#he could totally be the new Coffee World mascot

[darko-777]

Casey + Casey

[lovelyirony]

that rhodeytony piece with the bots........... iconic. do you think we could have more of that sweet sweet mit era?? I just think they’re neat

Look. Rhodey hadn’t meant to build another robot. But Tony was at some business conference for the weekend, and Dum-E was just pitifully sad. If Tony had been there, he would’ve convinced Rhodey that Dum-E is a drama queen and acts like the end of the world is happening at any minor inconvenience. 

But why not give Dum-E a little sibling? This is how U comes to be, and he’s quite the gentleman, far more gentle than his big brother. 

Rhodey enjoys teaching him how to pick up socks and shoes, and how to put the coffee mugs on the counter gently, something that Dum-E is not good at yet, but they’re trying their best. (He has a stuffed coffee mug that they got from the pet store that he’s flung at every single surface so far.) 

-

Tony comes back from his business conference (which ugh) looking for cuddles, dinner, and maybe a movie date night if they can get Dum-E to stop trying to escape the apartment. 

What he isn’t expecting is for his boyfriend to be mediating a fight between two robots. 

Two. 

He stares at his boyfriend for a moment. 

“Rhodey, darling, is Dum-E having a...play-date?” 

Rhodey freezes. 

“Oh!” He says, grinning. “I, um...made him a sibling?” 

“And they’re...fighting?” 

“Well, for now. Dum-E’s mad because he didn’t get to put actual coffee mugs on the counter, and U is mad because Dum-E stole the couch blanket. I think U is really into decoration!” 

“Yeah, that explains everything,” Tony says faintly, sitting. “So...U? Like, the letter?” 

“Yeah, you like it?” 

“And you thought that it made a good name for what?” 

“Well, it was more of a placeholder, honestly. But then he liked it!” 

U looks over at Tony curiously. 

“U, this is Tony. Your other dad. We used part of his code to make you!” 

The arm bumps softly against Tony’s, which is an improvement from Dum-E, who tends to go full-force. (Although they’ve worked on it.) 

“So...” Tony says. “You think with U, we won’t need to look for a babysitter for date night?”

“No, we will. We definitely will. Dum-E hasn’t adjusted to a sibling yet.” 

“Poor baby,” Tony coos, patting Dum-E on the claw. “You thought you were going to be the only attention-seeker for a while, didn’t you?” 

He glowers, wheeling back and acting very high-and-mighty for a robot who just threw the equivalent of a tantrum. 

Rhodey looks at Tony, kissing him on the forehead as he leans over to lay on his legs. 

“How was the business conference, honey?” 

“Utter shit. I didn’t need to go, I was an ego boost for Obie to tote around.” 

“Told you that you shouldn’t have gone.” 

“If I said ‘no’ one more time, we would’ve had to have a phone call about my ‘five year plan’ and ‘legacy’ bullshit. You know that that gives me a migraine. Besides, he gave me a gift certificate to a fancy restaurant, so that means we get to have a good meal one of these weekends when you visit.” 

“Who said I would visit with you?” 

“Because Jarvis adores you and I think Ana wants to adopt you and force you to stay.” 

“You make a compelling argument,” Rhodey says, pretending to think about it. “I’ll...consider it.” 

Tony snorts. 

“And they say I’m the asshole here.” 

-

Two years later, Dum-E and U demand that they get a sibling. The dads are back home together (for now) and Jarvis has grown tired of reason. 

“They want a sibling, Sir.” 

“What, each other isn’t enough?” 

“They have requested many movie nights where there are siblings or groups of friends, and I think they want to, in a sense, replicate the scenarios.” 

“They’ve already done all of it? Wasn’t it them who got onto a plane for DC just because they wanted to see Pops?” 

“Yes, yes it was.” 

“You know, J, I still think that you helped them with that one.” 

“I most certainly did not.” 

(Jarvis totally did. He gets bored, you know? Besides, Colonel Rhodes hadn’t been home for three months, which should have counted for cruel and unusual punishment.) 

“Well, regardless of your guilt in certain situations, we’ll have a family discussion about maybe a new sibling.” 

Rhodey gets a text as he’s grocery shopping. 

hey, need to talk about family stuff. can you also pick up some more colby jack cheese? 

sure. what’s it about? 

your son has decided he wants a sibling. he convinced dum-e....

got it. 

Rhodey laughs to himself as he turns his cart around, going towards the dairy section. Of course U would decide something like that, it makes sense. 

- 

Tony is looking at Rhodey with a disappointed look on his face. 

“This is all your fault.” 

“How is this my fault?” 

“You dote on the boys too much.” 

“Oh, I do that? Who makes them Halloween costumes every year and hosts a party with all of the other appliances we’ve made over the years?” 

“Oh like you hate those, Mr. ‘Here’s-the-hand-made-Halloween-playlist’.” 

“True,” Rhodey says, setting down the bags. “Help me put away all of this stuff, half of it is yours anyway.” 

“We have a shared fridge, Honeybear.” 

“Tell that to your pomegranates taking up about two shelves!” 

“Only for now, and half of those are Pepper’s! They’re not all mine.” 

“Do you think she would want a say in the robot? After all, she does have to deal with U and Dum-E worshiping the ground she walks on.” 

“And she is the reason that Dum-E usually succeeds in his smoothie-making,” Tony admits. “Yeah, sure, invite her over.” 

- 

Whenever Pepper is asked what it’s like having to be a personal assistant to Tony Stark, she always wants to answer with something like “oh, it’s really fulfilling to help a company reach its goal and learn so much from my boss to apply to what comes next” or even “oh, it’s nice.” 

She got invited to dinner, and is now in a conversation about whether or not Dum-E and U, her boss’s children, should get a sibling. 

And the fact that her boss’s children are robots, have two dads, and think that Pepper is the best thing since life itself. 

“Why do they need a sibling?” Pepper asks, chewing on her pasta. 

“Because they’re bored, and we think that maybe we’ll stop getting calls from the fire stations around town that they’re trying to wreak havoc again,” Rhodey says. “They’ll want to teach the new sibling how life works around the house, and we can start on security measures.” 

“Can’t you just put a genetic lock on the door or something?” Pepper asks. 

“They’re surpassed it,” Tony says grumpily. 

“How?” 

“Don’t look at me!” Tony defends. “Look at Jim-dear, who is obsessed with true crime documentaries! They picked up how to gain evidence and use it for proof from him and Forensic Files!” 

Pepper puts her head in her hands. 

“Just once, I wish that we had a dinner to discuss a business proposal or something normal instead of whether or not your two boys need a sibling.” 

“Well, we are thinking about a daughter,” James admits. “And we wanted to talk to you about that.” 

“Why, because I’m the only female either of you know?!” 

“No,” Tony says quickly. “We know plenty of women!” 

“Name seven.” 

“Plead the fifth,” Rhodey jokes. “But you spend time here, and so we wanted to know what you’d want to see in a robot.” 

“How the hell should I know?” 

“You work for the best tech mogul in two hundred years,” Tony says. 

“Tones, you’re entirely too cocky.” 

“Oh shut up babe,” Tony says, no real heat to the sentiment. “Besides, I’ve treated you well, haven’t I?” 

“Other than embarrassing me in front of every single government official every time you interact, sure.” 

“You love it, they hate it, win-win,” Tony says, stirring around his mocktail. “But Pepper, seriously. What do you think about a third robot?” 

“Well, can’t get anymore chaotic,” Pepper sighs. “And I think having a girl around would be...nice. Not as chaotic.” 

“You saying girls don’t bring as much chaos?” 

“No,” Pepper says. “I’m just saying that we know when to bring it.” 

- 

Butterfingers is born, and she is the most perfect definition of a “daddy’s girl” any robot has ever been. She wheels around with grace, although she can’t stop bumping into things and dropping things, being worse than Dum-E. (Which he actually adores.) 

She follows Pepper along in awe, and can be seen usually in her office. 

Curiously enough, the only time she doesn’t live up to her name is in Pepper’s office, where she handles things with grace and Pepper gives her little tasks to do, like delivering cups of pens to employees or papers. 

Rhodey gets her (and the brothers) little souvenirs from his time away, and Tony has an absolute ball of a time making them all costumes and taking a million little pictures that are hung up everywhere in the building. 

But perhaps the crowning achievement are the Christmas photos. 

Usually, Stark Industries will take pictures of their employees, put a newsletter out, and wish everyone a happy holiday and all that. 

But then the employees have an entirely different idea. 

It comes from one of Pepper’s assistants after she’s made CEO, Julia. 

“Why not have the bots be the Christmas picture?” she muses, restacking some of the papers Miss Potts had to sign. “They’re always around the office, and they’re the unofficial mascots of the business. I think it’d be fun to see their Christmas hijinks!” 

Pepper smiles. 

“Julia, remind me to add a little extra to the Christmas bonus.” 

-

Rhodey finds the idea to be the best idea anyone has come up with in years. (Although it just gives him an excuse to take more pictures of the bots during the festivities.) 

Dum-E is only too happy to finally be allowed within two feet of tinsel. (Unfortunate incident in 1998.) U is very excited to show off his understanding of symmetry and how to pick out the perfect tree, and Butterfingers just wants Pepper to tie ribbons around her wheels so that she looks “extra-pretty.” 

Stark Industries’ holiday card involves Dum-E and U at either side of the tree, with U gently readjusting one of the many ornaments they’ve had the bots make over the years, and Dum-E is trying to pull off a ribbon from the top of the tree. Butterfingers is at the center, guarding any attempt to unwrap presents, and presenting her bow-filled-wheels. 

Pepper has the picture framed in her office. 

[chilly-me-softly]

love, i need part 2 for that jack, sum like he regret it a few years later after he sees a 'new guy(but really he was just a friend but he misinterpret it)' in you and son/daughter life. Thank you! :)

Part 1

This was just so long that I decided to stop at some point but if you wanna I’m totally in for another part x

Your message arrives on time like every month. When you left his house, you told him that he would have that baby whether he wanted it or not, and despite what your friends and family told you, you wanted him to be part of the baby's life. You didn't want him to regret it if he decided to be a father, so during those months you kept sending him pictures of the ultrasounds and keeping him updated on the size of the fetus that was growing and was in excellent health. It's a girl. You discovered the sex just a few hours earlier in the umpteenth ultrasound you had gone to alone, but despite everything the first person you wanted to share the news with was him. Even though you haven't spoken for months, you haven't seen each other for months and he never replies to your texts.

Jack lays a finger on what he thinks is the little girl, his daughter, he can't quite figure out the shape of the ultrasound. There are so many emotions inside him, he knows he's ruined everything and he doesn't even know why you bother so much. In your place, he would have appealed to silence and let the other live in his head with his worries, his fears and questions about how everything was going.

But perhaps keeping him in the loop is the best weapon, constantly reminding him what a big mess he made; that he ruined the most important thing he had built up in life because of his fears. He plays in front of thousands of people every week captaining a team, being the target of negativity and positivity, living in the improbability and the opportunities to be taken to do well and at the moment of the most important decision of his life, he had backed out.

And the last day of the championship couldn't come at a worse time. Everyone surrounded by their loved ones, by their families, while he ignored everything and stood aside for a while. Jack stares a bit at all his mates as they clap and point something at the children in their arms, but he stops to look at Tyrone in particular. Oh his little girl is something unique, she is so beautiful and would be so close in age to his that they could easily become great friends.

He shakes his head at the thought he had. The truth is it was only a few days before he regretted his choice - and okay, talking about it with Ty wasn't really his brightest idea but lately he wasn't doing anything right so. But the more time passed, the more impossible it was for him to find the courage to knock on your door and look you in the eye and he was afraid of what might happen.

He certainly didn't expect everything to go back to the way it was before, he'd made it too big for that. It had been too many months, he'd missed important appointments. You found out it was going to be a girl without him.

He'd always believed he was no good at being a father, hell, just the thought of holding a little creature in his arms scared the hell out of him. But that was the beauty of it, the unpredictability of what could be. But more importantly, you were going to give him his first child. You deserved to enjoy that experience, you deserved someone by your side who would take care of you and the little one and above all, you would have been wrong together. As scared as he might have been, he knew that by letting you go, he would have more regrets than joys in life. To hell with his career, not even winning the premier in the near future would make him as happy as sharing everything with you.

So he takes advantage of the adrenaline still in his system and the pep talk he gave himself and rushes to your front door, a stuffed animal in his hand and a heavy heart in his chest.

When you open the door that day, you didn't expect to find Jack standing in front of you. You stand motionless on the threshold and your hand immediately rests on your rather pronounced belly. He follows your movement and his Adam's apple goes up and down quickly while his eyes don't come off your belly.

"What are you doing here?" your neutral tone brings him back to reality and he clears his throat, suddenly nervous and insecure again.

"Can I come in?" you look at him indecisively before you sigh and open the door wider so he can set foot in your house.

Jack looks around as he walks down that hallway, your pictures with him are gone and it's a heartbreak when he realizes but what he expected. The television still gives pictures of the championship day and for a moment he thinks you were watching him, he wants to believe it.

"I- I brought you this" you seem to notice the stuffed animal in his hands just then. It's the Villa's mascot, with the team jersey and your hormones are so high in those months that you almost feel touched even if you want to remain as neutral as possible around him so as not to let yourself be tricked again and not to risk finding yourself alone again.

"I've set up her room, do you want to see it?"

"Please" you don't know why you asked, but he nods and then you take him by the hand and take him to a room within a few steps from yours. That contact you haven't had for months is like water in the desert, but you hurry to let go of his hand as soon as you get to that room.

The soft shades of pink fill that room, a white cradle is placed against a wall and you go towards it to put the puppet on the pillow.

"Have you mounted the cradle yet?" he's almost incredulous as he looks around, another blow to his heart realizing he missed that moment too.

"Yeah well I've taken advantage of it while I can still do something and I didn't think it would be up right away so" you shrug while he smiles, approaching the cradle and lightly touching the surface with your fingers.

"You look great" you don't know what to say to him so you choose not to.

"What do you want Jack?"

"That you forgive me. I was a fool to leave you alone like that and maybe I realized it too late-"

"It's never too late to be a part of your daughter's life" you interrupt him and he looks at you pleading.

"What about yours?"

"Now she's the most important thing, we can do it peacefully if you're willing to take responsibility as a father"

"I'll always be there for her, I can promise you that"

"That's all I need for now"

"(Y/N)" he comes dangerously close to you, a hand caresses your cheek as his gaze is pointed at your lips. His face gets closer and closer to yours, your tongue passes over your suddenly dry lips, and just before his lips can come into contact with yours, you place two fingers on his lips stopping him.

"Jack" you whisper as he closes his eyes for a second, "Please go now"

He looks at you for a moment while you bite your lip hard, and then he leaves after leaving a kiss on one of your cheek.

When he said he'd always be there for his daughter from now on, he meant it. His first ultrasound is something surreal, a picture doesn't fully convey all the emotions he feels watching everything live.

And the moment of childbirth is a unique emotion for both of you. For those hours there's no Jack who didn't want a child, there's no you alone, you're just two people bound by that miracle that's about to be brought to life. Just for that day, you act like the family you were supposed to be. When the baby finally comes into the world, he kisses you as tears roll down both your cheeks.

The first time he picks her up, Jack feels like a new person. He still can't believe he almost missed something like this because of his paranoia. He's still scared, if ever now they've tripled because he has a little girl for god's sake but he sees your proud and happy smile that surely matches his.

In the following days he stays with you as much as he can, sleeping on your couch and making sure to never leave you alone. Your family is still a bit reluctant to see him around, he made their little girl suffer after all and they don't know how things are between you yet, but seeing him there for the little girl is already something.

The truth is that you haven't completely let go yet, constantly worried that he might decide again that that life isn't for him taking his things and leave. Even if you see how he cradles her, you see how he smiles at her, you see how he's always worried about her and you.

Months fly by and the situation hasn't changed, you're basically two coparents. Neither of you brought up the kiss exchanged at the hospital, nor the current situation you're in. Both too scared and in love and stupid.

Tyrone suggests not to wait any longer, to put his cards on the table so as not to risk you moving on and losing you for real. Your friends support whatever choice you want to make, advising you to have a nice open conversation with him about the future and everything that's on your mind.

He has practically been by your side for months before the birth, months after the baby's arrival and he is still by your side patient and giving you your space in everything. It's pretty obvious that he would never leave both of your lives again so if you still have feelings for him go for it.

Jack just texted you to find out where you are because he'd like to visit the baby and you tell him you're out and about. The only thing you omit is to be in company, your friend had been around a lot during those months and he knew all about your current situation.

When he sees you, he stops by immediately. You're sitting at a coffee table and that stranger is holding his daughter while you're unfastening her bib. The little girl seems to be comfortable in his arms, which are not her daddy's and yet she smiles the same way she does with him. Maybe it's too late, maybe she deserves it after all. No, you deserve to be happy, and judging by the hug you're giving the guy, well, you are.

That day, when he made the biggest mistake of his life, you accused him of always thinking only of himself. Well he wouldn't have done that now, if you were happy no matter how much he wanted to get back with you. He would have let you go because your happiness was worth a thousand times more than his.

 Part 3

[marithlizard]

Ace Attorney: Rise From the Ashes (part 1)

A couple of people expressed interest in a writeup as I play through the game, so I thought I’d give quasi-liveblogging a try.   It might have come out to be too detailed - let me know if the result is amusing enough to go through the next part.  

(I knew this already, but wow liveblogging is a lot of work.   And it must take twice as much effort to do this for a show and to include screencaps.)

(I’ve tried three times now to put proper line breaks/spacing in, and they’re just not displaying, at least on desktop. I’m sorry.)

A brief,  stylized opening designed not to give away much, except that a creepy-looking doll is involved.

 Two months?  Phoenix, you haven't taken a single client since Maya left?    a) are you depressed, and b) how are you paying rent on the office?

Ookay, you're not going to tell us why you've been moping around. I don't think it's that you have a crush on Maya.  Are you just not able to function without a partner?   That's not great for your ability to survive, but I can sympathize.  

 New perky assistant, right on cue.  (A partner who isn't a young girl would be a nice change now and then. (But not Larry.  Anyone but Larry. In fact, I take it back, this girl with the pink sunglasses will do just fine.))

Oof,  Phoenix still not being able to say out loud that Mia's dead.

In the first two minutes pink-glasses girl has asserted that he's his female boss, the coffee boy, and 'better than nothing'.   Aha!  The problem with all the clients he turned down was that they didn't insult him enough.

Kid, you can't be more than sixteen, and you have silly face buttons  on your lab coat.  You are about as much a scientific investigator as Photography Girl last episode was a journalist.   ...But apparently you have a future job lined up in forensics, so you're more organized than she was.  And this world certainly could use more competent crime scene analysis.  

"I promised her I'd bring Mia Fey".  Huh.  Is Mia's murder not well-known to the public,  then, even though the Edgeworth case apparently got famous enough to earn Phoenix a bit of a reputation?

A murder charge with an eyewitness, and an assistant who "kind of hates" her sister the defendant.  Sounds hopeless, let's do it! Off to the Detention Center. 

...Did we just overhear the defendant threatening their terrified guard with a pay freeze?  Is she their boss? And if she's someone that high up, why doesn't she already have a better defense attorney?

I like Lana Skye's character design. She looks as though she should be starring in a Takurazuka revue show, swearing eternal star-crossed love to a princess.  

She insists she did it.  By genre convention we know that can't be the case; my first assumption is that she's being forced to cover for someone, blackmailed  or coerced  by someone higher up in the system.   But it would certainly be interesting if it  turned out she was covering for Ema.  

Must....resist...plotbunnies...

Oookay.  A prosecutor should certainly know ways to commit murder without getting caught, and this sounds like the opposite of those ways.    WHY does she claim she did this?  You're not even going to ask her, are you?  *headdesk*

Ema:  "Please ignore that totally gay statement by my sister,  because I certainly plan to!"

Lana: "No don't help me, go away go away go away go away go awa-oh fine."

Hmmm.  From Ema's description of the behavior change,  Lana has been being blackmailed or coerced for a long time now.

Time to go investigate the underground parking garage.

Attorneys aren't supposed to examine crime scenes, and defense attorneys aren't entitled to a copy of the police investigation reports.  What does a "normal" defense attorney in this world do for their clients then?  Always assume a loss and try to negotiate a plea bargain?  I wonder if we'll ever get to see one in action.

It's...a cop with a cowboy fetish?  Do police not have dress codes here?  Maybe they're waived above a certain level,  and some people take pride in cultivating a unique style to show off that they can.  It would explain Edgeworth.  

You are dramatically pretending to shave in front of us.  Also you just called Ema a baby cow.  Although you know her and seem sympathetic - I guess Lana brought her little sister to the office sometimes?  Not sure what I think of you, Jake Marshall.

I am revising my stance. Being Phoenix's partner on a case requires precise and narrow qualifications.  Specifically, just enough sense to stop him from doing something breathtakingly stupid, but not enough sense to take the badge firmly away from him and do the job themselves.   Ema fits the bill perfectly.

Ooh, new mechanic!  And an ID card number for a Bruce Goodman who dresses like a white-hat agent in Spy vs Spy. (I was trained on games that would require you to write that number down and remember it later, but AA will certainly be more forgiving.)  

Using the new mechanic on Phoenix's attorney badge,  I deduce that at some point this game it will be stolen.  

It doesn't explain Lana's supposed actions, but that red sports car does kind of scream "My owner is a jerk, stuff a body in my trunk."   Instead of a chalk outline, they seem to have outlined the hanging body with string?  Is that actually a technique, and how do they get the rope to stay put in precise outline?

And the cowboy gives them a hint.  So he's  on their side but constrained by rules?

Lady put the boobs away.  Why are you selling sushi in a negligee under a fur coat, at a crime scene?  And why would anyone trust food from someone whose nickname is "the Cough-Up Queen"?

Angel Starr, dominatrix lunch lady.   It says something that this is not the weirdest witness in an AA game so far.

She hates prosecutors, and therefore especially Lana. Not a trustworthy witness. But it's probably no fun to cater for a group of (relatively) wealthy and powerful people you despise.   Especially if they're smugly giving awards to each other as they eat lunches.  (Eeeevil lunches.  She probably coughs on them.)

"The rhythmic beat of Lana Skye's knife"...  very poetic, but didn't Lana say the victim was stabbed only once?

We can't get back to the car, phooey, so up to the prosecutor's office we go.

Pink...everywhere...no question whose office this is, even if one of his outfits wasn't framed on the wall.  (why do you frame an outfit?)     I see a very ugly trophy on the sofa, so he's the one who won the award.

Ema:  "this is the kind of room that just screams 'I can do the job'. Actually it screams 'I don't need to pretend to be heterosexual', but the two aren't unconnected.    

Is it just me or is that trophy broken off at the top?

Edgeworth did you just roll with being insulted and make a joke about it?   I'm so proud of you, you've clearly relaxed since your murder trial!

BWAHAHA of course it was Edgeworth's car.

Wendy the security guard from the Steel Samurai case is sending Edgeworth expensive presents??   a) that's both funny and a little sad,  b) how can she afford it,  and c)  he keeps and displays them which is very courteous.

WAIT did you - did this game just heavily suggest Gumshoe hangs out in the office a lot?  Twice, once when you look at the shelves and again when you look at the desk?  I don't ship it, but this is the point where I start to see why people do.

Awwww he's embarrassed about the trophy, that's cute.    So he's the one who "devours the evillest lunches of all",  hmm?   I wouldn't have thought the Cough-Up Queen's weird not-even-fresh lunches would appeal to Edgeworth's refined tastes.

Ema actually has a bit of a crush, from the way she's rhapsodizing about Edgeworth sleeping on the sofa.  d'awww.   And I definitely want to know the story behind the outfit.  Made by his mom and too precious to wear?

Edgeworth, no one thinks you did it.   Sheesh.  He certainly doesn't sound happy about having to prosecute Lana,  even though he believes she's guilty.  His car, his knife... it almost seems like this is a plot aimed at him, or perhaps a plot against Lana with a healthy dose of fuck-you-too-Edgeworth to it.

Huh.  Maybe it *is* aimed at him. I've been assuming all this time from his behavior on the stand that Edgeworth has indeed been messing with evidence to convict obviously innocent people, and also assuming that it's common practice in this corrupt justice system. (Much as it is in Japan and in the US).  But the way he's talking about rumors right now, it sounds more like he's being slandered.  And he thinks the award he was given was out of mockery.  Ouch.

So yes, the trophy is broken.   (In RWBY, you assume everything is a gun;  in AA, you assume everything is a murder weapon.  It probably broke when it was used to hit someone over the head.)

Evidence transferal day, huh?  Was the murder timed to draw attention away from a case being closed?    And Edgeworth parked his car only three minutes before Goodman was stabbed  and thrown into its trunk?    No way.  He was there for the murder, or more likely that's not when the murder happened.   (Is he being coerced like Lana?  I don't think so, but it's possible.)

Enter an idiot mailman with a bandaged hand.  And exit, with sniveling. What was that about?

And a hint to go investigate at the police station.  Is Edgeworth being friendly, attempting to signal something, or merely aware that the most efficient way to get rid of Phoenix is to give him a clue to chase?

The police department entrance, with some sort of plywood jester figure in front of it.  We're offhandedly informed that it took 30 minutes to get there from Edgeworth's office, which means that will be important later.

This is the creepy doll from the intro! It's clearly meant to be a mascot. Was it made by the sniveling mailman?  There's  a certain resemblance...

No, I should've guessed that Gumshoe made it.   I mean ... mechanically it's pretty clever for someone who's not a craftsman or engineer?  Moving articulated limbs and all.  It's just the aesthetics and design he shouldn't have been allowed anywhere  near.

Yes, yes it is odd that only the top-ranked people are being allowed to work on the case. Are they all in on it?    A patrolman in charge of the crime scene instead of a detective - that suggests Marshall is part of the conspiracy.  I'm thinking the dominatrix lunch lady is too.

Gumshoe is so happy about the prosecutor's award - Edgeworth probably didn't have the heart to say that for him it's a mockery.  Daww.  (Also there's something endearingly cheerful about  his hopping-caterpillar eyebrows.)   He's also being much more helpful than his superiors would want, probably just because he thinks of Phoenix as an ally in general now.  

Back to the parking lot, with a letter of introduction in hand this time.

I genuinely can't tell if the lunch lady is a sex worker, if she actually has multiple boyfriends, or if that's code for her professional contacts in whatever she's really doing here.   (And that's an interesting cultural bit, isn't it - any of those options seem possible, and I'm not expecting any of the characters to question her competence or morality because of it, not even in court.   If this was a US-made game my expectations would be...different.)

"Good men always die young"...I see what you did there, Marshall.    

Autopsy report confirms one stab wound.  Lana and the victim worked together on "a case a few years back", ding ding ding.   Someone didn't want the evidence for that case transferred. Or looked at. 

 Marshall used to be a detective but got demoted?  And he's lying about why he was assigned to the crime scene, and telling us Gumshoe is off the case because he's friends with Edgeworth.  The police chief, whoever he is, is now at the top of my suspect list.

 Happily, the game will let me do dumbass things like show off Goodman's ID card without consequences.  Marshall seems very uninterested in it and why it was found so far from the spot of the murder, which I take to mean "we have our official narrative, don't go messing it up with facts or evidence." 

Finally we can examine the car!  First up, Lana's cellphone.  The whole business about hitting redial and somehow not knowing that Ema's phone rang was weird.  Phoenix’s lie couldn't possibly have fooled Marshall, who is bizarrely claiming there's no way to know who the last call was made to.  It's an odd thing to conceal, even given the “no facts please we have our narrative” stance.  Maybe he's trying to protect Ema somehow?) 

 Marshall said the rumors about Edgeworth came from Lana.  And we have a note found  in the trunk:  6-7S 12/2, on a piece of Goodman's stationery.  

 Er, yeah, Ema, why didn't you mention your sister called you 3 minutes after the claimed murder time?  If Lana hung up right away that's hardly incriminating for either of you.

 End of Day One!  We are, as usual, completely unprepared for tomorrow morning's trial.

[thesevennumbers]

everyone's watching (to see the fallout)

The Handler's had her eyes on Number Five for quite some time, little does she know..so have the other Commission Workers

AN: I’m self-promoing here cause I can

They’d discuss it over lunch, like it was some casual everyday thing at work, not the life of a person. It was simply another funny story, “Did you see what the kid did today?” Or “you’ll never believe what happened!”

Here in the cubicles and harsh conditions of sitting in an office all day, the mind tends to be on the rather indifferent side.

There’s a massive betting pool running in the underground of Commission headquarters. It’s mostly on the mundane things, how much liquor the kid could consume, how many rib cages he’d accidentally step through, how many times he’d return to the place where he’d buried his siblings. All silly mundane things that could be predicted with numbers and estimates, something not uncommon in Commission headquarters.

But none of that compared to the betting pool on his life. Because not even the best of the best could calculate every single factor into the lifespan of a teleporting miracle baby. The life of a kid that most of them didn’t even bother to know the name of, their expectations for his lifespan quite low.

They held parties for milestones. He was a mascot of sorts, they praised him in the halls.

“The apocalypse kid reached 16 today!”

“I can’t believe he’s made it this far.”

“Who’s still in the race?”

“I think Joel got out today, he said only 2 years.”

“Please, any reasonable person would say around 3.”

“You’re both wrong, he’s going to succumb to starvation in 6 years, I’m telling you.”

“6 years is crazy, you won’t win.”

“We’ll see about that.”

As the kid grew up, time flying by for him, the betting pool prizes grew more and more insane. First, off the initial 30,000 American dollars bet, the money had increased from there to the hundreds of millions. But that wasn’t what made the bet so intoxicating, money didn’t matter to the workers of the Commission. The promises woven in were the real bread and butter.

The first promise added was the promise of your own personal briefcase to travel anywhere you liked in the world, (as long as you didn’t mess up the timeline of course, and the office workers knew better than anyone just how brutal the temporal assassins could be.) The freedom to be able to leave the office they had to spend the rest of their lives in was too good to be true, many workers changed their bets after that.

The second was the ability to insert yourself into one pivotal moment of history, to have your name imprinted forever, replacing one person involved in a conflict. To be recognized for your efforts. The money skyrocketed.

The third was the tipping point for many, the ability to be allowed to see their families that they left behind once more. Some of the office workers bawled their eyes out and added multiple more bets on the life of the apocalypse teen.

Eventually, there had to be a limit set on the amount of bets one can place and the office rioted. The fights continued for weeks until an agreement was set at 10 total.

Everyone took the opportunity to bet all 10 of their votes on the kid, who had just hit 18 and was now shooting upwards, though not as much as he probably could’ve with proper food.

Once he was 18 was when the concerns began to be voiced. Of course, there had been whispers before, about the cruelty of placing cash over the life of a child, but they had only been whispers. And once he’d spent 5 years in the end, these whispers turned to shouts.

“He’s talking to a mannequin. Do you know how depressing that is?”

“The management should be doing something, the kid’s smart, did you see that equation he wrote yesterday? I couldn’t figure that one out for a week.”

“That’s an obscene amount of alcohol for an 18 year old.”

“I had an 18 year old kid when I got recruited and if anyone ever did this to him, I’d rip their throat out.”

“Yea, I bet almost 1,000 on the kid, but I regret it now, you know? He almost collapsed from dehydration yesterday.”

Other people than the office workers began to take notice of him such as the temporal assassins and the time calculators. Multiple requests came into the offices from the assassins to just put the kid out of his misery, or at least put him to work. The calculators were often seen taking photos of his math and applying it to their own.

There were protests. Office workers with little time on their hands began to research the apocalypse teen. They’d relay the information to the others, whispering as the management walked by, looking for the troublemakers who started the rumors. The anger grew, many office workers pulled their bets from the pools, furious at the management for keeping a kid in the  apocalypse.

They related to him, because just like him, they were trapped, held down in place simply by the neatly manicured hands of the Handler. She began to patrol the halls during breaks, eyeing the files room and waiting for an unsuspecting office worker to try and sneak in. Many met the furious nails of the Handler during these attempts and never were the same after that.

It only boosted the protests.

Eventually, the management had had enough, they shot down every single betting pool and hid all of the apocalypse files in one place. They put one trustworthy person in charge of everything apocalypse and swiftly eliminated everyone who’d loudly protested against the treatment of the apocalypse kid, (he was still called that, even after they had learned his name.)

The apocalypse kid faded out of the collective memory of the office workers. Until he showed up, almost 40 years later (in progressive time, not Commission time). Being office workers, they weren’t allowed to see him very often, but they did relish each time he was near the offices and laughed at all the little ways he rebelled against his instructions.

“The instructions simply said to kill William Frontier, but the apocalypse kid set the entirety of London on fire! He’s crazy!”

“Apocalypse kid almost went to go see his siblings during his assignment today, he almost broke the entire timeline.”

“I wish he did, we need a day off.”

“God, did you hear what apocalypse kid did this time?”

“No.”

“He increased the amount of time it will take Julius Caesar to die by almost fifteen minutes.”

“Shit man, that’s actually hilarious. Did management kick his ass for it?”

“No they just let it slide. They’re getting lazier.”

They rooted for apocalypse kid, Number Five all the way until March 24, 2019, when he enacted a plan he apparently had planned for years to escape. The Handler sent Hazel and Cha-Cha after him and the office workers waited for the news of Number Five’s demise.

Imagine their surprise when a younger version of Number Five waltzed into their offices with the Handler at his side. He barely spared them a passing glance but they all watched him with wide eyes and mutters. They side-eyed him as he awkwardly typed at a typewriter for maybe three minutes before shutting down Dot with a simple, “I must have utter silence to complete this task.” One of the workers snorted into their coffee as Dot stared at his back, flabbergasted.

Number Five ignored the whispers of the workers when he entered the forbidden void of the Handler’s office.

Then he blew up the entire base, allowing himself to escape.

As the Commission office workers scattered around outside the burning building, watching the destruction of the place they’d slaved away in for so long burn, an office worker spoke, “Well, what are we supposed to do now?”

None of them had any clue.

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [2/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47630773

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire--for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there's more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time. 

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #gods in disguise

First Chapter

_______________________________________________________________ 

Predictably, Jason is the first to respond to that.

“Bullshit.”

Tim sighs and rolls his eyes because he’s sure the reaction is more Jason being oppositional than actual doubt. They’re staring at a guy that until a few minutes ago had giant black wings sprouting from his shoulders, who’s been collecting suggestive art and carving a swath of hedonism across the city. They’ve dealt with stranger things and less plausible explanations.

“God of Love?” he inquires. “You mean, like Cupid?”

“Gaia, I hate that name. Stupid little Valentine’s Day mascot. I blame the Romans. The Hellenistic was great, except for that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I mostly go by Steve these days. Cuts down on the explanation time.”

Which just…what?

“Steve, the God of Love,” Jason deadpans. “Because that doesn’t sound like a cringy mascot at all…”

“Why are you in Gotham?” Tim asks, more direct this time.

“And what the hell are you dosing people with that they’re all down to fuck without remembering it? I don’t know how it works wherever you came from, but here that’s assault.”

“I’ve never assaulted anyone!” Eros protests, all wounded integrity. “If anything, I’ve been the one people keep jumping ever since my bow and arrows got stolen.”

“Your bow and arrows? That’s seriously the defense you’re going with?”

“How does one steal from a god?”

“You wait until he’s stoned out of his mind in an Amsterdam coffee shop and knock him out,” Eros grouses. “It’s either brilliance or suicidal madness. I’ll decide which one after I track down the bastard that did it and give them a reminder that I’m Ares’ son as much as Aphrodite’s.”

“Right,” Tim says, raising an eyebrow. “On that note, if you’ve got all these divine connections, why don’t you just get new weapons made?”

“If it were that simple you think I’d have dragged myself to this armpit of the universe? The bow and arrows act as a constant diviner for my abilities. It focusses them or controls them if you will. Otherwise, my powers veer wildly out of control.”

“What powers?” Jason snorts. “If you had anything beyond your feathers, you wouldn’t have been so useless with those mob assholes and made us do all the heavy lifting.”

Eros’ eyes turn hard and his lips pull into a cold smile. He reaches for Jason’s face and wriggles his fingers threateningly. “Would you care to find out?”

Not wanting to give Jason a time to respond by breaking the digits in his face, Tim places himself in front of him.  

“Both of you, knock it off—”

His move manages to divert the Olympian from losing fingers, but it also puts him straight in his path. Impossibly soft finger pads graze his jaw, and it is as if a current of electricity has been passed through his spine.

Tim seizes up, his brain going cloudy and his stomach suddenly hot and trembling. Sight and sound vanish or rather sharpen to a single point, the figure in front of him, and a visceral want edges out every other thought and impulse.

He is dimly aware of moving, of being rivetted at the individual motions that bring him into Eros’ personal space, and which have him fixing his upon the other man’s shoulders. Then he’s dragging him forward and crushing their mouths together.

The taste and smell of pomegranate and ozone overwhelm him, and he doesn’t wait for reciprocation before he’s shoving his tongue into the Olympian’s mouth, harshly trying to chase the unique flavor. All other intent vanishes in the single-minded pursuit of that goal, and he wonders if it’s not just his mouth that tastes like this, if the rest of him—

“What the fuck?!” Hands grab him roughly and he’s being jerked backward, stumbling into an unyielding armored chest. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Tim whines at the loss. “No—I need— he—”

Words aren’t really a workable thing right now, not in the face of the fact the world suddenly seems colder.

There’s a clicking sound, and then Tim’s world tilts as if he just stood up too fast. When his wits return, he realizes that Jason is holding him up with one arm, practically lining them up from ankle to armpit. His other hand is elevated, semi-automatic pointed at Eros’ forehead, glaring him down as if daring him to get closer.

The Olympian raises in slow surrender.

“Just making a point,” he tells them with a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression that could do Dick proud. His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.

“Try it again. See how it works out without a head.”

Every passing second brings reality back into sharp relief, and with it a mounting sense of dread.

“I…please tell me I didn’t just do that,” Tim says, mortified and still punch drunk. He was never even that forward with Steph.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a flash of irritation flicker across Jason’s face, and then the older vigilante fixes Eros with a look of utter loathing that Tim’s only ever seen when he goes up against one of the crazier rogues. Black Mask or Scarecrow, maybe. That usually precedes extreme violence, which they don’t need right now. They need detachment, to look at this clinically.

(And he needs to focus on something else to erase the fact he just tongue-kissed the God of Love in front of his childhood crush.)

“What was that?”

“I project a field across the surface of my skin that causes instant sexual arousal and frenzy in any living creature. The longer you’re exposed to it, the stronger and longer-lasting the effects—and the more the out of control you get.”

“So basically, you’re a walking Viagra date-rape drug,” Jason sneers.

“It’s not supposed to be like that…”

“Again, I call bullshit. I remember all the stories. Whenever you’re involved, someone ends up falling for someone else without having a choice and bad shit happens. Helen of Troy ringing any bells?”

Eros crosses his arms, resembling Damian at his most petulant; meanwhile, Tim stares at Jason, who notices and scowls back. “What?”

“How do you know that?”

“I have depths,” he replies, tone mildly defensive.

“The stories get so much wrong. Blame primitive writers and centuries of telephone for that,” Eros mutters. “Here’s the deal—my mother, she’s got the make-people-fall-in-love juju. The overwhelming, powerful, love-at-first-sight thing that basically causes the honeymoon period of a relationship. You know, that point where you only see the good qualities in a person?”

Tim exchanges a perplexed look with Jason; he’s never been in a relationship with anyone where he saw only their good qualities, and judging by the older vigilante’s blank expression, neither has he.

“Right, forgot who I’m talking to. You cape types aren’t exactly the hallmark of romance, are you?”

“Yeah, well, you deity types aren’t exactly the hallmark of not getting punched.”

“We’ve already established why that would be a bad idea,” Tim mutters, his ears burning.

“I’m wearing gauntlets.”

“In a healthy relationship,” Eros goes on, ignoring the byplay, “sure, you spend a bit of time totally enamored with your boo. They’re your world. But after a while, that starts to fade. Some people, okay, they’ve stuck together for the getting-to-know-you period and decide to keep going. But others—they get a very real sense of buyer’s remorse.”

“Like Helen did. Or Phaedra or Atalanta,” Jason suggests, and Tim frowns; he only recognizes one of those names.

“Exactly. They realized they’d compromised themselves and ruined their lives for some petty asshole without even knowing it. And they couldn’t exactly do anything about it—in the old days, you were stuck with the guy and you had to make the best of it since, you know, no divorce. Nowadays, it’s not so bad—those whirlwind romances don’t last, but it’s not the end of the world. Celebrities are famous for them. Literally.”

“I don’t understand what all this has to do with you being here and now,” Tim says.

“I’m getting there. I was giving you guys context, geez! Anyway, with me, it’s a little different. It’s more than just that love-at-first-sight, quick and dirty thing. It’s about desire. That bone-deep connection, all need and hunger and slow-burning.” His face relaxes, mouth easing into a fond smile. “It was a deeper thrall than anything Mom had the patience for. With my tools, I could awaken that—in a controlled fashion—and focus it. But now—well, you saw what I can do with just a touch.”

Tim’s cheeks flame.

“The longer I don’t have my tools to temper me, my abilities will become more unstable. You ever see people literally fuck each other to death?” Eros challenges. “Trust me, you don’t want to. And it’s not just sex people desire. This one guy pissed me off once and I made him develop an unhealthy desire for corned beef—”

“If you know your power is about to go Chernobyl, why the hell are you running around town robbing people? You’d think you have more important things to worry about.”

“It’s because I’m losing control that I’ve been doing that.”

Tim narrows his eyes, even if no one can see it. “Explain.”

“Over time, artists pour their souls and creative desires into their work—into the canvas, the clay, the paint, whatever. There’s a magic in the creative act that turns a medium into a vessel. I’ve been having to bleed off my power into these vessels so I can get out and search for my diviners without causing riots. The process takes hours, though, and people generally don’t like me standing in a museum touching the merchandise.”

“So you steal it.”

“It eventually finds its way back. And their original owners usually find that the pieces seem somehow more—magnetic—once I’m done with them.”

“I don’t know how you made that sound dirty, but you did,” Jason grumbles.

“Are you kidding? I created innuendo. And the double entendre.” Eros makes a dismissive gesture. “Anyhow, it’s all moot. I won’t be capable of bleeding off my powers for much longer. As you just saw, my control is slipping. So, you two are going to have to find my bow and arrow for me.”

Tim blinks at the sudden turn of the conversation. “What?”

“Right. Because we don’t have enough of our own shit to deal with, we’re going to go on a scavenger hunt for some entitled godling? That’s not how we operate.”

“You won’t have much of a choice,” Eros replies, and there’s a cruel edge to his smile now. “Not if you want to save your life.”

“That a threat, buddy?”

“Oh, I’ve no need for threats. It’s already done.” Eros points at the still bleeding wound on Jason’s shoulder. “When you saved bird-boy here, you got tagged by the same bullet I did; my blood’s in your veins now. And unless it’s because of the horizontal tango, there are some really nasty side-effects when Olympian blood gets in your frail systems.” His smile remains cold and cruel. “Mine’s particularly nasty.”

Jason crosses his arms, radiating skepticism. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been poisoned. Probably won’t be the last.”

“It’s not poison, per se,” Eros muses. “More like a virus that manifests as an intense, increasingly growing desire that will turn you mad and cook your brain unless you find a way to stop it. And the only cure, I’m afraid, is to be, heh, pricked by one of my arrows.”

“And who the hell am I supposed to be desiring? Because if it’s you, I’m going to claw my eyes out now and get it over with.”

“Thankfully that’s not the case. While I’m sure you would look amazing splayed out in my bed, that doesn’t exactly give your friend here any incentive to help me.” He considers Tim a moment, and his smile turns knowing. “Or perhaps it would.”

“Why me?” Tim asks, trying to keep his voice level. A sudden spike or worry shoots through him at one possibility. “Anyone else could do this.”

“Uh, you’re the first person Helmet Head set eyes on after being infected? Honestly, it’s right there in the myths.”

“I was never into the classics,” Tim mutters, breathing a sigh of relief; none of this has anything to do with his ill-advised crush, which means Jason doesn’t have to know about it. “If it’s just me being around him, I can stay away from him. It’s not like it’s hard.”

I wish that weren’t true.

Jason is staring at him oddly and Tim’s stomach jumps at his inability to interpret anything through the lenses of his mask.

“Okay, princess, let me know how that goes,” Eros chuckles.

Tim swallows.

He knows that Olympians have power—that their relics do, as well; how could he not, considering he’s known Cassie and Diana for so long?

Still, it’s laughable that Jason could ever desire him.

(There’s only a little pain and bitterness in that knowledge.)

Jason appears to be on the same wavelength.

“I call bullshit. I’m not in the habit of lusting after people I’ve tried to kill. Bit counterproductive, you know?”

“You might resist it for a little while,” Eros allows. “Looks aside, you capes have a lot of restraint. And it’s not like I was feeding you my blood or anything, so it might take a little longer still. But even that will fade as the infection spreads.”

For the first time since Eros’ threat, Jason shifts uneasily.

“Now,” the Olympian says, rubbing his hands together, “while watching you two get down and dirty in front of me would be good entertainment—” he leers at them both in a way that makes Jason tense like he’s going to punch him again and Tim consider letting him, “—I don’t have the time. I need the two of you on your game as much as possible if you’re going to help me.”

“Who says we’re going to help you? We could just hand you over to Wonder Woman and have her deal with this. Gods and mythological relics are more her areas of expertise.”

“Ah, but my dear cousin won’t have the same…motivation that you do, darlin’. Unless you want Prince Charming over here to get to the point of losing his mind over you?” Eros tilts his head toward Jason. “I mean, I guess that’s your choice. He is a bit of a douche—”

“I will rip off those wings of yours and stuff them up your—”

Tim grabs Jason and pulls him back a few feet so he can speak to him quietly, but keep an eye on Eros. Almost instantly Jason shoves him off as if he’s just been burned, and Tim raises his hands in surrender.

“Arguing with him obviously isn’t going to do anything,” he informs him.

“He’s obviously lying—trying to mess with us to do his bidding.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Until we know if this is truth or a bluff, we need to put him in a safe location. He needs to be tried for the thefts, regardless of his reasons. And since he has abilities, we’ll need a facility that can cancel-out meta powers.”

“Just keep him the fuck out of Belle Reve,” Jason grumbles. “We don’t need him ending up as one of Waller’s not-so-secret projects.”

“And in the meantime, we monitor your condition,” Tim goes on. “Back at the Cave, B has—”

“I’m not going to the damn Cave.”

“J—Hood, if he’s telling even part of the truth, you could be in trouble.”

“Because I’m going to lose my mind over your scrawny ass? I don’t think so.” He turns away. “Screw this, I’m out. You can figure this out. Gods are above my paygrade.”

He has his grapple gun out and an instant later vanishes into the night. And it’s like any other patrol; barely an acknowledgment of their team-up or thanks or farewell.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Eros says, shaking his head. “Bad things happen when you repress your desires. It comes out in ugly ways.”

Irritation sparks in Tim.

“That bullet that went through your wing—has it healed yet?” he asks tersely, rummaging in his utility belt as he approaches the Olympian. “I can’t see since they…disappeared.”

“It’s not gushing blood anymore, but there’s still a dirty great hole there. Why?”

Without warning, Tim turns around and sticks a syringe into his neck, careful not to brush any skin accidentally as he pushes down the plunger.

“What the fu—” Eros’ words cut off with a gurgle.

“Just need to know how much time I have before the sedative wears off,” Tim replies. It was designed with Wonder Woman in mind, so he really hopes it’s strong enough.

The Olympian pitches forward. Tim catches him, and curses at the weight he hadn’t expected; wherever those wings are, they still contribute to the body’s overall mass, it seems.

⁂

Jason makes a beeline for his safe house on the Upper West Side; the events of the night have been such a disappointment that he figures he deserves to crash at one of his more comfortable properties. Somewhere with good heating and decent water pressure and a few of his favorite books tucked away.

“Not the leftover pizza I was looking forward to, but it’ll do,” he murmurs to himself. To be honest, his appetite’s all but disappeared in the wake of tonight’s revelations.

Not that Jason is concerned about whatever Eros or Steve or whatever-his-name-is told them. Some guy calls himself the god of love and informs Jason he’s been infected with an unholy desire that’s going to drive him mad and kill him?

“Been there. Done that. And for Drake of all people? Pfft. Please.”

The Condiment King had more credibility.

Besides, even if it was a believable threat, it’s not as if he’s going to just accept it. Jason’s always had issues with other people telling him what to do, and he’s been on the wrong end of Poison Ivy’s concoctions far too often for that. If there’s a chance something’s going to impact or impair his control over his own actions, he’s got a problem with that.

And it’s just…it’s Tim Drake.

Jason has been carefully trying to reconfigure his mental categorization of the guy for years, from ‘Replacement—Must Beat To Death On Sight’, to ‘Timbers—Ally-Possibly-Friend-Kinda-Brother-Sort Of?’. It’s still a work-in-progress figuring out which category he fits in, and Jason doesn’t need to add more complications, such as those that will no doubt ensue if he considers adding any other relationship dimensions.

Not like the kid’s a terrible catch or anything. Jason saw that long before he figured out he isn’t one hundred percent straight. But that was his own discovery, born of conscious choice. Not from someone telling him in plain English that he’s got no choice but to develop a thing for a workaholic pretty-boy Bat with self-esteem issues.

Which means on principle, Jason’s damn well going to fight that. It doesn’t matter that Tim’s intelligent, sarcastic and the right kind of risky, or that he isn’t repulsive or even unattractive—

Jason adamantly cuts off that line of thinking when he realizes where it’s going, touching down on the roof of his building a little harder than necessary.

“Nope. Not going there.”

Talk about a mind-fuck. Asshole Steve got me thinking about it, and now I won’t be able to not think about it whenever I run into the kid.

And isn’t that a keen bit of psychological manipulation?

Luckily, Jason’s been trained by more than one master in the art of avoidance. He forces his attention onto the routine of checking the perimeter and disabling his security system, then slipping into his apartment through the roof-access.

“Hello, safe house,” he mutters out of habit, heading for his bathroom. Once inside, he methodically checks himself for injuries, which are overall minor. The bullet wound in his shoulder is scabbing over already.

He tries to ignore the uneasy clench in his stomach at that and the prevalent thought of that is not a good sign.

He heads for the shower and turns the water on as hot as he can stand, letting it distract him, unwinding the knots and tension holding him together. Once he’s out, he throws on a pair of boxer briefs and settles in the center of his bed to meditate. It takes longer tonight to get his brain and still-racing heartrate to ease, to remember his All-Caste training and seek acceptance in the darkest part of his soul, and the possibility that that will be enough to counteract whatever real or imagined threat was made by the so-called god of love.

Dawn is peeking over Gotham’s horizon when he finally manages to calm himself down and pass out. For once, he sleeps; for once he doesn’t dream of Glasgow smiles and green sludge.

When he wakes up, it’s with odd energy that borders on manic. He powers through his morning workout at full intensity and still has energy left over, which he uses to cook breakfast and a few advance meals that he can stick in the freezer for the next time he holes up here. All his safe houses include have decent food storage since he never knows when lying low is going to translate as ‘disappear completely off the grid for a while.

When he’s still buzzing and raring to go, he decides he can’t put it off any longer. He’s not stupid—has been in the game long enough to know it’s pointless to ignore something completely until you’ve investigated the hell out of it.

Which is how he finds himself down in his would-be-Batcave beneath One Police Plaza running a full set of blood panels and other diagnostics to see if there’s an actual sign of contamination from the tainted bullet. And when everything comes back negative, he even checks in with Doc Thompkins for her two cents worth that nothing is the matter with him. 

“I’m not sure what you want me to tell you, Jason, everything’s coming up normal,” Thompkins tells him. “The only thing I can recommend is the same thing I always do—stop smoking.”

“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to come see you so you can scold me,” he grins at her, earning an arch look above the rim of her glasses.

Still, he remains antsy even after leaving the clinic and decides he needs to calm his nerves.

There’s a coffee shop on Winchester he’s taken to because they do tea as close to Alfred’s as possible, at least what he’s found in Gotham. The teenaged girl at the counter blushes and laughs nervously at him when he smiles and flirts a bit, and he makes sure to tip well because kids in the service industry are paid nothing for being treated like crap.

Still, it’s hard to stop himself from drumming his fingers against the counter, his innate impatience ratcheted up today. He knows the place is busy and they can only go as fast as they’re going, but—

“An Americano, please. Double shot.”

Jason’s looking before he even realizes it, and for a split second he expects to see Tim there, sleep-deprived and sheepish, but only finds a blond skater kid and he’s—

Not disappointed.

He’s not.

That’s all he needs, is someone in the Family finding out where he goes to get his tea. That might encourage them to try to hang out with him. Especially Dick.

So, no. Not disappointed. Relieved. He’s relieved.

(He avoids wondering when he memorized Tim Drake’s coffee preferences.)

Jason doesn’t stick around the shop like he originally planned, and the tea isn’t as calming as he intended after he practically chugs it and heads out. He spends the day running around town, checking in with his informants in the shadier parts of the city and restocking the medical supplies in his safe houses.

He’s coming out of the one near Robinson Park when he hears a kid shouting— “Mama, look at the baby bird!”—and his head whips around so fast his muscles scream in protest, and what the hell?

Jason turns in the opposite direction and takes the subway.

He’s tense and angry as he returns to the base beneath the police station and spends longer than usual letting out his feelings on the punching bag in his gym. Halfway through, his phone rings and Roy’s face blinks up from the screen.

“Please tell me you have a job,” Jason says in lieu of a greeting.

“What? No. I’m still on vacation.”

“Your life is a vacation.”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s so great.”

That’s said with a bitter twist to his mouth.

“What do you want?”

“I’m working on camouflage field projector, but missing a key component that happens to be in Gotham.” Jason closes his eyes, somehow knowing what’s coming next. “And I figure, you’ve got an in—any chance you put in a good word for me with your little brother? The pretty one on all the TV commercials.”

“Ask him yourself, I’m not a fucking messenger,” Jason growls. “And he’s not my brother.”

He hangs up and glares at his phone, contemplating whether throwing it at the wall will make him feel better.

This is not happening…

The punching bag no longer cutting it, he throws on his gear and heads out for patrol, hoping that will quell the sensation of fire in his blood. Throws himself into it with brutal abandon, the only goal being to take his mind off everything. Violence is the best way to bring him back to the very basest mind frame, where he is focussed only on the thrill of the fight.

It works, for a while.

He hauls a few johns to the curb when they get too rough with the girls, gives a bunch of teens robbing a bodega in his neighborhood something to think about, puts an end to a bar fight when a customer gets handsy with a waitress, stumbles into a domestic dispute with a guy smacking around his kid—

Jason relishes in the sound of broken bones and the reminders of the fact he’s the one in control. It almost seems like he’s getting back to himself by the end of the evening. He feels more himself, less uneasy; there's still something buzzing beneath his skin, but it’s negligible.

See? It was total bull. God of love my ass, he was just messing with my head.

He takes a moment to rest, gazing out across the skyline and digging for a cigarette. One more loop around the neighborhood, and he’ll head home. He’s just turning his back against the wind so he can light the cigarette when he finds himself face to face with Tim Drake.

Or rather, a giant billboard with his face on it, advertising the Neon Knights initiative.

The cigarette drops from his hands.

“This is not happening,” he murmurs, and he’s said that at least once today already, hasn’t he?

But it’s getting ridiculous. Like he’s being shadowed wherever he goes by the specter of Tim, and all because someone else decided to play mind games with him.

Well, screw that. My head’s been messed with enough.

He takes a running leap off the roof, deciding to forgo anymore patrolling. It might be an idea to get out of Gotham for a few days if only to take a break.

But no, he’s not being chased out of his own damn city. No one chases the Red Hood out of Gotham, except on occasion Batman, and that’s not chasing so much as Jason telling Bruce to fuck off and making a pointed exit. And Steve is no Batman.

I’m going to take off a few days. Been wound up the past few weeks anyway, it’s getting to me. Things will go back to normal as soon as I—

His shoulders tense as he recognizes the sensation of eyes on him.

Someone’s following him.

It’s reflex to melt into the shadows of the next building, slipping around so that he can get a good vantage point. If someone’s planning an ambush, he’s more than happy to turn it around on them. And the mood he’s in tonight if it’s someone that can give him an actual fight—

There’s a sound of someone landing on the rooftop, and the whirring of a grapple line retracting. And then Jason zeroes in on the familiar figure in black and red. That strange knot of anxiety he’s been carrying around the whole day lets go as he recognizes him, and in its place, something else springs up, almost like…relief?

Which, no, he should not be relieved to see Red Robin. The only time he should ever be relieved to see the Tim is if he’s in the middle of a duel to the death with the Joker and needs back-up from someone capable of thinking a dozen steps ahead.

Relief is replaced with anger, and Jason lies in wait until Tim alights on the same roof, and then slips forward to grab hold of him. He neatly dodges the other vigilante’s attempts to free himself from the hold and drags him over to the edge of the roof.

“Jason? What the hell—?”

He ignores him and dangles him over the edge, forcing Tim to grasp at his wrist and hold on tight.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t drop you for not following the rules—you remember, the ‘no bats in my territory’ rule? I get that it’s unofficial and all, but it’s still there,” he snarls.

“I—I wanted to check on you!” Tim grunts. “It’s been twenty-four hours, and—”

“And what? Wanted to check if I was ready to jump your malnourished bones yet? Wouldn’t looking for me be a monumentally stupid thing to do if that were the case?” Jason yanks Tim back over the edge and tosses him back onto the roof, gratified to see him stumble as he tries to regain his balance. “I don’t need you pretending you give a shit to ease a guilty conscience of because you think checking up on me is something B would want you to do. Go back to California, Replacement. If I need help, I’ll ask. And chances are, I won’t be asking you.”

Tim’s fists clench, and he’s tense like he’s priming to argue, but after a beat, his shoulders droop and he huffs.

“Fine,” he says in a neutral voice. “Just as long as you ask someone.”

And then he’s grappling off without another word, and it isn’t as cathartic to see the back of him as Jason figured it would be.

Like he has any right to sound concerned…

He should feel better, now that he’s gotten his message across, but he doesn’t. The foul mood continues for the rest of his patrol, which he ends up cutting short because his head is just not in it tonight.

He is deliberate in choosing his safe house in Coventry, figuring he’s less likely to run into Red Robin on patrol there or in general. It’s nowhere near his usual patrol route, or the apartment he owns on Park Row—and fuck him for making Jason want to avoid his own stomping grounds!

It’s just for one night. Until I calm down and can be trusted not to shoot the kid.  

But the nervous, frustrated ball of discomfort in his gut doesn’t go away as he settles in for the night. He doesn’t bother with a shower or cigarette, or—well, his normal way to wind down when feeling like this, because he doesn’t trust himself not to let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t while his hand is on his dick.

It’s more difficult to meditate tonight, and he remains aggravated and angry as he drifts off to sleep.

It should be no surprise that that night, he dreams of Tim for the first time.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

[marshmallowgoop]

First I want to thank you for writing these super detailed KLK posts! Whenever I'm sad or just bored I turn to your blog and I always find something new to read and to light up my mood! I have a (really pointless) question: What do you think are the hobbies of the pratagonists? We don't really see them in Slice of Life situations, so what for example did Ryuko do all day before the events of the series when she didn't have to fight all the time? (Sorry for my bad english!)

I’m super flattered and touched to hear that my work has such a positive influence on you! Thank you!

Your question isn’t “really pointless” at all. In creating characters, I think it’s actually pretty crucial to consider what they’d enjoy doing in their free time. Of course no one is defined by their hobbies, but someone’s passions and interests do speak a lot about what kind of person they are.

You’re right that Kill la Kill doesn’t especially delve into the protagonist’s day-to-day lives, but we do get some pieces here and there. 

Ryuko

In regards to Ryuko, one reason that I love the first ending sequence so much is because it’s a great look at what things were like for her before she finds herself in a fantasy-action-comedy anime, lol.

Ryuko’s loneliness is easily the most striking part of the ED—I mean, it’s just about palpable—but you also get a sense of what kind of girl she is, too. And she’s curious! She walks around town, grabs some coffee, shops a bit, sees what’s up. Ryuko may not have any friends, but that doesn’t stop her from getting out and about. She comes off as the type who both wants to see the world and is fascinated by it. I bet she’d go on hikes or just wander around for fun.

So, maybe kinda related, while I don’t especially see Ryuko as studious (she falls asleep in class and when she’s supposed to be cramming in the first Drama CD, lol), I can imagine that she’d enjoy reading for pleasure. You know—opening her mind up and learning some stuff! Animators Kengo Saito and Sushio have even drawn fanart of Ryuko doing just that:

[Source]

[Source]

Plus, one of the stickers on Ryuko’s guitar case is of her favorite mascot character, Kuri-chan, from a 4-panel manga series of the same name. Considering that Ryuko only has one other sticker on her guitar case (which just notes her year in high school), I think it’s pretty evident that she’s got some passion for stories.

And speaking of Ryuko’s guitar case, one of my favorite headcanons is that Ryuko plays guitar and sings! She had to get that case from somewhere, and her voice actress, Ami Koshimizu, is an accomplished singer. Given how devoted Ryuko is to her quest to find out who killed her dad, she’s clearly got a lotta strong emotions, and I could really imagine Ryuko expressing those emotions through music.

She’d just… probably keep it to herself and be too shy to let anyone hear her. But hopefully that’d change after the events of Kill la Kill!

Senketsu

And okay, I know I’m probably one of the only people in the entire world thinking about what the hobbies of a sailor uniform are, but hey. 

Even more than Ryuko, I really see Senketsu as a total bookworm. Plus, he’s definitely about a million times more studious than she is (even if he falls asleep in class too, lol). I mean, the kid did all that cramming for Ryuko in the first Drama CD without even being asked to! He’s obviously super into reading and learning.

Considering how much Senketsu talks about romance in his episode preview narrations, I also totally headcanon him as a hopeless romantic. I bet he begs Ryuko to read tons of shoujo manga with him and cries at all the sappy parts. bermuda_irmk over on Twitter drew some amazing fanart of this, and I completely accept it as Canon.

Satsuki

Now, I 1000% see Satsuki as the studious type. When it’s canon that she has the highest grades in Honnouji Academy, I can completely see her as the kind of girl who spends practically all of her free time with her nose in a book, just trying to understand and learn everything she can.

Before and during the events of the series, I’d also imagine that Satsuki devotes an incredible amount of time to learning combat. She’d probably read on the subject and train with sword masters to the point of total exhaustion. While I’m sure that Satsuki has a boatload of natural talents and skills, given how alarmingly prepared she is for everything, I figure she’d still go completely overboard in her training and studies. While it’s a sad comparison, I could see her as being a bit like Azula from Avatar: The Last Airbender: immensely talented but still hard working and utterly determined to not let even a single hair be out of place.

The light novel reveals that Satsuki used to be a happy and bubbly girl before her father literally put the entire world on her shoulders and abandoned her, so as a child, I’d imagine that Satsuki would partake in more… light-hearted hobbies. Maybe she’d beg her dad to read fairytales to her or make her own clothes for her dolls. In fact, Shiro is playing with a string doll he made himself when he meets Satsuki, and when Soroi introduced Shiro to Satsuki in the first place so that she could have someone to play with, I don’t think it’s too outlandish to consider that they played with dolls together as kids. At least a little bit!

Plus, when Soichiro/Isshin clearly has some sewing and crafting skills—he made Senketsu and the Scissor Blades, after all—I could imagine these father-daughter projects where Satsuki and her dad would make things together. Maybe Soichiro would even nerd out about science with her! And unlike Ryuko, who’s not exactly the most studious and doesn’t really seem to have an interest in science, I could definitely see Satsuki being inspired by it.

After the events of the series, I’d like to think that Satsuki would finally be able to relax and return to doing what she loved as a child, such as reading stories just for fun and pleasure. Like with Ryuko, Sushio has also drawn fanart of Satsuki seemingly doing just that:

[Source]

Mako

Mako strikes me as a super artistic kind of girl. In “Mako’s Story,” there are many illustrations where she’s building or creating—be it drawing with chalk, arranging colored leaves, or sculpting snowmen and snow forts. I get the sense that she’d like to spend her free time doodling in sketchbooks or shaping clay.

Given her final “Hallelujah!” in episode 24, Mako also clearly has a passion for fashion. If she had the resources, I could totally see her designing clothes, and I bet she’s quite thrifty and uses what she does have to come up with some fun outfits and styles. Sushio’s definitely drawn fanart of as much! I mean, just look at Mako’s Nonon makeover:

Nonon: What is this.

[Source]

Like Ryuko, I could also easily picture Mako as a singer. I mean, she does actually sing a few times in the show! Plus, if nothing else, given her “Hallelujahs!,” she certainly loves to perform. Her voice actress, Aya Suzaki, is also quite an accomplished singer, too!

[Source]

It’s also worth it to note that Mako was once in the Tennis Club, so there’s clearly some interest in sports as well. I think she’d like to be active and running around, so things like tennis, track, or basketball might be up her alley.

[Source]

Others

This post has become quite a monster, so maybe I ought to write about my headcanons for other characters’ hobbies elsewhere, but I will say that for characters like the Elite Four and Shiro, we already get a good sense of what they like to do in their free time based off of the clubs they’re in charge of and what we learn about them in the light novel. Uzu is super dedicated to kendo and konnyaku (because his parents run a konnyaku shop), Gama is interested in metalworking like his uncle, Houka is super into IT (and apparently is amazing at the stock market, lol), Nonon loves classical music and insists that it sounds best on record players, and Shiro is passionate about sewing and Life Fiber research.

While I kinda wrote a book here, I hope it’s still at least kind of interesting! I’m also curious about what others think on the subject, too! After all, a lot of the appeal of Sushio’s post-series fanart for me is that we get some insight into what these characters’ lives would be like after the battle.

And, well. I can’t get enough of it! It’s so sweet.

[Source]

[Source]

[blackhound14]

Paint it Red. Chapter 2

I thought all that mattered was my work, but sometimes the world isn't just black or white, sometimes it's a whole spectra of colors. Love, I learned, is the most perplexing of all colors.

I hoped that I never learned that.

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chapter 1

chapter 3

Chapter 2: Get the Coffee and the Lead.

Chapter 2: Get the Coffee and the Lead.

I have been to several crime scenes over the last few years; first when I was a rookie, working under my adoptive father, Hank, and then when I was promoted to the post of a Lieutenant. I have interrogated more suspects than the amount of people I have, informally, ever spoken to. Never, in the past seven years of my services to the DPD, have I ever encountered such a troublesome investigation.

The man, Markus, nods towards Jerry and motions me to follow.

We enter another room at the back, filled with what I can only describe as more colors. By the looks of it, this place was probably the store room. I look around curiously, as it was just my second nature by this point. There were empty canvases of varying sizes, lined up neatly in the side and boxes full of brand new brushes. I never knew that brushes could have so many variations.

I hear Markus clear his throat in an attempt to gain my attention, “So, how may I help you, Lieutenant?”

Shit! Even his voice is silky smooth, with a honeyed tone, that I want to do nothing but relish in its sweetness. It had a calming feel to it. How does his laugh sound like, I wonder? How would those lips taste, similar to salt and caramel perhaps? Just like the tint of his sun-kissed skin. I snap out of my nanosecond of distraction and muster up my ability to make full coherent words, one skill of mine that I’m not particularly too proud of.

“I am looking for details regarding a certain type of paint.” I hand him the paint sample, “Do you know of anyone who buys it regularly?”

He shook his head, repeating what Jerry explained earlier about not having the shade for sale. “If you require, I can try to get the same shade of color and then match them with the purchases. However, there are different methods of getting a particular color, so there will be many combinations. I am an artist and I am sure that you will find my services useful.”, he winked.

Calm down and do not stutter. You hear me, Connor?!

I must decline, getting civilians dragged into this mess will only create more problems. And unhealthy distractions. But I need help and this man seems to be the only one that will help me accomplish my mission. I reluctantly agreed. I managed to exchange numbers without much stuttering and making a fool out of myself, so that one good thing.

I walk into the office and make my way to the cafeteria, or the break-room as it is so inconveniently named, to get a cup of coffee. I see Hank, going through some of his case files, from the corner of my eyes. Even at this age, his passion for the job remains undefeated. He was still great at his work as I first worked under him for about eight years and the man didn’t care about relations when it came to the office. ‘I am not your father here, Connor. I am your superior and you call me Lieutenant.’

I couldn’t help but smile at those memories. And now he asks me to call him dad. Hank’s some hard nut to crack, but worth it. No matter how solid of a shell he has, he is still a big-big softy that cries during rom-coms, sleeps while snuggling to a teddy-bear like dog and most importantly, will do anything to keep his small family safe.

I then come face to face with the man I absolutely loath. Gavin Reed. It is still morning and I do not have the willpower to deal with a self-centered moron because, god forbid, this time I might be the one to pull up my sleeve and throw a punch. And I haven’t even taken my coffee yet, making this situation even worse.

He’s a man that has everyone on edge, being incredibly disrespectful and violent. His frame is a little similar to mine, but a tad bit broad. His face has a sharp jawline with a light stubble and light colored eyes. I might even call him ruggedly handsome if his lips, whenever I’m graced with, aren’t always curled up in a nasty snarl or busy making a pathetic statement.

“If it isn’t, Lieutenant Anderson the junior! Seems like you overslept, it’s almost noon. Maybe you were too busy riding daddy’s coattails! Hah!”

As I said, pathetic. Why the hell Captain Fowler hasn’t fired him is beyond my comprehension. I ignore his remarks and continue making myself my drink, as I find that replying back to him is an utter waste of my time. I hear him groan, but don’t turn around because I know what was to follow. I quickly grab my hot coffee and accidentallyspill it over his face.

For a second there was pin drop silence, except the screams of the detective and an occasional curse directed at me. He tried to grabbed me by my collar, but a quickstep and all he held was air. “I will fucking kill you, dipshit! Your daddy’s ain’t gonna save you now, asshole!”

He threw another punch which I easily blocked, I then grabbed that arm and twisted him till his back was against me and the other arm locked. “It is not good to fight, detective. I know your dad might have not taught you manners, but at least follow the rules if you do not want to get fired. It would be very disappointing if our bromance ended so soon.” I then push him away and give him a heartfelt smile.

Before he could cause anymore damage, Tina dragged him away to clean up that mess over his face. “Have a good day, detective.” Now that that’s dealt with, I better get back to work.

I make a new cup of coffee and leave for my desk, which is still the one adjacent to Hank’s. He doesn’t notice me at first, preoccupied going over his documents. I peaked and read the name of the file, ‘Child Kidnapping’. The case Hank was assigned just a couple of weeks ago. I remember going through the file once.

“Is something wrong, Hank? You have been going through that file since I came into the office”

He almost jumped off his seat, “Jeez, Connor! At least let the old man know you’re here.” he huffed, “Anyway, remember this case I was telling you about, it’s been closed.”

“Closed?” my eyes narrowed, “But why? It’s hasn’t even been a month.”

“That’s not the reason. The children, the ones that were captured, miraculously returned home one day. On their own, might I add.”

“All of them? How is that possible?”

“No. Not all of them. But the ones that did, say that some guy saved them. Weird. I said that we should investigate, but Fowler disagreed! Oh, and there are some reports Chris left for you.”

“Have to be the forensics report from last night. I’ll take a look at it.”

I open the report and just as I suspected, Caiden Huffman’s basement acted as a torture room for children and he was illegally selling child organs. That wasn’t the only part, the lab also analyzed the fingerprints present on the crime-scene and gave the list of people to whom the prints belong to. I went through the entire report and I couldn't help but feel that there’s something missing. Where did thesechildren go?

“Hank, can I take a look at your file, the one that got closed?”

He looked at me incredulously, “Why? You got a lead on my case?”

“Maybe.”, he handed me the case file. The names matched. “The names of the children are the same. The cases are linked. How many children were reported to have returned to their families?”

“Oh my god! Three. These are the ones. But we cannot interrogate children! Fuck knows what happened to them.”

Three children escaped. “But we have to try, this is my only lead, Hank!”

Name: Trevor Norris

Age: 10

Date Reported Missing: 25 May 2018

Last Seen Location: Pirate’s Cove Amusement Park

Date of Return: 30 May 2018

Name: Sean Woods

Age: 9

Date Reported Missing: 25 May 2018

Last Seen Location: Pirate’s Cove Amusement Park

Date of Return: 30 May 2018

Name: Alice Chapman

Age: 9

Date Reported Missing: 25 May 2018

Last Seen Location: Pirate’s Cove Amusement Park

Date of Return: 30 May 2018

Caiden worked at an amusement park, his shift was from four to nine in the evening. That’s when the parks are the most crowded. “It is the second of June today. Caiden was killed on 31st of May and his body was found today at two in the morning. He was most likely a mascot as he was was able to grab a child’s attention easily. He’d then make sure that the parents lost sight of their child midst the crowd and then manipulated them into going with him. Maybe by making them think that he’d help them find their parents.”

Hank grimaced, “I suspected that the kidnapper was one of the workers, but we went through all the cameras and we found nothing in the recordings, that backed up my suspicion. Only a worker would know the locations of the security cameras and know how to hide from them. The place has a total of ten-thousand employees. We weren’t even given enough time till the case was declared close.”

He claimed the lives of eight children within a month. The kidnapper was then mysteriously killed in his own home. I need to talk to these kids and find out all I can. “We leave after lunch.”

It is long past five and we have learned nothing new. No parent wants to expose their child to the traumatizing memories of the past few days, when they were held captive in that dungeon-isque place. I do not disagree, but I need to know something!

The first couple declined to let us speak to the child. Which is understandable, still we tried to convince them that it was for a case but to no avail.

The second couple, albeit a bit wary, guided us to their son. He hadn’t even left his room since he returned, according to his parents. We tried asking him a few questions, in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Woods, but he was too scared to talk, might as well talk to a brick wall.

“You are Sean, am I right? My name is Connor and this”, I pointed towards Hank, “is my father.”

No reply. I look around the room, trying the figure out more about the boy. In the corner, laid a stringed instrument and the place was littered with basic-level music sheets, a football and a dog’s plushy.

“You are nine years old, correct? Do you like to play the cello? I can see some of your music sheets. Cellos are very soothing.”

No reply.

“Do you like to play any sport, such as football?”

No reply.

“You know, I have a dog at home. A St. Bernard and his name is Sumo. He is huge! But not frightening at all, he’s just a softy that wouldn’t even harm a burglar.”

And as expected. No reply. There has to be a way! Then a small noise caught my attention, finally. But to my horror, instead of Sean opening up about the crime, he began to cry. His parents intervened and bitterly, ordered us to leave.

Disappointed, we leave the residence and get in the car. “Do you think that we’ll find something in the next place, Hank?”

He glanced at me, “Well, they do say that the third time’s a charm. Wouldn’t hurt to try our luck, huh?”

I hummed in agreement. Maybe we will.

“So, you never told me that you would be late to office today.” he questioned as I began to drive.

“I went to an art shop for investigation. A man named Markus, who’s also the owner, volunteered to help me out.”

He hummed, “You are leaving something out, Connor. Something happened!” he said with that twinkle in his eye and a sly smirk, “I can hear it in your voice.”

“What? Nothing else happened! Just thought that he was unbelievably handsome and has a great voice.” I stuttered.

“Aha! So something did happen. You have a crush, son!” he laughed that only seemed to ruffle me up, “Now you are blushing! Oh god!”

“Why do I share everything with you? It is just an infatuation. Please, drop this line of conversation now, dad” I say pleadingly and he chortled but listened.

“Ya know, Connor, it’s high time you found someone to spend your life with. I am getting old, I need to have some grand-kids. Are you gonna deprive your old man of this?”

“Dad, I know you are worried about my non-existing love life, but I will when I am ready. Besides, Cole still acts like a five year old and he already has a girlfriend. How about you ask him for grandchildren.”

Hank’s eyes popped out in surprise, “Cole has a girlfriend?! And he never told me!” I do not reply and continue to chuckle, “Hey, Connor! Tell me, how is she? How did they meet? Is she pretty? Connor? Say something, goddammit!”

The residence of the third child was thirty minutes away, and all I could hope for was the child to say something as I waited for someone to answer the bell. A few moments later I could hear the clicking noise of the door being unlocked and it opened to reveal a woman. The woman had short, light brown hair and pale skin. She had blue eyes, some freckles and a sharp jawline. She’s really pretty.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Good evening, Mrs. Chapman. My name is Connor and this is my partner, Hank. We are from the DPD, we would like to have a talk, if that is alright?”

She remained silent for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. Hank cleared his throat and that caught her attention.

“Yes. Do come in. And please, call me Kara.”

She tells us to get comfortable while she brings us some coffee.

“How may I help you, officers?” she asks.

“We are here regarding your daughter, Alice. We got the news that she returned on her own a few days ago after she was… captured. I would like to ask you and Alice a few questions, if that is alright with you.”

She looked around hesitantly, definitely not wanting to speak about it and absolutely not wanting to call Alice. “I know that this is very important to your investigation, but I am afraid that I cannot help you. She doesn’t leave her room, she cannot sleep and when she does she always wakes up screaming. I do not want her to go through those memories again. As a mother, I just want her to forget and move on. I hope you understand.”

I take a deep breath, “The kidnapper has been killed, Kara. The killer, I suspect, is the one that saved your child. All we want to know is, who was the one who saved them. Their looks, their clothing, anything. You can stay in the room with us. We will not ask anything that will harm your daughter anymore. Just give us a few minutes, Kara.”

I hear footsteps and a new voice spoke, “If someone did kill that kidnapper, maybe he did the right thing. He did more than what the police did anyways, why would I help you find the person that saved my daughter?”

That had to be Alice’s father. He was very tall, with dark skin and dark hair with a military cut. An impressive figure.

“Mr. Chapman, killing is a crime, done for whatever reason. Capturing such assholes is our job.” Hank replied.

Before the taller man could say anything else, Kara intervened, she held his palm in her own and looked him in his eyes, “Luther, they are just doing their job. We should allow them to speak to Alice, just for few minutes. We’ll be there with her.”

Luther reluctantly allowed, but not without a warning, and motioned us to follow. The door to her room opened and Alice was silently reading a story book. The moment she notices us, she tries to hide inside her blanket.

“Alice, this is Connor and Hank. They are your friends and they wanna talk to you.” Kara reassures while sitting next to her. “Think you can answer some questions?”

Alice gives a small nod, and I smile. “Hello, Alice. How are you?”

“I am fine, I think. But I am also scared.”

“I know. You like reading books?”, I read the title, “Alice in wonderland? It is an amazing story.” she doesn't reply. I haven't ever read the book, but I know a little about it thanks to the movie’s promotions, “So, I heard that you met the Mad-Hatter.”

The girl was puzzled, “I did not meet him, he is not real.”

“But you did. The person that saved you from the bad man. The Mad-Hatter must have saved Alice sometimes. So, let’s call them, the Mad-Hatter because they saved you. What can you tell me about them?”

She looked at her mother who just nodded in return, “I do not know. He was wearing dark clothes and his face was covered. He saved me from that place and the other two took me back to mom and dad. A boy and a girl.” a few stray tear drops fell from her brown eyes. Kara hugged her and kept her close. “He said that we were free now.”

I glanced towards Luther, “We didn’t see them. They left before we could thank them. That is all.”

I and Hank left after saying our goodbyes to Alice and her parents. Emotionless, I stare right ahead, conflicted.

“Look at the bright side. Now we are certain that your killer is a male and that he is not alone. It is a group of three.” Hank said, trying to make me feel better and it did, but I just felt at lost.

What do I do now?

A buzz grabbed my attention. I received a message.

From: Markus

I have found something. You might wanna have a look! Maybe come over tomorrow?

“What is this? I’m the one that says the good things but when someone else messages you, you beam like the goddamn sun?! Is it that Marcus guy?”

“It is Markus, Hank.”

“Oh! I didn’t know you were dating already. Whatever, just send me the wedding date!”

“Very funny, Hank. Look I am laughing. HAHAHAH” I said unimpressed, but my face was flushed red and Hank was having the time of his life.

“And by the way, you have never read ‘Alice in Wonderland’, have you?” and he just laughed more.

[atruththatyoudeny]

MONTHLY READS | June

Thank you so much to all the amazing authors for sharing your stories with us! »Top 5 stories + 7 more under the cut «

Heading for Limbo

by FullOnLarrie | friends to lovers | friends with benefits | sexuality crisis | 100k Childhood best friends who’ve fallen in and out of touch with each other since Louis’ family moved away when they were thirteen, Harry and Louis find their paths crossing again and again. Each time, no matter how many miles apart or how many years it’s been, it’s as if no time has passed. They fall back into their easy friendship, until life intervenes and sends them on their separate ways once more. When Harry discovers some life-changing things about himself, Louis is there for him, however he needs. But it’s all temporary because Louis has plans that will move his life from New York all the way to L.A. and the distance isn’t the only thing between them. The pieces of their twice broken hearts are scattered from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

Red hands

by reveries_passions for One Direction Big Bang Round 1 | post-war | angst | World War III | enemies to lovers | slow burn | minor character death | injury | guns | violence | mentions of sexual assault | homophobia | PTSD | panic attacks | vague elements of torture | major character injury | 128k “I’ve never told anyone,” Harry murmurs, voice so soft no one else would be able to hear, if it wasn’t just the two of them. “But you’ve told someone,” Louis tells him firmly. “And that’s not gonna fucking happen around here. You don’t speak a word of it, or someone’s going to kill you, and we can’t let that happen.” * A dystopian au in which harry, an ex-soldier who’s escaped from his government run camp, accidentally stumbles across the biggest rebel movement in the country, and louis, one of the rebellion’s mysterious leaders who appears to hate him, seems to simultaneously have an obsession with keeping him alive. or: harry is wanted for treason, niall hasn’t changed in four years, liam is always smiling, and louis is angry. like, really angry.

To Carry Love

by lovelarry10 & wander723 | Part of the The Mason-Verse series | mpreg | fluff | childbirth | parenthood | 21k Picking up a few years after Piece by Piece, we catch up with the Tomlinson-Styles as they celebrate the arrival of Liam's first child, and make a few choices of their own...

Evocatio

by lapoesieestdanslarue | fluff | 13k Evocatio; a latin word, referring to the method of how an army would try to tempt out a god or goddess from a city in order to ransack it. or; Louis is torn between the dead-end life he'd had in Doncaster and left long ago, and his new life in London. Mostly he's just confused by and halfway in love with the farmer that has long hair and green eyes.

Accidentally On My Way To Loving You

by larrymylove | partying | mistaken identity | Ping-Pong | banter | 5k “So,” H said, “Who are you.” Louis froze. The fork nearly slipped from his hand. So this was it then. The jig was up. Louis would have to admit that he’d stumbled into the wrong party and that, after seeing H, hadn’t wanted to leave. Louis would be kicked out, never to see H again. And who could blame him. He sounded like a total creeper. If the roles had been reversed....Louis wouldn’t blame H for never wanting anything to do with him ever again. Louis arrives at the wrong party, and finds he never wants to leave.

Cool Cats

by Anonymous for Marcel Fic Exchange | hybrids | light angst | fluff | humour | 16k There’s a gorgeous boy sitting there, staring at him. His hair is longish, tucked back by a cloth headband, his eyes are a brilliant blue that make Marcel question if he’s ever actually seen real blue before or just cheap imitations of it. And his lips, thin and pink, are just slightly open, almost as though they’re inviting Marcel’s kiss. “Oh,” the boy breathes in surprise and the tone is enough to wake Marcel from his momentary stupor. He realizes that the boy is staring at his ears and suddenly kisses are the furthest thing from Marcel’s mind. Marcel exhales harshly and pulls out his chair, sinking into it and crossing his arms over his chest. He lifts his chin defiantly. “Alright, let’s have it.” “Have… what?” The boy asks wide-eyed and, fuck, even his voice is beautiful. It’s got this delightful rasp to it that makes Marcel wanna purr. “Whatever jokes or insults you’re gonna say. Let’s just get them over with now and out of the way,” Marcel says. The blue-eyed cutie just sits there, staring. Or Sometimes, Marcel can have nice things.

Learning to Eat

by photo41 | chefs | 28k Celebrity chef Louis Tomlinson has a problem. He’s opening his first restaurant in 9 weeks, and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s ‘standoffish’ and ‘rude’ and ‘quick to temper’. Whatever. He ends up saddled with an annoying, happy-go lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. His tv presenter and pop star best friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting Julia Child?! Kitchen AU where Harry helps Louis re-learn how to eat. (METAPHORICALLY)

Delight in Masques

by kassio for One Direction Big Bang Round 1 | urban fantasy | magic | shapeshifting | fae & fairies | 27k Popstar Louis Tomlinson has been pulling one over on the mortals for years. In the five years since he put on a human illusion and tried out for the X Factor, none of them have realised that he’s one of the Fair Folk – a cat shapeshifter, to be precise – and he’d like to keep it that way. When he returns to the X Factor as a guest judge, the last thing he expects is for some half-Siren fool to use magic on the judges. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Harry Styles does. Now Louis has to track down some rogue changeling before he exposes them all. Even worse? Apparently, Harry doesn’t even know what he is. (An urban fantasy adventure, set in the world of - but not crossing over with - the October Daye book series. No need to be familiar with those books; I just want to give credit where it's due on a lot of the worldbuilding.)

London is well worth a mass

by dolphinaaaa | a/b/o | royalty | arranged marriage | 93k Louis is an Omega prince of France. When he is 13, he is betrothed to Harry of England for politics. The wedding will seal the alliance between the two coutries. This is their story.

No Harm, No Fowl

by rainbowslovehl | bad puns | fluff | 6k “He’s here again,” Louis hissed at Niall, his co-worker who was scraping chips into a paper tray and on top of the fish. The guy passing by was distracting but according to Niall, he wasn’t an unusual sight for him. But he could indulge Louis, at least. “He’s just walked past the shop for the second time, probably on his second lap of the neighbourhood. What do you think he wants? What does it mean?” “He’s looking for his lost farm?” Niall supplied before sniggering at his own joke, handing over the order. “Don’t make that face and just stop obsessing over him. He’s just a guy.” Louis finds himself obsessed with figuring out why Harry roams around the neighbourhood in a blue robe. Featuring Geraldine the hen, bad bird puns and too much ketchup.

Until You Remember

by Throwthemflowers | amnesia | mythic elements | 21k Harry lowered his head a moment, then whispered, “It hurts, Lou. If you kissed me, it wouldn’t hurt so much.” Louis set his mug down with a clink on the coffee table. “What wouldn’t hurt so much?” Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t know.” “Fooking bloody hell…” Louis cursed under his breath as he brought his hands to his face and rubbed roughly over his cheekbones. “Harry, do you know what… what…” “What is wrong with me?” Harry finished in a soft, small voice. Louis’s heart dissolved into a mass of pulsing shame. He pulled the man to him and gently pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Harry. You’re kind and sweet and good, and I don’t understand you at all, and I don’t know if I ever will, but there’s nothing wrong with you, darling. Nothing at all.” Louis breathed in his scent, swallowing hard. --Talented London pianist Louis Tomlinson moves to a small coastal town to escape the elites of his job and the mundanity of his life. Through the music of Debussy he finds a charming, wonderful friend in Harry Styles, the fiancé of the town's mayor. Louis thinks his pining is in vain until he discovers that all may not be as it seems....

I See the Ice in His Smile

by photo41 for HL Summer Exchange 2015 | hockey | figure skating | homophobia | 22k In which Louis is on the verge of becoming a professional hockey player, while Harry, (a figure skater who is way above this, thanks) just got roped into being the team's new mascot- leading to flirting, skating showdowns, hockey brawls, misunderstandings, and of course- ice, ice baby.

[dragonkeeper19600]

Bendy and the Ink Machine: The Big Questions

Yo!

There’s only one chapter left of Bendy and the Ink Machine, which means the story will most likely conclude sometime this year. So, as we settle in to the long wait for Chapter 5, I’d like the chance to go over some of the bigger mysteries that I feel need to be addressed before the story ends.

1. What, or who, is Bendy?

Bendy, the game’s main antagonist and mascot both in and out of universe, seemingly emerged from the ink machine when Henry turned it on. But, what is he?

When I first played the game, only the first two chapters were out, and by the time I had played through both of them, what I thought was going on was that Bendy was a real demon. Like, an actual, honest-to-God, hellfire and brimstone demon that had been summoned through the cartoons produced by Joey Drew Studios. The pentagrams on the floor in Chapter 2, commonly associated with pop culture ideas about satanism, are what led me to this conclusion. This idea was partially based on the hysterical fears of fringe evangelicals in America who were obsessed with the so-called satanic imagery in cartoons.

This book is not a parody.

However, subsequent chapters have made me rethink this theory. If Bendy were indeed a demon summoned to our mortal plane, that wouldn’t explain the existence of the other ink creatures. It is true that Bendy seems to be the most powerful and terrifying out of all of them. This theory could still work if Bendy’s demonic powers included the transformation of the studio employees into monsters and the rest of the tomfoolery that happens in the game. But, what much of the fandom, including myself, is beginning to suspect is that the Bendy monster actually has the same human origins as the rest of the ink creatures.

The Lost Ones that debuted in Chapter 4, as well as the first Alice Angel, Norman Polk, Jack Fain, and Sammy Lawrence are all characters that we know for a fact were once human. We also hear an audio log of Grant Cohen’s transformation in Chapter 4, and if Jack Fain’s transformed form looks identical to a swollen searcher, then it’s logical to assume that all the searchers are former humans.

So, if Bendy is a transformed human, then who is he?

The man the fandom widely accepts as the most likely candidate is Joey Drew, the CEO of the company and the man who invited Henry to the studio in the first place.

P.S. Bring booze.

Joey is the character most frequently mentioned in the game’s audio logs, and even though he (maybe) has yet to appear in person, his antagonistic role seems to be as great as Bendy’s. He is the one who insisted on the implementation of the ink machine as well as the placement of the six items needed to keep it running. His unsound business practices and total disregard for his employee’s well-being is strongly implied to be what ran the studio into the ground, if only in the sense that his prioritizing the ink machine above all else led to the above-mentioned tomfoolery. TheMeatly recently released a new trailer for Bendy updated with all the game’s current content, and said trailer includes several lines in a row from various characters complaining about Joey.

“Where’s my paycheck, Drew?”

But, Joey shares more than just an antagonist role with Bendy. As has famously been analyzed by many a fan, in Chapter 3 Henry is presented by a fork in the road between two options: the “Angel’s Path” and the “Demon’s Path.” Taking the Angel’s Path will lead players to an audio log from Susie Campbell, Alice Angel’s original voice actor and the woman who turned herself into the monstrous Alice from the chapter. Taking the Demon Path will lead players to an ink filled room from an audio log from Joey Drew, the first time in the game his voice is actually heard. Considering the first voice of Mickey Mouse in real life was Walt Disney himself, it’s plausible that Joey was the voice of Bendy within the game, considering all the other parallels he shares with real life animators.

Fans also compare Alice Angel’s fearful insistence that she “will not let the demon touch me again!” to the game’s implication that Joey Drew had an affair with Susie Campbell. 

Finally, there are a few damning pieces of evidence at the end of the very first chapter. When Henry steps into the pentagram at the end of the chapter, he appears to have a series of visions before collapsing. The first depict the ink machine, the second depicts a wheelchair, and the third depicts Bendy emerging from some kind of bright space.

The idea that that wheelchair belongs to Joey and that he used the machine to turn himself into Bendy was an idea floated at least as early as Chapter 2, famously represented in the comic dubbed below. 

What I haven’t really seen anyone draw attention to - and this was only brought to my attention by TV Tropes - is if you look at Bendy’s character model, he has a twisted leg.

Despite his speed, Bendy walks with a noticeable limp. This is pretty suggestive, since it supports the notion that Bendy used to be someone who once needed that wheelchair. 

The properties of the ink may be able to reconstruct a non-functioning limb to enable someone to walk again. Chapter 4 confirms that ink can be used to recreate solid objects such as pipes and coffee mugs, and Joey’s audio log in Chapter 3 contains the line, “With enough belief, you could even cheat death itself!” All this, the theory goes, would lead Joey to turn the ink machine on himself through some misguided attempt to attain immortality, turning him into Bendy. 

The only thing that trips me with this theory is that nobody, not a single audio log or line from Henry, ever mentions that Joey needed a wheelchair. And that seems like a pretty big omission, especially since, to put it frankly, the studio doesn’t seem handicap-friendly. Thomas Connor complains in one audio log how the elevator is unreliable and dangerous to use, and some areas, such as the break room, are only accessible via stairs. 

It’s possible Joey didn’t always need the wheelchair, if it is indeed his, and only needed to use it after some kind of illness or accident, hence motivating him to use the machine.

But, here’s the thing. As of Chapter 4, Joey has become a character that’s a little bit harder to get a hold of. The first three chapters portrayed him as a sort of eccentric Wonka-like figure. Someone fascinated with the occult and unconcerned with practical matters. His devotion to the ink machine made him seem an otherworldly or dreamlike figure, and his audio log in Chapter 3 gave him the voice of a man whose wife probably asks him not to talk in the bedroom.

However, in Chapter 4, we find out it may all be a front, as we get an audio log from Joey about overcoming your failings before he switches to a cynical, decidedly unwhimsical tone. 

It may just be my own personal interpretation, but that kind of barking CEO voice doesn’t seem to jibe with what we know of Joey’s behavior. The slow unveiling of who Joey is has been a major focus of the narrative up until now, and it’s clear from this audio log that he’s not who he appears to be. Instead of a quirky dreamer who’s mind is too big for this mortal world, Joey just seems to  be an asshole.

Here’s another thing: Joey has been a red herring at least twice. When Henry first sees the dissected Boris, his horrified line, “Oh my God. Joey, what were you doing?” led many players to assume it was Joey who had dissected Boris. It turns out it was actually Alice Angel. 

And again, the pentagram at the end of the first chapter led some players to conclude Joey was participating in occult activities. However, unless I’m remembering wrong, those pentagrams are only visible in Chapter 2 and the end of Chapter 1. Since the latest version of Chapter 2 has a pentagram around the post where Sammy was planning to execute Bendy, that would lead me to conclude that Sammy, not Joey, is the one who drew all those pentagrams. 

So if Joey didn’t dissect Boris, and he didn’t draw the pentagrams, then what else has he not done? Is all the evidence pointing to Joey being Bendy just another red herring? If so, then whose wheelchair is that? The only one who might know that is Henry.

2. What does Henry know?

Henry’s behavior has been weird since the first chapter. Who the hell, when entering an abandoned studio with a mysterious satanic machine, has the immediate impulse to turn it on?

“I want to touch that.” - Henry, presumably

Henry was not at all prompted by Joey’s letter to turn on the ink machine. In fact, the letter doesn’t mention any such thing. And yet, Henry seems to already know what it is. In previous versions of Chapter 1, Henry’s line upon entering the machine room was, “So this is the ink machine, huh? Wonder how you turn it on.” This line would imply that Henry didn’t see the ink machine while he was working at the studio but already knew about it somehow, which is weird. Interestingly, that line has actually been removed from the most recent update, instead replaced with, “Let’s see what you’re hiding down there, old friend.”  So, it could be that someone caught the error and changed the line

Even outside of that weirdness, the game likes to hint that Henry was more involved in these events then he’s letting on. A hidden audio log in Chapter 3 implies that Henry is actually the creator of the Bendy character, and if Bendy truly is a real demon, then the reason that’s problematic should be obvious. But even if that theory is false, it could mean that the game’s famous quote, “The Creator lied to us,” is actually referring to Henry. 

We have no idea what it is that made Henry leave the studio. The rough working conditions would be enough to drive anyone away, of course, but in that case, it seems weird that more people didn’t walk out. Thomas Connor vowed not to do anymore repair jobs, but his audio logs keep cropping up, which would lead me to believe he ultimately stuck around. Wally Franks also frequently promises to quit but he stuck around at least long enough for the park assets to get put into the warehouse, a part of the building that apparently didn’t exist while Henry was working there. Why didn’t more people quit? Why was Henry the only one? 

It’s also hard to pin down exactly how long Henry was working at the studio. The Chapter 1 update has Henry smugly remarking it must have taken several animators to replace him after he left, which would indicate that production continued for a while after his absence. But, Henry is recognized by both Sammy and Alice Angel. That Alice recognizes him is particularly weird since Susie claims she was only working at the studio for two months before being cast as Alice. It leads one to wonder how much of Susie’s mental breakdown Henry was present for. Was he there when Alice was recast? Was he there for her obsession with becoming Alice? What is the exact timeline for the employees’ descent into madness?

When she recognizes him, Alice shouts, “I know who you are, Henry! And I know why you’re here!” Maybe I’m overthinking, but “I came here because Joey invited me,” doesn’t seem like a dramatic enough reason for Alice to be shouting like that. Henry’s wandering though the studio doesn’t seem to have any purpose at this point except “Escape!” but Alice’s line implies there might be another reason Henry is here. But, does Henry know what that larger purpose is or is it solely the doing of Joey Drew or whoever it was who really sent that letter?

There’s also the matter of Henry’s visions. I already went over the glimpses of the wheelchair and Bendy’s creation. If those images are flashbacks, then Henry might know better than anyone what Bendy truly is. The images continue in Chapter 4 after taking a break for two chapters, with Henry getting an image of hands flailing in a hallway before they all vanish.

I really have no answer as to what any of this means. The wheelchair could at least be understood as a flashback, but the hands have no context that I can understand. All this is made even more confusing by the fact that the effect that accompanies the hand vision also appears over events that are definitely happening currently, such as the fight between Bendy and the Projectionist.

The only thing that hints at an explanation is the name of the achievement on Steam for finding Henry’s hidden audio log in Chapter 3: “Long Forgotten Self.”

Some fans have used the title of this achievement to theorize that Henry is suffering from some form of amnesia. If that’s the case, then his true purpose is a mystery even to himself.

Yay.

3. What is the true nature of the religion surrounding Bendy?

Sammy’s devotion to Bendy, drawing pentagrams and sacrificing coworkers to him, is what initially convinced me that Bendy was a real demon. But, whether Sammy is indeed worshipping a demon or a cartoon character, like many of us losers on this website, the wording of the phrase, “He will set us free,” implies that Bendy has more than one devotee.

Well, as of Chapter 4, that seems to be confirmed.

These lovable chaps are called the Lost Ones in the game files. Unlike the hostile searchers, they are not aggressive and able to speak, although none of them seem to feel they have anything worth saying to you. There was a time when I assumed Sammy was mutating into a Boris clone the same way Susie turned into Alice, but now that I’ve seen these guys, I assume that Sammy is just another Lost One who found a mask and overalls to cover his shame. Because if he still has a fully-formed human torso, then there’s no basically no chance that he doesn’t have some kind of ink dick. 

Please hold that image in your mind.

Anyway, while the don’t attack you, the fact that they have the same mad scribblings on the walls in the room where they hang out as Sammy has in the music department leads me to believe the Lost Ones are more followers of Bendy, convinced that Bendy will free them somehow. How exactly they came to that conclusion is still a mystery, but let’s take at what they could mean by “free.”

Sammy’s wording about what exactly he wants Bendy to do is a little unclear, so much so that when I first played Chapter 2, I assumed that what Sammy wanted was to be killed by Bendy. His talk of being swept into Bendy's “final, loving embrace,” seemed evocative of Christian talk of “joining with the Lord” after death. However, Sammy’s pleading and screams while Bendy comes after him led me to rethink that conclusion.

Instead, Sammy seems to expect Bendy to turn him human again. Again, I have no idea why he thinks Bendy can do that, but let’s take a minute to look at what Bendy actually did to Sammy. 

“Don’t spill me!”

In the first release of Chapter 2, this is what players saw after the credits finished rolling. This, presumably, is all that’s left of Sammy. With the release of subsequent chapters, this image is no longer shown, but the implication that Sammy was turned into a puddle is still present in the most recent update for Chapter 2, which has a small puddle of ink forming under the door Sammy walks through to meet Bendy.

Sammy’s transformation into an ink puddle is weirdly evocative of Alice Angel’s monologue in Chapter 3, “Do you know what it’s like living in dark puddles?”

In fact, all of Alice’s dialogue in Chapter 3 is fascinating, if you can get behind the stilted theatricality of it all. She mentions how she was “born from the ink” twice, once as a blob and the second time in her current form. She also expresses a fear of “being pulled back” through encountering the Butcher Gang, even hysterically siccing Henry on them to prevent “being dragged back to the darkness.” It seems that Alice fears, not death, but returning to the hive mind of the ink, which she describes as a “buzzing, screaming well of voices,” where “bits of your mind swim like fish in a bowl.” Alice wants to remain an individual, separate from the primordial ooze of the ink.

The idea that Alice doesn’t fear death is supported by her line about heaven. “I don’t think I’ll ever get to see it.” This could mean that she’s done such terrible things she can't enter heaven, but I always took it to mean she’ll never reach heaven because she’ll never die.

Recall, once more, Joey’s line about “cheating death itself.” Do ink creatures truly die when you kill them? Their death animation involves them melting into puddles. You get it? They get pulled back. 

I propose that ink creatures are locked in a permanent state of death and labored rebirth. Rather than find peace, ink creatures that lose their form return to the ink, losing what little sanity they had in the process. 

This is the fate that befell Sammy at the end of Chapter 2, the fate that Alice Angel most feared. He wanted to be free, but instead he got sent back. Sammy Lawrence isn’t dead, but he might have preferred he was. Hell, maybe that’s what he truly wanted from Bendy. Not to be human again but to sleep at last. 

Which brings us to the next question. Why did Bendy punish Sammy?

Other than jealousy of his sweet bod, of course.

Well, to answer that, let’s see if we can look at why Sammy tried to sacrifice Henry to Bendy. If you recall, after the fight with the Projectionist in Chapter 4, Bendy drags his corpse out of the room through a wall. We haven’t found out where he was going with that body, but Alice’s obsession with collecting body parts might hint at an answer. It is possible that Bendy is gathering the bodies of ink creatures for some kind of purpose, either to augment himself as Alice has done or for something else. 

Bendy’s other followers may be as devoted to bring Bendy bodies as Sammy was. Remember the shot of Sammy’s remains after Chapter 2. Well, Chapter 4 has its own post-credits image.

Yup, those are the Lost Ones, gathering around Alice’s body. I could be wrong about this, but I’m guessing they’re going to bring that body to Bendy. The believers must honor their savior, after all. 

If all this is true, then it could explain why Bendy lost his temper with Sammy for trying to sacrifice Henry. Henry is human, not an ink creature, and thus useless to Bendy’s purposes. It could also explain why he discarded the Projectionist’s head after he tore it off. The inky part is what interests him, not the mechanical part. 

Speaking of mechanics, there’s one final question I feel needs to be addressed before this story ends:

4. What’s the deal with Wally?

Wally is the only character to have at least one audio log in every single chapter. His audio log was part of the first chapter before we even knew his name. He was there before Sammy, before Susie, before Allison, before Joey, before we even saw Bendy. At the dawn of time, there was not light, but Wally. 

Wally has been a consistent and soothing presence throughout the game, and I always look forward to his adorable Brooklyn accent and comic relief amidst the madness of the studio and the other employees. But here’s the thing, Wally seems a little too cheerful. Susie, Norman Polk, and Grant Cohen all had audio logs detailing their descents into insanity the chapter after they debuted. Sammy Lawrence jumped aboard the crazy train the same chapter we met him. But Wally, so far, has shown no signs of the mental deterioration the other employees have suffered. He even comments on the fact that everyone seems to be going crazy around him: “Everyone’s walking around here like grandma just died!” Everyone else is morose and suffering because of the terrible conditions at the studio, but Wally, though he’s definitely annoyed by the situation, isn't losing his grip the way everyone else is.

His immunity to the maddening effects of the studio gets even weirder when you take a closer look at the blueprints on the ink machine.

Look in the lower left corner: “attn: Wally Franks”

Wally is the attendant of the ink machine, which is mind-boggling to me. The ink machine is the source of all the supernatural occurrences at the studio and the engine that drives everyone’s madness. So, why the hell is the attendant of the machine, the person who would presumably be around it the most, show none of the negative effects the machine causes? 

The obvious, joking answer is that Wally is so lazy and hapless at his job that he actually isn’t attending to the machine, so he’s not actually near it all that much, but that doesn’t seem to fully answer the question. Grant Cohen’s job wasn’t to look after the machine, and neither was Norman Polk’s, but that didn’t seem to save either of them. What is it that’s protecting Wally?

Another question: The ink machine was off when Henry arrived. Henry had to turn back on. The machine was presumably on in all the time Wally was working there. In fact, I’ve seen YouTubers claim they can hear it running in the background of his audio log in Chapter 3. Since Wally was the machine’s attendant, is Wally the one who turned it off? Why did he do that and why not sooner?

All of this speculation about Wally leads me back to his last line in the most recent chapter of the game. “If these guys don’t start realizing who the real genius is, I’m outta here!” 

What are you hiding, Wally?

[melchixr]

The Color Green

@imtrashandimproud said:  I REALLY LOVE YOUR FANFICTION OF MELCHIOR AND MORITZ BEING SOUL MATES! PLEASE GIVE US MORE! 

So here’s a “you’re colorblind until you meet your soulmate” and a “private school” au all in one. it feels really good to be back! 

Words: 2022

“Mom! Which one of these is the blue one?”

Melchior almost slipped on the hardwood kitchen floor once he jumped off the bottom stair. But the adrenaline that had picked him up out of bed and carried him all the way down the floor made him catch his balance once more. Mrs. Gabor sat patiently at the table, admiring the excitement on her youngest son’s face.

“The one on the right,” She responded, gesturing with her coffee. “Bring it here, Melchior. Let me write blue on the back.”

Melchior stood, waiting as he watched his mother fetch the label’s and marker. She placed one on the back of the brand new tie, writing ‘BLUE’ in the familiar short, fat letters. Her handwriting had graced the tags and tongues of almost every clothing item Melchior had ever owned. “Here you go, Mel-Mel,” She cooed and placed the tie around his already popped collar. As she tied the time, Melchior brought his slender hands up to halt her chubby one’s.

“Mom, I know how to tie a tie.” He stated, but Mrs. Gabor’s glared insisted as she continued her work.

“You’re practically grown, Mel,” She sighed. “My last birdie is about to leave the nest.”

Melchior scoffed, stepping away from his mother’s doting hands. “Mom, all I did was transfer schools. I’m not graduating.”

She placed a gently hand on Melchior’s shoulder, pulling him down to kiss his cheek.”I know, honey. Don’t be a smart-ass.” As her son turned to leave, she noticed the soft pink lipstick mark on his cheek. With a smirk, she let him go back up the stairs, knowing full well he had no way of noticing for quite some time.

“This is Mrs. Knuppeldick. She teaches French and European history,” Wendla said in her official, Junior Class President voice. Then, quickly switching to a much quieter tone, she added: “Don’t forget to bring a pen to her class. And don’t make fun of her name. She’s a total bitch.”

Melchior just giggled. He felt at ease with Wendla, with her wide eyes looking up at him brimming with joy. He wondered how anyone could be so happy when they were stuck in what looked like the most uncomfortable dress Melchior had ever seen. If it was anything like the cardigan he had just been given, it must’ve made her want to claw her skin off. “And across the hall in M6 is Mr. Sonnenstich. You might not have him, he’s math one and two, which you killed off in your old school right?”

“Uhhh….Is that algebra?”

Wendla chuckled and pushed a strand of what looked like dull black hair behind her ear.  But her smile still shone in a way that was still obvious to Melchior. “Yeah, that’s just freshman and sophomore algebra.” She sighed and pointed towards the back entrance of the main building. “Now, you got your locker already, right?”

“No, not yet…” Melchior muttered as she lead him out into the courtyard. The whole school was fairly old, in brick which just seemed gloomy and overpowering when put against the grey sky. The most jarring part of the whole campus was across the courtyard, where row upon row of brand new lockers had been put into the old stone.

In the center of the stone yard, a large stone fountain babbled with a constant stream of water. The school’s mascot, a lion, sat at top with water shooting from his mouth. The school’s crest lined the edge, with a noble three dimensional lion’s head protruding from them. It was huge, and must’ve been around longer than electricity. But still, two scrawny boys stood on the ledge like it was a play structure.

“Let me see your schedule!” Wendla stated, snapping Melchior from his fountain-themed trance. He handed her the piece of paper from his pocket. As Wendla read it, Melchior let his eyes wander back to the teenagers. It was hard to tell the two apart, as they both had pale white skin, dull dark hair, and wore plain, grey sweaters in Melchior’s eyes. The only difference between them was the fact that one of them was kneeling before the other taking pictures of his companion walking aimlessly along the edge of the fountain, arms out like a child trying to keep his balance. “Oh, your locker is the one on the top of the third red row.”

Melchior’s head snapped towards the lockers. Oh fuck. They’re color-coded.

“Oh,” Wendla sighed after a moment of silence, filled with the sound of the pair at the fountain chuckling. “Are you still colorblind? It’s alright, they have numbers. Yours is thirty-”

“No, I’m not. It’s fine,” Melchior insisted, charging towards the lockers. He looked them over, guessing at the different tones of grey. If he recalled correctly, red was sort of darker than the sky’s shade of grey. Or his skin’s sort of grey. So he moved nervously to the shade he hoped was his best guess.

“Melchior, uh…. I said third row red.”

Melchior threw what he hoped was a charming smile. “Really? I thought you said GREEN!” he laughed and moved over two more rows. Wendla cleared her throat and he moved over one more in a sort of blind prayer.

“That’s blue, Melchior.”

As Melchior felt his face turn bright red, he turned around to see Wendla’s ashamed eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, a figure came bouncing into Melchior’s sight.

“Heya, need help with your locker!” The boy said with a smile. His face was soft and warm, with a huge smile filling most of it. His hair was dark, laying like a mop over his freckled face. “I got ya! What was it, Wendla?”

“Third row red, very top,” The girl giggled. “Thanks for the help.”

The smiling boy moved back to around where Melchior started, “This is the one you need, buddy,” He told Melchior, who shuffled over awkwardly and started turning the dial as he read them on his schedule. As he did, Wendla slowly moved to stand beside him.

After a few moments, she pushed another strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I just uh…. Saw the lipstick mark on your cheek and thought that you….uh….had already found your color.”

Melchior turned with eyes wide. “What? Oh...Oh my god,” He gasped and began furiously wiping at his left cheek with his scratchy cardigan sleeve. “No,no, that’s my mother’s. I didn’t see it.”

Wendla and the smiling boy laughed softly, like they knew something he didn’t. He wanted to shove his head into the locker and slam the door shut repeatedly until either his head popped off or the world stopped existing outside of the locker. But at the moment, he could seem to get it open. He was hitting all the numbers, but it still wasn’t opening, no matter how much he tugged.

“It’s alright,” The smile-y boy tried to change the awkward tone of the interaction. “I got that for you, buddy. Can I see your combination?” Melchior shuffled to the side and let the boy take his place and his schedule. “Your name is Melchior, right? You’re the new guy?” He asked, reading from the piece of crumpled paper.

“Yeah, I sure am.” He replied as the boy began to turn the dial.

After a few more seconds, the locker swung open, revealing the sharpie covered insides. “Your old school didn’t have lockers?”

Melchior, already flustered, shoved his new books into the locker,” No,” he insisted. He hated looking dumb. But yet here he was, looking like a fool in front of two fairly attractive people in a brand new place. “My dad just didn’t want me going to my old school anymore.”

“Why’s that?” Wendla prodded. Melchior thought to himself that kids that grew up going to a prep school must not pick up on verbal cues.

Melchior attempted to shrug it off. “Something with leading a riot against common core in the lunch room.” He turned away from the locker to see the surprised faces of his companions. “Oh, I’m uh….not the only one who got suspended but….my dad didn’t want me there because there was a….bit of a stigma around me.”

A silence that even Smile-y boy could break hung around them. Melchior avoided their eyes once more, instead electing to close his locker and study the paint chips intently, which were a shade or two darker than the paint. Wendla cleared her throat, as if she were about to say something to get them somewhere else and on a different subject. But before she could giggle and charm her way out of the odd situation, the sound of shoes hitting hard stone approached them quickly.

“Ernst!” A slightly whiny voice called to the group. A second later, Melchior felt a hand grab his shoulder to turn him around. Instead, it just shoved him as the person grabbing him let go out of what Melchior assumed was shock.

The color red was shocking. It was vibrant and aggressive, attacking Melchior eyes with rich and deep shades. It was profound and simple in the same way that sent shivers down his spine. The paint chips were a earthy brown, coarse and rooted in what made Melchior smell dirt and wine and rain. He saw his hands touching the dial. A tanned and sunkissed beige that made his skin prickle with heat. His usually dull mole on the back of his hand was a gentle brown. His cardigan was a cavernous navy blue. His shoes were a bright purple he was surprised his mother let him leave the house in.

“Holy shit,” The whiny voice behind him whimpered. “That’s...That’s what blue is.”

Melchior had never turned around faster in his life. A boy stood behind him, a mop of wild black curls that looked like fuzz from a torn up dog toy or couch cushion perched atop his head precariously. Beneath it, a pair of eyes stared, full of shock and what might have been tears. They were green, an elegant and sharp color that looked right into Meclhior as he looked into them.

Green was suddenly Melchior’s favorite color.

“Holy shit,” The boy with a pale, sunken face cried out. His skin was still the same as it was before the color. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he kept saying, thin hands reaching out to touch Melchior. He let the boy touch his cheek, his cold fingers displacing Melchior’s flush. “You’re real. You’re real. You’re real and….and….” He paused, pulling his hand away. “Fuck. I’m uh...I forgot my name, holy shit.”

“Well I’m Melchior,” His voice came out rougher than planned, like he was on the brink of tears. He may well have been.

“Moritz, Moritz Stiefel,” The boy seized my hand from anxiously fixing my hair and shook it. “What’s your last name?”

Ernst and Wendla laughed, finally catching onto what was happening. They stood back to watch the action.

“Gabor. Melchior Gabo-”

“Moritz Stiefel-Gabor,” Moritz cut in. “has a ring to it. Or Gabor-Stiefel. I like that more. Oh man, I’ getting ahead of myself. Do we kiss now or do we have to go out and wait or…”

Ernst let out a hearty laugh and cut between the pair of lovebirds. “Sorry, Melchior. I forgot to introduce you to my friend, Moritz. Moritz, this is the new kid, Melchior. But you’ll get to know him plenty better.”

With a nod, Moritz let out a weak chuckle. He looked like he had been holding his breath until this moment in his life and finally let it go. “Melchior, nice to meet you. I know it’s your first day but would you like to cut lunch with me?”

Looking to Wendla for approval, Melchior saw the straight-laced model-student give him a sly nod. Upon looking back at Moritz, the realization hit him that the boy he was smiling at was the boy he’d be spending the rest of his life with. “Of course. Why not?”

[lovelyirony]

"a single thread of gold/tied me to you" for ironhusbands?💛

If there is one thing that James Rhodes cannot stand, it is “love at first sight.” In his professional and personal opinion, there is no such thing. It is simply a concept that Disney invented so they could make cutesy stories about princesses finding their princes immediately and give people hope about love, but in the end it is all about the money. 

“You’re a cynic,” his sister Jeanie tells him over breakfast. She flings a stray Cheerio at him. “You are a cynic and you’re never gonna date someone because they’re going to think you suck.” 

“People are going to date me and realize that I’m a good, realistic choice,” James responds, sticking his tongue out and stealing a drink of her orange juice. “People are going to date you and you’ll be disappointed because you watched too many romantic movies and you let it taint reality.” 

“Loser.” 

“Dork.” 

And then he’s in college. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t meet Tony Stark for two years despite the fact that every single year, they live in the same building on different floors. He has had to evacuate about twenty different times because Tony cannot stop himself from doing experiments in his room. 

The third year, James is an RA and required to live with one of the residents because of “experimental tendencies.” They don’t elaborate on why he’s stuck with a roommate, what the tendencies are, or who he is. 

“You’ll know,” comes the email from the coordinator, and he has never wanted to curse so badly in an email before, but here he is. 

But he’ll deal with it. Just like how he’s going to deal with everything this year. 

-

He thought he would get the room to himself for a little while before everyone moved in and brought everything and he would check them in. 

But no. 

There’s his roommate, lounging on a bed, and grinning. 

“Simply enlightening to meet you, James. They told me I could come back if I had a trusted roommate.” 

“And they stuck you with me?” 

“Well they were going to stick me with some dude who got the email, and then immediately transferred to Dartmouth. So I think you were the second option.” 

“Great.” 

He hates life, maybe just a little bit. 

Tony wants to do things. Which is fine, but he isn’t really in the mood to have the conversation of the fact that he can do things, but he doesn’t want to do them. He has to focus on being an RA and preparing for the Air Force. 

“Why prepare for that when you could be living?” Tony asks, lounging on Rhodey’s bed. 

Oh yeah, that’s new too. Rhodey. Apparently, “Jim,” “James,” and “Rhodes” were unacceptable nicknames. 

What is acceptable is Rhodey. And of course, the “honey bunches of oats” and “loveliest RA of all time in the history of MIT” and “sugar-puff” and “sweetness overload” 

He’s responding to all of them, by the way. 

Rhodey didn’t think his mental health would get this bad by the beginning. He had actually scheduled it to be around October. 

- 

And then the students come. There are nervous freshmen, the sophomores who don’t say anything as they move in and get settled, and the returning juniors and seniors greet Rhodey and Tony with familiarity and laugh about the posters that Rhodey’s worked hard on. 

“So, we’re having joint-RA’s or something?” Miles asks, throwing his comforter over his bed. 

“No, we’re not,” Rhodey says, hoping his expression is somewhere along the lines of not-showing-emotion. “Tony’s just...” 

“I’m simply too exhausting for Housing to deal with anymore, so I have a babysitter,” Tony says with a wink. “And who better than our lovely Rhodey?” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Sugar-puff?” 

“Still no.” 

Miles snorts. 

“This year should be good. Tony, you gonna pull any fire alarms this year?” 

“Rhodey has expressly banned experiments in the building, unfortunately,” Tony sighs. “It’s like he doesn’t want everyone to bond over having to leave at two in the morning...” 

“Nothing says bonding like hating a rude wake-up call,” Rhodey says, and Tony nods. “We’ll let you get all moved in, Miles. Remember that floor dinner is at six!” 

“You got it!” 

Rhodey gives Tony a look. 

“You know, I can do this on my own.” 

“Aw shutterbug, I’m not gonna let you.” 

“Are you really this intent on following me around?” 

“Well, what if I want to overtake your position next year? What if you tragically get a raging headache and it’s up to me to know what to do? What if your mother kidnaps you and never lets you come here again?” 

“I’m sure the college kids will be fine,” Rhodey stresses. “And I’ll still have access to email and the groupchat, genius.” 

Tony just laughs. 

“Alright, okay. I gotta go get some shit for my new class. The teacher sent out an email stating that the textbook is mandatory, and we have to do book work. This feels like eighth grade all over again.” 

Rhodey snorts. 

“Is it for Professor Casper?” 

“Yeah, did you have him?” 

“Yeah, you don’t need the book. You can find it online for free, and he never collects the book work. It’s a waste of time to get the book.” 

“You’re an angel-and-a-half, love of my life,” Tony says. “And for that, I’ll snag an extra pudding for you at the dining hall.” 

“Is it vanilla or chocolate this time?” 

“Chocolate with cookies in it.” 

“Oh my god, seriously? Already?” 

“Guess they must have had a jump,” Tony teases. “I’ll see you at dinner.” 

- 

Tony has a specific way of getting people to open up and actually talk with others that Rhodey envies. 

If Tony wasn’t so hellbent on convincing the group that if Miles and Kamala create a distraction, they could totally sneak out one of the pictures of the mascot. 

“We are not doing that the first week,” Rhodey says. “Maybe the last.” 

“It’s a beaver,” Tony whines. “Who’s gonna miss it, a Canadian?” 

“It’ll be the floor bonding activity,” Gwen says, finishing off her fifth (maybe sixth) slice of pizza. “Better than talking about your feelings about the campus or whatever.” 

“No.” 

“We’ll convince him soon,” Tony whispers conspiratorially. “Also, who here is a freshman? I have some advice regarding the math classes and which teacher you want...” 

- 

Rhodey does have to admit, that sometimes it’s easier to have Tony around, who is so willing to stay up until the late hours because of some stupid drama or to help Peter at his chemistry homework and also ease his anxiety about leaving his Aunt May all alone. 

Tony isn’t all wild and crazy as stories have led him up to be. 

"I wore out all my crazy freshman year after going to two frat parties and deciding that no one knew anything about how to have fun,” he declared. “I mean, come on. Why have beer pong when you could quiz people about obscure fashion facts?” 

Rhodey snorts. 

“Don’t make that the next game night. Hey, what do you think about having a movie night this Friday? I’m thinking something not scary, we’ve been doing a lot of those.” 

“It is October, what do you mean not scary?” 

“Some of our residents don’t like scary,” Rhodey reminds him. “Honestly, I think we could do with a bit of Halloween fun.” 

“Hocus Pocus? Double Double, Toil and Trouble? If you want to be slightly scared of old women and clown parties, I’d recommend it.” 

“You weren’t scared of clowns beforehand?” 

“Of course not, I wanted what they have; the ability to fit eighteen people in a car.” 

“Couldn’t you just gut the car?” 

“Not the same effect, honey-pie. Not the same effect.” 

Miles and Peter both end up lobbying for Hocus Pocus, with little to no competition other than a promise that the other choice would be shown later on in the semester. 

They’ve shoved all the chairs together and multiple people have brought out their own chairs, and Tony saves a seat for Rhodey under the premise of “Rhodey organized it, he gets a seat.” 

It’s a tough squeeze, and Tony and Rhodey get all tangled up together. 

Tony smells like expensive cologne and coffee, and he grins up at Rhodey and maybe the lights from the TV aren’t bright enough, but for a moment his heart skips a beat. 

Well. Shit. 

When he goes home for Thanksgiving break, Tony seems a bit...sad. 

“What, your mom cook the worst turkey in the world?” he jokes. 

"Sure,” Tony says, eyes unfocused. “Yeah.” 

"Dude, you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Tony says, turning. His smile brightens, eyes crinkling. “Why wouldn’t I be fine, buttercup?” 

Rhodey gives him a look. 

“I’m gonna call you when I get home, okay? You better answer.” 

“I always answer to you,” Tony says, and damn Rhodey’s mind shouldn’t be going where it is. 

Rhodey waves, gets in his car, and thinks about how Tony most likely has a problem on his mind, how he should probably not room with him, and his Aunt Ada’s green beans. 

God, he loves those green beans. 

- 

Tony is alone for Thanksgiving. Jarvis and Ana got an opportunity to visit Aunt Peggy in England, and he knew that they hadn’t seen her in two years. He didn’t want to be selfish, have them stay just for him. 

So, it looked like deli turkey sandwiches were in his future. If there’s still some soda in the fridge, maybe that too. 

He sighs, and turns towards the lab. Dum-E’s not even here, as he didn’t fit in the travel car, so Tony let him loose on the floor to “keep guard” over the dorms and make sure that no one broke in or stole the cords that he knows he accidentally left in the common room. 

The odd thing is, he had almost told Rhodey. Almost let him know that he’d be alone for Thanksgiving, but is that weird? That’s weird, right? To tell people your emotions just...it’s so messy. 

They have to deal with it, you have to deal with the fact that they’re dealing with it, and then other people know that you both are dealing with it and it’s just a whole mess of epic proportions, you know? 

-

Rhodey finds out on Thanksgiving, when they’re doing the parade on the TV and there’s a new snippet on the gossip channel when they go on commercial break. 

Howard and Maria Stark, vacationing off the Mediterranean Coast. 

“It’s reported that Tony Stark has preferred to spend his time in the vacation home,” the news reporter said, her smile wide and placid. 

“Tony’s lucky,” Mama says, wrapping golden yarn around her fingers as she works on another sweater. (A small one, a tiny one. It’s for the new baby in the family for Christmas.) “He tell you about it?” 

“He’s not there,” Rhodey says numbly. 

“He’s not?” Dad says, eyes raised over the newspaper. 

“No.” 

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Dad asks. 

“No, no he didn’t.” 

“Well then. Next time he’ll come with us.” 

Rhodey nods. 

“Christmas?” 

“Clear it with his parents if they’re not spending time together.” 

“Got it.” 

- 

Rhodey’s Thanksgiving is...nice. He can’t stop thinking about Tony going alone. 

So he calls him. It’s two in the morning, he might be asleep, and Rhodey’s not sure if he got the “eight” in the last four digits right or not. 

“Howard’s out, who is it?” comes a sleep-addled voice. 

“Good thing I’m not looking for Howard, Tones.” 

“Rhodey? Why are you calling me?” Tony asks, and Rhodey can imagine his eyes lighting up and that’s...that’s something. 

“You spent Thanksgiving alone, I wanted to see how you were.” 

“Aw, checking in your residents?” 

“Checking in on you.” 

Tony stills for a moment at the phone. 

Besides Jarvis, no one had ever really checked in on him. 

“Um, I’m fine?” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. I mean, it sucks to be alone on Thanksgiving, but I don’t really like any of the foods that people usually have, so I’ve been fine. I ordered wraps from my favorite place.” 

“Good to hear, good to hear.” 

There’s a silent pause for a moment, the one where they both try to find something to say. 

“Listen,” Rhodey says. “If you’re ever stuck for a holiday alone, you’re coming with me, okay?” 

“I don’t want to intrude on your family,” Tony says softly. 

“They all wanna meet you. Jeanie says she can kick your ass at ice hockey!” 

“You guys can actually play ice hockey?” 

“With limited degrees of success.” 

“Oh, now that I gotta see some time.”

- 

They come back to college, and Tony is back to his usual antics, greeting everyone who comes through the elevator with a shower of shredded paper. 

“Welcome to Winter Wonderland! Next stop: suffering through finals!” 

“Ugh,” Kamala groans, “stop it. Stop making me think. I have to memorize Byronic poetry. Do you know how boring that is?” 

"Speak for yourself, I have to build a wooden chair,” Riri whines. “Who works with wood these days? It’s so old-fashioned.” 

“Create the most bitching chair alive,” Tony says. “And I’ll help you with the necessary tools. Your professor isn’t expecting much, mainly just that it can support the weight of two people, you’ll be fine. Kam, Byronic poetry is not that bad, you will be good. We will bake cookies.” 

“Can we even bake cookies? I thought our floor got banned from kitchen usage,” Peter says. “Hey Rhodey.” 

“Hey kiddo,” Rhodey says. “First of all, yes we are banned from the kitchen. Second, we’re only banned and get in trouble so long as they know we’re there. And since more than half of us are nocturnal creatures and I am willing to wake up to help, we can bake cookies.” 

There are cheers around the room, and Tony mocks offense. 

“You don’t trust me to help the future youth?” 

“Given that we’re not allowed to rent out any more equipment from the front office? Yes.” 

“You wound me, darling.” 

“Only as much as kitchen equipment goes, sweetheart.” 

Tony grins. 

“Aw, you missed me.” 

“Yeah, I did. Now come on, you gotta help me with a billboard about the movie night this Friday. We thinking a romantic comedy or something mildly terrifying but probably won an award?” 

“Mildly terrifying!” Gwen calls from her dorm. “If we watch two people falling in love I’ll choke! We’ve been doing it all year!” 

“We’ve only watched, like, three rom-coms?” 

Gwen rolls her eyes, as if he’s missed something completely obvious. 

“You don’t get it. I’ll try again later. Hey, are we doing floor dinner tonight?” 

“They’re serving pizza sandwiches, so obviously,” Tony says. “We will feast like kings.” 

- 

Christmas is a festive time for Tony. He loves it, and goes overboard with decorations. Rhodey lets him, because you can’t stop Tony once he loves something (and Rhodey is kind of. Fond of him). 

Pepper comes up from the fifth floor, whistling. 

“Damn, Jim. I knew you would do a good job with decorations, but not this good. Is this...did you buy a miniature village? How was this budgeted?” 

“It wasn’t,” Rhodey says. “Tony’s really into Christmas and the floor convinced him that the theme should be Christmas Village. He’s been crafting identities for each villager instead of studying for any exam. The craft store employees know him by name now.” 

“Well, we all have our vices. You two seem to get along well. Housing is pleased that he hasn’t blown up anything yet.” 

“If they try to serve cheese ravioli again, he might.” 

“That’s a problem for Dining,” Pepper reminds him.  

“Still, it’s abominable. Where did they get them, bottom of the Hudson River?” 

She snorts, adjusting her shirt. 

“Probably, but hey. They still got eaten, even if that one freshman threw them all back up at the entrance.” 

“It was payback, they were vile.” 

Tony waltzes into the lobby, arms filled with glittering tinsel. 

“We are not letting you hang that,” Pepper says, gaping at it all. “Do you know how hard it is to get rid of tinsel?”

“We’ll manage!” Tony says. “Also, are you free at six-thirty?” 

“No, that’s when we’re getting dinner on my floor, what do you need?” 

“Just that little tidbit of knowledge,” Tony says, looking down at his phone. 

A message buzzes from the groupchat, and Rhodey glances at it: 

We are a go for the real Christmas tree. I have the vacuum, and a believable lie. Rhodey’s gonna tell us when the RA on duty is gonna come so we can hide it. 

Rhodey looks at Tony, grinning. He smiles right back. 

“Is there some weird roommate telekinesis I’m missing here?” Pepper asks. 

“Yes,” Rhodey says. “We’re discussing dinner plans.” 

Another text from Harley: 

I’m already picking one out with Peter. I have good taste. When is the ornament-making party? 

Pepper looks at them. 

“You’re planning something that I probably would have to disapprove of. I’ll tell people I got your floor watched tonight.” 

“Pepper, light of my life, my absolute sunshine? You’re the best,” Tony says, grinning. “Rhodey-darling, help me with tinsel?” 

He can’t say no. Simple as that. 

That is how tinsel gets strung throughout his hair as he’s watching Tony climb onto chairs that shouldn’t be climbed on to hang it from everywhere. 

“People deserve to have a good-looking Christmas,” he says. “Besides, I wanna win the decoration contest.” 

Rhodey laughs. 

“Okay, okay. I think we got it in the bag.” 

Later on in the week, Tony can be seen flitting about from room to room with help and jokes to lighten the mood. 

Rhodey has to admit, being an RA with Tony around is...nice. Better than he thought. 

And maybe he has feelings. He’s not going to say anything about it. After all, they’re roommates. He also isn’t allowed to have a relationship with anyone on the floor, regardless of anything. 

It doesn’t mean every RA follows it. God knows Sharon’s snuck down to the fourth floor to see Sam near-about every night, and her residents usually keep it a pretty good secret. 

Still. There’s also everything else to consider, and the fact that he doesn’t even know if Tony likes him like that. 

He doesn’t have to focus on it. 

- 

At least, not until the week of finals when he’s dying and Tony’s made him peppermint hot chocolate and sits on his bed, just about an inch away from his notes for his history class. 

“Do you remember what you told me on the phone?” Tony asks softly. 

“You up to compete against Jeanie for this year’s ice hockey championship?” Rhodey asks, smiling. 

Tension releases from Tony’s shoulders. 

“Only so long as you’ll have me.” 

“Always, genius. Always.” 

- 

After the last resident leaves for the holiday and Rhodey checks in with those who are staying, he and Tony hit the road, dragging suitcases behind them. 

“Are you sure I’m allowed?” Tony asks. “I can always find a hotel along the way...” 

“Mama wants to meet you, I keep telling them a ton about you,” Rhodey says, laughing. “They told me they want to hear your side of the great Glitter Debacle.” 

Tony laughs. 

“You mean the truth?” 

“Uh, I’m sorry, how are you going to convince them that green glitter was needed? And that you could clean it out of carpet?” 

“Determination and grit?” 

Rhodey laughs again as they pull onto the highway. 

- 

After a couple of hours, they make it to Rhodey’s home. His sister comes out, hugs for both. 

“Good to meet you Tony,” Jeanie says. “I’ve heard a lot, and I think we’re going to get along awesomely after I tell you every single embarrassing thing that Jim’s ever done.” 

“Only if I get to share stories too,” Tony teases, grinning. “Aw, they call you Jim?” 

“What do you call him?” Jeanie asks. 

“Jim-Jam, angel-dear, sugar-puff, Rhodey. You know, the usual.” 

Jeanie snorts, taking one of Rhodey’s bags. 

“Calling you the first one from now on.” 

“Tony did you have to let her hear any of those?” Rhodey asks, exasperated in a teasing manner. 

“Of course I did,” Tony sing-songed. “Now after you, I’m sure your mom is waiting to hug the living daylights out of you.” 

- 

It’s not until Rhodey gets all settled in and Tony is downstairs competing with his dad in a round of chess that Jeanie sits on his bed, the intention to annoy. 

But it’s...different. She looks at him. 

“You love him a lot, don’t you?” 

Rhodey stills. 

“You wouldn’t have told him he could come here if you didn’t.” 

“You’re right.” 

“I’m always right,” Jeanie says, flipping braids over her shoulder. “Nice of you to finally realize that I’m the smart one.” 

Rhodey doesn’t say anything as she saunters out of the room. 

He makes the decision not to tell Tony. 

If it goes wrong and if Tony says no, he doesn’t want it to be an awkward family event but more importantly, the most awkward rest of the year ever. He can say it as they’re moving out, and that’s that. 

He tells Jeanie as such. 

“I thought you didn’t believe in love,” she says as they’re preparing the soup for dinner.” 

“I don’t believe in love at first sight,” Rhodey says. “I do believe in love. There’s a difference.” 

There’s a hell of a difference. 

First sight, you don’t know everything. The second, third, fourth, fifth, and so on? Oh you learn so much more, and they become that more important. 

He learns that he doesn’t mind picking up tinsel, so long as Tony is laughing and singing along to all of the worst Christmas songs ever, and maybe. Just maybe he could picture looking at Tony underneath the fairy-lights that they hung in the dorm room for all time. 

Love is terrifyingly exhilarating, even when it isn’t supposed to be. 

Rhodey did not think his heart would race so much as Tony listened to his Mama talk about her wedding china, about the utter disaster that his father was. 

“He forgot his tie,” Mama said, smiling. “Oh my lord, my mother had a cow about that. I thought he looked kind of dashing.” 

Tony’s eyes drift towards the wedding pictures, which are slightly shaky, but everyone had such wide smiles. 

It’s a far cry from the publicity photos from the Stark wedding, Rhodey remembers the solemn expressions, the stuff tuxedos. 

“I love it,” Tony says softly. He looks at Rhodey across the table, setting down the final plate. “Tell me more, Mrs. Rhodes.” 

“Call me Mama, honey, Mrs. Rhodes is for people I don’t like that much. I think you’re gonna be my new favorite.” 

“Even over me?” Jeanie says, grinning as she kisses Dad on the cheek. “I’m your favorite.” 

“You’re my favorite until now,” Mama says. “Don’t think I don’t know that you skipped out on setting the table because Tony was here and graciously offered.” 

“It was nothing,” Tony says. “Just happy to help. Thank you for letting me stay at your home for the holidays.” 

“We’re always lucky to have guests,” Dad says, setting down the main dish. “Now let’s eat.” 

Family dinner is a brand new concept to Tony. He’s had maybe four or five of them, and the majority of which were staged for some holiday shoot or some “celebrating American values” shoot. 

It was awkward, weird, and he didn’t get why. 

Now, he does. Jeanie has been steadily moving mashed potatoes away from Rhodey’s plate, and Mama caught her eye and winked, distracting him with talk about his college major and news about the neighbors. 

Mr. Rhodes watches it all with a careful eye and a lax smile. 

After dinner, they play cards. 

It should be boring, but Jeanie puts on an old record and Rhodey keeps trying to count cards, and Tony didn’t think you could count cards in a game of Spoons. 

“You can’t, he’s just a try-hard,” Jeanie stage-whispers. 

“You-” 

Jeanie laughs, rolling herself out of Rhodey’s grasp as he chases her around the family room. Tony leans back into the couch, and shouts with surprise as Jeanie trips Rhodey into the couch. 

His body twists, and Rhodey’s facing him on the couch and they’re close and with the fire roaring in the fireplace and the Christmas lights outside shining through the windows, it’s almost magic. 

It is magic, but Rhodey is kind of terrified of that. 

Tony breathes in, breathes out. 

“Hello sugar-puff,” he says. 

“Hello genius,” Rhodey says, a smile on his face. 

Oh. 

The night does not get much sleep. 

Tony doesn’t sleep anyway, but Rhodey finds that quite often he can’t sleep without some softly-playing rock in the background, doesn’t matter if it is a highly-questionable AC/DC song. That and Tony softly murmuring about his plans, and it’s like a personalized lullaby. 

Rhodey cannot sleep. Tony’s in the guest room, and he can’t sleep. 

There’s a soft knock on his door. 

Tony’s there in shorts and a t-shirt that’s probably expensive, but he’ll never say if it is or not. 

“Can I...I can’t sleep.” 

“Get in here, Tones. I can’t sleep either.” 

The bed is a tight squeeze, but they make it work. 

Rhodey whispers until he drifts off to sleep about Christmas and school and everything else. 

Tony watches with quiet eyes, interjecting with his own stories occasionally. 

They fall asleep tangled up together, and Rhodey doesn’t mind it one bit, not as he pulls Tony in closer. 

-

Waking up is bittersweet, honestly. Rhodey has Tony in his arms, and that’s...that’s perfect. He thinks this is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened in his lifetime. 

“It’s too early, darling,” Tony groans. The light from outside is already peeking through the blinds, and he has stuffed his head right back into a pillow. 

“Jeanie’ll be here soon to bother us for Christmas breakfast,” Rhodey says. “And unless you want her pouncing on the bed and landing on wrong everything, we better get down there.” 

Tony smiles sleepily, stretching. 

“Thanks for letting me sleep in your room, honey-bunch.” 

“No problem,” Rhodey said. “Missed the constant AC/DC and late-night discussions about robotics.” 

“Not like I did much talking, Mr. Sap,” Tony teased. “Or was it me who mentioned that they had a favorite plate for dinner?” 

“Listen, it’s superior and you did not once interrupt that story to complain. I think I did a great job explaining it.” 

Tony laughs. 

“I’m gonna go get dressed, okay?” 

“Not until after present unwrapping,” Rhodey says. “We stay in pajamas.” 

“I’m cold,” Tony whines. 

Rhodey chucks his sweatshirt at him. 

“Then here you go.” 

Tony’s eyes light up as he shrugs it on, wiggling as he brings it up to his nose. It shouldn’t be that cute. But it is. 

“You are the light of my life.” 

Rhodey laughs, rolling his eyes. 

“Maybe. Now come on.” 

They head downstairs together, and they both get swept up into the speed of things, with Jeanie racing around the house and telling Tony that he got treats too, they just didn’t have a back-up stocking. 

“Hush,” Mr. Rhodes says, handing Tony a carefully wrapped gift. “After breakfast, we’ll go ahead and open it.” 

He smiles, and Rhodey thinks it’s the best thing he’ll ever see. 

- 

Christmas gifts, Rhodey thinks, are his new favorite thing to see Tony interact with. 

It’s painfully obvious that he’s never really had any personal gifts, anything that reminds people of himself. He carefully unwraps the paper, careful not to rip it. 

“You nerd,” Rhodey says, grinning. “Come on, show us what you got.” 

Tony laughs as he opens a box with two coffee mugs from the rest of the family, emblazoned with “Rhodes” on one cup, and the other being a simple red with gold trim. 

“They’re perfect,” he says. “Thank you so much.” 

“You’re feeding his coffee addiction,” Rhodey answers. 

“Like you aren’t doing the same,” Jeanie teases. “You made him his cups of coffee this morning.” 

“That is because I have trained him well,” Tony says, grinning. “Rhodey, here’s my present to you, open it.” 

He’s nervous. 

Both of them are, but Tony especially so. 

He told Rhodey once that he’s not good at shopping for other people. He tends to have the phrase “go big or go home” permanently circling in his mind, and it can lead to...complications. 

(Rhodey remembers the overhaul of his closet for his birthday, complete with a visit from a rather well-known designer.) 

Inside is a beautiful jacket. It’s all patchwork, artfully sewn together with embroidery thread spelling out “James” at the lapel. 

“I commissioned Janet,” Tony says, smiling softly. “She wants you to still walk in her fashion show, by the way. Says you’re a model.” 

Rhodey snorts, shrugging on the jacket. 

“You helped with this, right?” Rhodey says. “I can see it in the gold thread you got on the sleeves.” 

“I may have had some creative input.” 

“I love it,” Rhodey says. “Now here’s mine.” 

Tony breathes, and Rhodey wonders if this gift will be enough. He feels a bit stupid, it doesn’t seem like that great of a gift, in retrospect- 

It’s a puzzle. 

A puzzle of their favorite cafe and restaurant to go to at MIT. It was in a shop window, and Rhodey could tell that Tony would love it. 

On top is a scarf, since Tony gave away his last one to another student in their philosophy class. 

“I love it,” Tony breathes, tackling Rhodey in a hug. “I love it, I love it! We have to do the puzzle after this.” 

Mrs. Rhodes sends her husband a look. 

Yeah, Tony would be around for a long time. 

- 

They set up the puzzle on the floor of Rhodey’s room, clearing away any luggage. It’s silent for a while, Tony moving around the pieces and Rhodey looking for edge pieces. 

They work closely together, side by side. 

Rhodey can’t stop staring. 

He should be able to. He’s stopped himself before, but now? 

Sunlight is coming in through the window, playing around Tony’s fingers as he nimbly picks up puzzle pieces, and this is the eternity that Rhodey wants so badly. If he died right now, he thinks he would choose for Heaven to look like this. 

“You okay?” Tony asks, eyes looking up. He took his contacts out, and now he’s just in his tortoiseshell glasses, the ones that he secretly likes more and Rhodey loves. 

“I’m in love with you,” Rhodey blurts out, because he can’t stop thinking about how beautiful Tony is and how much he loves him. 

He realizes that this could very well be considered a mistake. Because they still have to live together and drive back together and it won’t be the same, and the residents will notice no matter how well they both act--

Tony pops his head right under Rhodey’s chin. 

“Kiss me?” 

That’s all it takes. 

They mess up part of the puzzle, but that’s okay. They find they don’t mind it too much. They can work on it later, when Tony’s done getting Rhodey out of his new jacket and Rhodey works his hands underneath Tony’s sweatshirt. 

-

Mama takes one look at them for dinner and grins. 

“Jeanie, you owe me a night of dish-washing.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Mama!” Rhodey hisses, embarrassed beyond belief. 

Tony just cackles, and elbows Rhodey out of the way so he can get to his chair at the table. 

“Couldn’t have fooled you for a second, could we?” Tony teases. 

“Not at all,” Mama states proudly. 

Rhodey rolls his eyes and squeezes Tony’s hand under the table. All will be well. 

- 

When they both get back to college, none of their residents are surprised, at least not until they have to have a “knocking before entering” policy put in place after one particular late morning. 

[jesbakescookies]

Too Hot To Handle: Chapter Forty-Six

Sorry for the late update! I'm the worst but here you go. Happy Holidays everybody! 

So I kinda wrote a different kind of fanfiction. It’s nothing as in depth as my other fics so I am going to post it here. ENJOY!!***Actor, Real Person Fanfiction, Walking Dead RPF***Featuring: Jeffrey Dean Morgan X Original Female Character, Norman Reedus and others.. (FYI this is total fiction, as in I know nothing about JDMs life or that of his real SO and son etc. Because of this, for this work of fiction, they don’t exist. Jeffrey’s been a typical actor playboy dating fellow stars etc. This is written for sick daydreaming pleasure.)

Aria St. James is a busy woman with a thriving restaurant. She thought she had everything she needed until a few famous faces visit her dining room. A tall, dark and handsome actor decides Aria’s just what he’s been looking for.

Rating: Mature : NSFW **dirty dirty**

Find Too Hot To Handle Master Chapter List Here

"Holy fuck."

"I know."

"I mean, Ho-lee fuck."

"I know, man."

"Holy fuh-ck." "Jesus Fucking Christ, Reedus. If you say those two words again, I will throttle you stupid through this phone." Jeffrey growled into the screen while facetiming his best friend. Scoffing loudly, Norman lit a cigarette and took a long drag before point the stick at him. "Are you fuckin’ with me?" "No man. Why would I be fucking with you about Aria having my kid?" "You're a weird fucker, who knows why you do half the fucking shit you do?" "Fuck off." Huffing out a amused laugh, Jeffrey countered, "You're the one who owns a closet full of mascot costumes." "Those are for scientific research." Norman drawled lazily, his smile crooked. "Yeah into how beast meets man." Jeffrey joked, his gruff words making the other man barking out a laugh. Chuckling for awhile, Norman finally drawled, "So, I'm gonna be an uncle huh?" "Fuck yeah, you are. Excited?" "Hell yeah." Norman’s grin was genuine, his eyes bright as he added, "Fucking crazy, brother. It's awesome." "Goddamn right it's awesome." Jeffrey exclaimed, his eyebrows raised animatedly, "l’m old as fuck and my big dick still works."

Without missing a beat, Norman offered, "Could be the milkman’s kid." "Shut your mouth." Jeffrey growled, his territorial side flaring. “You’re just a jealous fuck. I doubt your beaver basher gets hard enough to knock someone up.” “Fuck you, man. Only reason my loins aren’t pumping out spawn all over Georgia is the titanium rubbers I buy from Japan.” “Sure it ain’t the fact your pea shooter is out of ammo?” “Hell no, the tanks are full in my mayo shooting hotdog gun, brother.” Snorting, Jeffrey drawled, “fuckin’ idiot.” "Yeah, yeah. Hey, we should do a party. Like one of those baby showers but for everybody. The cast and shit." "Alright, yeah. Let me talk to Aria, she might wanna wait on telling everybody just yet." "No worries, we got time." "Fuck no man, this time next year and I'll have a kid in my lap." "That's so fucking insane, dude. Like... holy fuck!" "That's it asshole!" "Okay, okay, okay." Norman laughed as Jeffrey scowled into the camera. "How's she doin'?" "Good... well puking all the time and exhausted but that's pretty average with our schedules. Now that she can't have coffee, she's losing her shit." Jeffrey grinned, thinking of that morning as Aria cursed herself blue in the face, while he sipped his morning cup of joe. "We have a few doctor appointments to go to soon, we're tryin' to get them in before filming on the show starts again." Norman smirked, "well fuck, man. Seriously, I'm happy for you. You'll be an awesome fucking dad." "Hell, I'm just hoping to survive the pregnancy. I can't even begin to think about when the sucker comes out." "You should probably start. It'll be here before you know it." "Gee, thanks for freaking me the fuck out, asshole." "You're welcome." Norman retorted with a sly grin. "So, what do you want, a boy or girl?" Jeffrey swallowed thickly at the question, the idea still so fresh that the prospect of either seemed overwhelming. If he had a son, he'd be responsible for what kind of man he'd become. Aria would of course play role in that but he would be the male role model. The idea was daunting. However, having a daughter didn't seem any less stressful when thinking about protecting a little girl. Jeffrey couldn't imagine what it would be like to keep a daughter safe in a world full of men. "Both sound stressful as fuck." Jeffrey replied after contemplating it. "Either way I'm responsible for how another person turns out in the world." "Son would be pretty cool though. Can you imagine the shit he would get into havin' you as a dad? Shit, he'll be a little hellion." Norman chuckled as Jeffrey cringed. "Shut up, dude." "Then if you got a girl, Jesus can you imagine having to keep the boys away? Fuck, think about how it was as teenagers, fucking little pricks looking for any girl to say yes." "You're not fucking helping me, Reedus." Seeing Jeffrey begin to lose it, Norman couldn't seem to help himself. "Then, what if she looks like Aria. Holy fuck, you'll actually need to keep Lucille on hand, brother." "Stop speaking." "I mean, if your daughter looks like Aria, you'll be beating the fuck out of guys constantly." "I swear to fuck, I called you to give you the good news and get some kind of fucking support and all you're doing is freaking me the fuck out and pissing me the fuck off." Jeffrey growled, while pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Alright, alright. Look, whatever it is, you'll love it and they'll love you. Besides, you'll have Aria helping you. That woman can do anything, you've said so yourself." "Yeah." "She'll figure this shit out and be bossing you around in no time." Norman joked. Chuckling at the statement he replied, "probably right." "Fuck yeah, I'm right. I'm always right." "Don't press your fucking luck, dumbass."

Aria tapped her fingernails along the tabletop, waiting for Megan to sit down after grabbing their drinks. "Since when do you drink tea?" Megan huffed, setting down the paper to go cup in front of her containing chamomile with honey. "I like tea." "You love coffee." "Yeah well..." Aria shrugged before a smirk curled her lips. "I can't drink coffee right now." "What? Why-" Megan started before her eyes became huge. "Holy shit!" "Don't scream it." Aria muttered, leaning forward to speak quieter. "Holy shit." Megan mocked whispered. "Stop freaking out. This is why I didn't want to tell you in a public place, we can't let it get out just yet." "Why?" "Well, for one. It's private. I like my privacy. Second, what if something happens?" Aria confessed, her eyes dropping away. "Nothing's gonna happen." "You don't know that and stuff happens all the time, I'm not immune to it." "Okay, okay." Megan huffed before smiling so widely. "I can't fucking believe it. You're gonna be a mom." Aria smiled as Megan whispered the last word but bounced in her seat excitedly. "Yeah." "This is so awesome. Oh my god, what if it's a little girl? That will be so cute, she'll be a daddy's girl for sure. If it's a boy, he'll be so damn handsome, just like his father." "You're obsession with my husband's good looks in disconcerting." "Honey, you're just going to have to get used to it." "Um yeah, I'm noticing." Aria muttered but smiled as her friend laughed. "This is amazing. I can't wait to help you shop for maternity clothes and then baby stuff. Holy shit, I need to start planning a shower. Oh my god, I can get those cupcakes you love and have them do a sex announcement. You know, like pink or blue centers. That'll be so cute." "Megan." "And then we can figure out nursery themes, like what animal you wanna use. You could always go the yellow and green route if you want it to be a surprise." "Megan." "I think that's weird though, I'd like to know what to plan for you know. A niece or a nephew, it's important information so I can plan ahead." "Megan!" "What?" "Calm down. You're stressing me out. I'm trying to reconcile the fact that there's a person growing inside me. I can't focus on paint color's and cupcakes." "Okay, okay." Her friend sighed with a dreamy look. "I'm just so excited." "Yeah, I can tell." Aria replied dryly, her eyes rolling at her friend’s wide smile. "Are you happy?" "Very." Aria answered immediately, her lip bitten and eyes prickling slightly. "I'm terrified but... so damn happy." Megan reached over the table to pull her into a hug and murmured, "I'm so happy for you. You're going to be an amazing mom." "I don't know, I didn't really have the best role model." "Just do the opposite of what they did. You'll be fine, you have an amazing husband who will take care of you and actually help with the kid. Is he excited?" "He's so damn happy and excited he can barely stand to keep from screaming it from the rooftops." "I bet, the big dumb lug." Megan laughed, her eyes playful as she whispered, "I can't believe you're having Jeffrey Dean Motherfucking Morgan's kid." "Me neither." Aria murmured, her eyes brightening as she pondered the strange turns her life had taken in the last year. She married a man who had become the center of her world and now she carried his child, soon to be the center of both their worlds. Never in a million years would she have seen herself where she was right then, nor would she trade it for anything in the world. "It's just... surreal."

Find Chapter Forty-Seven Here:

http://jesbakescookies.tumblr.com/post/168360013281/too-hot-to-handle-chapter-forty-seven

I started posting this fic over on AO3 also. I will probably post in both places since I’m still figuring out AO3 formatting etc.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for updates. I’ll try my best to remember!

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[birdhug]

reflections on my first year of being fully vegan

july will mark one year of me deciding to go vegan so i thought I’d just write some blurbs of stuff ive learned and ways ive grown!

my tastebuds totally changed!! there are so many more foods that i love now that id never thought id enjoy. (particularly soy milk and tofu) this is something that i dont see a lot of people talk about irt veganism but its totally significant. i love veggies so much more than i thought i ever could.

that being said apparently i cant tell the difference between soy milk and dairy because a barista accidentally gave me dairy in my coffee once and i didnt notice until a bunch of sips in that they didnt put the little “S” on the cup over the milk check box thing so ummm thats weird. i havent had dairy in nearly a year but okay

ive realized that there can be people who are usually rational and value objective truth but then they open their mouth on vegan issues (being a nonvegan themselves) and they sound like complete simpletons. (didnt david attenborough, when asked why he wasnt vegan, say something like “you cant feed lions grass”?? lol ok)

yeah when i was a vegetarian i liked being able to just go to tim hortons whenever and get a donut, and i do miss that convenience. but the fact that i cant have donuts or chocolate bars all the time means when i finally do get to have a really delicious veganized dessert, its ten times better and more special

kinda related, im generally WAY better now at just having the presence of mind to resist food that i want to eat in the moment. i used to just gorge myself at parties and stuff and feel awful afterwards. now, whether the food is vegan or not, i can resist it if i know itll make me feel like shit later Even if it would make me happy in the present

ive decided i want to pursue a career in dietetics :)

ive realized why i care so much more about animals. its because i realized that humans hold so much power over every single animal in the world, and throughout history weve largely used that power to kill and mistreat them. i really think in this day and age its our responsibility to use that power to do the best we can to help them. they are at our complete mercy.

i realized that we as a society have been conditioned to see animals as objects first, and living, feeling beings last: their images are used as mascots, symbols, toys, we watch them for entertainment in zoos, marine parks, circuses, we watch cute videos of them online, and we have trained ourselves to see specific animals as food, despite the only relevant difference between a dog and a pig being our arbitrary societal categories in which weve placed them.

ive come to think of caring about animals as “widening my circle of compassion”. and i think its extremely healthy for others do to the same, because its made me just more empathetic to all creatures, human or otherwise, in general

i am...So lucky. my mom was vegan for 4 years before i made the full switch so i was already eating vegan meals most of the time. all the groceries in the house are vegan. all the restaurants we go to have substantial vegan options. and i have someone close to me that i can talk about this kind of stuff with. but there are so many kids my age that want to go vegan more than anything that have to deal with an unsupportive family and i really feel for them. & i honestly dont blame them at all if they just want to give up or succumb to the pressure of their family. please, dont risk your mental health. take care of yourself first and do what you can.

i used to feel like its pointless going vegan because nothing is ever going to change but like. now that im exposed to the community and veg related news is coming my way i feel SO much more hopeful for the future. so many more people r going reducetarian, corporations are investing in vegan food companies and theyre absolutely blowing up, the dairy & meat industries are starting to panic. were not going to see instant change but like...shit is happening folks. keep fighting the good fight.

ALSO i used to feel so hopeless about climate change. like when i was taught about in school there was no actionable advice given? it was always like “uh yeah were all gonna die. recycle and walk to school i guess” but knowing how much an impact cutting animal products out of ur diet makes only motivates me to do more! (yeah it may seem small but its better to think of it that way rather than “weh theres nothing i can do so i might as well not do anything”)

i know that theres a large percentage of vegans/vegetarians that “go back”. so how can i say that i wont??? i feel really confident that i wont because its just so....easy for me now. you see that most people start eating animal products again because its too inconvenient for them but Honestly after living in a vegan household for 5 years and having access to all the information and resources that ive had...i really cant possibly imagine a good excuse. it just comes so naturally to me. its so fucking easy. boff future-me upside the head if i ever voluntarily go back

in conclusion this is the best decision ive made & its changed my life in a major way and ive never been happier about my choices in life...and ummmmm thats it. please consider reducing your animal product consumption to whatever extent you feel comfortable. it would mean the world to me

& id really appreciate if you didnt reblog this!!

[romancevsreality-blog]

bachelor in paradise, season five, episode one: do not trust anyone with a permanent smile on their face

I can’t believe we’re back here again.

By “back here”, I mean literally sitting in my bed, drinking an enormous iced coffee, and wondering where we all went wrong in life. And by “back here”, I mean Fuck Island: The Battle For Social Humiliation. Hi, I’m Amanda, the lead blogger and the laziest person on the face of the earth, back again, two weeks late, recapping the fifth season of Bachelor in Paradise, the actual worst show on television.

Up until last year, I firmly fell into the opposite camp - I thought Bachelor in Paradise deserved a god damn Peabody Award for The Audacity Of Being On Television. But after the Corinne and Demario crash-and-burn-and-pay-them-to-keep-quiet1 of 2017, the show kind of left a gross taste in my mouth. And following the Defense Against Criticism of Racist and Sexist Behavior, or the most recent season of The Bachelorette, I’m losing hope in humanity. It wasn’t fun to talk about anymore, it just made me angry.

I still hate these people, but now I want to slam my keyboard again and remind them what the fuck is up. So welcome back to Fuck Island, Y'all!

The episode opens with reminding us of Jade And Tanner, The Golden Couple Who Got Engaged Two Years Ago In Paradise And Married On TV Early Last Year and Then Had A Baby, Remember Them? as well as the new Paradise SuperCouple, Evan And Carly, The Golden Couple Who Got Engaged Last Year In Paradise And Married On TV Last Year and Then Had A Baby Too, Remember Them? They’re determined to make us forget Marcus and Lacy, too, because their marriage was a sham and apparently Lacy straight up ghosted Marcus, but also, that story is still hilarious.

Oh, Marcus. Marcus should come back on Paradise and get his Nick Viall edit.

So let’s go over the opening credits, shall we?

They’re still using the poor cover of “Almost Paradise” because someone on this series refuses to buy the real version -this show has a budget of $100. We get shots of the guys in the water, people on speedboats, people making out, all the girls running in their bathing suits… and first up is Jordan, laying on his side like a washed-up beach whale struggling to breathe. Kendall is looking at what is her best option for a romantic partner, the skull of a bull. I don’t know who Angela is. Eric dances like he’s your favorite cousin at your great aunt’s 88th birthday party. Chris is not even worth acknowledging because he’s awful and I wish the wave that washed over him drowned him. They put Tia in a red, white, and blue bathing suit because she thinks she’s America’s sweetheart. These people could write a book on subtlety. Krystal throws... glitter? Kevin leans into that “sexy firefighter” thing, an occupation I have never found to be sexually appealing. Can someone in the comments explain why there are “sexy firefighters” and not like, “sexy restaurant managers”? Bibiana has a new haircut and drops a mic because we love unexplained jokes that only make sense later on in the episode when we see the source. MY BOYFRIEND WILLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Astrid holds up some melons and I love her bathing suit so I will refrain from calling her Astird for now. Grocery Store Joe can straight up get it. Nysha looks like my friend Rae’s sister and clearly is too good for this show. David’s clearly recovered from his Bachelorette season injury but he just looks untrustworthy. Annaliese, who no one remembers, is freaking out about a bird? KENNY who we don’t deserve does an amazing backflip and Chelsea holds a glass. Nick, who I am strangely attracted to, particularly in that track suit because he reminds me of Jeremy Renner is a weird melted down kind of way, shows us what’s under that track suit and damn. DAAAAAMN, Waxy Jeremy Renner. And then finally, Venmo John counts his pesos and god, I love him.

Oh, and my Ex-Boyfriend Wills and Mortal Enemy, Chris Harrison are in Sayulita, too. Mexico, I am so sorry.

Chris Harrison pretends like he’s setting up the island area where these contestants are going to be hanging out. Chris Harrison doesn’t know how to hold a rake, let alone operate one, and why is he raking sand?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?! I am most uncomfortable with seeing Chris Harrison barefoot. That feels far too intimate from a man I despise. Anyway, they’re going to remind us of who these people are.

First up is Kendall, the Not Like the Other Girls Girl from Arby’s season. Kendall is different! She likes dead stuff and the most annoying instrument[^2] and loves posing on the beach in a bikini. Next is Kenny, who’s still hurting from his breakup with Rachel. We get to see McKenzie, his 11-year-old daughter, and I’m FULL OF EMOTIONS. Kevin Is Canadian and immediately reveals that Ashley I cheated on him with Jared. I love that. Throw that shade, Canadian Kevin. Krystal is also back, and she wants the world to know that she’s a good cook, including able to frost an angel food cake. Chris is back and he’s totally trying to Josh Murray himself and redeem his image from Becca’s season. Oh, Chris. You’re on the wrong show for that. He calls himself The Goose, and I already know that’s the “do the damn thing” of this season.

[^2] I will fight anyone on the ukelele being an annoying instrument. I get it, it’s cultural, but it’s unfortunately been appropriated by a certain sect of people and I’m annoyed by THAT mostly. Why can’t they just play the banjo? Or the trombone?

Speaking of birds, David the Chicken who doesn’t like avocados is back with his long-ass eyebrows. He lives at home in Boca Raton with his mom, because David is a catch. Unfortunately, he can’t marry his mom, but he’s coming to paradise to come after Jordan. Jordan’s got a full arsenal of looks to wear and roasting of Chicken David to do in Paradise. Annaliese is remembered for her bumper car trauma and fear of dogs and pretty much everything. She’s afraid of redheads, sand, sombreros, birds, large bodies of water, so... an island in Mexico is perfect for her. My Queen Bibiana is there for her third Bachelor series in six months and she’s just ready for all bikinis and hoping her ass slaughters al the men. Me too, Bibi. I love you. My Boyfriend Wills also shows us his sartorial choices of the season, and he’s ready to loosen up. Have his eyes always been that green? God. He’s like Smoky Robinson.

Ugh, Tia. Tia gets the longest of the opening montages because they want to torture us all. The only thing I like about Tia is that fact that TIa is thirsty as hell and not afraid to show her disappointment. Openly sad about Becca as The Bachelorette. Coming in twice to piss on Colton’s leg on The Bachelorette. Saying “I’m only here for Colton.” Tia is obvious about what it is she wants and we hate her for it. Because she’s thirsty.

Alright, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, welcome to Fuck Island, where the people are heading in. The first in is Tia, who is like MY JOURNEY MY JOURNEY MY JOURNEY!!!! This is her chance to pretend she’s The Bachelorette. She’s the first person to arrive and her new fake boobs are on display. She’s like, “the person who comes down the stairs could be my partner,” and the next person is Eric, who looks like a mascot. Kendall arrives “open to love” because Kendall isn’t like the other girls.

Next down is Jordan, clearly long enough for the three of them to get drinks. Jordan’s happy to be in a place as beautiful as he is. Tia makes mention of Jordan’s villain edit on his season and Jordan’s like, “sometimes it’s best to know someone before judging them.” Bibi comes down and makes a joke to Chris Harrison about the bumpy road to Paradise and how much her uterus hurts. It’s not a great joke. Is it a joke? Yes. Bibiana arrives as a flamboyant ball of fire and I love her. Jordan and Bibi have something, but Bibi is waiting for the real sign of a good guy. It's never coming, Bibi. Men are trash.

God, Grocery Store Joe, my mumble-mouthed handsome Chicago man, arrives ready to fall in love and doesn’t want to get home straight away again. That’s his main goal. Next is in My Boyfriend Wills, who immediately comes face to face with My Ex-Boyfriend Wells, who managed to maintain his job as bartender despite not knowing how to bartend. How White Man of him. No wonder we broke up. Chelsea comes in, looking pretty much just like Krystal, and all the guys jump on her. Chelsea is a hot mom. Kendall and GroStoJoe talk about picnics, and Joe’s like, “I’m not a picnic kind of person,” while Kendall is like “I like to have picnics in graveyards.” Kendall asks if Joe has ever seen a dead person, and it’s all... yeah. Stop it, Kendall.

Chris, my worst nightmare, shows up in some salmon pink shorts and I’m gagging. All the contestants are waiting to see who’s arriving next, and they all hope it’s not Krystal. Particularly Tia and Bibiana, who both say she’s a bad person. Krystal arrives and the dramatic music starts. Welcome to paradise, Y'all. Krystal talks about the stress of The Bachelor on her, but she can recognize that Chris shares part of her name. Tia is literally like “I’m happy she’s here, but I want to kill her.” Krystal has some bass in her voice and is speaking like a normal person, not with that weird lilt to her she was pulling off all Arby’s season. Kendall’s worried someone’s going to be interested in both her and Krystal and so of course, Joe goes after Krystal first.

Canadian Kevin, Waxy Jeremy Renner, and Venmo John all arrive. Of course, Kendall is about John because “I’m a sucker for nerds.” Kendall really isn’t like the other girls. Nysha, one of the girls from Arby’s season who we barely knew arrives, and so does Angela, whoever the hell Angela is. Who is Angela? Angela is gorgeous but man, I have no idea who she is. Our Favorite Dad Kenny arrives and McKenzie refuses to let him come back if he doesn’t have someone. I love this show. Kenny is talking to Nysha, but Astird walks in and I already know I’m going to get her and Angela confused.

Tia keeps looking over everyone’s shoulders in hopes that Colton is coming down the stairs. She thinks she’s being slick about it, but everyone notices and it’s hilarious. Annaliese comes down in her Romwe romper and Jordan immediately tells her he’s interested, attracted, and he’s known for being arrogant form his season. David arrives and Jordan immediately freezes up. Someone calls out “Jordan, David’s here!” and they’re expecting drama to go down between them. It doesn’t, Jordan and David have a handshake and David walks away. It’s just awkward. Tia’s bummed that David’s the last entry and Colton, in fact, will not be arriving that day. Everyone’s like “MOVE ON TIA” and Tia’s conflicted on what she wants out of Colton, it seems.

Chris Harrison comes in and tells them the rules - there are more women than men this week, and the guys aren’t safe this week. They need to pair up ASAP or else they won’t get the chance to be the next Jade And Tanner, The Golden Couple Who Got Engaged Two Years Ago In Paradise And Married On TV Early Last Year and Then Had A Baby, Remember Them? or Evan And Carly, The Golden Couple Who Got Engaged Last Year In Paradise And Married On TV Last Year and Then Had A Baby Too, Remember Them?

The girls are ecstatic that they have control, except Tia. Tia’s mad she’s going to have to talk to someone other than Colton, even though she’s safe that week. God, I hate her. Joe and Tia sit down and Joe’s getting his flirt on and getting his camera time. He’s making up for lost time, apparently. Colton immediately comes up and you can tell Joe barely remembers Colton. But Tia talks about how she had a “relationship” with Colton before his time on Becca’s season of La Bachelorette and they haven’t spoken since. Joe would want to give his date card to Tia, but he can tell Tia’s not over Colton.

Colton, Colton, Colton.

Tia, the only person who didn’t want a date card, gets a date card. The producers want to torture her. She actually yells “NO!!!” when her name is on the card, and I agree with Bibiana - she needs to be open to her options and she’s super upset at the idea. She literally said “I came here o find something serious and lasting with Colton,” a guy she went on two dates with once a few months ago. This is such alarming behavior. Everyone’s upset by Tia but they’re all pretending it’s okay.

Tia really confirms her trash taste by choosing Chris for her date card.

Joe’s like, “I’m disappointed,” but everyone is like “dude, bullet dodged.” Krystal is thrilled Joe wasn’t picked by Joe until Joe takes Kendall aside for some private time. Kendall and Joe are cute and talk about storms and they like each other and make out on one of the day beds. Kendall’s mom warned her about making out on one of the day beds, and here we are day one!!!!! Krystal, meanwhile, is just baffled by the entire idea of Joe and Kendall. Joe isn’t the guy for her, it’s confirmed.

So it’s nighttime, and we have a few connections already made - Joe and Kendall, Annaliese and Venmo John, and David thinks Angela is in his league2. But that’s it - a few people have been left behind and ignored, and we see a great awkward conversation between Nysha and Jordan. In the wake of Joe and Kendall hooking up, Krystal’s interested in Kevin, who isn’t nearly as hot everyone wants us to think. He looks like a rough draft of a person. They both talk about how hot the other is and they make out on another of the day beds. Gross3.

Chelsea, one of the most beautiful women this franchise has ever had, is on the couch with Wax Jeremy Renner, and he’s way into her. He doesn’t care that she’s a mom, he’s super into that and thinks he’d make a great role model. He’s super attracted to Chelsea, too and continues to be like “man, I would make out with you if you wanted to,” but she starts feeling sick. Chelsea is my queen. The other contestants talk about Tia and Chris’s date and how it’s unfair because Tia has unfinished business with a guy who’s not even there. Astird is correct in saying Tia probably should have given her date card away rather than go out with someone she was only interested in until someone else comes in.

As if Tia would ever give up the chance to be on camera.

Tia and Chris sit down to dinner that they’re not really going to eat, and Chris is shocked he’s even out with Tia. Tia brings up Colton first, and basically says “I’m here because I want to be here with you.” Chris is thrilled and is in Paradise to hang out with people he wouldn’t necessarily hang around. They both want to leave Paradise with a real relationship. They continue to cut back to the villa, where My Boyfriend Wills and Astird both think that Chris and Tia will have a fun date, even if it is a platonic one. But it doesn’t matter, because they both make out while fireworks go off!

Tia’s like “Colton Who?” Which is such a mature response and a clear indicator of where her mind is?

The next morning, Tia and Chris are all lovey-dovey and kissing, and everyone’s excited for them, which is why Colton’s arriving now. Production needs to take a class in subtlety because they even add the “thunder crashing” and “ominous clouds” videos, even though it’s gorgeous when Chris Harrison talks to Colton, who you know not to trust because he is permanently smiling. Colton tells Chris Harrison he’s not there just for Tia, but his world is open. He has a date card (barf). Colton arrives and immediately Chris is set off course and Tia is smiling like the Cheshire fucking cat. She can’t even pretend not to be over the moon. She fully expects Colton’s date card to go to her an- Colton takes Kendall aside first. Everyone’s like “him not grabbing Tia is a signal.” Kendall tells Tia and gets the deets, and everyone thinks it’s awkward to not grab Tia first. Chris, meanwhile, is spiraling, and he’s terrified Tia is going to go out with Colton.

I mean, Tia’s going to go out with Colton. That was written in First Corinthians. Poor Angela, though. I mean that in the “it hurts now but you dodged a bullet” way.

Chelsea, Nysha, and Angela are all hoping that this date will at least come out with some solid “yes-or-no” on the Tia and Colton situation. Jordan says this is Chris’s Vietnam. It’s a weak metaphor. Astrid and Wax Jeremy Renner HATE Colton. Wax Jeremy Renner calls Colton a “fame chaser”, and Astird thinks that Colton just likes having Tia on the back burner in case something else doesn’t turn out. Fuck Colton.

Tia and Colton talk about their first date from six months ago, where they basically spent a weekend together. Like, two dates. That’s it. Tia’s hoping they can recreate that weekend in Paradise, but this is an extra AF reaction for TWO dates. Chelsea also hates Colton, because he can’t figure it out - is he there to date Tia and fuck the “I’m open to everyone here” idea, or is be big enough of a dick to date other girls in front of Tia? Either way, he looks like a dick. Colton brings up what Tia did to make Becca send Colton home, and Colton is still pissed. Like, he’s trying to pretend like he’s not, but he’s still super mad because apparently he was in love with Becca and Tia got in the way of that.3 Tia is sorry if he feels like he missed out, but she didn’t want to miss out on her opportunity to get a chance to be with him. Colton doesn’t know what’s there or what could be there with Tia, but he mostly just wants to be on television. Tia wants to know if he feels like there’s something possible between them because she can’t get him out of her head. Colton gives the most nothingburger answer, like “I don’t know, I want to be fair to everyone, I’m not closing the door on this, I’m here to figure out my stuff and be on tv and hopefully become The Bachelor.” Tia doesn’t take this as “Okay, let’s both play the field” like Colton probably intended it to, she just thinks that’ll make him try harder. They go out on a speedboat and then they have a make-out session.

Tia talks on and on about her feelings for Colton, and we never once hear from him. I know that’s on purpose. What Colton is doing is dangerous, and really shouldn’t happen. Just tell someone you��re not interested. That’s it. Back at the villa, Jordan, Chris, and Wax Jeremy Renner are plotting to confront Colton. They all know he’s there to be on television and he isn’t interested in Tia. Kendall and Joe can’t be bothered and don’t understand why they’re bothered, either. The guys are white knighting Tia and they’re hoping they’re going to get to confront him. The two of them have a scarlet letter on them, and they both need to come to terms with it because they’re killing the vibe in paradise.

To be continued...

Next Time: The greatest summer in Bachelor History! Everyone is making out with everyone! Krystal is in love! Hot people on the beach! YUUUKIIIIIIIIIIII1!! Ugh, Leo vs. Joe? Clearly, I’m on one side over the other. Jenna ignites the feud between Jordan and David. Ugh, gross, that gross guy Kamil. Oh my god, Shushanna is back?! Shushanna “Shut up 5s, a 10 is speaking” Russian girl has been accused of being a witch, so I already am on her team. Colton tears. Eye roll. Tia tears. I don’t care. Ben Higgins yells about being unlovable, and gross, Arby is there. ROBB(IE???) WHY???? All of the Bachelor and Paradise alums we don’t care about! Tears!

Random Assessments from the Desk of Amanda:

Okay, this is the best collective group of Paradise alums we’ve had since the first one. Fight me. It’s a bunch of nothing contestants plus a few notable ones.

I love Bibiana and I love Chelsea and I love Astrid. They all else can go in the garbage.

I don’t know if I can handle six weeks of Colton talk and sociopath smiles.

... I really hate those braids on My Boyfriend Wills. Sorry, Wills.

I’m already adorning my tin foil hat here, but Y'all can’t tell me Corinne and Demario didn’t accept a hefty settlement in exchange for The Powers That Be to do whatever they want. ↩︎

David really is a permanent wingman and that is not a compliment. ↩︎

Or, really, Tia was brought in by production to give Becca an excuse to eliminate Colton before Fantasy Suites so she wouldn’t get screamed at by America for eliminating the virgin in the Fanty Sweets. Tinfoil hats abound over here. ↩︎ ↩︎

[liesandlibations]

Fear and Loathing in Los Santos

*tape recorder clicks on*

"It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child..."

Laughter, cough, cough, spit. Cursing.

No, no, goddammit. That is the intro to Steve Martin's "The Jerk" you asshole, what the fuck are you doing man? Don't come at these people with this kind of weirdness right out of the gate, Jesus Christ. Fuck. Start over.

*tape recorder clicks off*

*tape recorder clicks on, high-pitch rewind squeal*

"Okay, okay, I've got it now, okay. Second take."

Deep breath.

"Tonight on assholes interviewing themselves in the mirror, some fat douchebag failed writer turned clichéd alcoholic talks about himself for hours."

Laughter.

"Fuck. Okay, okay, everything is fine. It's fine. Just get into it already."

So, hey, about me. Uh. I'm a Leo, an INTJ, a Fire Rooster, I've got an IQ that is just shy of about one-sixty depending on how fucked up I am when I take the test, and my favorite color is, believe it or not, Seafoam Green. Not that any of that matters, of course. Is it cool if I have another drink? Thanks. Yes, I realize that was a frightening amount of alcohol but you want to talk about my past, right? That's what it takes then, and here it is.

I was born to an unwed drug-addicted teenage mother in the bad part of the South in about 1980. Before she gave me up, though, she scribbled my name on the birth certificate.

"Memphis."

No idea what she meant by that. Was I conceived there, was she from there? Dunno, to this day the answer eludes me but whatever, the name stuck. I was put up for adoption immediately and really I can't blame her, shit, who could? Stuffed into the state orphanage system as an infant and shuffled around from place to place for a while. Never really stuck anywhere for long, as I was riddled with physical illness and undiagnosed mental problems and generally considered too difficult. One family, according to the records which I unearthed years later, reported me as "possibly demon-possessed" at the tender age of three. Life in the Southern Baptist South, right? Whatever. I bounced from foster home to foster home until I finally just ran from the whole system at about the age of fourteen. Spent some time on the streets and a lot of time on other people's couches. I was too smart for my own good by then, angry at everything, hated the world, and in the very beginnings of a life of mental and emotional issues.

That was when I met the Professor.

I'd made it to Memphis, Tennessee. City of my namesake. The home of Elvis, the Blues, the birthplace of Rock and Roll, and the final stop for Dr. Martin Luther King. A place almost as fucked up as I was at the time. I was broke and homeless when I stumbled into a coffee shop somewhere in the art district, hungry and hoping for a handout.

I saw him for the first time, sitting in the back at a table with a chess board full of pieces laid upon it, wisps of grey hair catching sunlight through the dirty windows, staring at me over thick-rimmed black glasses. He introduced himself, "My name's Robert, but everyone just calls me the Professor," he said. Bought me a sandwich and a cup of java. He had a kind voice and an easy demeanor, was keen to know where I was from and where I was going. I, of course, young and impressionable, consumed both the sandwich and the attention with equal gusto. We talked through the day and into the night, and when he found out I was homeless he offered me a place to crash for a while. We walked down the worn sidewalks of the Midtown neighborhood past homes gently lit from within, on a warm evening, and it felt like things were going to be okay.

When we got back to his house, I was introduced for the first time to methamphetamine and sodomy, both with a startling swiftness.

I stayed with him for three years.

I hated it but what else could I do? No hope, no friends, no prospects. The meth almost made it worth it, but not really. It's an old story but at least I had a place to sleep and regular food, and I think he did care about me in his own fucked up way. His house was full of books, floor to ceiling, and I devoured every word I could get my hands on. All the greats, man: Keats, Hemingway, Bukowski, Thoreau, Kerouac, and finally the king, Hunter S. Thompson. I even started writing a bit, here and there, which the Professor was super critical of, naturally. But I found an outlet in some of the anarchist 'zines from the coffee shop and for the first time I got to experience that totally orgasmic feel that a writer  has when he sees his words in black and white print. Seemed some other folks liked those words too, so I struck up a friendship with the local punks and anarchs, which he did not approve of either. Yeah.

Eventually this led to me taking a bunch of his shit and moving out of his place in the middle of the night, into a communal house owned by a punk band who liked my writings. He showed up pounding on the door and demanding to see me, saying he'd ruin me, turn me in to the cops, out me as some kind of whore, the whole nine yards worth of emotional manipulation, sure. But I'd begun to emulate my heroes of the Word by then, so I opened the door and pressed both barrels of a sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun to his head and told him that if he ever tried to talk to me again I would turn his skull into a fucking canoe.

When I clicked the hammer back, he got the point, and that was the end of that chapter, yes."

Shit. Okay. Need another drink after that. Yes. That's better, it burns going down, right? Where were we?

"So anyway, I started writing in earnest. Throwing words at paper as if my life depended on it, and maybe it did. I had a pretty serious meth problem by that time and the Words helped to keep the wolf from the door. Luckily the anarchists I'd fallen in with were all straight edge, which I have to admit was annoying as fuck but honestly had it not been for them I might not have made it. They were good kids, at the end of the day, and I am forever grateful for their support. This ragtag group of weirdoes with Mohawks and piercings was probably the best family I'd ever had. Good times in the commune, too, writing and reading, crazy concerts every weekend, just thrashing and bashing and letting the anger out. I even had a girlfriend, for a time, and she, being much better organized than myself, managed to get me to a GED and then enrolled at a local college in some writing courses, specifically Journalism. The girlfriend didn't last, of course, I was still pretty much a mess as a human, but the journalism thing stuck with me and I actually accidentally graduated with honors and a metric fuckton of student loan debt. I was writing more and better than ever before and it was glorious, but I needed credit within the industry, and this led to the next, unfortunately darker chapter.

Jesus Cinnamon-Titties Christ, I need another drink.

*tape recorder clicks off*

*tape recorder clicks on*

"HEY THERE BOYS AND GIRLS IT'S TIME FOR WHIPPY THE SQUIRREL!"

 Goddammit. I still hate that voice. It's sort of what you would get if you let the Chipmunks smoke crack and then stuffed them in a blender.

 Sometimes we do things we regret when we are young, I guess. I was in my early twenties when I snagged my first legal job, a bullshit internship at a local TV Station. Jesus. I showed up all bright-eyed for my four in the AM shift and was handed a threadbare squirrel costume, complete with giant horrifying cartoon head. It reeked of booze and ass. "Morning kids show mascot," they said, "Whippy the Squirrel, beloved icon of local marketable children everywhere," they said, "Learn how to do the voice or you're fired." they said, and that last bit was the important bit. So I spent three hours in a cramped video closet watching reruns of the previous holder of the title, trying to get it right.

 Twenty years that poor bastard was the furred whipping boy for this station, and over the time lapse of the video tapes you could see his spirit wither away, slowly crushed by the awful mundanity of his chosen occupation. I found out later he'd showed up to work one morning, taken a little break to go to the dressing room, put the barrel of a .357 revolver in his mouth, and fucking BLAMMO. Cut to "Technical Difficulties" slate, call the cleaning crew, so it goes.

 But I really needed the job and the industry credit, so I lit a joint, got really fucking high, nailed the voice, and became the ultimate personification of local televised capitalism and commercial broadcasting. It wasn't really hard. Put on the giant stinking head, trot out in front of a bunch of bored children, try to get them excited about the next magician, clown, or Hannah-Barbara cartoon rerun. It didn't take long for me to fall into the bad habits again, smoking out and drinking heavily every shift just to get through it.

 The morning anchor's name was Jane Childes. A forty-something former beauty queen she was, with an older doctor husband, a very expensive set of fake breasts, and a predilection for cocaine. Before the news she would spend thirty minutes on her hair alone and then spend commercials doing bumps off the news desk. During the break between Sunrise News and Morning News, she'd do, well...

 Me.

 You ever hoover coke off a magnificent pair of middle-aged titties and have hot, sweaty, furry, squirrel sex in a video closet? And then have to go in front of thirty children and their parents and introduce a bunch of goddamned bullshit while reeking of pussy and weed? Of course not, and it went downhill really quickly.

 This whole horrible debacle led to a breakdown on television and a general brawl that got me fired. You wouldn't think eight-year-olds could throw down like that, but those little bastards will swarm you. They will climb right up your furry legs and punch you in the balls with all the skill and anger a disgruntled Taekwondo yellow-belt can muster.

 I was, of course, quickly and obviously fired. Barely avoided charges on that one, but luckily Mr. and Mrs. Childes were eager to stay away from any sort of public scandal and paid to have the whole thing hushed up. I suppose you could say that was my first introduction to real Old Southern Politics, where everything was about who you knew and how many people were related to you and little else in the way of reason. So it went.

 I got a letter in the mail from the Liberty City Courier the very next day, the third most popular newspaper in a crime-ridden city the majority of people hadn't heard of outside of the late night news. Seems they loved my work and wanted to make me an offer. So I sold all of my shit and bought a bus ticket.

 "Time for the big time," I thought.

 Goddamn, I was naive.

Let's have another drink, shall we? I'm not drunk, you're drunk, shut up. I'm telling this story, you goddamned reflection. Why don't you lose some weight, too? Fat bitch, I hate you. No, no, I didn't mean that. Finish the story and we can both go to bed.

Okay, bottoms up and here we go.

Oh fuck, oh fuck I have the hiccups, shit. OMG I HATE FUCKING HICCUPS. Okay, okay, wait... I'm good. Whew.

Liberty City in the early 'ought's, right?

Fuck.

I would call it a den of sin and iniquity but that wouldn't do it justice. I rolled into the Greyhound station ragged and jittery, too many days off the drugs and hard up for the next thing to prove myself. I grabbed my bag, walked outside, and saw a car fly through the air. It flipped upside down, murdered two pedestrians, hit a traffic light, righted itself, and sailed off into the night with about a hundred cop cars, lights a-flashing, trailing behind. Nobody called an ambulance for the poor smashed unfortunates, either, they just laid there as my taxi pulled up to take me to the low-rent apartments that the paper was paying for.

I was, at the time, unprepared for that kind of mental clusterfuck and had a bit of a breakdown in the car. My cabbie, who I think was some kind of Russian from his accent, laughed.

"Welcome to Liberty City, my friend," he said, as he wove in and out of traffic at a terrifying pace. I got to the apartment, locked the locks with a trembling hand, and called in to the paper. They wanted me to report at six in the AM. Fortunately I'd had my new cabbie friend stop off at a local liquor store and the fifth of Jack Daniels I'd procured got me through that night.

It wasn't easy, but nothing was easy.

Except maybe dying, in Liberty City.

I started at the Courier the next day. Covering the crime beat and believe me I made waves right out the door, just by having the audacity to actually talk to the criminals and ask them for their viewpoint. Up until me, I guess the Liberty City Courier was most pro-police-law-and-order and then here I come with my anarchist bullshit, the fucking audacious idea that we examine the society that had led to criminals, consider them as people instead of the usual big bad villains. Having the sheer gall to suggest that the cops might be the bad guys too. The old dogs in the bullpen hated me and I don't blame them. Some dumbass kid from the South with a weird haircut and the wrong clothes rolling up in their turf questioning the very fabric of the very normal kind of journalism they practiced? Very much an asshole, no doubt.

But when I broke that story about corruption in the LCPD, and it went national, no one could deny me.

The public, oh the ignorant and so easily distracted public, they ate it up. Bear in mind this was the late nineties, right? Anti-heroes were in full effect and my kind of crude yet poetic narrative was having its day. Sure. I got invited to the best parties by criminals and celebrities, vast displays of decadence on yachts and in underground clubs everywhere. I was a hot ticket, for a minute. I even managed to get a new girlfriend, yeah, a lovely, uh, a perfect, a...

A goddamned angel, and no mistake.

Shut up, shut up. It's okay. Moving on.

Anyhow. I got in pretty good with some local heavies. Not as difficult as you would think, nobody loves to talk about themselves more than criminals. What's the point of being smarter and harder than anyone if you can't somehow tell everyone that you are? All I had to do was listen and write the words I heard, at the end of the day. Sure, a little embellishment, maybe a punch-up here and there. Change the names to protect the innocent (not that anyone was, of course), and then BLAM you have a newspaper article, then a column, and then a book, and then it all kind of went wrong in the worst way.

Shit. Okay, wait. I just need another drink. It's okay, just, ahem, it's okay.

*tape recorder clicks off*

*tape recorder clicks on*

Heavy sigh.

 Okay, let's get into it.

I published my collected articles with a major publishing house and we titled it, "Fear and Loathing in Liberty City."

It went to the top three on the NYT Top Ten Publishing list immediately and stood there proudly for two weeks.

Nobody remembers that now, of course, and there is no reason they should. I wish it hadn't gone as far as it had.

See, it seems that some crime lords, arrogant and narcissistic fucks that they are, don't appreciate it when you publish a book in which they feature heavily (even if names are changed), and they are described in a less than favorable light and maybe with words like: "weak-ass Nancy-boys", "useless mentally-challenged fucknuts", or "punk-ass exploitative shit pimp beta fucks".

Well, sure, they get a bit pissed-off at you. Some of them. Well, okay, one in particular.

Sergio Antoine.

Eh.

So there was this mostly-unheard of gang of criminals on the Southside, right? Second-hand punks, mostly, pseudo-bikers. Garbage white-trash meth-heads, low-level drug dealers, pimps, and so forth. Called themselves the "Southside Desperadoes" and owned a three-story warehouse they'd converted into a sketchy strip club named "The Platinum Pony", which was basically a front for their meth and prostitution rackets. Their leader was an ugly bastard that fancied himself as some kind of made man with the local Mafia (none of which, mind you, knew who the fuck he was). Sergio Antoine. He wore expensive clothes and watches, drove Italian sports cars, and wore ridiculous hair pieces.

I swear to God, every time I saw him he had a new look. Short hair, long hair, dreadlocks, shaggy bush, high and tight, loosey-goosey, everything. Couldn't really make up his mind and he ran his gang about the same way. They were drug-lords one week, pimps the next, an MC biker club the week after. Pure chaos. But I managed to ingratiate myself just enough to get access to the inner circle and after that it was a real awakening as to the ways and means of the Liberty City underground crime scene. That formed the basis of "Fear and Loathing" and most of my articles thereafter. I told the club what I was doing, of course, transparency in journalism and all that, but when the book hit, well, they took exception.

Especially Sergio.

Look, I will acknowledge that I didn't exactly describe him in flattering terms, okay, but everything I said was a hundred percent accurate. That probably made it worse. Don't poke the ego-driven narcissistic bear, right? But look here; these people were not good people, they were psychopaths almost to a man, exploiters of everything around them, murderers when they found it convenient and  just overall terrible, terrible shitlord human beings. Bad as it was, every single word I wrote about them was true. I just wish it hadn't...

Well, I mean I should have known it would...

I...

Fuck.

I need another drink. Standby.

*tape recorder clicks off*

*tape recorder clicks on*

Her name was Sarah.

Yeah. Before all this really hit its stride, I'd gotten just well enough known at the Courier that I'd been assigned an assistant. Some young, plucky, college intern, much like I'd been once upon a time. We hit it off, she was amazingly competent at all the things I was not and for my part I was a hopeless wreck of a human being. We bonded over drinks and a predilection for old punk bands and one thing led to another and then my book hit (which never would have happened without her help) and we got engaged and the local press made a big deal of it and we were in love and that should have been the part of the story where the fucking narrator says, "they lived happily ever after" and the end of it.

*extended silence*

Goddammit.

*cough*

Sorry, sorry. We were walking out of a trendy downtown restaurant when a car rolled up on us and gunfire erupted from the windows. I found out later that Sergio had ordered the hit because he felt I'd made him look weak in the book. I took one bullet in the shoulder and one in the knee. Sarah took three in the chest.

I held her, um, hmm. Sorry.

I held her while she died.                                    

Um. I need a minute, okay?

*tape recorder clicks off*

...

*tape recorder clicks on*

So, yeah. Okay.

When I got out of the hospital I went on a bit of a bender.

I mean, like, some epic Greek-hero level shit. Total blackout. I dropped a ton of money on coke, meth, booze, pills, everything. Whatever I could shove into my stupid brain to make it forget the pain, right? Still don't remember anything, and that's probably for the best because I woke up in a cornfield in Iowa three weeks later, wearing a powder-blue dress and one sock. Drug my hungover ass out of the field and down the road until I could hitch-hike into the nearest town, get some breakfast and check the feeds. Iowa locals don't even blink about this shit, too many years in the middle of America and everybody's cousin has a meth problem. Your weirdness doesn't even make a dent.

But it seemed the Platinum Pony had mysteriously burned to the ground in the time I'd been out. Multiple dead, all members of the gang. Sergio himself had been found in the back, in a safe room, almost untouched except for a hole in his head the size of a train tunnel. What survivors there were reported an attack by a demon, a figure dressed in a squirrel costume with a high-pitched voice that terrified them as it hunted them one by one, relentlessly murdering everything it encountered with a sawn-off shotgun.

I've no memory of any of that time, of course.

But I did wonder.

So I got my shit together, such as it was, and sold it off to pay for my ticket home. Went back to the Tennessee hills and got me a little cabin up on the top of an Appalachian mountain. Spent my time collecting royalty checks from book sales, drinking moonshine, smoking meth, and hitting on local moonshiner's nubile daughters who might have read one of my books on the down low. I had my reasons, of course, I'd promised my publisher two more books and they'd already tried lawyers to no avail. I feared they would try hitmen next, ditto for the gang scene in Liberty City, who have large egos and long memories.

So I went to ground, grubbing it out on the top of a mountain. No contact with the outside world, just me and the booze and the meth and the occasional young lady with a passion for literature.

It was not the best life, but it was good enough for me at the time, yes.

Fast forward to now, though.

Two things happened, really, that got me off that mountain. Firstly, I couldn't write. It's fucked up, but too much clean air, too much sunshine, trees, grass, squirrels and whatever the fuck, it broke me. It was too easy goddammit. My brain could not deal, and thus no words. I was hamstrung by bliss, I think. Secondly, the money ran out. Surprisingly enough, moonshiners and meth heads don't give credit. So I drug my dumb blissful ass off the mountain and down to the city, made some phone calls to some contacts in the newspaper world, checked the feeds, and found out that Los Santos was the newest hottest criminal hotspot in the world. I felt it too, that vibe, when I stepped off the bus. That feeling that you could die at any time, strike sparks anywhere, and hammer the fiery words of the gods onto paper.

Los Santos smells like gunpowder, diesel fumes, and blood.

And somewhere in my soul, the old Muse stirs.

I'm here to write words. I'm older now, the reflexes aren't what they used to be, but I think I still have some stories left in me. This is the last ride for this old dog journalist, and I aim to make it count, to leave a legacy, whatever it may be, written in the stars of the universe and hopefully at least two books worth of shit because the publishing house is still after my ass for that contract. It's okay though, I know this music and I remember the steps to the dance. The next chapter of chapters starts here, and words are coming easy in Los Santos.

But if I've learned anything, it's that nothing is ever easy.

*tape recorder clicks off*