#when i am gone

[clxudyxuan]

|| You can hear the Orchids Sing.

I will hold you in my heart, until I can hold you in my arms. - Flora.

Given Name : ?????

Preferred Name: Florence De Rozalene, but that’s the more, ah, formal version of my name.

Nickname: Flora, since I’m a nature god… get it?

User: [ Roblox ] floristflorence

Chronological Age: 10.6 Billion; I don’t quite look my age, do I? Haha.

Age: Early to Mid 30s! I think they’re lovely.

Gender: She / They / He are all right. There’s not much of a wrong answer. I mostly prefer more feminine pronouns though.

Orientation: None. ( She doesn’t really explore romance, but it’s not really a never thing. )

Text Color: Green, it’s a calming color. 🌿

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Title(s): Goddess of Nature, Bringer of Forests and Lakes, Lord of the Hollow, Great Master of the Elements, Woodland Familiar, Divine Priestess of Etherial Ridge, The Silent Hands, Queen of Fairies, Fae, The Great Balance, The Creator.

I have quite the many titles over the years. <3

Species: Goddess.

Species Information: 71% Goddess, 15% Fae (Fairies), 5% Star Children.

- 9% of her godhood seems to be missing… so far, no one has known about it.

Descendant Of: Jupiter.

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Height: 6’1, but I sometimes shrink a little, so the other fairies don’t get too intimidated, hehe.

Date of Birth: 20th of April, as for the specific year, I’m not quite sure dear.

Place of Birth: I was born as a fae, so the Enchanted Forest!

Alignment: Neutral Good.

Specific Notes: Flora has a couple scars / whiplashes on her back and below. Don’t ask her too much about it.

Family Members: My daughter, Isabelle! She’s the light of my life. I am completely open to having more children and grandchildren though~ ;D

Criminal Record: Next question, please.

Skeletons in the Closet: [ REDACTED. ]

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Language: As a goddess of life herself, I can speak in essentially in any language! I mostly use English and Fae to communicate since that’s what most others I know use!

Usage of Gestures of Expressions: She uses them quite often, but isn’t as dramatic as Isabelle. She’s more of someone who gestures to things when she’s talking about them.

Verbal Expression: She has a very sweet, motherly voice! She’d be the sort of person to sing you lullabies to sleep and you end up not wanting to sleep just to hear them.

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Relationship(s):

[ Will be updated over time. ]

Isabelle: Patron Of, Mother Figure / Adoptive Mother.

While their relationship can be a little awkward sometimes, it has most certainly improved over the years. Isabelle looks up to Flora, and Flora…

I can’t do that.

Of course you can. You’re a god now, remember?

?????? : Relationship Unknown.

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Physical Abilities: I have quite amazing dexterity and flexibility I'd say. Sure, I might not be the strongest of them all, but I've kicked plenty of ass. Is that how you say it?

I'm usually practicing kickboxing and a little Taekwondo, so I'm not physically unfit either.

Weapons: I mostly use magic to fight and summon weapons! Like firearms, crossbows, spears and so on so forth. If we do hypothetically get so upset at one another that it evolves into a fight, I mainly use a staff made of vines and thorns.

[ Staff of the Woodlands. ]

Magical Abilities: Nature Consumption, Elemental Summoning, Enchantment, Balance Control, Mind-Matter Manipulation, Astral Projection, Aerial Flight, Weather Change, Spirit Management, Soul-Bindings, Teleportation, Divination, Ability to grow wildlife instantly, Regeneration, Healing, Time-Travelling, basic magic usages. Oh, and she can also talk to plants and animals.

Haha... I did not realize how many-..

Weakness(es): Basic Fae weaknesses. Basic Deity weaknesses, Basic Star Children Weaknesses.

Special Weakness(es): Being burned, using 'Real' Fire.

Side Effect(s): Florence can't hear very well, so you'd have to speak very clearly when you're talking to her. If she overexerts her magic usage (which is not often), soon after she'll be extremely lightheaded and seemingly about to fall over. This state usually lasts for a few days, maybe weeks. Sometimes she can't tell who is who during that time.

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Voice Claim: Iris Daley { Daybreak 2 } // Princess Celestia { MLP }

Moodboard : +

Songs: Ready For Love ( Orchestra ) and Young and Beautiful.

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Lore // Backstory :

[ REDACTED. ]

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A Life Spared, a Life Taken.

[i-am-bella-donna]

When I Am Gone Chapter 2: Plea

AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Story Summary:

Janus knew he could not take much more of this. The constant fear and walking on eggshells—it was wearing him down. He needed an out, and quickly.

But that would mean leaving Remus behind.

Besides—who would believe Janus if he asked for help?

Chapter Summary:

Desperate for advice, Janus seeks out an unexpected source of aid.

Pairings: Platonic Anxceit, Platonic Dukeceit

Word Count: 1,874

CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

A/N: Chapter Theme Song: NVM by Faith Marie

So…I am not dead!

With that said, I am very sorry for the long wait. This past year has been…interesting. I am literally posting this chapter in the dark during a four-hour bus ride.

Enjoy!

~~~

Janus had many regrets in his existence as a Side.

He regretted not revealing himself to Thomas sooner, even though it would have resulted in an inevitable punishment. He regretted doing nothing when he caught Virgil sneaking over to the Light Mindscape, even though there was little he could have done to control the actions of a man seven years his senior—especially when he himself had only been sixteen.

He most certainly regretted allowing Remus to convince him that mud cake would make a good idea for dessert.

But as he rocked on his heels outside Virgil’s door, his hand positioned to knock, he regretted thinking that this conversation would ever be a good idea.

What if Virgil gets mad? screeched a tiny voice in the back of his mind, deafening in comparison to the silence of the hallway.

Although…what was the likelihood of Virgil getting angry over a simple question? Virgil could be irritable, but he was far from unreasonable—

What if he gets mad at you for waking him up? his mind challenged. Or what if he gets mad because, you know, he hatesyou? Those are both perfectly reasonable explanations.

Janus gulped and scrubbed at his face with his other hand. Seriously, what makes you think he’ll actually give you advice?

He shuddered—not completely from the cold—as all the ways that Virgil might react began to play through his mind. He imagined Virgil glaring at him in annoyance and biting out a scornful, “What do you want me to do about it?” He imagined Virgil rolling his eyes and instructing him to stop making such a large deal over an issue so trivial. Or—

Janus snatched his hand back as his breath hitched.

He imagined Virgil spitting in his face and hissing that Janus deserved it. Deserved all of what he received.

“Is everything okay?”

Startled, Janus snapped his head up, expecting to see Virgil standing right before him—only to be met with the sight of the still-closed door. His confusion was interrupted as Virgil spoke up again.

“Sorry to cut in,” Virgil continued through the door, his voice soft with empathy in a way Janus had not heard in years. “Just…well, you’ve been standing outside my door for a while, and your anxiety is really strong. You don’t have to, but…do you wanna talk about it?”

Unable to tear his eyes away from the door, Janus set a palm against the cold wood. His chest was rising and falling far too quickly for comfort. Every breath was a stab to his lungs.

Surely Virgil was not being serious. Surely he had not just invited Janus, his self-proclaimed worst enemy, into his bedroom. To talk about emotions, no less.

But Janus had not detected a lie.

“Shit, sorry—that just made it worse, didn’t it?” Virgil cut into his thoughts. Janus could practically hear him running his hands through his hair. “I—look. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I can’t tell who you are right now because it’s three in the morning and my reading is super muddled”—oh—“but no matter who’s out there, I promise not to judge.”

Janus held his breath and dared to hope. It almost sounded too good to be true—

“If you’re Patton, then Pat, you already agreed to stop repressing your feelings. If you’re Logan, then you yourself said that talking about emotions is useful. When Remus showed up, remember? And if you’re Roman—dude. I could handle you when you were going through coffee withdrawal. This is nothing, trust me.”

—and it was.

Janus wilted. Internally, he could feel his heart…sinking was not the right word. Collapsing was more accurate.

Virgil had not even considered him, but Janus should have foreseen this outcome. What reason did Virgil have not to immediately send him of all Sides away?

“Okay—I’m really sorry about this, but I wanna make sure you aren’t having a panic attack right now, so…I’m just gonna open the door.”

Shit!

Janus could only stand frozen as fear flooded his body; bare feet glued to the floor as the door creaked open.

Janus stared. Virgil stared back.

Barely a heartbeat passed before the expression of the latter shifted—switching from gentle to shocked to furious. 

Janus gulped and stepped backward.

“What are you doing here?” Virgil growled, his eyes darkening and his voice demonic. Janus scrambled for an explanation, but before he could string two words together, Virgil was shaking his head and scoffing. “Get out of here, you bastard,” he said more softly, eyes darting to the other doors in the hallway before he slammed his own dark violet door shut.

Please—

Janus could hear his heart hammering and his blood rushing. He was trembling madly. Every inch of him was screaming at him to run and hide before Virgil could slap him—

Wait. 

What? 

Actually—no. Now was not the time. 

Janus forced himself to shuffle forward. Sucking in an unsteady breath, he knocked tentatively on the door. 

Silence.

He licked his lips and tasted blood. “Virgil?”

No response.

“Virgil, please…” 

He turned and leaned back against the door, slumping and hugging himself tightly as he tried not to let the tidal wave of hopelessness overwhelm him. Of course his plan had been an egregious failure. He should have foreseen this outcome and remained in his room. What had he been thinking? It would have been pointless to ask for help. 

Pointless to hope that his circumstances could improve.

Janus would just have to weather the storm alone. Leave Remus. Move over to the Light Mindscape—a place he knew he was unwanted—and disrupt their peace. Be as self-absorbed and self-centered as always.

You’re a fucking monster.

He swallowed hard and dug the heels of his palms into his burning eyes. Shame washed over him, a twin to his guilt. 

…Maybe it would be better for everyone if he just gave up.

Before he fell down that rabbit hole, though, he found himself falling in a much more literal sense.

His breath froze in his lungs.

Janus braced himself for the wave of pain that would tear through his body, only for two unexpected hands to shoot out and loop under his shoulders just before he could hit the ground.

“Fuck,” came the exasperated mutter from above.

He hesitantly looked up to see two stormy eyes glowering at him, the light from beyond the half-open door making the face in question appear to be glowing. He could only gape as Virgil lowered him to the ground, a touch of gentleness in his motions—although it was so faint that Janus was almost certainly imagining it. Why would Virgil of all Sides be gentle with him?

It was three in the morning—his mind was most likely the culprit. Who had good judgment at three in the goddamn morning? Certainly not Janus.

He was yanked from his thoughts as Virgil kicked his legs into the room and shut the door behind them, stepping over Janus and walking deeper inside.�� 

“Just…come in,” Virgil grumbled over his shoulder.

Janus blinked at the ceiling, taking slow breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart. Virgil was going to…hear him out? To actually give him a chance to explain himself?

Before he could think too much of it, Virgil cleared his throat. “So…did you come here for a reason? Or did you just want to get your snake slime all over my floor?” Despite the previous sliver of kindness, his words dripped with venom. “I brought you in here to keep you from disturbing anyone else, but I don’t have all night. What do you want?”

Any hope flickering in his chest immediately winked out, realization washing over him like icy water. Virgil had only invited him in as the means to an end. Of course. It made perfect sense—after all this time, why would Virgil care about him? 

Slowly and with an attempt to regain as much dignity as possible, Janus pushed himself onto his feet. He silently cursed the tremors that had started up again, hoping that Virgil would not notice.

Janus was not so lucky. 

Virgil paused as his gaze locked onto Janus, some of the anger in his eyes dissolving. Nevertheless, his stare continued to burn like matches held to his skin. Janus swallowed, regretting his decision to come over.

I take it back—I want out.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Virgil,” Janus said as evenly as he was able. “I can get out of your hair—”

“Not so fast,” Virgil interrupted, crossing his arms and leveling Janus with a stern—but surprisingly not angry—expression. Janus tensed, not daring to move a muscle as a beat passed in silence. Virgil finally sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. “Look—I’m not handling this right.”

Janus could only blink at the unexpected change in his countenance. Even his panic was momentarily muted by surprise.

“I know we…don’t exactly get along anymore, but I would never leave anyone alone like this. Not this anxious. For some bullshit reason, you came over here. So…yeah. Just spit it out.” Virgil dropped onto the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand down his face. “We can talk about the issue tonight, and we can go back to hating each other in the morning. Capiche?”

Janus stared at Virgil, his breaths picking up. He brought a closed fist to his chest and rubbed the knuckles roughly against his skin.

Virgil frowned at this reaction. “Hey, uh…” His voice trailed off, and Janus squirmed in his seat as Virgil looked him up and down. Finally, he took a deep breath and gestured to the couch in the corner of the room. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Janus was reeling. How was—why was—

Was this a trap? 

“…Okay,” Virgil muttered. He rose and walked over to Janus, leading him to the couch and pushing him lightly into his seat. After a moment of hesitation, Virgil took the seat on the other end of the couch and folded his hands in his lap. “Lovely. Great. So…”

Janus picked at the upholstery.

“Why did you come here, Janus?”

His voice was resigned—not angry—but Janus found himself involuntarily shying away. Still….

Speak up. You’re already here, anyway.

He gulped. 

Just ask him. What’s the worst thing that can happen? He wouldn’t get violent—that would wake up the others.

His palms were sweating. His throat was bone-dry.

You need to know, Janus. You need to know what happened, and you need to know if it will get better. 

His breaths were ragged. 

At this point, what have you got to lose?

Even if he did try to speak up, how would he start?

“I need your help.” 

Sounded too urgent. It might make Virgil unnecessarily worried. 

“Did you miss us when you left?”

Sounded too whiny. It might make Virgil unnecessarily annoyed.

 “Are you happy with the Light Sides?”

…No. Absolutely not.

“Janus?”

By now, Virgil had an expression of…something on his face. Something odd.

Please, please don’t be angry.

Janus shut his eyes. “Virgil?”

He could feel the weight of his stare. “Yeah?” 

“I”—pant—“have a question.”

“…All right. Go ahead.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Just say it.

“What happened when you left us?”

~~~

A/N: What did you all think of the chapter?

[notalostcausejustyet]

Sky burial is a sacred thing among several different indigenous tribes. And it makes good sense ecologically, it’s the natural continuation of the life cycle. Vultures are an absolutely essential part of the ecosystem.

Vultures are holy creatures.

Tending the dead.

Bowing low.

Bared head.

Whispers to cold flesh,

“Your old name is not your king.

I rename you ��Everything.’”

[captainsaltypear]

for legal reasons caine needs to give pomni her own marketable gummipoo plushie. as a treat.

[prlssprfctn]

Today I am thinking about Jason, who is fresh out of his coffin, catatonic and non-verbal. His mind is in a haze and in a constant terror most of the time, and when it isn't - when he manages to ground himself, to stop imagining Joker's laughter and the phantom screech of the crowbar - he can't bring himself to speak, because there is... smoke in his lungs. A fucking soot. Rare sounds and words that escape his mouth sound like a painful, inhuman shriek.

He vividly remembers screaming his lungs out in the coffin, though, as he woke up to realise that he was buried six feet under, locked away from the rest of the world. So, maybe it was the last drop - a last attempt to use his voice.

His next tries are too painful. And when his desperate cry for Bruce - for someone to call his dad - is getting ignored, pushed aside, Jason doesn't even want to try any more. What use it would be? No one listens to him anyway.

He is as good as dead.

Oh.

He is dead.

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[vinestaff]

rain or shine i'm by your side so why won't you look my way

[hijackalx]

i feel like we as a fandom sleep on the fact that a majority of bg3 is a bunch of city people and foreigners being thrown into an unfamiliar environment and having to live there/navigate it for like a month LMAO

long treks through rain, wind, heavy sun

biting bugs

baths in freezing cold creek water

boots getting stuck in the mud

someone waking up with a snake in their tent

failed attempts at learning to hunt or locate food and everyone getting hangry

accidentally eating poisonous plants

slipping/tripping/falling over various terrains

walking through spider webs

being sticky and sweaty from the humidity

aching backs and feet

taking a wrong turn and getting lost

scary animal noises in the middle of the night

everyone smelling like mildew, B.O, and dirt (a.k.a ten cans of BOUNCE THAT ASS)

i just feel like there’s some potential here

[p4nishers]

crowley, drunk off his ass: and i was yk just some fucked up soul born in cold and rain but he was my fucking sunlight or whatever

hozier, frantically writing on a napkin: HHHMMMM TELL ME MORE

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

[lastoneout]

Needless to say, looking up recipes to help with my autoimmune issues is going FANTASTIC and totally NOT making me want to commit arson

[hayaku14]

OH MY FUCKING GOD KAITO AND SHINICHI TOGETHER EXISTING IN ONE FRAME AND LOOKING HELLA DAPPER I'M GOING TO DIE

(x)

[cconfusedkat]

When i said i wanted to play astro i happened to jinx twisted astro Twice in my runs ,, maybe i can main him but also dear GOD i cannot outrun his twisted 😭

the goob i was playing with did not make it in time to save me but i still applaud him for his efforts ,, thank you goob mains for all you do 🤝

[damianito]

Thought process on Chuuya & Dazai

[evilkaeya]

skk au where everything is the same except Chuuya and Dazai have literal red string of fate tied to their pinkies. It appears when Chuuya kicked Dazai down in Suribachi. No one else can see the string. They've tried to untie it, cut it, burn it, rip it, bomb it- but to no avail. There's no limit to the length of the string. No matter how far they go, they're always tied to each other.