#writes them a eulogy and everything

[ghoultrifle]

swiss holds a funeral for his tits when he gets top surgery

[puppys-tiny-space]

🧁Games to play with your plushies/sibbies/cg's🧁

This list is mainly focused on games I like to play and aren't focused on proper pretend play but more things that follow a script of sorts as I'm autistic and don't enjoy playing differently

🩹doctor office, I love playing doctors office, I even make little patient sheets for everyone, set up a proper office, and waiting room, this games is great because there is a clear structure to play with and focus on🩹

🍨ice cream shop, ice cream shop is such a fun game, I have a Play-Doh set to make ice cream with that's really fun to play with, I like to set up my plushies in a line and give them fake money and then arrange them in groups to eat that candy together🍨

🦴puppy pound, playing things like animal shelter can be lots of fun with your plushies, you can make little introduction cards for each of them and makeup backstories, then you can lead another plushie or imaginary person through your shelter and introduce the animals🦴

🍼tea party, now this one is a classic, having real or pretend tea and cakes or other snacks with your plushies, discussing funny gossip or plushie land political issues, maybe even giving good life advice to your furry friends all this and more can be super great for playing tea party🍼

🪽funeral, this might seem morbid for some but for me it's very fun as I want to become a mortician, you can craft a pretty casket for the plushie, make a flower bouquet with paper, write a eulogy and set everything up nice and pretty, don't forget to make sure it worn make you sad though🪽

🧴beauty salon, I adore this game, giving a silly makeover to your plushies or human friends is so much fun, you can put bows in their hair, pretend to wash it, put makeup on them, paint their nails, give them silly outfits and talk about their life's🧴

🍥grocery store, playing grocery store isn't for everyone and I have to admit it's not something I like too much but for some people it can still be lots of fun, I especially like the organizing part🍥

📖library, this is a game I adore, you can make little library cards for your plushies and friends, set up books in piles, read story times to the visitors, help everyone find thr books they would like and give your recommendations📖

🌸flower store, for this game you can draw and craft lots of pretty flowers to sell to your plushies, advice them on the perfect way to put together their bouquet, add beautiful ribbons and lave to the flowers ans write nice cards for them, I think especially flowers out of pipe cleaners are amazing for this🌸

🩰ballet, now this could either mean you out on a show for or with your plushies or even going to a ballet with them, either way you can dress up beautifully and either dance together or watch a ballet on YouTube and pretend you are in a theater, I really like the Russian ballet's 🩰

Fun fact of the day: a cloud weighs around a million tonnes

[lizzie-queenofmeigas]

Imagine being Helaena Targaryen (show version)

You are raised mostly by governesses and maids and sometimes your mother comes spent time with you and sits by your side. You don't get her, she stresses you and her presence makes you feel uncomfortable. It's not her fault that you feel like that, but she always has that energy around her that makes you feel on edge. So you back away when she tries to touch you, afraid she may pass that energy on to you.

You like bugs and insects, your mother says it's not proper so she forces you to leave them behind and focus on prayer and sewing. You hate it.

You have three brothers, but you aren't particularly close to them. Your older brother is bad, he too makes you uncomfortable, but he doesn't like you either so you stay away from each other. Your younger brother is obsessed with dragons, so much so that he tries to bond with your own dragon and take her from you. You know his obsession will only bring bad things. Your youngest brother is away, he has been away forever, by now you only know his name. You have an elder sister, she is the heir, you are happy for her, but you never talk her. The one time you tried your mother yelled at you, it hurt your ears, your head. So you don't try anymore, but sometimes she smiles at you.

You have two nephews, Rhaenyra's sons, they are just a little bit younger than you and they are kind. Your older brother often plays with them and uses them as weapons against your younger brother. It won't end well, Aemond is not the forgiving type nor the reflective type.

Your mother is mean, she is in pain so she wants everyone to be in pain too, it makes you sad. Your sister leaves the Red Keep and it somehow becomes a colder place.

Your aunt dies away in Essos so you and your family go to Driftmark for the funeral. The uncle you don't remember laughs at the eulogy for his wife. It wasn't really for his wife, it was for your nephews and your sister. You know high valyrian, you learned some from the maesters and most from your father. Your brothers aren't very good at it so they don't catch it.

When night falls everything changes. As you predicted, the obsession your brother had with dragons leads to nowhere good. He went to claim the dragon of your dead aunt without permission, he got into a fight with your nephews and cousins, his eye is gone.

He called your nephews bastards and even without an eye he laughs at the memory. You know that the word is bad and that your mother keeps saying it over and over again. You don't understand, Ser Laenor says they are his sons, so why does she insist they aren't? It's stupid and you want to say how stupid it is, but you won't because your mother will yell at you of slap you as she does Aegon. Your older brother says everyone can see it, but it's not true because you can't. It stresses you.

Your mother grabbs a dagger and charges to kill your nephew, everyone screams and you cover your ears. It feels as if they are bleeding. Rhaenyra stops your mother and ultimately nothing happens.

Your grandfather is Hand again. It's bad, you can tell by Lord Beesbury's face. And you know is bad, because he wants you to marry Aegon. Your father falls ill, he barely moves from the bed. There are whispers that say your uncle may kill your grandfather if he returns to the Keep. You pray for him to do so, but he doesn't.

Rhaenyra marries your uncle far away in Dragonstone and you are happy for them, you want to write to them and congratulate them. Your mother yells at you when she sees your letter and burns it. You want to scratch her eyes, but you don't because she will yell and hit you.

When you first bleed your mother marries you to your older brother. You are thirteen and in that same year you fall pregnant with twins. You want to write to Rhaenyra and ask her what to do. You ask your mother and she only says things about duty and sacrifice. You think you are dutiful enough and that you have sacrificed enough. Your mother doesn't, your grandfather doesn't.

You have two children and you love them, but you can handle them. They are too loud, so loud. But you love them, or so you think. Because if you don't you should throw yourself out off the window. Why don't you?

Your sister returns to the Keep with her children and husband. Your mother yells, she hates them. She yells so much you are surprised you can still hear anything. It doesn't hurt any less than it did before. Your uncle kills a man in the throne room, you cover your ears because the noise is unbearable. But it's not worse than anything else you have gone through.

There is a last dinner, your father is coherent and your mother makes an odd toast. Aemond mades a stupid one and it ends up in a fight that ruins the good day. The night ends like that, but at least you danced with someone kind. You wish you would be married to him instead.

In the following days your father dies, your mother commits treason and you do nothing. You think about going to Rhaenyra, to tell her, but it feels useless and your mother never allows you to go anywhere alone, it's been ages since you last visited Dreamfyre. There is a dragon in front of you, but it doesn't burn you, any of you. Disappointing.

Is there any reason you still live?

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Summary: Grandma's funeral brings out a side of Ms. Sweetheart that Eddie hasn't ever seen, leaving the two of them questioning everything they've built up together.

Warnings: funeral service (I tried to keep it as neutral as possible so it could apply to any religion), mentions of cause of Grandma's death, failed attempt at sex, pretty much all angst sorry

WC: 5.1k

Chapter 10/20

Divider credit to @saradika Harris's note credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers

Eddie can’t remember the last time he went to a funeral. It might’ve been for one of Wayne’s friends, or a distant great-aunt twice removed. He doesn’t even own a proper suit for such an occasion; everything he’s wearing actually belongs to Wayne. He smooths down the creases in his black slacks; the material of anything other than worn denim is foreign against his legs. The elbows of his coat jacket are patched, and he slides his palms over them in embarrassment.

He takes a seat in one of the back rows, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible while the other mourners file in. There’s a pit growing in his stomach as his gaze swoops to the coffin resting at the front of the room. The realization that Grandma was inside was almost too much for him to handle, and he’d only met her a month ago. He hadn’t known her when she was…herself, but he saw glimpses of her now and again. The last time he was over for a Wednesday night dinner, she rested her head on his shoulder as though she’d done it a million times. You’d mouthed sorry, but Eddie had simply smiled and let Grandma stay there as long as she wanted. If he was being honest, he felt special, knowing that she was comfortable with him.

Eddie’s eyes are only drawn from the casket when he sees you walk among your family. He immediately takes note of your face, normally soft and vibrant, now stoic and emotionless. It’s a sharp contrast to your relatives, who wear their grief through bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The hymn playing in the background fades out as a man speaks up at the podium. 

Eddie’s barely listening, keeping his attention on you. He watches your mouth move as you recite the prayers along with the rest of your family, though he’s only half-listening to them. He’s never been one for organized religion, but he echoes the closing statement when everyone else does. 

That’s when you stand up, smoothing down your dress at the back of your thighs, and walk towards the front of the room. You’re clutching a piece of paper in your hand, which Eddie notices is slightly trembling. He locks eyes with you, dragging his teeth along his bottom lip and offers the smallest of encouraging smiles. You acknowledge it with a tiny nod in his direction before taking a deep breath and beginning the eulogy. 

“Um, h-hi.,” you start, stumbling over your words awkwardly. You clear your throat and try again. “Thank you all for coming to honor and remember Grandma. It’s evident that she meant a lot to so many people. 

“When I was writing this eulogy, I kept thinking about who she was as a person.” You don’t let your gaze drift from Eddie’s, and you could swear that he’s the only force keeping you from crumbling to the ground in a heap of grief. “For a lot of us, we wonder what ‘big thing’ will define our lives. The occasion that people will remember us by, you know? But with Grandma, there wasn’t one ‘big thing.’ Her life was a series of little kindnesses that she made sure to sprinkle into her everyday life. Like, when I was a kid, my dad broke his ankle. My mom couldn’t leave me home alone, so Grandma drove him to and from the hospital and stayed with him while he waited. She always took care of us. 

“One of my favorite memories is how she would bring me a bouquet of flowers after every dance recital I was in. She’d be waiting for me by the stage door with a big smile on her face, telling me what a great job I did, even if I totally messed up…she was the best. All she wanted was for the people she loved to be happy. 

“And that’s what I associate with Grandma—love. How much I loved her, and how much she loved us. Just a few weeks ago, she was sharing Oreos with the kid I tutor, and it reminded me of how she used to be with me.” At that line, Eddie feels his lip quiver, tears dampening his lashes, and he ducks his head to keep you from seeing him break. This time, it’s more for your sake than his, since you’re leaning on him to remain upright. “I encourage all of you to find the little kindnesses in life, and to be the kindness in someone’s day. 

“Grandma, you are already so missed. I hope you’re seeing the values you instilled in each of us. Rest easy. We’ll take it from here.” The only sounds in the entire room are the heels of your shoes clacking on the floor and sniffling from nearly everyone else in the congregation. You take your seat quietly, bowing your head as though trying to hide.

The rest of the service is a blur of hymns and prayers; nothing, Eddie notes, nearly as moving as the eulogy you gave. He barely notices when the people around him start moving, keeping a watchful eye on you. You’re trying to blend in amongst your black-clad relatives, but Eddie has no problem finding you. He cranes his neck just in time to see your family make a right through the doors, while you pivot left. 

Instinctively, his hands tuck into his pants pocket as he fumbles for his cigarettes and lighter. He has no idea what to say to you, no idea where to even begin. He needs a smoke or three to clear his head before he sees you and stammers out some half-witted acknowledgment of your loss. There’s no time for that; however, because as soon as he steps outside, he sees you sitting on the steps. It’s freezing outside, but your arms are bare, and Eddie can see the prickle of goosebumps lining your skin.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks, drawing your attention as he takes a seat next to you. He shrugs off his own jacket, placing it over your shoulders without a second thought. 

You offer him a sad smile, tugging the coat so it covers more of you. You didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the contrast of his body heat. “Trying to avoid my family,” you admit, placing your hand over Eddie’s. “Could you take me home? I got a ride here from my uncle, but I really don’t want to go out to eat with everyone.” They’re probably arguing over where to get lunch right now, acting as though their matriarch isn’t about to be lowered into the ground.

“You sure?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together in concern. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want to take you away from them or anything.” He can picture the sneers he’ll receive, a pit forming in his stomach.

You remain unfazed to the conundrum he faces. “Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor. I can’t…” your voice catches, so you restart your sentence. “I can’t sit there while everyone’s smiling and laughing. That’s what happens when an old, sick person dies; people don’t even try to hide their relief. I need…I need to be alone.” You tuck your lips inside your mouth, attempting to bury your feelings.

Eddie nods, reaching over to take his keys out of the jacket you’re now wearing. “Yeah, no, I get it. We can get outta here.” He stands up, takes your hand in his to help you to your feet, and leads you to the car as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing either of you need is to be confronted by one of your relatives.

The two of you sit in the car quietly, without even the radio on. Eddie can’t remember the last time he’s had a silent car ride; he either has music playing, Harris yammering his ear off, or a combination of both. He keeps his hands at ten and two, internally debating whether or not to rest one on your knee. It wouldn’t be a sexual thing, not even close, but he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. His grip remains steady, the hum of the engine is the only sound.

You take this time to study him, taking in the crow’s feet that line the edges of his eyes, the tiny patch of stubble that he’d missed while shaving, the slight dimple in his chin. You try and turn before he can catch you, and though your efforts are fruitless, he doesn’t quite call you out on it. “Y’good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, smoothing a part of your dress that isn’t wrinkled. “Could you come inside for a little while? I thought I wanted to be by myself, but I really want you to stay.”

You really want him to stay. Not just that you need company, but you want him specifically. The notion sets all of Eddie’s nerve endings alight. “‘Course,” he replies, perhaps a bit too casually to cover up his excitement over the realization that he brings you some form of comfort.

When he pulls into the apartment complex’s parking lot and shuts off the ignition, he takes the opportunity to hold your hand again. It’s so much different than when he held it a few days earlier on your date, when there was an atmosphere of joy and hope. Now it’s like he’s pulling you along, like his lead is what has you placing one heel-clad foot in front of the other.

You unlock the door, accidentally leaving the key within its latch, and Eddie quietly removes it and places it on the table. His fingers ghost your biceps to remove your–his–coat from your body, but you just pull it on farther like a safety blanket.

“Y’want coffee? ‘M gonna put on a pot,” you offer quietly, already heading over to the kitchen. You scoop out a serving of coffee grounds for you, inhaling the hazelnut scent before dumping it into the basket, glancing over at him for his response.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he nods, and you put another scoop in before filling the carafe with tap water. With a flick of the power button, the Black + Decker rumbles and kicks on, and the drip drip drip of coffee fills the room.

You grab two mugs from the cupboard and place them on the counter. “How’d you even find out about the funeral?” 

Eddie walks over, though he feels as though he can’t get close enough. He just wants to hold you tight and never let go, but you’ve put up some sort of barrier that he can’t quite interpret. “Oh, um, I asked Byers. I hope you don’t mind–I tried calling you, but it said the line was disconnected.”

Your cheeks burn. “That was Grandma.” Eddie looks confused–rightfully so–and you elaborate. “The morning that she…she got annoyed with the phone ringing, so when I wasn’t looking, she took the scissors and cut the wire.”

Eddie’s jaw drops in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. I left the house for a few minutes to get a new phone, and when I came back, she’d fallen asleep and…” you swallow thickly, rummaging through the refrigerator for the tiny carton of half-and-half, “…and she never woke up. First call I made with the new phone was to 9-1-1, but it was too late.” Too late. That’s what the EMTs told you: I’m sorry, but it’s too late. 

“Oh, Sweetheart. My sweet girl…” Eddie’s heart lurches, and he instinctively reaches out to you. One hand lays between your shoulder blades while the other rubs up and down your spine. He’s careful not to let it drop too low, never going past the small of your back. Though you’re pressed flush to his chest, there’s still a strange disconnect between you. 

Despite every urge you have to cling to him, you pull away and shove a teaspoon into the sugar bowl, sliding it towards him on the counter. “S’okay. I mean, it’s not, but…they said she’d had a heart attack. If I didn’t get the phone, I wouldn’t have been able to call for an ambulance anyway.” The dripping of the coffee maker slows as it finishes brewing. “Only thing I could do is go back in time and stop her from cutting the wires, and Melvald’s was all outta time machines,” you joke, but it falls flat.

Eddie frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the countertop. “You don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Pretend like you’re alright,” he explains, voice hardly louder than a whisper. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

You feel an anger rising within you, though you’re unable to pinpoint its origin. “I am alright,” you insist through gritted teeth.

Eddie shakes his head, peering at you through his impossibly long eyelashes. “It’s okay to be sad–”

“Don’t you get it, Eddie?” You cut him off with a snap, slamming the coffee pot down so harshly that it almost cracks. “I’m not sad. I’m not relieved. I’m not anything. My grandma just died, and I don’t feel a goddamn thing! It’s like I’m some kind of monster.”

“Hey, hey, c’mere.” He hugs you again, holds you even tighter than before as he kisses the top of your head. “You’re not a monster, ‘kay? I promise you.”

You look up at him, not quite believing his words, but you press your lips to his. He kisses you back gently; timidly even, but you deepen it and graze his tongue with your own. Your left hand weaves its way through his messy curls and your right fumbles with his belt buckle, but you’re unable to unhook the clasp before he steps back.

“What’re you–” His eyes widen and he puts his hands up to avoid touching you, clearly confused by your behavior. If you had the capacity to be honest with yourself, you’d admit that you’re not sure why you’re doing this, either.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, trying to reconnect your lips with his, but he just pulls away again. “Please, I…I need this. I need you.”

“If we sleep together for the first time right now, while you’re like this, you’ll regret it,” he says.

You don’t deny the accusation; instead, you double down on it. “Okay, so I’ll regret it! I’ll feel regret, but at least I’ll feel something!” Your trembling fingers brush against his shirt, trying to grab onto it and bring his body to you, but he turns with a scoff.

“You’d really be okay with that?” There’s unmistakeable anger in his tone, but it’s laced with something more than that; something that sounds more like hurt. “Regretting our first time together?”

“Didn’t we almost fuck on your couch the night we met? You didn’t even know my last name. You barely knew my first name.” Your words are biting, thick with malice. “When did you become so averse to meaningless sex?”

“Meaningless?” Eddie balks, digging his fingernails into his palms until they leave crescent-shaped marks. His lips contort into a perplexed grimace as he formulates a response. “I, um, I gotta go. I’ll call you–”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that line before, and I’m not falling for it again.” You can’t stop the words before they’re tumbling from your mouth, and you can’t take them back. “Shit, Eddie–”

“Just—don’t say anything else, ‘kay? I’m leaving.” He turns around, digging into his back pocket. “This is for you. From me and Harris.” He tosses a piece of notebook paper, folded into fourths, onto the end table and closes the door with a slam.

You stand there, dumbfounded at what just occurred–mostly at your own actions. When you move towards the paper, you realize that you’re still wearing Eddie’s suit jacket, and you yank it off and throw it to the ground, leaving it in a heap. You open the note and read, vision blurred from the tears threatening to spill over.

The innocent kindness of a little boy is all it takes for you to break down and cry, muffling your sobs in your palms though there isn’t anyone around to hear them. Grandma was gone. You’d chased Eddie away with the same vitriol he’d spewed at you that day at the record store. You’re really, truly alone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you chant to no one in particular. You’re sorry to Grandma, for leaving her home alone. You could’ve asked Jess to run out and get a new phone, but you’d needed a break from Grandma’s anger that was always directed towards you. That morning, after you’d discovered the cut phone line, there had been another argument over taking her medication, and she yelled “I HATE YOU!” at the top of her lungs. Then she sat at the table and ate a bowl of cereal like nothing had happened. Instead of taking a deep breath and brushing it off, you’d grabbed your keys and headed to RadioShack. You could’ve driven there, it would’ve made the trip much faster, but you’d decided to walk. The fresh air would do you good, you told yourself, pushing away the full truth of the matter: you’d desperately needed to be away from Grandma. When you got back, she was laying on the couch, and you would’ve sworn she was only sleeping…

You’re sorry to Eddie. Sorry that he’d wasted his time with someone who resorted to dredging up the past as soon as she felt an ounce of anger and rejection. Someone who insisted that he could trust her and then promptly shattered that rapport once he’d let his guard down.

And for a split second, you allow yourself to feel sorry for you. Sorry that you couldn’t even grieve properly without feeling like you didn’t deserve it, because if you were home, Grandma might still be alive. 

You look down at the card one more time, choking out a laugh through your tears at Harris’s offer to share his grandpa. It dawns on you that you’ll either have to stop tutoring him or continue to see Eddie on a weekly basis. Everyone who comes in contact with me gets entangled in my problems, you note miserably. Eddie’s finally getting his life together and I’m fucking it all up. He deserves better than me.

Maybe it’s a good idea to leave Hawkins and go back home, at least for the holidays. You’re not sure what type of celebrations the family will muster up, but it’s better than being alone with your thoughts. And if you never return, that might be best for everybody.

The bell above the drugstore door chimes as Eddie pushes his way in. He smoked out his remaining cigarettes on the drive over, and he’s desperate for another pack. He makes a beeline for the back wall, plucking his usual Camels from the display. “Perfect,” he mutters, though his lungs would certainly disagree.

As he shuffles towards the cashier, he spots a familiar face in one of the aisles. His lurking cowardice screams at him to run away, but he shoves it deep down and talks anyway. “H-Hey, man. How’s it going?”

Jeff turns around, first bewildered at who’s speaking to him, then tensing up when he sees Eddie standing before him. “Can’t complain. Just getting some of these prenatal vitamin things for Viv,” he replies tersely, shaking the bottle to emphasize his statement.

There’s an awkward silence before Eddie speaks again. “Look, um, I’m really sorry about what happened at our last show.” He rubs the back of his neck and winces at the memory. “What I said, what I didn’t say…you’re gonna be a great dad, dude. Like, the best. I was just jealous, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole.”

“Jealous?” Jeff cocks an eyebrow incredulously, willing Eddie to continue.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, shamefully averting his gaze. “You’re bringing a kid into a stable household, and I couldn’t do that for Harris. I don’t regret having him, of course, but I’ll always feel guilty about the shitshow he was born into.” He taps the pack of cigarettes on his palm, biting his lower lip to shut himself up. “Anyway, I gotta get home—”

“Eddie Munson?” He turns around to see a young woman standing behind him. Her low-cut top shows off the top of her breasts, cleavage pushed up by a bra, and her jeans hug every curve. She purses her pink-glossed lips together in a flirtatious smile.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I’m Lisa.” She says this like Eddie should already know this, and he’s embarrassed to admit to himself that he can’t place the name or face. “We hooked up last summer at the Hideout? In the men’s room?” Lisa lowers her voice seductively to whisper that detail. “I haven’t seen you there in a while.”

“Oh, yeah.” There have been multiple men’s room hook-ups, but he’s not about to play detective to figure out exactly who she is, so he plays along. “The band’s been on a bit of a…hiatus, I guess.” From his peripheral vision, he can see Jeff ducking his head, and his cheeks burn with the truth.

Lisa juts out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout, though Eddie knows it’s all for show. “That’s too bad.” She lets her hand rest on his chest, leaning into him and twirling a strand of his hair around a polished fingernail. “If you’re not busy tonight, I’d love to have you over for drinks and…dessert? Recreate that night at the bar, minus the urinal?”

Eddie moves her arms from his vicinity, putting a necessary space between them. “Um, n-nah. No thanks,” he clarifies. “I’m, uh, kinda involved with someone, so…”

She remains undaunted, a small chuckle escaping her throat. “I can keep a secret. She doesn’t have to know.” She takes another step forward to close the gap, and he’s so goddamn tempted, but he shakes it off. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen between you and him, but he knows he’s not going to sabotage any potential relationship.

“Well, I’ll know,” he retorts, “and I’ll feel like shit about it.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Your loss.” She pivots on one heel and mumbles something under her breath that Eddie doesn’t even bother to interpret.

Jeff looks at Eddie with an amused grin as he shifts his weight from one side to the other. “So, you’re involved with someone?” He knows from what Jess has told him that Eddie went on a date with you a few days ago, but he couldn’t gauge the seriousness of the situation.

“I think so. At least, I was, until about fifteen minutes ago.” He relents and fills Jeff in about everything that happened, from your conversation over steaming coffee mugs, to the amazing kiss you’d shared as snowflakes collected on your eyelashes, to the unexpected confrontation after Grandma’s funeral today.

Jeff sighs, but it’s one of sympathy, not exasperation. “You did the right thing,” he says finally.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jeff laughs, punching him playfully on the arm. “I’m serious. And you did the right thing just now, too, with that groupie.” He clears his throat. “Viv’s baby shower is in a couple weeks. Ladies only, y’know, but I could use some help loading all the gifts into the car. And we could grab some lunch beforehand, if you want.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, that would be great. Might have to let Harris tag along, if that’s all right.” He doesn’t want to keep asking Wayne to babysit, no matter how much the old man insists that he doesn’t mind.

“Of course. You know that little man is always welcome.” Jeff says, walking towards the register. “I’ll call you with the details.”

Eddie hesitates, letting his friend pass him by a few paces before he calls out. “Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“What do I do about…” Eddie trails off, unwilling to finish his sentence. He feels absolutely ridiculous having this conversation in the middle of the drugstore, but he’s desperate not to fuck this up further.

Jeff scratches at his stubble with his free hand, contemplating the options as only someone who’s been in a long-term relationship and hasn’t had to navigate the nuances of a fresh relationship in ages can. “Give her some time; a few days, at least. She’s going through a lot. She needs her space, y’know, to figure things out.”

It’s not the answer Eddie was hoping for; patience has never been his forte. He wishes that Jeff would have told him to chase after you, to go get the girl and make sure she knows how much she means to him. But he knows that his friend is right, and he acknowledges his response with a small smile. “Thanks, man.”

“See ya around, Ed.”

Eddie unlocks his apartment door, new pack of cigarettes in one hand and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s tucked under the other arm. He doesn’t usually splurge on ice cream, but every romantic comedy cliche has instructed him that it’s the perfect remedy for heartbreak. If that’s even what this is, he thinks, but he knows it’s true. After doing everything in his power to prevent it, he’d allowed you to break his heart. And as he shoves a spoon into the container of Devil’s Food Chocolate, it dawns on him that he’d do it all again.

He’d come to your rescue and pick the lock of Grandma’s bedroom door. He’d sit around the table and eat pizza with you, Harris, and Grandma every Wednesday night. He’d drive to your house with store-brand cookies and watch cheesy Thanksgiving movies with you just to see the smile on your face. He’d take you out for coffee and kiss you in the snow a thousand times over. And he’d go to Grandma’s funeral and drive you home and turn down your offer for sex and break his own fucking heart again and again if it meant protecting you.

He shimmies out of his starchy dress pants and unbuttons his shirt, leaving himself in just a white undershirt and his boxers as he sinks deeper into the sofa. He reaches over for the remote–now that he works when Harris is in school, he rarely has time to watch something that he actually enjoys–and notices the phone’s red flashing light indicating that he has a new voicemail.

He presses play with a clumsy finger on the button, expecting Wayne’s gruff voice or a reminder for an overdue bill. When he hears that it’s you, he sits up straight, nearly dropping his ice cream.

“Hi, Eddie. It’s me. I’m so sorry for what happened earlier. I’m sure you’re probably mad, but I just want you to know…it wouldn’t have been meaningless. It wasn’t meaningless the night we met when it was supposed to be meaningless.” You take a deep breath. “I’m going back home for the holidays. Um, I’m not sure when…if…I’m coming back, but before I leave, I had to apologize for what I said. You’re a great guy, Eddie. I hope you know that. Have, um, have a nice holiday. Okay, bye.”

Eddie remains still, a loud silence enveloping the room once the machine relays that he’s reached the end of new messages. He’s dissecting every word you’d uttered, replaying them over and over. 

It wasn’t meaningless the night we met when it was supposed to be meaningless. 

So you’d felt it, too; that spark much stronger than the usual lust that overcomes him during hookups. And while he’d tried to convince himself that he’d only asked you to cuddle, had you stay over out of post-sex, post-show delirium, he can’t deny the truth any longer.

He’d asked because he felt comfortable around you, like he could hold you forever and whisper secrets that scare him to even admit to himself. Maybe it was because you’d seen Harris’s car seat that night and hadn’t run for the hills, or maybe it was the way you’d kissed him like he was worth savoring. And the morning after, when he’d all but chased you out of the apartment…Christ, you didn’t deserve that.

I’m not sure when…if…I’m coming back. 

The ‘when’ he could handle, but that ‘if’ was a weight on his chest. He questions his actions for a moment–should he have slept with you? Showed you how wanted and cherished and safe you were with him? Given your mind a chance to wander from the grief choking it? But Jeff said he had done the right thing, and considering the man was engaged with a baby on the way, Eddie figured he had to know something about women.

You’re a great guy, Eddie. I hope you know that.

Is he? He’s certainly a better man than when you’d first met him, but is he actually a great guy? He’d bought you coffee and didn’t fuck you when you were too vulnerable to truly consent–is that what constitutes greatness, or is he just a step above a piece of shit?

And, of course, part of him is angry. Not only because you were so easily willing to use him–although that realization definitely stings–but mostly because you’d thought he’d want to. After everything you two had been through, did you truly believe that he’d be unbothered? That he’d throw away all of that progress just to get his dick wet? Is that how little you think of him? Eddie doesn’t want the answer.  

The ice cream is melting, so he forgoes the spoon and just takes a swig from the pint. He licks the chocolatey residue from his lips before standing up to put the carton in the freezer. Tacked onto the refrigerator is Harris’s picture from Halloween where Eddie and Ms. Sweetheart are holding hands.

He plucks it from under the magnet, staring at it intently. The memory of his son and his uncle asking him about you, that pretty like a princess remark, the unfurling realization that he felt things for you that he’d thought he was incapable of feeling. He never should have taken their ribbings, inadvertently getting his hopes up that there was something there worth pursuing.

Without thinking, Eddie crumples the paper in his fist, crushing the family portrait into a ball. “Shit,” he mutters, placing it on the table and smoothing it out as best as he can. His hands glide over the drawing, rubbing over every crease until it looks good as new and Harris will be none the wiser.

But Eddie knows what’s been destroyed. What he doesn’t know is whether or not it can be smoothed out.

--

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[miryum]

The Canary and the Robin (Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary: You find Jason being tortured by the Joker and decided to take him in, imperfections and all. If he happens to be your soulmate, so be it

Warnings: I know reader acts like a white person in a horror movie but bear with me, OOC Talia, descriptions of torture, Joker hurting Jason, descriptions of flashbacks of torture, allusions to sexual assault from the Joker unto Jason but not descriptive at all, panic attack, ignore locations and timelines, timer soulmates once they turn 8, swearing, a lotta angst (literally starts out with Jason’s funeral), but happy ending, hurt/comfort, Jason doesn’t have guns or an autopsy scar in this cause he’s Robin still and lemme tell you it’s so unnatural for me to write him without those, perspective switching, conscious wording (so everything is written like that for a reason), Jason’s awful parents and their drinking and harassment (just descriptions on them yelling and drinking and smoking), spoilers to Great Gatsby, kinda open ended, but also not at all? if that makes sense, lemme know if I missed anything

Word Count: 12k so grab some snacks and tissues

Canary in a coal mine is a common term meant to describe something that’s unusually sensitive to conditions that make it a useful early indicator of negatively changing circumstances.

Jason’s funeral was on May 16th, just eight months after he had been taken by the Joker. Alfred had chosen daisies, lilacs, and lotuses for the flowers, but Bruce brought a bouquet of hyacinths to lay on his son’s casket. As much as Bruce Wayne liked to flaunt his wealth, these hyacinths were hand pulled from his own gardens. Roots and dirts still clung to the end of the stems when Jason’s coffin was lowered into the ground. 

Dick had come in from Bludhaven. When he had heard the news, his timer stopped and reversed itself until it added a year and a half onto his time. He had just gotten a brother and had been learning how to be a role model when his brother was dragged away from him, kicking and screaming. It wasn’t fair, Dick kept repeating to himself. A teenager shouldn’t be targeted just because he eagerly trailed on Batman’s heels, snarky comebacks and smirks ready to fire.

There was a public funeral where paparazzi clicked away at their cameras and Bruce stood stoically in the front row, clearing his throat at the podium when he had to make a eulogy. There was then a private funeral where the casket was actually lowered beneath a gladiolus bush. There were no eulogies for none of the family could bring themselves to say much. It was just Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Barbara. Selina Kyle showed up that night in Bruce’s room and Dick pretended not to hear Bruce’s sobs. Alfred stood in the doorway of Jason’s old room, feather duster in hand. After a couple of minutes, he hung his head and walked off, closing the door behind him. Nothing was cleaned.

The next day, tabloids displayed the pictures of Bruce Wayne standing by a casket. Bruce stopped investing in any companies that did. His own stock dropped, but Bruce wasn’t answering his financial advisor’s calls. He wasn’t answering any calls. 

It was late one night and Dick couldn’t sleep. He had been wanting to return to Bludhaven, but whenever he opened his suitcase, he couldn’t bring himself to pack. He found Alfred in the kitchen, pouring some hot tea. “I figured you would join me one night,” Alfred commented without looking back. 

Dick couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his eyes. “Your sixth sense is never wrong, Alfred.” 

Alfred slid a cup over to Dick who took it thankfully, not caring that the tea burnt his tongue. Perhaps it was what he deserved for not being there to help Jason. “I should’ve-”

“Mister Grayson,” Alfred cut him off. “The Joker was ten steps ahead of Batman. Not even the powerful Nightwing could’ve helped. And you could not have flown to Africa in time.” 

“It was closed casket,” Dick whispered out. “I didn’t even get to see my little brother before he was gone.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. 

“It was closed casket because Master Wayne couldn’t find Master Jason’s…” Alfred exhaled and corrected himself, “He couldn’t find Master Jason.”

Dick’s head lifted and his hands clenched around his cup. “What?” he breathed out. Desperation filled his voice, “but Alfie, he could still be out there! Jason could be alive!” Alfred simply gave him a stern look and Dick’s stomach bubbled with nausea. “Yeah,” he muttered bitterly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” His jaw tensed and after a moment, he decided, “I’m going to go back to Bludhaven tomorrow.”

“Safe travels,” is all Alfred said.

It was then that Bruce woke from a nightmare of his dead son screaming out for him.

~~~~

You hadn’t meant to be passing by Arkham Asylum. It wasn’t something one did intentionally; in fact, many people went out of their way to avoid it. But it seemed as if fate wasn’t on your side today, for when your car broke down right outside Arkham Asylum, you didn’t notice the watch on your wrist ticking down quicker and quicker. You swore to yourself and took the mace out of your glove compartment before sliding your keys in between your fingers. Arkham Asylum had been practically abandoned for years, but perhaps there was a janitor or receptionist who could help you get service. Then you could call a mechanic and get the hell out of there. 

The gates to Arkham had rust creeping up the edges and the lock clanged sharply against its chains. Maybe there wasn’t going to be a receptionist in the building… But perhaps there would be a phone you could use. In order for the gates to creak open, you had to force your bodyweight against the metal and try to shove the lock out of the way, praying you didn’t get tetanus in the process. 

The door to Arkham, however, swung open without a sound. It seemed as if someone had been regularly visiting the Asylum, even if there was no one to visit – or love – in the building. “Hello?” you stage whispered, phone flashlight on, and finger on the button on your mace. 

There was clearly a reason why the public wasn’t exposed to Arkham. All reports were classified and no photographers were allowed in. Wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape, you stared around at Arkham Asylum. The halls were long and dark, meant to cause paranoia and confusion. It was certainly working on you. The only light peeking through was from the grime covered windows and your flashlight. The ceiling was crumbling slightly and you were pretty sure Arkham had been under construction when it had been abandoned; otherwise, how could you explain all the dust, debris, and graffiti? You didn’t even want to think of the disease-carrying rodents that were surely scurrying underneath your feet. 

“Is anything here? That can help me?” Your voice echoed down the cell block, vibrating off the metal bars and old bunks. 

You reeled back when your foot kicked a pebble, sending it ricocheting off your sneaker. After the pebble settled some yards away, you took in a steadying breath. You heard a faint sound, one that didn’t sound at all like a pebble. “Hello?” you asked again. Shadows danced around as you shone your flashlight down the hall, messing with your mind. 

When you strained your ears, it sounded as if a faint wail could be heard. Your brows furrowed with worry and instinctively, you started towards it. Your watch ticked down faster as disquietude and anxiety rippled through you like snakes, biting and twisting in your veins. Your flashlight bounced over empty, desolate cells as your pace quickened and the screams got louder. You contemplated calling the police, but when you checked your phone, you didn’t have any service. And who knew if the police would help or not? Arkham was a place only the brave or stupid went; right now, you were pretty sure you were the latter. 

The screams took you deeper and deeper into the Asylum and you prayed that you would be able to find your way out. If you ever got out… your mind immediately thought. 

It wasn’t long before the blood curdling howls shook you to your bones. They seemed to be coming from a cell, yet when you pointed your flashlight towards it, heart thumping at what you might find, there was nothing. But the screams were there. You weren’t making them up. Where the hell were they coming from– oh.

A shiver ran up your spine when you noticed the comical trapdoor in the corner of the cell. You wondered if the Arkham architects intentionally put it there when they were designing this horror house, or if an inmate had scraped a hidden passageway with a spoon they stole from the cafeteria. 

Nonetheless, when you pried open the door, a wall of whimpers and cries from torture hit you full force. You shook your head, steeling yourself, before swallowing down the queasiness. The goosebumps on your arms were full-time residents now. 

Your feet carried you down the dirt steps of the trapdoor. Your mind wasn’t particularly your own. Your brain was foggy. Your body felt like a child had taken your hand and was leading you down the steps. Later in your life, when you thought back to that moment, you knew the universe had been guiding you. But even if you didn’t make it out of Arkham Asylum, you knew your life was going to drastically change. The nonexistent hand squeezed yours in comfort as your heart jumped and pounded when the faint light at the bottom of the stairs grew brighter. 

A small chamber resided under Arkham Asylum, as you found out that day. In the chamber were two people. One held a crowbar dripping with blood. His back was turned to you, but any citizen of Gotham would recognise that pastel green and purple suit anywhere. The Joker was alive. 

But the second person caught your eye. He was strung up from the ceiling, crusty, brown chains trapping him midair. The red outfit he was wearing was being held together by tatters, but you didn’t know if the outfit was originally red or covered with blood. A black and yellow cape was clinging onto the victim’s back, burnt and torn. A green utility belt had been thrown in the corner, its pockets overturned and emptied. 

And your timer buzzed against your wrist.

You didn’t register it at first, but after a moment of incessant buzzing, you tore your horrified stare away from the ruined man and to your wrist. A crude joke bounced into your head: so either my soulmate is the Joker or someone who wronged him… Either way, not ideal. 

The Joker stood proud and tall, shoulders thrown back and grin wide. “Come on, Robby,” he taunted. “You and I both know these little excursions of ours go better when you make noise. How I love to make you sing…”

It was then you registered the Robin symbol on the man’s breast. You slowly pieced everything together, realising that the person in front of you was the presumably dead Robin. You couldn’t help the little, amazed curse word that slipped out from between your lips. 

The Joker slid out a syringe from his pocket and slunk up beside Robin, injecting the green serum into his neck. Joker chuckled as he pressed the liquid further into Robin’s neck, whispering into his ear, “now, now, you mustn’t leave me, Robby. But whatever would you leave for? Now that the Bats has forgotten you.” Joker was mercilessly teasing the sidekick, spit flicking onto his cheek. Robin whimpered, a parched and cracked noise from the back of his throat. 

“Louder, Robby, louder!” The Joker coaxed in a cooing voice. You grimaced and wanted to crawl out of your skin at his voice. Once you realised your mace wasn’t going to do you any good, your eyes darted around the small torture dungeon. Eventually, they landed on a discarded, bent pipe that had a disturbing red colour coated on. You willed yourself not to think of what the substance was. 

Even though Robin’s limp, swinging body was facing towards you, you doubted he could see you. With the drugs running through his veins, his vision would surely be blurred and his mind muddled.

It was just your luck when, as you were inching towards the pipe, your phone decided to work and began buzzing loudly, indicating a call from your friend, Talia. The Joker whirled around, crowbar in hand and you squealed, grabbing the pipe. Before the Joker could react, his eyes widening in shock, you swung the pipe at his head. With the clang of metal against skull, the Joker collapsed, unconscious. You stared down at him, disbelief flooding your body. Oh my god, I just killed the Joker. Or, at the very least, gave him a good concussion. Your hands shook as a little pool of blood seeped out from Joker’s head. You dropped the pipe and it clattered to the dirt floor. A little groan that escaped Robin and your still-ringing phone brought you back to Earth. 

“Shit, shit, I gotta get outta here,” you muttered, looking around frantically. Your phone kept ringing and with a swear, you brought it to your ear. “What?” you growled out. 

“Wow, what has your panties in a twist?” Talia asked back snarkily. 

You held your phone between your shoulder and your head as you hurried towards Robin. “Nothing, nothing, sorry,” you muttered as you attempted to free him from the chains. “Why’re you calling?”

“Why are you so stressed? You sound like you just ran a marathon,” Talia said through the phone. You could envision her checking her nails while doing so. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You finally got Robin’s wrists to slip from the chains and he fell down onto you. You grunted under his weight. Apparently, just because he had been starved and tortured for months didn’t mean he had lost his superhero muscle. 

Talia paused for a moment and you could practically hear the gears in her brian turning. “Do you need me to help hide a body?” she asked suddenly. 

You laughed nervously as you shifted Robin to your shoulder and began dragging him towards the steps. “No?” you finally answered. “Though if you wanted to meet me by Arkham Asylum with your working car and a cure for an almost dead superhero, that would be great.”

“I will be there in twenty minutes.”

~~~~

“How did this happen?” Talia demanded, more curiosity in her voice than malice and anxiety. You were in her passenger seat, staring at the wounded Robin who was laid in the back. Talia weaved through traffic with ease, headed towards the Yuyan Building.

“I don’t know!” you cried out, panic infusing itself into your blood. It felt similar to the way the Joker had infused serum into Robin. You clutched at the seatbelt, hoping it would take some of your dread. “My car just stopped working and then I was just going into Arkham Asylum like an idiot and I found the dead Robin! He was supposed to be dead, right? It was all over the news!”

“And then Batman got another Robin,” Talia added, almost bitterly. You shot her a confused look and she glanced over at you. Her eyes flickered down to your wrist before you yelled at her to focus on the road again. “You are a rational person, Y/n,” Talia began as the car screeched to a halt outside an imposing, ornate building. You stared up at it as Talia got out of the car. You scrambled to help her with Robin. The two of you each had one of his arms over your shoulders, his feet scraping along the ground, head lolling to the side, as you carried him in. “I do not think you would go into Arkham Asylum without something else guiding you,” Talia continued. “Do not think I did not notice your stopped timer. He is your soulmate, is he not?”

You nodded, not trusting your words. You were worried you would start crying if you actually had a moment to process all of the day’s events. “Will your dad help?” you asked finally, voice wavering.

Talia chuckled dryly, eyes narrowing on a fixed point ahead of you. She led you and Robin deeper into Yuyan Building. “If it gets on Batman’s good side? Absolutely.”

“I’ll take him after you’re done healing him,” you added quickly. “I’ll take him back home and care for him if you and your dad help me this one time.” You realised it sounded like you were begging for help. Briefly, you wondered what had happened in such a short time to make you care so much for Robin. Part of you decided it was what any rational, kind human being would do – help someone who was badly hurt – but another part of you knew that wasn’t the case. You felt tied to this boy you didn’t even know the name of. Whether it was through your soulmate bond or not, you knew you were connected to Robin. You felt his pain and terror. Even though he was unconscious, you could feel his resistance tugging against you. He didn’t want to go with you. He was scared of what you might do to him. His emotions dug into you and you felt a whimper crawling up your throat, begging for escape. 

It was then you steeled yourself and decided one thing: you weren’t going to let your soulmate die. 

Yuyan Building held deeper secrets, you realised. Talia directed you down long hallways and steep stairwells and you felt bad for the custodians who had to clean up Robin’s trail of blood. It was long minutes, full of you groaning under Robin’s weight and Talia looking unaffected, before Talia stopped at a large, ominous door. 

You couldn’t look Ra’s in the eye as he slung Robin into the Lazarus Pit. You could only watch the bubbling green liquid as Robin slowly sunk to the bottom. Agonising minutes ticked by, halted only by Ra’s and Talia whispers to each other. 

You hugged yourself tightly after five minutes passed and you called anxiously to Talia, “do- does he need help? Is he hurting? Why is it taking so long?”

“He had a lot of injuries, Y/n,” Talia reassured you, coming to place a hand on your shoulder in comfort. “He will be okay.”

Yeah. He’ll be okay.

~~~~

Jason’s eyes burned. Green was all that he could see. He tried to breathe in, but the only thing that filled his lungs was the green surrounding him. When the liquid filled his lungs and he coughed out, bubbles trailed up to the surface like a safety rope guiding the way. 

Jason stretched a hand out in front of him, muscles aching at disuse. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to run away, would we, Robby?” The Joker’s voice called after him as Jason kicked his feet futilely. “Not our little prince!” 

A flitting feeling coursed through Jason: curiosity and concern, but he was too weak to form a thought. His arm, reaching out towards the bubbles that led him upward, didn’t look like his own. He remembered the scars criss-crossing along it and he remembered the dirt and grime infecting cuts and burns, even digging its way underneath his nails, but he didn’t remember looking so… strong. Since when did he have the muscles and veins that looked like years of exercise had paid off? Batman had kept him fit – Robin needed to be able to hold his own, but he didn’t quite remember it working so well. 

His hand finally breached the top of the green waves, grasping up towards breathable air and safety. 

Green. Like the Joker. Another one of his charades. A playing card, to show Jason he wasn’t free yet. He was never free.

Everything was disillusioning. His vision veered sideways before becoming foggy and nausea crashed through Jason, like the waves in which he was trying to fight against.

“Stop struggling!” he heard someone cry out, “you’re making your own waves! You have to swim.”

He saw someone reaching out towards him and without a second thought, Jason extended his bandaged hand, clinging onto the buoy in the storm. Their hand was soft and comforting and dragged him out of the water. Jason allowed himself to be dragged. He didn’t have the energy to fight the Joker. He had given up much too long ago. 

“What did you do to him?” someone asked once Jason fell to the ground. The world spun around him and he couldn’t recognise whomever was speaking. He gasped in desperate air, filling his deprived lungs. 

“Take in a good, deep breath, Robby. Smell that blood? It’s yours. A reminder that Bats isn’t gonna come save you. Doesn’t it smell delicious?” The Joker hissed at him, inhaling himself. He cackled and licked his lips. “You’re a sweet little bird, aren’t you?”

“Why does he look like that?” the same voice asked. Jason heard a small thud over the ringing in his ears. 

“The Lazarus Pit not only receives, but it returns, ten times stronger,” a deep voice explained. “It takes what it has been given, and it blossoms it into its full potential. What it needs to become.”

Jason flinched away from the hands that rested on him. The hands retreated and Jason wondered what new tactic the Joker was trying. The Joker never retreated.

The voices were getting more frantic and his heartbeat seemed amplified. As Jason was slowly lifted up, he passed out.

~~~~

The next time Jason woke up, the first thing he noticed was the clock. There was a digital clock on a small table beside him, green numbers staring unblinkingly up at him. Green as in the Joker. Clock as in a bomb. Does he want me to defuse the bomb? Or is it all a trick? The Joker never let me see any clocks. Time was a valuable construct, one the Joker used to his advantage. If Jason didn’t know how much time had passed, the Joker could stretch the days and the torture. 

It took Jason a moment to blink the sleep from his mind. Then, he let his eyes flick around the room as his body stayed perfectly still. It was a tactic he learned from Batman – never let anyone know you were awake. He could categorise helpful information for later, such as possible escape routes, and if the Joker didn’t know he was awake quite yet, there would be less time for torture.

The former Robin was in a room. He didn’t recognise it and that scared Jason more than he would ever admit. There was a dresser opposite him with pictures on it. He couldn’t quite make out who was in the pictures, but it didn’t quite matter yet. A closet door was closed and next to it stood a tall mirror that had a blanket thrown over it. A small bookshelf sat beside him and when Jason had the mental capacity, he couldn’t help but feel the pull to read the titles. It smelled better than anything in a long time. Instead of urine and festering skin, this place smelled like lavender and vanilla. 

It was only then Jason realised he was laying on a bed. And there were no restraints tying him down to it. 

What new tactic was this? What scheme was the Joker pulling? What game did he want Jason to play? What was the objective? The trick Jason had to uncover to live another day? 

Green and purple and yellow whirled around Jason and he gripped his head, begging the colours to stop. Carnival music played loudly in his ears, that same damn tune for the past thirty six hours. 

Strapped to a chair, there was nowhere to escape the Joker’s mind games. Jason had been sedated more times than he could count and dragged to new locations where the Joker found new ways to torment him. Today’s lucky special was the Joker’s old hideout at the abandoned carnival. 

It wasn’t long before the Joker’s voice rang out from within hidden speakers. “Show me those street smarts, Robby! Play with me. Maybe I’ll let you go…” he jeered and inveigled. 

The spinning stopped and Jason planted his feet on the ground. His head dipped and his mouth hung open, eyes crossed and half-lidded. The Joker stood before him, leaning on his crowbar. “Ah, ah, ah,” the Joker tsked. “You're losing your touch, Robby.��� The Joker ran his tongue over his teeth, lips curling up in a tantalising grin before lifting the crowbar back. 

Jason didn’t hear anything before he blacked out.

It had seemed that he had blacked out in real life too, for the time had advanced three hours and the sun had sunk in the sky. Next to the clock was a tall glass of water and a small plate of crackers. Two pills of unassuming tylenol sat nearby.

Someone had been in here, Jason realised. The thought made his skin crawl and he quickly flung off the sheets, not used to the feeling of cotton. After a quick analysis of his body, even though his skin was already wrecked and flayed, there weren't the telltale nail marks on his thighs that the Joker had been there in his sleep. The only thing out of the ordinary were the bandages and cleaned wounds. His armour was nowhere to be seen and he had been stuffed into pyjama pants and a shirt that seemed a bit tight. 

Panic flashed through his spine and Jason flung his legs over the mattress. He promptly collapsed and his knees ached at the impact. It took a moment of forcing his lungs open and letting oxygen flow through his system once more until he was able to crawl pathetically towards the covered mirror. His fingers twisted around the sheet and dragged it downward, letting it pool on the floor and around his legs. 

Staring back at him wasn’t his face. It was the face of someone who had lived ten more years and seen fifty more years of battle. 

Jason promptly swung his fist at the glass, shattering the mirror and letting the shards rain down. But he could still see his reflection. Jason forced his eyes away from the unfamiliar face and the scars he could feel burning into his skin.

Just a trick of the Joker. That’s all it ever was. He was never free and never more would believe so. Everything was consumed by that pale skin, green hair, and purple nails. Everything was a mind game followed by excruciating pain. 

His gaze drifted back to the water and crackers. It could be tainted. But the Joker also needed him alive to continue their games. There was always a grace period for Jason to heal before the next session began. 

He limped back to the bed, downed the water, not daring to touch the pills, and fell back onto the pillow. He shifted and adjusted the pillow. It felt uncomfortable. He threw it to the other side of the room before rubbing at his aching wrists. His skin there was red and irritated, not used to being out of chains. That was unusual, when Jason truly thought about it. The Joker knew how powerful Jason was. Jason had even managed to escape his chains once, back when he was healthy and convinced Batman would come and rescue him. But a bullet to the malnourished stomach was enough to stop anyone. 

He kept massaging his hands until his fingers skirted over the bare skin of the inside left wrist. It felt like something should be there. Something was missing. 

“Well well well,” Joker’s voice crooned in his ear. The man’s fingers curled around Jason's wrist. Long fingers tapped a tune on the proud watch that sat on Jason’s skin, ticking like a heartbeat. “Does our little Robby have a soulmate?” 

The boy’s muscles tensed, protesting against the Joker for the first time in weeks. He had been trying to keep the watch hidden for as long as possible, but he should’ve known it was futile.

“But who on earth could love you?” The Joker questioned deridingly.

Jason’s cracked lips parted and he forced a “no” from his parched throat. “Don’t.”

The Joker giggled – a high pitched, ugly sound that would haunt Jason’s nightmare’s for years to come. “Oh… and have you met your true love yet?” 

“Stop it.” Jason wiggled away from the Joker’s searing grip but nothing helped.

The psychopath’s nails embedded crescents into Robin's skin as he forced his wrist around. “No no no,” the Joker tsked as he watched the clock inch down towards zero. “You haven’t met them yet… what?” He turned back towards Jason, eyes wide with fake innocence. “You think they’re gonna come save you, Robby?” A burst of laughter bubbled from the murderer. “Never,” he hissed in Jason’s ear, making the boy cringe away, his chains swinging with him. 

A sob crawled its way up Jason’s lungs as the Joker grabbed his chains, steadying him, before licking a stripe up Jason’s cheek, leaving behind saliva and horrid breath. The Joker then licked his lips, relishing in the taste of Robin’s blood and tears. 

“You really think you deserve anyone?” The Joker whispered in his ear, more serious than Jason had ever seen him. His fist clenched around Jason’s watch and the boy let out a whimper. “You don’t.” The glass cracked under the Joker’s force. “Deserve shit.” He ripped the soulmate watch from Jason and threw it to the ground. The delicate watch sprang open and the timer stopped in its tracks. 

Jason let out a guttural scream as the Joker ground the glass into the dirt with his heel. 

~~~~

A loud thump yanked Jason out of sleep. A sharp feminine yelp followed and Jason was instantly on his feet, no matter the spots that danced in his vision. 

A small voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Alfred chastised him for not staying in bed and letting his body heal. “Master Jason, how are you supposed to fight crime if you can’t even walk straight?”

Nevertheless, Jason pushed open the door, raggedly breathing and clutching his side. He was sure he looked like a serial killer of some sort, blood staining through his bandages and hair sloppily matted to his forehead from sweat. 

A girl stared at him from across the room. She was smaller than him, was what Jason noticed first. He then noticed her eyes. They were a striking colour and seemed to bore into him, knowing his every want and desire. They were cautious, yet Jason thought he imagined excitement running deep within the girl. 

“Who’re you?” Jason mumbled out, leaning heavily against the doorframe. 

The girl took a breath and said, “I’m Y/n.” A blanket was curled around her feet, much like the blanket that Jason had snatched from the mirror hours earlier. Her hair was a bit messy and Jason categorised a pillow propped up against the armrest of the couch. 

“How’re you—” Jason cut himself off and shook his head. “What’re your… Who…” he struggled to find a question that encapsulated everything while not giving too much away about himself. 

Y/n took a step closer, almost as if he was a wild animal that she didn’t want to startle. It didn’t work; Jason stumbled back over his feet and back into the bedroom. Y/n didn’t follow. “I was at Arkham Asylum three days ago and found you.”

“What were you doing there?” Jason demanded, his words slurred. 

“My car broke down,” Y/n explained easily, though Jason didn’t believe her one bit. “I was looking for help and… found you instead. I had to call a friend for help.”

Jason was done with pleasantries. Alfred had frowned upon swearing, and the boy had quickly learned not to use the words he had heard on the street or the insults villains spat at Batman once they were in handcuffs. But he wasn’t standing next to Batman in bright spandex anymore. He was bleeding through someone else’s clothes and he wasn’t in his own body and there was a girl who was wearing a dark green sweatshirt and green reminded him of the Joker. “Bullshit,” he growled out. His voice didn’t have that prepubescent squeak to it anymore and his veined hand reached up to massage his throat. 

Y/n’s brows stitched together and she stared up at him, slipping the cuffs of her sweater over her hands. “No. It’s not bullshit. I promise,” she said, her voice saccharine. “Look, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days, trying to sleep off that poison the Joker put in you, I’m sure.”

Jason flinched back so hard that he stepped back onto the glass shards from the mirror. It cut into his heel and he winced, blood already leaking from the wound. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Y/n exclaimed, crouching down and then standing back up quickly. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to help you with that? Why don’t you sit on the bed and I’ll grab some bandaids.” Y/n hurried away out of the bedroom and Jason stood still. 

Help. 

Help you. 

“You’re gonna help me win back Batman, Robby,” the Joker whispered in his ear, spit flicking on his face. “You are vital. You will be his downfall.”

Help.

Help me.

Y/n came back, shaking Jason out of the parallels. “You’re not on the bed,” she commented. Jason’s feet automatically moved towards the bed — he knew better than to argue with the Joker, but then he remembered he wasn’t with the Joker. This was a girl who looked like one strong look would have her cowering beneath him, especially if he actually had the physique he saw in the now-broken mirror. 

“Who are you,” he repeated his question from earlier, turning back to look at her. 

“Y/n,” the girl reiterated, head tilting slightly. 

“No.” Jason shook his head. “Who are you. Who do you work for?”

Y/n’s brows scrunched together in confusion and she said, “well, my boss is named Marlene, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t see how that’s particularly relevant.”

Jason’s chest rose and fell and he brought his hand up to claw at it. “Liar,” he hissed out. “You… you liar!” A yell curled its way up through him and his nails scratched at his throat, trying to tear this unfamiliar voice from him. Who was he? This wasn’t Jason Todd, the broken boy from Crime Alley. This was someone much more dangerous and unpredictable. Batman had always taught Jason how to analyse plans and choose the one with the highest success rate. But this was a different Jason. This Jason was a tornado, sweeping through every emotion he didn’t know how to handle. 

He saw green. And that only reminded him of the years spent under the Asylum.

Jason tore the sheets from the bed. He shoved things off the bedside table and consequently the lamp fell, its bulb shattering and then flickering out. The room was plunged into darkness. The only source of light was from the barely rising sun, peeking its rays into the window and bathing the edges of the room with pink and orange and yellow. 

The light danced across Y/n’s face as she stared around at the damage Jason was inflicting. Pity and guilt ran rampant on her face and she didn’t stop him.

Jason moved throughout the room, the only things he spared being the dresser and the bookshelf. 

After some time, he collapsed onto the floor, heaving in breaths. It wasn't long before he slowly leaned back to lay down. Y/n carefully sat down next to him, staying a good couple feet away. "I know you don't trust me," she said. She slipped her sleeve down her wrist, tucking in her hands. The outline of a watch pressed against the fabric and Jason stared at it numbly and unthinking. "But my name is Y/n. I work at the Gotham Gazette. My boss's name is Marlene. She's pretty nice and I'm up for a raise soon. I've lived in Gotham my whole life, even while my brother moved away the first chance he got. I've contemplated leaving for a long time, but I could never bring myself to do it." She pointed to a picture that sat on her dresser – one of the only things Jason hadn't destroyed. "That's him. My brother."

Jason didn't move his head to look. His green vision began to fade. 

“When I was growing up I had a fish. His name was Captain Sparkles,” Y/n kept on talking. “He was pretty cool and lived a long time for a fish. Two years, if you’re interested. I’m going to Gotham University and studying English so I can hopefully move up the line of command at the Gazette. My parents are chill and are empty nesters with two dogs out in the countryside. My dad always pledged never to get a dog, but now I’m pretty sure they’re ahead of me in the will.” She chuckled and tugged at her hair. 

Jason turned on his side away from her and he missed her eyes trailing after him sadly. Y/n swallowed and blinked away the sting of impending tears. 

“I have a little routine going,” Y/n continues, her voice cracking slightly. “You know, wake up, go to class — I’m a sophomore — come home and do homework. When I don’t have class, I go to work.” The girl wraps her arms around her knees and tucks her chin in. “What I’m trying to get at, I guess, is that I don’t work for the Joker.”

Jason flinched and cradled his head in his hands. Everything Y/n was telling him seemed true; she didn’t seem like an agent of the Joker, but his mind screamed at him to not trust anybody. Each syllable she spoke seemed like a reminder of how normal he was supposed to be. Day in and day out, when the Joker was pushing Jason’s limits, pulling him to the brink of death, Jason had wished to be normal. To not have met Batman that fateful day. To not have accepted the Robin pedestal. To go to high school and college and live in a dorm and get drunk and then regret it the next day. 

What he would give to be normal. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/n muttered. “I didn't mean to say his name. I know it must be triggering.” She exhaled and was silent for a moment. “I’ll go,” she eventually whispered. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Jason heard her stand and move to the door. No! Please don’t go. I- I can’t be alone. I don’t know how to be alone. But the words didn’t come. 

The door clicked shut behind Y/n. Tears made their way down Jason’s face and his body shook with the effort to keep silent. 

I would rather you torture me than make me be alone, he thought. My thoughts are more dangerous than any weapon.

~~~~

For all of Jason’s life, soulmates had always been in his realm of knowledge. Like bombs. He had heard the word in the news, playing with whatever he had scavenged off the street, his mom smoking on the couch behind him, TV blaring. 

But children are oblivious and it wasn’t until later in his life that he figured out what the words meant. ‘Bombs’ became synonymous with Gotham City and ‘soulmate’ became a word Jason held close to his heart. 

Everyone had a soulmate and it was common for the kids on the playground to compare their numbers ticking down. Younger children, who had yet to get their timer, gazed wistfully at older kids’ watches. Rumours of someone’s timer speeding up or slowing down blistered around the jungle gym and it chilled young Jason’s blood with the thought of not getting to meet his soulmate soon enough. 

But besides those insignificant bouts of worry, Jason was very proud of his soulmate. He would be running around the playground and when he heard someone bragging about how soon they would meet their soulmate, Jason would stop the game of tag and go over to compare numbers. 

Not everyone was as lucky as him, however. Some kids would be teased because their timer estimated that they wouldn’t meet the love of their life until they were on the brink of death. While Jason never stood up for the victim, he would never be the one to bully them. His own mom had smashed her timer when she met Jason’s deadbeat dad, wanting to defy the universe and choose her own lover. It had only led to jail time, alcohol, and negligence. Sometimes, late at night, Jason would wonder what happened to his mom’s true soulmate. Were they still out there with a paused timer, wondering who didn’t think them good enough? Did they also think they could find answers at the bottom of a bottle or did they pick themselves up and reroute their life?

What would’ve his life been like if he had two parents who loved each other and were destined to be together? 

But whenever Jason was feeling down, or he got a bad grade (which didn’t happen often), or he was beaten up in the alleyways of Gotham, or his mom smashed a bottle by his head and screamed at him, he would cast his eyes down to his soulmate timer and just remember that someone out there was for him. That someone was fated to love him. And very early on, from the moment he realised what having a soulmate actually meant, Jason decided that he would wait for however long it took and go through whatever it meant to find them. 

“Whose clothes are these?” Jason whispered, his voice cracked and desolate the next time Y/n came into the room to offer him the little food he could stomach. 

“My brother’s,” she answered easily, setting down the plate of toast and some other easy food. “I thought they would be a bit big on you, but then the Lazarus Pit made you ginormous, so they’re a bit tight now. Sorry.”

“Lazarus Pit?” Jason pushed himself to sit up, muscles groaning in protest. 

“I don’t know how much you remember,” Y/n admitted. “But once I got you out of Arkham, I brought you to my friend Talia. She has some… powerful connections to some influential people and was able to help heal you in the Lazarus Pit. I just didn’t know how much it would alter you.”

“That explains a lot,” Jason admitted dryly, thinking of his new physique, emotions, and tinted vision when he had gotten mad. 

Y/n leaned against her dresser. “I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to help, but I needed to. You were going to die and I need…” she trailed off and her eyes flicked down to her wrist.

“You need what?” 

“I couldn’t let someone die,” Y/n finally decided on. 

Jason accepted her answer. He felt a small tug at his chest, almost as if something wasn’t right and he wanted to correct it. “What’s…” His eyes trailed to her lap where she held her hands. His jaw twitched and he shook his head. “Never mind.” 

“You can ask me anything,” Y/n offered, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. Jason’s eyes widened when he saw her smile and his heart fluttered. Jason decided that, even if he didn’t trust Y/n yet, he would do whatever it took to keep that smile on her face. 

“No, I have nothing– I’m good– no–” 

“Spit it out, Robby. What do you want to tell your darling Joker? What are your… worries? Your concerns? Your dear Uncle Ace?” The Joker circled around an exhausted Jason. “Trust me. You can tell me anything…” His speech was slow and intoxicating. Alluring, was the word Jason would use to describe it. It was tugging him in. Jason’s eyes slipped down into sleep just as another needle pierced its way into his skin, courtesy of the Joker. 

Jason dug his nails into the palm of his hand over and over, fingers twitching over his cuticles. His face started to heat up and he swallowed roughly, blinking slowly. “I’m okay,” he mumbled out, even though Y/n didn’t ask. 

“Do you need me to leave?” she offered. 

Jason dragged his head back and forth, attempting to shake it. Eventually, it lolled back and banged against the wall. “Sorry, what?”

Y/n stood up on instinct. “Robin?” 

The title sent lightening up Jason’s spine and his gaze snapped up to stare at her, fuming. “Don’t- don’t call me that!” he screamed out. “I’m not! Stop it!”

Dearest Robin. How Batman will miss his little protégé. 

Robby… 

Robby… 

Robin!

“Let me go!” Jason shrieked. He wiped his hands on his shirt before reaching up and pulling at his hair. Everything felt wrong. “Why won’t you let me go?! Just give up,” he pleaded desperately. His eyes, wide and frantic, swept around the room until they settled on the shards of the mirror he had smashed.

His body was a graveyard.

It was only then that Jason truly comprehended how imperfect he was. 

Scars trailed down his arms and legs and he could even see a smattering of them peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Each scar and bruise was a reminder of each thing the Joker had done to him. 

Each scar is an adventure, Batman’s voice resonated in his head. An image of Batman patching up young Robin’s bloody nose flicked through Jason’s mind.

Each scar is a reminder you were never there for me, Jason thought bitterly. Each scar is a reminder that I’ll never be free of him. I’ll always be tied to the Joker. And that’s what terrifies me the most. That’s what makes me hate you, Batman. 

“Okay, okay,” Y/n surrendered, holding her hands up. “I’ll leave. But I can’t let you go. It’s not safe yet.”

It was then that Jason drove his fist into the wall. Y/n made a little squeak of surprise and seemed to flinch. 

She quickly left and Jason didn’t have time to feel bad before he crumpled onto the bed in exhaustion, bits of plaster now on the floor and sheets.

~~~~

Time after time again, the Joker visited him. The Clown Prince of Crime had grown bored with the relentless torture. There had been new tactics — he had to keep it interesting, of course — but even waterboarding hadn’t quelled the ache that the Joker felt after the boy had grown used to the whipping of chains against his skin, leaving the boy bruised and internally bleeding.

So it was time to pull out all the stops. The Joker strolled into the makeshift dungeon. Robin didn’t even look up at this point. “You look grim,” the Joker stated, pouting theatrically, even though his audience was a despairing one. He strolled over to the table where he kept all his instruments. “Which one, which one?” the Joker sang, running his fingers over the knives, corkscrews, ropes, and other devices to land on a pitcher of water. 

Jason inhaled and exhaled slowly. The Joker poured a generous amount of water into a glass before lifting it to Jason’s lips and tilting it back. “There you go…” the Joker cooed, caressing Jason’s cheek. “Drink it all up like a good little boy.”

Jason’s chapped lips searched hungrily for the water, not caring what the Joker’s motive was. He was too thirsty to wonder.

It was only the first in a long line of drugs. 

“I don’t know what to do, Talia,” a lilting, frustrated voice came from the other room, stirring Jason awake. He was sure that whenever he heard Y/n’s voice, he would snap to attention, ready to throw himself to his knees and execute whatever she commanded. 

Woah. Where did that dedication come from? 

Even when Jason assumed the title of Robin, there was never such blind complaisantness to what Batman ordered. He would always have some street-kid spunk in him.

So why was he feeling so utterly protective over Y/n? It had to be the fact that she saved him from the hellhole the Joker had carefully curated and manipulated. Didn’t it?

Or was it something else?

“No, I’ve been trying to do all my work online, and it’s been working, but I can only go so long before I have to go into the office or go to lectures.” Y/n listened to her friend for a long minute on the phone and Jason strained to hear them. “No, but I feel responsible – that’s the wrong word – but protective of him.” There was a pattering of feet as if Y/n was pacing. “This is kinda a big deal. There are movies and books written about this connection and yet, mine is huddled in my room, sleeping off drugs and the evidence of torture!” Her voice cracked up at the end and Jason physically stood up. 

Bile rose up in his throat and Jason’s knees slammed to the ground, pain shooting up his bones and reverberating in his muscles. He cursed under his breath and pressed his head to the cool hardwood, trying to overcome his nausea.

Stars swirled in his vision and laughs echoed in his head. Jason mumbled words of encouragement to himself, but they were distorted and ugly. Like the Joker. Oh, how Jason dreaded the thought of becoming him. His forearms hit the floor and instead of the Joker’s words stabbing at his brain, it was a static frame of white noise, blocking out everything. Vision was the first thing to go, eyes squeezing out the late afternoon light. The second thing to leave Jason, as everything does, was time. Was it minutes or hours he sat on the floor before the door burst open? 

Words were muted and Jason nodded when Y/n asked if she could touch him. Warm palms encased his jawline, thumbs brushing along his cheeks. “He’s not here,” Y/n whispered. “I’m here. Robi- no, tell me your name. Please.”

“Jason. My name is Jason.” Somehow, Y/n had eroded away his concern and distrust, replacing it with ease and invulnerability. He would never have thought it possible in such a short time, even without his history with the Joker. 

Y/n exhaled a small laugh and a bright smile came to her face. Jason looked up at her, brain still buzzing. “What? What’s funny about that?” he managed to get out. 

“Oh, no no no,” Y/n was quick to reassure him. “I didn’t mean to laugh. That was rude of me. I’m sorry.” One of her hands guided down to rest on his back, rubbing soft circles. In his anxious stupor, Jason curled up in front of her, instinctively resting his head on her lap. If he could see her face, he would’ve seen Y/n’s eyebrows shoot up with hopefulness. However, he definitely heard her intake of breath. “It’s a very nice name.”

“How- how does your boyfriend feel about me staying here?” Jason finally asked after a minute of him slowing his breathing. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Y/n said, sounding amused. 

“But you have a soulmate timer,” Jason pointed out. 

Y/n tilted her head, curiously. She didn’t think he had noticed that. One of her hands moved to Jason’s hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead. She ran her fingers through the white stripe which she had come to find very attractive. Tension left the boy’s shoulders and he tucked his head into her lap. “Everyone does,” Y/n replied. “It doesn’t mean I’ve found my soulmate yet.”

“Have you?”

“Yes…”

“Oh.”

Jason laid in her lap for a long minute and eventually asked her, “is he nice to you?”

Y/n laughed lightly, sighing a bit before saying, “he’s still getting to know me. He’s a very reserved and tentative person and we only met a little while ago. However, he’s been opening up pretty quickly and I’m very proud of him.” Her fingers tapped against Jason’s hair, curling the strands around her fingers before lightly scratching at his scalp with her nails. She noticed how his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when she did that. Tucking that information away for later, Y/n added, “he’s gone through a lot in the past and I just want to make him feel safe.” 

Deep in his bones, Jason could almost feel her sadness and dedication. He wasn’t sure what magic had given him the power to be so in tune with this girl, but he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from him. Not even her soulmate. 

Turning the conversation away from something that would surely wound him if he pried any deeper, Jason declared quietly, “I’m going to install some deadbolts and locks on your front door and windows soon.”

“Pardon?” 

“It’s not safe for you to help me.” It never is for anyone. I’m a poison, infecting everyone I touch. “I want to make sure you’re safe before I leave.”

“Leave?” Y/n exclaimed, staring down at him. “No, you’re not ready to go yet.” A part of her was worried she was being selfish, wanting her soulmate as close to her as possible, but one look at the bandages she had just replaced the night before said otherwise. There was less blood than there had been days prior, but Jason was not in any condition to leave bed, much less leave the apartment. 

“You can’t keep housing me forever, Y/n,” Jason muttered. “And I’ll be damned if I’m the reason you get hurt.” His head was still in her lap, but he couldn’t meet her eye. It was imperative that he play with the seams in his shirt. 

Otherwise she might see him beginning to cry.

“Please leave,” he begged, voice breaking pitifully. Y/n couldn’t bring herself to argue, gently slipping out from her place underneath Jason and resting his head softly on the ground before closing the door behind her. 

The nightmares were worse that night. ~~~~

True to his word, Jason ventured out into the apartment the next day like a zoo animal inspecting its new habitat. He crouched his shoulders, bowing his head in an attempt to diminish his size. He still wasn’t used to being so large and accidentally bumped into the kitchen counter and a lamp. 

He was able to install the majority of the new locks and deadbolts until he slid the deadbolt of the front door closed. It whined and creaked beneath his fingers and his mind flashed back to when

Jason awoke slowly. A small groan left his lips, but he stayed still. It was a tactic he learned from Bruce – never let anyone know you were awake. He could categorise helpful information for later, such as possible escape routes, and it was quite possible that he was one movement away from death. He had to be careful. 

But this wasn’t Africa. This wasn’t where Jason was desperately searching for his mother when Batman ran into the warehouse, seconds before the Joker let loose a bomb. 

That’s all Jason could remember. 

Blood was sticking his hair to his head and Jason clutched his side. It ached from bruised or broken ribs that pressed to his skin. However long he had been unconscious, it had been quite a while. His body was already malnourished and crying out for medical care. 

Jason attempted to crawl to a standing position, but when his ankles and wrists caught against metal, restraining him, he knew something else was at play. 

The whine and creak of a deadbolt unlocking caused him to turn his head towards a door he hadn’t noticed. A man in a pinstripe suit stepped through, a long crowbar in hand. Jason didn’t need the upturned red lips to know who was there. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Robby,” the Joker coaxed as Jason stared up at him, pure terror gripping his veins. He had never been so close to the Joker without Bruce. Where was Bruce? Why wasn’t he here? The Joker squatted down to Jason’s level, running a gloved hand over the boy’s bloody hair. Jason flinched away, but it didn’t deter the Joker. “You and your Uncle Ace are going to have some real fun.” 

“Where is he?” Jason sobbed, scared when he didn’t feel the blood on his hair. Why wasn’t he bleeding? What was the Joker’s new game?

“Where is who?” An unfamiliar voice asked despairingly. 

“Bru— Batman,” Jason corrected himself in his stupor. “B-Batman.”

Y/n stuttered, “I don’t know Batman. I’m sorry.”

Jason groaned in pain before a hysterical laugh bubbled from him. He clutched his stomach, on all fours, eyes wide and clouding over with green. Must he always be connected to the Joker? If he could eradicate that damn colour, he would. His fingers ghosted over the place that the Joker threatened to brand him. 

“Maybe I’ll make it permanent on our five year anniversary,” the Joker hummed, knife gently poking into Jason’s cheek. The faded scar of last month’s ‘J’ was what prompted the Joker to re-carve it into the boy. Blood dribbled down Jason’s cheek, joining his salty tears. It didn’t hurt, the wound being surface level, but just the thought of more things tied to the Joker made him gasp for air, crying softly. 

“So you’ll always be reminded of who was the one to beat you. The Clown Prince of Crime!”

Y/n had barely noticed the ‘J’ until Jason dug his nail into his cheek, tracing the scar. The path was imprinted into his memory. 

The skin turned red at the irritation and Y/n caught Jason’s wrist the next time he moved up to trace it again. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

Jason muttered things under his breath at her, but he didn’t pull away from her hold. “He branded me,” he finally spit out. “And it’s only because you found me that he didn’t carve it into my skull,” he said sarcastically, malice in his voice. His eyes blazed a fervent green and he shook his head. “But at least I knew what was coming. At least I knew that a month had passed when he redrew his initials.”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue, but Jason spoke before she could. “I… I’m worried,” he began slowly. “I’m becoming more of the Joker than I am Batman. I was supposed to look up to Batman, but what if he and the Joker are one and the same? Both hurt me. One abandoned me and the other took that for granted.”

“He didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sure,” Y/n whispered. “No one would ever willingly abandon you.”

Jason grumbled out, groaning at her words. His lips twitched downwards and his biceps flexed. “No one? Everyone did!” he screamed out. “My parents, Batman, Alfred, Dick! Everyone abandoned me!”

Y/n ignored the last name Jason listed off, before murmuring, “I haven’t.”

“Not yet,” Jason whispered after a moment. “But you will.”

~~~~

A couple days later, Jason peeked out of Y/n’s room, one of her blankets in hand. “You deserve your room,” Jason mumbled when Y/n looked up from her book, astonished. 

“I– Jason, you need the most comfort,” Y/n said, gently closing her book. “I’m fine on the couch.”

“You need to get back to work soon,” he said, hugging the blanket close. “You said it yourself. I can’t be the reason that you’re putting your life on hold. You- you need to get back to normal.”

“You are my nor–” Y/n cut herself off before exhaling slowly. “Don’t worry about me,” she began. “I’ve slept on the couch many nights when I had papers to complete or binge-watched too many episodes of The Good Place.” 

Jason’s features softened slightly and he took a step forward. Y/n took the hint and scooted over on the couch, placing her book on the small coffee table she had. “What’re you reading?” he asked as Y/n turned on the television, opening up to the first episode of The Good Place. 

“The Great Gatsby, for one of my English classes,” Y/n said. 

“Really?” A smile slowly grew on Jason’s lips, something he hadn’t experienced in years. His muscles ached a bit from the disuse, but Jason was now addicted to the feeling. 

Y/n decided that she was now also addicted to the sight of Jason smiling. “Yeah. We’re covering the symbolism of water that spans throughout the book. In fact, in the first couple of pages, Fitzgerald references the White Star Line, which is a boat that sank on the same route as the Titanic. Gatsby, obviously, dies in the water, sinking, just as those boats did. Fitzgerald really is an excellent writer.”

Jason was pretty sure he was in love. Or maybe he still was on drugs. Whatever the feeling, it was nice and unexpected and new. 

“I do think you’ll like The Good Place,” Y/n continued. “I won’t spoil anything, but it has some pretty amazing underlying themes.”

“I’m sure,” Jason replied quietly, burrowing under the blanket. It didn’t quite manage to hide his large frame, but it managed to hide his quickening heart and blush that was slowly spreading. 

Just before the first episode started, Y/n quickly hurried to make some popcorn. She plunked the bowl in between the pair and then snatched some blanket away from Jason. “You run hot,” she explained when Jason shot her a bemused look. 

The Good Place was a wonderful show, as Jason soon learned, but what was more wonderful was when Y/n’s cheek pressed against his shoulder and her knees curled up and her eyes fluttered closed. When her breath slowed with sleep, subconsciously trusting him enough to be at her most vulnerable, that, Jason found out, was what was truly wonderful.

Bruce Wayne had never before seen a street rat more excited to see Batman, especially when that street kid was trying to steal from him. 

But what was particularly amusing was that the boy wasn’t particularly excited to see him, but more excited to show Batman his soulmate timer. 

“No! No, you don’t understand!” the boy cried ecstatically. “It just fast-forwarded! Meeting you means I get to meet my soulmate sooner!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, eagerly shoving his wrist towards Batman’s cowl, showing the vigilante his timer. 

“Yes, very… exciting,” Bruce hummed out, not sure whether to laugh or reprimanded him for trying to steal the Batmobile’s tires. 

The boy laughed, a big grin covering his small features. “I wonder what they’re like. Have you met yours yet, Batman?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows and a chuckle slipped through. “Yes, I have. It’s a wonderful thing.” 

As the child kept rambling about his soulmate, Bruce knew that he had just found the next Robin. 

~~~~

Y/n sat on the kitchen counter, legs crossed. She had a textbook in her lap and was mumbling out phrases for memorisation of an upcoming exam. A small smile couldn’t help but expand on Jason’s face as he listened to her mumbles. He paused from his work in the small kitchen, back muscles rippling as he reached for the marinara sauce. When he went to dump the pasta into the strainer, the pot clanged against the metal faucet. 

The Joker rattled his crowbar against Jason’s chains.

“Jay?” Y/n said softly, guiding him out of his memories before he could get too lost. “You can stop straining the pasta. All the water’s gone.” 

“What?” he choked out, turning his head so he could see her.

“The pasta.” Y/n shifted forward so her legs hung over the edge of the counter. “It’s okay. It’s been okay and it will continue to be okay. You- you can let go.” The euphemism wasn’t lost on Jason.

He let the pasta pan drop in the sink and faced Y/n, eyes shining with unshed tears. “No. That’s not what I meant.” Swallowing down the feeling, Jason continued, “what did you call me?”

“Jay,” Y/n whispered. 

The Joker paced around Jason after a few days without any torture. “It’s been too long, Robin,” he said, shaking his head. “I think it’s time to make you sing for your Uncle Jay.”

“Is that okay?” Y/n asked softly. 

Bruce shouted from the other room, “Jay! Come on! The gala’s starting soon.”

“Jason,” Y/n repeated. She reached out and touched his shoulder and the boy came to stand between her legs. Jason dropped his head on her shoulder, beginning to sob quietly. Immediately, Y/n brought her hand up to rest on his head and the other arm to curl around his back. “Don’t you dare,” she shook her head as Jason began mumbling his apologies. “It’s okay. I’m here.” 

And suddenly, everything was okay. Because Y/n was there. “Bruce called me Jay,” he murmured out. “An- and then he called himself Mr. Jay.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trigger-“

“No, it’s okay,” Jason looked at her, eyes shining with tears. “I like it when you do it. When you call me that.”

“You do?” Y/n asked, hands on either side of his face, cupping them closer and when her hands trailed to hold his neck and then one brushed back his hair oh this must be heaven, Jason thought, eyes fluttering shut. What he would give to live within her arms, always feeling safe and always feeling loved. She had that strange power over him and while Jason usually didn’t like people having power over him, he decided that when it came to Y/n, he didn’t mind. Not at all.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice lilting up with an infliction of infectious love. 

Jason stood there, comfortable in her arms and secretly hoping that Y/n would never have to go to work and would always just stay here. Where he could just keep… holding her and touching her and making sure she was safe because if Y/n wasn’t safe, Jason was pretty sure he would go on a rampage. If Y/n wasn’t safe, if Jason wasn’t holding her, then it was only because the Joker had found him and ripped him away from the only thing he had ever loved. 

And that would’ve been the cruellest method of torture. 

No amount of chains would hold him back. No amount of drugs would make him forget Y/n. And no amount of hate would make him forget the amount of love he felt when Y/n held him close and he could hear her heart beating steadily. In that moment, Jason could pretend her heart beat for him. 

He knew his heart beat for her. Then his mind flashed back to it all.

The boy’s muscles tensed, protesting against the Joker for the first time in weeks. He had been trying to keep the watch hidden for as long as possible, but he should’ve known it was futile.

Jason’s cracked lips parted and he forced a “no” from his parched throat. “Don’t.”

“Stop it.” Jason wiggled away from the Joker’s searing grip but nothing helped.

Jason let out a guttural scream as the Joker ground the glass into the dirt with his heel. 

“Oh, picky picky picky,” the Joker teased. “Sensitive, are we?”

“Lemme go! Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare!” His voice cracked and blood began to trickle down his arms as the chains rubbed against his irritated skin and broke the surface. But he would take the pain a thousand times over if it meant he could get to his watch. 

His soulmate. His love. It was all gone.

“Yes!” the Joker cried out, exclaiming loudly. His hands began to shake and a large grin spread on his maniacal face. “Yes! Emotion, Robby! This is what I want! Give me the fucking emotion! If I had known, I would’ve smashed that watch a long time ago.”

Jason lunges towards the Joker, face contorted with rage. “Don’t you fucking dare! Get- stay- no! No!” 

It was the most he had ever fought against the Joker. And the Joker adored it.

“You… you’re my…” Jason choked out, jaw tensing slightly as the dots began to connect.

He didn’t know when Y/n had begun to cry, but as tears streamed down her face and she nodded desperately, things seemed to all click into place. “It took you long enough,” she joked pathetically.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jason breathed out, his hands tightening on her thigh, a protective instinct washing over him. “Oh, no, no, no,” he shook his head and brought her head in his hands, brushing away the tears. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s not that,” Y/n’s voice cracked. “I’m not unhappy, not in the slightest—” Jason was so sure of their bond that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that she might reject him or not love him due to his past. “—but I just never thought that you would- that I would-” She hiccuped and Jason’s eyes darted across her face, wanting to somehow help, but so unsure of himself.

Slowly, Jason sank to his knees. Y/n still sat above him, on the counter, staring down, baffled. Her eyes were red from crying and her lips were parted, but she had never seemed more beautiful. “What- what are you doing?” she murmured. 

“I’m showing you how much you affect me,” he answered simply. “Quite literally, you saved my life, Y/n. And if that’s the only way you touched my life, I would consider myself the luckiest man on Earth. If no one has told you those words before, then everyone else is a fool. If you allow me to stay around and cherish the best thing that’s ever happened to me, gladly, I will.” Y/n slowly slipped off the counter, standing before him. “But that’s a lot of ‘ifs’. And I’m not willing to potentially lose you over some ‘ifs’. I know I’ve made you uncertain and I’ve wrecked your apartment and I’m so sorry,” he chuckled dryly. Jason’s hands were shaking as he slowly slid them up Y/n’s legs. She shivered under his touch, backing up until she hit the counter behind her. Jason lifted his hands from her, giving her a moment if she needed, but one look in her eyes led his hands right back to her body. “You’re like a drug,” he whispered, pressing his face to the side of her thigh. 

“Drugs are very very bad,” Y/n managed to get out. 

“I know.” A small smirk appeared on his lips. His lips suddenly looked very kissable. “The Joker taught me that. If I could go back and kill him, I’d do it in an instant, but… I’d also thank him. And I’d thank Batman. And Nightwing. And my mom. And everyone else in my life because they all led me to you.” Y/n’s knees buckled and Jason helped ease her down so she was sitting in front of him. He choked on his tears slightly before saying, “so many people believe in equality in the universe. So if all of that is true, then perhaps every bad thing that ever happened to me was just leading up to you. You… are so good that the universe needed to even it all out.”

Y/n began shaking her head vehemently. “Then let me damn the universe,” she whispered. “Because clearly, it’s been unfair. You were gifted to me, Jason. It’s not fair that you went through so much shit while I lived a fairly light life.”

“Maybe I’m not good enough…”

“Don’t you dare suggest that,” Y/n cut him off sharply. 

“Then perhaps I took the hardship you were supposed to endure,” Jason offered the explanation. Before Y/n could argue, Jason said, “and I’d do it again.”

Y/n laughed lightly, drying her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I don’t want you to go through that again.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need to,” Jason muttered, leaning forward slightly to nuzzle into Y/n’s neck. He slowly, as if testing the water, pressed a kiss to her skin. Feeling her inhale, Jason grinned and repeated the gesture, wondering if he would get the same reaction. He did. After a moment, he exhaled, his breath tickling Y/n. “I’m going to need time,” he muttered. “I’m not going to be the perfect soulmate you deserve right away.”

“I don’t expect you to be. You’re already perfect to me.”

“I’ll work on it,” Jason compromised. “I want to deserve you.”

“You do–”

“Y/n,” he pleaded desperately. “Let me do this for you. Let me be the best Jason Todd for you.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to back down, Y/n nodded after a minute. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll get through it all together.”

“Maybe we should seal the deal with a kiss.”

A bubbling laugh filled Jason’s ears and he couldn’t help the large grin that came over him. “Hmm,” Y/n conceded. “Alright.”

And so they did.

“Mom, why’re we here?” A small hand gripped onto her mother’s. 

“I signed us up for a soup kitchen,” her mom explained. “It’s coming to the holidays and we should be doing something good for others. Gotham isn’t always the nicest place to live and we’re fortunate enough that we can help when needed.”

“Hmm,” the girl conceded. “Alright.” She puzzled a bit over the thought that some people weren’t as fortunate as they were, before asking slowly, “do we need to help them any more than usual?”

“What do you mean, Y/n?” the mom asked, checking the street names as they passed. The girl frowned, her hair in small pigtails. “Well… Should we have brought clothes? Or blankets? How… How much do they need help?” She struggled to find the right words.

“No, they’re not homeless,” her mom said. “They just need a bit of help bringing food into the family, you know?”

“Okay,” Y/n accepted the answer easily. 

“Just, hold my hand, will you?” the mom said, even though her daughter was already clutching her hand. “This isn’t the safest part of town, though nothing bad will happen. The sun is out, so there’s nothing to be worried about.” 

Out of nowhere, a small boy barrelled out of an alleyway, shouting at some other boys that were running behind him. He crashed into Y/n, who’s mom scooped her up on instinct. “Oh, I’m sorry!” the boy cried out, head whipping from the two females back to the people chasing him. The boys behind him carefully came to a slow once they saw an adult with her daughter. “Uh, where are you two ladies going?” The boy asked, eyes darting back and forth between the groups. Ultimately, he decided that a stranger was more safe than those kids, simply because she was a mom.

“To the food kitchen,” Y/n supplied before her mom could shush her. 

“I can show you the way!” The boy jumped at the opportunity, beginning to walk backwards away from the group of bigger boys. Y/n’s mom looked between the malnourished boy who was silently begging with his eyes to the group who had a smearing of blood on their knuckles.

“Okay…” she decided. “Show us the way.”

The young boy jumped up and began striding away, beaming with the safety of an adult. Y/n’s mom set her down carefully, gripping her hand tighter than before. “Stay close by,” she demanded. Y/n nodded. 

The boy had dark hair that was cropped slightly at the sides with a tuft of it that fell over his eyes. His eyes were blue and he wore a red hoodie that fell just a bit too long over his jeans. “Wow,” he chirped as the trio got farther away from the alleyway. “Thanks. Let’s just say I’m not exactly on those guy’s good sides.” He kept rambling, Y/n’s mom shooting him cautious looks every once in a while, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What’s your name?” he asked Y/n, skipping over to walk by her side.

“Y/n,” the girl replied. “Y/n L/n.”

“That’s a nice name,” the boy grinned. “How old are you?”

“I’m five.”

“I’m seven!” The boy placed a haughty hand to his chest. “But my birthday’s tomorrow.”

Y/n’s mom hummed. “Oh. Are you excited to get your soulmate timer?”

“Yeah!” The boy beamed up at the woman, turning a corner. “Super excited. But this is the soup kitchen. You know, my mom should be stopping by soon. But thanks!” He began jogging off, waving goodbye. 

“Wait! What’s your name?” Y/n called after him. 

“Jason! Jason Todd.”

[peppermintquartz]

Hi! If you're still taking prompts: Buck/Tommy, "You're the love of my life"

As the sun paints the clouds of Los Angeles a garish orange and pink, Tommy sits next to Evan on their bench on the front porch. Neither of them speak.

It's late enough in the season that it gets a little chilly once the sun goes down - chilly for LA anyway - and Tommy holds out the extra hoodie he brought out with him earlier. Evan takes it with bad grace, but he takes it and puts it on, so Tommy counts that as a step taken in the right direction.

There isn't much traffic in this cul-de-sac. A red Toyota drives past, its LED headlights glaring. Then they hear the eerie calls of coyotes floating in the air.

"I'd still do it," Tommy finally says. "Knowing everything, I'd still go in there to look for him."

Evan snorts. "Of course."

"You'd have done it too."

"Maybe." Evan folds his arms more tightly over his chest. "But I would have had Eddie watching my back when I do so. Not charge in solo like an action hero in a, a movie or something."

Tommy grits his teeth and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "There wasn't time. I'd have thought that you of all people would understand... You used to-"

"Don't you dare accuse me of being reckless now," Evan bites out. "I learned my lesson. You know I have. You could've died. For a pet turtle."

"Evan." Tommy takes a deep breath, blows it out. It's the same old argument since he got home three hours ago, and he is sick of it. "Chandra said the structure was still stable. I assessed the scene as well, I knew I would be safe enough, and Gus was not that far from me either. No one expected the tree to fall and the roof to cave in, but we got out of the way quickly enough. I got the turtle, I got out. Can we please stop fighting?"

He reaches for the hem of Evan's hoodie and tugs it lightly.

Evan sniffs. "I'd have hated writing your eulogy. A goddamn turtle."

"The turtle's name was Mr Speedy, if that helps with the eulogy." Tommy smiles and then yelps when Evan punches him on the shoulder. "Ow!"

Though he is still pouting, Evan's expression softens slightly. "Mr Speedy. That's so stupid."

Tommy grabs his husband's hand. "I won't ask my crew to take a risk that I can't take myself. And I will always, always try my damndest best to come home to you. You're the love of my life, after all."

"Liar," Evan says with a small smile. "The love of your life is asleep in his bed right now."

"I'm not lying, I love you both equally," says Tommy, kissing the back of Evan's hand. He nibbles on a knuckle and adds, "Make-up sex for tired parents?"

"I'm not that tired," Evan murmurs, leaning in for a kiss.

[bidisasterevankinard]

It was just a joke in February. What if Buck dates Tommy. But it became more than a joke

I was so happy. I was so so enthusiastic, literally running around my house, because it was incredible. The kiss made me so so happy I never felt like it bc It was really beautiful

I was so sad after bad date, but then hopeful when Buck chose to call Tommy and ask about new chance. I was so in love when Tommy did everything to be here for Buck in 7x6. I was so so happy to see them in dress blues together. I laughed at the dinner scene

I had the best summer with my babies, talking about them, speculating, reading and writing fics. I saw so much incredible art. I met incredible people

I was so so lucky to see Buck happy in relationship where person sees his beauty and compliments him. I blushed with Buck when Tommy complemented him

I was absolutely delighted to see Buck being taken care of. No one ever did it like Tommy. And Tommy was here when Buck was himbo, when Buck was giving this beautiful eulogy to Billy. Tommy was there for Buck

Nothing led to the heartbreak I feel right now. They told me it would be different, they promised good episode. But I'm heartbroken, because for BuckTaylor break up I was ready, and actually I never enjoyed them so much

I fall in love, got so invested, and I was hit too hard

They could make the storyline with break up seems less as surprise. To let us prepare. But no. They ripped our hearts unexpectedly

Idk what happens next, I'm hopeful but Idk how long I can stay that way. Anything can happen and I don't want to really say good bye

I just want you all to know, I'm not in love with just a ship, I'm in love with community too and I hope we can support each other

On that, my love letter to bucktommy is done. I hope to let myself move on to see what happens next soon

[niobiumao3]

So, here's what X-Men 97 did that TBB did not, for its main character death. Obviously, huge X-Men 97 and TBB spoilers.

The death happens at a pivotal moment story wise, but is NOT immediately abandoned for other plot.

Remy (Gambit) dies towards the end of an episode which is in and of itself a real jaw-dropper, much like Plan 99. Out of nowhere a safe haven for mutants is being glassed, and Remy sacrifices himself to put a stop to it, because he's a little crazy but also well aware of what he's capable of and knows it might be their only chance to save SOME of these people who are his fellow mutants. The episode ends with his lover, Rogue--who's finally decided she agrees with Remy on things and is going to choose him and the X-Men over an alternative--holding his lifeless body in her arms.

Tech, on the other hand, dies 1/3 into an episode and vanishes from sight. Our POV character here, Omega, is injured and doesn't witness most of the ensuing escape, so when she wakes up, she demands they go back for him, crying, and we see Wrecker cry and Hunter explain he didn't make it.

...and then the episode keeps going. They're betrayed. A villain tosses Tech's broken goggles at Hunter and threatens them. Omega is captured, the remaining members of the Batch barely escape. For almost twenty minutes of runtime AFTER Tech dies, the story keeps going and has NOTHING to do with him dying (save the dig about the goggles). His death gets maybe, at most, 2 entire minutes of focus between Omega and Wrecker's reactions, Hunter's when Hemlock gives him the goggles, and Echo looking at the empty pilot's chair. That's it; for the bulk of the episode Tech's death has next to ZERO involvement in the story. It's not the climax. it's just A Thing Which Happened, and that massively devalues it from a narrative viewpoint. No one stops for more than a single breath to react to it, thus we as the audience don't.

(If anyone is winding up with 'that's because they can't due to the everything', this is why it's NOT GOOD WRITING. If you want the death to matter to your viewers/audience then you need to MAKE the time for it in your story, somehow. This isn't real life, you DO in fact control the horizontal and the vertical when making your plot.)

In X-Men 97, the death is the immediate focus of the next episode and a character's entire arc of the ensuing episodes. In TBB, it's a footnote.

In the following X-Men 97 episode, Remy has a funeral which Rogue doesn't attend, not because she doesn't care but because she's off raging against the machines, trying to find those responsible and kill them. There's a gorgeous eulogy for Remy, some thinking back on who he was and what he meant to them, a friend angry at Rogue for not being with them. It's so good. We cut to Rogue, absolutely furious with grief and looking to take it out on, well, everyone. She winds up putting herself into a coma as a result.

Literally nothing like this happens for Tech. Nothing close. There's a several month timeskip in S3 eps 1-3 which negates any immediate mourning or revelations to people who wouldn't know (Crosshair, Phee, Shep and Lyana), and we see NONE of Wrecker, Hunter, OR Echo's processing. Just what we saw in Plan 99, which again, is almost nothing. For a main character who as of S2 had the third most screen time of any character.

In X-Men 97, Remy keeps coming up as someone to remind them of what they're fighting for, what he would want for them. Tech is a skillset and a pair of goggles.

Remy is the first thing on Rogue's mind when she wakes up from her coma. She's instantly grieving him all over again, and mentions him numerous times throughout the remaining episodes as someone who wouldn't want this for them, or would have hoped for that. He's a guide for her even though he's gone. The rest of the characters reflect on him off and on--not his skills or abilities, but who he was, his nature. Remy's death completely changes Rogue's behaviors, almost 180 degrees, as well.

Tech is mentioned for what he could do, not what he liked or didn't like, how he felt about things, save for once: when Phee reveals he told her all about Crosshair. This is the only time someone talks about him like people talk about Remy in X-Men 97, and it happens twelve episodes after he died.

No one's actual narrative course changes trajectory in the case of Tech's death either. No one is shown making different decisions based on his loss (just the lack of his skills), no one is bringing him up as a rallying call for themselves, nothing. He is excised from the show in terms of his emotional, character impact. The loss is of someone who can decrypt things or knows stuff, not of a beloved sibling.

Remy's presence remains throughout the rest of X-Men 97, despite him dying in episode 5 of 10. Tech vanishes and becomes an occasional reason they have to do something the hard way and a background prop.

If you want to know how to actually write a main character death and have it MATTER and make it good story telling, watch X-Men 97.

[faulty-writes]

hi! do you think you could do a iida x f!reader where they’re the daughter of sir nighteye, and when he eventually dies they go after chisaki for revenge but iida talks them out of it, and uses his experience with stain to convince them.

sorry if this is too specific, i just really like ur writing, especially the iida ones!

[ Hello dear anon. Apologies that this took longer than anticipated. I ended up having to split this into two parts. So no worries, the second part will be published as soon as I am able. But I hope you enjoy this. I like the aspect of Sir Nighteye having a daughter and her having to deal with his passing. ]

He took EVERYTHING from you and left only an empty void where your heart once resided. It felt like a violent storm drowned you in a suffocating ocean of sadness after your father, Sir Nighteye, died. But this wasn’t as bad as the suffocating worry that your friends surrounded you with.

Since Toshinori had a personal history with your father, he tried to comfort you after this unfortunate event, but you chose to isolate yourself instead. Despite your father’s passing, you knew he would be disappointed that you distanced yourself from everyone, including the man he idolized.

If you got around to cleaning the countless All Might items, he had accumulated over the years, it would be a nightmare. It was bad enough that you had to attend and deliver a eulogy at his funeral. During your speech, you choked on your words and sobbed in front of everyone until Tenya, your closest friend, politely ended it.

After that, he guided you to a private location where you cried into his chest for what seemed like hours. It’s hard to recall if you thanked him for that, but the whole event was a blur. With time, the tragic feeling of sadness gradually changed into anger as you got used to living without your father.

Wait…no that’s not quite right. Anger wasn’t the right word to describe it. The bloodthirsty need for vengeance was more accurate. Yup. You may ask, against whom? Overhaul, otherwise known as Kai Chisaki, caused your father’s demise.

And in your vengeful mindset, you laid out a plan that would, hopefully, confront him and avenge your father’s death. Once you did, you believed it would honor his memory because it would rewrite how he died in vain.

It was evident that your dark cloud of thought followed you to school the following morning, since your classmates’ raised eyebrows, and looked shocked, or just plain concerned when they saw you or passed you in the hallway.

“Ribbit, I know Y/n is still upset over what happened. But she hasn’t talked to anyone about it since,” Tsuyu said, and Eijirou nodded. “Yeah,” he replied, crossing his arms. “I’m worried about her. She’s giving off an aura scarier than Bakugou right now,” the angry blond growled.

“What the hell did you just say!?” He demanded, rising from his seat before grabbing Eijirou by the front of his uniform. Tsuyu ignored them, while Tenya tried to get their attention. “I insist you refrain from engaging in physical aggravation during class hours!” He snapped, chopping his hand through the air.

“Class hasn’t even started yet, damn four-eyes!” Katsuki snapped in response, making Tenya sigh. He believed that Katsuki was certainly rude, and it was unlikely that he’d ever gain the patience to practice proper social manners.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his frustration when Tsuyu spoke again. “Maybe you should talk to her Iida,” she suggested. “You’re her closest friend, right?” Her question was followed by a look of curiosity, and he returned that curious expression while clasping his chin, contemplating.

“I suppose that is correct,” he replied before looking your way. You were slumped over at your desk with your arms resting against its surface. “I am afraid that while I have been attempting to provide comfort for Y/n over the weeks since the death of her father, I have been rather unsuccessful.” He hated admitting that.

“I assumed that she required space and time so as to not further aggravate her emotional state,” he explained before taking a deep breath. “But perhaps a direct approach is needed,” he looked at Tsuyu and walked past Katsuki and Eijirou who paused and observed where he was heading.

“He’s going to talk to Y/n?” Eijirou asked, looking at Tsuyu and Katsuki huffed before dropping his hands to his sides. “Just what the hell does four-eyes think he’ll accomplish by doing that?” he questioned, crossing his arms as he continued to watch.

As Tenya approached, he noticed you mumbling to yourself. Your words, however, were indistinguishable. He stood there for a moment, curious if you noticed him. However, you seemed rather oblivious, so he cleared his throat, hoping to catch your attention.

This didn’t work. “Very well,” he stated, “pardon my reach.” He laid his hand on your shoulder and proceeded to shake you. “Hm?!” Your eyes widened, and your muttering stopped. You clenched your jaw, and turned your head, prepared to snap at whoever was disturbing your not murderous and vengeful thoughts about Chisaki.

However, you latched onto your lip when you saw who it was. “Oh,” a small wave of panic washed over you. Had he heard what you were muttering? If that was the case, you needed to play it cool or dumb. However, it wasn’t easy to fool Tenya, especially since his incident with Mei at the Sports Festival.

You glanced away while rubbing your neck. Here goes nothing. “Oh hey, Iida,” you replied, ignoring how your stomach churned and twisted into knots. As a hero student, you hated feeling nervous, although, given the negative emotions you had been experiencing lately, this feeling was more than welcome.

You frowned and focused on Tenya again. It was scary, in a way, to think that he probably knew more about how you felt than anyone else. Yes, you pushed everyone who attempted to comfort you away and although your actions were justified due to the recent tragedy that occurred, Tenya was persistent.

It was a wonder what he’d think if you told him that the tiny voice of reason in your head seemed to vanish whenever your thoughts switched to Chisaki, and hatred engulfed your heart. He narrowed his eyes, gazing at you with concern.

“Are you…well?” He asked. “Well?” You repeated, your eyes glossing over and your gaze turning toward the front of the classroom. “Yes…I am well,” you replied, but your voice lacked emotion, and that alarmed him even more.

He had been rather concerned about your well-being and state of mind after your father’s death. When Tensei was greatly injured, he experienced such emotional turmoil that he almost lost his sense of heroism and logic.

He would hate to see you go down the same path, even though you claimed to be fine. Yet, when you turned to look at him, he noticed something in your eyes, and it made his stomach turn. He swallowed heavily but decided to address it later.

“I see,” he took a step back and pressed a hand against his chest. “Are you…certain you are feeling well?” He questioned, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He did not want to believe that you would lie to him. However, he also knew there was a chance that you didn’t even know how you were feeling now.

Emotions were quite hard to explain at times and traumatic events tended to cause one to feel “numb” and as such, a lack of emotion followed, and made it difficult for one to truly grasp just how they felt. He supposed you were also going through the various stages of grief, which too was understandable.

Your whole life changed overnight, and yet the world continued to turn. Forcing you to abide by its rules when all you desired was a break, a mere moment to recollect yourself. Yet, this did not happen. He knew how frustrating that was.

Perhaps that is why his words were of no use to you now and he was better suited to continue to play the role of support. That was quite efficient in most cases because it allowed the individual the space they so required while at the same time, knowing that there was someone there to reach out to when needed.

“Yes,” you replied. Once again, your voice was barely audible. It was almost as though someone was pulling a string and speaking for you. A single recorded phrase that meant nothing and although he did not like it, he had to accept it. At least for the moment.

He nodded. “Very well, I am certain you already know that I will always be present if you require any assistance or perhaps…someone to lend an ear and discuss the ailments you are experiencing,” he stated, chopping his hand rhythmically through the air.

“Yes,” you replied, staring blankly at the front of the classroom again. He curled his lips and shook his head in uncertainty. Nevertheless, he turned around and walked back to Tsuyu and Eijirou, who were now joined by Shoto and Izuku.

“H-hey Iida,” Izuku greeted cheerfully. “Hello,” he replied, grasping his chin, and tapping it with his finger. Tenya ignored how they exchanged glances and the silence that filled the air was broken when Eijirou snapped, “Well!?” Izuku was startled by his outburst while Shoto raised his eyebrow.

Tenya glanced at him. “What happened with Y/n!? Is she okay?!” He urged, and Shoto turned to Izuku. “Y/n?” he questioned, and Izuku shrugged, uncertain of the conversation taking place. Tsuyu walked over and laid her hand on Eijirou’s back, making him recoil before looking at her from over his shoulder.

“Oh heh, sorry,” he replied. He got emotional and sometimes let it go to his head. “We’re all concerned about Y/n,” she explained, glancing at Izuku and Shoto. “It’s going to be a while before she’s okay again. I know she must miss Sir Nighteye.” All of them did.

“Ribbit, but I’ve noticed something off-putting about Y/n lately too,” something that wasn’t sadness nor anger, but an entirely different emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Hm,” she tapped her lips before looking at Tenya.

“Actually…” she said. Maybe she could describe the emotion she saw in you after all. “The way she’s acting reminds me of Iida,” she commented. “Pardon?” Tenya replied, perhaps the most confused among his friends. “Don’t you remember, Iida?” she asked. “After your brother was injured,” she clarified.  

Izuku frowned. “Y-yeah, I remember that T-Todoroki-kun and I w-went after you,” or rather it was a matter of lucky circumstance that they happened to be in the same area as Tenya at the time. “We…defeated The H-Hero Killer together…” he continued, “and a-after…Iida admitted that…” His hands curled into fists.

He had a hard time remembering the emotional impact of that day. Shoto, noticing his friend’s distressed state, placed a hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t much for physical affection, but since making friends at Yuuei, he learned how to provide comfort.

Izuku turned to him, but Shoto’s eyes shifted to Tenya. “Iida went after Stain like a fool,” he said, never one to sugarcoat anything. Although he seemed unaware of the awkward tension he had created. “You let your anger cloud your judgment…I let it cloud my judgment too,” he admitted.

Thinking back to how he used to be, so angry and closed off to the world. He was truly thankful to his friends for helping him escape his shell. Eijirou’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened as if he had seen the most horrific sight. “Wait…” He paused, making sure he understood everything.

“Are you suggesting that Y/n might…” he shuttered to think about it, but nobody expected someone as rational as Tenya to do what he did either. All eyes turned to him, and quite frankly, he was at a loss for words. “Well, I…” he straightened his posture and pushed his glasses up, looking in your direction perplexed.

“I am not certain…” although given your insistence that you were fine, you may still be in denial about what happened or hiding your true emotions just as he did. “Talking to her hadn’t helped provide you with a clue?” Shoto asked, now making everyone look at him.

Eijirou chuckled and laid his hand on Shoto’s shoulder. This made him tremble in response and look at the redhead as if he insulted his ancestry. “I think you’re being too blunt,” he stated, making Shoto knit his eyebrows. “Blunt?” He repeated but Tsuyu spoke up. “Todoroki-kun makes a good point,” she said.

“Then again, nobody knew what Iida wanted to do until it was too late,” she tapped her chin a few times, letting her eyes linger on you. “Maybe we need to observe her,” she suggested, making Eijirou raise his eyebrow. “Observe her? What do you mean, like keep an eye on her?” she nodded.

“What do you think Iida?” She asked, noticing he was frowning. “I am not certain that is the best strategy as it may invade the barriers of privacy,” he stated, chopping his hand lightly through the air. “However, perhaps that is the only option we have left…” he concluded.

“S-so how can w-we do it?” Izuku peeped up. Eijirou grinned. “Yeah! We have to be stealthy, right?” He asked, turning to Shoto who wore a blank expression as he thought. “I don’t think we need to spy,” he said a minute later. “Just keep an eye on her like Tsuyu suggested,” he noted.

“It doesn’t mean we need to watch her all the time. We just need to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or wander somewhere alone,” he clarified. “Oh, okay,” Eijirou said. “So, give her space but talk to her when we think she’s doing something suspicious?” In a way, it still seemed dishonest.

“Perhaps that is best,” Tenya said, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but wonder if, like him, there was a chance you’d wander off when you suspected no one was watching you. Regardless, it was his job along with your mutual friends to prevent you from walking down a dark path from which there was no return.

“All right, everyone in your seats,” Shota stated as he walked through the door. “Yes sir!” Tenya immediately said, scrambling to get to his seat just as his friends did. While he normally paid attention in class, he found his gaze drifting to you.

You looked intensely focused on your thoughts instead of the lesson Mr. Aizawa was currently teaching. He might be pleased to know he was right. Within your mind, you devised several plans to confront Chisaki. These were the ideas you scribbled down in your notebook.

You assumed that nobody would look at it especially given your unique situation. Yuuei insisted you have sessions with the lifestyle guidance counselor, Ryo Inui also known as the Hunting Dog Hero: Hound Dog. Usually, these sessions are one hour long on selected days of the week. Today was one of those days.

As to not disturb your afternoon hero training too much, the sessions took place during lunch. Ryo usually kept quiet, to your surprise, during the first 25 minutes of the session to give you time to eat. The remaining time was used to talk about how you were feeling, and how you were dealing with the loss of your father.

But you told him what you told everyone else: that you were fine. Of course, he didn’t buy that. “One day you’ll have to face how you feel!” He growled at you. Oh, if only he knew what you were about to do. “If you can’t handle that, come to us!” You hated it when he gave this speech, even if he had a valid point to make.

“You rely on us heroes to protect you even from yourselves!” You knew he meant well but letting someone else handle your demons just seemed wrong. Although that could be your stubborn and determined attitude speaking. Your father taught you how to be cold and calculated in a sense, and to do nothing short of your best.

Yet maybe that played into your naive plan regarding what you wished to do to Chisaki. Nevertheless, the session ended without you learning or improving. Your rushed footsteps echoed down the hallway as you exited your classroom and headed to Gym Gamma.

You had some regret not taking your hero costume with you to your session with Ryo, but it didn’t matter now. You carried it with one hand while your other was wrapped around the strap of your backpack which hung off your shoulder. As you turned the hallway corner, you stumbled back and fell to the floor with a thud.

The suitcase containing your hero costume flew and bounced on the floor a few times. It then hit the opposite wall near an empty classroom. Your backpack contents spilled out, littering the floor. You sat up, hissing softly.

“Ouch…” you muttered before someone stepped in front of you. “Apologies,” when you looked up, Tenya stared back at you. He was dressed in his hero suit, apart from the helmet that normally concealed his face.

“Hm?” When he realized he had run into you, he leaned onto one knee and glanced at you from head to toe. “Are you injured? Forgive me, I was not anticipating someone coming around the corner at the accelerated speed you were going,” he explained.

“Yeah well…” You glanced away, irritated. “I’m not injured…” you muttered. “Then may I assist you in gathering your things?” He asked, referring to the contents of your backpack. You sighed and slowly sat on your knees.

“Yeah, I guess,” you replied, picking up the first few items within reach. Tenya walked around and picked up one of the textbooks. He handed it to you before grabbing the notebook you were writing in earlier that morning.

After placing the textbook in your backpack, you grabbed said notebook. However, it slipped between your fingers when Tenya handed it to you and landed on the floor again. Your vengeful ideas were scribbled across its pages and were now laid open for the world to see.

You cursed yourself for hesitating because that allowed Tenya to pick up the notebook and curiously look at what you had written down. Your heart pounded and you could only helplessly watch his eyebrows knit together.

“Pardon but-” You jumped to your feet and snatched it from him. He looked shocked by your behavior. “W-what are you even doing here!?” You demanded, clenching the notebook to your chest, and glaring at him. He blinked a few times, and you noticed a suspicious look in his eye.

“I…was merely assisting an injured classmate to Recovery Girl,” he replied. You huffed “Good for you,” in response before frantically picking up the rest of your things. You shoved them into your backpack and grabbed the metal suitcase containing your hero suit.

“Y/n?” Tenya asked, watching the spectacle with serious concern. However, he remained silent as you raced down the hallway. This was despite his urge to exclaim that running in hallways was prohibited. Little did he know your cheeks burned red.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ Out of all the things he could have seen. Well, maybe you could just…make some excuse if he asked about them. Something along the lines of getting your emotions out on paper. Yeah, that sounded fine. Writing was a form of coping, right?

Although you weren’t certain how much of that Tenya would buy, the way he looked at you the rest of the day only indicated that his suspicions were high. You tried to ignore it to the best of your ability and avoided him when you could.

You knew that might come back to bite you, but you didn’t care because there were more important things to do. Like conducting research regarding Chisaki’s whereabouts. Luckily, it was easy to fool Principal Nezu and the rest of your teachers.

Simply, you told them that you needed time for yourself and felt overwhelmed by your emotions. You couldn’t be disturbed while doing research. Although you felt some remorse for using your father’s death as an excuse to do your vengeful research, it would be worth it.

They granted you a week off without consequence. The only condition was that you had to stay within Yuuei student housing grounds and continue your regularly scheduled sessions with Hound Dog. A small price to pay, not that you were going anywhere, not yet at least.

Although the student dorm was a bit eerie during the day because of the dead silence with the occasional creaks and cracks of the building settling, you tried not to let this disturb you as you started your week-long research. Of course, your friends were concerned when they noticed you were absent from class.

In addition, you rarely left your room during the evening. However, none were more concerned than Tenya. Frankly, he couldn’t help but think back to the strange writing you had in your notebook. It wasn’t that hard to figure out that those writings and your current behavior were connected.

“A-are you sure about this I-Iida?” Izuku asked. “Yeah, I mean she could just be trying to express herself. Nothing’s more manly than taking control of your emotions!” Eijirou declared with a smile while Tsuyu thought quietly.

“I’m most certain the writing within her notebook was not merely a method to cope with her emotions,” he replied sternly. “Are you sure?” Eijirou asked before Tsuyu spoke up. “Ribbit, well if Iida is right then Y/n needs our help,” she concluded.

“Well, if there’s something wrong and she’s going to go through with what she wrote, I agree,” Eijirou said. Izuku clenched his jaw, his features twisted with uncertainty. “B-but we…we can’t just f-force help onto h-her…” he stated before glancing away, trying to devise a reasonable solution in his head.

“W-what if they try to…l-leave? They haven’t even b-been in class lately a-and…” he frowned. He hated thinking you would do something sneaky like him, Shoto, Tenya, Eijirou, and Momo had when The League kidnapped Katsuki.

Leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone and running around the city in disguises wasn’t the nicest or smartest thing they could have done. Not to mention how they neglected Tsuyu’s feelings on the matter. However, at least they patched things up and Eijirou and her were closer than ever.

All eyes seemed to linger on the ground. More than likely, they were all thinking the same thing Izuku was. “Maybe…we can ask Yaoyorozu for help?” Tsuyu suggested, naturally catching everyone’s attention. “May I ask you to elaborate on your suggestion?” Tenya replied, and Eijirou nodded.

“Yeah, why ask Yaoyorozu for help?” he asked. “I’m sure she can figure out a way to keep track of Y/n without us interfering,” she explained. “Huh…” Eijirou thought about her words, glancing at Izuku who seemed concerned about the idea of asking Momo for help while Tenya sighed.

“Perhaps it would be beneficial to use alternative methods to ensure we don’t worsen Y/n’s already fragile condition,” he said before looking at Tsuyu. “Do you believe Momo could provide such a solution?” Tsuyu smiled, the tip of her tongue sticking out from between her lips.

She nodded in response to Tenya’s question and with some hesitance, the four of them sought her out. “I’m honored that you’d ask for my help,” Yaoyorozu said, placing a hand on her chest. “But I don’t know what I can do,” she said, tapping her lips a few times.

“Y/n is entitled to a little privacy and time alone to sort out her feelings. I can’t imagine what she’s going through,” she said with a frown. “That’s exactly why we need your help!” Eijirou exclaimed, curling his hands into fists.

Yaoyorozu looked at him, her eyebrow raised. “Come on, there must be something you can do,” he said while Tsuyu laid a comforting hand on his back. “Iida is mostly concerned about what he found in Y/n’s notebook,” she explained. “Her notebook?” She asked, looking at Tenya perplexed.

“I’m not certain if the writings found in her notebook were a coping mechanism that assisted her in organizing her complex array of emotions or perhaps…plans she wishes to enact,” he explained. Silence lingered in the air shortly after. Eijirou looked at Izuku before walking toward Yaoyorozu.

“Whatever it is, Iida is right to be concerned. We all are!” He stated, determination shining in his eyes before grabbing Yaoyorozu’s hands. She looked shocked by this action, almost as if it were foreign. He leaned forward, locking eyes with her.

“He’s doing the right thing by bringing this to our attention. Even if Y/n doesn’t want our help, we need to prevent her from making a big mistake,” he said, tightening his grip on her hands. “So please,” he brought her hands against his chest where his heart pounded erratically.

“Will you help us?” He asked. “Mm…” she glanced away, thinking for a moment. “Alright,” she said, standing up. “I think I have a solution,” extending her arm, it glowed a faint blue hue before several oval-shaped devices fell onto the floor, each one clinking as they piled on top of one another.

“Huh?” Eijirou looked at the devices, clearly confused about what they were while Tenya picked one up, examining it closely. “These are motion devices,” Yaoyorozu explained before a larger, more rectangular device manifested from her arm. She quickly grasped it before it hit the floor.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to Tenya. He looked perplexed but took it, nonetheless. She smiled proudly and placed a hand on her hip. “That will alert you when the motion sensors are set off, but it may be impossible to tell what sets them off,” she explained.

“Still, I know it will help with your request,” Tenya enclosed his hand around the device. “Thank you very much for your assistance. I am most certain this will help indeed,” he replied, smiling at Yaoyorozu. She returned it and looked at Eijirou, Tsuyu, and Izuku.

“I believe we should find appropriate locations for these motion devices,” Tenya said, kneeling to gather them in his hand. “R-right!” Izuku replied, helping him pick them up while Eijirou laid his hand on Yaoyorozu’s shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks! We owe you one!” He grinned like a madman showing off his pointy-shark-like teeth and while that may unsettle some, she nodded. “Glad I could help,” she said, “especially if Y/n needs it.” A frown came to her face. “I hope they’re alright.” It was evident she was just as worried as everyone else.

Following this, Tenya carefully considered the proper locations for the motion devices. He believed the most beneficial locations were the front steps of the Class A dormitory, the entrance to the nearby forest, and along the road to Yuuei High. Yes, these particular spots would also be triggered throughout the day.

However, there was more likelihood that, if by chance you would leave, you’d do it at night. The days following were some of Tenya’s most emotionally heightened. He was constantly on edge, waiting for something to happen.

When night came, he always woke up to the sound of the motion devices going off. However, every time he hurried outside, he found that something else triggered it. Like an animal curiously passing by in the dead of night.

While his friends lost hope or doubted that the writings Tenya described in your notebook were malicious, something told him that was not the case. Perhaps one could call it intuition, but he could not accept that those writings were merely emotional expressions.

He believed they were motives. Plans you wished to take into action, and he would not rest until he caught you in the act or prevented you from doing it. So, he continued to wait, and the following night, he was jolted out of his sleep when the device went off as it had done many times before.

He hitched his breath, immediately grabbing his glasses. Despite being in his sleepwear, he slipped on a light jacket, put on his jogging shoes, and left his sleeping cap on his bed. The last thing he grabbed was the device that had jolted him awake and went to your room.

He noticed that your door was left ajar. “Mm…” Despite respecting the inner sanctum of another’s living space, he placed his hand on the doorframe and peered into your room. Even with the lights shut off, he noticed that your bed was undone, and you were nowhere to be found.

He also noticed that the dresser drawers were open, almost as if you rushed to gather clothing before disappearing. His grip tightened on the doorframe, his nails digging into it briefly before he ran down the hallway. He knew his frantic steps might alert his classmates and wake them from their sleep.

However, he did not care, there was a more pressing matter at hand. This was, of course, finding you and possibly stopping whatever horrific act you wished to commit. He had to find you before it was too late. He had to save you.

He pushed past the front door of the student dorm and hurried down the stairs as the cool night air evaporated his breath. He looked back and forth along the road that surrounded the student campus, and his heart sank when he realized you were nowhere in sight.

Silence fell over him, accompanied by the cries of owls and the chirping of insects in the distance. Then he extended one leg out in front of him, bending it at the knee and extending the opposite leg behind him. His calves shifted and six small engines appeared that sparked to life with a loud rumble.

A deafening silence fell over the world around him as his eyes focused forward. He was about to take off to search the surrounding areas where he had placed the motion devices as he had done countless times before. The only difference was that he was certain you had left the premises this time.

While it could have been easy enough to assume you had merely woken up in the middle of the night to have a snack or use the restroom, it appeared you had taken provisions. This was enough to convince him you were out here.

His engines backfired temporarily when a hand grabbed his shoulder, surprising him and breaking his concentration. “Wow, heh, sorry Iida,” Eijirou said, flashing him a smile. “We were wondering if you’d be out here,” Tsuyu chimed in, coming to stand next to Eijirou. Tenya knit his eyebrows.

“Well, heh,” Eijirou rubbed the back of his head, “you kind of woke everyone up with your rushed footsteps…and Izuku wanted to know what happened,” he explained, nervously. Tsuyu nodded. “When he noticed you weren’t in your room, he searched the dorm, ribbit.”

She then shrugged. “I figured you’d gone after Y/n or something else that triggered the motion sensors,” she explained, pressing one finger to her chin. “Yeah, but we didn’t want you to search alone anymore or go after Y/n by yourself, considering how determined you can get sometimes,” Eijirou said before looking around.

“I was just preparing to track her down,” Tenya explained, almost sounding irritated that he had been interrupted despite knowing his friends meant well. “We’ll help then!” He declared and ignored Tenya’s raised eyebrow.

“I am not certain that is the most beneficial-” Eijirou grabbed onto his shoulders, shaking him. “Which way do you want us to go?!” He asked frantically, and yet again Tenya looked at him with a raised eyebrow before a sigh passed his lips. He felt annoyed but knew that, perhaps, the more help he got the better.

Then again, this was a delicate situation and if more than one person approached you, there was a chance you’d become hostile. That is why he needed to ensure that he found you first. But regardless, he nodded. “Very well,” he said, clasping his chin in thought.

“Perhaps Tsuyu can provide assistance in searching behind the campus. I will search the area up ahead,” he stated, motioning with his hand. “Right, I’ll go this way!” Eijirou exclaimed before running in the opposite direction. In Tenya’s mind, he wondered if they’d get in trouble.

The teachers keep a close eye on the student housing, but surely, they’d understand this situation if Tenya explained it to them. “Good luck on your search Iida,” Tsuyu said before hopping off the ground at a great distance. He watched her soar through the air and turned to see Eijirou looking back and forth a long way down the path.

He trusted that they would do the right thing if they happened upon you but now wasn’t the time to sit and contemplate that. Once again, he got into position, and without delay he was gone in a flash, leaving nothing but lingering gray smoke behind.

The world blurred around him as he sped by, yet it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. The piercing wind against his body felt like a thousand tiny cuts across his exposed flesh, but he didn’t care. Like a true hero, the only thing he focused on in this moment was you.

Near the wooded area, opposite the student dormitory, he slowed his pace and leaned over. Placing his hands on his knees, he panted softly and wiped the sweat from his face. His chest felt heavy, and perhaps that was the weight of responsibility he felt.

He needed to find you, but how? There were endless possibilities as to which direction and path you had taken. Even with his friends searching the area, what was the likelihood that they’d find you before the sun rose? His soft panting continued, and the cool air around him made his moistened skin sting.

The feeling of doubt was beginning to linger in the back of his mind when he felt something vibrate in his pocket. “Hm,” he paused and leaned up before pulling out the device. He looked at it perplexed as it continued to vibrate in his hand.

He pondered for a moment if this was merely another false alarm and that an animal had triggered one of the many motion sensors that were scattered about the area. However, as he lifted his head and glanced into the distance, he noted the trees that made up the nearby forest.

He couldn’t recall at this moment if he had placed a motion sensor in the location he was currently in, but perhaps this was a sign. He swallowed thickly and placed the device back into his pocket before his engines reeved again and he took off for the forest.

The ground underneath him seemed to change in density, its surface turning thicker and more slippery. Perhaps that was due to the mud that accumulated in the area, and he had to slow his pace the closer he got to the entrance of the forest to not slip and fall. He would despise being covered in mud.

Taking a deep breath, he ignored the pounding of his heart in his chest as he cautiously walked up to the first set of trees and noticed a small square device resting against the base of one of the said trees. When he got closer, the device in his pocket vibrated once more.

“Hm,” he clasped his chin and looked at the ground. Although it was dark, the moon allowed him just enough light to be able to make out footprints that led into the forest. “Mm,” he frowned and slowly kneeled to examine them closer.

It was impossible to tell if these were your footprints or perhaps someone else’s, but either way time was ticking away, and seconds were precious now. It was evident that there was a chance you had deviated from the path and instead, took refuge in the forest.

If that were true, then not only were you in danger of getting lost but potential animals could cause harm to you as well. Regardless, if there was a sliver of a chance that you had attempted to hide yourself in the greenery, he needed to take it.

With that in mind, he headed to the forest. He cautiously glanced around and despite the darkened sky looming above him, the small amount of light provided by the moon helped outline the trees and the path that nestled between them.

[ Part II ]

[stealingyourbones]

Hey Bones, I saw your thing about a Bat family member becoming a ghost and it reminded me of a very heart breaking au a friend and I came up with a while back that I don't remember if I submitted or not. Either way, be prepared to have your heart broken.

Tim is dead. He's been dead for a while actually. But No one seems to have noticed. He looks and feels just as solid as he did before he died, even if he's got a lower body temperature and doesn't seem to get hurt on patrol beyond bumps and bruises. Never anything that would land him in med Bay, never anything that would make his family check on him.

No one has noticed the way he doesn't eat anymore, or the fact he doesn't sleep. He's extended his patrol hours and cut back on time at Wayne Enterprises. He's pretty sure not even Alfred noticed. He knows the Kryptonians aren't worried about him not having a heart beat and they have no reason to tell anyone. They know he has a special device that can hide him from their senses and tests it on Kon a lot to make him focus on spacial awareness beyond his hearing. He used it a lot before he died. They just think he hasn't turned it off in a while.

Tim remembers how he died. Not fully, but there are pieces. He remembers he was fighting someone on a bridge and he didn't call for back up because he thought he could handle it. He doesn't remember who he thought he could handle. He remembers something stinging his arm. A bug? No a bug couldn't bite through Kevlar, it was a needle. Then everything started going dark and he was stumbling back. His back hit something hard and he tiped over it. He thought he could land on the other side. He remembers wondering why his suit felt so damp and heavy as the world went black around him.

Tim's body is still at the bottom of the bay where it will likely stay forever with so, so many other bodies. It makes Tim wonder, why him? Why not everyone else who ended up down there? Why not everyone who has died in Gothem? Did he come back like Jason did, is it something to do with being a vigilante? Tim checks his own pulse again while he's alone. Yep. Still dead. He continues on his patrol and tries to shove those thoughts away.

So what if Tim's dead? He's still here and he still has work to do. His family is full of detectives. If they can't figure out that something as important as death has happened to one of their own? Well then Tim thinks they need to pay more attention. He ignores the pain that curls in the back of his mind at that thought.

It's been 6 months. Why hasn't anyone noticed? Tim can't help but wonder if they ever will.

Howdy its me @bonebrokebuddy answering. I'm Twone's (twin bones) twin who is helping answer asks because this fucker has like, over 100 of them in her ask box and I help her with making prompt ideas frequently so she trusts me to not horribly fuck up her account.

This is my first answer for her I've written because I had my screen on low brightness and on darkmode, so your profile jump scared the shit out of me when I scrolled past it. Therefore im answering this one first.

Anywho, from my chronic inability to write angst here goes: Tim died, came back and none of the Bats seemed to care. So what? It's not like his best friends hadn't done the same thing. And he was tired and sick of the Bats thinking his entire life revolved around them.

So he packed up his bags and headed to Kansas.

The Bats might not be worried but neither was Kon or Bart. They're actually thrilled after getting over their initial grief that Tim now has also personally experienced death and came back. The funeral was a rather small, breif, and quiet afar. Kon made sure to help locate Tim's corpse and Bart helped with the eulogy (surprisingly heartfelt and moved them all to tears.)

Sure, they're sad that Tim died but he's right in front of them, it's a little more difficult to morn when you've been laughing at said dead guy who got stuck halfway through phasing out of the wall. And now Tim can keep track with them!

Kon is a little pissed that Tim can now go intangible and escape his TTK so he can't take away Tim's coffee anymore. But it's kinda worth it. The first time he took Rob on his favorite flight path, he's never wanted anything else than to hear Tim's breathless laugh and see his frighteningly perfect smile again. They now often go on flights together, high above the clouds with no-one else but them for thousands of miles around. (it almost felt like a date)

Bart knew this would happen one day. He was from the future, of course he knew that Tim Drake, formerly Red Robin, died at age 19 and changed his alias to The Grey Ghost. It doesn't mean that Bart doesn't morn the passing of his friend. Tim means a lot to him and the brief guilt that he did not stop Tim's death also quickly passes. He can finally show Tim that hiding space in the walls that no one else can get to without phasing through the wall! One other thing. Bart is unsure if Kon has noticed yet, which he knows Kon isn't the most observant of the old young justice crew but he has to have noticed it by now. Ever since Tim left Gotham he's developed an insane appetite despite claiming that he didn't need to eat while in Gotham and also being dead so why does he need to eat? (Unknown to Bart, Kansas doesn't have as much ambient ectoplasm as Gotham and Tim is starting to experience the withdraw symptoms. If the trio don't realize how to fix Tim's worsening symptoms soon, Tim might actually die for good this time.)

[scottfreed]

Orion & Scott should be friends if not awkward step brothers. The forced antagonism is lame.

I had an argument with two people about the way I characterized Orion and Scott in a fic a while back, and I wanted to make a big post to compile my canon basis for writing them as somewhat distant brothers who respect and defend each other. I particularly had one fan continuously say Tom King's characterization is gospel and completely consistent, and I was an "abuse apologist" for writing them in a positive way. I wanted to pay particular attention to the question of succession since that's the main source of conflict for them in MM '17.

Orion and Scott have had numerous character interactions that have predominantly ranged from generally amicable to warm and familiar with key exceptions. (Rough recount incoming)

MM '74

Their first interaction Orion literally saves Scott's life so he and Barda can get married.

Dude is actually the one who called for the wedding in the first place. And he was playing the Bouncer. And look at him on Barda's side of the alter. He's totally the Maid of Honor:

Super Powers '86

(This was the first comic I ever read with both characters just to disclose my bias.)

Short but fun lesser known title! But there's some interesting world building happening. And Orion and Scott paling around in their co-rulers era:

They're buddies and its great. Also look and Orion's drip.

Look at this! The bois are co-ruling Apokolips for a brief stint. The exact opposite of Orion trying to "steal the throne form scott", He literally called him up to help him manage his own!

This is such a great expression of both their characters. Scott's survivors guilt for being able to escape the Hell of his upbringing and Orion's driving fear of ending up a tyrant like his father.

And look at this "interview":

We need to bring back authors doing make-believe interviews with fictional characters. Simply outstanding. The idea that in the face of nature and nurture they both gravitated to the light is honestly fascinating.

"(still hushed) Thank you, thank you, my friend..."

^^^ like... there are hurt/comfort fics that aren't as tender as this action adventure comic from 1986 😭😭😭

The New Gods Vol 3

But whoa what's this?

Bickering? I guess they do just inherently have an antagonistic relationship... except look what's actually being said.

Orion and Lightray aren't pissed because they think Orion is so great that he should be in charge of everything and Scott's in the way Ala Tom King. (It's because this writer didn't want to write for Scott in this title and the crappy answer for this is to make Scott an annoying "80s era pacifist" which is pretty shameful in the context of world-ending stakes tbh.)

But again, Orion's not miffed because he wants Scott gone. If anything, He want's Scott to be more involved in the fight against evil. He wants him to remember his roots. He wants him to be a part of New genesis. He want's him to take on more power and responsibility.

Plus, idk I'm projecting but it's almost giving: "hey the family misses you, please call/visit more" to me at least.

JLA/I ('90)

My heart is aching look at this! Called him his brother, gave a beautiful eulogy, joined the JLA in his memory. It's wild how the writing in this arc went wildly back and forth between quality and pure nonsense 😭

JLA ('98) - #24

This is how you do clunky exposition about who tf these characters even are showing up in this title all of a sudden.

Is it perfect? No.

But it's still a heart to heart desire to understand. Underline everyone's characters and central motivation. Boom. We're in and we're out. Back to the Justice League.

MM Vol 3 (1996)

Okay, so weirdly aggressive, right???

But, not quite, it was indicated that his reaction here was due to Darksied having just been resurrected and was influencing him.

But also take a closer look at what's being said! It wasn't a result of Orion being covetous of Scott's power or even wishing harm on him or anything.

Quite the opposite, in fact. He's telling him he needs to better protect his own life as future king, even if it means sacrificing others.

It's almost giving concern tbh.

Far be it from trying to kill Scott to steal NG from him, even in this ooc moment, he's chastising him to stay safe so he can come into his throne.

Jack Kirby's Fourth World (1997)

We get a fight and Scott gets over whelmed casue he's fucking around. Barda is lowkey laughing at him. But what does Orion do?

Dude Pops off. Pops off so hard everyone is concerned.

And then this happens:

Look! He struck Scott! Tom King is a genius! haters btfo.....

But wait. this was actually how it was revealed that Orion was possessed by DeSaad, because this was so wildly out of character for him!

Literally this action, that Orion-haters seem to think is like their mundane default character interaction, was so off-putting and out of character to all the other New Gods that they immediately knew something was very wrong. And it was. He was possessed!

lol gross...

But what about when he's back in his mind again? Well...

(idk who's serving more cunt in this tbh)

And here not for the last time we se Orion supporting the idea of Scott as the ruler of Apokolips.

Orion ('01)

(d...did scott do blackface in this cosplay??? lol)

This is the classic. We all know it. We all love it.

Look at Scott meddling in his life. You're fucking up pretty bad when the "god of freedom" has to step in to stop you.

Also the contrast between their actions when dealing with Sirius is better than any hackney fist fight or argument.

And how interesting is it that Scott's unwillingness to kill isn't treated as admirable and pure in contrast to Orion's evil-bad violence.

Nope. He was a kid. He wasn't strong enough yet to do what had to be done. And IIRC it was to do with what he'd just gone through with the emergence of the anti-life equation. But Orion was! And Orion was the one to finally put the poor soul out of him misery.

I like in particular the way they are portrayed as the "god of war" and the "god of freedom" and how the way this is explored isn't a black and white dichotomy. Scott recognizes Orion is absolutely needed to oppose Darkseid. And the way the two of them are working behind the scenes to protect and help each other repeatedly is so perfect.

And the way Orion decides not to kill Metron to protect scott not because it's wrong or whatever but because time travel could prevent anyone else from following the same bread crumbs and coming to the same conclusions is so funny.

But he was fully ready to kill Metron to save the weird little circus man.

But yeah I think its very telling that at the end of this character arc, Orion, in coming to terms with himself, must come to terms with Scott and their respective places in the world.

I just think it's cool that they each saved each other's life twice in this series. Scott prevented Orion form falling too far with his black racer gambit. And reminding him of his purpose. And Orion Saves Scott from the parademons and Metron.

I can only dream of the paradise we'd be living in if this characterization continued on into the future.

Cherish it. It's all down hill from here...

Death of the New Gods ('05)

Okay so this series isn't great, but at least it's consistent with how these two interreact with each other and kind of keeps to Simonson's continuity... kind of.

Orion aggressively defends Scott’s claim yet again. He looked like he was gonna deck Clark when he suggested Scott was not fit. I’m talking bolded, italicized and pt.18 font text when he first suggested it. "WHAT?" He "begrudgingly" admits Scott's not "currently" fit. But still declines that position for himself.

And the two of them discussing the fate of their people like this almost harkens back to '86 with the co-ruling.

This story is weird, with the worst interpretation of the Anti-Life Equation I've seen. And I'd argue both are ooc in general, but even in this slopy story there is no succession crisis. and they are working together:

(lol at his face here. The bois are trying to discuss their family business and clark is just standing there gobsmaked. rude tbh...)

And here is Orion saving his ass again for good measure:

I hit my picture limit, but Scott goes on to try to kill Orion and Clark later in this series.

Up to this point. Orion might have shoved Scott once or twice in weird circumstances but Scott was the only one who seemed to actually make an actual attempt on his life. Which is why the post reboot characterization is so freaking weird to me.

Tom Kings MM (2017)

(This is where it officially falls apart)

Cliché toxic masculinity abusive stepbrother who exists only to make Scott an even bigger victim. Steals the throne, is weirdly aggressive and abusive for no fucking reason. Tries to kill him in jealousy, etc, etc.

And unfortunately this has seemingly become Orion's standard characterization in the minds of most fans.

(Now, in those post-n52 reboot GL books (sorry tbh I don't feel like tracking them down rn) he's not AS bad as he was in the WW and Tom King MM, but he's still portrayed as being far less intelligent and articulate for some reason??? The idea that he's the dumb jock of the NG and not basically a warrior poet. It's better to go more himbo than violent monster I guess but it's still a far cry from his proper characterization.) I wonder if it had to do with his awful portrayal in that Wonder Woman run??? Idk.

... Jack Kirby didn't deserve this.

DCeased(?)

Ripping off Tom king directly. I'm not just saying that since I don't like the characterization. I'm saying this because they ripped this stupid fucking scene off beat-for-beat, Seriously, Tom King should sue this dude for plagiarism.

And like a game of telephone their characters keep getting mangled more and more. This is the writing equivalent of a bad photo copy of a bad photocopy.

I just gotta pray it stops here and we can get back to a normal dynamic for these two again. But this story's existence doesn't bode well.

MM (2021)

Orion and Shilo seem to be on good terms! He still doesn’t speak right but it’s still an improvement!

Buuuut, no relationship or character interaction with Scott and Barda's daughter at all??? Like that's the main antagonist (for some fucking reason) and they just say nothing to each other? ok sure why not at this point.

Like that's High Father's granddaughter!

Highfather is probably the cornerstone of Orion's identity. Even if you don't consider Scott and Orion to be brothers, she's still his family through HF.

Anyway, I just wanted to add at the end here that I find some of the fans (and writer's) continuous characterization of Scott as the loser wife guy and a massive victim all the time, and Orion the violent psycho, who is power-hungry and ambitious is lame and sucks.

And just to be a little biased. I think the dynamic from 50 years ago is better and more relevant to people today than the MM '17 version.

Think about it. There are more blended and mixed families than ever. Awkward and somewhat distant step-brother is so much more compelling and interesting than the chirst vs. anti-christ thing they keep doing.

“What Is It They’ve Sent Us?” “Hope.”

Barda '24

This book seems to be getting us back on track from what I've been able to see so far! I've been unable to get my hands on it yet but everything I've seen and heard about it is really exciting for me as a fan. I'm both excited and fearful to see what comes next!!!

[meat-wentz]

see in my head it’s like: you need him, i could be him. the way your makeup stains my pillow case like i’ll never be the same. sometimes i just want to know what it’s like to be you. don’t mind me i’m just watching you two from the closet wishing to be the friction in your jeans. isn’t it messed up how i’m just dying to be him? nothing comes as easy as you. wear me like a locket around your throat. just like kisses on the necks of best friends. i’m hopelessly hopeful, you’re just hopeless enough. i’m not going home alone cause i don’t do too well on my own. i’m just the covers on top of your bed. i’ll keep you warm and won’t ask where you’ve been. you’re the only place that feels like home. tell me you’d like boys like me better in the dark lying on top of you. and this is you and me. and me and you. until we’ve got nothing left. collect the bad habits that you couldn’t bear to keep. a teenage vow in a parking lot, til tonight do us part. i love you in the same way there’s a chapel in the hospital. kiss away young thrills and kills on the mouths of all my friends. cut it loose, watch you work the room. i wrote a goodbye note in lipstick on your arm when you passed out. best friends, ex-friends till the end, better off as lovers and not the other way around. when i’m home alone i just can’t stop myself. pushed up the window to kiss you off. do you remember the way i held your hand? under the lamp post and ran home this way so many times i could close my eyes. the truth hurts worse than anything i could bring myself to do to you. i love everything about you that hurts. some nights it gets so bad that i almost pick up the phone. i sleep with your old shirts. i’ve traced your shadows on the wall now i kiss them whenever i’m down. but i will never end up like him, behind my back i already am. oh, darling, i know what you’re going through. knowing how heartwarming it is inside your skin. why can you read me like no one else? always you make my stomach turn. don’t you remember how we used to split a drink? it never mattered what it was, i think that our hands were just that close. i just need enough of you to dull the pain, just to get me through the night til we’re twins again. write our names in the wet concrete. were we ever friends? there’s nothing more cruel than to be loved by everybody but you. we said we’d never grow up. would you read my eulogy? i will never ask you for anything except to dream sweet of me. scar-crossed lovers. forever. i ripped myself apart, i’ll be whatever you need me to be. i cut myself down to be whatever you need me to be. so let’s twist the knife again like we did last summer. what is there between us, if not a little annihilation?

[codename-adler]

WIP Game: aftg television soundtrack project

I love everything going on with this, just constantly imagining it in my head with different lines and scenes and everything 💖💖💖

my beloved, beloved insane project... i've already spoken about this here and there on my blog (i will organize a tag now that i think about it, dw), but in short i'm imagining AftG as if it were adapted as a TV series (first it was films, but i can do more with a show, and HBO TLoU changed me as a person and writer). it was 3 seasons, one for each book, but i've added a 4th season for TSC, and will add another one or 2 depending on how many more books Nora Sakavic blesses us with.

what i did was, i extracted the most impactful scenes from each book, those that would fit a soundtrack moment. i've created a sort of PowerPoint presentation, like a mood board for the scene, of how i'm picturing it shot, the angles, the pace, the tempo, etc. it is very, very clear in my head how everything goes. i'm not kidding. making playlists is my passion, and one i excel at i believe, but it brings me so much joy, pride and satisfaction. it's also really good for my mental. in parallel to this, i've also got the aftg x tlou project, which was wholly inspired by @cielalune 's own Andreil tlou AU fic turn out the lights, which i will NEVER shut up about. i have found a true kinship in their writing and musicality and i will forever be grateful for finding them and getting to exchange. all this to say, the playlist-making/planning for that fic is very time-consuming and brain-obsessing.

now back to the purely soundtracked wip. i'll share one of the first scenes i imagined and that has yet to change. this is for you too @minyard-05 <3

All for the Game (S2): The Raven King

"Betsy closed the door behind them. Neil could just make out the sound of her engine starting, and then it was quiet. Andrew was gone." (p. 255)

the slide currently looks like this as i haven't gotten to editing S2 of the project, but rest assured this is in no way the final look:

i'm going for a sort of echo-y, daze-y, numbing eulogy. TFC ends with Seth's death, and in a way, TRK ends with Andrew's. luckily it is a good "death" as he will come out of this freer, himself, accepted. but it is a death nonetheless. death of his past. a point of no return. a definite cross on all of it. no going back. and he also cannot bury this under his skin like before. over it. it's all in plain sight now. for as unapologetic as he is, Andrew was hiding.

Neil loses his best friend. Neil reckons with another's demons, and loses to them, loses him to them. That closing door rings the gong. And it's quiet. As manic as he may have been, Andrew was never noisy and full of life. Still he is missed. His absence is an abyss. It's not peaceful without the "monster"; it's deafening silence.

and the title of the song, too, is so perfect. Andrew leaving Neil behind that closed door, in that moment, means he is letting go of what he thinks is a hallucination. Neil will only be a memory now. he does not know yet Neil isn't a pipedream at all.

but both men will hold on to the memory of each other to survive what comes next.

[sirfrogsworth]

I have two best friends.

Which is not an apt description.

Best friends is too small a term to describe what they are to me.

Chosen family. Ride or die. People I would drop everything for if they needed me. People I would protect with my last breath. People who know embarrassing details they will take to the grave.

Now that my mom and dad are gone, they are my lifelong companions. I trust them with my life.

I talk about Katrina all the time. But I tend to keep my friendship with Delling a little more private. I don't love either of them any more or less. There is no ranking system for my besties. But Katrina and I are basically like an old school comedy duo, so we have a lot more shenanigans to share. Shenanigans are easy content for a blog.

Delling is disabled like me. We have a lot of the same consequences from our health issues. Extreme fatigue most of all. Delling was unable to get disability benefits though, so they have to work a 9 to 5 job. And it exhausts them to the limit. They often will work and go straight to bed. If it were possible, I would talk to Delling every single day like I do with Katrina, but circumstances don't always allow for that.

So we have less shenanigans, but the same amount of love.

I'm also a little more protective of Delling at the moment. They are trans and for some reason a large portion of the "very online" people have decided to hate my best friend. And sometimes I worry about drawing attention towards Delling from the few trolls who still hate follow me.

Delling is almost always in my thoughts when I write about trans issues or argue with transphobes on Twitter. But I refuse to invoke "I HAVE A TRANS FRIEND" most of the time. For one, I don't advocate for trans people just because I have a trans friend. Though it does make the emotions I feel very intense sometimes. A lot of tears and anger. But I also don't want to sound like those conservatives who justify everything they say because they have a friend from a marginalized group.

There are certainly times people will be like, "Why would you mutilate someone and cut off healthy breasts??" and I wanna be like "Delling is much happier without boobies and I can see a huge difference since their surgery and you don't know what the fuck you are talking about with that mutilation nonsense. FIGHT ME!"

But I don't think I need to announce my bestie's private top surgery details just to win an argument on Twitter.

I'm just really happy for them and I am glad it helped. They struggled to get the surgery for so long and fought like hell to make it happen. People acting like it is this horrible thing make me so angry. When it finally happened it was... a relief. A weight lifted off their shoulders... err... chest.

After my dad died, Katrina was unable to get away from Florida to help me out. She was dealing with her disabled dog, Lucy, and her end-of-life care. That just isn't something you can ask someone else to look after for a few days. So Delling got permission to do remote work and drove down from the top of the country to help me. They came on the weekend of my dad's service and stayed a few days after to help me get the house sorted.

I'm honestly not sure I could have made it through that experience on my own. During the service, Delling just clung to my side as I tried to act normal when long-lost relatives offered similar grief platitudes over and over. And I kept introducing Delling and saying they were from the wrong state for some reason. I do actually know where Delling lives, but I guess my brain was not functioning in that situation.

Delling also helped me finish my eulogy literally hours before I gave it. And they helped me print out a bunch of photos of my dad that almost no one looked at. I'm so glad we spent all morning frantically doing that. *sigh* Though I'm hoping the photos will come in handy when I do an online memorial for my parents, so it was not all for naught.

There was a moment when a certain someone gave an impromptu speech at the end of the service about how she let my dad see his granddaughter for a couple of hours a year ago and how special that was, and Delling tightly squeezed my hand to help channel away my anger.

Ya know, those totally normal *yearly* visits all grandpas get to have.

Sometimes friends just know, ya know?

Delling and I also revamped the kitchen for my needs, which I have already turned into absolute chaos. And we had a fun shopping trip to Sam's where I bought tender beef jerky that was the toughest to chew jerky I've ever experienced. I guess the "tender" on the label was sarcastic.

All I know is that casually shopping with my friend was this beautiful bonding adventure where we just got to hang out and be together. It's weird the experiences that stick with you. Trying to pick out wholesale sushi with my bestie will be a treasured memory for the rest of my days. And I think that is kinda perfect in its simplicity.

There are not enough thank yous in the world for what Delling did for me. I wish they could have stayed a few months instead of a few days. I miss having them here in person. But they had a foster bunny to take care of and a job and a family. So I had to give Delling back to the top of the country.

I just wanted to write this in appreciation of my other best bestie. I love them more than anything. And I can't tell you all how special it feels to have someone who will drop everything, drive across the country (through tornado weather, no less), and keep you company during a very lonely time.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Body Heat" : a Snowpiercer-Marvel Mashup Story

Part 1 - "The Man"

Rated: Mature (non-explicit chapter, marked mature for dark themes)

Pairing: Curtis Everett x ofc

Tags: dystopia, food insecurity, post apocalypse, age difference (18/34), dark!fic, implied/referenced suicide, background character death (offscreen), poverty, arranged marriage, implied/referenced past cannibalism, hurt/comfort

Summary: She’s too young for him to be eyeing her up the way he has been, but this is the Tail section, and Curtis has caught other men looking more than once. Everything is a commodity in the Tail. Everything. It won't be too long before he has to step in and claim her.

Author's Note:

On Tumblr, forbidden ToS content categories are: "terrorism, hate speech, harm to minors, self harm, sexually explicit material, violence, threats, gore, and mutilation."

And while you ARE apparently allowed to write a fictional story about incestual, torturing, anorexic racists who rape, murder, kidnap, hate, cannibalize, terrorize, and self-injure in the plotline of said story,

you ARE NOT allowed to write an underage character who engages is any sort of sexualized conduct in a story.

For this one category and this one category alone, Tumblr staff (or at least one particular individual 😏on staff) makes no distinction between fictional stories and C.S.A.M. They can and will delete your blog without any notice.

So, in the face of this VERY SPECIFIC criteria for Tumblr's censorship choices, I have changed the age of a character in this story to 18. That's not how the story was originally written, and the story can still be read on Ao3, which does not arbitrarily censor their content. But my m/f stories seem to be most popular on Tumblr, so I wanted to include the altered version in my library here.

(To be spiteful, however, I have changed the ofc from 16 to 18 and Curtis from 28 to 34, thus WIDENING the original age gap from 12 yrs to 16 yrs😆)

🖤With that said, this is a dark story regardless, so if you're looking for fluff, I suggest you look elsewhere.🖤

Part 1 - "The Man"

The Man’s been dead for almost a day, the body already stiffened in rigor mortis and then relaxed again by the time anyone comes to take it.

They’d found him in his bunk just after breakfast yesterday, which means they’ve been keeping his wake for nearly twenty-four hours now, up at the front of the lead assembly car; his daughter and a few others who were closest to him sitting vigil with the body until the time comes. Mourning while they still can.

Jackboots visit the tail section only once per day—in the morning, with the food. That’s how Tailies tell time. So when one of their own dies, the funeral and the family’s goodbyes last only as long as the next arrival of the next pushcart with the next batch of gelatinous bars.

Bringing in food and taking out bodies—a callous reminder to Snowpiercer’s lowest inhabitants that their deaths are little different from their lives: cold, unadorned, hopeless.

Curtis keeps his distance once he’s paid his respects, and it’s quiet now as they all wait. A few people had given some nice speeches earlier, a decent eulogy capped off by the beautiful singing voice of the daughter that The Man has left behind: Rose.

Curtis watches her adjust the sheet over The Man’s body. He’s already been washed and stripped in preparation, wrapped in the old grey sheet that will be returned to them within a matter of hours. Nothing is wasted on Snowpiercer. The few pieces of clothing that The Man had owned now sit folded on the floor, ready to be given to their next occupants. The sight of his trademark checked shirt, unworn and available, is a point of mourning all in itself, Curtis finds.

New clothing always means death.

The Man had been a good person, a leader in his own right. Back when they’d first boarded, he’d been one of the first to volunteer his own flesh—though only once his wife had been killed and the mob was coming for his young daughter, too.

Curtis looks back up towards the front of the car when the heavy groans of unlatching metal come from the next section up. Rose’s face, covered in tears, also shoots up at the sound. Her eyes widen and her lip begins to quiver again. Her fingerless-gloved hand reaches for the body, clutching The Man’s shoulder one last time as the door slides open.

The jackboots bark for everyone to move back, since the funeral group isn’t sitting behind the usual yellow line of demarcation that’s taped to the floor, but then they look down and see the body. The lead guard sighs. “Oh, great,” he mutters. “Just what I wanted to do today.”

Curtis’ eyes narrow and his muscles tense, anticipating disrespect to the body—that he can handle, is used to, but if they lay a hand on her as the scene plays out, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to restrain himself. Rose is a sweet girl despite her circumstances, with an innocence and a naivety that usually only the train babies have, and Curtis has always done what he can to look out for her.

“Right,” the one guard says to the other. “Okay. Protein blocks first, then you can load ‘im on the cart.”

Rose stays sitting by the body as everyone lines up to receive their daily portions. Curtis makes eye contact as he steps up to the lead guard and takes his portion. “Be nice,” he says. “It’s her dad.”

Luckily, the jackboots don’t seem to be in any kind of foul mood today. They let Rose sniffle over the body for a few extra seconds before hefting the corpse onto the empty protein block cart. And then they’re gone. No muss, no fuss, no fanfare. Just like it always happens when a Tailie dies.

“What do you think they do with them?” Curtis overhears Ned and Peter saying, talking with each other as they nibble off their protein blocks not too far from Rose. “Throw ‘em out?”

“How?” Peter says doubtfully. “S’not exactly an escape hatch in this thing.”

“Course there is,” Ned argues. “Where d’you think your shit goes when you flush the—”

“Hey,” Curtis hisses, glaring at them and tipping his head discreetly in Rose’s direction. “Show a little respect.”

Ned and Peter mumble an apology and move off, and when Curtis looks back to Rose, she’s blinking up at him with red rimmed eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, her voice deeper than usual as it emanates from a throat scraped raw by grief.

“I did.” Curtis walks over and slides down the wall to sit next to her. “He was a good man, your dad.”

“Thanks,” she says quietly.

Her nose sounds all stuffed up, so Curtis fishes in his pocket for his handkerchief. “Haven’t spoken to you in a hot minute,” he says, handing it over for her to blow her nose.

“Yeah well I hear you’re always planning the next revolution, so …”

Curtis scoffs. “Yeah, maybe.” He looks her over, taking in the worn knit of her sweater, the colorless felt of her coat that’d once been blue and belonged to her mother. So many of the Tailies are worn down to nothing but dull, grey husks now, just like the clothes they’ve recycled for over a decade. But Rose is different.

For whatever reason, her skin is still clear, her hair still thick. The malnutrition hasn’t affected her the way it has most others. Her soul still comes through her eyes. That inner luminance makes her pretty, maybe even the prettiest girl in the tail section. Even though she’s still very young. Probably too young for Curtis to be eyeing her up the way he has been, these past few months.

But she’s about that age now, even though it feels like only yesterday he was scrounging up materials to make her a little doll she could play with. People grow up fast in the tail whether they want to or not, and Curtis has been on high alert for a while now because he’s caught other men looking more than once. He’s even heard some bits of hushed conversation, whispered from nearby bunks where the occupants didn’t realize he was there to listen. Everything is a commodity in the tail. Everything. And there’s no one else who looks like Rose. She’s only made it this far because of her father.

And now her father’s dead.

Curtis realizes he’s been staring a little too long when Rose’s eyes slide over to him in curiosity. He coughs and looks away, shaking his head when she tries to hand him back the handkerchief. “Naw. You hold onto it for me, Hon.” She tucks it shyly away in her coat, and Curtis is pleased. “So …” he hedges, not knowing what to say to her. There’s nothing he can say. All they have in the tail is each other, their people, and she’s just lost hers. “So … you still going by ‘Rosebud’?”

That gets a tiny smile from her, which warms Curtis’ chest in the same way that he can remember whiskey doing, a lifetime ago. “Nobody calls me that anymore,” she says. “Nobody but him. And you.”

“Yeah?” Curtis thinks on it some. “Well maybe you should retire it. It’s a girl’s name anyway.”

“Aren’t I a girl?”

He raises an eyebrow without looking at her. “You still have that doll I made for you?” He hears her scoff and knows the answer. Rosie helps look after the young children in the tail. Curtis has seen that shabby little doll floating around in various tiny hands for years now. “You’re a good person,” he says quietly. “Like your dad. He was good. I’ll miss him." He’s looking straight ahead across the assembly car when he says it, but he still catches her slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

“He didn’t act any different,” she says, voice tiny. “I didn’t know. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything that made it seem like he was going to …” She cuts herself off, swallows thickly and shakes her head. “I just didn’t know.”

Curtis holds out his hand in offer for her to hold, and she takes it. Even with the fingerless glove on, her hand still feels tiny in his. “How about Petal?” he suggests.

“Petal?”

“Yeah,” he decides. “Yeah that’s what I’ll call you. Petal. My rose petal.”

“Oh, god.” She groans. “No. Curtis.”

“No?” He turns his head to look at her, and this time he waits until she looks at him too. Her expression sobers as their eyes meet. Curtis reaches to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a beautiful word,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t I call you that?” His eyes skip over her face, soaking up the way her breath stutters, how a slow blush starts to fill the apples of her cheeks. “I promise I won’t tell anybody else,” he whispers.

She ducks her chin with a bashful smile. “Well, I guess so.”

In her lap, her other arm curls protectively around the small pile of belongings she’s been holding onto, drawing Curtis�� attention. Her father had been a large man, imposing, and yet the pile is so tiny. A whole entire life, compressed into less than one square foot in the end.

(Curtis does wonder, sometimes, what they do with the bodies.)

“He was one of our best,” he tells her. “Even in the Desperation. I remember how he was, how he volunteered. He was a leader. Brave.” His eyes slide over to the excuse for an artificial limb that's been cobbled together from an umbrella and a few old wire coat hangers, of all things. Now it sits, sad and unused, on the floor next to Rose’s leg. “You know who you’re gonna give it to?”

“What?”

He nods at the limb. “His arm. It’s the best one in the tail.”

“Oh.” She glances away from it, looking pained. “No,” she says. “I figured I’d just give it to you.”

“Me?” Curtis isn’t one of the few who’d volunteered in the Desperation—obviously, as he’s still got all four limbs intact. He wasn’t the same person back then that he is now. Back then he’d been a taker, not a giver. He looks away with a frown. “Give it to Phil,” he suggests. “He needs one, since his broke.”

Rose agrees that the arm should go to Coulson. She carefully sets the pile of clothing aside on the floor and returns to place her hand back in Curtis’ waiting one, this time pulling their joined hands into her lap. They sit there together like that for a long while, not speaking, just existing side by side. Some things have so much more value now than they did Before, including silent company and a comforting hand.

“Do you remember it much?” Curtis eventually says.

“Before?”

“No.” He never talks about Before, since it only breeds despair. “Boarding,” he says. “Do you remember?”

“Of course.”

He winces. “Oh. I didn’t know if you did. You were so young. I thought maybe … maybe you’d forgotten. A lot of the kids did, even some of the older ones.”

“Yeah. MJ was eight and she says she can’t remember at all.”

Curtis nods. “Sometimes it feels like a dream even to me, it was so long ago.” He’d been twenty-two when the world froze and people were reduced to animals all around him. Twelve years couldn’t erase that pain, but it could muddle it a lot. “I’m sorry you didn’t. Block it out.”

“I remember ... shouting,” Rose says, her voice teasing the memory out. “It was dark. And I remember getting shoved around, hiding against my mom's legs, being hungry ... how cold it was.” It’s been cold ever since, but never as cold as that night—the last night before the wind and snow and ice got shut out forever. She heaves a sigh. “It’s all a jumble in my mind, anyway. I couldn’t see past anyone’s coat.”

“You were little,” Curtis mumbles. “Short.”

“Well I was six."

He smirks and bumps her shoulder with his. “You’re still short,” he teases, while privately he thinks that it’s better that she was so young when it happened. It means her earliest memories are of cold and chaos, and that’s better than the alternative of having had more time in the World. It means less things to mourn. “What are you going to do now?” he asks, shaking his head like he can knock the past out of it. "Plans for today?"

Rose shrugs. “Same old, same old. Kids, stories. It’s my night to shower.”

Curtis turns his head towards her, brow furrowed. “You … but you’re not going back to you guys' spot, right?”

"'Course. Where else would I go?"

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, what he thought the alternative was supposed to be. Every square centimeter of the tail section is already portioned and claimed. New space doesn’t just appear. Nothing new ever appears, except babies, bodies, and the rats that Wanda breeds to supplement their diet.

“Rosie,” Curtis scolds. “No. You can’t go back there. Not where he—”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says stubbornly, pretending it doesn’t bother her. But she’s a horrible liar and that’s just another thing that's always made her so endearing ... and so vulnerable.

“Hon,” Curtis mourns,

“It’s just a bunk," she insists. "He slept there, he died there. I’ll probably die there too, one day.”

Curtis growls unhappily. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. Hey, things won’t always be like this.” He catches her throwing him side eye and he glares at her. “They won’t.”

“Right,” she says, mouth quirking sadly at one corner before her gloved hand gives his a final squeeze and then lets him go. “Well. Not everybody has the big plans that you do, Curtis. Sometimes it's better to know what the future holds, even if it's this.”

“Don’t lose hope, Petal,” he pleads, but he can see that she’s dismissive of it. People lose hope all the time in the Tail. That’s what’d killed her father.

He sighs and looks back to the opposite side of the car. Now that the jackboots are gone it’s thinned out some, with some people gone back to their bunks and others remaining behind to munch on their protein blocks in the fresher air of the assembly car. Curtis spots a man several yards away who’s been openly staring at Rose. When the man sees Curtis looking, however, he hurriedly turns away.

Curtis scowls. “Hey,” he says, intending to take Rose's hand again and offer to have her spend the night with him. But her hand isn't there when he reaches over. She’s getting up, gathering her dead father’s pile of folded clothing items in her arms. Curtis frowns and gets up with her. He hurries to pick up the artificial limb. “Wait. Where’re you going?”

“Gonna give these to Gilliam,” she says, already on the move. “I want him to have first dibs." As if her father’s clothing would even come close to fitting Gilliam's shrunken and weathered old frame.

But Curtis gets up anyway and follows after her, not wanting to let her go just yet. He hurries along as she walks surprisingly fast for having such short legs. “Hey,” he says, talking to her back as they navigate through the communal living cars and the showers, and then into the cramped passageways of the market. “Hey, you know … you could come over tonight, if you wanted. My spot’s a pretty good size.”

“So is ours—” she says, faltering when she realizes her mistake. “I mean, so is mine.”

Curtis sighs and grabs her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. “Don’t go back there,” he pleads, cornering her into a cramped spot to face him. “Hey. I mean it, Hon. Don’t. You shouldn’t go back there tonight. Not alone, not where he …” She squares her jaw and looks up at him, expression stubborn as ever, and Curtis is struck by the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss her. “It’s too soon,” he insists, because she’d been the one to find The Man sitting up in the bed: straight backed and purple faced and all out of hope, a cord wrapped thrice around his neck. “Too soon,” Curtis repeats sadly.

“I’ll be okay,” she insists, nodding when he makes a face to show how much he doesn’t agree with that. “It’s fine, Curtis. Really. I appreciate the offer. And I get it, I do. But that's our spot, ya know? I’ve lived there for twelve years, and I—” her eyes cut away, glossy with the threat of fresh tears. She swallows thickly and won’t look at him again. “I’m not ready to leave it,” she whispers. “I’d rather stay where it still smells like him.”

Curtis isn’t sure what love feels like, but he thinks maybe it’s partly made up of the horrible feeling he gets in his guts when he sees Rose in pain like this. “... Okay,” he says quietly, taking a small step back so that she can continue on down the passage. The tail is made up of twenty cars, and they’re only several down from the forwardmost car at this point. “Gilliam’s probably at the back,” he tells her. He can see that she wants to be alone in her grief, though he hates the idea of letting her go. “Hey,” he says softly, cupping her face. “I’m right here if you need me, Hon. You know that, right?”

She smiles and nods with watery eyes, worsening the tug in Curtis’ guts. He thinks seriously about leaning in and kissing her, but winds up holding himself back like he’s done so many times already. Instead he just strokes his thumb over her cheek, finger ruddy against the clear skin of her face. “Okay,” he says again. He gently places the artificial limb on top of the stack of clothing she holds, then takes another step back. “I’ll see you at dinner?” he asks, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice. He wants to see her again, as much as possible. The more he can keep her in his sights, the better.

“Yeah,” she agrees, leaning up to plant a quick peck to his cheek. “Thanks, Curtis. For looking out for me. He'd feel better, knowing that."

He watches her go with a sense of trepidation, uttering a quiet, "Not doin' it for him," once she’s halfway down the car.

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[willshipanything-blog]

Breaking the Rules- Epilogue 2 of 2

Here we are. The final, FINAL piece of this fic, and the culmination of two stories and nearly two years of writing.

As always, I hope you enjoy, and thanks as always to my dear friend Abracadabras (Aly) for reading and making suggestions that are always so valuable and nuanced!!

Read on AO3 here

Full story index here

Epilogue (2 of 2) Would It Be A Sin?

The months succeeding the would-be confession, that terrible showdown between you and Al, were perhaps the most bittersweet you’d faced. The cocooning cloud of happiness and relief offset only by the occasional thunderstorm of guilt and sorrow. The long winter nights balanced against a new year, a symbolically fresh start.

There were some hard truths you both had to answer, ghosts you had no choice but to confront. But now, you would descend those depths together. Literally- there were two basements that the two of you needed to visit. First: the house across the street. 

Each of the boys’ little trinkets were placed atop the dirt near the bottom of each makeshift grave. Al had carried the wooden box, had held it out to you and opened it in a sort of ceremonial fashion, wherein you’d taken each item out with care. Four small items-seemingly innocuous, workaday trinkets-but heavy in your hands as you lay them down. They were placed on the corresponding graves with a silent reverence. Stepping back, Al had closed the box with a quiet, echoing snap before putting it aside on a table towards the back of the room. You’d both been quietly penitent, as if unsettling the dust beneath your feet might be a dishonor to any presence still in the basement. There were no words spoken, no eulogy- they’d already been said in private ceremonies by families speaking to empty coffins. You would receive no forgiveness from any remnants of those boys. So you stood there beside Al with a silent solemnity and an unspoken promise that it was over. Neither of you had spoken much that night, even after leaving the second house. 

The basement in your house was next. Despite everything that had happened in that stone room, you found the staircase easier to descend. Hardly surprising, given the task you were to perform. There was no reluctance in destroying it beyond recognition- ripping out features that had resided in that stone cell for decades. The mattress dragged out and loaded into Al’s van; the sturdy brackets that had held the bed in place unscrewed and hauled off to the van, too; the metal grate on the window torn away and discarded. And when Al took a sledgehammer to the black phone bolted to the wall- when he swung hard, the thing shattering with a final broken jangle of notes- you thought you caught a satisfied glint in his blue eyes. Not enjoying the violence per se, but snatching just a little joy in destroying those final few traces of his past self, and demolishing any trace of his father’s crimes before him.  Al had promised the basement would just be an empty room someday, after he’d freed you from its confines. Now it stood truly empty and that promise, like all promises these days, had been fulfilled. 

For a little while, Al had been loath to play any of your usual games, even suggesting the masks be thrown in the garbage. But to you, they didn’t signify any danger or threat anymore. Their meaning had adapted, sculpted itself to be unrecognizable from the fear and uncertainty they once possessed when worn by the Grabber. When you’d taken the two halves that made up that deep frown, brought them out and held them out to Al, he’d acceded your request, and you fixed the mask overtop of  that smirking, devilish smile. You slipped back into those salacious games easily: as smooth as the silk sheets that Al tossed you on before going in for his wicked, killing blow, happy to oblige his little dove’s request, eager to make her scream and writhe under him. 

The aftermath of the thankfully-failed confession had caused some truly polarizing moments in its wake. The grief and guilt of it all sat like a poisonous lead weight in the pit of your stomach, unable to be digested, insisting on being carried and unforgotten. But it brought some of the most affirming moments, too. No more secrets. No more lies. The burden of guilt had been alleviated; shouldered partly by another, lightening that load. Your love had cemented  itself in the very foundations of the house you both had learned to  call ‘ours’. It felt like an ending, in a way- but in the same breath, it was a whole new story yet to be told. And rules of the story be damned - from now on, you and Al would write that plot together.

_______________________________

With a final flourish of crimson lipstick, you were nearly ready. And not a moment too soon; as you spritzed a cloud of jasmine and peach-scented perfume, you heard the familiar sound of the van pulling into the drive, practically skipping to meet Al as he walked through the door. 

“Heya, dove, h-,” Al stalled as his eyes fell on you, standing there with a smirk at the immediate effect you’d had on him. “Holy sh- I mean, wow! You look…breathtaking, sweet.”

“What, this old thing?” you mused with mock incredulity, brushing your hands down the flared skirt of your new cocktail dress. You feigned surprise, knowing that little coquettish act rivaled Al’s own theatricality, knowing it charmed him as much as any provocative outfit.  

Al’s eyes darkened, and he stepped towards you, his work boots nearly toe to toe with your black heeled pumps. You looked up through heavy lids, the lashings of mascara and flick of dark eyeliner an extra little effort, today of all days. Al’s eyes darted quickly to the bare expanse of skin exposed by the daring bardot neckline, but it was the faded lines of pink, that indelible mark on your skin where he’d craved his name across your heart, that had dragged his gaze downwards. AL. Still, you were sure he sneaked a peek at the cleavage and the suggestive trail of love bites along your neck before those cerulean eyes snapped back to your face.

“Really, dove. You look perfect. So beautiful.”

“You know Al, I’m still waiting on my birthday kiss.”

Who was Al to deny your command? He cupped the nape of your neck in his palm and drew you in close. A deep, electrifying kiss, sending a buzz skittering down your veins. He pulled back, a soft, warm smile settling on his face as he wished you a ‘happy birthday’ with sweet sincerity. 

“My girl’s special day,” he beamed, hand still clasped softly around your neck, fingers laced through the soft waves of your hair. 

“Not just mine, Al. You know it’s been a year since our first real date?” 

Al’s knitted eyebrows had you wondering if that was a little too raw to be mentioning. A bizarre thought (perhaps even a little morbid) that last year, your last birthday, had been spent as Al’s prisoner. Your date had begun in the basement, being made to dress, being escorted upstairs, being made to sit, to eat, to dance. Still a captive by definition. But one thing hadn’t been forced that night. That night, you’d taken Al’s hand in yours, and asked him to take you to his bed. He’d finally admitted his feelings towards you, and though you hadn't echoed the same sentiment, it was still there. Concealed, but barely contained inside of you, ready to burst like a black balloon. Your mind snapped back to the present. Worried, you backtracked somewhat, not wanting to dredge up any memories of the past. Not tonight. 

“Sorry Al, do you think it’s a little…strange to be celebrating that?”

“Aren’t we a little strange?” Al mused. You replied with a small laugh huffed through a smile, your tense shoulders relaxing when you realized Al wasn’t worried at all. He continued. “Okay, our special day, then.” Another lengthy kiss followed before you pried yourself away from his ravenous grip, shooing him to go get changed into something more suitable for the occasion. 

As you ate dinner, eyeing Al across the table, you wondered if your gaze looked as hungry as Al’s. He’d mirrored you; his jet black shirt and trousers matching your dark dress; the blood-red cravat at his neck echoing the color you’d swept across your lips. Even his woodsy scent of cedar and tobacco seemed to flirt with the sweetness of your perfume across the dinner table. After you’d finished eating, when Al had asked you to choose some music while he freshened up, your dreamy, carefree mind didn’t question when Al bypassed the bathroom for another room entirely. 

Your fingers rifled nimbly through Al’s record collection, as if already playing a soft melody on invisible piano keys. Figuring an older tune would match the evening’s mood, you grinned when you pulled out the Elvis record to see the singer donned in a Hawaiian shirt on the album cover, reminding you so badly of Max. You really couldn’t get away from either of the Shaw brothers, could you? Slipping the vinyl from its sleeve, you put the record on the turntable, dragged the needle to the outer grooves, and set it gently down. 

When Al strode into the living room, giving you another amorous glance as he did, neither of you needed encouragement to dance. You reached out to each other silently, spurred on by the dulcet tones of the King singing about fools in love. The song coaxed you into a slow sway, Al’s arms so natural around your waist, your head leaning against his chest as you were lullabied into the reverie. Al’s thumping heart provided a strong backbeat to the music, though perhaps its pace was a little faster than normal. The excitement of the evening, maybe. 

As you swayed in unison, you couldn’t help but silently answer Elvis’ melodic questions:

Shall I stay? (yes)

Would it be a sin? (yes)

If I can’t help falling in love with you.

You couldn’t help it. You’d traversed every emotion imaginable before reaching this point with Al. Disgust, rage, hatred, confusion, trepidation, attachment. And now, you’d opted for love. Opted, because it was your choice. Your want for him, need for him, had rooted itself deeper than your guilt. In the annals of your mind, you thought about the situation as you swayed softly, silently to the music as Elvis sang of rivers flowing out to sea. You’d sail into the darkness with Al and drown in the oblivion. But that was further down the line. For now, you were content to drown yourself, bask in the warmth of the two of you, bodies pressed close. 

“D’ya want to play a game?”

“Huh?” you asked, pulled away from your blissful introspection by the unexpected question. Not that you would deny such a tempting offer. Your heart picked up speed to match Al’s quickened pace. “What kind of game were you thinking?” Your voice had instinctively taken on a sultry tone, already enthusiastic to play.

“Oh, it’s a long one.”

“How long?”

“A lifetime, hopefully.”

Any question about to slip from your lips was shoved back in your mouth when Al made his next move. He fell to his knees- no, he fell to his knee, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. Looking up at you, his blue eyes entreating, he opened the box, his hands clutched together like an oyster, the contents of the box a precious pearl at its center. But no- not a pearl. On closer inspection, the ring nestled in the box was gold and red, a single, pear-shaped jewel sitting atop a simple gold band. Like a teardrop. Or, given its sumptuous color, a single drop of scarlet blood. 

“Will you be mine, dove?” 

Not ‘will you marry me?’. No chance of such a formal, legal proceeding in the real world. But in this world of yours and Al’s own making, such a gesture would amount to the same thing. A bond, a forever promise. You held out your left hand, trembling slightly, though Al’s tender grip on it steadied you, warmed you as he slid the thin band on your fourth finger. He looked up, eyebrows raised as if in expectation, and you realized you’d not replied to him. There was only ever going to be one answer to his question.

“Yes. Yes, Al, I’ll be yours. Always.” You already were, had been for a long time. Longer, probably, than you dared admit to yourself. As Al rose from his knee with a slightly strained groan, you flung your arms around his neck, crashing your lips into his; Al met with a matched enthusiasm. You could feel his smile mirror yours through the kiss, and when you pulled back, the happy tears gathering at the corner of your eyes were duplicates of the watery blues staring back at you. 

Gripping each of Al’s shoulders, your glance fluttered to each of your hands in turn. To the  promise band on your right hand, then the jeweled red stone on your left. Those small gold bands like tiny manacles binding you to Al. There had been no choice at first, then anguished choices that would end in your shame or your demise. But then- those choices had shifted, had freed you. Freed you to be with Al unburdened by shame or sorrow. You felt complete.

You thought Al was complete now, too, looking up at him with an enraptured smile as he brushed your cheek softly, took your left hand and pressed a fierce kiss to your knuckles. Once, it had been the Grabber shadowing Al, that overbearing dark side that irrevocably connected the man and the monster. But the monster had been slain. You slipped into the gaps left by its absence, clawing into each crevice of Al, until he had been remade into a complete whole. 

“It’s a garnet, the gem in the ring. It was my mom’s,” Al said wistfully, hand brushing your knuckles still warm from the touch of his mouth. “For a long time, it was the only thing of real value I kept in the house. Until I kept you.”

That wording. It was twisted, morose and sick. But then, why did you find those possessive words so charming, perhaps even a little beguiling? You could only hope that the melancholy expression on Al’s face as he looked from the ring to you signified his continued penitence of all that had come before. Otherwise the happiness you both found would feel hollow, undeserved. You thought so. You hoped so. 

“I’m glad you kept me, Al.” If his wording was fucked-up, you’d match it with your own skewed viewpoint. It was a strange comfort, knowing you weren’t alone in your madness. 

A dog barking from somewhere out on the street turned both of your heads to the window.  A heavy feeling, like packed dirt on top of a coffin, descended, only the white noise of the record player filling the silence like a ghostly static. It was as if fate brought about the reminder of the past, the house across the street dominating the landscape out of the front window. Fluorescent orange street lights threw the shadowy silhouette of the tree across the house, dark branches reaching across the mottled brickwork. Thin fingers prying at the door to let those secrets out. 

It was a steep price, shouldering a portion of Al’s heavy burden. Knowing that staying was not the moral course, that each day spent inside this house with Al was a day your soul became a fragment more tainted with blackness. Al’s price was steeper yet: memories of the Grabber he would never scrub from his soul. Of his unforgivable killings, and his treatment of you. Even the torment of never quite knowing if one day, you might snap out of some daydream- the hypnosis worn away like a frayed rope- and escape him.  

They would all be powerful reminders: the memories, the house across the street, the ever less frequent news bulletins about the Grabber and his crimes. You and Al wouldn’t- shouldn’t- forget. Couldn’t forget what Al had done. Couldn’t forget that your relationship was fucked up. How you had broken the rules which dictated how normal people ought to live their lives. But only through playing that twisted game with Al had you found love. And right now, you wanted to play. You allowed yourself to forget, for a little while. 

“You know, Al- I got you a present, too.”

“You got me something?” his voice cracked a little in surprise, turning from the window to look at you. 

“Well, yeah. I thought black lace would match the dress pretty good.”

It took two beats for Al to work out your meaning, the small, confused gape of his mouth morphing into one of lustful knowing. That trademark smirk, dimpling his cheek slightly, always did bring out his playful, rakish side- his most handsome, you thought. Somewhere in the last few moments the music had ceased, the needle scratching the dead wax of empty space, as if ceding its song to allow Al to command the room. 

“Naughty girl, keeping secrets from me,” he tutted, lathering on the dramatics as his arm snaked around your waist, yanking you close as he began to unfasten the dress. The sudden movement hitched your breath, stealing your speech. No noise apart from the slow, growling zziiippp as Al glided his hand down your back, savoring every inch of the undressing. His finger brushed the small of your back as he finished unzipping you, letting the dress pool around your feet with a soft fwhump as it fell. He stepped back, perhaps a little stunned, or perhaps to get a better look at you in the provocative black lace panties and bustier you wore. 

“Fuuuuck,” he growled under his breath, but seemed to collect himself for his next words. “You’re coming me with, Mrs. Shaw.”

“You gonna grab me?”

“You’re damn right I am.”

And with a sudden lunge, he made good on that promise, hoisting you over his broad shoulder as you shrieked wildly, a half-laugh, half-scream of pure pleasure. You pushed your arms against his back, lifting your head to speak into his ear as he carried you down the hallway.

“I’m all yours, Al.” you whispered. 

Al turned his face, a flash of that crooked smile as he replied.

“And I’m yours, dove. Always have been.”

The record was left spinning on the turntable, the needle forgotten and left tracing the run-out groove. 

Sometimes, it was ok to forget.