually the latter.

He just had a knack for these things.

Still, with the lack of sleep these days, it might just be his mind playing tricks on him. It has happened before. Besides, it wasn’t like he was alone. He was walking in public. To the bus stop on his way to school.

The footsteps he could hear weren’t trailing after him.

Why would anyone be following him anyway?

It took him half a day, but it became clear; he wasn’t imaging things as he had thought.

He was being watched.

Lucas can’t say how he knew. He just did. He had developed a certain awareness when it came to it. He grew up being monitored. His maman always there to remind him what to do and what not to do. Always whispering how God was watching over him, that angels were there to guard him, that the devil remained a constant presence at his shoulder.

His maman’s words never reassured him. Not when he could see the things he could. Not when no one ever seems to believe him. Lucas had lived a childhood in a perpetual state of fright. Eyes watchful and senses keyed up to the tiniest of shifts in his surroundings. It’s a habit he was forced to develop because he could not afford a repeat of last time.

Last time left him with a scar on his ankle. Long stripes entwined around his foot and licked just below his calf.

He still had nightmares about it. He still didn’t know how he was alive.

Lucas did his best not to catch anyone’s attention. He tried being normal, ordinary, average. Someone possessing his ability was better off being unnoticed. He didn’t want any trouble. As a kid, he could admit he already had his fair share. Lucas just wanted to be able to reach eighteen without dying.

Unfortunately, his efforts of remaining unnoticed failed spectacularly.

He could sense the gaze on him. The presence tailing him just out of his sight. Whoever it was, they were good. And Lucas understood that they would not reveal themselves unless they wanted to.

So, he let them be. Maybe they’ll grow tired of him. See that there was nothing interesting about him. That he was mundane.

He frowned at the word. He was often referred to as such whenever he came across one of them. Or stumbled upon a store that looked different from what it advertised. Their tones were always curious, a little intrigued—you smell like one of them, but you have no marks. This time though, Lucas felt the poison dripping from it. Like the word was dirt, unsavory.

He didn’t understand where it came from. Where he heard someone say the word like that. He shook his head to dislodge the thought.

A shadow shifted in his peripheral. Lucas ignored it.

He also ignored the grunt of disappointment.

Lucas stared at Imane in disbelief. Was this woman fucking serious?

The unwavering stare she leveled him and the waves of not-taking-any-of-your-bullshit-Lallemant coming from her had made him fidget and unconsciously shrink on himself. He had always found her scary, but facing her had only solidified how tough she really was.

“Okay, fine. We'll try to come,” he conceded.

Imane Bakhellal was certainly a force to be reckoned with.

His tail disappeared for a few days.

He only felt their gaze on certain parts of the day. Like on his way to and from school. In between his classes, and sometimes in the bustling cafeteria. There were also moments when Lucas would feel the urge to look out of his balcony. Hoping to catch a glimpse of something but always ending a second too late.

It made him wonder when his life became the mirror of Laelaps: Doomed to hunt the Teumessian fox for eternity.

He certainly wished Zeus wouldn't turn him to stone and make him into a fucking constellation.

The Gang

You

Guys quick, come to the common room. There are girls and free drinks.

[16:45]

Basile

Is Daphne there?

[16:46]

Arthur

No, Baz, she’s not.

She didn’t give us invitations last Monday. It was just us collectively hallucinating that conversation.

[16:48]

Yann

Yeah, Baz. It was all just our imagination.

[16:49]

Basile

You guys are such assholes, you know that?

[16:49]

You

Hurry up guys!

[16:50]

Arthur

I'm at the stairs. Where the hell are you guys?

[16:51]

Yann

We’re on our way, Lulu.

[16:52]

Lucas closed the app. A smile played at the corner of his lips. The boys were definitely going to get him back for this.

#elu shadowhunter au #elu fic #skamfr fic #skam france #elu #my fic #elu chaptered fic

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meltypes-blog · 6 years ago

Text

sakura seeds

[because the shared post looks weird as hell on desktop im putting the story in text post format] ao3 link

Hanzo Shimada hated himself.

That much was obvious.

He hated himself as he trained, the muscles on his arms and back straining until they cascaded tears of sweat, until his entire body burned and ached for rest. He hated himself while he ate, the simple pleasure of sweet and savory foods on his tongue only serving as a reminder of one other thing he had deprived his own kin from. He hated himself while he mediated, as if he could fool his brain into thinking that peace and quiet could erase the tumult in his mind and smooth over the jagged errors of his past.

His self hatred was apparent even on his countenance, his “RBF” as Genji had called it. Hanzo’s disgust for himself was soul deep, a seed that had planted itself in his heart since the first day his father had instructed him to murder in cold blood (“the master of the clan must protect the clan”) and had dug its claws deep the minute his blade had grazed Genji’s skin. His entire life was a culmination of all the wrong choices one could make, and it turned him into a bitter being, one that only survived out of the reasoning that even death was too honorable for him at that point.

His existence was unforgivable.

“You know I forgive you, Hanzo.” The brothers were seated on one of the many outlooks at the watchpoint staring at the sky, the sunset reflecting off of the younger, and irritating the older.

Hanzo only hummed in response. They were supposed to be meditating in silence, as per Hanzo’s request.

“I know why you come here.”

Hanzo exhaled through his nose and opened his eyes to glance at his brother. “To meditate, Genji. Shizukani.”

“No.” Genji turned to face him. “You come here in order to make yourself feel guilty. I know you, brother. You used to do it to me all the time when I went to the arcade. You would stare at me until I felt shame.”

Hanzo’s fists clenched on his knees. “How could you possibly know what I am doing or thinking? I have changed.”

“I know, because I am doing it as well,” Genji said softly. “Back then- I could have been more compliant, I could have helped you but I did not. I was young and stupid, and did not realize the gravity of my decisions, but I understand now. My actions were dishonorable. It was shameful of me-“

Hanzo stood up and turned on his brother, furious. “Do not. Speak to me of dishonor and shame.”

He walked a short distance then glanced back at his brother.

“Not until you have killed me for yourself.”

Later that evening, Hanzo messaged Genji that should he need to meditate, Zenyatta would most likely be available.

That had been the end of the their sessions.

He had been a fool to believe his brother could reconcile with him.

Genji still visited him, as Hanzo holed himself up in his room instead of socializing with the rest of the team- but that only ended in loud arguments.

“It has been weeks, Hanzo,” Genji stated exasperated, outside of his door. “How are they to know you if you do not allow them?”

“I am fine by myself,” Hanzo said.

“This is not healthy, Hanzo.”

Hanzo sighed. “I am perfectly healthy Genji.”

Genji threw his hands out. “You look like shit! You’re depressed and-“

Hanzo bristled, hand already reaching for his door. “Thank you for your concern, brother. Good bye.”

“Hanzo-!”

The door slid shut on the cyborgs face and Hanzo inhaled, exhaled, inhaled once more and breathed out.

Not healthy? Hanzo looked about his room. Healthy people had clean rooms, and his was pristine.

His closet held his various kyudo-gis, color coded. Organized. His small kitchenette held a shining kettle, small teacups and no dirty dishes. Clean. His bed was always made, not a pillow out of place, his furniture never covered in clothes and out of the way as always, orderly. His room looked brand-new, completely spartan. Nothing was worn down. Nothing was old or used or broken. It was clean. Healthy. It was as if no one had ever stepped foot in it before. As if no one lived in it at all.

Despite Hanzo’s fervor to abstain from socializing, that did not stop the others from coming up to him. Hanzo was out of his room to fill up his water container in the main kitchen, when one of the younger members had come up to him. They popped their gum in the awkward silence until-

“So...what’s your deal?”

Hanzo glanced at her confusedly, then turned back to his jug. If he remained silent, it was sure to deter her.

“Like- me and Lucio wanted to know since you’re like the base cryptid. We never see you until team simulations, and even then you’re only on defense so...you’re actually really good with a bow and arrow. Hey, can I call you Legolas?”

“What?” Hanzo blurted.

She smiled. “Y’know, that old fantasy series, he’s a meme because of those short guys and elf eyes and stuff.”

Hanzo felt himself soften. She was very similar to a younger man he once knew, one with green hair and bright eyes. “I believe they’re called Hobbits.”

“Hah! So you are a nerd! Lucio didn’t think so, but you look like someone who plays Pokémon. Actually, now that I think about it, you’ve got the whole samurai vibe going on too. Have you ever used a sword before?”

Hanzo mumbled no, then hastily escaped with a half empty jug.

Hana stood in the kitchen alone, a frown etched on her face.

The only other person that Hanzo conversed with aside from Genji was Dr. Zeigler- although, even then, that was less than desirable. He grabbed his sleeping pills and sighed when he realized the bottle was empty. Genji had annoyingly told the doctor not to give him more than a few days prescriptions at a time- not to deny that Hanzo had never thought of going out that way, but considering the fact that he was surrounded by those who risked their lives on the daily, it was extremely dishonorable.

Hanzo entered her office and she gave a strained smile, and he nodded in kind- the routine.

“Shimada-san, how can I help you?”

“I require another prescription, if you will,” he said placing the canister on her desk, making sure not to touch her. The first time she flinched when their hands touched had hurt him more than he was willing to admit.

“Of course.” She turned to grab a new prescription, placed it on the desk- but held and didn’t let go. “You know...Genji is concerned about you.”

Hanzo grunted in response, refusing to look at her.

“He says that you’re not...coping very well. From what he describes, it sounds as if you have depression, PTSD, perhaps even social anxiety-“

“Thank you, Doctor Zeigler, for the free consultation,” he interrupted coldly, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “But I am perfectly fine and would like to take my leave.”

Another strained smile, and she released the bottle. “Do come again, Shimada-san.”

And thus was Hanzo’s routine for months. The self-loathing, arguing with Genji, awkward and often tense food and water runs, picking up pills from the doctor. It went on for two months until-

“Howdy there.”

The cowboy had found Hanzo on his perch on the skywalk. He had come there to drink in peace after his fifteenth quarrel with Genji in two months.

Hanzo hummed.

McCree took a seat next to him and brought out his own flask. They drank in silence, the night air cold on Hanzo’s exposed skin. He was far too inebriated to be bothered by the gunslingers presence, and found himself actually drawn to his warmth.

Hanzo respected the American, despite his bluntness and overall...loud demeanor. He was a good shot, perhaps one to rival Hanzo, and he was tactically intelligent. More than once had the cowboy saved the team from dying due to his quick thinking and precise aiming.

More-so, he never approached Hanzo unwanted. He seemed to recognize when Hanzo was welcoming of a short conversation and when he was on the verge of seething rage.

An intelligent man. Warm. Hanzo subconsciously leant towards him, the alcohol getting the better of him.

“D’yknow the Deadlock gang?”

Hanzo grunted. “I am a former yakuza. What do you think?”

McCree chuckled. “Alright, alright. I may not look like it, but- I was their best asset. They used to call me,’The Undertaker.’”

“That does not surprise me. You are greatly skilled and smart.”

“O-oh. Well...” McCree coughed. “Anyways...I used to be real close to one of the members- his name was Jackie. J and J they used to call us, cause we were practically inseparable. Jackie was like my brother. I loved him.”

Hanzo turned to face McCree, slowly gaining an idea of where this was going. The gunslinger was looking down, fingers fiddling with his flask.

“Then I...I had to kill him. Turns out he was sellin’ information to Overwatch. Or maybe he was undercover. I don’t really remember. All I remember...”

McCree swallowed and he looked to Hanzo. “I remember feelin’ angry. Angry and sad and just- destroyed. And after he was gone all there was- there was nothing. I...felt empty.”

Hanzo’s heart seized. McCree looked away, pained.

“I kept askin’ myself, ‘how are you goin’ to go on now?’ I thought I was gone, gonna be empty forever. Then Overwatch found me and I decided that maybe I deserved a second chance. People believed in me. They saw me and saw hope.”

“Hope?” Hanzo murmured.

“Yeah,” McCree said, turning back to look Hanzo in the eye. “Hope that maybe even after a lifetime of all the wrong choices, one right choice can set you on the good path.”

Hanzo stared at him breathless. McCree’s eyes glinted in the moonlight, and then he noticed how close they were- their shoulders and thighs touching. Hanzo leant back, still transfixed on his bright eyes.

“Hope,” he repeated.

McCree nodded. He looked up at the stars and breathed deeply. “Come train with me tomorrow, archer. Ya won’t regret it.”

There started the deviation in Hanzo’s routine. For five mornings a week, the archer and sharpshooter trained together. They conversed about little things, favorite foods and drinks, then playfully argued when one named something that was distasteful to the other.

Hanzo’s self deprecating thoughts began to move away to make room for newer thoughts- one involving a tall man, red and flannel, bright brown eyes and a crooked smile.

Hanzo’s first real smile came during an intense training session. Both men were sweating profusely, challenging each other to see who could lift more. Of course, Hanzo prevailed- and Jesse cracked a joke at his own expense.

“Damn,” he breathed. “I’m pretty sure you could arm wrestle with Orisa and win with those beasts. Me? Can’t even lift Torb a couple of inches off the ground.”

His first real laugh had shown up during a team lunch. Hanzo had taken a seat by McCree and Genji, as he usually did, and said his thanks for the meal. Jesse pointed curiously at his food.

“‘S That wasabi?”

“Yes, it is.”

McCree snorted. “Weak shit. My hot sauce does more damage than that.”

“Is that so?” Hanzo raised a brow and gestured to his plate. “Why don’t you try some. You just need a small portion to see-“

“Don’t mind if I do,” McCree interrupted, spooning the entire portion into his mouth to Hanzo’s horror.

Genji winced from across the table and got up to get a glass of water. When he came back, he saw McCree red in the face, coughing, and Hanzo doubled over in laughter. The entire room laughed softly at the ridiculousness of the situation, and Genji felt a surge of happiness.

The first time Hanzo held hands with McCree was in their usual drinking spot on the skywalk. McCree had been blathering on about some old western movie when Hanzo moved his hand to cover the gunslingers.

McCree stopped talking immediately and looked down at their hands. Hanzo felt a surge of shame and slowly drew his hand away.

“I did not mean to-“

McCree gripped his hand before it could go any further, and gave him a bright smile.

“It ain’t no thing, darlin’.”

It was also the first time McCree had called him that.

Hanzo had opened up more. He did not feel so alone after meeting Jesse, no longer so isolated.

He began meditating with Genji again.

“You seem well, brother.”

Hanzo smiled softly. “Yes, I am.”

“It is because of McCree, is it not?”

“Partially,” he said. “I have come to realize that...one right choice can set me on the path of good. People believe in me. It would be a great dishonor to prove them wrong.” Genji lunged at him, hugging him close, and Hanzo was proud that he was able to hold in most of his tears.

Hana attacked him in the rec room a while later. “Yo, Samurai Legolas!”

He grunted not looking up, engrossed in an article written by Joel Morricone. “Do not bother me, Usagi. I am busy.”

It was quiet for a moment. Then-

“Did you just- what did you call me?”

“Usagi. It is the name of a popular anime heroine and also means rabbit. It is my nickname for you, since you seem adamant about mine. Trust me when I say it is an honorable one. Usagi was a powerful warrior, and also the cutest.” When he did not get a response, he looked up.

Hana was staring at him with wet eyes, and a huge smile. “I want to change mine for you.”

Hana now called him Big Bro every chance she got. When Hanzo turned in his sleeping pills, Doctor Zeigler looked at him in surprise.

“Are you sure, Shimada-san? You’re-“

“Perfectly healthy, Doctor Zeigler. And please, call me Hanzo.” He turned away from her, ears growing heated. “I have not needed them for...a while now.”

Angela’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, well,” she giggled,” alright then, Hanzo. Do come back again.”

“You believed in me.”

He and McCree were standing together in Hanzo’s room soaked, the rain pushing them from their usual spot.

McCree looked at him, and Hanzo’s heart stuttered. “I did. I used to be like you, back when I first joined so I understood. I still believe in you.”

Hanzo tentatively walked closer to him. “You had hope for me.”

McCree visibly swallowed and took his hat off, running his hand through his hair. “Yes. I still hope yo- still have hope for you, that is.”

Hanzo took a couple of more steps. “Why?”

McCree looked away. “I know a lost soul when I see one, s’all. Everyone deserves a second chance at redemption.”

They were nearly chest to chest now, and Hanzo had to strain his neck to look into his eyes. “You gave me hope. You have helped me to be better, and I...thank you, Jesse.”

Hanzo rested his head on McCree’s chest and Jesse’s arms came around him almost immediately, engulfing him in warmth despite their wet clothes. Jesse rested his chin on the archer’s head, and Hanzo nuzzled into his chest, face flaming and heart pounding.

“It ain’t no thing darlin’.”

Finally, after months of dancing, tripping and falling, McCree held Hanzo’s hands in his and grinned shyly.

“I really like you, darlin.’ Hope ya don’t mind that.”

Hanzo laughed and pulled McCree towards him. “I would hope that you do cowboy, considering we share the same bed.”

“I reckon people who like each other ought to kiss then, right?”

Hanzo’s face warmed and he leant up into Jesse’s space. “I believe that is how they express that, yes.”

McCree smiled and pressed his lips onto Hanzo’s, soft and sweet, the pull slow and languid. Hanzo nibbled on his lip and the kiss deepened, Jesse’s hands moving to bring Hanzo’s hips closer to his.

They separated to catch their breath and Jesse moved to Hanzo’s jaw.

“Ya know any other way people express how much they like each other, darlin’?”

Hanzo gasped a laugh, and gripped McCree’s shoulders as he kissed his neck.

“I am aware of a few, yes.”

McCree chuckled and nosed at Hanzo’s cheek. “Only a few? I got some evidence on my back that states otherwise.”

“Are you looking for more?” Hanzo smirked.

Jesse shivered and put his head on Hanzo’s shoulder. “What is it that ya always say? ‘The wolf marks his prey?’”

Hanzo flushed and smacked his shoulder. “Do not tease me, Jesse.”

McCree laughed, smiled at him, then gripped Hanzo’s hands, dragging him to their room.

Later, when both men were sated, they laid wrapped around each other, kissing lazily.

“Jesse,” Hanzo whispered, kissing under his ear.

“Yea, darlin’?”

“I love you.”

McCree shifted, laying on his side, Hanzo tucked into his chest. He leant his head on his elbow and dragged a hand down his lovers body. Hanzo shivered.

“It ain’t no thing, darlin’.” Hanzo let out a noise of protest, smacking his chest indignantly, and McCree laughed, wrapping his arms around him. He kissed his face repeatedly until Hanzo’s mouth met his, moving with intent, slow and hot.

“I love you too, Hanzo.”

Hanzo Shimada hated himself. Not as much as he used to, but the self doubt still lingered, the hatred a shriveled seed still present in his heart.

However, when he was with Jesse McCree, Hanzo hated himself just a little less- and a new seed blossomed in his heart, one he believed in and one he had hoped for all his life.

#mchanzo #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #writes #fluff #fluff and angst

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one-of-us-blog · 7 years ago

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Deep Breath (Doctor Who S08E01)

Today Drew is forced to watch and recap “Deep Breath”, the first episode of Doctor Who’s eighth series. The Doctor has regenerated yet again, and the transition has been a bit rough. On top of this, a Tyrannosaurus Rex is stomping around Victorian London and there are robots running around stealing organs. Can the Doctor get himself together in time to figure out what’s going on and put a stop to it?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, you did a fantastic job with your “Dancing in the Dark” recap! I have a real soft spot for Miles/Arnie, so I’m really glad that you’re at the point in the series where you’ll get to see him from time to time. I agree that Blanche was a lot of fun this time, but it’s pretty hard to watch Rose be so hard on herself. The next episode, “Not Another Monday”, is quite a bit heavier than this one, but I hope you’re able to enjoy it! For now, though, let’s get to business!

Buttocks tight!

Episode directed by Ben Wheatley and written by Steven Moffat

We start off on a shot of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, which doesn’t seem too unusual for this show, but then we get a shot of Parliament and realize this T Rex is in London. Specifically, we’re in Victorian London, and the Paternoster Gang is hot on the case. Vastra has seen dinosaurs before, but she has no clue what one is doing stomping around in the Thames. The dinosaur abruptly coughs up the TARDIS, and Vastra gives the local constabularies some special ‘lanterns’ which will keep the T Rex secured in the river instead of rampaging through London. Vastra has Strax knock on the TARDIS’ door, and the Twelfth Doctor, whom none of them have met yet, peeks out. The Doctor seems vaguely aware of who they are, but he seems pretty out of it. Clara emerges from the smoking TARDIS and tries to calm the confused Doctor down, but he thinks she’s Handles, his robot head friend. The Doctor passes out, and Clara explains to a confused Strax and Jenny that this is, in fact, the Doctor. Vastra seems to have some familiarity with this sort of post-regeneration confusion, but she doesn’t seem thrilled about dealing with it.

The Doctor is taken to Vastra’s house, where his confusion continues. Vastra uses a psychic link with him to knock him out, but then Clara starts asking how they’re going to fix him by turning him back into Matt Smith. Vastra is offended and leaves. Clara wonders about the Doctor’s face; why does he look so old when it’s brand new? Why has he got grey hair already? She has a lot of questions, and there aren’t a lot of answers to be found. The Doctor begins talking in his sleep, unconsciously translating the dinosaur’s roars. She feels alone, and the world she’s in now is strange for her. Down on the city streets, people consider the idea that the dinosaur is a hoax put on by the government. A man named Alfie is approached by a man with a face that’s half tick-tock clockwork machinery. The man tells Alfie he has nice eyes, and plans on taking them.

Back in Vastra’s house, Vastra is still giving Clara the cold shoulder. She doesn’t like that Clara isn’t accepting the Doctor as he is now, and figures out that it’s because the Doctor now looks so much older. She says he only made himself look young for the same reason she wears a veil out in public: to be accepted. Vastra says that by appearing as an old man to Clara the Doctor was putting a lot of trust in Clara and showing her the ancient being he actually is, and Vastra feels Clara doesn’t appreciate the gift of that trust. Upstairs, the Doctor gets a whiff of something and hops out of bed. He finds a piece of chalk and begins drawing all over the room. He looks into the room’s wardrobe, but nothing there captures his interest. He instead climbs out the window in his pajamas. Back downstairs, Clara tells off Vastra and insists that she never had any romantic interest in the Doctor because of what he looked like, and Vastra says the Doctor needs their help right now.

Speaking of, on a rooftop the Doctor calls to the dinosaur that he’ll make sure she’s safe and that he’ll get her home, but just then an unseen someone incinerates the Tyrannosaurus. The Doctor is horrified, and Vastra, Jenny and Clara all hear the dinosaur’s dying cries. The Doctor falls out of a tree and steals a horse (with the permission of the horse, of course) and he and the Paternoster Gang, who think the Doctor’s still asleep, all rush toward the Thames. The Doctor gets there first, and tearfully apologizes to the dead dinosaur for not keeping her safe. The Doctor lashes out as his friends when they arrive, and finally explains to them that they need to figure out if there have been any similar killings like this recently. A surprised Vastra realizes that there have been. The Doctor then notices the half-faced man from earlier, calmly walking away from the scene while everyone else gawks at the dead dino.

The Doctor suddenly jumps into the Thames, and Vastra says the only way they’ll see him again is if they get to the bottom of the mystery of the dinosaur. The next morning Strax has the TARDIS brought to the house, and Clara is caught up in the daily activities of the Paternoster Gang. Elsewhere, the Doctor is rummaging around in some garbage and comes across a mirror. He’s a little disturbed by his own face; he knows he’s seen it before, but he can’t remember where. He thinks he was trying to tell himself something when he picked this face, but he doesn’t know what. He spooks a local drunkard and almost steals the man’s coat, but then he remembers he noticed a newspaper while he was rummaging. He finds it again and reads a case about spontaneous combustion. Vastra and Jenny are discussing the same thing at home; there have been nine previous cases of spontaneous combustion. Vastra thinks burning the body might be a way to conceal whatever was missing from them.

Clara runs in and shows off an ad she found; it’s an ad requesting lunch with an impossible girl. Clara says it has to be from the Doctor, but the ad doesn’t say where they’re supposed to have lunch. Clara solves the riddle and figures out that she’s supposed to meet the Doctor at Mancini’s Family restaurant. She goes there and he arrives, smelling quite badly due to the coat he stole from that drunkard earlier. No, wait, to be fair, he traded his watch for the coat. The two argue about who placed the ad in the newspaper before realizing that neither of them placed it. The Doctor realizes that all of the other patrons in the restaurant are facsimiles of people, and that he can Clara are the only real people here. He and Clara try to leave, but the fake patrons rise up to block their path. Clara and the Doctor return to their table, only to have a server come and scan them to see what their best organs are. The Doctor tears the guy’s face off to reveal another clockwork robot, and then he and Clara are dropped down a chute. The Doctor says they’re in an ancient spaceship that’s been buried for centuries.

They manage to escape from the restraints holding them in their booth and investigate the chamber. They see dormant robots lining the walls, and the robot with half a face from earlier sitting in the center of the room. The Doctor says that robots harvesting organs from humans for spare parts sounds familiar, but he can’t quite place it. He says these robots differ from regular cyborgs in a big way; they’re not organic beings turning themselves into machines, they’re machines turning themselves into organic beings one piece at a time. The half-faced man begins to wake up and Clara and the Doctor try to leave, but Clara gets stuck in the chamber and the Doctor leaves her behind. Clara holds her breath so she can blend in with the robots, and that works right up until she faints. She has some oxygen-deprived hallucinations of her time in the classroom when the children she teaches were especially horrible, then she wakes up back in the central chamber.

The half-faced man tries to intimidate her into telling her where the Doctor is, but she uses her time as a battle-hardened public school teacher to hold her ground. The half-faced man reveals that he and his squad were the ones to burn the dinosaur, because there was material in the T Rex’s optic nerve that they could use. Clara realizes that for them to know what they could get out of a dinosaur’s optic nerve must mean that they’ve come across dinosaurs before, and she begins to grasp how long these robots have been rebuilding themselves. The half-faced man says his people will reach the Promised Land, but Clara doesn’t know what that means. The Doctor reveals that he was right there, disguised as a robot, the whole time, and manages to rig the old spaceship to blow if the robots try anything. The Doctor thinks the robots invited them here with the ad in the paper, but it wasn’t the robots.

Clara activates her brooch and calls in the Paternoster Gang. Vastra says they’ve taken apart the restaurant upstairs and the coppers are on their way. The half-faced man says the robots are just gonna kill them all, then, and he’s going to escape in the ship’s escape capsule. The Doctor hitches a ride as he heads up to the restaurant, leaving Clara, Jenny, Vastra and Strax to fight the robots. The Doctor pours a drink for the half-faced man and shares some stuff he’s figured out. The robots were the crew of a ship from a time travelling ship in the 51st century that crashed in the past, and the half-faced man is trying to get back to his own time. They have to go the long way, though, so they’ve been sustaining themselves with organic bits and pieces for millions of years. The half-faced man launches the escape capsule, which is actually a hot air balloon made of human flesh. In the escape capsule the Doctor learns that the robots came from the SS Marie Antoinette, sister ship the SS Madame de Pompadour.

The Doctor says there’s more human than droid in this robot by this point, and tries to appeal to his humanity. He figures this robot is the control node, meaning that if he dies the others, which the B Team is currently fighting, will deactivate. The Doctor says there’s nothing left of the original robot left, and that he’s been traipsing through the world for too long, and that it has to end. Just as the robots are about to kill the B Team, the robots all deactivate as the control node falls to his death. This happens off screen, so there’s some ambiguity about whether the robot jumped to his death or if he allowed the Doctor to push him. The Paternoster Gang and Clara return home, but the Doctor and the TARDIS are gone. Clara contemplates living in the Victorian era, but, of course, a redesigned TARDIS arrives to pick her up.

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor gets real. He says he’s lived a long time, and not all of that time has been good. He says he’s not Clara’s boyfriend, and Clara wasn’t the one who mistakenly thought he was. Clara wonders who put the ad in the newspaper, and the Doctor wonders who gave her his number. Clara says it was a woman in a shop, which means there’s some woman out there who’s very interested on the two of them being together. The Doctor takes Clara home, and she says she’s not sure who he is anymore. Her phone rings, and on the other end is the Eleventh Doctor. He’s calling from Trenzalore, from before he regenerated. He’s calling because he thinks the change he’s about to undergo is going to be a big one, and he knows Clara’s probably going to be freaked out. He says the man he’s about to become is going to be even more freaked out than she is, and he needs her help. Clara’s still struggling, and the Twelfth Doctor asks her to see him as the Doctor, not as a stranger. She thanks him for calling as his Eleventh self, and gives him a hug. The two head out for coffee.

The half-faced man wakes up and as greeted by a woman who introduces herself as Missy. She apologizes for how the Doctor, whom she refers to as her boyfriend, treated the robot. Missy says this is the Promised Land, and that the half-faced man is in Heaven.

The End

~~~~~

I think this really worked as an introduction to this next version of the Doctor, and I’m still so excited to see where things go from here! I liked that Clara felt unsure of herself, because that made her work really well as an audience surrogate. We’re not sure how to feel about the Doctor, either, and it was nice to see that reflected in the show. I liked the callback to “The Girl in the Fireplace”, and felt the robots were an interesting foe. I really liked the design of the half-faced man, and especially liked seeing the gears in his head move as he was thinking. And, of course, I loved seeing my old Paternoster pals again!

I give “Deep Breath” QQQQ on the Five Q Scale.

Check back in Friday when Eli will get pretty heavy with the next episode of The Golden Girls, “Not Another Monday”, and then on Saturday I’ll drop off my recap of the next episode of Doctor Who, “Into the Dalek”.

Until then, thanks for reading, thanks for roaring and thanks for being One of Us!

#doctor who #one of us

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