#both of them could easily break the punch machine but it's the fact that Blue ACTUALLY DID IT which is the funny bit

[askblueandviolet]

Hi :3

(Wukong appeared in the background)

[amythedvdhoarder]

Three

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word count: 4.3K

Warnings: Swearing, little bit of drinking, quite angsty and fluffy

A/N: (gif not mine) So this is my incredibly late entry to celebrate  @finleyjayne reaching 100 followers. Congrats hun you deserve it. So I picked the prompt ‘Feeling blue’ with Stucky. This is not beta read so I apologise now for any mistakes. 

xxx

Bucky let out a heavy sigh as he rolled over to face Steve in bed. Another night filled with restless sleep, the extra body in the bed missing making it impossible to sleep easily.

“What’s up? Steve grumbled still half asleep.

“You know what,” Bucky replied wistfully.

Steve stretches out lazily before turning to face Bucky and smiling sadly. “We had to let her go, give her a chance at a normal life. She couldn’t have that with is Buck.”

“Why can’t she have a normal life with us Steve? Everyone accepts us? We could have settled down, got married, had a few kids. No one would have questioned it.” Bucky knew the tiredness was stopping him from keeping a lid on his emotions.

“You know that’s not true,” Steve reached for Bucky’s hand and pulled it to his lips briefly, “nobody outside of the team knew about the three of us. It wasn’t fair on her, you agreed at the time too. We let her go before it got too far and we couldn’t. We had 6 happy months together, let’s just remember that.” Steve tugged on Bucky’s arm, encouraging him to come closer. Bucky shuffled over and rested his head against Steve’s chest.

“I know, I just miss her. I love her so fucking much it hurts.” Steve closed his eyes as he felt that familiar stab of pain that Bucky was talking about. Bucky was everything to Steve, they had been through so much together. But you. You were like the missing piece of their jigsaw puzzle they hadn’t even realised was incomplete. You fitted them perfectly, after everything they had been through they were happier than they had ever been but they noticed you becoming more distant, spending nights back at your own place, then suddenly it was all over.

xxx

You missed Steve and Bucky like hell. They had woven their way into your life and now that they weren’t in it, you felt lost. The first time you met them they had come into the coffee shop you were working in. Bucky’s fingers had grazed over yours as you handed him his takeout cup and Steve’s eyes met yours making your breath catch. You witnessed the pair of them having a quiet conversation and them both sitting down at a table despite ordering coffee to go. They spent the rest of the afternoon at the coffee shop, chatting away, their eyes searching you out and finding you already smiling at them warmly. When you were finally closing up they asked you to join them for a few minutes.

They explained to you that they were a couple but were interested in spending time with you. Surprisingly you weren’t put off by the idea but in fact excited, so you accepted their dinner invitation. Two weeks later you found yourself in their bed and after that a permanent feature in their lives. You spent most nights with them at the tower. On your days off you would explore New York together, looking like a couple and their friend just having a day out. Not that it bothered you. You understood why Steve was never affectionate with you outside of the tower, he kept his distance. He had only just started to feel comfortable being out with Bucky in public. Bucky was different though, he had spent too much of his life not being himself to hide any longer. He would tease you with small lingering touches, not so innocent looks whilst nobody was watching and whispering naughty thoughts in your ears as you peered into shop windows.

Everything had been going smoothly until Steve had gone on a mission that lasted longer than expected. Before that point you hadn’t slept with either of them without the other being there or joining in. But during this week Bucky felt himself getting more and more stressed and in need of release so he called Steve and asked if it would be ok for you and him to sleep together. Steve agreed at the time but when he got back from his mission to find you and Bucky curled up with each other on the sofa his face told a different story. Of course, you instantly panicked believing you were driving a wedge between them which was the last thing you wanted to do. After you voiced you concerns to Bucky he told you that you were being daft but Steve’s demeanour changed around you.

From that point you began to distance yourself from the both, you made excuses to avoid spending time with even though it made you miserable. In that short 6 months you had fallen insurmountably in love with them but realised it had to end. Bucky and Steve were meant for each other, you cared about them too much to come between them. And after one short, teary discussion between the three of you it was over. You made your excuses about needing the chance to have a normal life where you could be open about your relationships, have some proper stability. It was all lies of course, something to avoid having to tell them the truth and potentially cause them more pain. Neither of them fought or argued with you, they looked a little ashamed but ultimately let you go.

Truth be told you missed all of the people from the avenger’s tower; Sam and Nat had become good friends of yours. They had tried to contact you after you left but you ghosted them, unable to have any sort of connection to anyone linked to Bucky and Steve. Your life seemed quieter, mundane and as you cleaned the coffee machine up for closing time you didn’t even notice when a new customer came in.

“Y/N?” the soft voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Sam? What are you doing here?” you said moving towards the counter. “You want anything making?”

“Only if you’ll join me,” he smiled.

“I can’t. I need to close up and clean.” You could tell by the way his eyebrows raised that he wasn’t going to fall for your attempt to get rid of him.

“How about this. You lock up and I’ll help you tidy up. It’ll give us a chance to talk, I miss talking to someone who isn’t over 100 or a trained assassin.” Sam knew he had won when you burst out laughing.

“Fine, but only because I don’t want to clean up this place on my own,” you stuck your tongue out at him as you walked over to the door, clicked the lock shut and turned over the sign indicating you were now closed.  

You and Sam chatted away for the next 30 minutes talking about this and that, both delaying the inevitable topic of the two super soldiers. You handed Sam his payment of a cappuccino and you sat down in an armchair opposite him, nursing your cup of tea.

“So, you gonna ask me how they are?” Sam asks an amused tone to his voice.

“Sam, I-“ he shakes his head at you.

“I’m gonna tell you anyway. Y/N they’re not good, they really miss you even if they won’t admit it to us. Bucky is miserable, he barely laughs, makes a joke. Hell, he has even stopped teasing me. For some reason he only wears this one red t-shirt all the time, he is refusing to wash it. Like it actually smells now. And Steve. Steve is worst. His mood swings would put an adolescent teenager to shame. One minute he is snapping at everyone, breaking open punch bags and the next he weirdly calm and this look of despair just washes over him.” Sam’s eyes fixed on your face.

His words had clearly had an impact, making him feel instantly guilty. Your bottom lip wobbling, eyes full of tears threatening to spill over. He jumped up out of his seat and wrapped a comforting arm around you. At this the damn broke and you descended into sobs.

“Shit, I’m sorry Y/N,” Sam crooned softly, taking the hot tea out of your hand and placing it on the table. “Take a couple of deep breaths for me,” he instructed. Once you had finally had your breathing back under control and wiped away your tears, he finally released you and sat back down opposite you.

“I’m sorry Sam,” your voice croaky and raw from the crying. “I just miss them, I don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s like I’m hollow, does that sound crazy?”

“No, it doesn’t Y/N, I felt the same way when Riley died. The difference is they didn’t die, you could have them back in your life if that’s what you want?” he said solemnly.

“I would go back to them in a heartbeat Sam, but I just don’t think that’s what they both want,” you twisted the ring around your index finger.

“Did you not hear what I told you earlier? They’re lost without you,” Sam was thoroughly confused. His plan had been to try and talk you around to help you realise what a big mistake the three of you had made.  Nat was having a similar conversation with Steve and Bucky right now, informing them what she had found out by following you around for the last week or so since you’d left. But now Sam had a feeling that there was a bigger issue at hand.

“I heard you but they’ll learn to live without me. They love each other completely, I don’t think there is room for me in all of that.” It was the first time you had admitted the truth aloud, it stung but it felt good to have finally got the big weight off your shoulders.

“That’s the biggest pile of bullshit I have ever heard,” Sam scoffed. Your head shot up immediately, your mouth open in shock. “You can’t seriously believe that?”

You were quiet for a minute, not sure how to respond. “You don’t know them like I do,” you replied quietly.

“You’re right, in some ways I know them better. I knew them before you, they were happy but it was nowhere near what they were like when you were with them,” he folded his arms content that he had won.

“See that’s where your wrong Sam. You remember that mission that Steve went on, every little thing that could go wrong did. Well when he got home something was different, he was more guarded around me. I think it was because me and Bucky got closer whilst he was away, he didn’t want me anymore. I was getting in the way,” you reasoned.

“Y/N, I was on that mission with him. We went through absolute hell and back. I was distant from everyone for a while. Did you know he nearly died?” he looked at the way your eyes widened to find the answer to that question. “So, no then. Well he did and do you know what he said to me?” You shook your head. “I’m quoting here. ‘Tell them both I love them. Tell Bucky to look after our girl’. If you were really getting in the way, why would he say that?”

You sighed. “I don’t know. But he didn’t stop me from leaving.”

“Did you tell them the real reason why you were leaving?” Sam asked already knowing the answer.

You shook your head.

“And people call me an idiot?” he scoffed.  “Of course they let you go if that’s what they thought you wanted. You need to talk to them or at least see them and find out the truth.”

You picked up your tea and took a long gulp to avoid responding to Sam’s suggestion.

“Well whatever you decide you’re going to have to see them this weekend anyway?” he said smugly making you choke and cough as the now lukewarm liquid went down the wrong way.

“Sam what the fuck?” you managed to get out in between spluttering coughs.

“It’s my birthday party on Saturday, you promised you’d come ages ago.” He folded his arms at grinned.

“That was before,’ you stammered. “Besides, I’ve already said I’ll work another shift.”

“Liar,” he said getting to his feet. “Nat will come to yours and pick you up around 7. Think about what I’ve said Y/N. They really do miss you.”

You stood up followed him as he walked to the door. “Ok I’ll think about it. Don’t think I have much choice about Saturday, do I?”

Sam wrapped you up in a bear hug. “Nope, absolutely none.”

After you had locked up after Sam you sat back down and tried to process everything. Sam’s words played over in your head. There was no doubt that Bucky was missing you; he was wearing the shirt of his that you had slept in the last night you spent with them. It was Steve you were more sceptical about. If what Sam had really said was true then maybe Steve did care for you more than he let on. Perhaps some part of him doubted your affection and loyalty to them. There was no way to be sure except to see them. You just didn’t know if you were ready for that.

xxx

Nat showed up a whole two hours early with an array of outfits for you to pick from. She wouldn’t let you get something old and familiar out of your closet, she was determined to get you dressed up and into the party spirit. She only succeeded at one of those and by the time you both pulled up to the tower you were a complete bag of nerves.

“Will you quit fidgeting, you’re making me nervous,” Nat scolded you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled before pulling up the front of your dress. “Why a sleeveless dress Nat? They are so impractical.”

“Well -” she paused to twist the thin satin material at your hip, repositioning the perilously high thigh split, “- that may be true but I can guarantee one thing, those boys will certainly realise what they have been missing.”

You frowned at her and gave one final look over your appearance in the elevator mirror before the door pinged open into the loud and bustling party. She took your hand and led you to the bar where you were greeted by Sam who promptly handed you a drink. You knocked back the amber liquid quickly in an attempt to sooth your nerves, before anxiously scanning around the room for any sign of the two men you both longed and dreaded to see.

“Relax Y/N, they’re not here yet,” Sam leaned over and whispered in your ear. He gave you a small reassuring smile which mixed with warmth the alcohol was providing finally made you relax a little. Nat and Sam caught you up on everything that happened and the latest avenger’s gossip.

“Hey kid, we missed you. How’ve you been?” Tony walked up to you, his purple tinted glasses nearly falling of his nose as he threw his arms out to embrace you.

“Ok thanks,” you said quickly. “Great party as always Tones.”

“Well we have Mrs Stark to thank for that.” He turned to face Sam. “They’re gonna short-circuit when they find out she’s here,” Tony uttered, half amused before walking over to greet some other guests.

You rounded on Sam. “You didn’t tell them,” your voice low as you tried to control your emotions.

“Not exactly,” he shrugged. “Well guess we’re going to find out any second now,” he smirked at the entrance over your shoulder.

xxx

Bucky looked around the room, wishing at that moment that he could be anywhere else. He was walking towards the bar when he realised Steve was no longer walking next to him.

“Stevie?” he turned around searching for Steve and spotted him stood stock still, his eyes fixed on something across the room. Bucky walked back towards him and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Steve?” he said starting to get a little worried, he looked like he had seen a ghost. Bucky followed his line of sight and his eyes met yours across the crowded room. His breath caught in his throat and he could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. He had thought of this moment every day since you had left and now that it was here he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Is she really here Buck,” Steve’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Bucky blinked and turned to Steve. “I think so. Steve, we have to …”

“I know” Steve said as he took Bucky’s hand and squeezed it.

When the men turned back around you had disappeared from sight. You saw them frantically searching for you but you had managed to tuck yourself behind a group of shield agents. At the sight of them part of you wanted to run to them and throw your arms around them and never let them go but there was still doubts niggling away in your mind. One thing was for certain, Sam was right. Bucky did look sad and Steve. Well Steve was the one you hadn’t ever been able to get a read on before and still couldn’t now.  

“Y/N seriously, hiding from them?” Nat shook her head at you.

“Well you found me so I’m clearly not hiding am I,” you sassed.

“You certainly won’t be in a minute” she smiled deviously before standing on her tip toes and waving at the two super soldiers.

“I fucking hate you Nat,” you hissed.

“No you don’t. If you’re still planning on hiding I would move now, they’re on their way.” You stuck your middle finger up at her and then scarpered. Sure, you were going to have to face them at some point tonight but you planned on having at least another couple of drinks before that.

Mid-way through your first vodka and coke a tall red-headed man approached you and Bruce as you were chatting at the bar.

“Hi, I was wondering if you wanted a dance. Seems a shame to be hiding that dress over here at the bar,” Bruce bit back a laugh as did you at the corny line but none the less you agreed.

You let the man who introduced himself as Tom, take your hand and lead you to the dancefloor. Thankfully the song was slow so you didn’t have to worry about your dress slipping down. Tom placed his hands lightly on your waist as you held onto his shoulders, gently swaying to the music.

Midway through the song he leaned over and whispered quietly in your ear. “Do you have any idea why the winter soldier looks like he wants to kill me?”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened. “Bucky,” you corrected. “No, I have no idea,” the tone of your voice sharp. As you spun around your eyes landed on Bucky who was gripping onto the glass tumbler in his hand so tightly you were surprised it hadn’t smashed. It was often that you saw this side of him but it sent a shiver down your spine. Your eyes sought out Steve who you assumed would be with Bucky but you couldn’t find him.

“Mind if I cut in?” a familiar voice spoke softly whilst still managing to carry an air of absolute authority.  

Tom stood still and turned to look up at the blonde man. “Sure thing Sir,” he stuttered, “thanks Y/N,” and with that Tom backed away and nearly ran from the dancefloor.

“That was mean,” your hands fell to your hips as you scowled at Steve. “Plus, do I not get a say in this?” His blue eyes flashed with panic briefly but then that classic Steve Rogers look of determination reappeared.

“So, what do you want Y/N?” you could sense the double meaning behind his question. “Because I know what I want Y/N,” he continued, his blue eyes boring into yours taking a step closer.

“Steve I…” you closed your eyes and bit down on your bottom lip trying to find the words you wanted to say. A calloused hand cupped your jaw and you opened your eyes as Steve traced the tender flesh of your lower lip. The sound of the party disappeared and all that remained in that moment was you and Steve. Instinctively you pressed your hand on top of Steve’s and inched yourself closer to him.

“I wish this were simpler Steve but it’s not,” you hadn’t even realised you were crying until Steve removed his hand and quickly wiped away the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“This was never going to be simple Y/N. But all I know is that I love you. These last few weeks have bit a shit show. I didn’t say it enough before but if you’ll have me then I will spend every day showing you exactly how much.”

“What about Bucky?” you asked quietly.

“What about me doll?” Bucky had walked up to the pair of you, a lop-sided grin on his face.

“You two are meant to be together. I don’t want to get in the way of that,” you looked from Bucky’s face to Steve’s.  

“You can’t seriously think that Y/N,” Steve said moving forward to try and get closer but you took a step back.

“I know that when you came back from that mission everything felt different,” your voice cracked as you tried to make Steve understand.

Steve’s face fell at your words. “I was scared Y/N. I realised on that mission how important you were. How much we needed you. When I saw you when I got back with Buck, I realised that you deserved so much more than someone who might not come home one day. You’re worth more than that. I was scared you were going to figure it out and leave. So, when you started pulling away I let you because I thought that was what you wanted, what would make you happy. Even if it meant we weren’t,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

“And you,” you rounded on Bucky, “did you think the same thing?”

“Y/N you didn’t seem happy and I thought we were to blame; doesn’t that sound familiar?” he was right of course. “All I know is it sounds as if you have been as miserable as we have. Doll, we’re not us without you. We’re a team. You, me and Stevie. We’re all yours if you’ll have us?” he shrugged.

“Maybe you need us to convince you?” Steve closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours with a softness you hadn’t expected. You felt yourself melt against him as his hands found the nape of your neck and held you to him, your lips moving against his as you became reacquainted.

When he finally managed to tear himself away from the sweet taste of your lips, his cheeks were flushed and his ragged breath matched your own.

“My turn,” Bucky stepped over, his hand moving to the back of your head as he crashed his lips to yours. The intensity of the kiss had both of you moaning against each other’s mouths. You wrapped your arms around him, not wanting to let go but you had to eventually.

You stood breathless looking between the two super soldiers who owned your heart, your mind made up.

“Yes,” you smiled.

Bucky was grinning like a kid of Christmas morning but Steve didn’t allow himself to celebrate to soon. “You sure about this Y/N because we won’t ever let you go again,” he said.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” and you meant it. You couldn’t imagine a version of your life without Bucky and Steve in it. “Now get over here,” you giggled at the look of pure joy on Steve’s face.

Steve was on you in a second, picking you up off your feet and pressing kisses all over your face. Bucky came up to the pair of you and took you out of Steve’s arms to repeat the whole process all over again before leaning over to give Steve a quick kiss.

Bucky finally slid you down his body back onto the floor and Steve cupped your cheek and was about to lean down to kiss you again until Sam interrupted.

“Um guys, as much as I am enjoying the reunion maybe you wanna, you know, take this somewhere a little less...” Sam waved his arm around at the crowd of people around you.

You hid yourself in embarrassment behind Bucky’s shoulder. “Sorry” your voice muffled by Bucky’s suit jacket, but you knew it was loud enough for them to both hear it.

Steve laced his fingers with yours and pulled you to face him. “What are you sorry for doll,” he stroked the side of your cheek with the back of his finger.

“I know you didn’t want people to know about us,” you looked down at the floor.

“I got nothing to hide doll. I love both of you and that’s all that matters,” he squeezed your hand and turned to Bucky. “Let’s get outta here.”

“Been waiting all night for you to say that Punk,” Bucky grinned.

He took your other hand and lead you and Steve out of the party. None of you caring what people may have been saying about the three of you, only caring about the fact that you were all together again, just how it was meant to be.

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[suicidalslasher]

𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 - 𝒋𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒅.

the one where Jason is a jealous  dumbass,  that’s it -  that’s the plot.

WARNINGS: This is a Jason Dean fanfiction, therefore, you all know what you’re signing up for. I don’t really got to tell you, twice. 

  Possessive!Jason. Jealous!Jason. Female reader, reader’s pronouns are she/her. 

Slight mention and scene of choking but it’s not graphic. A hint of NSFW but it isn’t shown. Also there’s a few mentions of blood but it’s not a lot, either. I wanted to tag that nonetheless, too. Also, Jason actually shows emotions in this which is out of character but in MY world, Jason Dean is a simp to his girlfriend and would rather die than to live a day without her. 

I may add the smut scene later on, who knows?  Not me. This is my first imagine of Jason Dean so be nice to me or I’ll be like Ghostface and gut you like a fish (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*  

If you enjoyed this story, don’t hesitate to follow and or leave me a request, as they are open. If you also like my work and or have a dollar to  spare, as it will help me write and create more stories like this one, my ko-fi is here. 

Thank you and enjoy :)

White knuckles from clenching his fists too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, Jason bit back his words, knowing they'd be harsh and full of  poison.  He's fully aware of how much damage he'd likely cause if he spit out the words that were on his mind.  He was going to break, and he knew it wasn't going to take too long until he did so.   Yet, as the female continued to talk beside him as an attempt to grab his attention, the feelings only grew larger and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, the metallic taste of blood trickling on the tip of his tongue.   Jason swallowed that anger when it was nothing but a fire-seed and he had forgotten to drink something cold right after, in an effort to calm himself down;   therefore, it grew in his stomach until it came out hotter than any dragon breath.... all those negative emotions that swam in his veins  and crept in the pit of his stomach exploded and all the feelings he desperately was trying to hold back came burning on the one person he loved the most, his girlfriend, (Y/N). His face was red with suppressed rage and when (Y/N)  set her finger on his shoulder, he swung around and mentally snapped, his nostrils flared  and his pupils were blown and dilated  as he snarled like an  out of control beast.  "I hate him more than I do the Heathers," spat Jason,  as he pushes his girlfriend up against the wall, the framed photograph that hung there now remained at the bottom of their feet, shattered into hundreds of pieces.   "I don't like you hanging out with him." Jason growled, his fingers curling around (Y/N)'s throat, feeling her pulse begin to quicken  as he presses his weight down onto the palm of his hand.  "Do you know how much it hurts to see you look at someone else? To see you smile at someone else? It makes me feel sick.”     "Jason... Let go of me. Let's talk. Please? You don't even know him... if you'll let me speak and tell you-"  "You love him, don't you?" Jason hisses, the sentence feeling like a slap to (Y/N)'s face as he throws out this statement.... it was a lie, that's what it was and (Y/N) desperately was trying to tell him how wrong he was but he just wouldn't listen, the arrogant  son of a bitch never listens!    "You love him more than you do me."  Before either teen realizes it, Jason is letting go of (Y/N)'s throat only for him to raise his hand up  into a fist and he's punching the only other framed photograph that was beside her, the glass shattering behind his knuckles. (Y/N) screams in horror and although she's pissed off, she - obviously - still cares about her boyfriend.  "Jason!" (Y/N) yelps, tears falling down her cheeks as she rushes to her boyfriend's side, examining his hand which was now dripping with crimson, a few drops of red landing on the now broken picture frame and the wooden floor beneath their feet. "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here, somewhere-" "You love him." Jason repeats, ignoring the fact she was trying to help him.  He pulls his hand back, dropping his arm by his side, not  even caring about the way the blood was falling from his knuckles and staining both his pants and shirt. The anger and venom that once coated his words were now replaced with a hint of sadness and heartbreak.  She's never seen him this upset before.... regardless, if he'd just calm down, she could explain.  "Jason, baby-" His voice broke as he looked up at (Y/N), sad eyes meeting with her confused but angry gaze. On top of those, she was sad, too.   "Go then. Go to him, if you prefer to spend your day with him rather than your own boyfriend. You don't care about me, I'm not sure you ever did."  (Y/N) sighed, shaking her head as a few more tears spill past her cheeks. "Fine. If you won't let me talk and tell you my side of the story, I'm leaving. If that's what you think and if you truly think I don't give a fuck about you, I'm gone." (Y/N) mutters, letting go of his hand as she walks back over to the door, grabbing her keys and wallet before storming out the door, slamming the door shut as she leaves.

A week passes. 

Another week following behind that.  

(Y/N) didn't bother to call or show up.

He really fucked things up, didn't he? 

Jason wasn't huge on  showcasing his feelings and putting them out on display for people to see. The only emotion he was so used to showing was anger and madness. Nothing but chaos was built and stored away in Jason Dean's body, too.  All three traits made him who he was.  People may not like him because of his temper and all the flaws he had but it was him, and he didn't plan on changing for anybody.  Expect.... of course, (Y/N). As he sat alone in his bedroom, he felt depressed. He never cried, either.  Couldn't tell you the last time he ever did cry. Did he even cry as a baby? Jason wasn't sure, nor could he tell you.  

But.... Jason cried. For the first time in forever, he broke down and cried. Couldn't help himself.  By the end of the night, there were no tears left to cry. He had run dry. His body couldn't form any more tears.   Feeling both mentally and physically drained, Jason reached over and grabbed his phone off of the night stand, dialing the one number he actually had memorized.  All he got was her voicemail.   "This is (Y/N). I can't answer the phone at the moment but  I will get back to you as soon as I can! Bye!"  Jason groaned and he was half-tempted to throw the phone out of his window but he decided against it as he left a voicemail, regardless. He wanted (Y/N) to know he was sorry. 

He wanted (Y/N) to know that despite their arguments (which weren't constant but when they did fight, it was mainly due to Jason's behavior rather than her own) he loves her.  

 (Y/N) coming into his life was the only good thing the world had offered and gave him. He wasn't going to give her up. Not that easily, anyways.  "Hey." He had forgotten he was leaving a voicemail, having zoned out for a second, the beep brought him back out of his thoughts.  "It's me. Uh.... Jason.... your boyfriend? I hope so, anyway, still.... But, yeah, it's Jason.... Jason Dean.... ha, uh.... you knew that.

  Listen, I'm sorry for everything,  (Y/N).  I'm sorry for having that temper tantrum and taking out my frustration and jealousy on you. I'm not good at this type of stuff, not so great with showing my emotions in person either, so....

 I'll talk here,  hopefully the message goes all the way through. I don't want to say this in person, again, I'm not good at the whole unraveling my feelings, especially not face to face.

��But... (Y/N), baby, you're the best thing that's ever been mine. You're my darlin', my girl, and I got jealous because I was scared, okay? 

I was scared of losing you. And I'm telling you this because it's been awhile now and I haven't seen you around or heard from you in awhile. Therefore, I may have already lost you but.... I love you, (Y/N)... and I'm sorry, okay? 

Thought you'd never hear me say that, huh? Me, apologizing? That's like... once in a blue moon. Hah.....  

But, uh... well, it's true. I'm sorry and I, Jason Dean, love you, (Y/N) (L/N). And I hope that you still love me too."   With that, Jason ends the call, hanging the phone back up on the table as he falls back onto the bed. He didn't - doesn't - know what to do if he didn't have (Y/N) by his side.   Trying to ignore these thoughts and place his attention elsewhere, he decides he needs to focus on sleeping. His body was exhausted after all that crying, plus the punch to the picture frame was still making his hand ache and throb, despite it being a few weeks since he had done it. 

He had one hell of a nasty bruise, too. He was sure it wouldn't look so ugly and scarred if he  had listened to (Y/N) and taken her up on that offer when she suggested the first aid kit...  Before he knows it, he's drifting off into a deep slumber, naturally bringing a pillow into his chest, tucking it underneath his arm as he falls asleep.   

Faint whispers of (Y/N)'s name spills pass his lips as he sleeps. He'd rather be cuddling her than a pillow but he'll take what he can get. He just hopes she'll accept his apology.  

(Y/N) gets home a little after midnight, sighing heavily and tiredly as she kicks off her shoes and strips out of her jacket, hanging the coat up first before setting her shoes under the rack. She had just finished unpacking and helping her cousin move things in his new apartment and she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed. 

 In the corner of her eye, however, she notices her answering machine is flashing red, letting her know someone had left a voicemail.  She walks over and clicks on the button, expecting it to be for  her parents but instead she's met with a shocking fate - it was Jason.  

Hearing his voice, so weak and vulnerable, brought tears to her eyes and she bit back a sob. Especially when he apologized, that was new. 

They've said those three words to each other before, of course, but it was hearing how sad he sounded that let her know he truly did love her, despite everything they've been through and all the silly arguments they've shared over the past few months; they loved each other. 

 And nothing - nobody - could ever stand in the way of that.   Jason was still a huge dumbass, however. 

And as she grabs her jacket, sliding the thick layer of clothing around herself and dips her feet into her boots, she's quick to go and tell him that, too.  

She loves him, yes, but she needs to let him know he was a  huge fucking idiot. 

Jason, for the most post, was sleeping peacefully until he heard a loud crash coming from downstairs, along with a string of curse words. 

  He was quick to get up, throwing the blanket and pillow aside as he opened his bedroom door and creeps down the hallway, wondering who the hell was in his living room.   

He was met with.... well, not a burglar  neither his father as he would have guessed the next outcome to be but rather his girlfriend.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?" He asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands as he tried to shake off the remaining sleep that had taken over him not even a few hours ago. 

"I came here to scare you, obviously." She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she scrambles up and off of the floor, brushing her knees and arms from the fall she had taken.  "Your door was locked, couldn't find the extra key anywhere so I snuck in through the window and-"

"And... you're bleeding." Jason said, gesturing to the tiny gash on her arm.   "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here somewhere." He mocks, giving her a playful smile as he quoted the words she had said to him the day they got into that fight. 

 (Y/N) said nothing but she follows when Jason offers his hand out to her, anyway.   He was surprised when he did find the small box up in a cabinet.   

"It's fine. I'm fine. Nothing  a bandage won't fix, right?" 

"(Y/N). Why are you here? You never did answer me." Jason said, getting out the tiny box of band-aids, ripping one open as he presses the item down onto her arm. She was right, it wasn't a big cut, a few drops of blood, sure, but it wasn't one that'd get infected.  

"I got your voice message." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "And I came to talk to you about it."

He wasn't sure whether or not that was a good or bad thing.

 "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You're a dumbass." 

Oh. 

 It was bad. 

He felt his heart drop down to his stomach. He really let his jealousy get the best of him and now he was going to lose the one good thing he had in his life. 

"I love you but you didn't let me speak," She continued.  "That guy you saw... first of all, you have no right to judge him or say you hate him when you have no idea who he is. That dude I was seen with was my cousin, who, may I add, is gay.” 

“I’ve been helping him move which is why you saw me in town with him. We were getting a few supplies and picking up his furniture.” She continues.

“You got jealous over a guy who is far from being attracted to  females. And you know... he's related to me as well, so, that also plays a huge part in it. And if you didn't notice either, the picture you broke was actually a portrait of my family and his together at a family reunion. Of course, you didn't see that, though or probably even noticed but.... yeah, you're a dumbass. I love you, J.D, but you're an idiot for thinking I'd ever love someone more than I love you." 

Jason says nothing, he feels embarrassed, ashamed, but overall; he feels happy, knowing she still loves him, even if he was a total moron.  "I'm sorry, baby, I got jealous and I shouldn't jump so quickly to conclusions  and-"

"And you need to make up for it." She said, pressing her chest up against his, resting her hand on the palm of his cheek, brushing a few stray hairs out from his face as she gives him a seductive look. "And how.... exactly, are you going to make up for it, baby?" She purred. 

"I think I've an idea." He said with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah? While you're at it, can you choke me like you did, too?" 

"I'll do more than just choke you with my hand, darling." 

"To be suffocated and to choke on either your cock and hand would be a blessing, my dear." 

"Then let's go upstairs, shall we?"

(Y/N) smiled and took Jason's hand with her own, giggling as if she wasn't just talking about getting choked by her boyfriend, as if she was some saint rather than a sinner. Fuck... Jason loves how dirty she was. "We shall." He replies, nearly dragging her up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

"Going to show you how much I love you, going to treat you so good, so well, baby girl... missed you so much, love you so much..." 

[quitealotofsodapop]

MvA assorted headcanons

General:

So many years together has made the core monsters inseperable. If something affects one member, it affects the group.

All. The. Monsters. Are. Family.

It takes Susan a while to understand inside jokes and past incidents because of being the most recent addition.

There are Other anomalous creatures kept in Area 5X, but they are either non-sentient and/or are too dangerous to be kept around the more human-friendly monster group.

Area 5X is so gotdang big because they were expecting a lot more kaijus like Insecto to crop up. Sadly not many have surfaced to justify the space.

There’s a hangar in Area 5X full of wrecked UFOs. Some are spacecraft wreckage while others are stuff like weird meteors (Susan’s is in there), and at least one alien creature that got crystallised upon entering Earth’s atmosphere.

There’s significant difference in staff employed at different points throughout the past 50 years. There are far more women on the Area 5X worksheet than back in the 50s, and the guards are generally more sympathetic towards the monsters. Many modern staff members have been reprimanded or let go for failing to uphold secrecy, or for unnecessary cruelty towards the monsters.

Budget cuts were a legitmate concern up until the Battle of Golden Gate Bridge. The facility was far more barebones and sterile before the government had to formally recognise Area 5X’s importance. There have been a lot of redecorating at the facilty since the fat checks started coming in.

Putting individual characters under read due to length.

Susan:

Enjoys many hobbies considered stereotypically feminine; baking, sewing, cosmetics, etc...

Grandparents and extended family are farmers or are atleast connected to the business. Modesto is the agricultural centre of California after all. Her parents were the first of their generation to go against the mold and seek out white-collar careers.

Studied cosmetology in school and was working at a beauty salon to save up for her and Derek’s wedding.

Is very athletic and grew up doing a number of physical extracurriculars like cheerleading, dodgeball, and roller-derby.

Grew up being teased for being the shortest kid in her class/family. They still tease her for it.

Greatly fears causing collateral damage and/or harm to others through her size.

Has issues with anxiety, worsened only by her new job as “savior of earth”. She wishes for a confidant to tell her worries to.

Married life with Derek was doomed to fail. Susan had a plan in place for what came after the marriage, and focusing 100% on Derek’s career was not it. There’s also the line from Derek’s mother about Susan being “the weatherman’s wife”, implying that she was to be the homemaker and not have a career of her own. It’s possible that Susan was planning to settle down and have kids with Derek, but the lack of control she had in moving to Fresno implied that more was going on.

Is currently “taking a break” from love and dating, despite gaining many new admirers.

Tries her best to return to Modesto to visit her family and friends whenever possible, though work often keeps her away for weeks at a time.

If she retains her height-shifting abilities as in the series; Susan goes through really bad “growing” pains.

Link:

Was frozen in his relative late-teens during a cold snap. Got shifted around until he ended up somewhere in Greenland before being discovered by modern humans. Post-thaw he went a bit wild, swimming frantically back south to try and find his old enviroment.

Was one of many scrappy youngsters in his troop, with a number of adoptive parents. The strongest ruled the troop, and Link was fairly weak in comparision to the leaders. He had gotten into a fight the day of his freezing (over something silly in hindsight) and swam away to sulk. When he didn’t return after the cold snap - the troop accepted that he had likely died out on his own.

Likes to freak out humans by making up weird biology facts about his species and ones he’s fought against - like joking about laying eggs or having his tail dettach and regrow like a lizard. However there’s some things he has to ask about, because he doesn’t have medical knowledge or words to describe something.

A lot of his macho behavior came from imitating the guards who kept watch on him. 1950s violent military alpha males aren't a very good role model for someone who doesnt know what societal norms are yet. Link was a lot more insufferable back in the day but chilled out as he began interacting with other walks of life.

Has a high paternal instinct and immediately becomes softer around kids and smaller animals.

Has body language similar to a cat/alligator. Slaps his tail when angry or in deep thought. And yes; Link purrs/rumbles when happy.

Loves monster movies - especially the ones where the monsters “win”. He cried when he saw “Beauty and the Beast” and then immediately booed loudly when the Beast turned human.

Does Not Trust doctors or scientists due to bad past experiences. Will only go to Dr Cockroach and Monger if he ever gets hurt/ill. Gets stressed fast if he has to be in a waiting room or doctors office.

Link had no idea what gender indentities or orientations were until recently - he did come from a pre-human civilization that really didnt mind/care about the schemantics. It took him some time to wrap his head around it. He identifies himself as bisexual after much thought and many hours alone on the computer.

Don't press him about his body. He's built different from humans and cis people. He will punch anyone who doesnt respect his or anyone elses identity.

Has been in love before. It didn’t end well.

Will occasionally wear clothes, but finds it a challenge to find anything that fits him. Will give any shoes he finds to Dr Cockroach and BOB to eat.

The best driver/pilot out of all the monsters.

Dr Cockroach:

True name is Jaques-Yves Herbert. Prefers to just go by "Dr Cockroach" because he dislikes the association with his birth family.

Picks up human languages very easily, although not as quickly as he can understand animals.

Parents were a mixed scientist couple. His father was an aggressive “Strong British Man” that would beat him son down for not following orders or for not meeting his standards for a man. Dr C turned down both chances to attend his parents funerals.

This man isn’t straight. He probably uses old-fashioned slang when asked about romance such as; “I am Uranian” or “I wear a green carnation”. It took Susan a few times to realise what he meant, as she is used to a more open minded enviroment.

Got the idea of transforming into a cockroach from reading Franz Kafkas “The Metamorphosis” as a child. He sympathized with Gregor’s abusive situation, and began considering the possibilties of how one could survive better as a creature like a cockroach.

Studied in biology and entomology in the Uk before moving to the states to follow engineering. Obtained his degree in Dance as a “side gig” in University.

Has been barred from free access to the coffee maker/machine due to overnighters. Once stayed awake so long that he forgot the letter “R”.

Owned a terrarium of Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches throughout college. He mourned each of them when his roommate’s iguana got into the tank.

Was a "beatnik" back in the day and still kinda is. Embraces and encourages modern counterculture as he himself was not given such acceptance in his youth. He has however shamefully eaten his old Lenny Bruce album.

Hasn’t actually aged physically since his transformation. He attributes this to the fact that certain athropods can’t age physically beyond maturity. Link is very jealous.

Has obtained more degrees while in captivity, as Monger allowed him access to research and learning materials. He has however had his allowances revoked for previous escape attempts/doomsday devices.

Does still enjoy human food, but the cockroach instinct of "eat detritus" tends to overrule his eating choices. Can’t cook either.

Ironically a terrible driver. The damages from previous drives has made Monger restrict him from operating even a razor scooter.

BOB:

Pretty much considers himself human. Was created by them, raised by one (Monger), and talks like one. Gets sad when he's reminded that no other humans are blue blobs like him.

Absorbed some dna from the scientists present at his "birth", leading to his eye, speech, and omnivorous diet.

Doesnt actually need to breathe (as he can just absorb oxygen through his mass) but the fact that humans Do means that BOB thinks he has to as well.

Shares some physical characteristics with tomatoes/nightshade plants, as he is technically half tomato. He refuses to eat tomatos for this very reason, considering it cannibalism.

Attracts garden pests looking for a tomato plant. This unwittingly makes BOB a pretty good bug zapper.

Still retains his "mental broadcast" ability from "BOB's Big Break" although at a more subtle level. He tends to parrot the things he accidentally "eavesdropped" on.

Is empathetic, and can tell when others aren't doing ok emotionally. Will flop down on someone who’s really sad to comfort them. No brain, only heart.

Best cook out of the monsters. If he doesn’t forget what he’s making at least.

"Whats a gender? Can I eat it?"

Insectosaurus:

Core body is that of a Japanese Silkmoth, although she ended up being spliced with other animals present on the island during her initial mutation; namely ants and ground squirrels.

Eats over a literal ton of mulberry leaves per day. Also enjoys oranges.

Secretly wishes to be more humanoid.

Was only able to pupate and transform due to physical trauma. It seems that her transformation was like a “power-up” that required her to be in geniune distress for it to activate.

First language is Japanese. She learned it from the intial recovery team, and later developed an understanding of English from years in Area 5X.

Goes into torpor in cold weather. Pretty much impossible to wake her up for missions during Winter, as she needs to “rev up” before becoming mobile.

Still very much Link’s best friend. Still enjoys sports, chicks, and beer.

Monger:

Full name is; Warren Rex Monger.

Is very protective of the monsters and will defend them to the death.

Pretty much raised BOB (as seen when BOB was a baby blob in “Night of the Living Carrots”), and considers him his “freaky gelatinous son”.

Has a reputation of being a “control-freak” due to his aggressive overseeing of the monsters’ containment. This toughness is partly because of incidents that occured without his knowledge. Lets just say some scientists have been wedgied/fired for running experiments on the monsters without Monger’s approval.

Has a very “Ron Swanson” emotional response and view of the world. Crying is acceptable only at funerals and at the Grand Canyon (if he hadn’t lost his tear ducts in the war).

Has been married multiple times. Will not confirm or deny if he is currently seeing anyone.

Invisible Man/TiM:

Legit got out but no one at Area 5X is sure how. He suffered a geniune medical emergency and disappeared after surgery. The other monsters were informed that he died from complications to deter them from getting escape ideas.

Is able to be detected in Infrared light. Dr Cockroach managed to rig up goggles to view TiM in case of injury and to foil pranks.

Was a scientist working on an invisibility potion for the military and used himself as a guinea pig. Hasn’t actually been able to replicate his results since - thinks the effect may have been caused by a genetic abnormality.

Dr Cockroach and him are massive rivals. Both actually met eachother pre-transformation through a CalTech expedition. This makes the pair one of few people that have seen the others human face.

Is 100% naked. Was forced to wear clothing once this was discovered.

A massive prankster and a cynic. Him and Link were a force to be reckoned with.

Has revisted the facility multiple times and has started a number of ghost stories.

Any additions are welcome! I proably have alot more to dump about. Might make one of the alien characters from the series

[bloatware-xl-rp]

Emergent Behavior

(weird one where the Cyborg vores you and discovers she has a pregnancy kink)

Two fingers jab through the lock startling you half to death. Stood in your underwear, you struggle to back up, cover yourself and not trip over your jeans you were just trying to pull off. An array of outfits surrounding you in the small, cramped cubicle. Red painted nails scraped around the hole in the door where the Changing room lock had been punched out, feeling for the latch they pause. "Occupied!" You shout hoarsely. "Ma'am! Please, you can't go in th-" A gurgle cuts off the voice of the woman who'd helped you in here a sick sound like cellary breaking in half and a loud thud like something heavy dropped on a tile floor make you wince. The fingers twist easily finding the latch. The door rips open to reveal...just a woman. Or what looked like a woman. She stared at you with a blank, perfect face. Her blond hair tied back in a bun. Cold blue eyes and tight red gatorskin leather.

The TX had found you.

"Y/N?" Her voice is pleasant as if she worked in customer service, but threatening as if that voice were about to throw you from the local bar. You didn't move. In one swift motion, the Leather Clad Fashion model hercules stepped into the changing room, you step back trying to retreat, but your calves trip over the bench and fall on your butt. Her hand drawing the door closed as she entered. "Where is Kimberly Jones?" The woman asked in a voice like honey, but somehow stilted. It sounded sweet, but didn't know how to be sweet. Your ex? Why was she asking about your ex? "I don't know." "Do you have an address?" The woman asked her tone turning jovial, polite even. "Or a Phone Number?" Yeah you had her address but you weren't going to give it to this psycho! In fact you told her just as much.

Her response, was a thumb like an iron bolt crammed into your shoulder. "Where is Kimberly Jones? You will take me to her now." The TX insisted. Her cybernetic eyes scanning you up and down, monitoring sweat, heart rate, pupils. Looking for stress, infomation. Data. Data. Data. "You will take me to Kimberly Jones right now, or I'm going to hurt you." "You can't get me out of here by force, someone will notice!" You gasp as her hand gripped your collar and dug her thumbs painfully into the bones. The TX considered this a minute. If necesary every human in this "Target" was expendable, she could blast her way out. That would bring cops. She could kill them too, but she was running out of time. Her records indicated Kimberly Jones left this state at 12am on flight 141 the next morning. It was currently 9pm. Giving her 3 hours to find and eliminate her target. Looking left, then right, as if considering something, the blonde finally looked down and touched her stomach. Without a word, she stood up stiff as a machine, and the pain in your shoulder was released as she used both hands to began unbuttoning her leather coat. For a second you thought she was about to get naked! "I'll have to carry you out. Pregnant women have suspicious bumps. I think an endocontainment should hold you fine. Take a deep breath and prepare for transport." The TX said. Then promptly unhinged her jaw, In the foreground: lips, teeth, even a drooling tongue. But as you peered back, deep where her uvula should be: your eyes bulge. A knotted tube of chrome, translucent flesh encasing wire and metal with soft blue lights the whole way down the back of her throat! You barely have time to yell before the Cyborg stuffed half of you down her throat, her neck bulging with your face for a second before she swallowed hard, pushing you deep down into a very hot, undulating sack. The TX's throat actually stopped at the top of her rib cage, which expanded to allow your enterance to her body. Literally shoving you into soft warm reserves of the liquid metal that masked her skeleton, serving as her flesh, and outfits as need be. A small pocket formed in the "flesh" of her stomach, and it spread automatically to welcome you in. The machine, not needing to breath, but needing to stay cool, inhaled as any human would through her nose, which would pump oxygen into her "stomach." All of this is to say that yes, the Cyborg could certainly eat you, and she was succeeding with skynet's ruthless efficiency. Her belly bulged slowly gathering up more and more, as the shape of your back pressed out against her flesh sending her black camisole riding up her belly as it sagged with the weight of it's new occupant. Her head was thrown back now, and your kicking naked legs, and wriggling socked feet were only helping the TX gulp you down. Down down down you sank, her belly expanding just as much as it needed to accept you. Oh god. The Terminator was eating you. Slurping up the last of your toes, she wiped artificial saliva from her lips. The pouring fluid helping smoothly usher you down. Dabbing at the corners of her mouth daintily she swallowed. Sending your feet to join you as gravity helped you curl up into her soft, warm (fucking massive) belly. Turning to eye herself in the mirror, the TX frowned. The shape of your body writhing and bulging against her skin would arouse too much suspicion. She slapped her gut: "Quit squirming you won't die in there." It was true, tight, dark, terrifying...it was cozy. Her automated breathing was pumping fresh oxygen in, and pushing stale carbon dioxide out: You could breath in her gut, even if the liquid metal holding you restricted your movements a bit.

Satisfied with your silent, muffled whimpering as you tried to catch your breath, the TX turned back to the mirror. Tilting her head she ran a hand along the surface of her belly and morphing herself with reserves of the liquid armor she was coated in to round out her shape slowly masking your form from view. Plumping up her tits a little and widening her ass...and the TX looked round, voluptous even: Passing perfectly for being pregnant. Her red leather pants groaned under the new curves, and the TX simply stripped out of them, letting her naked bum hang out as she kicked them aside. Tugging at her shirt, she realized it was useless to try and make it cover her big round gut, and scowled.

Bumping open the door with her "child bearing" hips the TX backed out of the stall, her fat belly too big to do a 360 turn. Slowly waddling out into the store, people pushing carts nearly ran into each other at the curvy, heavily pregnant blonde wearing no pants. You sloshed and bobbed in her belly as the TX made her way down the isles of the Maternity section looking for the largest pair of stretchy pants she could find. "Blending in is such a pain. No one would believe I'm pregnant if I didn't give myself such juicy tits and a fat ass." Stopping suddenly, the TX's head turned on a swivel, the rest of her body not moving an inch. She snatched up a pair of black maternity pants, the biggest size she could find. Bending over, the TX grunted and struggled to reach around her huge sloshing tum, but managed to step into the leggings and start to work them up her calves, over her juicy thighs, before finally tugging them up over her bigger butt, and snapping the waistband just at the bottom of her tummy. Wriggling her bare toes, the TX realized she needed something to wear, even as she looked down, and a face full of milf boobs and a massive tum filled her vision...She couldn't see her toes anymore. A look, almost like human irritation flickered for a second across her face. The Terminatrix spotted a pair of nearby sandals, cream, with ruby red plastic straps that matched her jacket. Dropping them on the ground she stepped into them.

Spotting herself in a full length mirror built into one of the shelves, the TX was suddenly taken aback. She turned to present her side, rubbing a hand over the big round belly, and sticking out her plumper curves. A new subroutine ticked to life inside her, and she began to pet her stuffed belly. Imagining she really was pregnant. She liked it... "Kick for me." She commanded, shaking her belly, and jostling you around with it. You did and the Robot betrayed a snort of laughter. Coughing, and covering her mouth, her face became impassive again. This time, with more authority: "Again. Struggle for Mommy." Mommy...she liked that... You thrashed and she tried to bite it back, but couldn't help grinning ear to ear as her massive belly had little bumps emerge here and there as you did as you were told. She pressed back against them with four tight fingers pushing you back into place, or cupping her hand to her belly and feeling you just squirm. Turning to look at herself again, the TX raised it's eyebrows in dawning conclusion: She looked hot. "Here is what is going to happen." The TX said outloud, gently rubbing her big belly. "You're going to meet Kimmy Jones, and then we are going back to your apartment. You are going to struggle and kick for mommy and you won't say a word to anyone or I'll crush you instantly. Do you understand baby?"

She feels you nod silently. "Awe, that's so sweet. How far along are they? Twins? by the look of you?" An early 20's something in the standard red shirt and tan slacks had pushed her way up on the new "Mommy to be" and held her RF gun aloft reaching out an invading hand to pat the big tum. The TX had half a mind to plunge her fist through the useless ginger's chest. The other half really wanted her to pet the huge orb. The TX stuck out her chest, jutting you toward the handsy, middle aged lady. You felt her pat you. "They're growing big aren't they? Twins?" "Just one." The TX said deafly a new sensation brewing in her brain as she was pet and swollen. Stepping to the side she was reminded just how BIG she was now when she accidentally hipchecked an entire spinning rack of sunglasses. The TX relishing the fact she took up so much more room suddenly. "But he's big." "Oooh I bet. Ooh! I felt him kick!" The TX could hear you screaming through her belly, but she'd anticipated this and made her body denser. Your shouts for help echoing through her ears, and only your squirming, pleasant struggles made it through to the short, freckled girl, who just pat you gingerly, and beamed up at the voring death machine. The TX smiled back. It was sweet...but unsettled the girl, who grippe her scanner tightly, and said: "He's strong." Before akwardly starting to back up, and turned back to scanning clothes. The bombshell blonde rubbed the top and bottom of her belly with both hands as she began to slowly walk toward the exit, a sadistic pleasure filling her as she heard you beg for help, that would never be heard. "Not that strong." the Pregnant TX whispered, emergent code updating her firmware. The learning machine having developed a kink in her programming.

As she spotted the narrow doorway, the machine waddling toward the exit, there was a half second where she smiled to herself, imagining her big mommy belly struggling to fit through.

"Kick for mommy, baby." your predator commanded.

What could you do? You obeyed. If the TX could get wet, she would have.

[tastyykpop]

Will you do a dating headcanons for WayV? I love the 127 one!

Yayy I'm so happy you loved that one😌 its honestly one of my favs that I've written on this blog :)

ᴡᴀʏᴠ ʙғ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴ

Kun

Possibly the only normal boyfriend in wayv

He actually treats you like the members because he's just so used to it

But he's nicer and more lenient

Though if you start acting up he just stares at you until youre like 'lmao jk~"

Everyone sees how whipped he is and are always making fun of him as he tries to ignore it

"Kuns a whore for y/n!!!"

"Shut the fUCK UP LUCAS!!"

Kuns always babying you too >:(

Just loves to spoil his baby for no reason

Would actually get the most expensive clothing for you just because you stared at it longer than 5 seconds

Aways says he can get you anything since he has the money and you're like "baby, no save up😀✋"

And hes like "baby, yes heres some clothes😀✋"

Kuns the type to actually bring you onto his insta lives whenever he's bored

So hes like "y/ns here again!"

But the thing is people watch his lives for you😐

Jk jk

Nah most fans are super supportive though

Hes only once called someone out for being rude and until then, no ones messed with you

Kuns lowkey scary

He can be very assertive when he needs to with you but its nothing too serious

You find it hot dont lie

Ten

Hes like a mix of haechan and jaehyun (if yall have read the 127 one)

Hes very touchy but won't hesitate to bully you

In a nice way shh

He wouldn't actually be mean :)

Buttt like if you did something embarrassing, hes gonna bring it up everyday up until you die

"This bitch knocked over a vending machine rip" hed say at you're funeral when yall are like 94

No but he's kind

And so cute around you

Calls you baby all the time

Thats like his thing

Imagine how he calls yangyang baby yangyang, now its baby y/n

Some members find his cuteness disgusting but you're like 😍🥰😘

Teaches you some dances no matter if you're good or bad

He'll also praise you for trying and doing a good job

Also sneaks in some touches because, like I said hes touchy

And clingy cuz why not

Hes always on top of you, kissing you, or just playing with your hair for the fun of it

If a member says something to him about it, he goes "ok and ? you jealous i don't kiss you like I kiss y/n?"

Just give him lots of attention cuz he's like a cat

Catboy ten is vibing

Winwin

Since he doesn't like pda too much, hes not going to do it a lot

He doesn't care if you initiate it though, in fact, he thinks its very cute

Sicheng knows its because you're a bit needy for his touch since he doesn't do it so he won't mind

Once in a blue moon he'll just walk over to you and kiss you suddenly

Then he steps away, blushing cuz he doesn't know what came over him

"Why did you get a kiss from him?? What the fuck!?"

"Because I'm his girlfriend, yuta🧍‍♂️"

"But did you marry him like I did? Didn't think so."

The amount of times his members actually glared at you because yall kissed is immaculate

But its funny cuz you made them jelly

Sichengs easily embarrassed by little acts of kindness or if you give him a small compliment

He laughs it off and puts his head down as he blushes but its cute asf

Bruh pinch his cheeks, like sometimes he's like 'oh fuck off' but most of the time he's like scrunching his face so adorably.

His patience is also pretty low so listen to him

Hes not afraid of showing hes angry or annoyed with you

His face just goes stone cold and you know your fucked up

Like wtf happened to the cutie that let you punch his cheeks

Other than that though hes a big baby boy

Lucas

Oh this goofy ass would be fun to date

Its just a bunch of laughing and giggling

You cannot even sleep in the same bed without wanting to either punch him or laugh

And though yall do laugh a lot, you're actually very madly in love with each other

Lucas is very nice and will not stand for anyone messing with his girlfriend

Hes possessive but not in a toxic way

Its more of him wanting to keep you safe

He'll also makes sure you both are happy all the time and if you guys need a break then you'll take a break for a bit

Moving on to some fun stuff ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You and him have like daily rap battles

It goes back and forth in different languages and its funny hearing it

Members laugh every time Lucas goes "y/n...rap time!!!"

Another thing is Lucas can't keep his hands off you in anyway

Your hips? Free real estate

Your ass? His hands go there

The back of your neck? Seems like a nice place to grab every so often

Like he has so many places that he holds you by and its completely normal

Hes always saying stuff like "God, im so handsome." Then says "and you're so hot, no wonder why we are dating."

And you kinda just sit there like "yeah sure go off king🧎‍♀️"

There's no way he can go a day without complimenting you once

Its either your face, legs, ass, boobs, arms, hands, hair, this bitch could go off

And of course he expects it back, dont make him sad

"I complimented you twenty times today and I didn't get a compliment back what the fuck y/n😐"

".....you're hair looked really good today, I love the color."

"Oh my God really😳!? Thanks babe🥰, at first I wasn't sure i was gonna li-"

Just compliment him, it'll be ok

Xiaojun

The nicest person ever istg

Hes not normal in any way though but he's just really sweet

Will definitely make fun of you but not as bad as ten

Is such a bitch sometimes in a funny way

Just feels like complaining for no reason and you're like "i'm tryna watch a movie luv...."

Nah but he's amazing

Gets you a bunch of gifts whenever he feels like it

Sings for you if you ask

Jokingly says no sometimes just to see you pout but he'll do it regardless

Get him a gift and hes gonna refuse with the cutest smile while your just forcing it into his hands

Anything you give him is the most precious thing to him even if its stupid

Hes so in love omg

Bruh you guys in public is just adorable because this kid is shy but wants to hold your hand so bad

So hes like hesitating and so are you

Then bitch ass hendery comes in and grabs both of your hands and places it in each other's before he walks away with a smile

So now you're both walking with flushed cheeks but at least yall are holding hands

You can thank hendery for that

Hendery

My guy is a mix of loving, funny, and stupid

Hes so fun to be around though like there's never a dry conversation with him

Unless the room in awkwardly quiet or something

But then again you'd probably start laughing because he's so uncomfortable in silence

Is always lowkey judging you if you do something cute

Even though he asked you to do it

So you just glare at him after

Ask him to act cute and he'll do it without hesitation but its so funny

His eyes scream help but the rest of his face is normal

Omg yall compliment and roast each other on a daily

Its nothing too bad like how otherd would be but its something

You and hendery go shopping almost all the time even though yall don't get anything

You just kinda stare at the things saying "thats cute" then walk away, never batting an eyelash at it again

Some members would even say that henderys the same as he is with them, with you

Just more lovey

And more kisses

Ooo and hes also gentle

Especially if your just going for a kiss, hes always softly holding your hips or cheeks

Holding hands is an absolute must in public too or he fake crys

Actually let him cry cuz its hilarious to the rest of wayv and you

Jk no hold his hand cuz they're warm <3

Hes gonna swing his and your arm back and forth too while skipping because ✨priorities✨

You better skip along

Yangyang

Haechan but make him chinese

No seriously, go back to what I wrote in 127's headcannon and thats basically what's gonna be here

Except yangyangs less bratty

Don't get me wrong hes still a brat but not haechan level of brat

He'll dead ass let you sleep with him just to push you off and laugh at you after

Would go for a kiss then blow in your face

You guys are more of bffs though but not because you kiss and do other shit together

Pranks!!

Omg

Always pranking the members with him

Its the funniest thing if its on kun and no one knows why

Sometimes ten joins and its ten times better

Wait did I accidentally just make a ten joke-

Anyways

Yangyang loves holding you

But at the same time doesn't because too much pda

Don't worry doe you can always just catch him off guard and sneak some kisses to make him blush😗✌

Then let him tackle you afterwards because you did it in front of everyone

[rhetoricandlogic]

By: Catherynne M. Valente

Art by: Thais Leiros

Issue: 7 September 2020

9199 words                                                                                   

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Variations in Luminance

Big Edie was a useless piece of shit.

Johanna Telle found the most significant relationship of her life on a Saturday afternoon in late May, sitting on one of those excruciatingly handmade quilts crafty stay-at-homes used to make out of their precious baby’s old clothes and putting a deep, damp dent in the buttercup-infested lawn of 11 Buckthorn Drive, Ossining, New York. A four-pointed Arkansas Traveler star radiated out around her, each of the four diamond patches so exquisitely nailing the era of the quilter’s pax materna that Johanna pulled out her Leica and snapped a shot before the homeowners could stop her: The Pretenders, Captain Planet Says No Nukes, Got Milk? and a Hypercolor tee subjected, as so many had been, to the indignity of a commercial dryer until it finally gave up the thermochromic ghost, its worn cotton-poly blend permanently stuck on a sad blown-out pink.

And Big Edie in the middle, ugly as all the sins of man, with a box of Advanced Dungeons & Dragons: Second Edition modules on the eastern point of the compass, a mint condition Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Sewer Lair Playset to the west, a working laserdisc player up north, and down south, one beefy hardcase Samsonite in Executive Silver with a handwritten sign on it promising a complete set of signed first edition Danielle Steel hardbacks inside. A steal at $300, suitcase included.

Still life with late 80's/early 90's. Johanna loved it.

But she only had eyes for Big Edie. The absolute and utter trashbeast technological abortion winking up cheekily at her from within a nest of vanished childhoods.

She’d driven all the way out into the golden calcified time-bubble of the Hudson Valley after the ephemeral promises of an estate sale. The people here had so much money they never had to grow or change or evolve past the approximate epoch of their children’s most precocious years. That’s how Johanna had gotten a Hasselblad for $90 and a fake phone number a couple of years ago at a fuck-Gam-Gam-just-get-rid-of-this-junk free-for-all in Stonybrook. You just crossed your eyes and hoped the kids were the type to tell everyone who never asked that social media was a disease and didn’t sully themselves with Google or eBay.

This was clearly the case on that late-May Ossining afternoon. The card balanced against Big Edie’s case read:

Does Not Work. $50 OBO.

Johanna Telle smiled in the perfect post-processed sun. The EDC-55 ED-Beta Camcorder retailed for a cool $7700 in 1987. Just over sixteen grand in 2015 funbucks. It could produce over 550 lines of resolution in an age where high definition was barely even a phrase. Automatic iris control, dual 2-3 inch precision CCD imaging, Fujinon f1.7 range macro zoom, on-the-fly audio/video editing, capable of recording in hi-fi stereo and most impressively for its time, native video playback. Angular black and matte silver bug-ugly design. The last glorious 13.5-kilogram gasp of the Betamax world, still in its hardcase shell, that particular shade of tan that meant Serious Business for the Terminally 80's Man.

In digital terms, Big Edie was prehistoric. Big Edie was fucking Cretaceous. If there was a camera set up on a tripod to record what happened when the primordial soup stopped being polite and started getting real, Big Edie would have been a top-tier choice for the discerning prosumer.

Big Edie was archaeology.

Johanna whipped her faded seafoam-green hair to one side and hefted that machine corpse onto her dark brown shoulder. She was comically heavy. The weight of a dead world, its concerns long quieted.

Johanna Telle, when she was paying attention, when she was happy, in those moments when she was most definitively Johanna, saw down to the deeps of things. It was all she was really good at, in her estimation. She saw that world, le regime ancien, projected onto the back of her skull like a drive-in theater screen.

When she was little, she’d sat criss-cross applesauce in her mother’s lap in a kind of mute blue nirvana, watching a crew send an unmanned submersible in a metal cage down the icy miles to find the HMS Titanic. Before her father left them, before they lost the house, before the hundred little fatal cuts of getting from one end of childhood to the other. Long beams of light broke the black water of forgetting and scattered across that ghostly bow and found what had been lost. Impossibly lost. Forever. Johanna had barely been able to breathe. She knew herself then, in that terrifying way you know things when you are small. The warmth of her mother’s chest rose and fell behind her, an entire universe of protection and presence. A gentle little prick of the aquamarine pendant she always wore against Johanna’s scalp. The familiar smell of Pink Window, her mother’s signature Red Door knockoff, pulsing off her clavicle. The tinny voice of a rich man floating out of the blue ocean. Later, when the neighborhood kids played games on their unforgivably Spielbergian suburban streets, hollering I’m the Incredible Hulk or I’m the Pink Ranger or I’m Tenderheart Bear, Johanna would call out something nominally culturally appropriate but whisper the truth to herself, which never changed, no matter the game or the streets: I am the exterior lighting array on Robert Ballard’s Argo ROV unit.

Johanna put her eye to Big Edie’s viewfinder. The black cup pocked gently against her cheekbone. Such a nice feeling. Like holding a girl’s hand for the first time. She stared into inert darkness.

“It only takes these weird old tapes,” someone said from outside Edie’s warm lightless innards. A friendly, well-hydrated, nicely-brought-up male voice, full of solicitude, exhausted, heartbroken, hanging in there, like the orange kitten in the old poster.

Johanna didn’t look up. She amused herself picturing the kitten putting its paws on its hips and whistling regretfully through its sharp teeth at the $50 OBO paperweight before them. She suppressed her not-very-inner snob. Yes, dear, ED Super Beta II and III series cassettes. You can still get them, anywhere between $35 and $50 a pop. You can still get anything if you don’t care what it costs.

“There’s one stuck in there. Made a nasty sound when I tried to lever it out. I don’t have any others, though. Dad didn’t stick with this one for very long. I put his digital cameras around by the hydrangeas, way better. You want me to show you?”

“Does it turn on?”

“Nope. Well, not unless it’s a Tuesday and the moon is in Pisces and you’re standing on one foot or some shit. I keep the battery charged up, though. I heard you have to do that or it degrades. I’m Jeff, by the way.”

Of course you are. That’s what they always name soft orange kittens like you.

Johanna’s fingers slid down Big Edie’s flank and found the raised plastic goose-pimple that marked the power button as easily as a practiced accordionist settling onto C Major. She pointed the lens at the bereaved child of its former owner and hit the big red square.

A firehose of light white-watered through the generous 1.5” black and white viewfinder into her cerebral cortex. In the middle of it stood, not the hang in there kitten, but a tall handsome guy in his late twenties or early thirties. Big emotive eyes, tennis shorts, dark polo shirt, with a shimmer of beard-stubble six or seven hours deep, hair the cut and style of debate team and law school and firm handshakes and warm decades ahead in a secure center-right Senate seat.

A shard of glass punched through his chest. Black monochrome blood sheeted down over his shorts and his long, grey, summer-muscled legs. His neck whipped hard to the side, like he’d suddenly seen an old girlfriend and was about to call her name, but when he opened his mouth, a jet of dark liquid spurted onto the quilt of his so-loved childhood clothes. It cut across the white block-print Pretenders in a clean spattered line.

“What’s the verdict?” Jeff asked. That voice like a clean fingernail cut through Johanna’s attention. She yanked her face up off the viewfinder. Jeff’s fine blond eyebrows arched curiously before her in full color, waiting to find out if that old Betamax monster still had juice. If the moon was, in fact, in Pisces. He shoved his hands in the pockets of a paint-splattered pair of jeans.

Johanna glanced back down into Big Edie’s gullet. It was waiting down there, that death-image of silver and ichor.

“I like your shirt,” she said. The walls of her throat stuck together. Inside the camera, that charcoal polo dripped silent-film blood onto his new white tennis shoes. Outside, he wore a slim-cut celery-green tee with Newport Folk Festival 2010 stamped across his chest in a faux-rustic font. She could look back and forth between them. Back and forth. Black and white. Color. Black and white. Grey and green. Green and grey. And wet, dripping jet-onyx blood. All that faded thermochromicity blazing back onto the scene to react with the not live but definitely Memorex heat-death of Jeff from Ossining.

Big Edie went down for the count.

The image guttered out like a pilot light, a sound both grinding and whining shook through her, and she rather ungracefully peaced out.

“$30?”

“All yours,” Jeff grinned.

He took Johanna Telle’s money and strode off across the mown lawn, through the labyrinth of his late father’s obsessions, the sun on his shoulders as though it would never leave him.

Aliasing

It’s much easier to pry a stuck tape out of a machine when you’re not that bothered if you break it. Get a screwdriver and a Sharpie and believe in yourself. It came free with significant but impotent protest, trailing a tangled mess of ropy ED Supra Beta II behind it. Johanna wound the mistreated tape back through the cartridge with the pen the way kids would never do again, and she would have been perfectly content for the rest of her days on this maudlin, over-saturated planet if she could have said the stupid suburban sun got in her eyes and that’s all she really saw.

But Betamax tells no lies.

Johanna sat on the floor of her apartment like the kid from Poltergeist all grown up, heavily medicated, and a cog in the gig economy. A massive daisy chain of converter cables hooked Big Edie up to the living room flatscreen, each one coaxing the signal five or six years forward from 1987 to the slick shiny present day.

The reflected video image washed her face in color. A forgotten pleasure, like the taste of ancient Egyptian beer. You used to always see your shot in black and white when you looked through the viewfinder. You only got to see the colors when you reviewed the footage. Inside the camera was another planet. Color was a side effect of traveling from that world to this one. Step from Kansas into Oz, cross your fingers for fidelity, saturation, hue, hope those shoes still look as red as they did before you crammed them through a lens.

So. No more black and white artsy viewfinder image. Now it was straight outta Kodachrome. But this tape sat in Big Edie’s time-out box for thirty years. Chromatic degradation slipped and popped all over the image, sickly green blooms, hot orange halos, compression artefacts, uncanny edging that rimmed this and that object in weird chemical colors.

Johanna watched a factory-direct 70's mustache-dad with tennis socks up to God’s chin helping his small, yet unmistakably Jeff, son unwrap a record player on Christmas morning. Big Edie came standard automatic fade-in and fade-out, so everything transitioned elegantly, creating a subtle sense of deliberate editing where none truly existed. Fade to black, then a slow melt into a hopeless lacrosse game, small children running nowhere, hitting each other with sticks too big for them to hold properly.

Another bloom of darkness.

A school play, reedy, vulnerable pre-adolescent Jeff dressed as a cloud fringed with silver tinsel rain, twirling and twirling, technique-free, his arms stretched out. Then another and Johanna presumed this was Jeff’s mother, the maker of the T-shirt quilt, 80% Diane Keaton, 20% Shelley Duvall, a white-wine flush on her cheeks, smiling up at the man with the camera in frank, unguarded affection and not a little desire, her shoulders bare above a strapless summer dress the color of the hydrangeas she probably hadn’t even planted yet.

Such wildly un-special moments, clichés of heart-beggaring authenticity, carefully cut out of the flow of time and pasted into the future, selected for immortality for no particular reason, random access memories transfigured into light that cannot die—but can get stuck in a metal cage for want of a Sharpie and a flathead.

Time travel. The only real time travel, unnoticed and uncredited because it was so unbearably slow. In the present, you use this astonishing machine to freeze the past. And you send it to the future. One second per second.

The image cut to black and then it was 2015 and Jeff selling off a lifetime of his father’s lovingly dragon-hoarded objets d’American masculinity. Standing on a lawn with catalogue-ready light and dark green stripes in the grass. Talking not to the man who produced and directed his childhood but to Johanna. She can hear her own voice on the recording.

Does it turn on?

He makes a joke about the moon and tells her his name. Sitting alone in the dark, Johanna realizes he was flirting with her, and she has a second to wonder what his mustached father’s name was before the glass smashes through his sternum again and blood streams down to soak a just out-of-frame blanket stitched together from mass-marketed polyester and lost time.

Johanna ran the tape back. Then she watched it again.

Back. And again.

She was still doing it when the morning broke into her apartment without announcing itself.

Five weeks later, she’ll be down to two or three run-throughs a day. An article will swim across her feed.

Late Night Four-Car Pile Up on I-84 Leaves Two Dead, Seven Injured.

Jeffrey Havemeyer of Westchester County, NY, 34, remains in critical care.

Johanna will feel nothing. She’s seen it a thousand times already.

Overclocking

“Sit there,” Johanna tells her cousin’s daughter, pointing at a cracked leather barstool.

Anika is nineteen, in her second year at Columbia. She is everything Johanna is not: mentally stable, tall, good hair, vegan, grounded by parental encouragement and affection, prone to healthy relationships, able to commit to an exercise regimen. The twenty-first-century girl. Johanna has always found her fascinating. Scientifically. It’s like hanging out with an alien. Your whole ecosystem is based in carbon and abandonment and trash, and you just always assumed those were the essential building blocks of life, but it turns out they’re totally unnecessary and sentient beings can just as well be made out of palladium and love and sensible choices instead, look at this actual good person right here, you have the same nose.

Johanna’s arthritic Great Dane watches them coolly from his massive fluffy bed.

“Your hair looks like a badger,” Anika says.

It’s been some time since Ossining and quilt and the hydrangeas and what Johanna has come to think of as the glitch. Technical difficulties. Runtime error. It’s late summer. Sweat darkens Anika’s hairline under the expected carefully messy topknot. The boroughs are one long incessant screech of twelve million window-mounted air conditioners and the smell of warm garbage bags, round and shiny on every doorstep.

Seafoam green softheart mermaid look out; icicle-white collarbone-length brutalist bob with black tips in.

“I like to think of it as ermine. You know, royal cloaks and all that.”

“Did you know ermines are just regular stoats with their winter coats on?” Anika helpfully informs her. “Not special at all. Fancy weasels. Glam weasels.”

“That’s perfect. I myself am a decidedly unspecial glam weasel.”

Johanna adjusts the tripod under Big Edie. It took Johanna weeks to gut the old girl, order parts, and convince her that modern life truly was worth living. Nothing really wrong with her at all, other than the audio-visual equivalent of osteoporosis and a bad back. Johanna loved the work. Data was invisible now. Stored on sand, transferred on air, transcending physical form. Light talking to light. But not Big Edie. She was very visible. Gross and awkward and tangible. The girl would never be good as new again. But she was good enough.

“No you’re not, you’re amazing,” Anika says softly, and Johanna can hear the little girl she’s known in that grown-up, gonna-save-the-world-with-believing-it-can-be-saved voice.

Johanna ignores this obvious lie.

They’ve already done a few shots with the Hasselblad, the Leica, a couple with her phone. She doesn’t really know why she’s putting on a show. Anika wouldn’t question just sitting in front of an old Betamax camcorder for a few minutes and then heading off for Hungarian pastries and a good full-body-cleanse political rant. But it feels important that today has the appearance of a plausibly professional kind of thing. Not that Johanna is using her.

Which she is.

Johanna doesn’t have access to a lot of people at the moment. They find her offputting. Not user-friendly. An unintuitive interface. Carbon-based.

“Can you let the blinds down halfway?” she asks.

Anika does. Slats of August light and dark slash down her face and torso (like glass slicing through skin) like an old pre-lapsarian end-of-programming test screen. It would be a gorgeous shot even if the shot was the point.

“I mean it. This apartment, your work. Margot. Mapplethorpe.” The Great Dane’s floppy black ears perk up at the sound of his name. “I love it here. You’re living the dream.”

Johanna hesitates with her forefinger over the record button. God, she remembers how much she hated it when people told her college wasn’t the real world and she had no idea what it was like out there, as if studying and working full-time wasn’t more work and less fun than the barren salt flats of adulthood between your twenties and death. But she wanted badly to shovel the same shit for Anika now. The only way you could look at this place and see a dream was through a lens that had never touched reality.

This is fine, she tells herself. The Havemeyer Glitch is not a thing. Just a shill for Big Coincidence. It’s not like he died. And besides, nothing bad can ever happen to Anika. She is a palladium-based life form. So this is fine. It’s for science. You will take beautiful footage of your beautiful niece-once-removed, and buy her a walnut kolachi, and she will tell her mother what a nice time she had.

“Margot moved out last week,” Johanna says without emotion. Margot moved out three months ago. She left a purple brush in the bathroom. Long black hair still tangled up in it. Johanna can’t bring herself to move the last cells of Margot that exist in proximity to Johanna’s cells.

“Oh,” Anika replies gently. “So that’s why you changed your hair.”

Johanna hits record.

For eighty-seven seconds, the only thing Big Edie has to say is that Anika Telle was born for the camera, a portrait of her generation, artlessly artful, a corkscrew of loose dark hair hanging forward to catch the light, one grey bare leg tucked up beneath a billowy sack dress with small elephants printed on it, the other not quite long enough to touch the peeling floor. Her expression genuinely, infinitely, but entirely temporarily sad for the misfortunes of someone else. See? This is fine. Tell her to say something. Recite Shakespeare. Or Seinfeld.

Deep in Big Edie’s viewfinder, Anika’s left eye crumples in a wet gush of pearl and black. Her head rockets back, shrouded in mist. She coughs, gags, tears streaming from her remaining eye. She’s still sitting on the barstool in Johanna’s apartment with silvery botanical wallpaper behind her, the tall window, the August sun, the half-drawn blinds. But the Anika in the camera wears black leggings, a puffy black winter coat, a black surgical mask. White duct tape criss-crosses the back of her jacket to form the words: #NOJUSTICE. She’s older, the lingering baby softness in her jaw gone, her hair a buzzed undercut. The cords on her neck stand out as she runs, her face ruined, blind with pain, stumbling, looking over her shoulder as she bolts on the video feed from one end of the living room to the other. Out of nothing, a cop in riot gear steps out of Johanna’s kitchenette, grabs the back of Anika’s skull in one hand and shoves her down. Anika-in-black falls to her knees, sobbing, puking into her mask, holding one hand to the hole where her eye used to be, screaming silently into Johanna’s (Margot’s) red paisley rug.

Johanna yanks her head up out of the sucking desaturated pit of the camera.

Mapplethorpe snores loudly. Trucks beep in reverse outside the apartment building. Anika sighs softly, bored but not rude. She scratches a mosquito bite on her knee. “I really am sorry. I liked Margot. She was good for you, I think. Got you out of the house.”

All the blood has either rushed to or drained from Johanna’s head. She can’t tell which. All she can hear or feel is her own pulse slamming itself against her eardrums.

“Do you … want me to do something?” Anika asks uncertainly.

Johanna shuts the camera down quickly. The image at the bottom of the viewfinder clicks out of existence. She tries to talk, but there’s no talk to be found. Just the burning hot green-on-red afterimage of a crystal brown eye collapsing in its socket, over and over.

“Come on, Auntie J,” Anika says finally, hopping lightly off the stool and bending down, scratching Mapplethorpe between his spotted shoulder blades. “Dinner’s on me. Malaysian okay? Maps can have a curry puff, can’t you, baby?”

Test Pattern

An experiment that cannot be repeated is evidence of nothing.

Johanna establishes a beachhead in Owl’s Head Park. Back supported by a black walnut tree. Bare toes clenched in a sea of tiny white flowers and clover-infiltrated grass. Big Edie propped against her breastbone, lens stabilized by knees on either side. Mapplethorpe’s yellow lead loops around her ankle, but the big fellow has long passed his days of running off after unsuspecting children. He munches philosophically on a pricey organic broth-basted rawhide shaped like a braided ring.

She finds a target, hits the button, rolls footage for a few minutes, tracking them as they throw frisbees for far-inferior dogs or kick soccer balls or kiss on picnic blankets or drag giant wooden chess pieces across a giant board or just walk aimlessly, whatever Saturday afternoon moves them to do. She doesn’t look through the viewfinder into that hellworld of black and white. Just presses buttons.

Turn it on.

Shut it off.

Find someone new.

Repeat.

She chooses at random. No more Anikas. No one is special, or unspecial. It doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like. They’re just data. That man, that woman, that child, that set of twin babies, those skaters, that guy sleeping with a James Patterson book over his eyes. Compressed data to be converted later.

Johanna’s brain checks out and begins a speed run through the five stages of grief over the death of a reliable reality. Denial: you’re losing it, change up your medication, girl, it’s not real, it’s not anything, just a stupid old camera that you bought because you are stupid, at best it’s old footage coming through on an old tape.

Stop recording. New person. Girl in green skinny jeans with a sketchbook.

Anger: fuck this, fuck you, fuck estate sales, fuck Robert Ballard, fuck the Columbia School of Law, fuck sad elephant print fabric, fuck hydrangeas, fuck curry puffs that make my dog poop out his soul, fuck Betamax you dumb drooling obsolete idiot tech, fuck me, fuck my dad, fuck Jeff Havemeyer’s dad, fuck I-84, fuck Margot, fuck the linear flow of time, fuck everything, life is garbage and this is proof. Why is this happening to me?

Stop. Scan. Record. Lanky white-dude dreds fuckboy in a vest but no shirt.

Depression: Of course it’s happening to me, because I am garbage and this is proof, and whatever cosmic hazmat disposal dump site got its back end trapped in my camera would only open the gates to a warped maladjust like me.

Stop. Scan. Record. Old man on the bench with god-tier eyebrows and a yellow plastic sunflower in his lapel.

Bargaining: I’ll just watch this back tonight and whatever happens, afterward I’ll tip Big Edie in the bin and never tell anyone. And then I will straighten up and clean my apartment and go on Tinder and eat leafy greens five times a day and see Anika more often and make amends and buy an exercise bike. Okay, Elder AV Club Gods? Deal?

Stop. Scan. Record. Kid on a dirt bike with (elephants) puffins on her dress.

Acceptance.

Acceptance.

Acceptance is Johanna sitting cross-legged (criss-cross applesauce) on Mapplethorpe’s bed while he snoozes jowlfully on the couch. She braces herself for red slicks of gore and bone. For Jeff and Anika redux. Once is luck, two is coincidence, three is a pattern … or at least time to wake up and smell what your inevitable descent into psychosis is cooking.

But that’s not what Big Edie has for her.

Not entirely, anyway.

Entropic Coding

Gloppy August sunlight washes out the image. Everything is overexposed, too bright, unforgiving. His thin chest rises and falls with his breath. He watches a small blue and white bird hop nervously down the iron rail of his park bench. A cerulean warbler, Johanna notes with supreme irrelevance. Closer to him, then further away, then close again. He crumbles a crust of brown bread on his tweedy knee and waits knowingly. This goes on long enough that Johanna starts to relax. It isn’t going to happen again. The bird will give in, and eat, and Johanna’s life will resume the program already in progress.

Then the sunlight cools, then it darkens, then it is a dim nothing-watt lamp with a tacky early 60's cherry pattern on the shade. The branches of black oak and Dutch elm in Owl’s Head Park still reach into the frame like kids who’ve spotted a news crew, showing off in the background, dying to get on TV. But the bench and the octogenarian perched on it have become a mustard-colored corduroy sofa and a young man with his head in his hands. Vaguely Scandinavian mid-century wooden end tables bookend the couch. A clock with thin brass spikes radiating out around it ticks over a clearly decorative fireplace. Above the man hangs a proto-Bob Ross painting of standard-issue lake/pines/mountain/lonely boat in a dizzying array of shades from brown to brown. Children’s toys cover the floor. At least one boy and one girl. Maybe more. Wooden blocks, a rocking horse with yellow yarn hair, green plastic army men. Donald Duck and Bugs Bunny and Snoopy staring lifelessly at the ceiling in a triple rictus of frozen grimaces. A book of Connie Francis paper dolls with most of the smiling valium-glazed Connies already carefully cut out hiding under the formica coffee table. A Funflowers Vac-U-Form Maker-Pak Johanna recognizes from a box of crap her grandmother let her play with the year they had to live with her because, no matter how she tried to pretend it was an adventure, her mother had no options left. You squeezed out perfumed lucite goo into molds and made “Daffy Dills” and “Tuffy Tulips” that looked like crystals in the sun until you got bored and broke a vase just to get some attention. A Spirograph and stacks of spiralled paper, scattered across the avocado shag carpet like ticker tape after the parade has gone. Like mystic offerings before the massive, inert cabinet television that probably weighs more than everyone who lives here put together. The kinds of toys you lift off a flea market shelf with joy and reverence, despite the peeling paint and chipped edges and missing vital organs.

But these are all new.

A wind moves through Owl’s Head Park and dappled shadows in the jaundiced light of the living room move across the man, the sofa, the table, the TV, the toys, the cherry lampshade.

The man on the yellow sofa looks up.

He is so young. Perhaps thirty-five, perhaps not even that. His incredible, architectural eyebrows are dark brown now; he has all his hair. He’s still wearing a suit, but this one has wide lapels, no tie, a plaid pattern that will crown endcaps in Goodwill until the sun burns out. He looks exhausted. Someone’s been smoking all night and it was probably him. maybe not just him. Butts overflow a pink pearlescent ashtray under the cherry lamp. About a third have frosted coral lipstick prints glowing on their filters, each one fainter than the last.

Johanna braces herself for the shard of glass or the ruination of his eye or gunshot or gas leak, whatever is about to break this poor soul in half. Her heart rate spins up into the rhythm of a jet propeller carrying her into nothing and nowhere. Her stomach muscles clench for impact.

But: the man gets up. Wipes his palms on his wrinkled pants. Walks across the room. Stops. Bends down to pull one perfect yellow Vac-U-Form Funflower out of the pile of misshapen attempts. Slides it into his lapel. The man leaves the house. He closes the door behind him so gently it doesn’t even click. No sound at all until his car engine starts outside, and then that’s gone too.

In the margins of the image, the cerulean warbler flies off with a cry. The shadow of his little body flickers over the empty room.

Fade out.

Fade in on the girl in the green skinny jeans and peasant blouse lying with her sketchbook under the willow tree.

Johanna makes it five people and ten minutes sixteen seconds deep by the overlarge alarm-clock-style timestamp before she scrambles off the dog bed and shuts the whole rig off.

An hour later, she gets out of bed and pads back to the living room on tiptoe, as if afraid to wake Margot’s brush. Blue light washes her cheeks and her hands and her walls and Johanna doesn’t move until it’s over.

Then she hits rewind and starts over from the beginning.

Image Burn

Mapplethorpe makes it another year before turning his creaky back on that big dog life. Since Johanna got to keep him through the quiet post-apocalypse of their union, they agreed Margot could have his ashes.

She looks the same. Just the same. As if Margot stepped out of the day she left and into today with no interruption in continuity. Johanna knows that dress, the navy blue vintagey thing with white piping and a little too much room in the torso, but that she refused to take in or give up on, because at thirty-seven, she might still have some growing left in her.

“Your hair,” Margot says softly. She steps gingerly over the map of cables and playback devices that have replaced living breathing life for Johanna and sits uncomfortably in the old bisque-colored armchair (falls asleep re-reading Harry Potter in it during a snowstorm five years ago; Johanna drapes a crocheted blanket over her and squeezes the bare foot hanging over the overstuffed arm gently, fondly). She sits as though she is trying to hover, as thought it might burn her to stay.

“What about my hair?”

“It’s … shocking.”

“It’s my hair.”

“I assumed you would have gone puce or checkerboard by now. Your actual hair hasn’t seen the light of day since high school as far as I know.”

Johanna only dimly recalls that she used to care about things like wilding her hair. It seems like a fact about a stranger. Like something she would see on Big Edie and use to pinpoint a date.

They make small talk. Margot is leaving the city soon. She’s bought a house in Providence with her wife, two blows Johanna absorbs expressionlessly as a cascade of words concerning Victorian architectural flourishes and small, private ceremonies patter down around her ears like raindrops. Mrs. Margot was apparently called Juniper, because of course she was, bet you call her June-bug too, gross. She was joining the obstetrics team at Rhode Island Hospital. Margot would teach very well-scrubbed scions of the even-better scrubbed at a private prep academy in the fall. Plant heirloom squash. Adopt three-legged rescue Labradors.

What are Johanna’s plans? If she has a gallery show before September, Margot would love to come. Anyone new in her life? How is Anika?

Well, Marge, I plan to shoot weddings and graduations and bar mitzvahs in which the cakes have significantly more artistic value than my entire self until I die alone pitched face-first into my takeout massaman with no dog and no stomach lining and no friends except a magic camera, can I get you a 40%-off Pinnacle buttered-popcorn-flavor vodka straight up, because that’s where I am right now.

But she doesn’t say that. She would never say that.

Instead, she decides to ruin Margot’s life. And in that moment, she genuinely believes it’ll work.

“Can I show you something?” Johanna says.

“Of course. Always.” Margot brushes her hair out of her eyes, now and a hundred thousand times in that chair, in this light. “New work?” Miss M was always her first audience, first viewer, the only other eye she trusted.

“Sort of. Mostly I just want you to tell me I’m not crazy.” And she doesn’t realize how entirely true that is until it’s out of her mouth and loosed on the dusty air.

Margot frowns. “You don’t look well. I didn’t want to say. Are you still drinking?”

Johanna laughs bitterly as she flips through the input options on the flatscreen. “Why would I not be drinking? Drink is friend.” She shoves delivery detritus off the couch to make a space: receipts, plastic bags, black takeout containers, breath mints and fortune cookies and after-dinner toffees.

And they watch together. Side by side. Just the same. Like it is before. Like she will pick up her purple brush again tonight and run it through her hair and come to bed and tomorrow will be years ago and the film of them will run forward from the splice.

Rather, Margot watches. And Johanna watches Margot.

The colors waver on her face like she’s underwater, staring up at the parade of strangers fading in and out before her.

The old man/young man on the park bench and the mustard-corduroy sofa.

The girl in the green skinny jeans under the willow and sitting at a bistro table with fake electronic candles as a man walks in, says her name uncertainly, kisses her cheek, orders an old-fashioned.

The guy with white-boy dreds and a vest with no shirt steps off a bike path and into a gorgeous apartment in no way decorated by a man who would wear a vest with no shirt even once, all minimalist monochrome, and a woman in pajama pants and jade chip earrings sobbing get out get out not one more minute I’m done get out.

A kid in a Spider-Man hoodie swinging upside down from a jungle gym and lying on his couch, a teenager, playing Madden on XBox, yelling to an invisible mother that he’ll mow the lawn, yeah yeah, just one more game.

And worse. A boy’s face fades into his forties on the subway. He asks why he’s being pulled over. A gash blooms on his beautiful brown neck. A student drinking alone in a bar ages fifteen years and loses twenty pounds between sips of house red. She waits for someone with frantic energy and when somebody shows up, gives her a little wax paper packet, leaves her to it, her fingers start to turn the color of corpses on the wine glass. A volunteer museum docent grows red rings and bags around his eyes but loses his wrinkles. Somewhere between the Ancient Greeks and Mesopotamian pottery, gets out of a Camry, locks it, and runs toward an appointment, wholly unseeing the baby in the backseat, asleep in a puffy lavender knitted hat.

“What is this?” Margot says. “Glitch art? Datamoshing? Like Planes and Jacquemin? What program did you use? It’s really seamless.”

“No program.”

“What do you mean ‘no program’? This is a practical effect?” Johanna chuckles mirthlessly. The screen shimmers. “Where did you find all these actors?”

“No, look, you’re not seeing. You have to look. The calendar in the apartment. The clothes the girl in the bistro is wearing. Do you recognize any of the players in that Madden game?”

“You know I don’t care about sports. I wouldn’t recognize any player’s name five minutes after I heard it.”

“Okay, fine. The song on the radio when the guy gets stuck in traffic.” She pauses it, waits for Margot to catch up, to see the faint cursive 2026-At-A-Glance calendar on the inside of the pantry door in that perfect sleek flat, the unfamiliar controls on the car dash. “I’ve never heard that song. You’ve never heard that song. Because that song doesn’t exist, on any service, in any catalogue, anywhere.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, you couldn’t possibly know that for certain, Jo.”

But Margot doesn’t see. Margot isn’t Robert Ballard’s submersible lighting array. She doesn’t know how to crawl into an image and live there. What she does glimpse in Johanna’s pleading eyes is the weight of time. Time she has spent searching for these things, for connections, hoping, honestly hoping, to find that song buried on some indie compilation CD with some revoltingly photoshopped jacket art and a discount sticker. And a thousand other objects like it. Books on televisions, limited edition toys, tie-widths, license plates, worse, more scattered, atomized, randomized information that never coalesced into anything but Johanna’s increasing silence and solitude. She vibrates so intensely it looks like she is sitting still.

And so, slowly, knowing how it sounds, hating how it sounds, Johanna explains about Big Edie as more strange moments unfold before the not-really-that-long-lost love of her life; naked bodies, and there are a lot of them, in embraces violent and lovely or both or neither, strangers meeting, over and over, in different clothes, different hairstyles, different seasons, a child abandoned in an airport in Reno, calling for her mother, surrounded by slot machines ringing in cherries and oranges, tears rolling down her face. And at the end of the reel, Jeff and his glass heart, Anika and her shattered eye, the long staircase into images that has become Johanna’s life.

Margot says nothing for some time. It is a terrible, sour nothing that lingers far too long in the air between them.

“So you think your camera shows … what? Death?”

“Maybe. Sometimes. But not always, not even often, really.”

“Then what if not that? The future? Like the calendar.”

“That’s closer, I think. Better. But at least a third of them are the past.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, the man in the living room is 1970. You can tell by the Updike book on top of the TV. That was the first edition cover, and it’s pristine. You can figure it out, sometimes. If you care about these things. If you know too much about garbage. And you know I know too much about garbage, M.”

Margot smiles faintly, but it is very faint.

“But also I went back to the park and talked to the guy. His name is Antony.” Johanna scratches at the back of her hand. “Antony left his family. In 1970. Just up and walked out on Grace, Walt, Irene, and Amelia, who he’d married when she was fucking seventeen. The proverbial running out for a pack of cigarettes. Left them like they were just … a skin he was molting.”

Margot looks for a way to shut it off, but Johanna doesn’t help her find it. Why should Margot get to turn away from it? Why should she escape?

“Fine,” she says coldly. “What is it then?”

Johanna takes a deep breath. “So whenever you transfer or transmit or store data, especially a lot of data, like audio or video or both, it gets compressed, and in the process, you lose a little bit of it. Maybe a lot, like MP3s were always straight garbage compactors for sound. Maybe only a little bit. Maybe so little you wouldn’t even notice. But in order to fit the storage device or the bandwidth, in order to save information or share it, you have to … you have to harm it. And that creates distortion. Halos. Noise. Warping. Busy regions in the image. Blocky deformations called quilting, and visual echoes called ghosts. They’re called compression artefacts, and that’s … that’s what I think these are. Distortions created by the present and everything else getting compressed, crushed into one stream. Halos and noise and warps and quilts and ghosts. A lot of words for damage. Just damage.

“But the answer is: I don’t really know what it does. Technically speaking, it’s a problem of parallax. Catastrophic parallax. A vast difference between the apparent object and the actual object. And for awhile, I thought it showed the worst day of your life. Which, odds are, for some percentage of people, is going to be the day you die. But not for everyone. Not for Antony. See, nothing ever went right for him after he left. Two more divorces and a dried-up retirement fund. Grandkids he isn’t allowed to meet. Lung cancer he picked up working a big gorgeous free man’s HVAC repair shop. But it took him almost his whole life to understand any of it. To process where he fucked up. What he lost when he thought he was barreling down the highway to a big gorgeous free man’s life. Big Edie knew it in an instant. She had his number faster than a speeding therapist, and that number was 1970. So it seemed to make enough sense. When I shot old people, Big Edie usually spat out the past. Young people mostly turned up older on playback. The future. That kid playing Madden. Madden 23, to be exact.” She points to him on the projection. The hole in his sock. The length of his hair. The name on the Patriots’ QB jersey.

“Do you actually expect me to believe your camera recorded something in 2023? Jo, come on. I’m really busy, and frankly, I’m not in the mood.”

“Just listen. Because then there was this. A wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel and Lucy Vaclavik.” She fast-forwards through scene after scene. Johanna can tell just the sheer number of them is starting to look bad on her, and the manic sizzle in her voice isn’t helping, but she can’t stop herself.

The creams and golds and pops of understated rose-shades of a high-end matrimonial spread flood the screen. The bride waves her lily-dripping bouquet in the air. The Hudson River throbs with sunset behind her. Her hair sparkles with carefully applied glitter. Eyeliner and brows that date her nuptials as surely as a library stamp. Her new husband, in a grey tux, bends down to kiss her expertly neutral-frosted lips and their unified families clap like a gentle river of approval. The picture flows smoothly to the edge of the frame. No ghostly picture-in-picture. No shadows cast from other places, other times.

Margot smiles politely. Johanna knows she is losing her (has lost her). “I don’t get it.”

“I didn’t either,” she confesses softly. “I shot this no differently than the others. But what you see is what I saw. What Big Edie saw. No parallax. No difference in images. I rolled tape and the wedding marched right through the lens and back out again and it was just a wedding, no more or less. Nothing else has been like that. And the next day we got right back to business-as-horrible. I couldn’t figure it out. Why was it special? What was different? The thing is … he killed her. It made the news for about thirty seconds in April. They found her in the woods in Connecticut. But, you know, hedge fund guys aren’t that good at forensics, even if they’re 100% current on all CSI franchises, so they caught him pretty fast. So maybe … maybe Big Edie doesn’t record the worst thing that ever happened to you. Maybe it’s something so much smaller than that. The moment when the worst thing that ever happens to you sees you coming. Turns toward you in the dark. I think, once she married him, he was always going to hurt her. Because that was in him, an egg or a seed or a tumor, whatever you want to call it, a future that no longer has the option of not happening. The flowchart flows until you meet that person at that conference and then there’s no more choose your own adventure, you’re going to fall in love and they’re going to bankrupt you or betray you or just … disappoint you until there’s nothing left but cynicism swirling around at the bottom of your heart like tea leaves. Or leave you in the woods in Connecticut. I don’t know, maybe it’s just a huge ugly regret machine. And mostly I will never understand these. What happened to the Madden kid or the girl in the bar or why getting stuck in traffic on that particular day was so important to that man’s whole trajectory, or any of them, because that stuff doesn’t come across the AP like Mrs. Vaclavik. They’re just moments, unconnected, pulled free of every other moment.”

The wedding fades out and the two women wince together as a man they do not know pushes a woman they have never met against a wall. Blood trickles down her temple where she hit a picture frame and she looks up at him with unbelieving eyes.

“Enough,” Margot says. She grabs the remote. Shuts it all down. Turns to Johanna and touches her face. Touches her. No one has touched Johanna in a year. It is an alien burn. It is Margot. It is the past and the future and death, stroking her hair and making enormous eyes at her while the constituent atoms of their dog look on from the coffee table.

“I miss you so much,” Johanna whispers, and wishes she could have thought of something better, more elegant, more memorable, but her need banishes pretty words.

“Don’t,” Margot answers with finality. The finality of Providence, Rhode Island and heirloom squash varietals and Harrington Preparatory School and June-Bug and poor Mapplethorpe in a box.

“What do you think?” She cannot help that either, the need for her approval, her regard, the perfect full absent moon of her gaze on Johanna’s work, Johanna’s self.

“Honey … I think you need help. This is … this is nothing, J. It’s a bunch of slice of life shots of nothing in particular and three or four gory jump-scares. You taped over some movie of the week with a lot of nonsense. And I’m supposed to believe it’s what, magic? It’s you stalking strangers. Listen to yourself. Catastrophic parallax? You’re manic, you need care.”

But Johanna can’t hear that. “Okay, but that’s just exactly what I mean. Do you know what catastrophe means? It’s Greek. It just means a turn. A turn down or a turn under or a turn inside. A turn away.”

“Jo, this is basically a conspiracy theorist wall and you’re unspooling more red yarn. This is not an X-File. This is you not coping. As usual.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’ll show you. Just stand over there, I’ll shoot you for a few minutes, a few seconds, and you’ll see.” And what will Big Edie see? Margot leaving that hot, humid, unretrievable night, Margot packing up boxes for Providence, Margot right now, right here, telling Johanna she will never believe her? One of them, maybe, surely. What else was even possible?

“No,” Margot whispers firmly. “You don’t need me. And you definitely don’t need to ride that camera any harder. I’m not going to enable this. You just need help, baby. Professional help. That’s all. I have to go.”

“Wait—”

“I have to go.”

There is a disentangling, a hurry to go back, edit, remove even the idea that physical contact was made. Margot excuses herself to splash water on her face and Johanna sees herself in the mute black monitor, sees as the ex-moon of her night sees: a woman so thin her clothes don’t fit, who smells sour, whose hair hangs limp and unwashed, whose face has grown lines it didn’t have even a few weeks ago, degradation lines, juddering through the frame of her face.

Margot emerges awkwardly, chagrined, her familiar elfin face not one cell altered from the day she left, her voice echoing against every surface: I’m so fucking lonely, Jo, I’m lonely even when you’re here. Especially when you’re here. I’m lonely right the fuck now and I’m looking at you.

She holds up something in her hand. Something purple. Something precious.

“Forgot my brush,” she says softly.

And then she is gone.

Ghosts

Johanna puts it off for a long time.

Why bother? What use could it possibly be to her? What use is any of this? You couldn’t do one single thing with it. The shot was too tight to predict the future. Fight crime? Protect the innocent? No. The camera crowded the subject, an unbearable idiot intimacy that took away everything but the seeing itself.

But eventually, she was always going to do it.

Johanna watches herself on the flatscreen. Watches herself get up in Big Edie’s face. Fix the focus, back up to sit on the same barstool that held Anika all those ages ago, shifting awkwardly as she looks into the lens like an actor breaking the fourth wall.

She knows what she will see. She is calmly certain of it. She shouldn’t have bothered running the tape back for this little screening. She saw it the first time, when she was seven. When she was thirsty in the middle of the night and padded quietly out of her room to get a glass of water. Out of her room and past her father sitting alone in his armchair, the moonlight crawling in after him through the window, grasping at him just before he shot himself and her life … turned. There never was any hope for her. She was turned before she got one foot in the world. It wouldn’t be a prettier shot now.

The compression artefact burns out from the center of her nuclear-powered selfie. Her stomach muscles seize up the way they do when she just barely reaches the tipping point of a roller coaster and enters freefall, down the rails into her old house, the rugs, the stain on the ceiling, the off-kilter hang of her bedroom door. Her father’s face. Her mother’s soft snoring from the bedroom.

But that’s not what she sees.

No moonlight. No armchair. No 3 a.m. drink of water in a seven-year-old girl’s hand. It is just Johanna, seafoam green hair and all, walking on the lovely light and dark stripes of green on a lawn in Ossining, in sunlight direct from a photography lab, approaching a quilt made of old T-shirts and the objects it carries. She bends down and presses her warm thumb into the patch of Hypercolor shirt, waiting for the fabric to change color, to unsuffer the damage of too-constant exposure to the very thing that it was designed to react with, which of course it will not, can not, ever again.

Johanna touches her own face on the television, that seafoam green girl who still had Margot and Mapplethorpe and opinons about everything, that familiar face, yet better-fed and better-loved and almost obscenely untroubled. An ancient version of herself, suddenly unearthed at the bottom of the sea.

Finite State Machine

Johanna puts Big Edie up on Craigslist, all her specs laid out like a personal ad: enjoys long walks on the beach, getting lost in the rain, composite video output, and turning everything you point me at into an avant-garde film-school short. If you can’t handle me being haunted, you don’t deserve me being way more work than the camera app on your phone.

She lowballs the price. She means it. She can change her artefact. She can let it all go, like Margot said. Get care. Be normal. Cope. She can take that moment in Ossining and make it nothing. Make it just another random memory on a compilation tape of the decades fading in and out, like the little tinseled cloud boy turning and turning on his forgotten school stage, meaningless, untethered, beautiful and sad and without connection to anything before or after.

And then anyone could. The boy who doesn’t want to mow the lawn. The girl meeting that man at the bistro. Lucy Vaclavik. Antony. Jeff. Anika. Anyone. The long white beam of the Argo’s exterior lighting array sweeping through that dark and missing the great hulking skeleton in the blackness, brushing gently by, just barely, just by inches, finding nothing but open water.

She doesn’t answer a single query.

Six months later, Johanna doesn’t even remember what it’s like to leave the house without Big Edie. The pockets of her original-issue carrying case bulge with new tapes.

[heartless-error]

Broken, not perfect, but together. - Chapter 13

Fandom: DC comics, Batman

Pairings: Jonathan Kent x Damian Wayne (JonDami) & Jason Todd x Timothy Drake (JayTim)

Rating/Tags: Family feels, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, running away, brotherly love, adopted children, fatherhood

Other(s) links: AO3

Broken.

The Batfamily was broken.

It was six years ago, and they had barely stood together since then, trying to stand up despite guilt and regret.

Damian  was sure there was nothing to save, not after losing something that he didn’t know he cared about. But when a new opportunity to get back what they had lost appeared, he cannot help to doubt as his past decisions haunt him again.

If you love somebody, set them free. But you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Chapter Summary: He knew exactly what he was doing when he helped Tim and Jason six years ago. But at the same time, he didn’t. No one was prepared to let them go the way they did, not even him. And now, after dealing with the consequences all this time, his heart was about to explode, he couldn't breathe. Because they were there, they were right there. His brothers were in front of him, and he couldn't move, couldn't do anything, because, once again, the weight of truth was about to crush him mercilessly.

Chapter 13

 Now

 Silence.

 The batplane was completely silent.

 Technically not entirely, since like the many trips and flights that had been made with it, could be heard perfectly the ambient sound of the wind brushing and surrounding the plane as it advanced on its way, also the noise of the engines accelerating to reach their destination as quickly as possible, as well of the machines and the control panel echoing at the front of the cabin, with all the breaths and movements of those inside.

However, it was they, the bats in there, who were precisely in silence, without having uttered hardly any unnecessary words since they occupied their seats on the plane and taking extreme care of each of their movements, of their postures. The tension in the place and between them was such that they had the impression that any movement or whispering would unleash a true storm among all, although this was already occurring within each of them, it was preferable to keep it hidden and sheltered for the moment, covered and hidden in nobody’s eyes while they were in a clearly confined space and knowing what was about to happen.

 Bruce was at the front of the batplane, paying attention to the control panel, and gripping the steering wheel with more force than necessary. It was curious to see him like this, tense, inflexible and dressed in civilian clothes, especially when they had already been used to see the figure of The Dark Knight handling that transport with his gloves, the hood and the cloak tangled in the seat, not his father, not Bruce.

Cassandra, curled up in the passenger seat, was the only one who had deigned to sit next to him. Her gaze insistently alternated between the screen of the GPS that was indicating their current position, and in front, where she could contemplate the sky and the clouds that passed through them. But she seemed too impatient and agitated to appreciate anything.

Stephanie was right behind her, but at a safe distance from the control panel and the driver, also curled up on herself and quieter than they’d ever seen her be. Dick, on the other hand, was at the other end of the cabin, away from everyone and lost in his thoughts as he stared at nothing.

 Like him, Damian was there. Farther still, almost to the end of the cabin, sitting awkwardly and with his arms crossed, thoughtful, absorbed in his head and in everything that occupied and prowled around it without stopping.

Sometimes he looked up to capture the blue of the sky and the landscape below his feet, but he couldn’t concentrate to observe it better. He settled into his seat as best he could, trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t bother his injuries, something difficult after everything that had happened that morning. He also met Dick’s uneasy gaze several times, Stephanie’s too, but no one said anything, no one moved, they just turned away their eyes to continue silently and in the spiral of their thoughts, allowing the tension to build and the journey to become longer, more harrowing.

 Damian knew the distance from Gotham to Florida was not that much, or at least not that much compared to all the places where he assumed that Tim and Jason could be hiding. After all, it was almost eighteen hours by car, and only about three by plane, less on the batplane. Still, he had the impression that this journey was going on for days, weeks. It was endless, exhausting, and every time he glanced at the clock on the control panel, he suppressed a sigh as he realized that only a few minutes had passed when he thought it had been an hour, even longer.

 The fact that the whole situation felt like a countdown against him, calculating how much was left to ruin all his life and efforts these last six years, didn’t help.

 Damian knew exactly what he was doing when he helped Tim and Jason six years ago. But at the same time, he didn’t.

 Contrary to what some people on the plane were thinking, the idea to run away was not Timothy’s, nor Jason’s. No. The idea was his, all his. 100% Damian’s credit. What’s more, they even doubted at first, they were very surprised when he explained the idea to them, and they partially refused. It seemed crazy when after all at that moment they were being watched strictly by a family who didn’t believe in their relationship and Jason was still recovering from an unwarranted aggression that had meant a total rupture between both sides. Although in the end they ended up agreeing, obviously, which he didn’t regret at all.

He was sure that if the others found out about this, that he had not only been an accomplice, but the leader of the entire operation, they would be much more upset than they had already been, maybe he would even receive another punch. And he would probably start to receive the same questions that had already been asked before and had tried to answer ambiguously: How? Why?

 The “how” was pretty easy.

 At first, a simple call to his best contact was enough: Talia. She didn’t welcome the son she now called failure with open arms, but she did like everything that would benefit her and help her obtain the power she was after. His mother was a woman very aware of her own interests and recognized something that favored them at the time, she knew how to choose her battles well. Erase Tim and Jason from the map, make them disappear, it was one that was definitely worth it, so he didn’t have to convince her to agree.

 Jason was a well-known failed project of Talia, a boy who she revived in the waters of Lazarus’ pit, brainwashed, trained and commanded into battle to cause damage to Bruce and all of Gotham under the poisonous ideas that she had implanted in his damaged and resurrected mind, to later see how he not only reformed and fought again on the side of the bats, but fell in love with the one she most wanted to eliminate.

Timothy, no doubt, had always been a clear obstacle to Talia, even from his Robin days. Something she had been waiting to get rid of and get out of the way as soon as possible at any cost. She manipulated Jason and manipulated him to hate him, to break him, to kill him, because she was conscious of the obsession that his father, his grandfather, had with Timothy. Ra wanted Drake for himself, it was a fact. He wanted him, craved him, chased him, for him he was his perfect detective, the only worthy being who could challenge him, confront him. He wanted him to be his successor, his right hand, wanted him at his mercy and wanted to hand over his empire to him. Empire for which Talia had fought all her life and could lose to the third Robin.

Then, hiding the couple meant making her mistakes and her greatest threat disappear. Talia would gain respect and a big advantage with both vigilantes disappearing, she knew that, and she didn’t hesitate to take it all in immediately. Damian and the others didn’t have to wait a single full day before receiving instructions to get it all started.

 After that, only the most difficult thing remained: the metas. Because no matter how much Tim and Jason changed identities, went to another continent, or avoided cameras, they had been friends of metahumans who could easily find them at any time. Any Super could identify their heartbeats wherever they were, and any Speedster could run around the world for them in seconds. They wouldn’t get very far if Superboy, Impulse, or even Starfire were involved in their search.

 But he didn’t have to do much to fix that problem either because Jonathan volunteered. He didn’t even ask him, he didn’t even know that he was aware of what he was trying to do, but apparently, he was inside from the first moment, even before any plans were formulated. He simply appeared before them with a Kryptonian device sneakily pulled from the fortress of solitude and handed it over to them, assuring the red team that as long as they kept it close, it would block the metas and hide them from everyone without problem. It clearly worked, and too well seeing as how absolutely no one had been able to find them despite the many efforts made.

 So, getting it all done was not as difficult as anyone might think. Especially when nobody suspected them or paid attention. Everyone was too busy focusing on all of Tim and Jason’s movements back then, and he and Jonathan were sixteen and thirteen, respectively. No one knew what was happening until it was too late, until they had been at the airport and left that damn note in the cave.

 Regarding why they did it, he already explained how he was allowed that morning.

 His brothers were tearing apart, little by little. Gotham were taking away a lot of things from them and continued to do so every day. Their vigilante lives began to overwhelm them more and more and the family didn’t help but make it worse with their indifference and their way of dealing with problems, including him.

Damian was sure that if they had not run away, if they had stayed in Gotham and continued with the rhythm they were taking, they would have ended up finally breaking and, with them, their relationship.

 He just knows, he knows that’s what would have happened if he wouldn’t have intervened.

As much as Todd insisted over and over that he didn’t need the attention of the bats around him, that he didn’t want anything to do with the family, his actions indicated how badly he needed approval and apologies from Bruce. Like Tim, who had always depended on that kind of acceptance ever since he was a child and had driven him to seek it wherever he could obtain it. And it didn’t matter how much they both fought for each other, for themselves and their relationship, the rejection of the family, of Bruce, hurt, hurt them, made them suffer despite knowing what could happen, despite having hiding it for years to avoid the problem. They wanted to solve it, they wanted to fix it. But besides all of that, both were also rooted to Gotham and its people in a way that Damian could never empathize, sacrificing and fighting tirelessly for the city until they reached that point of no return where they were, where they sacrificed their lives and his whole being.

Their loyalty and sacrifice for the city, for the bats, was too big, it meant too much to both of them and if they didn’t let them go, if they kept tying up that way, eventually everything would have split them in two, it would have separated them, and they would have allowed it in order to keep the place standing and the bat happy. As always, they were able to consecrate their own happiness for someone else even without wanting to, without realizing it.

 But Damian did it, and he couldn’t allow it. He just couldn’t, much less at that time.

 Damian could lie to others and himself all he wanted, but the need for his brothers to be happy was there. The perspective of them losing what they had because the other bats couldn’t see it, sacrificing their happiness for them again, was too much for him. He thought it was too unfair.

He knew he had been an insufferable brat for years, that he had caused too much trouble, done too much hurt, and could have ruined their lives with his mere presence, but whether they wanted it or not he grew up, they all did, and his relationship with them had improved considerably over the years, too much to let what was happening happen in front of his eyes and stand with arms crossed. Damian’s appreciation for his brothers had grown in a way that he never imagined at first, feeling something that never thought what could feel towards no one, because he and Jason shared a similar past that made them lean on the other without words, and Tim… It was Tim, just like that. Both were patient and annoying until the end, but one day he realized that he loved them and couldn’t see how they were about to collapse.

 They were a weakness, he knew.

 But Damian knew too that he had been a participant in inflicting their suffering, and that moment was the best time to fix it, he could fix it. Because the best way to prevent Gotham, the family, and the vigilante lifestyle from destroying their brothers, was for them to leave everything behind, including everyone, including him. They couldn’t hurt them if they weren’t there. It was that simple.

And that was without doubt his best way to earn their forgiveness, to make amends with them: Give them freedom from all the chains that imprisoned them.

 Jonathan felt the same, he knew it. He owed the red team nothing, not in the same way that Damian did, he didn’t need to feel deserving of their affections or forgiven for his past actions, but Jason and he were friends, and Tim practically raised him with Conner. He was also too fond of them to do anything, and most importantly: he wanted them to stay happy together.

 Anyone would say that he and Jonathan, beyond the brotherly love they felt for the other two, helped them because they reflected too much their own relationship in the elders’. And they would be right.

They didn’t have the same story as them, and they weren’t the same people either, but unintentionally and without knowing they had turned in their greatest reference in terms of relationships, their support to carry theirs forward and, without a doubt, the push they needed to start dating. Their parents seemed not want to see what happened between them back then, as if it didn’t exist and everything followed its normal course, they kept doing it even today. They were both young, had not discussed their sexuality with anyone else and the indifference of their guardians stopped them from doing so. Nor did they know how to cross beyond the line of friendship with the one who was their greatest confidant and puberty is the worst time for human beings. They both felt trapped, confused, and the longest and closest healthy homosexual relationship they ever knew was Tim and Jason, who were in hiding and Damian didn’t even find out about them until the end, but they always seemed to understand and accept their situation more than their own parents.

 Then, when everything exploded, both didn’t hesitate when choosing sides, and not when they helped them escape too. The rejection of Tim and Jason may have affected them as if it had been directed at them, their relationship with their parents was almost irreparable, but they turned that pain into stubbornness and courage to confess  their feelings and help them to leave. Because they wanted them to stay together, they needed them to stay together, since that was their way of showing everyone, themselves, that they could be happy, that they were not in danger. Both Tim and Jason, and them.

 So, yes, they did. They helped them, planned, and carried it out, being fully aware of what they were doing.

 However, it was what came after that they didn’t consider.

 They became so focused on helping those two to escape, that at any moment they didn’t stop to think what would become of them and their surroundings once they left.

 They should have.

 The nightmares, the anxiety, the secrets, and the paranoia became his new normality. The enormous guilt that came with their actions hit them too hard and fast, without giving them time to even assimilate or change it, because once it was done there was no going back.

They both thought they were ready to let Tim and Jason go, but they weren’t. Not them, not their families, not their friends, not even the hero community. No one. The huge gap that their absence left in their teams and families was too big, but they had already disappeared and all that remained was that stupid note along with the consequences it produced.

 The batfamily fell apart like a house of cards in a matter of days, and it could have been in hours if they had not been focused on the search, but the fights continued without rest and the resentment along with the tension didn’t do more than increase over time. The Titans and all the metas who knew the missing ones contributed to the search, but there was no clue, making the situation worse if possible. They were all trying to find a common culprit, or a valid and less painful reason than the one they had to leave because they were unhappy, they even hoped to find them, but they weren’t going to get anything.

And as the days, the weeks, the months went by, the tension increased, everything got worse and both Damian and Jon had to get away from those whose presence could no longer bear, either due to a total loss of confidence after what happened, or because they found themselves seeing themselves as those traitors who had brought suffering to their family and friends.

 Damian couldn’t trust anyone, not anymore, not his father, not Grayson either. He felt like everyone had fallen too high from the pedestal on which he had them and had to watch Bruce fall into another self-destructive spiral where no Robin was going to get him out this time. The betrayal and rejection he had felt from them didn’t allow him to have a civil conversation with none until eleven months after what happened at least, and even with Grayson he needed more time without wanting to yell at him until he was hoarse. Yet, he had to endure seeing how Brown, Batgirl, walked away increasingly because she couldn’t bear to see their faces, and how Cassandra came back from his mission in China to find her lost and broken family, how Alfred completed his tasks silently and not daring to say a word of it too, afraid to bring up the subject and cause again all those discussions both new and old that originated after the disaster.

Jonathan also felt deeply betrayed by his father and his lack of response to what happened, for his inflexible opinion in agreement with Bruce’s and his indifference to what his son felt. Damian knew they had a fight much stronger than Jon had wanted to admit, that he threw more things in his face than he said, but he decided not to pressure him on the subject and respect if at any time he wanted to give more details. Besides that, his boyfriend saw how Conner Kent crumbled at the loss of his Robin, how he looked for him without a break over and over again to the point of even neglecting his responsibilities with his team and his own health.

 All that pain, all that loss, all the tears, the screams, the fights, and the problems, they caused it. All of them. Without hesitation. And the best thing is that they weren’t planning to fix it. No. They would take the secret to the grave if possible, because if there was one thing they couldn’t regret or back down, it was to make Tim and Jason happy, despite the enormous price they had to pay.

 In their poor defense, they didn’t know that everything was going to fall apart like that. They didn’t come to think that the reaction would be so strong, nor the chain of disasters that followed. But it wasn’t until they saw everyone suffering and tearing apart that they realized what they had done, and that everyone would get very angry if they found out about their actions.

 So, they had no choice but to keep quiet and move on, because what else could they do? They hid it all, they studied, went together to prom, moved into their apartment in Metropolis, Damian got a job, Jon is in college, and despite the difficult family situation and missing the red team a lot, they looked for their own happiness and normality where they knew they could find it, where they taught them they could get it.

 And they were fine, really.

 They were together and fine. The weight of guilt was not so big if you shared it, and they both learned to lie fairly well together at an early age, also to continue side by side no matter what. They didn’t even have to lie that much, just pretend, because they never had a clue where Todd and Drake were, the best was not knowing it and the moment they saw them go through the airport gate, they too disappeared for them completely.

Mostly, they couldn’t talk normally with their parents, sometimes they had to be too on guard or alert in case someone discovered something, every now and then everything became too much and they lost control of their emotions, but they always ended up overlapping. They had nightmares in which everyone surrounded them and yelled that it was their fault, in which they saw flashbacks of happy moments turned into true horrors, where they heard resentment, poison towards them and pure hatred. But despite waking up screaming, crying, begging for forgiveness, they didn’t forget the most important thing: they did it for a reason, and they weren’t responsible for everything.

 If you love something you have to let it go, and that’s just what Tim and Jason chose to do. As much as they had been the ones to give them the option, it’s what they chose and they had to respect it, they had to deal with it. They couldn’t tie them to a life of misfortune, nor force them to return when they weren’t even part of the real problem there.

 Damian was determined to do that for as long as possible, to protect their new lives with everything he had, during all of his if necessary, because that decision was the only selfish decision that his brothers had made in a long time, the only one they had made thinking of themselves, and he felt they deserved it, he knew they deserved it. He was going to fight to preserve that.

 For that, maybe he should have tried a lot harder in Zodome to avoid this disaster.

 He had to hold back himself not to curse and fall prey to his anger when Gordon revealed in the batcave that the reason they had found his brothers had been because of the explosion in which he had been involved. He had felt so helpless, because he hadn’t found out what had caused the disaster until that meeting, and it didn’t make it better.

The whole time he thought that the terrorist cell he was chasing was on the island because of its black market and its easy access, didn’t come to imagine that they were going after a hidden supercomputer of the league that they wanted to sabotage and that they would also fail in their attempt, almost killing him and uncovering his lies.

 If he had been faster, if he had been more focused, if he hadn’t been regretting and missing his brothers again, if he had been better, none of this would have happened. They definitely wouldn’t be on their way to Florida.

 He could have prevented so many things. And yet he had failed, failed them, again.

No matter how hard he had fought for them, how long he had resisted, in the end everything had fallen apart because he couldn’t fulfill a simple mission or control his temper.

 It was very frustrating.

 Damian dug his nails into his forearms, squirming in his seat. His back hurt, also the side of his face where Grayson had hit him before. His fingers itched a lot, he wanted his phone back, his comms, something. He wanted to call Jonathan and make sure he was okay, safe, at least hear his voice to be able to calm down. But they had both been isolated from each other and from everyone by the time Damian made his confession.

As they thought it would happen, just when the others learned the truth took all forms of communication and kept them under surveillance. Jon was surely under the strict and impassive gaze of Clark after a warning from his father. As if any of them could jump in at any moment and alert Tim and Jason that they had been caught and they were going for them, when in fact they didn’t know how to contact them or where they were.

 He sighed, felt Grayson’s gaze on him again but completely ignored it. He was tired, angry, and resentful. He felt like an animal on the way to the slaughterhouse, his heart pounding and his mistakes hounding him, reminding him of everything he could have done to prevent this. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, he didn’t want to see anyone. All he wanted to do was scream, get mad, scream more, fight and beg for them to turn around, to stop the plane and all this madness, to go back to Gotham and forget everything they knew so they could get on with their lives like until now.

 But that was already impossible, everything had changed, and they were not going to forget it, they couldn’t.

 Looking straight ahead, Damian remembered Barbara Gordon’s soft grip on his arm before getting on batplane, he remembered the way she leaned, whispered an apology and with an indecipherable look said it.

 “Even if you don’t know it or want to admit it, you need this Damian. You need to see it.”

 He considered his answer, but he just gave her a cold look and got on the plane. He sat in his place, waited for takeoff, and hadn’t moved since, still quiet and waiting for this journey to end and see the destruction of what his life had been until now.

 Everything was still silent; everyone was still quiet.

 Damian didn’t care. After all, he had been six years without speaking, what mattered a little more?

 ~0.0~

 They landed before lunchtime, outside the city, about a thirty-minute walk from the town. They were not detected, and their objective was not to attract the attention to alert the former vigilantes of the place.

 Even after landing, for a few seconds, no one dared to move or say anything at all, even though some of them seemed to be about to get off the plane and begin the search immediately. They all stood still as if they could break a fragile peace that had never existed. The tension seemed to reach its peak just as Bruce got up and began to give directions of the procedure to be followed. Without having Oracle’s help this time to track them down immediately, they had to break up into groups to explore the area and check out the places they already knew Tim and Jason had been seen, hoping to meet them.

 Dick and Cass would go to the local electronics store and its surroundings, where Tim might appear. It was obvious why Grayson chose to search for Drake first, and why Cass was with him, since there was no doubt that Timothy could attack him as soon as he sees him. He didn’t blame him; he would do it too.

Brown would take care of the library, where they saw Jason. She was not in much danger with him if she found him, at least not entirely. Stephanie was not so involved in the conflict and her relationship with Jason had always been neutral, they had a mutual respect that they could use to their advantage this time.

 Damian was evidently forced to go with his father, who was clearly not going to leave him alone on the plane and was watching and controlling him like he was still ten years old and was planning to do something stupid. Much to his regret, he planned to check out the downtown area and where the other two had been seen crossing a pedestrian crossing that morning, having to cover a less specific and greater terrain.

 Great.

 Damian had assumed his complaints would not be heard at all, no matter what he felt, how angry he was or how bad what they were doing was. So, he decided to apply the total ice tactic and be silent all the way to the small town, analyzing the route, the place, thinking how easy it would be to run and alert his brothers before disaster struck. He didn’t, and he didn’t say a word as they all parted, and the search began. Just kept going next to his father, rigid, tense. He felt as if he were outside his own body, in another place, everything seemed out of focus and his nerves were on the surface. It was difficult to breathe, his chest contracted more and more, and he didn’t want to look at the streets, at the people. He feared so much meeting Drake and Todd. Standing next to Bruce looking for them, he felt like the most twisted of the traitors, again.

 The traitor betraying again, what a surprise.

 At least the place wasn’t too bad, for what little he deigned to see. As reported, the town was small and cozy, smelled of the sea and clean air. It was close to the beach and it was a sunny and lively place, very neat and beautiful with a close community made up of families and locals from there along with some tourists. They all seemed quite close and upper-middle class, from what could be seen.

 It was very different from Gotham.

 Laughter, lively conversations and happy sounds of children and adults, accompanied by the sound of the waves in the distance and life in general in the city were heard. It was refreshing, something new, different. There was no fog, no dark alleys, trash, rats, or the constant threat that a madman dressed as a clown would brutally murder you and your children for fun.

 Damian had stopped for a second to look at a lady who was walking his dog -a white chihuahua very ugly, but funny and whose face of sorrow in this life alleviated his anguish a little- when his father’s voice made him turn to him in annoyance.

 “I have brought your phone and comms.” He said to him as he continued walking, urging him to follow him and quite attentive to the area in case he saw any sign of those he had come looking for.

 Damian didn’t answer, he just kept walking beside him.

He knew he wasn’t going to return any of this or stop watching him until he was sure he couldn’t interfere with his plans, but he was informing him of it to gain ground with him. It was always his way of trying to score points, it was a kind of punishment veiled with concern and the usual parental explanation for not looking so bad. The typical “I have punished you with this, but I’m being good, I hope you understand and forgive me because this is your fault for misbehaving, not mine.”

 It won’t work.

 “I’ll give them back to you as soon all of this ends.” He continued saying when seeing that he didn’t obtain an answer.

 Damian rolled his eyes and continued in silence, walking briskly. It hadn’t worked, mostly because he wasn’t thirteen anymore and knew the trick, so he was still angry, a lot.

Bruce had to realize that hadn’t gone as expected, because he heard him sigh and call him again, in a slight tone of reproach.

 “Damian.”

 No answer.

 “Damian Wayne.” He called him again in a severe tone. “Can you speak to me, please?”

 He didn’t speak. What’s more, he looked at a couple that passed right by them as they walked to a black Lab, who seemed very happy to be there. Reminded him a bit of Titus, he missed him, his friend had a good life.

 “You are no longer a child, and I hope you understand that in these situations you are required not to behave as such.”

 He frowned. Really? The trick of maturity wasn’t going to work either right now, much less when the first to treat him like a child it was precisely him, invalidating his opinions and keeping an eye on him. He couldn’t be serious.

 He snorted and kept walking, not wanting his temper to get the better of him again and crossing the crosswalk that he recognized as the one from the photo he had seen on the batcomputer. His heart clenched for a second, he lowered his head holding his breath, because he was stepping on the same ground that his brothers had passed, they had been here and now he was crossing it with his father while they were looking for them.

The chances that they were getting closer to them were more and more real, the option of being found head-on were many and his hands had started to sweat. He didn’t know what he would do if that happened, he didn’t know how he would react if it was Bruce and he who ended up finding them before anyone else.

 “Giving me the silent treatment will not solve anything of this, son.” Bruce ended up saying again, crossing the street in  a tired tone and ignoring the internal struggle that Damian had at that moment.

 At that, the last Robin looked at him angrily, because of what had said in itself, and because he had called him “son”. He had no right to play that trick at the moment, at all. He refused, and he was too upset right now to that.

 “What we’re doing either, but we’re doing it anyway, right?” He finally reproached him with coldness and aversion.

 He listened to Bruce sigh again and kept walking, stepping forward to leave him a little behind and still without looking closely around. He continued going down the street after crossing the pedestrian crossing, staring at the ground and with his heart beating faster and faster. He didn’t want to walk, he didn’t want to do this, he didn’t want to continue arguing, he wanted to go home and hold Jonathan until they couldn’t make out where one began and the other ended.

 “You have to understand that this is necessary.” Bruce justified himself behind him, still in that serious and exhausted tone.

 Damian felt anger wash over him once more, almost rising up his throat and burning it to start screaming and throw words sharp like knives. But they were in public, the goal was not to attract attention and nothing good would come of losing control now.

 They came to an intersection with an avenue, but Damian continued without looking back, hoping to lose sight of his father for as long as possible.

 “For whom?” He asked with annoyance. “Tt.”

 Clearly solely for them. He, Grayson, or whoever couldn’t live with what they had done. But that wasn’t his problem, nor was it anyone’s. They didn’t have to do this, it was unnecessary, but after all Damian was the selfish one for not having said a word about what he did for years.

 Of course.

 He hoped to hear an answer behind him, knowing that his father would try to lecture him, scold him, or make him understand his point of view, but curiously he got nothing. When Damian took a couple of steps across the intersection, he realized that he didn’t listen either the unmistakable Bruce’s steps behind or beside him, they had disappeared.

 He frowned and snorted exasperated.

 “What? Now is it you who’s going to give me the silence treatment?” He complained in annoyance and stopped on his own steps to turn around and look at him, the disgust inside him urged him to start another discussion.

 However, when he caught a glimpse of his father and realized that he was completely still, rigid, standing and watching in awe to his right, fixing his gaze in something, in someone, which was far down the avenue, that disgust quickly transformed into a mixture of anxiety and emotion so strong that Damian could have passed out if he hadn’t been so on guard.

 Slowly, fearfully but curious, he turned his head and followed his father’s stunned gaze to where it had been frozen.

 And he wanted to scream.

 He wanted to scream, cry, laugh, he wanted to run there, wanted to flee, wanted to do many things but felt completely incapable of doing none because like Bruce he froze, was petrified and was unable to react, unable to decide.

 Because they were right there.

 Timothy Drake and Jason Todd were right there. A few meters from them.

 His hands started to tremble, to sweat, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t, his throat was closed, his lungs could barely function well, his heart was beating so hard he couldn’t hear anything else, his head was in chaos, everything turned and stirred.

 But it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter at all, because they were there, they were just there.

 Damian couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but stare intensely, trying to assimilate that it was true, that it was them, in front of him. They were alive, they were fine, they were there, and they still hadn’t realized that they were near, observing them and about to run towards them.

 They were on the sidewalk, talking lively with two women, who seemed to really enjoy their company. Their postures and smiles were relaxed, open. They were side by side and chatting with each other as if there was no other problem in the world, and if he paid enough attention, if he tuned his ears enough, he could hear Jason’s deep voice and Drake’s light laugh in the distance. And they had definitely changed, they had grown. They were more mature, more adults plus attractive if that was possible. Jason still kept his white lock in his hair and his leather jacket, but his posture was less threatening, calmer, it seemed more centered and stable than ever. Tim had cut his hair, and looked shorter if possible, but he kept that soft and genuine smile he never wore while he was in one of the expensive suits he wore at WE.

In the eyes of both there was light, there was life, a shine that he had never seen in them. They carried an aura that he never thought he would witness in them.

 His eyes itched, he could cry, he didn’t know if he had already started to cry. His instincts screamed at him, screamed so much, so many different things and with such force that he didn’t know which ones to follow. One part told him to pick up his father, get away from that street, not alert others and leave in order to keep that light in them forever. But the another yelled at him to run towards them, to approach them suddenly, hug them hard and never let go, because he had missed them so much, and was glad that they were still together and so calm.

 The instincts to go to them seemed to win definitively when Jason’s bigger figure leaned closer to Timothy’s to put his arm around his shoulders, causing the smaller to smile at him and intertwine their hands together without hesitation, where -for a second- an unusual shine on the fingers of both hands caught his eye.

 Rings. That were rings. They wore rings. Wedding rings. Alliances.

 His resolve broke, his mind went blank. Without realizing it, Damian took a step, then another, another. Tentative, automatic, unconscious steps. He still couldn’t barely breathe and now his gaze was focused on their clasped hands, on their posture, in that hug, at their smiles while they were still talking without realizing they were there.

 Just as he was about to start running, a firm and powerful hand grabbed his forearm hard and pulled him back, making him complain and stumble in surprise on his steps. He hadn’t seen that coming, and he turned astonished to see how his father, surprised too, had clung to his arm, and held him in place, shaking his head.

 He looked at him in startled, almost panicked, breathing hard and with a million questions going through his mind, but discarding them all quickly at the fact that he was stopping him from going to his brothers.

 A shrill chime that was too familiar rang out somewhere, but that wasn’t important to him right now.

 Damian shook his arm hard, flustered, grabbed Bruce’s hand, and tried to pull it away from him, shaking his head. But he couldn’t push him away, his father didn’t let him go, he tried to take a step towards his brothers and was pushed back again. He was breathing faster his heart was going to explode.

 “No.” His father said, his voice also broken with nervousness. “Wait. No.”

 He didn’t want to wait. He couldn’t. But the fact that it was precisely Bruce who wanted to wait now, who was stopping him right now, turned his alarms back on and in his agitation, Damian realized that something was wrong, that he was missing something.

 Shaking his head hard and trying to regulate his breathing, he turned his gaze back to the ex-robins to realize that the scene in front of him had changed, that indeed, in his surprise for having them close again and his focus to watching them, he had been missing an important detail.

 A very important detail.

 The women his brothers were talking to were not the only ones on this street, there were more people there, it was full of adults, more groups talking to each other, men and women waiting for something in front of a building. A big one, well-kept, with traffic signs specific that he knew and with a gate of colors, childish. It was now open and from which children were coming out, who were screaming, shouting, laughing, and running to the adults who welcomed them with open arms.

 Wait.

 The adults were parents. This was a fucking school.

 “Dad!”

 “Daddy!”

 Two voices, shrill and childish, repeated those words with genuine joy as they quickly approached Tim and Jason, whose smiles grew up, and they looked fondly at each other.

 A boy and a girl, small, smiling, and excited, entered the scene. Holding hands and running as fast as their short legs allowed them, they finished throwing themselves towards Jason and Tim, laughing happily, with squeals of excitement and a warm welcome.

Jason caught the girl in mid-jump, hugging her tightly and not taking long to cover her face with kisses as she squirmed and laughed out loud, happy in his grip. Tim bent down to extend his arms and receive an effusive hug from the boy, separating shortly to leave the most tender and gentle kiss that Damian had never seen on his cheek while the child allowed himself to be picked up carefully to be hold. After that, they both ended up with smiling children in their arms as they talked, greeted the other and laughed with them.

 “I haven’t said everything.” Barbara said. “You have to see it, Damian.” Barbara said.

 Well.

 Shit.

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Two Moons

(Story Post)

On wolf nights, Nathan still spent his time at APID but now Sydryn had arranged for him to have a family suite, one big enough for the twins to stay in and for Dax to sleep over. His worry about having Dax and the twins with the wolf slowly faded as Dax often recounted to him the majority of what happens when he turned, and it was mostly nothing. The wolf fed the twins regularly when they were hungry, curled up with them when they were tired. For the most part, they all shared the bed, and Dax even got to snuggle in behind his big fluffy boyfriend to get sleep for a decent amount of time. The twins were starting to get into the habit of turning at the same time as Nathan, but it wasn’t a sure thing and Dax would have to take over when they were human, as the wolf, though gentle with them in any form, could not change diapers.

At two months old, Grace and Gabriel were hitting their development milestones on time. Both could hold their heads up while on their tummies. Both showed interest in toy and noises around them, though grabbing wasn’t yet a thing except mostly by accident. As pup and cub however, they were growing differently. Grace was developing ahead of her brother in that regard. As a pup, she was already starting to figure out some crawling techniques, and could be found chewing her dad’s ear sometimes. Gabriel on the other hand, though bigger than her, wasn’t at all mobile and constantly wanted to be feeding, always curled up at the teat. They were both eating and pooping machines, and slept a lot. The majority of the time, Nathan spent inside with the kids, while Dax would go out and get food and any supplies they needed. The pregnancy group still happened on Friday’s and if Nathan couldn’t bring himself out to their meeting room for whatever reason, the group would always swing by his room to check in and hang out. It had been a few weeks since Dari and Fay had their twins, so they were missing, but up until then they’d been in group regularly. Yori was absent a couple of weeks before as his family had gone on vacation over the school break, but he was back again and eager to talk about his trip with anyone who’d listen. Despite not going outside much, it felt like Nathan’s little family was very popular. Even APID E faculty dropped by after class times to see the babies. Because of the frequency of visitors, Nathan felt like he had seen everyone still rather regularly. Apparently not. One afternoon while he was feeding the twins, there was a strong knock on the door. Dax was taking a nap and was apparently exhausted because he didn’t even budge. “Coming.” Nathan sighed and set Grace down in her bassinet since she seemed to be done. He pulled a robe over himself and Gabriel and went to the door. Opening it, he found his dear friend Wano, violet in the face (blue blooded version of red in the face) and glaring him down. “Wano, what’s going on?” Nathan said. “Are you okay?” “Two moons,” Wano said. “Two and almost another moon and you never come to the cafeteria.” “Oh. Um, I’m really sorry…” Nathan said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been a little occupied.” Wano nodded in acknowledgment. “But you still need to eat. You should’ve come eat.” “Dax’s been bringing in food mostly,” Nathan said. “But, I’m sorry Wano. I didn’t realise our mealtimes meant that much to you. But you could’ve always stopped by.” “Am I not? I’m stopping by now,” Wano stated. “You appear healthy. Are you in good health?” “Well, that’s debatable, but mostly, yeah,” Nathan said. “Could be worse.” “Good. And you’re not likely pregnant since humans typically take time off that to raise their young for a bit, yes?” “Well, most do, sure. Maybe not Dari…” “Is that another race?” “No, it’s a friend. Never mind.” “Male?” “Yeah, why?” Wano narrowed his eyes. “What height?” “Oh, I dunno… Pretty short… Why?” Wano nodded approvingly. “Only friend sized.” “Sure?” “Good. So, being as your womb is vacant…” Wano produced a fistful of flowers from behind his back and shoved them towards Nathan. “I’d like to propose a mating partnership.” Nathan blinked and stared at the alien man. “…You want to…marry me?” Wano nodded. “Mostly, interspecies relationship is frowned upon in my culture, however humans are the originators. Your species is a precious part of the universe. To mate with you would strengthen my familial bloodline.” “Um…” Nathan couldn’t tell if it was sweet or insulting. “I’m in a relationship?” “With him?” Wano pointed to Dax still lying in bed. “I could fight him for you. I’d win. He leaves himself easily vulnerable.” “He’s napping. You’re not fighting anyone. That’s not how this works. I chose Dax,” Nathan said. “I’m happy with my choice. And it sounds like you want someone to start a family with, and frankly I’m pretty sure I don’t want to get pregnant again.” “Well, um…” Wano faltered for a moment. “It does not need to be a mating partnership… I hear your species fornicates for pleasure. Our partnership could be that.” “Wano, I’m not available for partnerships,” Nathan said. “Though your proposal has been…flattering.” “Oh.” Wano rubbed his neck. “Are you sure? I’d be a great partner.” Nathan nodded. “I’m sure. Can you accept that?” Wano lifted his chin in acceptance. “Should I go?” “No, no… Well, I mean, you should meet the kids,” Nathan suggested. “Come in.” “Oh…” Wano rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe not. I need to sleep.” “Alright. Well, we’ll catch up later, right?” Nathan said. “Maybe not.” Wano looked down and away. “Oh.” Nathan frowned, realising maybe the rejection had been harder on Wano than he thought. “Listen, I get that this isn’t easy for you, but I still want to be friends if we can be. It just takes time.” “Time is not something I have,” Wano stated. “My appeal hearing is tomorrow.” “To…Tomorrow?” Nathan blanched. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I could’ve helped you prepare!” Wano shrugged uncomfortably and motioned towards the babe in Nathan’s arms. “Right… The birth…” Nathan rubbed Gabriel’s head thinking for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll do fine though. Do you have a counsel?” “My case worker…” Wano stated, though he didn’t appear happy with that. “Well, that’s good. The case workers here are pretty good…” Wano just stayed silent, looking at his feet. Nathan placed a hand on the alien’s shoulder. “…Did you want me to be there?” Wano shook his head. “You shouldn’t want to be. You are a parent now. That is likely more important to you.” “No, well, yes… But I have Dax. He can watch the twins while I’m there. I can be a character witness, if you want that. What is the reasoning behind your removal?” “Criminal record,” Wano said. “It’s stupid… As if punching someone is a crime.” “Yes, it’s called assault,” Nathan said. “It was all the way back from when I got here. A guy looked at me weird. I punched him in the face.” “Yeah, and you don’t see a problem with that?” Nathan asked. “I know now…” Wano crossed his arms. “That kind of staring wouldn’t fly on my planet.” “Well, do you want to go back there or do you want to stay on this planet?” “Of course I want to stay,” Wano huffed. “My planet is hell.” “Then you need to win this appeal,” Nathan said. “And I’m going to help you.” “No, I—” “I know. You don’t want to ask for help. But asking for help doesn’t make you weak,” Nathan said. “In fact, I believe people only grow stronger when we work together. So, come inside.” Nathan took Wano’s arm and brought him into the suite. The alien tensed up nervously, unsure how to react to Nathan’s forceful kindness. Nathan got him to sit down at a table and went to check his calendar. “I don’t have much time since I’m still in wolf cycle, so we’ll try to cram… Dax!” The thunderbird stirred on the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hm?” “I’m sorry, but I need you awake,” Nathan said. “We have company.” “Company?” Dax got himself up into a seated position, leaning tiredly on his arms. He locked eyes with Wano. “Oh. You’re the broccoli guy…” “Broccoli?” Wano scrunched his nose. “Why would you associate me with green vegetation?” “Remember, when you met, we were debating about broccoli and cauliflower,” Nathan explained, getting his laptop with one hand while he continued to nurse Gabriel. The cub just couldn’t be satisfied it seemed. “Dax, I need to help Wano with his deportation appeal tomorrow so I need you to watch the kids.” “Right… I can do that,” Dax said, leaning over and checking on Grace in her bassinet. She was sound asleep for now. “Are you going to the thing?” “Yes. Do you think you can watch them then, too?” Nathan asked. “I know you haven’t been alone with them yet…” Dax gave a thumbs up. “We got this.” “Thank you, Dax.” Dax smiled to him and got up to grab his yoga mat. “You do that teacher thing you do so well and help this guy not get deported.” At the sight of the rolled mat, Wano got defensive. “What are you doing with that?” “I figured I’d get some stretching in before Grace wakes up and Gabriel sucks the last drop out of Nathan,” Dax stated. “Stretching?” Wano frowned. “What combat are you…um…anticipating?” “The battle that is parenthood,” Dax stated. “But actually, yoga is really good for your health. You don’t need to be facing combat simply to want to stretch.” “Well, once we win this appeal, you can teach Wano all about it,” Nathan said. “Wano, I don’t know much about immigration law, but what are you most worried about in this appeal?” “…I guess, just…” Wano licked his tongue. “I don’t like being asked many questions with many eyes watching… It makes me mad.” “Okay, I can help with that,” Nathan said. “I’ve had a lot of kids in my class who are nervous speakers and don’t like getting up in front of the class. And it’s even worse when you’re not prepared for questions. But there’s some strategies we can work with.” Wano nodded. “Okay…” “Alright, let’s get started.” “Thank you…”

[mmxficlets]

Prompt #15: Racing

This is a reference to an earlier story, I mentioned when X and Zero got into trouble racing Ride Chasers. so, this is a little quick thing I threw together before work, hopefully its as much fun to read as it was to write :3 I'd also recommend some eurobeat to listen to while you read, bc thats what i listened to to write it.

Abel City was calm, the sky sunny and blue, fat, fluffy clouds listing lazily by. It was the perfect day, something that didn’t come very often. Days like these were best spent relaxing, soaking in the warm sunlight and spending time with loved ones.

That's what X had wanted to do today. His husband had other ideas, ones that X had hesitantly agreed to.

Zero walked around the new Ride Chasers, whistling appreciatively at the size of its engines and choice in color. X had agreed to come with him to check them out before Signas and Douglas had them properly catalogued, which was quickly proving to be a mistake.

“I wonder when we’ll be allowed to use these…” Zero traced part of the handle bar with his finger wistfully, his lips pursed as he glanced over at X.

The android knew that look, he’d seen it quite a few times before Zero decided to do something stupid. He also knew that when his husband gave him this look, he wasn’t asking for permission, he was asking for an accomplice.

“Zero...don’t even think about it.” X warned, trying to level his best glare at the Red Ripper. It only served to spur the warbot on, the traces of a grin starting on his face as he attempted to keep it under control.

“Think about what?”

Oh, so he was going to play stupid today. 

“We can’t. You know we can’t.”

“Oh but we can.” Zero smirked, glancing over at X again, those pretty blue eyes staring right into X’s soul.

“Zero…”

“Yes, dear?” Zero’s sickly sweet voice wrapped itself around his husband's heart, and X knew in that moment that all of his brain cells had left him, and he was doomed.

X pouted for a moment before glancing around, looking for anyone who might tell on them before they even got out of the base. With a heavy sigh, X strode over to Zero, punching him lightly in the arm before straddling the Ride Chaser.

“I swear, if Signas catches us, we’re gonna be used for scrap.” The Avenging Angel grumbled, starting the engine and anti-gravity boosters. The machine roared to life, the engine rumbling with power in between X’s thighs, floating up gently into the air to wait for its input.

Zero whooped before jumping on the other Ride Chaser, kicking it into gear. Both androids lazily drove the vehicles to the entrance of the garage, the door wide open to the open city.

“Okay, race you on the freeway around the city? How many laps?” Zero grinned wickedly at his husband, his eyes sparkling in mischief and excitement.

“3 laps, no cheating, only on the freeway, don’t hit anyone.” X smirked back, his own excitement growing now that this was a competition. Zero nodded back enthusiastically, revving his engine a little.

“Ready…” X wiggled in his seat, anticipation flooding his sense as his combat system activated.

“Set…” Zero gripped the handle bars tightly, his own combat systems activating as he settled into place.

GO

The unspoken word was whispered between the two as they both flew out of the hangar, the engines screaming as they rushed out into the open air.

Zero’s flowing blonde hair looked like a streak of gold behind him as he pulled ahead of X, easily overtaking the more cautious android as they entered the street.

X grinned, yanking on the handlebars to turn the Ride Chaser abruptly to the right, using a side road to get to the freeway faster. Zero’s yelp of indignation followed him as he sped away, dodging civilian cars and stop lights.

X wasn’t much for breaking the rules, but this was a particularly spectacular display of recklessness from Dr. Light’s last child. X whooped as he saw Zero behind him, scrambling to catch up as they weaved around the other vehicles, horns honking and shouts following them as they went.

With a burst of speed, Zero overtook X as they got onto the highway, the higher speed limits and longer roads here really letting him push the engines as fast as he could. He threw a quick salute to X as he sped by, his face split wide with a wild grin. X just laughed and sped after him.

Both androids sped around the city, easily clocking in speeds much higher than what was allowed on civilian roads. They didn’t care however, the wind rushing against their faces and the road underneath the machines pumping pseudo-adrenaline through their bodies.

It feels like I’m flying…

X realized after a moment that Zero was farther ahead of him than he had wanted, he really should fix that. The android gripped the handlebars harder and pushed the engines as hard as he could, flying past the other vehicles. Zero glanced back at him, eyes wide with excitement. 

X just winked before using his whole body to throw the Ride Chaser sideways, using his momentum to slide his vehicle under a truck, narrowly missing the ground as he did. He let his hand skid across the road, using it to keep himself balanced. At the right moment, he pushed off of the road, righting himself as he came up on the other side.

The truck swerved, effectively trapping Zero behind it, causing the Red Ripper to have to slow down to avoid being hit. X cackled, ignoring the sparking pain in his hand and speeding off.

With a reasonable lead over Zero, X simply sped along, dodging other vehicles and doing everything he could to make sure his husband was far enough behind. By the end of the third lap, Zero was nowhere in X’s line of sight.

With a quick ping to his husband, he left the freeway, once again speeding along civilian roads back towards base, his face split with a smile as the engine roared underneath him. He laughed at the angry ping he got back from Zero, the message saying something about “What about no cheating?” and “I don’t even know where you are, I’m just finishing my third lap.” The Blue Bomber smirked, knowing that he won as he pulled into the hangar, the Ride Chaser rumbling underneath him.

Once the machine was parked, he stepped off of it, removing his helmet with a big grin. Zero pulled in a moment later, a scowl on his face as he came to terms with the fact that he lost. X said nothing, only smiling at his husband before turning around to head back into base.

“Mind telling me what the fuck that was?” 

Oh, shit.

Signas, Alia and Douglas all stood at the entrance to the base, faces ranging from varying degrees of infinitely pissed off to incredibly amused. X remembered at that moment that he was NOT supposed to break rules, being a role model and all.

Zero and X both smiled sheepishly, glancing at each other.

“Well...uh…”

[darkblueboxs]

howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind. 

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet.  The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

 * Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

[geronimo-11]

john & casey for the ship thing? :3

Of course! Thank you so much for asking! :)

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

-Casey met John when she went in to work a shift at the Spread Eagle one night. He had been sending offers to buy her family’s house to her mother, who has early onset Alzheimers, and eventually started sending men over when he didn't get a response. He - unintentionally - scared Casey's mother to death and it pissed. Her. Off. So, when Mary-May told her who he was, Casey walked over to him and made sure he knew he and his men were entirely unwelcome at their house.

What was their first impression of each other?

-Casey thought John was a cocky jackass. John thought Casey was attractive, but also bold, stubborn, and even a bit naive.

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

-Yes and no. None of Casey's friends in the Resistance wanted them to get together. They knew that the two of them had had some weird fling before everything went to shit, but they all assumed Casey had put it behind her after Joseph's arrest. Jacob was against their relationship from the beginning. He didn’t want John and Casey involved in something that would end up in them both getting hurt. It would piss him off and break Joanna's heart. Joseph was a little too eager for Casey and John to get together. He knew there was something special about this new Deputy, and after his vision about John's death he was absolutely on board with his little brother being with someone who could love him and teach him how to love. Joanna didn't know anything about their relationship until Casey told her after the Reaping had started, and she was too shocked to really have an opinion.

Who felt romantic feelings first?

-John. He felt the first pull of attraction when she yelled at him in the Spread Eagle, and at first he just wanted to sleep with her. It's not until they get to know each other better that he realizes he may be feeling something more.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

-Casey does, because she has so many hang-ups about relationships in the first place, but also because of how complicated their relationship becomes after she tries to arrest his brother. She knows he's doing horrible things and that she shouldn't feel the way she does about him, but she also can't help it, either. John wants them to be together from the first instant Casey hints she may like him more than she originally let on, and he's very persistent about it.

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

-Casey would probably groan and complain about how of course her soulmate would be the greasiest, cockiest bastard to ever set foot in Montana. "He's probably grinning about it right now. Smug son of a bitch." John would probably be more accepting. He would probably be more intrigued at the fact he has a soulmate in the first place than who it is. The Duncan's told him he was too full of sin for God to ever give him something as sacred as a soulmate, so he's certainly not going to let her slip away now.

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

-I would say John, because he initiated all of their flirting, but Casey's the one who finally caves and says "okay yeah let's do this". They weren't public about their relationship, it mainly consisted of Casey spending nights and weekends at John's ranch and the two of them meeting in town by "coincidence" and having lunch or dinner together. Casey knows how quickly gossip in a small town spreads, and if their relationship didn't work out she didn't want there to be too much talk about how or why it ended. For the most part their relationship went pretty well. Casey was impressed with how easily John handled all of her shit, and when he stuck around she found herself opening up to him more and more. They had a bit of a falling out when she decided to leave for training so she could apply to the Sheriff's Department, and when she comes back and sees what Eden's Gate has done to the county, she knows for sure there's no way they can just pick up where they left off.

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

-They don't technically have an "official" first date. John kind of corners Casey at the Spread Eagle one night -- she's not working, just hanging out -- and buys her dinner and a drink. It's the first night where they both sort of let their guard down and just talk.

What was their first kiss like?

-Intense, a little sloppy, and unexpected. It's during the Testy Festy and there's music playing, and Casey may have had one bourbon too many when she spots John trying to make his way through the mayhem. So she drags him over to dance. It's in the midst of trying to get John to actually dance with her that she realizes how blue his eyes are and hey, ya know what, he's actually really attractive, and she just... goes for it. It's a lot of pent up attraction mixed with alcohol.

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)? 

-I feel like Casey is probably John's first love. I don't think he ever dated when he was in high school, the Duncan's probably strongly discouraged anything that could possibly lead to sin, and after they died he never really wanted a relationship. Just fling after fling to try and fill the void. Casey is the first person he ever takes the time to get to know, and let's get to know him, outside of his brothers.

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

-Casey is about 5'6", John is around 5'10", and there's a six year age gap between them (Casey is 27 and John is 32).

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

-John never really gets to know Casey's mother that well, and she probably wouldn't remember him if he tried. He has a strained relationship with Joanna. Since Jacob and Joseph have both talked about her a lot, he knows she took care of him and his brothers when they were little, but he was too young to remember any of that. All he knows is that to him, at least, she's a stranger. And she's a stranger who is trying to get too close, too fast.

Casey finds Joseph creepy, and has little desire to get to know him any better than she already does -- no matter what Joanna and John tell her. At first, she has a mutual respect for Jacob. She's not crazy about him and they've never had a conversation long enough for her to form a solid opinion, but he cares about Joanna and that means a lot to her. After she's spent some time going through his trials, though, it's a different story. She hates how smug and superior he sounds, and she'd love nothing better than to punch him in his stupid ginger face. As for Faith, Casey likes her most out of all of John's siblings. Maybe it's the fact they're not really related.

Who takes the lead in social situations?

-John, but Casey doesn't mind. She'd rather not deal with it in the first place, and he's a naturally social person, so it works out.

Who gets jealous easier?

-This would have to be John, again. Like I said, Casey is the first person outside of his brothers that he's willingly let get close. When he sees her with other people he gets scared she'll find someone else and he'll get left behind.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

-John did. It's after Joseph's arrest and Casey goes to his ranch to tell him off, and as he's trying to convince her to stay it just slips out.

What are their primary love languages?

-John: Physical touch, words of affirmation, receiving gifts -Casey: Words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

-They don't cuddle very often because Casey just can't sit still long enough. She also isn't big on physical touch, which is one of John's top three love languages and a source of many arguments discussions. She’s not totally against touch ever, just not all the time. However, if she's had enough to drink or she's just in the mood, Casey has no problem with a little PDA. Especially after everyone finds out they're together, she has a habit of just grabbing John and kissing him wherever they are if she's feeling it. John doesn't complain, but other people do.

What are their favorite things to do together?

-They love to spend time in John's hangar, music playing in the background, Casey working on her bike and John working on his plane. They'll spend hours in there just talking.

Who’s better at comforting the other?

-Neither of them are very good at comforting people, but they both make an effort to be there when they know the other is having a particularly hard day. Casey tends to ramble and stroke John's hair/hug him in order to distract him, and John will sit and listen while Casey vents about whatever is bothering her.

Who’s more protective?

-I'd say they're pretty equal. Neither of them have a problem with acting on their emotions (John is more calculated but still prone to emotional outbursts as we've seen) and if they think the other is in physical danger, or even being disrespected, they're quick to step in.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

-Casey prefers verbal affection while John prefers physical. They try and make sure the other feels wanted and loved regardless, but sometimes it's hard when John wants to cuddle and Casey just wants to talk.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

-I also have a playlist for them as well, so I'll try and stick to my top five songs from their playlist:

No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine

Bitter Water by The Oh Hellos

It Will Come Back by Hozier

War of Hearts by Ruelle

Take Me to Church by Hozier

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

-John uses the typical ones "My dear" and "Darling", but Casey doesn't really use nicknames. She might say "babe" or something, but she'll usually just call John by name.

DOMESTIC LIFE

If they get married, who proposes?

-John proposes in the bunker. They didn't have much in the way of rings, but after dinner in their room one night he just got down on one knee and asked her.

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

-I don't even know if it could be considered a wedding, really. More a celebration with a very, very small ceremony. They have Joseph marry them, and Jacob, Joanna, and Faith are in attendance, but that's it.

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

-They have one daughter named after Casey's mother, Marian "Mari" Seed. She's a bit of a spitfire and a daredevil like her mother, much to John's dismay, but she's more calculated about her actions, like John. Which, honestly, probably makes her stunts more dangerous than Casey's.

Do they have any pets?

-Pre-collapse Casey counted Boomer as hers. Post-collapse she just sort of feeds and takes care of whatever friendly animals come to their house, which drives John up the wall. He's not really a pet person.

Who’s the stricter parent?

-John, but only by a hair. It's mostly because he's trying to keep Mari from getting hurt or killing herself, and Casey's busy cheering on whatever stunt her daughter has come up with from the sideline. Any other time it's usually Casey.

Who kills the bugs in the house?

-Both of them, neither are really bothered by bugs.

How do they celebrate holidays?

-I'm just going to assume the rest of these will be happening post-collapse, so they celebrate as well as they can. Casey tries to scrounge together decorations, because holidays are important to her and John's never really had good experiences with holidays, and now they have Mari to think about. She does her best, with Joanna's help, to make every holiday at least a little fun.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

-John. He's not the type to sleep until noon, but Casey gets up too early in his opinion. Sometimes he just wants to lay in bed for a while and hold his wife, but it takes an awful lot of coaxing to do so.

Who’s the better cook?

-John, again. Not that Casey can't cook, John just happens to be better at it. She's more than willing to let him take the reigns, though.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

More Time - Chpt.16

Summary: In the wake of Bucky’s accident another unexpected hurdle is thrown into their lives. Stronger together than apart, the three grow closer as they face this new reality together.  Master list can be found HERE.

Warnings/ Content: A little angsty, lots of feels. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry for that last cliff hanger, lovelies! I really am. Be patient though, we need to get through the woods in this chapter so our three main characters can move forward in their lives together. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Sixteen

So they waited. Neither Steve nor Emma was willing to leave the ICU waiting room so they alternated between sitting huddled together on an assortment of love seats and sofas, and pacing around the room. Pepper, Happy, Bruce, and Helen all urged them to consider getting some sleep or a shower or a decent meal but it fell on deaf ears. What sleep they got was leaning on each other in their seats. The food they picked at with disinterest was from the vending machine or what someone brought them. Steve would tell Emma stories from their childhood, good memories he had of Bucky when they were young, before the war started. Sometimes he’d get so lost in a particular memory his eyes would glass over and he’d trail off mid-sentence, the rest of his words caught by the lump in his throat. Emma told Steve about all the nights Bucky had come to visit her solo at Matty’s. How his smile had charmed her even when she had tried to ignore it. The way he was so easy to talk to because he genuinely listened and cared about what she had to say. 

For two days they waited, the time passing feeling both too long and non existent. It was like they were trapped in the same moment in an infinite loop, frozen in time by their fear. The only thing keeping them from completely falling apart was the comfort they drew from one another’s presence. The one time when Emma had run off to the bathroom Steve looked around the empty waiting room realizing if it weren’t for her, he would have been all alone there waiting for Bucky to wake up. The pain in his chest doubled and he pushed past the thought, unable to think about how unbearable that would have been. And if Steve had clung to Emma a little harder after she returned, she didn’t mention a thing. 

It was Bruce who came to get them after Bucky woke up. It was like a dam breaking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Tears streamed from both their faces anew, relief and joy washing over them in waves. Steve started asking Bruce questions but he told them that they didn’t know much yet.  Helen and the other doctors were busy running a series of tests and scans now that he was awake. They wouldn’t know much until the doctors had the results. As much as the pair wanted to see him right away, Bruce made them slow down as he led them back to Bucky’s room so that the doctor’s had time to finish up. 

A tall, grey haired man came out of Bucky’s ICU room to let them know the scans were complete and they were free to go in. His only request was that they go easy on Bucky who was not entirely out of the woods yet. Steve and Emma nodded in unison, eager to get in Bucky’s room no matter what. When they finally were allowed through the large white doors it was like they could finally breathe again.

Bucky was reclining in a large white hospital bed, IV’s coming out of his right arm. His left was removed, sitting off on the far side of the room in a case for safe keeping. They had cleaned him up a bit but his hair was still disheveled and his beard had grown out a bit to the point where it was a proper beard, not just the scruff he usually kept it as. The bruises hadn’t all faded and he looked paler than usual, deep purple-blue crescents under his eyes. 

“Buck.” Steve choked out, his voice breaking.

Bucky looked over at Steve, his brow furrowed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “Do I know you?”

Emma felt like she’d been punched. She barely got her arms around Steve as he started to collapse. 

“Stevie no!” Bucky cried, eyes wide. “Shit, I was kidding!” he tried to scramble out of the hospital bed but two nurses immediately put their hands on his shoulders to keep him down. 

“Fucking punk.” Steve panted. He pulled his inhaler out from his pants pocket and took two long puffs with shaking hands.

Emma was caught between wanting to hug Bucky and smack him. “You can’t do that to us!” she scolded him. 

Once Steve was steady on his feet and breathing better, he and Emma made their way over to Bucky who gave them each a one armed hug, letting them hang on as long as they needed. He apologized to them both repeatedly for his ill-timed attempt at humor. They talked with the doctors for a while once they returned from the lab. Bucky would be okay, his brain scans were all fine, the bruises were healing, he just needed to wait out the break in his leg and be careful around the stress fractures along a few of his ribs on his right side. His right leg was going to be in a cast from his hip to his ankle for at least a month, maybe longer, and then he’d probably still need a brace after that for a little while. It was hard to gauge his healing ability but a normal person would be looking at six months in a cast and then a long road of physical therapy. Bucky was dreading every moment of his recovery. 

After he woke up the hospital only kept him another day for observation before Steve and Emma were allowed to take him home. They were all restless by the time they got the all clear and couldn’t wait for a decent meal and their own bed. Emma had taken time off from the bar, letting them know there had been a family emergency and she would be out for a little while. She was thankful for her saved up vacation time and her savings account. Nothing was more important than being there for Bucky and Steve at that point. 

Bucky was forced into a wheelchair to leave the hospital despite vehement protesting. It was policy, super soldier or not. At least they let him put his arm back on when he had gotten dressed. The trio felt, and looked, pretty grungy as they blinked against the midday sun; seeing the outside the world for the first time in three days. The sidewalk was packed with people. Some holding signs of well wishes and others holding cameras and microphones. Steve and Emma helped Bucky into the back of the car while Happy did his best to shoo the reporters away. The hospital staff intervened, making the crowd disperse so they could safely navigate the car out and away. It was frustrating but Steve and Bucky just sighed, resigned to the fact that this was life in the public eye. Avengers didn’t always have the luxury of peace and quiet. 

Bucky sat between Steve and Emma, wincing every so often when the car bounced over a pothole. It wasn’t a terribly long drive but it was enough to wear Bucky out and they got him into their enormous bed as soon as they got home. 

Emma offered to call in a food order and Steve was doing damage control with Pepper over the phone. He understood that the public was worried about Bucky and wanted to know how he was doing, that was okay. What worried him were the photos. The world didn’t know what had happened in Bruce’s lab yet and he was reluctant to have the news break just yet. He liked living in relative anonymity now that he was back in his smaller body. No one stopped him on the streets anymore, he could come and go as he pleased. He knew it was only a matter of time but he just wasn’t ready yet. Pepper promised to do her best but let him know that it was likely already circulating. 

It only took an hour for the news to hit the internet. An hour after that, it was on TV. Pepper called apologizing but Steve knew she had done her best. There would need to be a press statement released. Steve gave her the okay to give a blanket “we’ll do an interview soon” statement and they would have a trusted reporter come to the apartment soon for an interview that could be taped and aired later. Steve was used to seeing the best and worst of humanity, he was still considered a hero and a criminal in turns. What he didn’t expect was for Emma to get drug into their mess. A few of the reporters had snapped pictures of her with them, the affection between all three clear as day. Stories circulated, most painting ugly scandals but some just asking “who is the mystery woman”. 

Bucky came limping out on his crutches to find Emma and Steve sitting together and watching the news, their hands tightly entwined. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. 

Steve jumped at the sound of his voice, not having realized he was up out of bed. “Oh, you know, the news.” Steve tried to play it off but Emma’s stricken face told the whole story. 

Bucky could easily guess what happened. He saw the reporters at the hospital as they were leaving and he was well accustomed to being smeared in the media. “They saw you didn’t they. They know.” he guessed.

Steve nodded, “Yeah, they know. I couldn’t hide forever.” 

Bucky crutched over to join him, sitting on Steve’s side to wrap an arm around the smaller man. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be in the news for a while but it’ll die down eventually.” 

“They got pictures of us, and Emma. There’s… There’s a lot of speculation about the three of us. Especially about you and I.” 

“Well, we figured that would get out eventually anyway. It’s not like we’ve hidden what we are to each other since I got out of cryo.”

“We’ve never confirmed anything either though. And now Emma is wrapped up in this too. They’re making it sound like we’ve abducted her into some type of polygamist cult.” 

“Hey!” Emma protested, “I don’t care what they’re saying in the news. I knew the risk I was taking the minute we agreed to give this relationship a try.”

“But you shouldn’t have t-” 

“Nope, stop it right now Steve. I knew what I was risking. And you’re worth it. You’re both worth it. I wouldn’t give a minute of what we have just because some online bullies think what we’re doing is wrong.” 

Bucky was grinning ear to ear watching Emma’s temper flare. She was so brave even in the face of their quiet little world exploding around them. He knew then that she’d be fine no matter what the outside world threw at them. Bucky had to let himself give her the same trust that he gave Steve. “So what do we do next then?” he asked. 

Steve still looked torn but continued with a small huff. He was a master strategist, after all, and the moves were the same dealing with the media as they were in a war zone. “Well, we have to get a head of this thing before it blows out of proportion. If you’re feeling up to it we’ll get Diane from NBC to come over tomorrow and do an interview. We show them that you’re alive and well, talk about our plans for your recovery, make it abundantly clear that yes we are together and that Emma is a new addition to our lives. We’ll have to address my lack of serum somehow but we’ll be vague and keep the conversation moving. Pepper will make sure we control the dialogue so we can get the right message across the way we want it.” 

“That sounds like a plan.” Bucky agreed.

“I need to run home and get some clothes if I’m going to be on TV.” Emma told them nervously.

“You don’t have to be on TV unless you want to be. We can confirm you exist without giving up your identity.” Steve offered, giving her one last out.

Emma shook her head, “No, I’m in this now. I won’t sit in the shadows and let you two do this alone. I just never thought I’d be on TV. It seems kinda daunting.” 

“You get used to it.” Bucky shrugged.

Emma couldn’t imagine ever getting used to it but she knew she would manage with the guys by her side. 

xxXxx

Bucky was like a whole new person the next morning after a full night’s rest and a few good meals. The shower helped the most, though he hated having to let Steve and Emma wrap his leg in a garbage bag so he could go in. He tried to be as self sufficient as he could but Emma and Steve were like a pair of mother hens fussing over him. A small part of him enjoyed letting them fuss, it was sweet and who would complain about being loved on by the two most amazing people in the world? It was love, he knew it for certain. They hadn’t said the words to Emma yet but the feeling was there. It was unmistakable in the little looks she and Steve gave each other as they moved around the kitchen cooking breakfast, the way she insisted on taking care of Bucky’s hair for him so it would be shiny and nice on TV, the sweet words of apology she gave General when she had to move his cat condo to make room for the camera crews equipment. Spoken or not, the love was there and he was going to make sure she knew it sooner rather than later. 

Diane Hastings showed up at their apartment at eleven o’clock on the dot. She was a statuesque whirlwind of polished professionalism but who often let them drive the conversation in interviews. She was a bright woman who knew when to push and when to back off, happy to get exclusive interview rights even if it meant she had to bite her tongue from time to time.

Steve greeted her warmly, welcoming them into their home. She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow when Steve said “our home” but didn’t ask. Bucky stayed put on the sofa, as much as it pained him to be impolite he knew the interview would be draining and wasn’t going to push himself. Diane was solicitous asking if he was comfortable and letting him know if they needed to stop or move to a different spot they could. She didn’t quite know what to make of Emma but she was polite, shaking her hand and making small talk. It was clear questions were flying through her head but Diane, ever the professional, kept them to herself. 

Steve was seated between Bucky and Emma, holding each of their hands in his own. They could do this, together. With one last long look between the three of them the cameras started rolling and started the chain of events that would change all of their lives irrevocably. 

xxXxx

The interview aired at 6pm that night after a few rounds of editing by the station’s crew and representatives for Steve and Bucky. It was condensed into a ninety minute broadcast despite taping much longer. They had mixed feelings about watching but agreed it was good to see how it played out after the editing. The three of them curled up on the sofa together in their usual spots sharing an assortment of Chinese food right out of the cartons. It was better than they expected in the end. The world was going to be a very different place for all three of them, for better or worse. 

The world knew Bucky would be out of commission for a few months until he was healed enough to return to work full time. He gave a moving call for aid to help the areas impacted by the earthquakes. It was explained that Steve’s serum was gone and it was permanent. They skated around the issue by claiming the details were classified. They spoke about their lives together and their joy about having moved back to Brooklyn. Diane was smiling with genuine happiness for them when Bucky confirmed that yes, he and Steve were in love and had been for a very long time. They clarified that he was bisexual while Steve was pansexual. Emma was brought into the conversation at that point, the three of them sharing an abridged version of how they’d met. Both men were impressed with how poised and composed Emma stayed under the scrutiny of the video cameras. She was well spoken and witty, making sure the world understood that they were just like any other couple trying to live their lives quietly together. They all knew there would be more questions but for now it was enough. Pepper could release statements as needed after that. 

Steve and Bucky’s phones lit up with congratulations from their friends shortly after the interview ended and Emma was surprised a few of her friends sent her well wishes too. It was a strange feeling having her life on display for the world but she was more than willing to deal with it if it meant she was able to stay together with her guys.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder​ @remilupin22​ @supraveng​ @hiddles-rose​

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

[hippityhoppityyourenowmyproperty]

Reset!Rant (part 4)

Blackout

Chapter: 1

Thad: "Even though Craydl was programmed to obey my dear grandfather over me, he still could hold a conversation and be useful. While you have some rudimentary communicative abilities, it's not the same. I could say the same of Bart."

This is a put down that comes out of the blue and it shows how normal it has become for Thad to resort to insulting Bart. This insult is especially tasteless when you remember that a lot of ND people have problems with verbal communication/talk too fast/talk too loud or too quiet/have trouble expressing their thought and can go nonverbal. So yeah, basically another slice at Bart for having ADHD, wouldn't you know it.

Thad's vision blacked out and he grabbed the washing machine for stability. If felt as if the bottom fell out of his world. He knew this feeling all too well now, but it had never been as bad as this. He staggered away from the laundry and into the kitchen to sit.

.................................... Helen's voice echoed from the kitchen. "Thad? I just got a call from the school. Bart passed out in class and I'm going to pick him up. I'll be home soon." When Helen returned home with Bart, Thaddeus was waiting in the kitchen with a smirk on his face. "You passed out?" Bart scowled and stomped off to dump his backpack and jacket off on his bedroom floor. Thaddeus snorted, still sneering.

Making fun of someone because they showed physical weakness, that's stereotypical school yard bullying right there. "Haha look at you you loser! You passed out. You're such a weakling!" Thad is so...pathetic in this. He is so desperate for power, so desperate to be superior to Bart. He waited all this time in the kitchen just so that he could throw Bart this line. He clinges to everythign that will make him appear better than Bart. He obssessively seeks out every little one of his flaws and mistakes in order to maintain his big ego. It's almost pittyful. Of course he snots at Bart, of course he is behaving as condescending as possible. Thad is the kind of person who kicks someone who's already on the ground. This is just...So ugly to read. Hey Thad, you nearly passed out earlier this day, I don't see you shaming yourself for being weak. What's the difference? What's making you so special that you don't deserve to be shamed for it?

Hey Helen, you're just going to ignore Thad very obviously and viciously bullying the closest person you have to a son? You're not gonna repriment him for it so that he won't continue to destroy Bart's self esteem and his mental health? No? Great, it would be very confusing if you suddenly started being a responsible parent.

Thaddeus leaned against the doorway with crossed arms. "You're pathetic." He sneered.

Funny that you mention it, have you looked in the mirror lately?

Chapter: 2

Mike gestured to Bart's injuries. "You could say that you got hit in the face with a basketball or something." Bart slung the bag over his shoulder and pushed the bathroom door open. Maybe he could just go home? No, Thad was there, and he didn't want to listen to his evil twin berate him about getting bloodied in a fight.

Through his frequent put downs, Thad now made Bart afraid to show weakness. He knows that Thad will make fun of his vulnerability and won't be of any help to him.

Thad: "No moron, I'm playing with a tesseract puzzle." His voice was dripping with condescending sarcasm. "What else would I be doing?"

Another put down out of the blue. And a very sordid one, I might add.

Chapter: 3

A commotion in the backyard grabbed her attention and she saw Bart and Thad duking it out again. "Oh, for the love of...Wally, I'll call you back. The boys are really at it this time. I swear, Thad needs to get out of the house and get a life, and Bart needs to stop antagonizing him."

Hmm, that's odd. I could've sworn that Thad was the one who constantly ripped on Bart, was a dick to him and provoked Bart with "You've got ADHD so you're dumb" insults, and Bart was the one who remained friendly despite having to endure insult after insult without retailiating. Are you referring to the times Bart called Thad a jerk and said "Like you're any better"? Are those the oh so bad words Bart calls Thad that justify you saying "He's antagonizing him"? Because, and maybe that's just me, but calling someone who is neurodivergent a r*tard, moron, idiot, shortbus, brainless, annoying, destructive, a nuisance, hyperactive, embarrassing, dense, pathetic, saying that they have "Rudimentary communicative abilities", that they "probably got distracted with by something shiny" and implying over and over again that they're stupid and useless, that you see it as a disgrace to be related to them, that you'd like to beat them up, (and actually beating them up) and that they're inferior to you because of aspects of their personality they can't control is a bit worse than saying "Jerk" to defend yourself in response to being called those insults. And somehow we should believe that Bart is the one who is antagonizing Thad? What the fuck is wrong with you people? Thad is so obviously abusing Bart in this, I don't know how anyone couldn't see this. Screw Helen, she has no sense of fairness and justice when it comes to Bart's treatment. Do I have to explain the word favoritism? How come she lets Thad get away with was worse stuff? Why doesn't she chew him out for all the stuff he put Bart through? He was very clearly shaming him for having ADHD im Helen's presence, and she didn't do shit.

I'm 100% sure Thad started this conflict with some "You're inferior to me" comment and was also the one who got physical first.

Helen: "You don't even know?! Get in here and go to your rooms!" The boys let go of each other and sulked past Helen. "I swear you two, if you were girls, I would be blaming hormones for these outbursts."

Yeah, let's just casually ignore the fact that testosterones are the hormones that increase aggressive behavior and that boys produce about 16× more testosterone than girls, and that men are known to be quicker to express their anger through violence than women. (Cite: Men vs. Women: Hormones; a transgender perspective, Why do women and men respond differently to anger? PsychCentral) I guess I can add "sexist" to the list of things that make Helen an unlikable person. Also, glad to know that she now cares about breaking up a fight between them. Play fighting for fun in the yard? Absolutely not! What were you thinking? Why do you act like that? You should know better! Shady sparring fight in the streets? Sure Thad go ahead! Nothing wrong with beating up your brother to release your anger!

Chapter: 4

Thad answered with a smirk, "That you're a hyperactive brat who would just get more destructive when introduced to sizable amounts of caffeine."

Bart glowered and crossed his arms. "Shut up! I am not!" Thad lifted his chin in victory. "See? Hit the matk. I'm right."

Both Helen and Konner sit next to Bart and they say nothing in response.

Kon chuckled as Bart settled down at the table. "Man, I kinda missed that."

"Missed what?" Bart asked.

"You driving people nuts. Inertia's not Rob or Wondy but he flips out pretty fast." Thad snarled at Kon, "They don't have to live with him!"

Bart has been nothing but nice to Thad. Bart is the one who has to live with Thad's constant belittling. Thad has deluded himself into believing that he is the victim here, but he's really not. Bart is. Bart has been trying to help Thad, even though he was a total douchebag who constantly humiliated him. Bart has to live with Thad.

Chapter: 5

Kon: "Seriously, don't you have any other modes than "up yours" or "sideways"? You're going to die a lonely virgin life if you keep this up. Yeah, I get that your childhood was stolen by an evil madman and all, but you're preaching to the choir here. Dude, get over it. We did." Thad's glare darkened and he clenched his fist. Lunging forward with a punch, he stopped just short striking Kon. Shaking with fury, Thad backed away and left the kitchen. Bart sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. "He's gonna need to spar today and I'm all beat up already."

"You don't have to be his punching back."

"I'm not a punching back. I hit back."

I agree with Kon up until the "just get over it" part. It's nice to see someone finally calling Thad out on his demanding and shitty attitude, but telling an abuse victim to "just get over it" isn't good advice, either. What Kon should have told him was that Thad should work on his behavior and that him having been abused doesn't make it okay for him to abuse others.

The dialoge after that between Kon and Bart is another attempt on the author's part of justifying this situation. The "I hit back" isn't very encouraging when you consider that Thad is a way better fighter than Bart. The "He needs to spar today and I'm all beat up already" makes it very clear that Bart would rather not participate in a duel, but does it anyway because he feels pressured to keep Thad's emotions in check. Without Bart sacrificing his own well being, Thad would've gotten himself into a lot of trouble by beating up random people in blind rage. And Bart knows this. Despite what this sentence is trying to make you belive, their fights aren't balanced. Thad can easily overpower and outsmart him in a duel. At the end of the day, Bart is still his punching back.

Chapter: 5

Seeking Thad out, Bart found him in the library, talking with a couple of upperclassmen girls. Bart pulled him aside, much to Thad's annoyance. "I'm gonna need some help. Eddie's-" "Not my problem," Thad interrupted. "I don't care what's going on." "Look, getting beat up was just the start of it. He's-" "Not. My. Problem." Thad turned away from Bart. "If he got himself into it, he can get himself out of it. This is a waste of my time." "I just want you to back me up."

This kind of sums up what kind of person Thad is. He takes and take but doesn't repay the favors. He's cold and has no compassion. It doesn't matter to him what Bart did for him, and that he vouched for him. And going by Thad's logic, Max and Bart shouldn't have offered Thad to stay with them because; If he got himself into this situation, he can get himself out of it! Not our problem, we don't care what's going on!

Thad knows that Bart is going to do something really dangerous and could get seriously injured or even die, and he still doesn't give a fuck. He hasn't learned to care for Bart one bit.

Bart grinned at him. "You came."

"Max wanted us to take care of each other," Thad remined. "Letting you get pounded into a smear is a violation of those orders."

This is Thad admitting that the only thing that made him help is Max. I'm 100% certain that Thad would've gladly stood by and watched Bart die if it wasn't for Max. Thad still hates Bart's guts for whatever reason, and he actively shows him that every chance he gets.

Chapter: 7

"Obviously, I got my intelligence from both of our grandfathers. Pity that means there wasn't any left for you."

Hey Thad? How about you shut up and not smack talk Bart every chance you get? It would make you less of a person that deserves to get hit multiple times in the teeth with a brick. This is, very obviously, another put down directed at Bart's ADHD that is disguised as a joke.

Jerking his head up, Bart nodded. "You would do that?" "What kind of evil twin do you think I am?" Thad huffed in mock offense. "I only beat you up and ridicule your intelligence, not withhold precious words of wisdom that can be thrown in Wally's face whenever he gets his tights in a wad about you not being the perfect little sidekick. He treated Bart to a wicked grin. Legacies are more than a name and a costume."

Oh don't worry Thad, you're not the evil clone, you're just the abusive, selfish, cold hearted, self entitled, manipulative, egotistical brother. Yes, you 'only' did those things. They are still reprehensible and loathsome. They will still mess up a person and are unforgivable. Turning your actions into a joke doesn't make them funny or acceptable. The fact that he admits to his wrongdoings but doesn't see them as reprehensible speaks volume about his personality. He talks about his crude actions with such satisfaction and confidence as if he were proud of them. After everything I read about Thad in this, it's very likely that he is.

And the reason why he does Bart a favor here? Again, just doing it for himself. He tells Bart these things not becaus he likes Bart, but becaus he dislikes Wally for that whole legacy thing and wants him to suffer. Thad is self projecting about his issues with his legacy.

[hardeepcox]

The Chronicles of Hardeep Cox - Bangkok pt 1

Intro

Hi my name is Hardeep Cox, I may or may not be a guy born to an Indian mom and a white guy from Boston in the DMV area. Then again I may or may not be just an extremely immature adult with a ridiculous sense of humor. Quick warning: if you are easily offended then I suggest you just exit this shit right now and idk go watch cable tv or something.

I am writing this as we prepare for our first legit night out in Bangkok, as I and a dude named Paper awkwardly wait for my dad to finish showering so we can head out. Tonight’s destination is Above Eleven, but I’ll explain more later on. Let’s begin with our arrival.

Flight and Night 1

After about 20 hours of flying we met up with Paper, our guide/family friend (on my dad’s side). Paper picked us up from the airport and helped us hail a cab. My first impression of Bangkok when I stepped outside of the airport was that it seemed so similar to Los Angeles, I guess because of the weather and vegetation. Anyways, the cab dropped us off at the Doubletree where an enormous wooden figure of a football (soccer) sat in the lobby. To my unbelievable surprise, it turned out that Paper was actually going to be staying in the hotel room with us because he lives outside of the city (my dad of course manages to leave out important details like this when planning trips). Because of the timezone change we were hungry upon arrival, at 3 in the damn morning. So we did what any idiot American tourist would do, we went to 7 Eleven. I had to accept the fact that chili and cheese quarter pounders would no longer be an option, so I went with the spicy basil rice and fish sauce. I gotta say that it was pretty good, even though it was spicy as hell. After crushing my first meal in Thailand, we did our best to sleep for the next couple of hours.

Day 1

Sleep deprived but feeling ready to roll, we got ready and headed downstairs for breakfast. The buffet included the usual American stuff, sushi, dim sum, and some freshly made Thai dishes.The dim sum was by far my favorite, and today it was Chinese egg tarts.

We went to some Buddhist temples, hundreds of years old. There were so many Chinese tourists, and so many lame pictures being taken by them (sitting down in lotus position next to a statue of the Buddha, a chick looking dramatically and diagonally down at the floor while her boyfriend takes a picture for her instagram and you KNOW she’s gonna add some kind of bullshit philosophical caption to it). It was hard to get into the spiritual groove with all these tourists, and the only places where I could feel peace was in the praying rooms where I wish that I could have stayed longer. The best part was the Wat Phra Ram, literally the place where they filmed one of my favorite childhood movies Mortal Kombat. It was totally unexpected and spontaneous, the most interesting part about it was the dog that had managed to sneak up into the actual ruins and seemed to be searching for something at a calm pace. My pathetic attempts to whistle loud enough for the dog to hear me led me to run around the ruins hoping to catch a glimpse of it. I heard it howl a couple of times after that and I’ll always wonder why, maybe its spirit led it to the ruins to discover a link to a past life. Who knew I would have accidentally stepped into the Netherealm, but too bad I couldn't meet Raiden, Shang Tsung, and Liu Kang's dead brother (if you don't get this reference please find a time machine and go back in time to 1995, break into a Hollywood video, steal a copy of Mortal Kombat, watch it, go back into the time machine, return to the present time, and punch yourself in the fucking face).

Tired as hell we walked around markets near the Chao Phra Ya river, they were pretty generic developing country markets and I was extremely tired so I just wanted to go back to the hotel and pass out. We tried some sticky rice dessert that was pretty good so we bought some, and my dumbass ate my entire portion in the cab and felt even more like a piece of shit after. We made a stop for some roadside Pad Thai, it was delicious but again I was exhausted. Back in the cab again I pretty much passed out from exhaustion.

Night 2

I woke maybe 45 minutes later still in the cab but the sun was setting and the nocturnal city was coming alive. Suddenly it dawned on me that we had to be in Chinatown and my street-mode immediately turned on. After driving us through some beautifully sketchy streets, our cab driver dropped us off at a main road. All the lights made it look like it was an attempt at giving it a times square feel. I was now totally awake and ready for more exploring, and after walking for a bit we walked by a Chinese restaurant (Chinatown in Bangkok is an extremely fast-paced environment full of beautiful chaos, if you can’t keep up you might as well stay in your comfy apartment and drink lattes or something). The menu had so many choices, but no combination fried rice, general tso’s chicken, or lo mein (at this point I realized that I should just forget about these options because I’m not gonna find this delicious diabetes-maximus anymore). I got the egg noodles with roasted duck for $2, and the portion was just right for me since I was still full from that sticky rice and exhausted from the jetlag. Before the food coma took over, we took a tuk tuk to the nearest metro train station and made our way back to the hotel. The metro was actually very organized and technologically advanced, the DC metro could learn a thing or two from it. Because of the timezone change, the beers, sticky rice, and random stuff that I had eaten, I hadn’t really used the bathroom all day. Walking from the metro to the hotel at some point became truly difficult and I had tell myself just breathe man don’t shit yourself on your first night in Bangkok goddammit.

Now back at the hotel and totally relieved, our night actually began.

Nocturnal Adventure

We started out at the Queen Bee, a little bar across the street with shitty mojitos but a damn good blues band. From there we went to a place that my dad would not stop mentioning, Above Eleven, a local Peruvian restaurant. Probably one of the coolest restaurants that I’ve honestly ever been to. This was some upper class bougie shit as the kids say, but the view of the city was breathtaking and the food was absolutely delicious (and I am a picky fuck when it comes to flavors). The Peruvian food was authentic, the Pisco Sour was legit, and we got to meet Chef Omar Frank Maruy. Chef Maruy is the Japanese-Peruvian chef in charge of keeping the food quality at Above Eleven at its exquisite level. After downing a few Pisco sours, and devouring a few dishes (ceviche, jalea, and anticucho) we made our way to Havana Social. I could tell this place was throwing a good party as we walked to the entrance which was a random door in an alley with working girls in the corner. Too bad some of us were wearing shorts so we were ultimately denied entrance. Bummed out we walked to the nearest bar, Oskar, and had Lavender Pisco Sours. Seriously so creative and surprisingly delicious!

After downing these drinks we basically gave up and made our way back to the hotel. Maybe like 5 minutes away from the hotel we walked past a really sketchy alley and I shit you not, my dad says “let’s go into a small street shithole bar!” He’s already walking towards it so Paper and I say fuck it and we join him, plus I mean come on I gotta watch my dad’s back since hookers have been flirting with him for the past 25 minutes. We walk in and of course all these chicks are so psyched to see us, a very pretty hostess welcomes us so we sit at the bar and get some Tiger beers. With Youtube as our DJ, we start sipping on beers and my dad is just having a blast with these two chicks. They try to flirt with me but I’m like meh, I’ve honestly seen hotter escorts in Lima. Then one of them says, “I’m gonna bring my sister for you.” I’m like ok cool whatever, totally unimpressed as I watch my dad party at this little bar. This chick brings the pretty hostess over and introduces her as her “sister”, and I notice dude this girl is actually super cute and obviously not an actual escort. Me and her are both like uhh… hi? She’s not sure how to interact with idiot foreigners, but I can tell and I am just my usual super chill self with her. She gets a jack and coke, and I continue sipping on my Tiger. Her name is May, I was like “is it pronounced like the month May, or is it Mai like my?” She looked at me like if I was a dumbass but she was playful about it, and I start crushing on this chick because I mean duh I am a fucking idiot and I do shit like this. This all ended with a bill of almost $200 USD, an escort angry at us for not taking her back to our hotel, and me DJ’ing some old school reggaeton on their Youtube. As we made our way back to the hotel we ran into into girls selling booze on the sidewalk in what seemed like the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo but cut in half the long way, and the girls turned the bottom half of the car into a mini-bar. As I took a whiz on a street corner, Paper points out that dude there is a toilet at this mini-bar on the sidewalk! I look behind a little curtain next to the mini-bar and there is in fact a toilet there, I mean not connected to any plumbing or anything, just literally a tiny toilet placed on the sidewalk. Did I whiz into this tiny toilet like 20 minutes later? Yes. Did I drink a few too many rum and cokes at this sidewalk mini-bar? Yes. Did I have any idea of what the hell to expect the next day? Hell no.

Night 3 - Let’s try not to die tonight shall we?

I’m skipping to Night 3 because the highlight of Day 2 is just me holding a lemur (by the way lemurs are freakin adorable and they have actual fingers and thumbs!), and realizing that my dad should move to the Thai countryside cuz he is actually genuinely happy there (he greeted random people from a canoe, including a naked fat guy who was in the middle of a soapy bath in the river).

On Night 3 we make another attempt at Havana Social (if there ever is a place with reggaeton and Cuban rum then you’ll probably find me there). The entrance is the #1 coolest that I have seen in my life so far, some dude gives you a code and you punch it into an old phone-booth, this then unlocks an old door next to it which you push open and find a little piece of Havana hidden within Bangkok. So there I am doing my thing downing Cuba Libres, dancing, and laughing at tourists dancing like idiots when I notice three pretty cute chicks dancing near us. I am not the most extroverted dude, but when I hear Latin music the beast is then awakened and I just let it take me places. So I slither over to these girls and pull off some of my signature moves, including one borrowed from my grandpa which I call the Egyptian knife hands. One of the chicks starts dancing with me and my first thought is “wow my dad is watching me spit some legit game, now I AM THE MASTER!” But anyways yeah we dancin and shiet. Suddenly she asks if I wanna go with her and her friends to another club, I thought it was a bad idea but the rum and Daddy Yankee had me saying “yeah screw it let’s go.” The four of us leave the club and somehow fit into a tuk tuk that says VIP on the seat and one of the girls say it’s free! RED FLAG - free shit usually comes with a price later on, and these girls seemed way too excited to have me along. One of the girls pulls out a wrapper with a bunch of pills and puts one in my mouth, my first thought is oh fuck I’m about to get roofied, or flooried, dammit Zack Galifianakis! I pretend to swallow the pill, then I look over into the street and spit this shit out. The girl is like are you feeling okay? I’m like yeah I’m great (meanwhile internally trying to think of an escape plan without freaking out)! We get to this club called Mixx, and this party is poppin. Every tourist is dancing with a local, and I’m thinking wow is every girl at a club in Bangkok an escort… like every single damn one?! My phone only has internet if there is wifi, and I tell the girl that I wanna call my friends to come but I need the wifi password so she hooked me up with her hotspot. Instead of figuring out how to use the wifi to escape, I’m in the bathroom FB messaging my friends back in the states how I almost got roofied and that I’m probably gonna die cuz I mean that is a brilliant idea right? I go back out there and one of the girls goes “if you wanna hang out with me it’s gonna be 3000 baht (like almost $100 USD).” Since I don’t wanna die I go “okay sounds good, let’s hang out every day this week okay?” Her eyes brighten up and she has a huge smile on her face, she tells her friend who then makes a face like “we did it bitch!” I’m thinking okay thank god I’m not gonna wake up tomorrow in a tub full of ice with my internal organs missing because they wanna take all my money throughout the week. Suddenly the Thai DJ starts playing the cumbia song “Colegiala”, and it was at this exact moment that I knew that everything would be okay! I stopped freaking out and danced the night away, didn’t sleep that night, and somehow found a really nice cab driver to take me back to my hotel afterwards (he charged me 300 baht but had no change so I just gave him my 1000 baht bill, really nice guy and really grateful). Yep definitely not doing that again, from now on I will assume every chick at a club in Bangkok is an escort. If you are asking yourself if I hit up that girl again to hang out and continuously pay her $100 USD throughout the week, the answer is dude of course not wtf.

[tyrranux64]

Terry’s Favorite Playstation Games

I hate Sony. I have not made this secret, from much of my art to a good helping of Youtube comments reacting to blind praise, most who know me more than the usual internet passerby are acquainted enough with my hatred of the company and brand. 

And it is not a biased band wagon kind of hate either, no this took time to fester into a most blackened bloom. Interactions with the biased rank and file, learning of the less than favorable business practices Sony has employed, the constant in your face propaganda from even third party publishers made against its two direct competitors, but most of all and most important my own experience with their premiere game system. No joke, the PS3 was effectively the worst console I have ever had the “pleasure” of owning, both with the initial 600 dollar 40 gig grill and the used slightly slimmer replacement I had to get just to keep my own sanity. I blacklisted the PS4 for a reason and even now I look at what the fourth generation of the console has to offer and feel assured my choice was correct.

Again my hatred of Sony is not pure bias fanboy raging, it is the culmination of less than favorable experiences and acquired knowledge that has forever soured my perceptions of the brand. And to further stress this point? I’ll go ahead and give you the Playstation Exclusives I absolutely loved in no particular order. Heavy emphasis on “exclusive”, all the titles listed will be ones you absolutely need a Sony console to play, no multi-platform titles, no games that were once exclusive then ported to other systems. Sony only.

And don’t expect Shadow of the Colossus on this list, of all the excellent titles one can point to that is the lowest of hanging fruit. Everyone loves that one, everyone, even its critics and detractors. My reasons for liking it are the same as everyone else’s...

____________________________________

INFAMOUS & INFAMOUS 2; Honestly I couldn’t decide which I liked more since both offer the same consistently excellent design and experience, I guess the second one for being more polished and having more interesting settings but trading one over the other is heresy. And honestly if I didn’t hate Sony so much I’d be all over the third one (though after seeing the story on Youtube I gotta say, Fetch is a complete unlikable asshole).

Ultimately this is a 3D platformer, one that more than belongs in the same breath as the likes of Super Mario Anything and Banjo Kazooie. Despite its otherwise “serious, realistic and edgy” tone and design this is the kind of delightful platforming romp that’ll satisfy even old school players pinning for the bygone era of platformers being the dominant genre in gaming. And it just makes the circumstances of its creation more fascinating. How Sucker Punch followed suit with Naughty Dog going from cartoony mascot games to so-called serious realistic games, yet unlike Naughty Dog puts out a product that still feels like a spiritual successor to their previous work.

Naturally the biggest negative is the morality system. Bad enough it is so arbitrary and safety helmet in its design that it tells you which choices are good and evil but said choices are so cartoonishly extreme on both spectrum that any sense of ambiguity and nuance are lost. But on the flip side, it does present one of the most fun bits of obsessive compulsive gameplay features I’ve ever experienced....

The Pulse Heal. Damn was this so much fun. The sheer rush of not only going to help someone but actually having the capacity to do so, the kind of humanity enriching wish fulfillment I didn’t get enough of. And I wasn’t just blowing smoke when I described it as a “obsessive compulsive” gameplay feature, I lost count of the number of times I slammed the breaks on what I was doing every time I saw some helpless citizen in desperate need of a jolt. It was nuts man, a game that lets you play as a superhero and actually let you feel like one....one helpless citizen at a time.... ______________________________________

GOD OF WAR III; But then there’s this fucking game that makes me feel like a complete villain, go figure. Then again that has been the real beauty of this franchise especially after the first game, there are no real heroes, no real champions of justice. There are only villains. What separates Kratos from all the other villains is that he was ultimately the culmination of their selfish and petty machinations to satisfy their own ends, he is the necessary evil meant to liberate the world from the cruelty of Olympus.....unfortunately, it entailed nearly destroying the world and sending it into a state of anarchy thereby making things worse. Oops.

Well either way the games are still just good ol’ hack n’ slash shenanigans. Technically I should give the nod to GoW 2 for having the more satisfying journey involving the Sisters of Fate....but it ends with a complete blue balling of an ending. Pretty arrogant to have such an ending when you’re not even sure you’re getting a sequel....well it did but still....

Plus the third one lets you actually fight more than one Olympian, hell it actually lets you fight Hercules, the proverbial OG Superman himself. AND HE’S VOICED BY KEVIN SORBO. But what really cements it is the overall combat which feels more satisfying. Not only are some of the core moves fantastic (especially the grab moves) but all the available weapons are chained weapons. It’s the kind of sameness and consistency that actually works to the game’s benefit, complimenting the gameplay and Kratos’ overall design as a range based fighter. Also nice how all the button prompts are regulated to the side of the screen to correspond to the button placement, a nice touch to mitigate any disorientation of the chaos on screen. __________________________________

CRASH BANDICOOT: WARPED; Yes yes I know the N’Sane Trilogy is now gonna be multi-platform (thank Primus) but as many who have played it will verify it’s such an extensive HD remake that it doesn’t quality as being the same game. And sadly I don’t see the original ported to any other system.

Not much that needs to be said here, when it comes to the original trilogy everyone has their first favorite. I might have played the first one once or twice but never haven owned the first PS (fun fact I actually wanted it over the N64 but my mom was convinced to get the later) it would be this one that I ended up playing the most and ultimately beat first during one particular visit to my out of state cousins. _______________________________________

RATCHET & CLANK FUTURE: A CRACK IN TIME; I never got into R&C during my initial PS2 era days, it wasn’t until a decade or so later that I played all three of the original trilogy and the future trilogy. And I played them all in chronological order, so to go from the utter lackluster flop of a plot that was Tools of Destruction to this one was an easy step up.

I’m not gonna argue this game’s quality against the original trilogy, after much retrospect and hearing other opinions there is just no contest as far as story, setting and personality. The original trilogy wins. But as far as the future trilogy? Yeah, this is easily the best one, the other two are just boring.

Crack in Time just had the best story overall and an overall journey that didn’t feel like my time was being wasted. Plus this was one of those games that gave me incentive to actually seek out the optional side objectives. Gameplay balance is an issue as things can skew a bit too easy but I was having too much fun overall to mind. Plus any game that gives me something like the Constructo Pistol and Shotgun easily gets the nod. ___________________________________

LITTLEBIGPLANET 2; There is some part of me that still loves this game....but these days it is more of a tragic love story of love lost. Ultimately my creativity and ambition overgrew my actual ability and the limitations forced on me with both the allotted level space and materials (I mean good lord have you tried to make levels with a lot of gold and complex shapes? The game just flat out tells you to fuck off). Perhaps what really soured the experience was trying to do exactly what the devs did with the story mode they made, but I realize now it was as impressive as it was because they had no arbitrary thermometer limiting what they could put in.....bastards....

These days I more respect this game for what it was made to do and what others were able to do with it. But as far as what I was able to do? Yeah, it’s too heartbreaking to think about..... __________________________________

JAK II; Remember not even a few paragraphs ago I said I never played Ratchet & Clank until recently? This is why. Because in an industry where brand new games cost up to a few tens short of a full Benjamin, well, choices have to be made.

And yeah I was easily drawn to the first game with it being a more direct 3D platformer, easily the kind of game I’d get into after my time with the N64. And then the second game came along and added guns and an edgy dark hero super mode.....without compromising the gameplay the series was established on. And for as edgy as it was now being with the story it never felt ridiculous or out of place, one of the few times I’ve even see it work out really.

Also it was a laugh riot to play what was extensively Crash Bandicoot meets Grand Theft Auto. __________________________________

KINGDOM HEARTS; I have already chronicled my thoughts on this franchise several times before so I won’t bore you with too many details. Bottom line I feel the first one is the only good one simply because it had a nice fun story that felt like both a parody and love letter to Japanese RPGs without a hint of Kojima grade arrogance or self indulgence, unlike later entries >:/

And not once did this ever feel like a mere commercial for the Disney films represented, each world was an adventure all its own and the interactions with your favorite Disney characters actually felt like characters interacting, instead of just actors in a studio voicing their lines. So ultimately I’m able to tolerate the rather archaic gameplay because the story is still a treat to enjoy.

But more relevant to this list, this was the game that got me to get a PS2 in the first place. I was rather content going only with Nintendo but then I played this game while at another cousin’s house and was immediately entranced. And really it was at this point I was kinda tired of missing out on third party games that were PS exclusive for reasons that sounded as arbitrary excuses back then as they do now. 

I still can’t fathom how many games of the PS2′s third party library wouldn’t have worked just as fine on the Gamecube, thereby increasing the available consumer base and resulting in more sales. And if KH3 really is slated for release on Xbox One, why the hell are none of the HD compilations of past games also released on the console as a courtesy to those who might be interested in the series but don’t have reason to get a PS4? Sadly it’s a question I shouldn’t be asking because I know exactly what kind of answer I’ll be getting, excuses. ________________________________

So yeah, even though I have indeed enjoyed some of the titles available, not even these select games are not enough to sway my disdain for Sony. In fact the games listed that were developed and publish by Sony themselves only serve as a reminder of what the company is now all too willing to throw away in light of the current direction it is going for with its exclusives library.

And really it kind of makes sense that Sony just doesn’t give much of a shit these days, they were never a video game company to begin with, they are an electronics conglomerate. Movies, music, computers, headphones, that sort of jazz. Video games is just another department to satisfy their fiscal year quota, nothing more. People keep praising them for revolutionizing gaming but forget that they never needed to get into video games to begin with.....

Their only incentive to doing so was as a petty, vindictive, butt hurt reaction to Nintendo’s refusal to bend over the same way Michael Jackson did. Sony hates taking no for an answer so they acted like a jealous ex lover and produced a product based on a foundation of hate...and hatred only begets more hatred.... _________________________________

Also figured I give a few honorable mentions that can’t be on this list proper for one or two obvious reasons, but all of them I have experienced on Sony consoles...

CASTLEVANIA SYMPHONY OF THE NIGHT; Truth be told I’m more partial to Harmony of Dissonance but I know someone will get on my ass for not bringing this up. But yeah this was also on the Saturn....in Japan. Who’s dumb idea was it to keep the majority of the Saturn’s library Japanese exclusive?

MEGA MAN X6 (But Only On Easy Mode); On anything higher this game is just as broken and near unplayable as people say it is, shit even on easy it’s still a mess. Anyway this was the only PS MMX game I actually played on the PSOne back when it was new, this time on a friend’s console. And I’m not gonna lie I still have kind of a soft spot for it even with the glaring flaws....

KINGDOM HEARTS II; Yes yes this is a far superior game to the first one, gameplay wise. But in a game genre that lives or dies on the story being told there is no question that this was a serious downgrade. Everything that endeared me to the first game’s story this sequel proceeds to fuck up royally, and thus seeing the skip cutscene option as an absolute godsend makes me die a little inside, first rule of good storytelling in games is to make sure no one will ever want to skip the cutscenes even if they have the option to.

DEVIL MAY CRY 3; It was of course the first DMC I ever played and beat, and when said first happens to be the best in gameplay, structure and story it’s pretty hard not to be biased. 

TRANSFORMERS WAR/FALL OF CYBERTRON; I think you guys know by now that I am a big fan of Transformers, so my reasons for liking these games are a no brainer.

BAYONETTA; Yeah it’s weird thinking this game ever saw the light of day on the PS3 and 360, mostly because Platinum had the decent courtesy to port the first game to the Wii U in direct response to concerns about the sequel now being Nintendo exclusive. And what did they do when it was announced a third game was on the way? They ported the previous two titles to the Switch so that no one would be left out of the loop, not even those that passed on the Wii U. That’s what I call customer service, wouldn’t you agree SQUARE ENIX?

DEAD SPACE; Pretty much the last good EA game. The final gasp of air made by EA’s capacity for common human decency before tossing it away and effectively going all in on putting out a constant flow of bullshit on a yearly basis.

ASURA’S WRATH; Pretty much the only interactive movie game in all creation that still feels like a video game, with actual video game segments. Still bullshit that you had to pay additional money just to see the ending but hey at least said ending was actually worth the money, heaven help Capcom if it ended up being a shit ending...     

BATMAN ARKHAM ASYLUM; Yeah yeah I should be giving the nod to Arkham City but that whole business involving Talia Al Ghul all but killed the second game’s story for me....seriously Bruce what the fuck do you even see in that cunt to make you so sycophantic for her? 

DRAGONBALL XENOVERSE; Well it was fun while it lasted and even now I feel it’s a better “Kingdom Hearts” than any of the latter actual KH titles. But aside from also being on the 360 and such, well, it’s not exactly something I’m willing to play again.

GOD OF WAR: GHOST OF SPARTA; One of two reasons I even bothered picking up the PSP, and while I have since fallen out of love with Birth by Sleep, this is one I’m still able to go back to. Not only is it a decent adventure in its own right but somehow it makes God of War II better from a story perspective as now it gave Kratos even more reason for going against Olympus...