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vmficrecs · 4 years

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Every school has an obligatory psychotic jackass. He’s ours.

It has been one year since The Incident. In celebration of this beautiful, snarky, dynamic, passionate, beloved, smug, asshole, essential, etc., etc., character I have complied a lengthy (but by no means exhaustive) collection of some of my personal favorite fics focusing on Logan, or on his relationships, or fics that i just think do something neat in terms of Logan/his journey/his character. ❤️

Previously on vmficrecs:

dark_roast, “Fish Out of Water,” Mature, Post Season 1 AU

Logan opts to leave Neptune, and spend summer vacation with his grandparents.

Notes: This AU is essential reading if you love Logan. His characterization is nearly perfect, and the premise of the fic is endlessly engaging and smart.

wily_one24, “Sleep, Perchance...,” Mature, Pre-series AU

Logan thaws towards Veronica and sets out to save her.

Notes: I want to eat this fic. If you’ve never read it, read it-- it will linger endlessly inside of your brain in the best way possible. So many of the things Logan does or says in this fic exist in a very tangible and palpable manner for me, it’s that good. I think about it constantly.

ghostcat, “What We Have in Common,” Teen, Post Season 3 AU

Weevil Navarro, his incredibly poor choice of a research paper prepping locale and the close talking, finger waving jackass that interrupts and effectively hijacks his night. Set in 2010, three years after The Bitch is Back.

ghostcat, “A Trace of Meaning,” Teen, Pre-series

13 year-old Logan Echolls and 14 year-old Veronica Mars wait at the Kane Estate for their held-up sleepover hosts to show up.

theohara, “Rich Dirt,” Mature, Pre-series AU

And Logan wouldn’t let you have anything. He’d danced over to you and smirked in your face and twirled your plastic cup right out of your hand and cooed that just because your Daddy wasn’t sheriff anymore didn’t give you license to break the law, and he’d acted all shocked with his hand over his mouth and he’d laughed like breaking glass and nanced off with your drink.

anjou, “Into the Blue,” Mature, Post Season 1

It’s almost summer, and Logan is sinking into the blue.

flyingcarpet, “Mexicali Blues,” Mature, Post Season 3 AU

When he reaches the water he doesn’t hesitate, just keeps walking until he can duck his head under and start to swim away from shore, letting the salt and the waves wash away the residue that Neptune’s left on his skin.

absolutelyiris, “Truth for a Dream,” Teen, Future Fic (Pre-movie)

Fleet Week 2012. A reformed bad boy turned sailor and a former party girl turned career woman meet in a bar…

Notes: A LOGAN AND PARKER FRIENDSHIP FIC!!! pure fucking delight

absolutelyiris, “Come Around,” Mature, Future AU

A woman travels the world over in search of what she needs and returns home to find it.

Notes: I will talk about this fic until the day that I day, and then I will still talk about it. One of my absolute favorites. Pure gold Logan/Keith dynamic. I would 10/10 die for Razia. and, of course, the l/v is so damn good

TheLastGoodGolfish, “The Phenomenal Pixie, #1,” Teen, AU

Veronica is a masked avenger who stalks the streets of Neptune. Logan is the intrepid reporter who’s on the story.

Notes: PERFECT. PERFECT PERFECT PERFECT. also-- “That’s ridiculous. My favorite person is a sorority girl.” in my head, rent free, and i am forever indebted.

bryrosea, “Waste of Breath / A Quartz Contentment,” Mature, Post Season 2 to TDTL

Part one: Logan Echolls, the nine years, and the Navy. Part two: Veronica Mars, the nine years, and a new normal.

Notes: I am recommending specifically “Waste of Breath” for my boy, although Veronica’s piece is excellent as well.

always_winter, “Written Out,” Teen, Season 2 AU

Duncan has some residual guilt and Logan wants to be left out of the story.

always_winter, “White Combs and Sweet Honey,” Mature, Season 1

Even when Aaron is trying to be a good father, there’s still a lot he’s doing wrong.

Notes: This fic is so tender to me!!! A beautiful Logan and Aaron piece.

sadiekate, “Grand Canyon,” PG-13, Season 1 to Future AU

Three friends reminisce several years in the future, snarkily and pointlessly.

sinaddict, “Necrosis,” Explicit, Season 2 AU

Death in bits and pieces, denial as a religion… Or ‘normal’ in Neptune.

sowell, “Surviving the Wreck,” Explicit, Season 3 AU

Nothing’s ever simple with Veronica Mars. Weevil’s day at sea gets a little complicated.

Notes: THIS FUCKING FIC!!!! i love everything about it and especially at this moment in time, the part where logan gives weevil a blow job but weevil notes that somehow, in spite of this, logan retains the upper hand. this fic is world class and i am grateful everyday for it

theohara, “Broken Toys,” NC-17, Pre series AU

One glance across a street saves Lilly Kane’s life. It changes everything; it changes nothing.

Notes: This is the most heartbreaking Veronica Mars’ fanfic ever. I have such a deep love for it. It takes Lilly’s character and Logan/Veronica’s relationship to places I don’t ever think they would go and yet it works in this and it works so damn well. a truly devastating and beautiful au

fluffernutter8, “The Ninety Nine Percent,” Teen, Post Season 3 AU

Junior year of college, Logan gets some news that proves that no matter how hard he tries, life is just going to keep throwing him curve-balls. Post season 3, non movie canon compliant.

youcallitwinter, “gravity is gonna keep you tied down to this city,” Teen, Post Season 3 to TDTL

[your life in extended parenthesis] the lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean, and the fire that was starting to spark. From the love to the lightning and the lack of it.

Notes: please don't fall out of love with me, okay? don’t you dare give up on me. I DIE EVERY FUCKING TIME youcallitwinter is a force with all of her writings, but this one.......my god every single bit about it is fucking flawless

petpluto, “Of Scars & Consequences,” Teen, Post-series AU

Almost a decade in the future, Logan's still a little messed up. And Veronica's still a little closed off. They make it work.

julietbravo, “one brutal thing after another,” Teen, Pre-series to Season 1

These rich boys think they can get away with anything, don’t they.

querulousgawks, “there should be stars for great wars like ours,” Teen, AU

It’s gotta be some Alliance mind game, a holdover, the Operative’s last trick: Logan’s old secrets manifesting everywhere around them. Where are you, how are you doing this, he wants to scream, but he doesn’t know which ghost he’d be railing at.

SilverLining2k6, “Sometimes (You Can’t Make It On Your Own),” Teen, Season 1 AU

Silly Duncan stopped taking his meds. Now, one dead Fitzpatrick later, Logan and Veronica need to get him out of town. Too bad they hate each other.

SilverLining2k6, “Control,” Teen, Pre-series AU

Don’t you mess with a little girl’s dreams. ‘Cause she’s liable to grow up mean. Pre-series. Oneshot. - A twisted little tale of hate and revenge.

Notes: CONTROL!!!!! I love Control so much, it’s one of the first fics I ever read for the fandom and one of the finest. The Logan that exists in this is sooo good and his relationship with Veronica is deeply flawed & wonderful. M is in the process of writing a remix to Control (more in-depth emotion) and I for one am foaming at the fucking mouth every day about it.

nevertothethird, “Reunions,” Teen, Post Series AU

Sometimes it just takes a little longer to get things right. Two high school reunions and a birthday party should do the trick.

youcallitwinter, “you give love a bad name,” Teen, Season 2 AU

“Hey, did you guys know there was a sensitive poet-type hiding behind this hard exoskeleton of expensive alcohol and bitter cynicism?” In which Logan Echolls is, well, Logan Echolls.

scandalpants, “Something to Remember,” Mature, Post Series AU

Facing a separation, Logan and Veronica spend their last night together exchanging gifts.

Notes: I am always in a goddamn state about this fic. Logan jacking off in front of Veronica at her request? Yes, thank you please. thank you so much

leurocrystal, “Take Your Time,” Teen, Post Season 2

Keith doesn’t know how to look at or touch his daughter for the first time in his life.

petpluto, “We Are Nowhere, And It’s Now,” Mature, Series AU

“You know there is another way of looking at this, Logan. If you’d still been together, you might be dead too." Logan and Lilly both die on October 3rd. But for Veronica, it’s not like they’re gone. And she still works to solve their murders.

absolutelyiris, “Delay,” Teen, Post TTDL

Logan reflects on his first Christmas with Veronica after a ten year separation, as well as how his life has changed with her absence.

New to vmficrecs:

Christmas in Arkham Author: dark_roast Pairing: Logan Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort, A Really Good Hug Setting: Season 2 Spoilers: 2.09, “My Mother, the Fiend” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 10128 Status: Complete Summary: Sequel to Fish Out of Water. Logan spends christmas with his grandparents. Notes: This is, full stop, my favorite Veronica Mars fanfiction ever. I am so protective of this fic that part of me doesn’t even want to give it a formal place on the blog, which is ridiculous because I’m sure plenty of people have already read it and obviously it’s so good that I want people to read it but....this belongs to me, somehow, like I feel like it’s mine that’s how much I love it. ANYWAY possessiveness aside-- Every word, every sentence, every punctuation mark in this fic is perfect, devastating insight into Logan’s character. Absolutely beautiful and wonderful and every other good thing.

The Teeth by the Shoulder Author: ghostcat Pairing: Fab Four, Logan/Lilly, Veronica/Duncan Rating: Teen Genre: Friendship, Angst Setting: Pre-series Spoilers: 1.01, “Pilot” Chapters: 3 Word Count: 17273 Status: Complete Summary: Two couples, two friendships. The Fab Four in three Octobers. Notes: WE’VE NEVER FUCKING RECOMMENDED THE TEETH BY THE SHOULDER BEFORE?????? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE OH MY GOD jesus this is one of the greatest fanfictions ever written. three pre-series explorations into the fab four friendship and it is impossibly good. i am especially in love with the logan/lilly in this fic (the first chapter!!!!) and as always special care is given to exploring the logan + veronica dynamic. the third chapter will break your fucking heart so bad in the best way

Seven Times Logan Echolls Went to Jail Author: sowell Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Veronica/Piz Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, Romance, Logan Echolls is a Little Shit Setting: (Post) Season 3 AU Spoilers: 3.12, “There’s Got to Be a Morning After Pill” and 3.16, “Un-American Graffiti” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 6701 Status: Complete Summary: Who thinks Logan behind bars is sexy? I do, I do! // Logan goes to jail and calls Veronica to bail him out. Again and again and again and again. Notes: WE HAVEN’T DONE THIS BEFORE EITHER???? oh my god!! I remember finding this one a few months before the movie came out and i would just lay in bed in the dark and re-read it endlessly. and then i left it alone for a few years and when i went back to it holy shit it undid me all over again. perfect logan and veronica relationship. p e r f e c t!!! i firmly believe this is exactly what shape their relationship would’ve taken if veronica hadn’t cut and run

Love is Just a Four-letter Word Author: bigboobedcanuck Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Keith, Weevil Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort Setting: Future AU Spoilers: 1.12, “Clash of the Tritons” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1753 Status: Complete Summary: Set a few years down the road from high school. Logan hits rock bottom. Keith and Veronica help him back up. Notes: Lynn’s body turns up and it is fucking DEVASTATING. A short piece that’s told from Keith’s POV (anyone who knows me knows how much of a sucker I am for Keith + Logan interaction) and holy hell Logan is so good in it and I think about it all the fucking time

Serendipity Author: TheLastGoodGoldfish Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Veronica/Piz, Carrie, Gia, Stu Cobbler, Ensemble Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Detective-ing Setting: Post Season 3 Spoilers: 3.20, “The Bitch is Back” and The Movie Chapters: 4 (out of a planned 6, fingers crossed!!!) Word Count: 59763 Status: Complete Summary: During her sophomore year at Hearst, Veronica takes on your run-of-the-mill blackmail case: the clients hate her, the evidence is impossible to destroy, and her ex turns out to be a bit of a distraction, but Veronica is a sucker for a damsel-in-distress. Even if the damsel is an intoxicated, pissed off Carrie Bishop. Notes: I AM HIGH PITCHED SCREAMING. Transplanting the movie plot to this timeframe works tremendously and TLGG’s execution is fucking perfect. Carrie is a powerhouse in this fic and god, Logan is such a honey it in which is why it is being recc’d for him. Him practically letting Carrie move in with him and doing his damnedest to protect Carrie and Gia (much to Veronica’s chagrin) is so, so important to me and I love him so much.

The Phenomenal Pixie - Interlude #1 - “Bugs” Author: TheLastGoodGoldfish Pairing: Logan/Veronica, OC’s Genre: Humor, Fluff, Logan and Veronica Are Smarter Than You Setting: AU (Season 3) Spoilers: uhhh n/a Chapters: 1 Word Count: 5072 Status: Complete Summary: Dating a superhero poses a unique set of challenges. Notes: Tiny sequel to The Phenomenal Pixie which you absolutely must read first (and is recommended above) because it’s a fucking delight. Logan is incredible in this fic and I would die for him, like always. The part where Steve can sense Logan is thinking about punching him in the face-- a million chefs kisses.

The Medusa Jewel Author: TheLastGoodGoldfish Pairing: Logan/Veronica Genre: Established Relationship Bliss, Fluff Setting: MKAT Spoilers: MKAT Chapters: 1 Word Count: 5336 Status: Complete Summary: Logan and Veronica's new neighbor is a writer. Notes: is my TLGG obsession shining through? good because it fucking should be. The Logan/Veronica in this relationship is so sweet and perfect and is 100% my reality and i would like to bathe in this fic and live in it forever as is my right.

Drowning Together Author: bryrosea Pairing: Logan/Veronica Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort Setting: Season 3 Spoilers: 3.07, “Of Vice and Men” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 897 Status: Complete Summary: AU of the confrontation scene from 3x07: Of Vice and Men (Logan and Veronica both need a hug) Notes: Absolute wonderful insight and even some reconciliation into a canonical season three fight. Logan calming down while Veronica falls apart as they hug is so important to me.

Interrupt Us Author: bryrosea Pairing: Logan/Veronica Genre: Romance, Hijinks, They Want To Fuck So Bad Setting: Post TDTL Spoilers: through TDTL Chapters: 1 Word Count: 17223 Status: Complete Summary: Logan Echolls is home from deployment. Time to cue the sweeping movie montage, right? Notes: Logan and Veronica try to have sex everywhere and it is my life force. The car scene when they get pulled over and Logan instinctively hiding under Veronica’s desk....god i love everyone in this bar

Ready to Go Author: Amberina Pairing: Logan/Duncan; Veronica Genre: Friendship, Romance, Angst Setting: Post Season 1 Spoilers: not obvious but 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 6346 Status: Complete Summary: "Let's leave. Let's go. What's left in Neptune for us anyway?" (AKA Duncan, Logan and Veronica have wacky adventures on the road! Also angst.) Notes: Logan getting hissy and storming off from the car while Duncan and Veronica just watch him and then calling a taxi once he’s out of their sight is PEAK logan. I love boyfriends, even if they’re angst-ing in this, and they big time are.

Nashville On My Mind Author: hjcallipygian Pairing: Logan, Veronica, Duncan Genre: Friendship, Hijinks Setting: Post Season 1 AU Spoilers: 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1659 Status: Complete Summary: Every year, they take a road trip together. This year, it's to Nashville, Tennessee. Notes: i just spent forty minutes trying to find this fic to the point where i was genuinely concerned i had hallucinated it. it’s so fucking good. a sequel/prequel of sorts to grand canyon by sadiekate (recc’d in the previously section). logan is a mess and by god do i love him

Six Times Logan Echolls Got Wet Author: bryrosea, CarolineShea, ghostcat, kmd0107, marshmallowtasha, SilverLining2k6 Pairing: Logan/Veronica Rating: Teen Genre: Romance, Friendship, Hijinks Setting: Everywhere Spoilers: All series to MKAT Chapters: 6 Word Count: 11568 Status: Complete Summary: aka: The Wet Henley ChroniclesSix stories in which we probably give Logan Echolls pneumonia, inspired by the movie's infamous wet henley. Set variously across the series and post-MKAT. Notes: each chapter is written by a different author, they’re all good but bryrosea’s chapter and silvery’s chapter are my favorites. set during the summer between season 1 & 2 and post season three respectively they do such a great job dealing with the fractious and tumultuous nature of Logan/Veronica’s relationship at the time and i love it so much

A Little Dysfunctionality Goes A Long Way Author: fluffernutter8 Pairing: Logan/Veronica Rating: Teen Genre: ANGST with a side of fucking ANGST, happy ending but jesus Setting: Post Season 3 AU Spoilers: 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 2878 Status: Complete Summary: Despite their history, Logan and Veronica might be somewhere on the brink of normal. A few years post season 3. Notes: i just read this for the first time 07/13/20 at 9:08pm because when i asked shelby for her favorite logan fics she included this one. i am fucking dead now and-- there’s nothing else to say about it. i’m just fucking dead. for YEARS i have said that nobody with the username fluffernutter8 should be able to write shit this goddamn emotional and yet, time and time again, i find myself here fuckign wrecked and furious about it

these are just ghosts that broke my heart before i met you Author: theviolonist Pairing: Logan, Veronica, Carrie, Dick Rating: Teen Genre: Introspection, Angst, I Love Logan Setting: Pre Movie & Movie Spoilers: Movie Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1326 Status: Complete Summary: In the army they say, don't think of the target as a person, otherwise you won't have the guts to pull the trigger. Notes: fuck, you guys. this one is so beautiful. an exploration into logan’s grief and him trying to move on and it cuts like a damn knife because he can never really do it but fuck he wants to so bad and [lucas scott voice] that’s gotta mean something, right? truly so so wonderful

Fugue Author: vaeran Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Logan/Lilly, Dick Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, hopeful ending Setting: Post Season 1 Spoilers: 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 4137 Status: Complete Summary: It's something he refuses to let go because it defines who he is and what he has become. Notes: deviates from the PCHer confrontation on the bridge, which means logan takes a little longer to come around to reconciliation with veronica. it’s perfect and i particularly love the logan/lilly in this, he’s hurt but still so impossibly and eternally in love with her

One Flew Over the Echolls Nest Author: Wynn Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Duncan Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, Friendship Setting: Post Season 1 AU Spoilers: 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1507 Status: Complete Summary: Open wide and see what's inside. A bridge and a bed and Veronica. Logan finds himself in a mental institution after the events of "Leave it to Beaver." Veronica, Duncan, and Logan's psychiatrist attempt to help. Notes: so sad and so good!!! the part where Logan’s psychiatrist asks him when the last time he was happy was fucking wrecks me everytime!!

Free at last Author: querulousgawks Pairing: Logan, Weevil, Aaron Rating: Teen Genre: Frenemies, They Are Boyfriends Setting: Season 2 Spoilers: 2.09, “My Mother, the Fiend” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1242 Status: Complete Summary: Logan and Weevil and fire go a long way back. A flashback scene interrupts their Season 2 meeting in the Neptune Grand. Notes: I LOVE EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT THIS SO GOD DAMN MUCH

The Right Shade of Red Author: ghostcat Pairing: Trina, Logan, Aaron Rating: Teen Genre: ANGST Setting: Pre-series Spoilers: 1.15, “Ruskie Business” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 883 Status: Complete Summary: Trina finds her jerky little brother hiding in her closet and does the unexpected thing. (Or, A time Logan trusted Trina) Notes: If you want 883 words to be able to make you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck this is the fic for you! I love the Echolls family dynamics so much, and this one is excellent.

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sineala · 4 years

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The Old Guard

This post comes to you courtesy of the generous support of one of my Patreon patrons, who wanted to know what I thought of The Old Guard. This post contains some spoilers for both the movie and the comics.

So, a few days after it came out, my wife and I watched The Old Guard on Netflix. Tumblr had said a bunch of good things about it, and both of us basically cut our fannish teeth on Highlander fandom so we already had an automatic buy-in for a story about immortals. I knew it was based on a comic by Greg Rucka, but I had not, at the time, read the comic, although I am now reading it in order to write this post.

The premise of the film is as follows: a four-person team of immortals (Andy, Joe, Nicky, and Booker) makes a living hiring themselves out as mercenaries, fighting for causes that they believe are right. They are successful at this basically because their grasp of tactics appears to be (1) die, followed by (2) come back to life and (3) murder your attackers who are no longer paying attention to you because they think you're dead. Honestly, at this point, you wouldn't really need to be very good at the actual fighting part, I would think, but the film establishes that all of them are -- especially Charlize Theron as Andy -- because presumably it wants you to watch action sequences of everyone being badass, which they are. So, yeah. They take all the good-guy mercenary jobs that no one else can do because it would kill them, which is not a problem for them!

Anyway! The group's routine is interrupted by two major events: the discovery of Nile Freeman, a new immortal, who is a Marine serving in Afghanistan who survives getting murdered; and also the fact that one of their employers, Copley (played by Chiwetel Eijofor, whom you may remember as Mordo in Doctor Strange) has sold them out to the movie's Actual Villain, a Big Pharma CEO named Merrick (played by the guy who played Dudley in the Harry Potter series), who has (as far as I can tell) been given instructions to play this role just like he's Martin Shkreli, who is interested in finding the secret of their immortality, and whom you can tell is evil because he has his name in giant letters on the side of his building.

ME: Look, it's the villain! I've found the villain! MY WIFE: Other than Tony Stark, who actually puts their names on buildings like that except villains? It's just villains, right? ME: Uh. The president? The president definitely does that. (We make horrified faces at each other.)

Because we are Extremely Pedantic, we also spent a lot of time picking at how the characters' names and language abilities match up to their stated background. They all know a lot of languages, as you might expect, and the movie was determined to get through them without subtitles, which is an interesting choice but also kind of left some linguistic plot holes.

For example, Joe and Nicky claim to have met each other in the Crusades, with Nicky as (presumably) a Crusader and Joe as (presumably) a Muslim occupant of the area, although the movie doesn't specify this; Wikipedia gives Joe's name as Yusuf Al-Kaysani, which would at least fit that. Nicky is clearly Italian (as is Luca Marinelli, the actor who portrays him) and when he speaks Italian to the rest of the group we see that he definitely speaks modern Italian as spoken in Rome... which is absolutely, definitely not the language he grew up speaking, given that, among other things, Wiki lists the character's full name as Nicolò di Genova. I don't know if the writer of the screenplay (who I see now is also Greg Rucka) didn't know how much Italian dialects had changed in the last thousand years, if he thought that was good enough to be a nod to the character, or if there's some kind of backstory that didn't make it in where every so often Nicky decides to learn a modern dialect and keep his hand in, and also decides that that's the language he wants to use among his friends who would presumably understand several different dialects.

Also, the reveal that Andy's real name was in fact "Andromache of Scythia" was indeed badass but was slightly undercut by my wife yelling BUT THE SCYTHIANS DIDN'T SPEAK GREEK at the television.

Additionally, I feel like the movie could perhaps have been aware of the ways it chose to label on-screen locations, in which the countries were spelled out in large fonts with the cities above them. Places like LONDON, ENGLAND got their entire names spelled out, as did small French villages whose names I can no longer remember, but I guess AFGHANISTAN and MOROCCO and SOUTH SUDAN have zero cities, huh? However, the end of the movie did take place in PARIS which I guess unlike London is its own country now.

So the actual plot features the group of immortals trying to explain this whole immortality thing to Nile while being on the run from the people who are trying to turn them into Big Pharma, who wants to capture them and exploit the secret of their immortality. This is where it falls down a little for me, because the worldbuilding... gets a little shaky. They dream about each other when they're apart. Okay. Why? Sometimes they just stop being immortal and lose the capacity to heal and are dead in their next battle. Why? Why do they even exist? I just... wanted more answers than the movie gave me, and the pacing where I kept expecting there to be explanations wasn't there. There were a couple of scenes where Nile sat there in silence contemplating the fact that she would outlive her loved ones and my brain kept trying to insert Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever?" Granted, the Highlander canon explanation for immortality is deeply, deeply weird, but at least it tried. No, I can't believe I'm defending Highlander II either.

The characters, too, could have been more fleshed out. The bulk of the character development is given to Andy and Nile, and I'm not complaining about that -- they were great -- but Joe and Nicky and Booker only got maybe a few lines each. They would have felt so much more real if they'd just had a little bit more to them. Also I didn't understand Copley's arc at all, but saying more about that would be spoilery. I do like that they have definitely set themselves up for a sequel.

But even with what we got, there's a lot to love about the characters. If you're here for canonically queer characters, you will enjoy Nicky and Joe, who have been in a relationship for probably about a thousand years. They are minor characters as far as the overall plot goes, but what they do have is lovely, and there is a romantic declaration between them at one point that is absolutely beautiful and possibly the most fervent love declaration I can remember seeing in a movie since maybe... ever. If you also like your queerness more subtextual, though Andy is never portrayed as explicitly queer, her past friendship with a fellow immortal Quynh was shown as very intense, as is the role she takes here mentoring Nile into the world of immortality. Also she has a double-bladed axe (yes, we kept yelling BRING ME MY MAN-KILLING AXE at the television) and as we all know, the double-bladed labrys has in modern times become a symbol for lesbians. So there's that.

In addition to the characters of color who play important roles here -- Nile was my personal favorite, but there's also Joe and Copley and (in flashback) Quynh -- there's a lot of diversity behind the cameras as well, or so the internet informs me. The director (Gina Prince-Bythewood) is the first Black woman to direct a superhero movie, and the same is true of her editor (Terilyn Shropshire). And, furthermore, apparently 85% of the post-production crew were women. They didn't have to do that, and yet they did. It was nice.

I don't watch a whole lot of action movies these days because I usually find R-rated violence too... violent, but I found myself really liking almost all of the action sequences here. None of them felt gratuitous, and a lot of them really focused on the physicality of the immortals fighting in a way I liked, because I feel like people are probably going to fight differently if they know they can survive every single hit, and I think the movie portrayed that in a way that a lot of superhero comics and movies don't. My favorite fight scene is definitely the one between Nile and Andy at the beginning, when Andy has trapped her on a plane and it's extremely close-quarters fighting and also extremely brutal. They don't stop basically until Nile breaks enough bones that she can't get up anymore, because until then she's going to keep trying, which is both kind of horrifying and a great character note. And they didn't film it like it was a Sexy Catfight! It was so good.

Also, the soundtrack is really good, and I've found myself streaming it on Spotify all week. I didn't know any of the songs in the movie, but there's a lot of hip-hop and -- okay, I don't even know if this is a genre? -- specifically a lot of hip-hop with an electronic/industrial sort of beat, which I thought was really great and livened up the fight scenes even more; "Going Down Fighting" did a really good job getting me in the mood for the final confrontation with the villain, and... yeah, it's all good. Someone made a playlist on Spotify that will come up if you search for it.

So, yeah. It's on Netflix. It's not without flaws (mostly, explaining how the hell immortality works, and a couple of pacing issues), but it's a really satisfying superhero movie.

That's the movie. Onto the comic, which I am just now starting to read as I write these words. Whee!

So The Old Guard: Opening Fire is a 2017 five-issue Image Comics series written by Greg Rucka, with art by Leandro Fernández, and there's also a 2019 sequel, The Old Guard: Force Multiplied, by the same creative team, also with five issues. I have not actually read any of Rucka's work before now because he is mostly famous for his DC work, but I have heard good things about it, especially his Wonder Woman run.

Anyway. The art is very stylized, with a minimal color palette, and it's very pretty but I honestly found it hard to parse sometimes. Many of the characters have very weird noses. Yes, noses. It's basically mostly in Andy's and Nile's POVs, like the movie, and as far I can tell Andy is explicitly queer, because unless I am entirely misreading this panel in issue #1, here she is in bed with a woman in one panel. Whee. Also there are some nice epigraphs at the beginning of each issue.

Okay, so, the plot here is basically the plot of the movie. There is still no explanation of why immortality exists. But even so, there are some fun character moments that didn't make it into the movie -- for example, Andy saying smartphones are too hard to use and she liked the old ones better, only for the rest of her team to say that she couldn't use those either. I think you get a better sense of Andy's world-weariness in the comic. There are also other, now-dead Immortals mentioned, like Noriko, who "went overboard off the Horn." Quynh is not one of them; Quynh basically is Noriko, which is because they cast a Vietnamese actress who asked if her character could be Vietnamese too, which seems perfectly reasonable to me. But anyway, in the comics, she's Noriko. Weirdly, Andy's full name, as she tells Nile when they meet, is Andronika ("man-victory") rather than Andromache ("man-battle," in case you were wondering); I think the movie made a better choice because Ἀνδρονίκα has exactly two attestations in the Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, whereas Ἀνδρομάχη has all that shiny name recognition of being shared by the wife of Hector and also the queen of the Amazons and will ping viewers as a Greek name, and therefore ancient, even if it can't be the name she was born with. (There are five for "Andronike" and four more for "Andromacha" so they actually have about the same number of total attestations, as far as I can tell, when you consider the alpha/eta alternation in how various Greek dialects mark feminine nouns.)

(Yes, you totally wanted a review by someone who looks up character names in the LGPN. Don't lie.)

Plotwise, Andy gets all of the initial exposition in for Nile before they get to the safehouse, which Copley has already gotten to before they get back, so Booker is bleeding on the floor and Nile doesn't get to meet Joe or Nicky at this time, and I am also glad they changed that for the movie. But, don't worry, Joe and Nicky's romantic declaration is still in here. We also get Andy pondering the last time she was in love, with a human who grew old.

Oh, and we get Andy's age: 6,732. And by issue #5 her name has changed to Andromache, because what even is continuity? I guess Andromache is her name now.

So Nile finally meets Joe and Nicky when she rescues them and also, uh, that plot point where Andy might die? Totally not a thing here. Nope. And no "surprise! even more immortals!" end-credits moments either.

Basically, I feel like every change they made to the script for the movie really strengthened the story, and even though I thought the movie could have used more character moments, it's way better than how the characters are separated for even longer in the comic. Nile rescuing the team means a lot more when she has met them before, you know?

So Force Multiplied starts us off with Andy, Joe, Nicky, and Nile, because Booker is still on time-out. They are in the middle of a car chase, and Booker's off getting himself kidnapped by someone who wants to know where the others are. The villain of the piece turns out to be Noriko, who is still alive, whom Booker had never had a chance to meet and apparently had never heard of. So, basically, a lot like the Quynh plot that the movie is teasing.

Overall it's a little less action-filled than the first one, which had multiple splash pages of nothing but violence; this one is a little more character-driven and explores the relationship, such as it is, between Andy and Noriko, as well as Nile coming to terms with her immortality, as well as with what everyone else has done over the years. It does have a bunch of violence at the end, though.

I don't want to spoil the ending, but I definitely wasn't expecting where that was heading. There's apparently going to be a third volume, and I am looking forward to it, whenever it exists.

(Although, now that I think about it, the ending is a lot like a fan-favorite moment of Highlander: The Series, but I think if I said which episode you would know exactly what the ending was.)

So, yeah! The Old Guard! I can't say as I feel particularly fannish about it -- there's nothing that makes me yearn to fill in the gaps in canon -- but the movie was really good and you should see it. And you should read the comics if you're into that.

#posts i actually wrote

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pcttrailsidereader · 4 years

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The Scariest Encounters Women Have on the Trail are with Men

One of the more chilling episodes in Wild was when Cheryl Strayed encountered two hunters in Central Oregon, one of whom made her rightfully uncomfortable . . . “She’s got a really nice figure, don’t she?” the sandy-haired man said. “Healthy, with some soft curves. Just the kind I like.” And it got worse. In the end, she was able to extricate herself but not without considerable anxiety.

Natasha Carver in “Walking Down a Dream” from The Pacific Crest Trailside Reader: California shares a story of camping near a road. A car stops late at night. Natasha and her hiking partner feel very exposed and very vulnerable. Indeed, the scariest encounters women have on the trail are with men.

This article, taken from the Daily Beast, focuses on the AT . . . but, in general, the issues are . . . sadly . . . the same.

By Melanie Hamlett, the Daily Beast

As a 30-year-old nurse who works with terminally ill patients, Julia (who prefers to remain anonymous) asked herself one day what she would be proud of doing if she too were given a diagnosis of only six months to live. Shortly after, she left Pittsburgh to start hiking the 2,190-mile Appalachian Trail—a highly coveted peacock feather in the cap of outdoor adventurers. But this epic odyssey from Georgia to Maine proved to be far more challenging for Julia and over a dozen women interviewed for this piece because of one factor.

Their being female.

It’s no surprise women experience annoyances like casual or even outright sexism in the outdoor adventure world, but on the Appalachian Trail some are facing more traumatizing problems like stalking, sexual harassment, and even assault. Last May, the unthinkable happened—a brutal murder.

People had been warning local officials for six weeks about James Jordan, a violent “fight angel” who is currently being tried for murder in Virginia. In April numerous hikers reported disturbing behavior, including being verbally assaulted by Jordan and even threatened with a machete. He was later arrested on multiple charges, including possession of weed, and was ordered to stay off the trail. In May he returned anyway and allegedly threatened to pour gasoline on four campers and burn them alive in their tents.

He later chased two of them down the trail before finally giving up. When he returned, he allegedly stabbed Richard S. Sanchez Jr. to death, then chased Sanchez’s female hiking partner down the trail and stabbed her. She only survived because she played dead, then ran down the trail for help once he left. Jordan was found and taken into custody early the next morning. This tragedy became a traumatizing reminder that even in a majestic wilderness sanctuary like the Appalachian Trail, America is a violent, scary country, especially for women.

As a frequent solo traveler and former professional wilderness guide, I’m a huge advocate of women exploring the world, especially alone. It’s empowering as hell. I’ve never let fear (or too many episodes of Law and Order SVU) deter me from solo adventures. The point of telling the following stories isn’t to scare anyone off the trail but rather to educate women on how to protect themselves and to ask should-be male allies to stop turning a blind eye. Until the outdoor industry, which prides itself on being quite woke-ish, is ready for its own #MeToo reckoning, women won’t feel safe.

“Women have no way of knowing who will be the next James Jordan versus who’s just an awkward dude or entitled asshole.”

The Appalachian Trail is a microcosm of American culture but with far higher stakes. Statistically, women are way safer on the trail than on college campuses or in even their own homes. There’s only one rape reported (....reported) every few years on the trail and the chance of getting murdered there is 1,000 times less than in America as a whole. And yet, the absence of deadbolts to lock oneself behind or of multiple witnesses around to deter violent men from attacking us means the occasional trail creeper can be a million times scarier and more dangerous. The only thing protecting a woman alone in a tent from that sketchy stranger she previously encountered on the trail or the seemingly cool one she’s been hiking with for weeks is a thin piece of nylon. “I physically ran into a bear,” says Julia, “and I’d take that over running into a crazy drunk dude any day.”

Despite having overwhelmingly great experiences with trail men, all of the women I spoke with encountered men, especially older white ones, who either made sexist, condescending comments or made them feel unsafe. “I even got ‘smile more,’” Julia says. “It’s exhausting.”

Surprisingly, even woke-ish/feminist-type men creeped many of these women out. Julia said one of her first hiking partners, who seemed progressive, asked to rub her legs. Later, another one repeatedly hit on her and made her feel unsafe. The other guys in her group eventually sided with her and ditched him, but only after she showed enough evidence, like his unnerving texts. The men just didn’t see it, she says. “I’m thinking, how the fuck do you not see this guy is a creep?” Later, while hiking alone, a random guy aggressively probed her about where she was going and who she was with, then found her 200 miles down the trail and threatened to come into the women’s tents while they slept.

Hilary York, a 30-year-old piano technician from Denver, felt a bit gaslit by should-be allies. There were only three men who made her really uncomfortable during her 2,190 mile trek, two of them sketchy enough to scare even the men away. But the third was “your standard hippie type” who undressed her with his eyes and was clearly looking to hook up. When she told her guy friends he made her uncomfortable, they thought she was being dramatic and overly sensitive. Her female friends, on the contrary, unanimously agreed he was creepy. “I think the most frustrating thing is having your intuition downplayed,” says York. Which is why she turned to Facebook.

Most people go into the woods hoping to escape the traps of modern life, especially social media, yet women on the trail don’t always have that luxury. York says an Appalachian Trail group for women on Facebook has become a priceless space that helps women feel as comfortable, safe, and empowered as possible. The moderators are careful not to allow any man-bashing or vague accusations.

As a woman who’s worked almost exclusively in male-dominated industries, namely the outdoors, comedy, and film, I too have relied on whisper networks to feel safe, which is what this women’s FB group does. York says this group was quite critical in getting important information out about James Jordan when rangers couldn't. Oddly enough, the FBI is in charge of crimes committed on the AT because it’s administered by the National Park Service. Some hikershave criticized the FBI for failing to warn or protect everyone from a man they knew was dangerous.

There are a lot of men out there scaring the shit out of women in other ways, which is why we need men to be more thoughtful, pay attention, and be better allies. The stakes are too high in the woods. Women have no way of knowing who will be the next James Jordan versus who’s just an awkward dude or entitled asshole and relatively harmless. Women have to assume the worst.

Since York hiked with a man and has a solid poker face, she felt lucky compared to the “kinder-faced, solo female hikes.” Kristin Forster, a 28-year-old pastry chef living in Hamburg, Germany, had previous experiences with a stalker on the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail), so she knew how to handle sketchy dudes—be nice and calm but don’t answer their questions. But stranger danger wasn’t her problem in the end.

“Other hikers along the way also promised to back Cowan up and help her. But when it came to actually doing anything, none stepped up.”

For eight weeks Forster hiked with a trail partner who seemed chill and supportive. Being on the trail, she says, means you get closer to people faster, especially during extreme weather situations. Like me and my coworkers when I guided on the trail, Forster and her hiking partner would have to snuggle to warm up on brutally cold, rainy days. During one of these times, she felt his dick in her back. “That’s when it got weird.” She doesn’t blame him for getting a boner at all. But when she casually reminded him that she had a boyfriend back home, he flipped a switch and started mocking her and being super mean. She eventually left him because he made the trail so intolerable for her.

Beth, a 39-year-old consultant who’d rather remain anonymous to protect her safety, hiked with a seemingly cool guy for 10 days before he started to attach himself to her “like glue,” hovering over her constantly, even when she needed alone time. She tried to hike ahead several times, but he’d always catch up. After Beth reminded him she was in a committed relationship with a guy back home, he started making comments on her appearance and how attractive she was.

One day he walked up on her changing clothes in one of the shelters, despite her warning him, saw her full frontal naked, then got defensive that she was upset. “I was completely humiliated yet I convinced myself it wasn’t a big deal,” she says. She eventually decided to ditch him for good. Afraid of his reaction to feeling rejected, Beth waited until they were at a hostel in town with the safety of people around to break the news. “His face literally blackened.”

She felt safe once the trail logs were showing him 2-3 days ahead of her. Then she ran into him. He admitted he’d seen her name registered at a hostel and had taken a “zero” day (zero miles) to wait for her. Panicked, she ran after another guy hiking by, told him she was being stalked, and asked if he’d let her hike with him for a bit. Her stalker passed them shortly thereafter and was never seen again. Beth and her new hiking partner, who became a dear friend, hiked all the way to Maine together.

“As women we are programmed to be nice and polite,” she says, “and I actually found it harder to advocate for myself because I had gotten to know this guy.” Other men have since tried to attach themselves to her on long-distance hikes, but she’s learned how to protect herself sooner. “A lot of men on the trail are desperately lonely and will prey on women who come across as sweet and compliant,” she says. Especially if you don’t set firm boundaries out of the gate.

Jessica Cowan, a 38-year-old freelancer from Ohio, set out on the AT alone, assuming she’d find a “tramily” (trail family) like everyone talks about. But she never quite fell in with a group hiking her pace. When she met her stalker, who we’ll call Doc, he seemed charming, generous, and cool. Although she made it clear she had a boyfriend and wasn’t looking for a trail fling or a relationship change, he eventually started to express interest and asked about her relationship. “I found his behaviors really, really creepy, but when I talk about it, nothing I say sounds incredibly creepy,” she says. “I don’t know if it's an overreaction on my part… or if I’m gaslighting myself.” She was even hesitant to use the word stalking when telling this horrific story.

When crashing in shelters, he’d try to scoot his mat next to hers to sleep, wouldn’t avert his eyes when she announced she was changing, and even got caught staring at her when she was using a privy one day. After seeing Doc go on some hostile rants over the smallest things, she knew he was truly unstable. It was another woman briefly hiking with them, a psychologist, who helped her realize he was obsessed with her and that she needed to get a lot of miles ahead of him.

After that, Cowan tried everything to keep distance from Doc. She “slack-packed” (paying someone to drive her gear up the road), pushed her body to the limit, day after day, and even bought a new tent with wildly different colors to camouflage herself. Whenever she thought she was far enough ahead of him, another hiker would say he was nearby. Doc eventually caught up to her at a hostel after paying someone to drive him up the road.

Cowan finally filed a police report so they’d at least have him on their radar. Hostel workers promised her not to welcome him, but in the end, only one kept his word. The rest gave him the benefit of the doubt. Cowan thinks it was just easier to take his money. Other hikers along the way also promised to back Cowan up and help her. But when it came to actually doing anything, none stepped up. Despite her having mostly pleasant encounters with men on the trail, their blind-eye approach was disappointing. “I think a lot of men are guilty of taking that path of least resistance.”

Cowan did keep her boyfriend, Cowboy Knueve, apprised of the situation the whole time. “You have no idea how much sleep I lost,” he says. “I was sitting home worrying about her and this asshat.” Right after Cowboy dropped her off at the beginning of her hike, James Jordan murdered one hiker and wounded another on the trail in Virginia. “I knew how important this whole thing was for her,” he says. “It just pissed me off that he ruined her trip.” Even though Cowan told him she had it handled, Knueve finally drove 700 miles to make sure.

Knueve stayed with Cowan at night and ran shuttles for fellow hikers during the day while she hiked. He says he met at least a half a dozen women who’d done a lot of night hiking and “busted their ass” to get away from this same guy. Cowan and Kneuve tried to warn everyone about Doc.

One day they actually saw him at a campsite, so Knueve decided to confront him. Having googled the guy, he knew he was a multiple felon and had been charged for unlawful imprisonment of a woman. “I wanted to spray the man and kick him until he’s tired…. but I didn’t want to go to jail.” Instead he told Doc he knew he was stalking women and harshly warned him to stay away.

“If anyone fucks with me on the trail this year, I’m gonna punch you in the fucking face and carry the fuck on.”

Before leaving to go home, Kneuve drove Cowan 200 miles up the road to give her a safe distance from Doc. Shortly after, though, they picked up another hitchhiker and she was running away from Doc. That’s when Cowan realized this just wasn’t fun anymore. “I should only have to worry about where I’m getting water and where I’m gonna sleep,” she says. “Not if he’s gonna turn up.” She made it a few hundred miles farther, but finally gave up. Instead of enjoying any hard-earned sense of accomplishment or pride for hiking one thousand miles, Cowan couldn't feel excited about her milestones. It all seemed pointless. “I felt like I was running for my life every day.”

“I encountered a lot of promises of support that didn’t really hold up. Except for my boyfriend, I didn’t see anyone else confronting him or calling him on his bullshit. I think they all just wanted to stay away,” she says. “Especially after the murder.” She’s still amazed that one man could affect hundreds of miles of hiking for so many people. More than anything, Cowan hopes this story will lead to men stepping up. Or at the very least, believing women.

Having solo hiked the Appalachian Trail before, Missy Barger went into her 2019 hike already prepared to play by different rules than men have to. “We have to be hyper aware, but also not jump to any conclusions,” says the 49-year-old photographer from Boston. She watches men closely but plays it cool, never giving them hugs or smiling too much. “And men?” she laughs “Well, they... just get to hike!” Being older, more experienced on the AT and more confident than a lot of her twentysomething female peers, she knows she’s regarded as “one tough motherfucker.” That usually “keeps guys off” her. And yet, despite all this, even Barger ended up with a stalker.

She’d been camping right down the road when the murder happened, so she was even more careful this year. “An odd person doesn’t strike me as different. We’re all odd… cuz we’re out here,” Barger says. But when a guy, who we’ll call Bear, started going on aggressive political rants and undressing in front of her, she knew it was time to bounce. The next day he popped up on her path and wouldn’t let her through. When he appeared a third time and started to verbally assault her, she and her “tramily” hiked four hours in the middle of the night in the pouring rain to get away. They later reported him to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC).

In the end, Barger had to skip the whole state of New Jersey and half of New York to get away from Bear, but she went back and completed that section later. This detour and return trip cost her nearly $600. Whether it’s the actual price of shuttles, extra nights in hostels, a new tent to camouflage yourself or the emotional burden of fearing for your life, the “female tax” is a hefty one, even in the woods.

Luckily, Barger found great male allies, like Eric Bellavance. This 51-year-old heavy equipment mechanic from Boston and trail vet waited to pursue a romantic relationship with Barger until after they completed the trail. One way he believes men can be supportive of women is to use more self-restraint than they might back home. “You want to be extra aware of being creepy. It’s that simple,” he says. “If they’re whipping off their clothes, just turn away and start doing stuff,” he says. Give them their privacy and space when they need it, keep your distance, and don’t touch them, he says. While Bellavance thinks most thru-hikers, by a certain point, become acclimated on how to interact with women and not freak them out, there are still those who do whatever they want because “it’s kinda lawless” on the trail. “They’re out here because society won’t tolerate their behavior back home,” he says. “We’re all out here because we don’t fit in society.” But this lack of social codes and rules is exactly why women need men to be more careful and step up.

Bellavance says some day-hikers and locals will hang out on the trail and wait for solo women to pass by, just to prey on them. Warning others or reporting them to authorities is one thing men can do. Sometimes he says hikers have to take trail justice into their own hands, though. Last year a section-hiker touched a woman in her sleep at one of the backpacker hostels, so Bellavance and his friend tracked him down and threatened to kick his ass if he did it again. When another male hiker exposed himself to a woman on the trail, Bellavance welcomed her to hike with them.

“We are asking men in the outdoor industry to listen, believe us, step up, and use your privilege to call out other men.”

“I look at it this way—it’s already hard enough, women don’t need any shit from men.” Bellavance lets spooked women latch onto him when they need to since women are way less likely to be approached by a guy when they’re already with one. He never asks women for their phone numbers, real names (most go by a trail name), or social media handles because he knows men are harassing and stalking women online too. When Barger hikes solo, a lot of men ask to be snapchat friends. “Fuck, I just want to hike,” she says. “I have to have extra guardrails up when I post on social media.”

In general, Barger has run out of patience for men’s bullshit. “If anyone fucks with me on the trail this year, I’m gonna punch you in the fucking face and carry the fuck on.” She refuses to be scared off by men and encourages other women not to be either. To help protect current and future female hikers, Barger is very active on FB groups.

Unfortunately, those groups aren’t always safe either.

Shilletha Curtis, a writer from Newark, New Jersey, plans to hike the entire Appalachian in 2021. As a Black woman and a lesbian, though, she’s not sure who will have her back out there, as she’s already faced harassment on her trail day hikes. In a co-ed AT Facebook group, white men have already been harassing her about her recent publication, some posting “Hikers Lives Matter.” The male FB administrators have accused her of race baiting when she talks about racism on the trail. “We need to make these groups a safe space for everyone, not just white members, as Black people do hike.” Latrina Graham’s powerful essay about being a Black woman just trying to hike goes even deeper into this huge problem.

Until white hikers, particularly white men, do more to make the trail safer for everyone, what do the rest of us do? Not hiking isn’t an option, nor should it be. Most women I spoke with agreed that the best way to stay safe is to trust your intuition and to avoid gaslighting yourself or being too “nice.” Always sign guest books as two people or use a male/ambiguous name, invent a “dude backstory” about a “friend” that’s nearby, and never post photos at recognizable spots on social media. Obviously it’s #notallATmen making women’s lives hard... but it only takes one.

We are asking men in the outdoor industry to listen, believe us, step up, and use your privilege to call out other men. That’s what will help us feel safe. We are tired. We need your help.

Because we belong here, too.

#male predators #females on the trail #safety

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cetaceans-pls · 4 years

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A Bagel To The Brain (A Batfam Story)

Bruce Wayne gets knocked the hell out by the Fear Toxin, and it’s an even worse nightmare than usual, which is really saying something. The menagerie of Robins do what they can, as Alfred plans for brunch and future brutality.

Or, it’s fever dream Russian Roulette meets the Bachelor, and Bruce does not want to be the last man standing.

Batfam fic with the four prodigal sons, written just in time to be a little too late for @setsailslash ‘s birthday, which is pretty on point for life in 2020 tbh. Please partake and enjoy, and stay safe and well ;9

On AO3 here!

Commission info here!

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You have to give it to the villains of Gotham; maybe old dogs can’t learn new tricks in other cities, but the drab grey skies and the perpetual hint of eau de urine on concrete inspires so, so much creativity in the local criminals. If Bruce hadn’t decided to dedicate himself to a lifetime of pursuing justice, he might even admire the absolute audacity of Scarecrow going wild with his latest fear toxin in an industrial kitchen that supplies thousands of bakeries and homes city-wide with bagels and bread, crippling Gotham right in her belly.

That realisation comes much, much later.

Bruce biting into his pre-brunch breakfast sandwich of cured salmon and microgreens on fresh bread has a much quicker turnaround time.

It’s almost noon. Billionaire, Batman, actual adult man Bruce Wayne bites into a bagel and passes out straight into a bowl of soup.

He’s stood in front of a mansion that pales in comparison to the Manor, and he’s in a tuxedo that is far, far too shiny to be in good taste. There’s a camera crew facing him, a red carpet between them like an untouchable border, and there’s something….fuzzy about everything. Bruce hasn’t had a legitimate, honest-to-God hangover since his twenties, but this does remind him of the time he mixed marijuana with a touch too much home-brewed pineapple rum out in Absolutely Nowhere, Belize.

He’s sweating, which is odd. His face and neck is all damp, but given the amount of physical fitness that is required to put a dent in Gotham’s crime rate while dressed as a bat, standing around in a bad suit shouldn’t have him this sweaty all over.

He doesn’t even have a pocket square to dab his face with. Trying to, to remember why he’s here and dressed like this yields no memory, and given the presence of cameras Bruce snaps into his flighty socialite personality, smiling vapidly about two feet above the centre of the huddled cameramen.

Was he kidnapped? Drugged on the way here? Where is here, anyways? He shifts slightly, this way and that, and very calmly does not groan when he finds none of the stuff he usually keeps on him: no batarangs made of starch that have a vicious edge but dissolve in the wash, no tiny smokebombs masquerading as cufflinks, no ring that doubles as an emergency signal. He’s dressed in three layers of questionable polyester, and he might as well be naked.

Hyper-aware even when (especially when) drifting through his thoughts, Bruce turns with fantastic slowness to observe a limousine driving up to the other end of the red carpet. He doesn’t feel like he’s in danger, even if his heart rate’s strangely uneven and his face feels warm and wet and he can’t remember a single blessed thing about the past, oh, 24 hours or so, so he keeps on a look of handsome idiocy and figures that so long as he isn’t about to face armed attackers, he’s probably still in control of the situation.

The car draws to a halt, and Alfred is there, somehow, suddenly, to pull open the door.

The relief that shoots through Bruce is the taste of morphine right after 5 broken bones. No matter what else is wrong, if Alfred is here, it’s going to be okay. He’s more than happy to just ignore all the strangeness that’s going on and head straight for the man, but he finds that he’s…. frozen in place, somehow.

Oh, god. It’s drugs, it must be drugs, it’s definitely drugs, and he’s not even wearing the cleverly rigged Rolex with its 4 polyvalent antivenoms embedded into the watch face.

It’s fine. Bruce doesn’t need proximity, doesn’t even need words to communicate with Alfred. All he needs is for the man to turn and look at him, just the barest glance and the distress in Bruce’s mask of a face is going to be broadcasted to him at an alarming volume, and it’s going to be fine.

Alfred doesn’t turn, and the feeling of wrongness informs Bruce, quite smugly, that Alfred will not turn to him, oh, he won’t turn for Bruce.

“Master Bruce! If this is the result of ignoring my warnings for the past week straight about how humans do need to sleep to survive, I will be most cross.”

Alfred knows, of course, that even when passing out in exhaustion Bruce would be far too conscientious to slam face-first into soup, would instead be slumped against the chair, safe and away from china, snoring like a truck in dire disrepair.

Alfred saves him from his meal, and slaps him hard, twice, across both cheeks.

There’s no response, and Alfred takes a deep, calming breath before he murmurs “What absolute bollocks,” extremely aggressively under his breath. Bruce is deadweight, and he’s a lot of deadweight at that, and no amount of top-notch healthcare can ease out the grinding in Alfred’s knees and a sticky shoulder when he keeps regularly needing to haul heroes up and down the house.

What an impossible, unbearable burden.

The door opens; a handsome man steps out of a limousine, and it’s Dick. It’s clearly Dick, from the glossy flop of his hair to the unbearable sweetness in the curve of his smile, wearing an equally tacky dark blue suit. He doesn’t say anything to Alfred, just smiles blandly, and isn’t that yet another alarm on top of the wailing cacophony nearly drowning out any semblance of reasonable thought in Bruce’s head. Something’s wrong, clearly. Is everyone drugged? Is this a time-slip, and he’s blacked out through 6 months of tremendous personal turmoil? Is this a parallel universe, where they don’t know each other and somehow also happen to be featuring in a reality show?

His first instinct is to bundle Dick and Alfred into the car and just drive off. For all that Bruce knows he can take pride in his ability to strategise and plan and reason, people often miss that in an emergency his first thought is always protect! Defend! Take care!

Supreme intellect doesn’t come to him at the cost of human instinct; the most important thing he’s ever learned is to acknowledge his panic and his fears so that they can’t blindside him in an emergency. This is bad, this is awful, look the truth of things in the eyes, move on to plan contingencies that are buttressed by already knowing what the worst possible outcome is. People who think he’s single-minded don’t know the half of it.

Twenty odd years of bitter vicious training, and all that he’s gotten good at is letting rationality come in quicker; Bruce has no doubt that it would take more than an act of God to make him stop feeling desperate to put himself between the people he cares about and any and all dangers. He can’t quite make out the make and model of the car from here, and he’s pretty sure they’re not in Gotham, because he would know if they were, but commandeering a vehicle seems like the best idea available to him at the moment.

Feet leaden and body heavy, it takes an almost supernatural amount of effort to pull himself away from where he’d found himself. Head down, one step at a time. He’s had his back broken, this is nothing compared to that first round of aching, screaming physiotherapy. This is for Alfred and Dick, and if a spinal injury couldn’t keep him down then, strange happenstances cannot stop him now.

What may prove a bigger challenge though is this woman abruptly in his face, holding a microphone in front of her glitzy dress, not someone he knows but clearly from the family of conventionally-attractive-functionally-dull television hosts that pepper the world. She talks at him, and Bruce struggles to make out her words just as much as he struggles to make out her face.

“Sorry, darling,” he drawls, making an effort to rake his eyes up and down her body as he registers sequins in the dress but not the damned colour. “Mind repeating yourself?”

The vague amorphous cloud of classically-pretty gives off a sense of mild irritation and professionalism fuelled by a sizable income, and that, at least, is a familiar response to the charms of Bruce’s alter-alter-ego. “I said, Bruce, how do you feel about meeting your first bachelor?”

Several thoughts collide all at once, slamming into each other with such force that thinking briefly comes to a complete halt. Lucky him, he’s trained so many contingencies into his body and mind that a go-to soundbite for talking about donors at the Foundation works his jaw while his brain scrambles.

“Oh, you know, it’s such an honour to be here, and to get to do all this, really, I love…. Bachelors.” Insert an overemphasised wink here.

What does she mean, ‘bachelor’? Is this some sort of charity auction? Why would anyone try to flog Dick to Bruce? Obviously there’s no bid that’s too high for his eldest son, no line Bruce wouldn’t cross if he thought Dick would let him get away with it, and his inability to be anything but a father doting to the point of idiocy is not news anywhere in the world by now. Why would a charity auction be televised, and why would he be the centre of attention anyways?

He runs through what he knows of the intercept between the concept of bachelors and television programmes, and all he can think of is that strange, strange show where a lot of one gender compete in mentally and emotionally gruelling ways to win the show and the one member of the opposite gender everyone’s allowed to throw themselves at.

(His kids had declared that he needed to know more about the world around him outside of crime-fighting and saving the world on occasion, and as a result once every other Saturday night Bruce is treated to increasingly terrible reality tv.)

Is that the premise of this? Some charity popularity contest? It sounds like something he might sign up for, if he’s done anything particularly troublesome and Lucius needed appeasing, but it’s still so dumb.

Of course he’s going to pick Dick. Twelve suitors, ten weeks, eight challenges, whatever permutation and combination of people and places and problems, obviously he’s going to choose Dick, even if Dick still hasn’t looked at him, still hasn’t acknowledged that Bruce is there, trying to get to him, barely held back by a woman with a microphone.

It’s absurd, and it’s a struggle to not let that thought show on his face. He keeps saying bland, vague things while teetering on the edge of public indecency by way of leering, and just waits for Dick to come up to him.

Bruce is willing to admit that there are many aspects to time travel and parallel universes that are currently beyond his ability to fully grasp, but there’s no world-time-universe-plane where he doesn’t care about Dick, so all he needs is to be patient and lie in wait until an opportunity presents itself to him.

He thinks it’s come, when another limousine pulls up. He’s going to accidentally stumble into the woman, maybe rip a strap so that the flash of her bra gets everyone’s attention (these are dire times and he is at present an unforgivably desperate man), and then gallantly call off the shooting so that he can bundle up his son and butler into this car and just leave.

Bruce shifts his weight, angles himself towards where Alfred has a stately hand on the handle, and plans around how to extricate the newest candidate and commandeer their car.

Everything is ready-steady-almost go, but then the door opens, and oh, it’s just going to be a bad day all around, huh.

“Bruce? Bruce, can you hear me? Goddamnit, you passed out the last time I came by for brunch too. Is it because I brought doughnut holes both times? Rico’s is cursed, it’s cursed and so is brunch. How is he, Alfred?”

Alfred looks a little ruffled, which speaks volumes to how serious the situation is. “We have a great many stairs between the kitchen and the Cave, but I managed to bring him down without too much fuss. He’s hooked up to fluids, and the first course of the broad-spectrum antitoxins have been administered, as well as a scratch test on his arm. I am, of course, running tests on the last few items of food and drink that sir has consumed, as well as on his blood and spit, but the results are not yet available.”

Dick breathes a sigh of relief; Alfred’s ability to take care of them is masterful but his skill of looking after Bruce is absolutely unparalleled. There is a reason why for Alfred’s 60th the whole family had come together in t-shirts Steph had gotten made, black with gold embroidery, saying ‘Villains Work Hard, But Alfred Works Harder.’ There’s a reason why Bruce not only wore the shirt, but has also kept it, wearing it around the house whenever he knows Alfred’s especially annoyed with him.

Alfred’s amazing, and Alfred works miracles, but trouble’s always hankering for Bruce and poison is so, so difficult to deal with. Alfred and Dick both know this, and they know that if Bruce doesn’t show any signs of improvement in the next half hour, the second course of antitoxins will start, and those are stronger and harsher, the third course is worse still, and it becomes a race to the bottom, trying to figure out how to save a man by coming a little closer to killing him each time.

They stare at each other, then at Bruce when the man groans and frowns in his unconsciousness.

“He kept calling my name,” Alfred says softly, hand tight and resolute on Bruce’s shoulder in unflinching support. “And now, master Dick, he appears to be calling for you.”

Dick goes round to the other side of the cot, and gently squeezes Bruce’s limp hand. “I’m here,” he tells Bruce, willing him to feel it. “But it’s the third Sunday of the month, Alfred. You know that means that-“

A half-hearted alarm starts up, with all the urgency of pleasant elevator music.

“Ah, I see we have a breach at the eastern gable of the greenhouse,” Alfred says to absolutely nobody, because absolutely everybody knows who likes to come in through the greenhouse, and why the security system for that part of the house is more like a doorbell than an actual warning.

“God,” Dick mutters under his breath, while Alfred makes a face that strongly indicates that God had better be ready to answer for some of the decisions He has made recently.

It’s Jason, it’s Jason, it’s Jason. Handsome and tall and deadly, unfolding out of the car in a crisp white shirt and tuxedo pants, jacket in the crook of an arm. He looks healthy and whole and hale, streak of white in his hair artfully pushed behind his ear, looking for all the world like a marvellous man.

Jason doesn’t turn to look at Bruce either, and that’s fine, it really is, it’s par for the course of what he deserves from him, but Jason doesn’t react to seeing Dick with any affection, just a perfunctory handshake before he’s moved back to keep some space between them. Jason didn’t even say hello to Alfred, and that’s the clearest indication so far that whatever is going on here, it’s not a mass-drugging issue. For one thing, the dose that would be needed to scramble Jason’s brain would be enough to kill every single other person here, without a doubt, and for another, Jason could be bleeding out from 90% of his body while a king cobra is at his neck dosing him up with enough venom to take out a herd of elephants, and he would still greet Alfred. Jason crosses lines that Bruce despairs of and disagrees with, but Jason also struggles with undercover missions because of a sweet, sweet inability to pretend not to care when he does.

It might be a parallel universe, then, because time travel no longer makes sense, but it’s statistically unlikely for the chips to align and have Bruce in what amounts to a dating show with his sons. Stress can cause premature greying, maybe, but the electric green tint to Jason’s eyes is all Lazarus pit. At this point, Bruce is beginning to suspect that he’s hallucinating everything. Not because anything feels particularly unreal, other than how everyone except his family appears less whole, but because after running through all possible explanations, that’s the simplest one.

He can’t remember his last lucid moment, can’t remember anything much outside of right now, but if the premise is that he’s off his head, he can work with that. A “Superman,” pitched under his breath, urgent and demanding, yields no results. He can draw the parameters now, and try to plan around what is least likely to damage his psyche. Thanks to all the previous accrued damages to his psyche, Bruce has a clear idea of what he can and can’t take, which is good.

His brain’s making all his sons gather here, he suspects, and that’s very, very bad. The woman is still talking to him, talking at him, and Bruce needs more data to work with. The most important thing that currently needs consideration is this:

In this hallucination, this fever nightmare, does his family care about him? Not general pleasantries like a smile and a nod and a wave, but deep deep down in that place where it’s all screaming instinct and all it screams is family or foe.

So he just smiles benignly at the host, turns so that he’s facing Dick, Jason, and Alfred, and raises his hands to cup his mouth. There’s an entire language of signals they use in the field to determine the state of things, words rotating in and out and swapped and disfigured and built up, but Bruce thinks there’s one key word that he could never ignore from any of them, and that he hopes they wouldn’t ignore from him.

Bruce takes a deep breath, and as best he can, shouts “Help!” at the group of some of the world’s best men. He can’t remember the last time he’d shouted for help and meant help me, and he’s almost curious how his off-centre brain will make everyone respond to that.

It says a lot about the sort of life he leads, to find so much comfort in confirming an ongoing hallucination.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Dick doesn’t question the timing; Jason rolling into the Cave just as Bruce started to convulse and scream “Help!” is pretty par for the course. “Hey Jaybird,” he greets back, not looking up from where he’s doing his damnedest to try to keep Bruce still. They have padded restraints, because trawling through Gotham nights means they show up at the Cave with all sorts sometimes, but tying Bruce down like a rabid dog isn’t anyone’s idea of a fun time, so here Dick is, sprawled over his father who is still so dumb strong this far under.

Quick as anything Jason’s on the other side of the bed, heavy hand on Bruce’s sternum, the other on his shoulder. “I told you brunch is cursed. What the hell is going on?”

Alfred apparates to his side, wearing nitrile gloves and holding a tray of what looks like breakfast kept under a plastic lid. “Sir passed out while enjoying a light breakfast sandwich. I have managed to isolate some strange compounds in the bread, but the toxin is not one we have encountered before. I believe my next move will be to-”

It happens in Dick’s head half a second before it happens in real life, and him shouting “Jay, no!” serves as nothing more than background music to Jason smacking the lid off the tray and grabbing the innocuous bagel. Alfred’s reactions are a little faster (and isn’t that embarrassing, god), and he has his hand on Jason’s wrist, an effort at restraint.

Too fucking bad that Jason Todd’s not really known for his restraint. With an almighty heave Jason’s got man and bun pulled up close, and he’s biting into the bagel before Dick can vault over the bed.

Alfred and Dick freeze in place, as one-man toxicology-lab-disaster Jason takes his time to chew and swallow, not betraying much barring a case of the sweats and his pupils blowing out. “A’ight, before anyone starts yelling at me, can we just big time confirm that the Joker’s not here and holding a crowbar?”

He isn’t, of course, though Jason’s unblinking wide-eyed stare somewhere behind Alfred convinces DIck to take a second look. Alfred merely rolls his eyes, putting the tray aside and pulling Jason to sit on a nearby stool. “If he were, Master Jason, I would be more than happy to deal with him myself. It has been one of those days, I’m afraid, and my temper is wearing awfully thin. How are you?”

It takes a while for Jason to blink and breathe his way through whatever he’s seeing, before he drags his gaze back to Alfred. “Feel like shit, if that helps. It’s got a different kick to it, but it sure tastes like fuckin’ Scarecrow gas in the mouth.” He works his jaw around, and rolls his shoulders. “Pretty sure there’s some sort of numbing agent to it, or something. Fuck, it’s giving me cotton mouth and it feels like all my feet are falling asleep.”

Alfred’s muttering “Lord give me strength,” under his breath in a way that promises absolute chaos in the very near future, checking over Jason’s vitals before heading over to the mainframe to, presumably, save the day. Dick’s still got a hold on his father, and in a moment of attempted levity, pokes fun at Jason. “What, how many feet do you think you got?”

Jason’s now looking down at himself, frowning a little. “Sure looks like at least five, to be honest.”

They all turn to him, but look about as disinterested as a human being could possibly be. It’s not a nice feeling, but it gives him an idea about the dimensions of him losing his mind. They either don’t know him, here, or he’s done something extra-particularly unforgiveable and they have just finally given up. The former is more likely than the latter; his sons are good people, far too good for him, and Alfred’s greatest skill in an arsenal of great skills is his ability to forgive Bruce over and over and over again.

Bruce doesn’t know how he got here, but he knows he needs to try and snap out of it and wake up as quickly as he can. Who knows where he actually is, he could be bleeding out in some alleyway even as he wrenches his gaze back to blurry-woman. Hallucinogens all get you in different ways, and with some of them, once you caught the truth of it you could will yourself awake. This….doesn’t feel like that, so his aim is to go through this with as much of his sanity preserved as possible. Batman as a concept is more impervious to mental torture than he is physical, and he’s pretty impervious to both as far as the common man is concerned.

In practice, it’s mostly the ability to brutally compartmentalise the hell out of his life experiences. It’s control, iron-fisted and unwavering, and it’s why toxins and magic and everything that can take his control from him are really high on the list of what Bruce finds absolutely intolerable.

He doesn’t know when his mind will turn on him, he just knows it will, and the premonition of future misery has his back tight and teeth grinding.

A limousine appears, right on cue mid-breakdown, and Bruce knows who’s going to come out of it. He wonders if Tim’s going to come out some older version of himself, to match Jason and Dick, but figures that it’s going to be maximum trauma if it’s Tim exactly as Bruce last saw him that gets hurt, somehow a victim of Bruce’s brain.

It would have been nice if in this dreamland Tim was up to his usual tricks, asleep standing up somewhere after spending three days staring into an investigative abyss, hopped up on coffee supplemented with more sugar than the FDA would consider humane. It would have been nice if all his sons, just this once, avoided him the way they sometimes did in real life. Being alone is a lot less tortuous than waiting for the other shoe to drop on his children.

Bruce groans, and decides to just fuck it. He politely pushes the woman who is still, somehow, chattering, and lies down right on the red carpet, hands covering his eyes.

He’ll be okay in a minute; he just doesn’t want to see Alfred let Tim out and have yet another family member not know he’s real. He’ll get up again, he really will, he’s just tired.

He just needs a break.

“Why the sweet Jesusing fuck is his heart rate dropping all of a sudden?” Jason swears as he dives for the AED tucked in a cabinet, snapping the case open even as Bruce abruptly goes limp in the bed, breathing getting eerily slow.

“The hell do you think I would know?” Dick shouts back, who is taking matters into his own hands and is soundly slapping the devil out of Bruce’s cheeks. “C’mon, c’mon, Bruce, wake the hell up!” When it doesn’t work, he jumps atop the bed, straddling Bruce around the hips, and gets ready to do CPR. He’s well-trained; push comes to shove and Dick can CPR the life back into someone for up to 3 hours.

One of those weird paranoid Batman training schemes that always seem unspeakably dumb until they inevitably pay off, urgh.

He’s going “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Stayin’ Alive!”’ slightly hysterically under his breath while Jason waits for the defibrillator to gather enough charge when Tim sprints in, still sleep-tousled and pyjamaed, holding a vial of something that fluoresces yellow and bubbles like a demon.

“Hey! Hey! Tim! Ah!” Dick calls out, still on beat, a man on a mission.

“Hi Dick,” Tim calls back, before he jabs the EpiPen of Doom right into Bruce’s thigh. The concoction floods in, gelatinous and menacing as anything. Christ, Dick saw the needle on that beast; it’s not all bad that Bruce is unconscious.

He doesn’t let up on his CPR, though, and Jason’s staring at the heartbeat monitor and ECG display like they hold the keys to the universe, paddles charged up and ready to go. Within moments Bruce seems to stabilize, heart and breathing picking back up. The problem with being the most athletic 40-something year old in the world is that Bruce’s resting heart rate hovers around the 30 to 40 bpm mark, and when that plummets it really just doesn’t have far to go.

Jason evidently is thinking something similar when he finally puts the AED awar, sighing like he’s personally offended. “It’s not a cute look to go ‘round having a heart so lazy, damn.”

Tim’s breathing heavily, still holding the empty syringe pressed into Bruce’s leg. “Brunch is extremely cursed,” he says, reluctant to move. “The one time I oversleep for the monthly meet-up, and this is what happens.” He looks up, blinks, and absently waves at Jason. “Hi, Jason. Alfred said I should knock you out for eating poisoned food.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “He’s the only one with any goddamned common sense in this household. How’d you figure out what was ailing the big guy, anyways?”

Tim grins. “Because you ate poisoned food. Alfie said you started hallucinating but also like you were kinda going numb? That’s a pretty specific combo, and not a lot of stuff can do that in tandem with Scarecrow’s stuff. This one’s,” he jiggles the empty canister, and Dick feels the need to emphasise that the needle is still stuck in Bruce, “a counter to hemlock, and there’re like 5 more vials that I was going to go through.”

Dick and Jason look at each other, and they both groan. “Let me guess,” Dick says, struggling to keep down a smile, “Fresh off of B’s Introductory Poisons 101, huh? God, when was the last time I heard someone say ‘hemlock’ like that’s a normal thing to say?”

“Hey, Socrates got murdered by a hemlock sip, it’s one of the cooler poisons,” Jason says with absolutely zero conviction. “Lemme guess, Replacement, bet you got a perfect score on the last pop quiz. ‘Draw and label the molecular structure of the Botulinum Toxin for 5 extra points’ haunts my dreams way the fuck more than being murdered.” He dramatically shivers. “The truest torture is a Chem exam nobody wants.”

Tim blinks at them, like this is news to him. “I did Intro P years ago, and yes, maybe I did get full marks for it. I just like going over the slides every once in a while for self-study!”

Dick laughs while he ruffles TIm’s hair. “You’re such a good kid,” he says with whole-grain affection. “Thanks for saving the day, Tim.”

“Yeah, you huge nerd,” Jason says, fond and deeply offensive.

Somebody touches his cheek, a gentle tap-tap. Bruce doesn’t want to open his eyes and acknowledge what’s going on in this unreal reality, but he feels flooded with adrenaline all of a sudden, and the malaise that insisted on a nap’s completely evaporated.

With tremendous reluctance, he opens his eyes, and sees Tim looking down at him with his usual look of unstifled curiosity. “Are you all right?” Tim asks him politely, and it’s a fake Tim, Bruce knows, because there’s no hint of dark circles under the eyes, and his eyes don’t do that thing where they can’t stay and focus in one place too long because there’s too much to see.

They’re steady, and they’re looking at him with a complete absence of recognition, and Bruce was 100% right. It is significantly worse to be unknown to the Tim who went out on patrol with him yesterday than to some made-up older version of him.

“I’m fine,” he says, because it’d be rude not to answer. “I’m just going to stay here until everything blows over.”

Tim crouches down next to him, tucked up tight with his chin on his knees. You’ll crease your pants, Bruce thinks and doesn’t say. Tim’s permanently in mild disarray, and it’s grown to become a comfort to Bruce. A fully primped and pressed Tim, neat and alert and free of coffee stains, is a Tim in a time of crisis.

Crises don’t tend to end well for Batman and his ilk.

They just stare at each other, and it reminds him of when Tim had arrived on the doorstep to the Manor, vibrating and immoveable with the truth of things. Tim, small and scrawny and determined to bear the weight of being Batman’s Robin.

Bruce, being much too weak to say no and keep saying no to what amounts to having a child soldier self-enlist (again).

It’s not as clear-cut as people expect, the line between Batman and Bruce Wayne, except when it is. Tensions rise high when the mantle of fatherhood is a heavier, deader weight than the Bat’s cape, sons die in a shack somewhere beaten to a dead, dead pulp, and some mornings Bruce wakes up and he mostly just hates both sides of him.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” TIm asks again.

“I don’t think so, no,” Bruce says, and waits for things to escalate.

(In the distance, there is the sound of a car pulling up. This universe holds its breath.)

Tim is hard at the work in the lab, Alfred assisting him, and Dick feels a little bad that he never got into toxicology and pharmacology and microbiology and the like. Bludhaven’s plenty scummy, but it’s the sort of scum you can wipe out with elbow grease, and chemical and biological warfare’s a bit beyond the average operational budget of the local bad guys. He still gets a little Krebby any time he thinks about that one summer where Bruce thought it was a great idea to get Dick to learn about enzymes and gene splicing and all sorts of stuff that necessitate a young hyperactive boy to sit very still and think very long about very small things he can’t see with his own damn eyes.

Jason’s better at focusing, but while he’s got less of a biological imperative to move and keep moving, he’s a lot worse at paying attention when he doesn’t want to; that’s why neither of them are in the lab, and are instead idly playing poker on Bruce’s chest.

It’s a little disrespectful, probably, to do this on your unconscious father, but Dick’s feeling pretty jittery and not entirely willing to lose physical contact with Bruce. Whatever Jason’s feelings on the matter, he’d obliged Dick’s casual invitation to a round, and now here they are with a pack of cards Jason usually has in his leather jacket, doughnut balls acting as currency.

Lord, this is how you get ants. Bruce’s shirt is covered in powdered sugar as they aggressively try to out-cheat each other.

Underneath their cards and balls and hands, Bruce’s breathing stutters, and he seems to let out a long, resigned sigh.

Dick’s got a read on things, because if there is a God they have a goddamned awful sense of humour, especially as it pertains to Bruce and everything Bruce cares about.

As if summoned, the door to the medbay slams open, and it’s Dami there dressed like a normal boy right up until you spot the sword in hand.

The shrieked “Father!” with the inauspicious crack, though, that’s all young-boy-screaming-at-the-sight-of-their-father-(figure)-on-his-deathbed all over, and is a staple in Wayne Manor. If Alfred’s got a traumatic childhood memory of something similar, then they’d have a full house.

Dick sighs too, and holds up a doughnut hole. “Hungry?”

The world blurs, the way too-small font gets when your eyes start to waver from fatigue. Bruce is sitting now on a chair masquerading as a throne, all velvet red upholstery and gold gilding. It’s hideous, and it’s ominous as all hell. They must be rolling into the endgame now, and Bruce feels no closer to parsing out the future than he did before.

His sons are arranged all in a row in front of him, with Alfred leading Damian over. God, Damian isn’t even scowling, and there’s no sign of that awkward half-step he gets when he’s trying to smuggle an oversized sword down a tuxedo pant.

It’s not real, Bruce tells himself, tries to make himself believe. It’s not real, remember all the reasons this is not real, because things are going to go down really soon, feels like, and he’ll be no good to anybody if despair gets him right between the eyes.

The faceless woman is back at it, still sparkling and indistinct, the concept of a microphone in her hand as she talks about the handsome bachelors and what a night it’s been. Bruce is testing his range of mobility as the woman stands in front of the cameras, and finds that the oppressive weight that dragged his feet feels lighter now. He can make it from where he’s sat to the line-up of children in seconds, and that’s important to note. Given the way he’s barely biting back paralysing fear in the face of the premonition of danger coming upon the kids, Bruce is grimly certain that whatever’s happened to him is Scarecrow-adjacent. If he’s still struggling through this hallucination that comes complete with a goddamn backstory to build up the anticipation, it’s probably a new concoction that Alfred is struggling to break.

The only way out is through; if he overcomes the peak, he’ll be out free on the other side. He’s never going to stop being afraid for his children, obviously, but he can overcome the fear that he won’t be enough to stop them from suffering.

He can, and right now, he must.

So Bruce keeps as calm as he can, centres himself and shifts a little in his seat to plant his feet more firmly in the ugly carpet, and bides his time. There are three entry points into this courtyard, there are four boys, five cameramen, six thousand ways for things to go wrong.

He’s already up to Contingent Plan Number 1322, so if Bruce Wayne’s brain thinks he can trip up Bruce Wayne when the stakes are this high, then he is a fucking idiot.

Bruce almost wants to smile; things are looking up.

Damian’s a funny one. He’s seen more brutality than any of them had when they were his age; some extremely dense front-loading of trauma, and a Bat lifestyle doesn’t promise that things get better as you get older. Half the time Damian acts like he’s older than every one of them barring Alfred, and that’s only because Damian intrinsically respects that Alfred can cook where everyone else left to their own devices would have a diet focused on proteins (for the muscles!) and whatever vice slash emotional crutch they can get their hands on.

So Damian is hard and brittle and sometimes he’s also a little awful, but right now he’s just mostly a scared kid trying not to show it. Funny how goddamn infectious Scarecrow’s hot bullshit can get, thinks Dick, as he restrains Damian from slashing Bruce’s belly open in the world’s most ill-advised attempt at a stomach pumping.

“D, Tim and Alfred are working on a cure, all right, so how’s about we cool it with the whole ritual disemboweling thing?”

“Unhand me Richard!” Damian shrieks, and the break down the middle can’t be good for the throat. “I will not leave Father’s wellbeing to Drake! He is a damned idiot who didn’t even tell me there was an emergency, I was sat at the dining table like a fool while all this while…”

Everyone’s guilty of that particular crime, of course, forgetting about Damian in the heat of the moment. Jason’s also guilty of not being very helpful right now, as he just watches on with a look of vague indulgence, eating up doughnut holes he hasn’t earned. Dick tries not to sigh, and forcibly reminds himself that looking after crazy younger siblings is the classic curse of the eldest (and best-looking) child. He hugs Damian tighter, and holds him steady. “Sorry, Dami, it’s been all systems go from when Bruce passed out. Tim’s already nullified the paralytic that was shutting down his lungs, and now they just need to figure out how to deal with the Scare Toxin 2.0. Gutting your father’s probably not a good idea, don’t you think?”

Jason, who is currently racing ahead of his competitors for the title of ‘Worst Little Brother By Far, Jesus, Jason, Stop’, snorts and tips back in his chair. “You know, I say we let the little guy have a go. God knows Mister Repressed over here sure could do with a loosening of his bowels, you feel me?”

Luckily, the current frontrunner for ‘Best Little Brother By Far, Not To Play Favourites Or Anything, Tim, But It’s Definitely You’ runs in with Alfred at his heels, shouting “Stop encouraging him!”. Tim has a tiny glass vial in his hand, cradled like it’s a reliquary bearing the tears of the Lord Himself, and a needle and syringe that could probably down a wildebeest. Alfred is outfitted with an IV stand rolling beside him like a third leg, the liquid in the bag swishing like a particularly important water balloon.

Doughnut holes, needle holes, assholes. What a day full of holes, or something. Dick’s not too sure how he’s meant to interpret all of this, and so he decides not to, doubling down on securing Damian to stop him from flying at Tim and accidentally destroying the best hope they have of dealing with this whole mess.

Tim pushes Damian and Dick away from Bruce’s side, steadfastly ignoring the mess they’ve made of Bruce’s pokerboard chest. “I’m not even going to ask,” he says, and he means it with every ounce of his soul. He pushes Bruce’s sleeve up, takes a breath and reminds himself that he’s checked the composition of the potential cure a dozen times by now. Best case scenario, it works, and even in the worst case, they’re only risking liver failure in the next three to four hours.

Looking around at the tableau of people keeping vigil over Bruce, Tim suspects that there won’t be a shortage of donors anyways, so it’s a risk well worth taking.

“Well,” he says, amazed that his hands are so still for someone running on minimal sleep and even less coffee, “here goes nothing.”

He sticks the needle in a split second before Damian shouts “What do you mean ‘nothing’?”, and the antidote’s coursing through Bruce’s veins before Damian can break free and create a second casualty.

Alfred ignores all the hullabaloo to put in the IV line into Bruce’s other arn, and he starts the drip. Amidst all the commotion and all the stress, he looks down at Bruce’s slack, unconscious face, and feels a very gentle sort of jealousy accompanying the usual teeth-grinding feeling of concern.

Jason taps him on the hand and holds out the bag of doughnut holes.

Alfred sighs. “You really will ruin your appetite for brunch, Master Jason.”

Jason just smiles, and he looks as guileless and as sweet as he did when he barely came past Alfred’s waist. “Alfie, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than somebody else almost dying and me eating some junk to turn me off your food.” He holds the bag out again, insistent and dear.

This time, Alfred takes it. He can’t help feeling just a little bit charmed. “Just for that, Master Jason, you may count upon getting a double-portion of dessert.”

Even if brunch may be delayed because Alfred fully intends to beat Scarecrow over the head with an electric whisk for the next three hours after this.

At least Alfred isn’t on the dais, thinks Bruce. That’s four targets instead of five, one less thing he needs to worry for. It seems like a tremendous oversight, for his psyche to leave out Alfred as he crafts his idea of a worst-case scenario, but it’s also entirely possible that Alfred is so grounding a presence that even in the depths of delusion, he’s doing his best to support Bruce.

It’s a heartening thought. Bruce looks and sees and thinks and waits, feeling anticipation build. The lights seem sharper now, the edges between his family and the rest of the world becoming more distinct, like a sign to say look here, and nowhere else.

The boys are arranged by age, Damian furthest to the left and Dick furthest to the right. In an emergency, which this will be, Bruce would have no problem just picking up both Damian and Tim and running. Jason and Dick he would need to grab one at a time to get up to any sort of decent speed, which is not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. He doesn’t see snipers skulking in the balconies that overlook the courtyard, doesn’t hear the quiet undercurrent of people planning murder sneaking into place. It doesn’t mean much in a hallucination, but Bruce is banking on his psyche being far too particular to leave out such clues.

Another blank-faced human-approximate comes out into the courtyard, bearing a silver tray with champagne flutes. All the boys take one, even Damian, and the waiter finally proceeds up the steps to Bruce with one special gold-rimmed glass.

He accepts it, and unreality starts to crystalise.

Off to the side, the woman raises her own glass. “A toast! To finding the right man for Mister Wayne!”

The boys knock back their drinks, and Bruce doesn’t, because she’d said man, singular, when these are all the right men, plural, and his is the only glass that’s different.

Damian collapses first; that small of a body with the same amount of poison as all the rest, it’s inevitable. Tim sways a little, and then he’s down and out too. If this were truly real instead of just seemingly real, Jason would hold out longest because between the Pit and the ghoulish training he can metabolise most anything out there to kill him, but he’s writhing on the ground in moments. Dick manages to stumble a few steps forwards, flute still in hand, before he finally falls too.

“Now then, Mister Wayne, it’s time to choose!”

And this, Bruce thinks distantly as he holds the one antidote dose in a glass close to shattering in his grasp, is the truest stuff of nightmares.

The room goes quiet when Bruce starts writhing on the table, eyelids flickering as he grunts and groans. He was quieter when they’d had to set his broken leg without any anaesthesia, and isn’t that an illuminating view into what it takes to be the man in Batman?

Dick is Extremely Stressed Out, and is meaner than he means to be when he looks at Tim. “Why is he getting worse?”

Tim’s gone pale and is going paler still. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Usually as soon as you administer the antitoxin recovery happens right away. This should have worked-”

‘Should have’ isn’t particularly reassuring right now, and has had a long history of biting Bats and their associates in the ass; it’s another one of those kinds of days, looks like.

Damian isn’t having any of it. “You’ve made him worse, Drake! I knew we couldn’t trust you to do anything right, Father is dying because of you. I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance.” He sounds like he’s never meant it more.

Tim doesn’t even disagree with him, just keeps staring at the puncture wound in the crease of Bruce’s elbow, at the remains of the little antidote that couldn’t. It’s like a metaphor for his life, at this point. The shoddy patch job that didn’t work, the plaster too insignificant to cover the wound, the cure that didn’t heal anything.

Everybody quiets down when Tim doesn’t rise to the bait, even Damian who had been near frothing at the mouth for a fight. The fear gas isn’t deadly, usually, but these aren’t usual times. There are things that could be done, people they could call, things they could do to keep Bruce running long enough for more help to come in.

That’s the thing, though, the absolute worst thing about the fucking toxin; it’s so metaphysically infectious, that the concept of a dying Bruce has rooted them all to the ground. Smooth as anything, it saps away the will to try and try harder, bit by terrible bit.

Bruce is breaking out into cold sweat now, movements growing increasingly violent as he keeps gasping out their names, and isn’t that just a sight to behold?

Tim breaks his own spell first, holding a hand up to his mouth like he’s trying to hold back the desire to throw up. “I’m going to go back to the lab, I must have missed something, there’s got to be something I can do.”

Dick nods, mouth dry. “Sounds like a great idea, Timmy. I’ll stay here and stop Bruce from convulsing all over. D, can you keep his legs still?”

It speaks to the heaviness of the situation that Damian doesn’t do more than glare at Dick before he goes to do his bidding, securely holding Bruce down by his ankles. The blanket had gone flying when Bruce had started convulsing; Damian tugs it back to cover Bruce’s bare feet. The thin skin and battered bones look vulnerable in the harsh light of the medbay, and Damian doesn’t want to look at them. Socks, he thinks. He’s going to festoon his father in so many socks, thick woolly fluffy ones for swanning about the Manor in, and things will be fine.

He grips Bruce’s ankles tighter, and wills whatever spark of magic he may or may not have to come out and do its damned job (can’t leave it all to Drake, can he?).

Jason remains unusually quiet, still in his chair, close by Bruce’s shoulder. He remembers that first hit of the toxin, fresh from the bagel, the immediate confidence that the Joker was there with a crowbar, only this time it’s not just Jason tied up in some shack somewhere in the snow.

This time the fucker was in the room with him, right by Alfred and Dick, right by Bruce who’s unconscious and more useless even than usual, and the greatest, most unbearable fear had been that this time, someone else would die from the blood in their lungs, and this time, he’ll be the one too late to stop it.

Alfred said that Bruce had been calling out for all of them, hadn’t said anything but their names and ‘help’, and he thinks he can guess the shape of the nightmare Bruce is seeing. The bare bones of it, five snapped ribs digging into a soft lung, the thing that’s making Bruce choke. Tim’s a certifiable genius, but a toxin in the blood’s a lot easier to get rid of than a demon in the head.

Jason’s fortunately a master at both, at this point, and he suspects that there’s something he can do.

With uncharacteristic gentleness he brushes Bruce’s hair off his face and tucks it behind an ear. He moves his hand down until he has a sure grip on the nape of Bruce’s neck, secure and confident, and squeezes just a little. “Hey, B,” Jason says conversationally, not looking up from Bruce’s twisted face. “I don’t know what you’re seeing, but I’m gonna guess it’s some fun times involving us.” He drags his chair closer, the legs screaming across the concrete. “Dying horribly, probably, I sure fucking know what you’re like.”

He thinks about the rush of horror that had filled him, and how Alfred’s steady hold on his wrist had helped, how hearing his name being called had helped.

“Whatever it is you’re seeing, it’s not real. Promise you it’s not, ‘cos I bet it’s some dumb thing that wouldn’t have a chance of actually hurting us in real life, because you’re like, the world’s most overbearing parental figure.” Introductory Poisons 101, a Wilderness Survival Skills Camp for a pack of vigilantes haunting greater metropolitan Gotham, a field guide for identifying the warning signs of a rabies infection. Three thousand and a half Powerpoint slides updated with the determination of a man who refuses to be caught out unawares ever again. Jason wants to scream as much as he wants to laugh. “So I’m just gonna tell you right now, that whatever decision you have to make, whatever it is you decide to do to try and save us in your head, you’re doing enough, okay? We came into this trusting you, and whatever hell it is that you got going on, we’re gonna come out of it still trusting you.”

Jesus, it’s embarrassing needing to say these things that need to be said in front of other people. This is why Jason had tried to hold out on making monthly brunch an official thing, and his premonition had been 20/20, urgh. The sole silver lining is that Bruce is unconscious and cannot quote him on any of this.

Still, whatever his grievances and anger and dissatisfaction, it’s a point beyond contention that Jason absolutely doesn’t want to see anybody in this family hurt. Even Bruce. Maybe especially Bruce, on days like these.

“Do what you have to do,” he says easily. “I can take a hit or twelve, and I got a great track record of coming back, you know? Make the call, and just wake the fuck up.”

God, the temptation for a dramatic slap is almost overwhelming. Instead, Jason absently brushes the fine hairs by Bruce’s nape with a thumb, and hopes for the best.

His first instinct is to go for Damian. Damian’s the smallest by far, and the poison will take him first. If he gets the antidote to him, then he’s buying time to figure out a cure for the rest of them. Best case scenario, he can figure a way out of this. Worst case scenario, everyone dies except for Damian. He lets down three of his sons, and the one that does survive gets to know that the only reason he lived is because the others didn’t.

It’s twisting his stomach, twisting his brain, and the panic’s ratcheting up as they start dribbling a bit of blood and convulsing. He has to choose, he has one cure and he has to choose, how is he meant to choose, how is he supposed to come out through this in one piece? Bruce can’t even pull himself out of his chair, and the edges of the world are starting to ominously fade to black. It’s too late to say hey, how about you let me drink four shots of poison instead, please? It’s too late to do anything, why hadn’t he moved the moment he suspected foul play masquerading as champagne? How is he too late again?

What is the point of him, other than to spectacularly fail when he’s needed the most?

Deep breath in, slow breath out. He tries to remember that this is likely a hallucination, but it doesn’t help, so Bruce shoves all other thoughts out of his head, and makes himself move.

It’s triage; a sip of antidote given to everyone, as much as he can spare for each. He could give all of it to just one son and hope for the best, but whatever the outcome of that, the decision-making process behind picking one to live and three to die is going to cause so much more fucking damage than this, so he doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t think about anything, just tips his glass into Damian’s mouth, then Tim’s, then Dick.

He’s got Jason propped in his arms, just the littlest bit of the antidote left in his glass, and gief is already settling in because isn’t this a familiar scene? He holds the flute up to Jason’s mouth, and pulls back when he hears the softest little mumbles. “‘s not real,” he hears Jason say, and abruptly warmth blooms from the back of his neck, running down his spine. Jason’s words come in and out of focus, like a voice over the phone trying to whisper over static. “Trust….you.” More static. “Wake the fuck up.”

The last line comes over more strongly, the warmth at his nape squeezes harder, and Bruce drags in a desperate breath. He feeds the last of the liquid carefully into Jay’s mouth, because it doesn’t hurt to be careful, and tries to focus on the grounding feeling that’s holding him by the neck. “Jason?” he calls out, right at the sky instead of the man in his arms, because he feels close to cracking it.

“Holy shit, Jay, it’s working!”

It had been soft, but they all heard Bruce call for Jason after the world’s most heartening speech. Bruce even seemed to be pressing into Jason’s steady hold, and Dick joins in on the action, commandeering a hand and squeezing it tight. “C’mon, Bruce, you gotta wake up. You’re always the one that gets testy whenever we’re late for brunch. I’m starving, and not even your paranoid brain’s gonna keep me down, so just wake up already!”

Fingers twitch in his hands, and Dick wants to vault off the top of something very tall while he whoops.

Not to be outdone, Damian starts shaking Bruce by his ankles like he’s trying to swing some extremely unwieldy skipping rope. “Yes, Father, I would not allow myself to be killed inside or outside your mind, so you may as well give up and just wake up.” The shaking becomes more intense, and it’s almost funny to see Bruce’s heavily-muscled legs flopping about.

Alfred eyes the EEG read-out, and sees the signs of a man fighting through a nightmare. Fighting desperately, inching ever so slowly towards wakefulness. He’s not usually one for loud cheering or whooping, but what’s a butler to do but provide for his charge? Alfred rounds the table, right by where Jason is, and politely clears his throat. “I shall fetch Master Tim, as this does seem to be working. If you will excuse me,” he says as he leans down and presses a palm to the curve of Bruce’s cheek, “I’ll see you momentarily, sir.”

The touch lingers, and Alfred disappears on the wings of a soft sigh from their communal patient.

Dick and Damian continue shouting encouragement from the top of their lungs, deciding that the best strategy is the loudest one, while Jason stays quiet and keeps a firm hold on Bruce. Bruce’s eyelids flutter harder and harder, like consciousness is only a moment away, and when Tim comes in with the largest needle to date with something that looks like hot pink radioactive waste, the shouting just gets more energetic.

It’s so dumb, and it’s so sweet, thinks Jason. Dick and Tim and Damian are all on one side of Bruce, and the gentle nudges and prodding has turned into what looks like three bakers kneading a massive slab of dough, Dick working on a shoulder, Tim on a hip, and Damian on the feet. Bruce is actively groaning now from being worked over by three violent, overexcited masseuses, and is probably hopped up on whatever stimulant Tim just stabbed him full of. When he wakes up he’s going to be extremely disoriented, and probably bruised to hell and back.

They’re all crazy, and they’re going to give Bruce motion sickness, and shit like this is maybe why Jason still shows up month after month for goddamn Brunch at the Manor.

He’s smiling as he starts bellowing in Bruce’s ear too.

“Wake up, you old man, god, remember that whole year you secretly planted like 15 alarm clocks in my bedroom because I was a teenager who liked to sleep in on the weekends?”

Wake up you complete asshole is the pervading primary vibe in the room; wake up, dad! is the secret group wish.

Sometimes, good things do happen to vigilantes.

Bruce groans, and-

Things escalate really quickly from Jason’s quiet whispers. All of a sudden he’s bombarded with shouting on all sides, like the sky is screaming down at him. If that wasn’t overwhelming enough, he starts feeling warmth in patches all over him, screeching fire burning a path up his arm, and he keeps tipping to the side like he’s being shoved over.

There’s a theme to the cacophony; it’s familiar voices yelling some variation of wake up, and he recognises those voices. They’re ones that he tends to be bad at turning down, all of them, and if they’re saying wake up, then he really should try.

The Woman comes up to him in her beautiful dress, catches him by the chin with her red, red nails, and Bruce looks into a face that isn’t there; the void threatens to pull him under.

“They’re dying,” she tells him, and her voice is the amalgamation of every terrible voice promising every terrible thing in every terrible Gotham alley. “Choose, Bruce Wayne, you have to choose.”

He looks down, at his sons lying down around him like a halo, and looks at her.

“I choose,” he says more calmly than he’s felt throughout this entire hellish experience, “to wake up.”

(Choosing just one is no fucking choice at all.)

The screaming continues long after Bruce wakes up, and he thinks at this point it’s just payback for him worrying them. Alfred had shown up bearing tea and sandwiches almost at the exact moment Bruce had wrenched himself awake, because the man has a sense of timing that is simply sublime. Bruce can’t hold his cup of tea himself because the last kick of drugs Tim had given him had helped kick his brain back into gear but also leaves him so strung out he’s pretty sure he could one hit KO Killer Croc right now.

Everyone seems to find his lack of coordination exceedingly funny, even as they take turns to help him sit up and sip his drink. The hot darjeeling helps with the cotton mouth, and nibbling a delicate little cucumber sandwich helps soften the nausea brought about by the abject despair. He idly brushes powdered sugar off his front, and looks around at his family. Nobody’s bleeding out or foaming at the mouth, and he’s never seen anything so good in his life.

They update him on the situation as he gets his bearings; some new type of fear toxin-paralytic combo present in baked bread, the GCPD being informed and pulling the contaminated food off the shelves, Tim’s three-strep antidote composition forwarded to the pharmaceutical arm of WE for immediate production of the cure, Bruce going down harder than most, likely due to his built-up resistance to previous versions of the toxin. Damian happily outlines his plan of plucking the poison right out of Bruce’s guts, which certainly is an idea, and Bruce carefully doesn’t mention how all of them are keeping in tight contact. Jason’s got his feet propped up on the cot, and his socked feet are pressed to Bruce’s side. He woke up with Dick holding his hand, and he hasn’t dropped it yet. Tim’s leaning over the cot, body turned to face Bruce, and his elbow pokes Bruce right in the waist. A master of secrecy and deception on an average day, Damian’s taken a break from being a professional assassin and offers no apologies or excuses for just straight up sitting on top of Bruce’s legs.

Even Alfred seems to find a thousand reasons to offer up glancing touches as he passes snacks and drinks around, oh.

He’s piled in, and it feels fantastic.

Alfred keeps disappearing and reappearing with more and more food, and the kitchen island upstairs is usurped by Bruce’s body acting as a table for their meal. He has a worryingly warm gravy boat placed securely between his thighs, and staunchly ignores whoever it is that calls it ‘Batman Meat Juice’. A wrought iron pot full of warm tea hangs from the IV stand, and his chest is home to a platter of roast beef and mushroom tempura. He’s clearly intentionally being weighed down, because the first response to him saying he should really get up get out and get Scarecrow was greeted with a mostly-empty bag of doughnuts slammed right into his middle.

Bruce realises he probably deserved that, even if he’s less certain about deserving all of this. There’s no way to free himself barring an out-and-out brawl with all of his sons, and even if he survives that, he won’t survive Alfred who’s been bringing down the cutlery with a look of impending violence.

The atmosphere’s manic; down for the poisoning, up for the recovery, twanging every which way because everybody is clearly curious about what had taken him so deep under, but everybody also had enough sense (enough experience) not to ask.

It’s not like Bruce is famous for sharing information, either, but he’d seen them almost die in front of him. Surely, he’s learned from Jason. Surely, he knows better than to be shitty to his living children after seeing dead children.

He pours Batman’s Meat Juice over a slice of beef, and looks at it instead of at anyone. “It was a competition, with the four of you. They poisoned all of you, and I had the one antidote, and I had to choose.” He tears into the sliver of meat, still firmly avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t, because I couldn’t. All of you managed to wake me up before the final conclusion.”

And how fortunate was that? In the heat of panic, opting to parcel out the antidote had been the only thing that had made sense, but where would Bruce be if he hadn’t woken up? If the fever dream ended with all his children dead at his feet and then the nightmare began?

Dick and Jason don’t give him much time to stew, because they both snort in a way that indicates maximum offense has been taken. “The Scarecrow wishes he could poison me dead,” Damian states with utmost confidence, and Jason going “Even getting smashed to a pulp couldn’t keep me down, and you’re saying some shitty ass ~mystery brew~ was gonna take me out? Christ, dream me was probably taking a nap to avoid all the melodrama,” was an echo of the same thought.

Why they’re offended that Bruce’s worst nightmare is not up to snuff is a little hard to understand, but their vehement confidence in their unwillingness to die is comforting. Even the inevitable escalation of Damian and Jason trying to flex their poison resistance to each other feels familiar and warm, though Bruce twitches reflexively when Jason roars for Alfred to bring out the bagel so that they can have a showdown right now, right here, little bird.

Bruce looks up, and Tim’s just staring at him. “To be honest, if I was enough of a dumbass to just knock back suspicious liquids in suspicious circumstances, I’d be as bad as those two,” he nods to Jason and Damian who are both currently being lectured by Alfred and being threatened with a fate worse than any quick-acting poison (“No kebabs and ‘nugs’ at the next family barbecue, indeed none for the entirety of the spring, sirs, if you so much as say the word ‘bagel’ in my presence again, do you understand me?”). “You really need to worry less about us, especially not-us-us.”

Dick saunters into view, eating an unholy combination of meat and mushrooms sandwiched between custard-stuffed doughnuts. “No joke, I have and probably will keep on being the dumbass that’ll just swallow everything that looks food-shaped, but at some point you just gotta look at the boy throwing up at your feet because he ate from a bag of ancient popcorn that’s gone kinda green and go, you’re an adult human being Dick, and this is what happens when you eat your body weight in junk and black mould.” His tone is casual and light, but his eyes are sharp as anything. That’s the trick of Dick the Flying Grayson; all pomp and splendour in how he walks and talks and moves and acts, and none of it has a patch on what goes on in his head.

Bruce wonders what he’s calculating now.

It turns out to be a kiss, pressed sweetly to Bruce’s brow, a callback to the first few months of Dick’s endless sleepless nights spent curled up in Bruce’s bed. The world goes hazy, and for a moment it’s like he’s at the start of a dream that could go very well or very badly, again.

Bruce blinks, and Dick just smiles. “It’s a Robin’s job to look out for Batman, and it’s our job to look out for you. We would literally stay alive just out of spite, B. Try and come up with something more realistic next time, or you’re gonna make Scarecrow feel bad about his life’s work, okay?”

There is a bit of grease on his forehead, because a tempura-laced kiss will do that to you no matter how dapper the man who gives it, and Bruce for a hysterical moment feels tempted to never wash his face ever again. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, but his voice is rough and there is not a chance that he’s not an open book right now.

“Very good, sirs.” Alfred’s voice cuts through the background chatter, uncharacteristically loud. He has a massive whisk in his hands, but there’s nothing nearby that needs it. It’s a heavy-duty one, probably more commonly used in industrial kitchens than in homes with fewer inhabitants than fingers on the average hand, but Alfred seems to be appreciatingthe heft. “Now that we have sorted everything out, I do beg your pardon. I made a promise to myself that I would teach young Dr. Crane a thing or two about endangering members of the Wayne family, and I’ll just be off getting that done so that I may return in time for tea.” He nods at all of them with exquisite politeness, and it’s with dawning horror that Bruce understands that this is really happening.

(What does this one man intend to do with that one whisk, oh my god.)

Alfred’s even rolled up his sleeves, suit jacket discarded, and he keeps doing practice upward jabs with the whisk absent-mindedly. It’s easy to form some ideas about where Alfred intends to stick it and then twist to whisk, and isn’t that a spot of healthy horrific exercise for the mind.

Jason’s laughter cracks out like a shot, and in a second he’s up and by Alfred’s side, holding the gravy boat like he would a gun (it’s fantastically menacing). “Alfie, you’re a man after my own heart,” he croons, looking intimidating despite the holding of the Meat Juice. “C’mon, I’ll let you ride shotgun. It’s time for you to let your hair down, go buck wild on the town. Shit, I knew there was a reason why I liked brunch.”

It becomes clear, in that moment, that the world’s most terrifying hero matchup is happening right before his very eyes, and Bruce feels a cleaner, purer fear than he did at any point during his nightmare. It’s his duty as Batman to derail this, and there’s only one thing he can think off that could, conceivably work.

“The toxin made me dream that I was on the set of the Bachelor, and at first I thought my challenge would be going on a date with all of you,” he says out in a rush, steely stare fixed on a particularly attractive stalactite.

The merged scream of “WHAT!?” damn near knocks him out again, and somewhat sarcastically Bruce thinks he might actually miss being unconscious and a little dying.

He’s beginning to suspect that brunch may, in fact, be cursed.

A/N: If you’re struggling with your headspace right now I want you to know that a plate full of cheesy wedges will NOT help. Nor will having sad folk songs play for 2 hours on full-blast as you fail to digest too much dairy and potatoes. Please take care of yourselves in these dark dank times.

#bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #Damian Wayne #alfred pennyworth #batman #i always wondered why tim is the only one with a straight bird in his name #though i imagine you'd lose gravitas with a name like #jason great titted todd #tumblr swallows italics for reasons i cannot understand #batfamily #when you're a billionaire #but you're not very bright #whale writing

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dlamp-dictator · 4 years

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I’ll keep an eye on this anime. If anything, it definitely looks pretty, the fight scenes have been [done] well so far, and seeing Melida be cute in full color is great. If I just get a decent action series out of this anime, I’ll be happy.

-Allen X, October 22 2019

Well folks, Assassins Pride wrapped up last week and I can safely say I got what I wanted. In the end, I think this was a pretty fun and passable anime to watch weekly. Decent action, decent plot, and a decently written story. Nothing was too offensive or annoying save for one or two moments in the middle, and as much as I felt the show stumbled compared to the manga and possibly the light novel I have hope that this might just get an official translate and... well, you know, do the pacing thing better.

But since I had a habit of covering this thing after every arc I figured I’d give the show some closing thoughts and an overall opinion of the thing at the end. I hope I don’t spend a 1000+ words on this, but... well... I can get pretty wordy when I get a groove, so we’ll see.

But anyway, let’s start with...

The Good

The Visuals

Let’s not mince words folks, this anime is pretty. It might be because I’m a sucker for night aesthetic, but the one disadvantage of the black-and-white manga is that were really never got to see just how dark the world of Flandor really was. To quote myself again:

(This is a) world trapped in perpetual night with warriors of light being the only thing keeping away further darkness, along with the last bastion of humanity being a literal chandelier city in case you missed the symbolism

And nothing makes you really feel that more than that first scene of Kufa walking through the quiet streets on his way to the Angel estate, seeing not only how dark the world is from the night sky above, but also how artificial the light within it really is. The dark aesthetic really helps a lot of the other characters pop out a lot more in terms of the actual color. Mana is literally a glowing, flaming aura that lights the darkness like a candle. The two main girls in this series are a bright blonde and white-haired girl that stand out against the black night sky like the sun and stars.

Again, symbolism.

The list goes on, but you get the idea.

The Action

Not to say this is Trigger or Madhouse or Perriot, but it is pretty nice that we get a decent action scene every arc. Something I definitely appreciate is that they show contrast between Melida’s kind nature and friendly attitude with her brutal and dirty fighting style.

See, Melida is a kind and gentle girl that would rather not use violence save for fighting demons, but if she has to fight she’ll use every dirty trick in the book. She’ll throw sand, she feint attacks, she go into brawling when close enough, she fake being injured to make her opponent let their guard down. It’s a nice little story detail that shows you this noblewoman was, in fact, trained by a ruthless assassin that taught her to actual fight for survival instead of like a nobleman. Her taking down stronger students by doing all but outright cheat is almost hilarious to watch sometimes.

The Overall Narrative

For as fast as the pacing was I feel like I got a good idea of Melida’s story and the trials she has to endure as the “Incompetent Talented Girl”. This story focused on Melida more than Kufa, which is something I’m very thankful for. It’s always tempting to switch over the OP male MC to overpower his way through things, but to my pleasant surprise this only happened in one arc, and it was an arc that had some justification for it, though I really didn’t care it myself. Save for the third arc everything was to show Melida’s growth from a shy and bullied girl to a competent swordswoman that can even hold her own against the other heirs of the three noble houses.

But that’s enough of the good, so now we have to talk about...

The Bad

The Pacing

There’s no getting around this. Even if I didn’t already read bits of the manga online ahead of time the pacing for this show is still insanely fast. Even taking out the fact that this is an adapted story we’re never given enough time to absorb certain scenes. And the worse is that a lot of the arcs have a focus on intrigue and mystery. Luna Lumiere Selection Tournament Arc had two major mysteries: who was the one that changed the plaque and who is Black Madia masquerading as? They especially took care to make Mule seem like a very suspicious party only to reveal it was a third party in the very same episode. The mystery of Black Madia was done better, though by necessity as she couldn’t reveal herself until the very last moment of the arc. This was fine in the anime, but it could had used an extra episode or two of build-up between scenes. The arc at Rosetti’s hometown was a huge mystery that had Kufa under believable suspicious, and was actually done pretty well by not revealing the true culprit until the last episode of it, it also helps that Kufa was under suspicion from the first episode of it. The Library Exam Arc was... done alright, but it could had used an extra episode or two to cook and add some more tension between the Angels and the other nobles, but it was done well.

And that’s the main issue. Every arc could had used one or two extra episodes to really set the scene. Nothing was done poorly in terms of structure and narrative, but everything could had been better had things slowed down. Despite the action this show isn’t a shounen or action genre, it’s a political drama with a combat school setting.

This might also be just the issue of this being a 12-episode anime adapting a novel. A novel has the advantage of progressing its plots slowly with the knowledge the reader has the entire book to finish either that arc or at least most of it. If that reader skips around because they’re bored that says more about them than the author. With an anime or television show you don’t have that luxury, you only have a few episodes at best to keep a viewers attention, especially for something like the seasonal anime lineup where you have to keep audience retention every week and your competition is the other 50+ anime out there that might possibly be more interesting. I pity whatever decent anime has to contend with the newest My Hero Academia season along with everything else.

I understand the need to want to just show off the cool bits to keep audience attention, but it came at the cost of the narrative. Even if this thing still holds together well it could hold together much better if they only focused on the first two arcs of this series instead of trying to shove in four, but alas...

In any case...

Other Smaller Issues that Bugged Allen

Really, the pacing was the biggest issue in this anime, but I do have my fair share of gripes and nitpicks too. I’ll keep this in list form for the sake of simplicity.

Kufa having access to potions/medicines that can not only kick-start a mana-less person into having it, but one that can also turn half-Lyncrophyes back to humans opens up quite a few plotholes and issues. I’m sure the light novel and manga explain their existence better, probably something to the effect of them being extremely experimental and a deadly risk, but the anime doesn’t explain that and it can take you out of the story if you care about the world-building.

I feel like side characters like Nerva, Mule, and Salacha were suppose to get more screentime, or at least more development, but just didn’t due to the pacing and runtime. You get the basic idea of everyone, but it feels like the show wanted to do more with them, or at least that the source material probably did more with them.

The occasional moments fanservice don’t work too well in this series. It’s nothing to the level of Senran Kagura or Ikkitousen, but when your cast consist of mostly middle school aged girls the most fanservice that should be seen is a beach episode or a sleepover episode. And while this anime did have a sleepover episode it still also took time to put some of this girls in... compromising positions. My general rule of fanservice is that high school age characters doesn’t really count due to the wonky-ness of hormones act and how most media east and west tends to treat high school characters anyway, but middle school kids... yeah no. That’s just my morals, but it’s still a detractor from the anime.

The third arc kind of felt pointless since it tried to focus on Kufa’s relationship with Rosetti. I didn’t really need to know about Kufa’s past, and connecting it to Rosetti just... doesn’t feel right given how he dismissive treated her in the first arc. Making Rose a half-vampire was also pretty pointless to me. It feels like they were trying to give Kufa a harem when this show is mostly focused on Melida, and the most interesting part about his past is a mix of his life in the dark zone of the world and his past as an assassin, not his relationships with his apparent adoptive sister. It just felt... really focused and a waste of time. They could had cut out this arc, gave each other arc an extra episode to build up some things and be none the weaker for it.

The Dub

The nice thing about VRV is that I can see the HiDive dubcast along with the show. I only watched a handful of episodes, but here are my general throughts for those curious. Overall, the dub is fine, but like most HiDive Dubcasts it feels... off. Not bad, but it feels like they needed to be 4 or 6 weeks off the original release instead of 2 or 3 to get the director in the right place. I feel like most of the issues with this dub come from the direction and scripting rather than the actual voice-acting. But just to keep this short.

Kufa sounds too flat. This was a pretty common dubbing issue back in the early 2000s when trying to translate/localize a stoic, serious character. The director is probably trying to make the actor emulate the original Japanese voice acting and Kufa just sounds too flat and bored at times because of it. Most character like this tend to be given a more deadpan and sarcastic edge to them in English to make the have a little more emotion. In Japanese that flat tone is meant imply stoicism, resolve, and masculinity. In English... that’s just sounding flat and bored. Again, most characters like this are usually given a different kind of tone to keep them from sounding bored. For Kufa I’d say a more strict and stern tone of voice would help given he’s an instructor, almost like a even-toned drill sergeant issuing orders. He does sound like that from time to time when actually instructing, but I wish he kept that persona. Though that’s just my take.

Nerva and Rosetti... just don’t hit it for me. I don’t mind the difference in tone, but the script doesn’t lend itself to it. Rosetti’s actor makes her sounds much more like an adult in English, but her actual lines are still childish, which makes her come off as a little... cringe. Same with Nerva, but I’m willing to overlook it since she’s more of a side character anyway. Mule actually sounds pretty good in this regard. Her tone sounds less like a middle schooler and more like a young college woman, but since a lot of her actual lines has an air of condescending smugness it works out, though her actor sounds like she’s reading the script and not acting from it.

The scripting in general seemed to really want to follow the subbed version and it falls flat because of it. When I read the subtitles that take the world, systems, and general wackiness of this subpar anime so seriously it’s fine. But to actually hear it in a language I understand... it kinda’ shows how lacking the series is. I’m not saying they should had added jokes or anything, but it feels like they could had made the dialogue a bit more casual than it was in the subs so that the lines flowed a little better. HiDive dubs, their dubcasts especially, tend to feel like a product of the early 2000s rather than something current.

Thoughts and Recommendations

Overall I do recommend this series as a decent action show with some nice colors to it and a killer OP and ED, but there's a lot better I could recommend too that does everything this anime does but better.

So... here are a recommendations I have if Assassins Pride didn’t really click with you as much as you hoped.

A bit of an odd recommendation, but I’ll stick up Goblin Slayer first. This anime is actually a lot like Assassins Pride, being a character-focused story with decent side characters and does a lot of its world-building in the background. However, it does its arcs far better than Assassins Pride since they aren’t intrigue-based and the cast is solving much simpler problems in the grand scheme of things. It’s also an anime based off a light novel just to add to the similarities, and said anime also has four arcs to it. I will say this is a series that’s not for the faint of heart, and I almost recommend skipping episode 1 if you’re of a weaker constitution if you plan on watching this one.

Next up would be Chivalry of a Failed Knight. It does the combat school aspect of Assassins Pride much better, taking some strides to show that each of its students are, in fact, warriors capable of harming and killing others and going to a school to hone those skills. And if you that Melida was a ruthless fighter Ikki probably takes it a step further. And this is also another light novel adaptation, though the manga did technically finish its updates online if you’re curious. A side recommendation to this one would be Armed Girl's Machiavellism.

My last recommendation will be Katana Maidens. This is another combat school anime that I feel is honestly average, but it’s an anime-original series that has 24 episodes behind it, and quite a few decent action scenes. I recommend this one more to action junkies as I feel the story really starts to drag in the second half, but an overall decent series that does do itself world-building a little better than Assassins Pride, or at least I’m not asking as many questions at the end of it.

And those are my thoughts on Assassins Pride. Now I have a Rambling on video games to work on, so I’ll see you all later.

#assassins pride #your dictator is speaking

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claraxbarton · 5 years

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The Sorting

So @kangofu-cb and I were chatting this morning and anyway, this is for her, but also for anyone else who ever wanted a bit of a Stucky Harry Potter AU origin-y thing.

“James Barnes.”

Bucky wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t.

That sick, swooping, empty, clawing feel in the pit of his stomach steadily climbing his through was not nerves. It wasn’t anxiety.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t nervous. Not ever. He had his life totally under control. Eldest of four kids born to a brilliant mother and an abusive, wastrel of a father, Bucky had had his life under control since day one - since moment one, since apparently he hadn’t screamed or cried after birth but just looked at his mother and smiled.

The day Bucky had met his soulmate, his best friend, his other half, the stupid idiot that Bucky would follow to the ends of the earth, Steve Rogers, the kid had been facing down four boys bigger than Steve and bigger than Bucky even and Bucky hadn’t been nervous then. It had been the first fight he had ever been in. The first time he ever hit anyone, the first time he tried to hurt someone. So many someones, who were big and scary and angry. And maybe Bucky had felt that same kind of creeping, crawling, cold and hot and slimy and dark and awful feeling climb from his stomach to his throat then. But that wasn’t nerves.

So standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, wearing the itchy gray sweater and nearly threadbare charcoal trousers and too-crisp, too-bleached white shirt that he had gotten from a second-hand shop, Bucky Barnes was not nervous. Not about some dumb hat.

So Bucky squared his shoulders, looked down at Steve with a carefree smirk and a wink, and sauntered past the first years still waiting to be sorted and up to the dais in front of the whole school and sat down on the stool.

The moment the hat touched his head, it started talking, started picking Bucky’s brain and sorting things and judging things and -

“Put me in the same house as Steve Rogers or I will tear you to pieces and use you to wipe my ass,” Bucky thought at the hat as hard and angrily as he possibly could.

The hat laughed at him.

“I mean it,” Bucky assured the hat. “If you separate me from him I will make the rest of your very short life miserable and -”

“You clearly belong in Slytherin,” the hat interrupted him, and before Bucky could protest - before Bucky could point out that Steve Rogers, savior of the weak, most beautiful boy to ever live, would never belong in Slytherin, the hat had already made his announcement out loud.

There were boos and cheers and Bucky forced himself to slide off the stool and join his new table. Green and silver all around him. The feeling settled back into his gut, cold and hard and heavy.

It might have been minutes or hours or days before Steve’s name was finally called.

Bucky forced himself to watch his best friend walk to the front of the hall. Steve was smaller than the other first years, too pale, with features too large for his small face and hands too large for his skinny arms. He had survived Dragon Pox, a disease that was notoriously brutal and deadly, a disease that had taken his mother’s life and left Steve weak and small but remarkably scar free.

He was gorgeous and perfect and when he sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head, Steve’s jaw locked and he glared at the whole world in defiance. He glowed with righteousness and -

“Slytherin!” The hat announced immediately.

Oh no.

No.

This was Bucky’s fault. He had - the hat HAD listened to him. And it had forced Steve into Slytherin, into the house of notoriety and infamy and Steve - glorious, perfect, golden Steve Rogers should never be in Slytherin and this was all Bucky’s fault!

Steve walked over to the Slytherin table, head held high, blue eyes daring anyone to boo HIM for being sorted into the house of snakes.

He sat down beside Bucky, knocked their shoulders together just like this was another day, another meal that Steve was sharing with Bucky, just like they always did.

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered, the words out before he could stop them, before he could even think. “Steve, I’m -”

“I’m sorry too, Buck. You don’t belong here. You’re too good - you’re too pure.”

Bucky blinked at him.

“What?”

Steve leaned close.

“I knew I was going to be in Slytherin. I mean... my granddad was in Slytherin. And where else am I going to learn all the things I need to know to take down bullies, huh? I just wish... I wish the hat had put you where you belong, is all.”

Oh.

OH.

Steve - Steve Rogers, all fifty pounds of him, wanted to be in Slytherin because it would help him turn the world on it’s ear. Steve was right where he WANTED to be.

The cold, hard dread in Bucky’s gut started to melt.

If Steve was where he wanted to be, and Bucky was by his side, then Bucky was right where HE needed to be.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky grumbled and nudged Steve’s shoulder back. “I’m as pure as three week old snow.”

“Jerk,” Steve muttered, but he was grinning now, cheeks pink.

Under the table, they held hands.

It was okay.

Things would be okay.

#Harry Potter AU #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Captain America #Winter Soldier #stucky

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wahbegan · 4 years

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Red’s Retro Reviews - Condemned Criminal Origins

Hello and welcome to the tag where I use my otherwise useless and time-consuming habit of taking very old classic games that I’ve wrung all the enjoyment out of like a troubled child with an injured bird and turn it into entertainment! Maybe one day the editor of some chic magazine will hire me to talk about how much I know about Batman: Arkham Asylum and how much I hate myself for it.

Anyway, this week I thought I’d start off with an overlooked little gem that had a bit of cult notoriety and good critical reception, but which otherwise nobody gave an ounce of rat shit about: the Condemned series. More specifically, the original game.

Now, when I ask you who started the extremely lucrative habit of live-streaming themselves hilariously over-reacting to horror games, you might be tempted to say the Game Grumps, or Markiplier if you’re younger, or Pewdiepie if you’re the kind of person who unironically uses the phrase anti-white racism. But you’d all be wrong and stupid. Also possibly nazi sympathizers, but I digress.

NO! The first college-age white boys who decided it would be a good idea to beam them fucking up a video game to thousands and thousands of people online are..........lost to history because archiving of the exact history of internet trends is such an enormous clusterfuck that for years people were convinced, and some still are, that Slenderman was a real urban legend and not something some dickhead made up for a photoshop competition circa 2009

But ONE of the first was the 4 Players Network, or 4 Players Podcast, or 4PP. I know very little about these guys, so if they all turned out to be nonces and serial killers please don’t @ me, but what i DO know, is that they uploaded a video that changed my life forever. This video was “Holy Crap That’s a Bear !” Certainly not a name that would stand out in today’s massively oversaturated Let’s Play market, but this delightful video documented these two dumb assholes losing their shit over a game. The game of course, being Condemned 2: Bloodshot. Specifically, the level in which you are chased through a hunting lodge by a rabid bear. As an aside, I looked it up, having never heard of the phenomenon, and apparently it’s very rare, but yes bears can and do get rabies, usually with just about as fatal results as you would expect. So sweet dreams!

Anyway, watching this couple of dipshits get jumpscared and mauled to death by a poorly rendered bear again and again as they were repeatedly outwitted at every turn by an entity with a few lines of programming instead of a brain was, in y’know the year 2008, the absolute most fun a 14-year-old boy could have. Clearly it still is, but you always remember your first time, particularly when the only LPs i have watched since were a handful of markiplier videos with a girl in college who liked to get me very stoned and then put them on because she thought that counted as courtship.

A n y w a y, apart from the unfortunate and definitely a mistake innovation of streaming video games, the sequence of being chased through a claustrophobic environment by a bear which can rip down doors, break through walls, run faster than you, shrug off 15 shotgun blasts to the face without so much as sneezing, etc. seemed incredibly tense and original, an amazing concept for a game. Once again, this was circa 2008 before “Run for your fucking life” had become the norm for horror games.

So then why the fuck are you not reviewing that game?? You might be thinking if you’re still reading this which someone clearly is or my narrative voice would have ceased to exist by now in that tree falling in the woods kind of way. Well, dear reader, while Condemned 2 was better than the first game in a LOT of ways, it’s always worth taking a gander at the one that started it all. Also, Condemned 1 is, if only slightly, probably better known. Also, Bloodshot commits the cardinal sin of over-explaining the first game’s mystery and a result making it kind of goofy and ridiculous see also the entire history of the Halloween franchise, and as a result the ending is....well, a bit shit, to be honest. Finally, and most importantly, it’s not on Steam for 3 dollars, so shut up

The thing about Condemned is that while Let’s Plays and seemingly inanimate objects moving only when you’re not looking at them and unstoppable juggernauts of wanton death have now become the norm for video game horror (and thanks a fucking bunch, Doctor fucking Who, for always being what people say started the inanimate object fuckery even though Stephen King did it in The Shining in the FUCKING 70s and let’s be honest it’s just a primal universal fear and i’ll be in the cold fucking ground before that bloody show sees one ounce of credit where it isn’t due), Condemned as a whole has remained remarkably unique. Not wholly unique, the developers have heavily borrowed from genre-straddling crime horror movies like Silence of the Lambs and Se7en and in fact almost beat-for-beat stole the most infamous jump scare from the latter, but if it still ends with shit in my pants, and it does, I can’t really call it a failure.

Most of the creativity the game DOES have is in the gameplay itself, or rather one aspect of the two aspects of the gameplay. It’s the combat I’m talking about the combat, seeing as that’s basically all there is. Let’s just get this out of the way first, the forensic investigation shit is........well, it’s a bit shit. Oh yes, there’s a couple crime scenes you have to “solve” in a cursory almost a cutscene sort of way, where you have helpful premonitions about where you’re supposed to look and, as your lab tech helpfully informs you, “the system will choose which tool you need for you, so don’t worry about that!” Well, Christ kill me, thank God YOU know between the three fucking tools I have, one of which is an everything sensor and one of which is just a fucking camera which I’m supposed to use, God knows I wouldn’t have liked to have solved that mystery myself. It’s a shame because some of the crime scenes are quite intricate and yes, I would have liked to have put together myself that “wait a minute there’s a handprint in the paint here that matches the killer but the UV light shows an old blood spatter on the wall right above where he’d be sitting to make it, THAT MUST MEAN-” but nope. No you just have a premonition of the guy getting clobbered over the back of the head because the game is so terrified you won’t be able to put two and two together that it points out both the twos and hands you a multiplication table and nudges you and looks meaningfully at four every few minutes if you hesitate.

Anyway, that’s all the whingeing about the gameplay out of the way, because the rest of it is just delightful. Condemned is the rare first person game that focuses almost solely on melee combat and the almost unheard of one that does it well. In fact, it is the only example I can think of that’s not shit. Weapons all have individual stats to do with their heft and how far they can reach and how much of a man’s skull you can cave in at once with it and you have to choose between the plank with nails sticking out of it you can swing three times a second but you have to beat a man so badly with it it’s tiring just to watch and the sledgehammer, which demands a two weeks’ notice in writing if you’re planning on hitting someone with it, but will basically render every living thing in its considerable swing arc sent to the fucking Shadow Realm upon impact.

Something about the sound effects and the way the weapons in this game control really gets under my skin, I was killed by a 300-pound Subway-dwelling crazy survivalist wielding the aforementioned sledgehammer, and when I went down, I was sure I was familiar with the sound effect that played when it struck my skull, a sort of distant, muffled ringing of bone hitting metal. Wait a minute, I thought, I know I’ve experienced this in real life, how did they get this sound effect? Did they kill a man with a hammer to get this sound effect? Was I killed with a hammer in a past life? Killing people is equally fucking unpleasant as even the most vicious and inhuman looking ones don’t go down easily, and you can see them spit gobs of broken teeth and blood and god knows what, hear the lovingly researched impact noises, and almost feel the impact as you necessitate years of reconstructive facial surgery with one swing of your mighty chunk of concrete attached to a rebar. Then some of them have the gall to shakily get to their knees, not quite dead, trying to mumble something and you’re required to hit them AGAIN, which is always harrowing. To quote another underappreciated piece of media about the joys of gruesome murder: Why won’t you just die?! This is hard enough for me!!

The guns you do get are absolute balls, generally having about three bullets in them, you can’t reload them even if you find the exact same type of gun later, you can’t hold them in your inventory, and if you want an aiming reticle you have to actively turn it on in the options menu, and you can almost hear the game laughing at you for being such a shameless pussy.

Well, you now might be thinking to yourself, cheers for making the effort, but I’m not an insane person and therefore do not think the idea of a brutally beating people to death simulator sounds very enticing, but that’s the thing, it’s not really supposed to be. It does have a strangely addictive quality after a while, but for the most part it’s panicky and harrowing and grotesque and you really don’t want to do it but you have no choice, which is absolutely the best kind of survival horror. See, the combat in survival horror is always a bit of a sticking point, isn’t it? Because if you give the player too much firepower it just becomes an action game with spooky set pieces, but if you give them none at all, as is chic today, you better have loads of other surprises in store buddy boy, because the sheen on that trend has died and now you’re just likely to get slapped with the dreaded WALKING SIMULATOR sticker.

No, the best kind of combat for a horror feel is exactly the kind Condemned delivers, so of course they never FUCKING did it again. You leave every fight low on supplies, exhausted, badly wounded, and a bit sick at what you just reduced a human being’s skull to. Too often, the combat in games is, even that word “combat” it’s clean, it’s cold, it’s detached, it’s a very unique euphemism for butchering God knows how many people. I play this little game in my head when I go through games sometimes trying to keep track of how many unique, thinking, feeling entities I’ve just reduced to a mess for the janitor to mop up, and I always lose track around the third level. Condemned isn’t like that. Its violence is violence: horrible, awful, terrifying violence, and it doesn’t let you forget it.

The graphics also add a lot to the horror if you can get past the dated polygonal weird-ass xbox 360 at launch faces and cutscenes, which is actually pretty easy once you get used to it. The level and character design is fantastic, and really adds a lot to the whole feel of the game. Everywhere you look is dark and labyrinthine, crumbling with rebars jutting out and exposed paneling and plumbing beneath holes rotted in the walls and grime and blood and god knows what just staining everything. This game is really nihilistic in tone, and you get the sense just from the graphics that you’re somewhere nobody gives a shit about, in a part of a city that’s just been left to die and rot. One almost gets the feeling moving around the fourth or fifth condemned (ohhhhh I see what they did there) building that the whole city is just a ghost town full of nobody but violent lunatics, and also that if you keep playing for too long you might get hepatitis just from exposure.

Plot-wise, I could fill another twenty paragraphs with petty gripes. It’s a bit Kill List which i’m sure is a reference you all understand in that it starts as a crime thriller about catching a serial murderer and ends in some bizarre insane bullshit halfway between Hereditary and Hellraiser, and leads you into it gently enough that you never really notice a sudden lurch.

You play as Ethan Thomas, a very boring and generic FBI Agent called in to investigate a serial killer case by two cops who are REMARKABLY blithe about murdering people, and it’s a bit jarring in today’s political climate. Though distrust, fear, and hatred of the police isn’t exactly new, and violence amongst police officers is brought up at one point, albeit in a loading screen, so honestly I can’t be arsed to speculate on what level of self-awareness we’re operating on here. Regardless, it’s bothersome.

“Oh yeah, this place is full of addicts, hopped up on something, I think, just shoot ‘em. What? Lost your gun, eh? That’s fine here’s a fire axe go nuts, kid, we’ll deal with the paperwork later”

Anyway, you are ambushed by a man you believe to be the killer for.......no real reason, really. He was spying on you checking out the crime scene, but we just established this place is full of squatters, what if one of the 8 people I murdered on the way into this ambush was the killer??? Case solved!

Anyway, needless to say, without wishing to spoil, the dude IS the main antagonist the yellow eyes are a helpful giveaway, and he takes your gun and swiftly shoots Generic Beat Cop and Generic Dick with it, then throws you out a window, whereupon some other asshole whose main role in the game is to be enigmatic and plot-convenient, you know, one of THOSE characters, spirits you away from the scene, making it look like you just killed two cops and fled.

Now, in real life, as we all know, a cop can’t be indicted for murder even if 50 people saw him do it, but in this world, it means you have to go on the run from the FBI (not your lab tech, though, who is somehow assisting you from the lab and sending confidential data to your phone unnoticed??) while trying to solve the murder.

Meanwhile, in the background, in an “I’m sure this isn’t important and will in no way inform the last level of the game going batshit bonkers” kind of way, all of the people, including the cops, in certain dilapidated and neglected areas of the unnamed City City appear to be going what is medically known as balls-to-the-wall kill crazy, and birds are dropping dead from the sky by the thousands. Even you, protagonist, are prone to horrible screaming nightmare visions coming right the blazing blue fuck out of nowhere and that you never feel the need to comment on or go take a lie-down. I’m sure it’s nothing.

The voice acting is what you’d expect from this era of video games i.e. not good and the writing has an absolutely DESPICABLE habit of having characters tell Ethan things he should already god damned well know for the sake of gameplay or exposition, leading to my current theory that Agent Ethan Thomas has some kind of horrible head injury and can’t remember anything from over 2 minutes ago like Guy Pearce in that pretentious movie where he accidentally kills his wife and then runs around for two hours terrorizing random-ass people about it.

The game never full-on plays the AND THE MAN YOU’VE BEEN PLAYING AS WAS CRAZY THE WHOLE TIME card and leaves things a bit ambiguous, but after caving in the 15th vagrant’s head and the 7th vision you’ve had of being murdered by some Cenobite-looking motherfucker while conducting an unsanctioned investigation during a suspension prompted by you presumably murdering the shit out of two guys, you start to think this may not be standard FBI protocol.

It’s all a bit hard to swallow is me point, a bit hard to sympathize, and a bit muddy if we’re supposed to or not. But you know what? It certainly isn’t boring, and I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t effective. This game is now one of only two to have genuinely given me nightmares, and I think it’s rather telling that after I played the hallucination part I had the nightmare about, I was having genuine trouble remembering if something happened in my nightmare of it or in the actual version.

Condemned is batshit crazy, hilariously easy to write off as “that game about killing hobos”, and very, very dated. But it is genuinely harrowing and unpleasant, and was clearly genuinely made by artists with the intent of saying.....errr i’m not exactly sure what, but SOMETHING! It’s about as far a cry as you can get from the Triple A crawling with microtransactions like your MCM is with crabs milk-you-for-money-until-your-udders-bleed look-at-how-shiny-we-are games, and even a lot of indie horror games who think it’s a measure of a masterpiece being able just to constantly trigger your fight-or-flight response again and again and again so you can make a hilarious Let’s Play out of it not to name any names Five Night’s at Freddy’s. It’s a relic of a different and i think a better time in gaming history, where big-name publishers were still taking chances and hadn’t quite yet worked out the formula for how to distill games into their most skeletal, malnourished, corporate, addictive, glorified gambling form.

Also it’s 3 dollars on Steam and you can finish it in like ffffffffucking...two days? So really why the fuck not. I have no idea how to assign numbers to things i’d probably give ir a 7 or 8 or 4 out of 5 stars but i’m bad at systems like that, just play it if you give a shit. If nothing else, a bunch of people snapping it up out of nowhere will really fuck with marketing, which is always a noble pursuit

#game reviews #Condemned Criminal Origins

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hogbullpup · 4 years

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Ruminations-life, love, relationships

For the past nine months I haven’t been pursuing a boyfriend or boyfriends until either 1, my mental health improves, 2, I can move on from being a part-time caregiver for my mom and let my brother take over, 3, I can find a better job/career, or all of the above, but I’ve been feeling so lonely lately that I’m wondering if I should just say “fuck it” and get back on both growlr and twitter. Still, I feel like I haven’t gotten out a lot of my own thoughts about my personal shortcomings in my last relationship and other concerns before pursuing another one, and this is as good a place as any as no one’s really here anymore, so long story incoming...

About 6 years ago, after coming out as a proud lover of large, hefty men I started exploring chub/gainer communities around in the area and after a while found a big fella who ended up becoming my best friend, whom I’ll call C. We bonded very quickly; after a while we were hanging out once a week consistently and I soon developed feelings for him.

Around the time C and I were hanging out and bonding, my dad was diagnosed with stage four bladder cancer and 3.5 years ago passed away. 6 or so months after that C asked if I wanted us to be more than just friends, but I put him off because I was in a bad mental state, partly from my dad's brutal battle with cancer and partly from my own insecurities. This hurt C far more than I knew at the time, and I still don’t forgive myself for causing him that much pain.

Early 2018

Some time later, March 2018, I told C I was being dumb and that I loved him deeply, and we started dating, but he told me that in that time he had discovered the pup community and found a sir/handler, S, who was moving to the area soon with his other 2 pups. I on the other hand in that time had been looking for community with the Seattle bears and chubs, however I felt their scene was kind of cliquey, financially discriminatory, and on occasion racist (despite how physically attractive I found a lot of them--this was really frustrating for someone who is only attracted to bigger, fluffier men).

So in the first couple months of C and my relationship I started exploring the pup scene/fetish online and in a couple of gatherings, and enjoyed a lot of what I saw, but it also left me with more questions than answers (turns out I'm far more switch than dom) and C certainly couldn't answer all of them given the fact that he was still a very new puppy. He specifically admitted that the details of our relationship became harder because I wanted to explore pup play, but at the same time wasn't at all sympathetic because I was partly exploring pup play just because he was into it, which he really didn't like (I also lied about this which still makes me feel sick, and danced around the issue instead of just being honest and saying "babe I just wanted to explore and be involved in the things you like"). This became even harder for me because C was being quickly welcomed into S's family, and got his collar soon after they moved to the area. I didn't want at all to intrude on their family because it would be psycho rude and I didn't even know any of them, but I was also deeply protective of C at the same time, and didn’t know how to handle my insecurities. I wish I had the emotional knowledge then that I do now. Starting to date C was a big change for me going from open-but-committed to my first poly relationship, so I was upset that I couldn't explore poly WITH C. It didn't seem fair.

Jealousy took over and I started telling C that I might want to pursue a family like S had, because if he was able to build a family exclusively of cute, chub pups than so could I. C cautioned me that S got very lucky compared to most, and that the likelihood of me being able to find a few gay partners all of the chubby variety and all of whom are compatible was very unlikely, and even if possible would take years (but, to my frustration, he would never give me a clear NO). While this sat heavy with me and I knew he was most likely right, it didn't help with my feelings of complete helplessness and isolation in my situation. I continued to ruminate. A big part of it that I fully regret and admit to is jealousy, and I had no idea before this whole situation that I was such a jealous person. But there was also massive anxiety--the feeling that there was nothing I could do, a feeling I don't handle that feeling very well, and I think it made my jealousy worse.

So instead of being patient, exploring pup play, enjoying the chub/chaser relationship I had with C, and just seeing how things went, I BADGERED C for some 7-8 weeks with impossible questions like...

"how would dom (me) and sub (him) pup interactions work given the fact he already has a handler?"

or "how can we ever belong to a larger family unit together (this was a big one for me) if your family is full," (I wasn’t his handler’s type anyway. He likes big chubs like I do so deep down I knew this was putting pressure on C to expand our relationship without asking if that was ok first),

or "what if in my explorations I discover I want want to be a handler or just part of a larger family, and somehow want you to be a part of that with me together without stepping on your handler's toes? How will that be possible?" (I knew C was an introvert and probably wouldn’t really have the energy/time to put into another complex relationship like that with me).

I knew that these questions were impossible to answer but still I continued to harass him, even though C told me on multiple occasions I was stressing him out and needed to back off and handle my jealousy and insecurities ("jealousy is poison in poly relationships", he said, and wasn't wrong). And in Fall, after a heated argument, he requested we take a 1 month break, which I spent learning to meditate and mitigate my anxiety and insecurities, while also begging fate for us to be able to stay together. When we met back up, I made my case that I was working hard to overcome anxiety and jealousy, but he told me the damage had been done. I was crushed.

Late 2018

After we broke up I continued to pursue meditation, but to be completely honest it barely kept the anxiety at bay and eventually I just gave up. I lost sleep over losing C for some 5 months, unable to clear my head of all those unanswerable questions for at least 2 hours most nights before falling asleep. I had lost both my best friend and lover, and at the time he was still rooming with my gaming friends and it was awkward for me to hang out, so I just felt alone, which is, without doubt, my one driving fear and what I wanted to avoid at all possible costs.

I remember thinking over and over again that I wished I had never put C off in the first place and had admitted my feelings to him sooner, but at the same time wouldn't have wanted anything to change as far as him meeting S and family. I just wanted things to somehow work between us as I explored what it meant for me to be poly.

Nov-Feb

In the months following our breakup I fought to recover from these feelings of loneliness by STILL continuing to attending pup social events and even a mosh (though I didn't participate in the mosh). It was hard when I would see S and his three pups show up, and I had to fight off nagging bad thoughts every time it happened. Still, I met a couple of very nice chubby pups who I bonded with and became friends. Sadly, despite liking both of them, one couldn't afford to live in Seattle anymore and moved back to Wisconsin, and the other (whom I really liked but was too damaged from my breakup to pursue) got adopted by a couple of husbands and moved just outside of Milwaukee with them. It felt like the universe was picking on me for my fear of being left out or rejected. I was alone again.

Somehow I persisted and survived, but my memories of the few months after that are such a dull blur I'm not sure I was even alive at the time. C and I are good friends again and I have a core group of friends (including him) who I feel close to and game with about once every 2 weeks. I still love him a lot but he's not looking for anything and I need to moderate my attraction to him. Also, time I spend hanging out with him is time I'm not spending looking for a big partner to call my own so I feel weird sometimes when I play around with him and my feelings are so fucking strong. I would like to find a guy I have that connection with who also wants to live together. It's depressing how hard something that simple is to find.

Anyways this has gone on for far too long, but I needed to write down my ruminations somewhere and also double down on goals and reminders for future relationships so I don't make the same mistakes I did before:

-If I'm attracted to a guy as much as I was attracted to C, I need to remember and understand that there probably will be major consequences to putting them off, even if it's for my own comfort.

-If a guy asks me to give him space, legitimately do it, and don't be actively looking for the next opportunity to talk about difficult things.

-If I date a man and he has a master or another family, I need to be happy for him, and not try to follow in his path, unless that's something he would enjoy/welcome (C didn’t, and I didn’t want to accept that). But also emphasize that a family like that is what I’m looking for and ask him to be gentle/supportive with me while I pursue it.

-If I date a man with a master, I need to be patient, respectful, and willing to communicate with him at his pace. After a while I can hopefully ask if I can work to earn the handler/master’s trust to not have to ask permission to do most things with my partner. If that option isn’t available, then it’s probably not the relationship for me.

-Accept that large men who are happy being large and soft are few and far between, and finding one into me is going to take significantly longer than a typical gay relationship, and that if I'm not out there looking, the few opportunities that are there are going to come and go.

-Learn to balance being flexible with knowing my limits, and knowing when to put my foot down. I honestly should have been the first to cut my relationship off with C because he didn't want his partners to cross or for sexual experiences in one bedroom to be shared in the other's bedroom. And right away that should have been a huge warning sign for me because that's something that's very important to me in a poly relationship (though at the time I was very new to poly so that was the first time I discovered what I wanted). I think I partly held on to him so hard because, other than my emotional feelings for him (which built up over some 3+years), there just aren't that many 300+lb non-judgmental guys who are going to find me as attractive as I find them. Regardless, no matter how many boxes a guy ticks for me, if something bugs me that much then I need to not settle.

-Patience. Patience. Patience. I need to learn to relax. It's possible that everything between C and I would have worked out if I'd just been patient. Perhaps not, but I'll never know how much I can accomplish with patience unless I try.

Well, I guess it's time to get back on growlr, dig up my old twitter, and hope for the best.

#chubbychaser #humanpuppy #life is hard #gay relationship #ruminations

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never---ending---story · 4 years

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A Walking Nightmare

New year, new story. Here's a story with my treasured ocs. I haven’t checked this because god said I should and I won’t let him do that

Possible triggers: death, gore, end of the world/apocalypse, food, starvation (not self-inflicted)

The guy looked like death. Sawyer wouldn’t deny that in a million years. Then again nowadays everyone looked like death. Still, Sawyer stood by what he said. Everyone Sawyer knew looked like death but this kid took it to a new level. He was primarily nothing but skin and bone and his skin was caked in a thin layer of dirt. Now, with only 10 years of education under his belt, Sawyer was sure of one thing. This strangely cute but mangled boy wasn’t gonna make it to next week if he didn’t get either medical attention or at the very least some food. Luckily Sawyer had a solid balance. Elliot was in med school before the infection that swept America was leaked and boy oh boy did Carson get them some food after his last raid. They’d be good for months as far as he was concerned. What was the harm in bringing in another boy?

Though, Sawyer was sure he shouldn’t have been thinking at that moment because the boy who was seemingly ripped to shreds was now holding a knife up to him.

“How did you find this place?” he hissed through gritted teeth. The boy’s voice was raspy but didn’t pack a lot of punch. It was slightly gruff though it was clear he rarely spoke. The boy had an accent. A small one but it stood out to Sawyer none the less.

Sawyer only aimed his breath up at his wavy pink locks to blow a strand of hair out of his eye

“I’m a scavenger idiot” Sawyer responded sassily.

Cute quiet nightmare chuckled darkly

“A dang good one I suppose?” he questioned.

Sawyer nodded “I would bet I’m the best one there is,” he lied through his teeth “Of course, there’s no evidence to back that up considering,” he cleared his throat “our situation”

The boy lowered his sharp blade. It didn’t glimmer like most knives. It wasn’t clean and had ruby red bloodstains along the blade and small stains on the hilt. Sawyer added a new dagger to the mental list of essentials for this mysterious survivor. He made sure this boy saw him looking at his knife

“Come with me and I can give you a new knife and some clean clothes” he offered “hell I’ll give you the hoodie I’m wearing.”

The boy peered at Sawyer doubtfully. Like he couldn’t decide if he should trust him or gouge his eyes out of their sockets. He had a fire raging behind his eyes though. A hunger that told Sawyer he was not a person to be messed with, but Sawyer couldn’t bring himself to care

“Listen, you’re cute and all,” he started “and I happen to have a keen eye. I can see the hunger behind your eyes” Sawyer felt himself smirk as the boy looked on in confusion “but you’ve gotta at least take me out to dinner before I consider doing any of that with you”

The boy shoved him away from him as Sawyer’s laughs came out like a bray. His face was flushed

“Alright!” he cried with a fixated glare to Sawyer “I can tell you’re nothing but a threat to my pride” he mumbled, which only earned a snort from Sawyer.

“What’s your name,” Sawyer asked, “if I am no longer a threat then I would hope we can get along.” The boy rolled his eyes but obliged to Sawyer’s simple request.

“My friends call..called me Radio. If you want to be my friend I guess you can call me that. I’m gonna call you princess bubblegum”

Sawyer’s entire face lit up “I’d be honored!” he exclaimed throwing a hand over his heart fondly. After a beat, he looked at his newfound friend “What kind of name it Radio?”

Radio crossed his arms and looked at Sawyer “I helped my dad fix radios. It’s nothing special” he explained looking at his feet. It was like the memory caused him pain, which, if Sawyer thought about it, made sense. Once tragedy struck, memories of your previous happy life stung. To Sawyer, they felt like a stab to the heart. That is exactly why he chose to bury his emotions deep down to the tips of his toes.

A scream echoed in the streets above them and Sawyer frowned “Well if you’re going to be my new best friend-”

“Who said anything about best friends” Radio interjected

Sawyer ignored him “I should introduce you to my family” The skinny boy in front of Sawyer looked shocked

“You have a family?’

“No. By family I mean people I’ve teamed up with. You can’t really survive out here alone”

Radio thought about that, and while he did Sawyer took it upon himself to look around. This kid’s living accommodations were not good. Wallpaper was peeling and it was awfully dark. Sure they had lost electricity a while ago but it looked like the only light in the room was coming from a small window. There was no decor, only plain peeling walls. It was honestly depressing. There was no personality to place. It wasn’t a home, it was more like a prison.

Sawyer twirled around on his heels “how ‘bout we get you out of here Radio” he offered “I’ve got shelter, running water, food, and friends”

Radio stared blankly at him. It reminded Sawyer of one of the horrid creatures roaming the streets above them. Not only was Radio small and frail, but he also looked awfully sad. The boy looked at his feet for a moment

“Yeah, alright. I’ve got nothing better to do” he obliged, grabbing a backpack that was leaning against a wall “I’ll just waste away in here anyway. I’d hate to eat you as a zombie, especially since I haven’t gotten to take you out to dinner yet”

Sawyer flinched at the mention of zombies and being killed by one, though he knew it was the brutal truth. If Radio died here he would just waste away and eventually rise to join the undead army. It wasn’t always this way. It started with people contracting the Black Plague up in Canada and scientists trying to fix it. In the end, there was an outbreak at the lab. The disease samples paired with the lab’s chemicals created an unstoppable force. This being said, Sawyer was still optimistic. He offered a soft smile and extended his hand to Radio

“Let’s get a move on. Those walkers will be here any minute,” Sawyer said. Then something sawyer wasn’t expecting, happened. Radio grabbed Sawyer’s extended hand timidly. He could feel Radio’s hand shaking in his own but it wasn’t apparent on his face that anything was wrong. He ruled out the fact that nothing was wrong and settled on the fact that the kid must have been a really good actor.

Sawyer’s boots made soft stomping sounds as he walked across the room to the ladder “I’ll go first.” he offered “there could be something out there”

Radio rolled his eyes and let go of Sawyer’s hand, pushing past him “I’ve been on my own for two years-”

“This whole thing has been happening for four years” Sawyer interjected and Radio’s shoulders stiffened

“Fine then. Four years. My point still stands. I’ve been on my own for four years I can handle a few zombies. It’s why I wear steel-toed boots”

Radio hauled himself up the ladder and peaked his head over. He looked around before slipping up into the rotting streets of New York City

Sawyer was treading carefully as he walked, not wanted to arouse anything around. To keep the beings in the shadows where they were. Radio was twirling his knife around his finger and at some point had tied a red and white bandana around his face

“What’s the bandana for?” Sawyer had asked only to have Radio hiss at him to shut up. It was fair though. Rousing the walkers wouldn’t be fun.

Speaking of walkers one stumbled out of a dark alleyway stupidly. As it hobbled along the street with flaying skin its dead eyes found Radio. It made a strange gurgling sound of interest and started limping over to them. Sawyer stepped in front of Radio as it got closer

“Bubble gum I can defend myself” he argued, but Sawyer wasn’t going to stand down. He pulled a gun from his pocket and Radio snatched it from his hands “are you dumb! You can’t go around firing a gun at a zombie! It’s like a food bell to them!”

“What else am I suppose to use” he hissed

Radio rolled his eyes and set the gun on the concrete. He then pulled a knife out from his pocket, this one considerably cleaner than the one Radio threatened him with earlier.

“Use this,” he said, placing the blade in Sawyer’s palm and closing his fingers around it

Sawyer looked at the blade. “Thank you I-” he started but Radio quickly shoved him out of the way and dug the blade of his own knife into the eye socket of the walker Sawyer was attempting to protect him from. He tilted the knife up and the walker made a gurgled sound before falling to cold concrete. Radio pressed his boot to the head of the walker and put down pressure until- CRACK- the skull had collapsed and the walker was clearly not going to get back up. At the sickening crunching noise of the skull, Sawyer felt nauseated. He pushed himself onto his feet and then looked over at Radio to see the crushed skull. He felt like throwing up, so that’s what he did. Right onto Radio’s shoes.

Sawyer whimpered and looked up at Radio, stumbling back “I’m so sorry” was the first thing that left his lips. There was a sour taste in his mouth and he snuffled, wiping at his watery eyes. It was becoming increasingly obvious that they viewed the walkers extremely differently.

Radio shook his head “You’re um” he kicked his foot away from either of them to get the puke off his foot

“You’re fine bubblegum. I did the same thing the first time I killed a zombie” he confessed “but I’m guessing you’ve killed them before,” Radio assumed “you’re armed”

Sawyer brushed his sleeve across his mouth “I have before. I don’t like doing it but I do. It’s just you..you crushed his head like it was nothing,” he whimpered

“Well, it was going to kill you if I didn’t do anything. Let’s get going it’s cold” Radio changed the topic and nodded in the direction they were originally heading

Sawyer just nodded softly and grabbed Radio’s hand so he wouldn’t get tugged away without being noticed “We’re nearly home” he muttered, picking up his face. He might’ve been just above the average height but wanted to hurry, even if that meant taking longer strides the usual.

Sawyer pressed his hand to a scanned on a hidden gate. They had made a small hike through the woods to the tall metal gate.

“Who is it?” he voice asked through the mic. His voice was low but it was apparent the guy speaking had a smirk on his face.

Sawyer sighed and looked at Radio “That would be Carson.” he faced the scanner again which had a small camera “It’s Sawyer you idiot,” he said.

The voice on the other end scoffed “I wasn’t talking to you. What have I told you about hook-ups during the apocalypse?”

Sawyer squeaked and his face flushed. Radio was snickering behind his bandana.

“It’s not like that!” he cried “I’m saving him!”

Radio raised his eyebrows “I didn’t need saving” he added “he just offered me better shelter”

There was a beeping sound through the speaker

“Fine fine. Well dad man Elliot is making tacos” he said before seemingly leaving

The doors squeaked open and Sawyer and Radio walked in. The streets were damp as everywhere else was. Behind the gates was a grand house that stood tall. It was almost as if someone had prepared for the end of the world. Like a survivalist. The metal doors clanged shut as Sawyer pulled a key from his pocket. He shoved it into the keyhole and turned it. The door clicked and Sawyer opened the door. Radio was following close by his side.

To his right, there was a staircase and left of the staircase was a hallway that led to a living room. To the far left of the foyer was an office that seemed unoccupied and to the far-right led to a dining room.

Out of the blue, there was scuttling down the stairs. A boy with long wavy brown hair, black glasses, and blue eyes looked at Radio. He was skinny, but a different skinny compared to Radio. He was healthy, Radio was starving and living off rations. He smiled and charged at Sawyer, wrapping his arms around him

“You were gone for quite a few hours. I was worried” he mumbled. Sawyer sighed and patted his back

“I’m sorry,” Sawyer apologized “we just ran into some trouble is all”

Radio shuffled awkwardly on his feet as Sawyer and the brunette spoke. The brunette gripped Sawyer’s shoulder and Radio felt a pang of jealously. The stranger smiled “So Elliot was looking through the stuff I got and found spaghetti. So we aren’t doing tacos anymore, but we’ll see. Hopefully, he won’t burn it” Sawyer laughed. He looked over at Radio, whispered something into Sawyer’s ear and smiled at Radio.

“Hey,” he greeted and stuck out his hand, stepping around Sawyer “I’m Carson Anderson”

Radio took his Carson’s hand into hi down and shook it quickly before letting go “Radio”

Carson raised an eyebrow “Radio…”

“Well, that’s private information. My real name and my last”

Carson rolled his eyes “Fine then.” He looked him up and down “You need some new clothes” he commented quietly, more talking to himself. Radio’s stomach growled “and maybe some food.” Carson turned around to face Sawyer and relayed this information to him. Sawyer nodded and faced Radio

“We should get you settled in. Maybe some new clothes, a shower?” he offered. Radio felt his face heat up from embarrassment. He hadn’t realized how poorly he was presenting himself.

“I’d like that,” he said sheepishly. Sawyer nodded and grabbed Radio’s hand, dragging him up the stairs. Radio took one last moment to look over and seen Carson with a smirk looking at them before he was pulled out of view.

Radio peeked his head out of the bathroom to see if anyone was in the room. The bathroom was connected to Sawyer’s bedroom so he felt inclined to check. Sawyer looked up from the bed.

“Need something?” he asked “We have plenty of stuff”

Radio shook his head “No um” He sighed “Do you have a jacket or hoodie?” he asked

Sawyer stood up and opened a drawer “not in the room, but you can have mine. Unless you wanna wear my other blue one”

Radio smiled softly at him “Thank you, you’re a lifesaver bubblegum”

Sawyer smiled back at him and walked out of the room. When the door closed with a small click Radio slipped out of the bathroom and felt himself fall onto the bed. The closes Sawyer gave him were the nicest he had in a long while. They were clean and soft. It had been years since he felt like he could sleep soundly since the apocalypse started. It all started in his living room. The day was normal and quiet as many days in August happened to be when there was a banging at his door. His mother put down her cards from their card game and answered. “Caio!” she had greeted before screaming at the top of her lungs. That was the day it started. August 16th. Things hadn’t gotten better since then though. He ran to a friend’s house after that, and they had been inseparable. Until she died that is. Since then Radio had learned not to trust anyone. He found it hard at first but it soon became easy. It was as simple as seeing someone and turning the other way instead of running for help. It became even easier when everyone left learned the same thing. Even if the human race was going extinct it didn’t stop people from forming gangs, killing each other, and all-around acting like maniacs. These were the things that Radio didn’t like to think about, especially before bed. Who knew the apocalypse and his impending doom would keep him awake at night?

The door creaked open and Radio looked over. Sawyer walked into the room with a plate and dark blue hoodie

“Dinner might be a minute. Elliot caught half of the pasta on fire” he chuckled “no, I don’t know how he did it. Though that’s what Carson told me”

Radio took the hoodie from Sawyer’d hands and pulled on it on. He smiled at him “Thank you so much” he said truthfully “I can cook for you guys. I’m Italian and my mom_

Sawyer just shook his head “You need to sleep Radio. Maybe tomorrow?”

Radio sighed “Fine but I will not let this Elliot guy disgrace pasta ever again”

Sawyer chuckled softly “Don’t let me cook ever” he warned “I’ve burnt toast and nearly burnt your toast” he said handing Radio the plate he waked in with

Radio laughed at him and gratefully took the toast that Sawyer offered and took a bite of it. He smiled at Sawyer who happily returned it.

“Anyway, I’m going to help Elliot our non-chef make something edible. Come down when you want” Sawyer said before bounding out of the room and closing the door.

Radio took a deep breath. As much as he enjoyed the company that he was given and the shelter, he knew he couldn’t stay. He could, but Raffaello ‘Radio” De Luca worked alone. Being cooped up in a house for too long would tear him apart bit by bit and he knew that. But he decided that he would enjoy it while he could still handle it all. Sawyer seemed content, yet free-spirited. He was roaming alone when he found Radio even though he seemed to have a good support system.

As skinny as Carson was he intimidated Radio ever so slightly. Whether it was his height or the fact that he had survived four years of the apocalypse easily. Or looked as if he was handling it well. Radio finished his toast and rolled onto his back to continue thinking. It was clear that the boys in this house knew how to survive. The first thing he thought of that could possibly teach survival was boy scouts. Was sawyer a boy scout? Carson maybe? It suddenly dawned on him that boy scouts didn’t teach apocalypse survival, but wilderness survival. Even so, it didn’t stop him from smiling at the image of Sawyer in a boy scouts vest. Speaking of Sawyer, Radio thought he was nice. Sassy, but still all around a sweet guy. His hair was cute and wavy and his eyes a deep chocolate brown. He had a bit of a retro vibe to him between his tucked-in shirt and bleached and cuffed jeans. Even if he was cute Radio didn’t want to find himself falling for him. It was the apocalypse and people died every day and he knew he would be taken eventually.

That was the part that scared him the most. Death. Once he died he would, one day, become one of the monsters on the street. Hopefully, though, he would get his skull crushed first thing. One thing he knew more than anyone was the feeling of being trapped and he didn’t think he could handle the idea of being trapped in his own bloodthirsty corpse he couldn’t control anymore.

Radio ran his fingers through his still slightly wet hair. It felt nice to not be caked in dirt. It was his first real shower in years. He had soap products, buckets of water, and the rain to keep him semi-clean but, nothing compared to the feeling of hot water hitting your skin and the smell of floral shampoo. He was surprised at how much they really had. Sure, things were told and battered but they still worked. Radio had done some snooping around the closet had a full shelf filled with shampoo and body wash. He already liked it here an awful lot.

A beam of light was cast across Radio’s face and looked over to see a blonde-haired boy standing in the hallway holding a lantern. Radio hadn’t realized how dark the room was until blondy had come in with a light source.

“Hi,” the boy greeted quietly. His voice was soft and smooth “, dinner is ready and as the mom friend I can’t let someone as skinny as Sawyer has said skip it”

Radio said straight up very quickly. More food? Sawyer has already mentioned dinner but now that he really thought about it his stomach growled. He thought it was quiet but it was loud enough for the blonde boy to hear. He chuckled “C’mon kid,” he said with a gesture for Radio to follow “I’m Elliot. You can trust me. Also, get some socks on. It’s cold in the house”

Radio didn.t have any socks but he hoped sawyer wouldn’t him stealing some of his. He bounced over to the dresser and pulled out the first pair of socks he could find. They were light blue with avocados on them. Radio laughed a bit before shoving his feet into the soft fabric of the socks. By this point, Elliot had taken it upon himself to come into the room. He seemed very nice. Calm, collected and mature. Radio was glad to see that. He needed some form of guidance in his life and Elliot seemed like someone he could go to for that. He was also starting to get the feeling he was the youngest.

Radio pushed himself up from the wooden floors and faced Elliot. “What are we having?” he asked

Elliot beamed at him for some odd reason “Spaghetti!” he said cheerfully “Sawyer ended up helping me because I’m a terrible cook. All of us are but with our powers combined we make..we make an okay chef”

Radio chuckled at him “I guess that’s what I can contribute to this place then. My mama taught me too cook”

Elliot stood up “Perfect’ he said, smile never fading “but for now you’ll have to put up with me slightly overcooked spaghetti”

Radio shook his head “I haven’t eaten a solid meal that wasn’t heated up or from a can in a few years. Your undercooked pasta sounds like heaven to me.”

#apocalypse #death #story #personal story #self written #self writings #original character #original #characters #my writing #my ocs #oc writing #apocalypse world #zombie apocalypse #text post

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head-and-heart · 6 years

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The 100 Highlights - “Pandora’s Box” (5x04)

Hey fam! I’m back again this week to cover the highlights for 5x04, aka. Pandora’s Box. A shitton of stuff happened in this episode so I’m excited to dig through it and share some of my personal highlights with you all!

To view other posts in this series, click here.

With that out of the way, let’s get into it:

GAIA’S HAIR. heart EYES mothafucka!

Ian and Paige both slayed the game with acting this episode! The way Abby’s voice cracks when she says “it was me” and Kane’s look of absolute and complete despair as he kills that Grounder in the arena ... hating himself for it, hating himself for choosing self-preservation (and also for playing Octavia’s game). Wow.

Can we take a moment to talk about how fucked this justice system is? And by fucked I mean TERRIFYING AND AWESOME. Like, the idea that this tyrant gets to decide whether your crime has been forgiven based off of how entertaining your fight was ... And if you fail to perform to the crowd’s approval, then you are stuck in a continuous cycle of kill or be killed every. single. day. until you either win the crowd’s favour or die. That’s metal as hell, man.

“Do I have your attention now?” yes Captain Daddy

I could listen to Bellamy and Charmaine negotiate all day. They both carry such an intensity with them and that entire scene they had together was fire. We’ve never really gotten to see Bellamy take a hand at diplomacy in this way before and it feels so good to see him taking on a role as a recognized leader by the antagonist on this show. It really feels like this is where his character arc has been leading him and I’m just *chokes* so proud of my son. If Charmaine and Clarke and Bellamy were the only three leaders on this show, perhaps they could strike a deal. *sigh* Alas, that is not the case.

THAT BELLARKE SCENE YO

THE WAY THAT BELLAMY PAUSES IN THE DOORWAY, AS IF TO MAKE SURE SHE’S REAL. AND THE WAY SHE STARES AT HIM LIKE SHE’S NOT SURE IF HE’S REAL EITHER OR JUST A HALLUCINATION. I MEAN GOD. AND THEN HE FREAKING HELPS HER UP AND IT’S SO SOFT AND INTIMATE AND I’M WEAK.

“You’re really here.” *cue my Shakespearean death* HER LIP WAS TREMBLING FAM I CAN’T DEAL

“Clarke, you saved us all.” “And now you’re home.” CAUSE HOME IS WITH HER. The tears in Clarke’s eyes reflect the tears in my soul.

WE GOT TWO HUGS IN ONE SCENE GUYS. THIS IS A NEW RECORD LIKE F UCK

ALSO CAN WE FREAKING TALK ABOUT HOW FUCKING SENSUAL THAT SHOT OF BELLAMY’S HANDS ON CLARKE’S ALMOST BARE BACK WAS AND NEVER STOP TALKING ABOUT IT???? CAUSE I STILL HAVEN’T FOUND MY WIG #SexiestTVMoment2k18

Also, I will never, never, ever stop screaming about this shot:

OR THIS ONE

IT LOOKS LIKE THEY WERE MAKING OUT FAM.

Speaking of which, the cinematography in this episode was Something Else. It has some of my favourite shots of the entire series (including the wide shot I’ve included).

“And they call me the cockroach.”

Which brings us to THIS:

LOOK ^^ LOOK HOW FUCKING FOND HE IS. BELLAMY AND CLARKE LAUGHING TOGETHER. AND HE’S JUST LOOKING AT HER WITH THIS FUCKING EXPRESSION ON HIS FACE LIKE SHE IS HIS WHOLE GODDAMN WORLD

LOOOOOOOOOKKKKKK

The hand on her shoulder and the way he says “we gotta go” ... so freaking soft I need help

KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND KILL THE HOSTAGE TAKER AND HIS GIRLFRIEND

So ... The Dark Year = cannibalism ... right?

I really appreciate all the callbacks to Aurora Blake this season. It’s important to remind the audience where these characters came from, how they ended up the way they are.

“Octavia, please. Strength without mercy is nothing. It’s nothing.” THANK YOU FOR FINALLY VERBALIZING THIS ON THE SHOW. Y’ALL DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW HAPPY THIS LINE MAKES ME. Like, I feel like in the latest seasons the show has started to feel a bit like it is romanticizing violence in a way that really grateS on me by presenting it as being “badass” rather than brutal. But this line here doesn’t make bloodsport out as being badass, but as being weak. And I needed that.

Can we talk about Indra saying that she made sure to match up Kane with a weaker opponent the second time? She’s looking out for him however she can, even behind Octavia’s back. She could have told Octavia the truth about Abby, but she didn’t - she allowed Kane to make his own choice. I’m such a weak bitch for this friendship guys

“What have we done?” “What we had to do to survive.” “How many times can we tell ourselves that? [...] No, it’s what we say to justify the horror we inflict on each other. I can’t do it anymore.”

^ THIS ^ LINE ^

I have to admit that after hearing the trademark “what we had to do to survive” line in the trailer I rolled my eyes. How many times have we heard that one? But I was so wrong about how it would be implemented into the show and I’M SO PLEASED?? Cause for once, someone actually pointed out the hollowness of those words. They’ve said them so many times that they don’t mean anything anymore. They’re just an empty way of justifying the terrible things that these characters have done to keep themselves and their people alive. But after a certain number of atrocities have been committed, can you really continue to use that excuse? Or is there a limit to all the bloodshed? I’m just so happy that it has finally been verbalized how meaningless that string of words has become.

Kabby has been getting scenes that feel like they’ve been pulled straight out of fic this season

I really am intrigued by Abby’s storyline this season, though. I think it’s going to be her best character arc yet. The 100 has dealt with drugs in their storylines before but the idea of addiction and the trauma it cause isn’t something that has really been touched on in this show before so I’m excited to see where it goes.

Abby promising to stop taking the pills only to ... try to take the pills later in the episode. That was painful. But it shows that the road to recovery isn’t easy.

Loved the little commentary on the four different Eligius ships. What happened to Eligius III? Shannon Kook anybody? I’m so excited to find out what happens with that plotline.

Listen fam: I am so here for Bellamy appearing out of the light like an avenging angel in all of his dramatic entrances this season. That’s my mans.

“I knew you’d come.” I LOVE how this echoes Madi’s “Clarke knew you would come.” The two most important people in Bellamy’s life having faith in him? My Biggest Kink.

The Blakes are dysfunctional as fuck and I get really conflicted about their relationship but that hug was nice. I like how Octavia’s walls just completely fell down around her in that moment. It’s nice to know that there’s a human somewhere underneath that armor.

Also ... Clarke and Bellamy propelling into the bunker together? I love two (2) dramatic soulmates.

Clarke and Bellamy’s identical “dafuck happened down here OCTAVIA” looks are lowkey the best part of this episode. The couple that judges together fucks together ... wait.

“Love the warpaint by the way.” I take it back ... THIS is the best part of the episode.

CHARMAINE JUST HAS SUCH A PRESENCE FAM, like that bitch steals every single scene. She has such a subtle yet condescending tone when she is talking to Octavia? Like, I was really amazed during my rewatch of this interaction with Octavia. It’s like she managed to strip her bare with just a couple words. She is not intimidated by Octavia’s facade, and it brings out this vulnerability in O. Makes her seem small. DIYOZA IS SO POWERFUL

Diyoza and Bellamy’s matching “what the fuck” looks when Octavia told them they should only be prepping for 814 people ... y’all.

This is one of those scenes where I don’t know whether it is supposed to be comical or not but it’s just ... so fucking funny guys. Like, I can’t get over it. I will never be over it.

THE RAVEN SHOWING UP ON THE COMPUTER SCREEN. I LOVE THAT CALLBACK TO 3X16 SO MUCH GUYS LIKE RAVEN REYES IS A FREAKING BADASS

“Real cute.” SOMEONE TELL ME HOW IT IS POSSIBLE FOR TWO CHARACTERS TO HAVE SO MUCH CHEMISTRY WHEN THEY HAVE NEVER EVEN SHARED A SCENE TOGETHER. TELL ME HOW.

Murphy taking a nap in the cryo pod ... tell me why I love this idiot so much?

LISTEN, LISTEN. I may not be into it romantically but Lindsey and Richard slay every single scene together and Murphy and Raven’s scenes are always SO good. Like, Murphy telling Raven that he’ll be the one to pull the plug? Because everyone expects him to be the shitty one anyway? Because that’s who he expects himself to be? He thinks he has nothing left to lose, he already hates himself so much. It makes my heart hurt. Every once in awhile Murphy manages to be heroic in a way that isn’t considered to be conventionally heroic. But it is, because its Murphy. Wow, I Am Emotion.

“Why do you always have to be the one to sacrifice?” “This girl is some kind of genius.” RAVEN REYES GETTING THE APPRECIATION SHE DESERVES CAN I GET A HELL YEA

Bellamy trying to hold onto Octavia’s hand as she rises up towards the heavens? Hmmmmmmmm

The return of Charmaine, McCreary and Bellamy’s “WHAT THE FUCK” faces as Gaia starts leading the chant as Octavia rises. Goddamn why is this so funny. THEY WALKED INTO A FUCKING CULT. Jesus the bunker literally looks like a bunch of wackjobs. This episode was a comedic gold mine.

I have to take a moment to SCREAM about the score in this episode. First, “you’re real” was beautiful. (Seriously.) And there were so many other good music moments too, but the soundtrack when Octavia emerged from the bunker was straight up epic. That’s the kind of music that gives me goosebumps. God, I really hope its released with the soundtrack this year.

Bellamy Blake’s Disappointed Dad Look™ y’all know the one

“Looks to me like someone read Ovid a few too many times.” BELLAMY BLAKE AKA #1 NERD STRIKES AGAIN (but seriously that line was so freaking funny Octavia looks like a scolded puppy phadkwinskakq)

“She even had time to flip me the bird.” askakdniqnqkd I stan him (and Raven)

“Go-Sci’s monstrously hideous, one-legged goalie attempts to defend.” Guys, I’ve discovered the greatest example of verbal irony ever breathed on this show.

BUT REAL TALK, that soccer scene was SO CUTE. Like, this is what I missed? These small, joyful moments? I honestly think the last one of these truly playful moments we got was possible the car scene in 3x01. It’s been far too long. But they’re so important to break up the tension.

PULL THE LEVER, KROOOOOOONK

When Octavia was shot by that thing I was totally NOT expecting that. The first time I watched the episode I literally jumped up and just went “OHHHHHHHHHHH SHIT”. That is honestly one of the most trippily filmed scenes this show has done. Octavia is losing her shit. This show has really upped the game with how they film explosion scenes.

Listen, I know we aren’t supposed to be rooting for Eligius but I honestly like them, guys. Like I’ve only seen a few episodes of them and I would already die for both Zeke (yes, you read that right - ZEKE) and Diyoza. They both probably make my top five favourite characters. THEY JUST FASCINATE ME. (And come on, Zeke is just so lovable?)

TO BE HONEST, I don’t care if they win that valley! Fuck, I want them to. I really hope that we get some of our mains teaming up with Eligius this season. That would be the greatest plot twist they could do, having the “bad guys” become the “heroes” (even though neither of those things really exist on this show)

Also, I just want to say: I counted TEN hugs in this episode guys. That has GOT to be a new record.

Ending the episode with one of Bellamy and Clarke’s “what the fuck we gonna do now” looks was the best thing they could have done. Feels like old times. *war flashbacks*

Also, I have something to say. Y’all know I don’t much care for Octavia but i actually think her costume this season is pretty cool. But one thing for your consideration ...

(Source: @coolpops)

SO. After having actually seen the first four episodes for myself, I think that what the reviewers have said about these being the strongest string of episodes this show has done might have some truth to it. (Although, imo, Season 1 and Season 2 could rival it.) This season has been solid so far, and I’m really excited for all the freaky shit that’s going to go down next episode. The story is picking up!

See y’all next week with “Shifting Sands”!

#the 100 #the 100 pandora's box #the 100 5x04 #bellarke #posts by moi #the 100 highlights series

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rreader · 6 years

Text

the only hope - tlou!au

pairing: kim namjoon x reader fandom: bts warnings: tlou!au (post-apocalyptic!au) ; language genre: angst ; horror ; smut (later on)

summary: namjoon and his brothers kept to themselves, trying their hardest to survive in a world where infected roamed around and, they themselves, lived in constant fear of becoming one of them. until you entered his life. and then everything changed.

a/n: I’ve been meaning to write another multi-chaptered story and really felt like a gaming!au one, so here we go. I’m actually super excited for this one (also, if you’ve played tlou, you know what’s going on with you ;))

Going out on a scavenger hunt all alone in a time like this, was probably not the greates idea, but Namjoon rather puts his own life at risk, than the ones of his brothers. He was something like their leader.. the one they looked up to and the one that provided hope, when all was lost. Which it was, in the world they lived in.

Monsters called ‘Infected’ roamed the world. They were once humans, who turned into beasts, once they got infected by either another Infected (with a bite, for example), or if someone was exposed to the spores of a mutated fungus. Namjoon himself had never encountered the fungus, usually staying as far away from places where they grew. He had, however, encountered his share of Infected. And every time, it had been a close call.

There were four stages of Infected, each stage being more dangerous than the last. Thankfully, the young man had only seen Runners and Stalkers, which were the first two stages. Clickers and Bloaters were the stages that came after and Namjoon prayed he’d never come across them.

As quietly as possible, he opened up the door to a convenience store and raised his gun, prepared to fire at any arising danger. He always went in the middle of the day, the sunlight being a better friend to him than the moonlight.

He quickly checked every single corner of the store, making sure that no Infected were in here, before he put the gun back in its' holster and let out a sigh of relief, before he started looking for supplies.

Food was the most important thing, even though Jin had managed to grow some vegetables back where they lived. They were slowly managing to build a life for themselves, or as much as you could call it a life.

After that, he just packed up anything that looked useful and stuffed his backpack to the brim, even taking a few stupid toys for his younger brothers with a small smile on his lips. They’d say it’s stupid, but would play with them in the end anyways. Just because there was nothing else they could really play with these days.

Just when he was done and closing the backpack, he could hear voices outside the store. Men, yelling and guns going off, but still far enough away for Namjoon to hide. He ducked behind the counter and tried to calm down his heartbeat and breathing, hoping whoever it was wouldn't come in here.

The door got opened and closed immediately afterwards and Namjoon closed his eyes. Apparently luck didn’t favor him.

His fingers were already reaching for the gun when he could hear it.

Sobs.

Sobs?

From the same men that had just been screaming angrily?

No.. these sounded.. different.. softer. Like they came from a woman.

Namjoon cursed himself for his curiosity and his need for helping anyone that needed help, especially the females that were left in this world, so he discreetly peeked around the corner, his eyes widening from what he saw in front of him.

You were sitting on the cold floor, hugging your knees against your chest and crying into your arms, your body shaking from the sobs.

Who were you? Why were you crying? Did an Infected bite you? Did you know you would die? Were these men after you? And did they chase you because they wanted to put you down? Or were they after you for no other reason but the fun of it?

All of these things ran through his mind while he watched you cry, deliberating what he should do next.

You didn't look very old.. and you didn't seem like you were with anyone else. Probably one of the lone wanderers our there.

He wanted to slap himself for not being able to keep his mouth shut, but he carefully got up from the floor and held up his hands, even before speaking.

“Hello?”

You jumped, scared out of your mind and were reaching for your knife, holding it in the direction of the man, that had just raised his voice.

“What do you want? Are you with them?”

“Them? I don't know who them is, but no.. I'm here on my own. I was just trying to find some stuff for my group.”

But that didn't seem to convince you. When you got up, your knife still high in the air, he stopped walking towards you and studied you for a moment. Your clothes looked dirty, like you hadn't changed in ages and your eyes were puffy from crying. You didn’t look hurt though and he saw no evidence of a ripped shirt, that would indicate a bite.

“Are you hurt?” he asked nevertheless. You hesitated, but eventually shook your head, “Do you need help?”

He shouldn't be offering you help. He shouldn't get involved in whatever it was that you were in. It would only bring trouble for him and his brothers and he really didn't need that, now, that they were slowly starting to get comfortable with their new lives. But Namjoon had never been someone to simply turn a blind eye to someone like you. Someone so lonely and scared..

“I..-” but you didn't get to finish your sentence, when you heard the voices of the men that had been following you talk right outside the store.

The stranger suddenly looked much safer than he had a minute ago, when you ran behind him and hid there.

Namjoon didn’t hesitate and pulled you down behind the counter with him, right in time when the men entered the store.

“You in here, bitch?”

Your body started shaking again and you bit your lip to stop the sobs from escaping your throat.

Namjoon didn't really know what to do, but when he saw how afraid you were, he gently placed his hand over yours and gave you an encouraging smile, while putting a finger of his other hand over his lip.

You blinked at him a couple of times, a few tears running out of your eyes, but you felt better. Safer. Safer than you had for the last two weeks.

“I don't think she'd be that stupid, boss,” another voice said, “She probably kept running.”

A ruffling sound could be heard, then a sigh, “Tony is going to kill me if I don't bring her with me.”

“Maybe do it like her.. run away from your problems,” another person laughed and left the store, followed by a second person.

The leader took another look around and stopped right before the counter, letting out another long sigh.

Namjoon pressed himself against the counter, holding his breath and putting an arm around you to pull you against him, both to give you some comfort, but also to stiffle the cries that were threatening to come out at any second.

“Stupid bitch,” he muttered, then he turned around and walked towards the exit.

Only when Namjoon could hear them talking outside again, did he start breathing normally again.

You were alone once more.

He held you for another couple of minutes and only talked when he was sure the men were gone.

“What do they want with you?” he whispered.

You shook your head and wiped your nose with your sleeve, sitting up straight to get out of his embrace, “It's.. a long story,” you were thankful for his help, but you knew nothing about this guy. You didn't want to tell him why they so desperately wanted you. Why everyone so desperately wanted you.

“I've got time,” he smiled again, showing off his beautiful dimples.

God, how long had it been since you had seen someone like him? Someone who screamed kindness in a world that was so brutal? Someone that was able to smile so genuinely at a stranger?

You pushed yourself off the floor and shook your head again, “I have to go. Maybe now I'll have the chance to get out of the city.. thanks to you.”

“You're looking for a place to hide?”

“A place to sleep would be enough, to be honest.”

You couldn't even remember the last time you were able to sleep longer than two hours. Your body was starting to rebel and it wouldn’t be long before it’d give up.

Namjoon wrangled with himself. He looked at you and felt pity. He wanted to help you so desperately. But bringing a stranger back home would put his brothers in danger.. and he didn’t know if he was ready to do that. They meant everything to him.

But he also knew, that if he turned around now and would leave you hanging, he’d never forgive himself.

“I have a place.. my brothers and I do. It's not far from here. You can stay the night, if you want to.”

Your eyes widened and your first response was to say yes and jump into his arms, thanking him over and over again, but only because he showed kindness, didn't mean that you were foolish enough to immediately trust him.

“I appreciate what you did for me before,” you wiped the remaining tears off your face, then you looked up into his gorgeous eyes, “but I'm better on my own.”

“No one is better on their own in a world like this.. trust me on that one.”

“You don't even know me.. what if these men were looking for me for a reason, like me having done something horrible?”

“I like to take leap of faiths from time to time.”

“Those will get you killed in a world like this, trust ME on THAT one.”

It was clear that you had been through hell and back. The longer he spent with you, the more he realized it. You had a past that was probably darker than he could imagine.

Yet, he still didn’t want to leave you. He wanted to help, if you allowed him to.

“Please.. a night. I feel like you could use the sleep. We have food, clean clothing, water, shelter and we can protect you.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because you don't seem like you're a bad person. You seem like someone who has gotten herself into a lot of trouble and can't get out of it. I've been there. And I had my brothers in that time. They pulled me out.”

“Well.. I don't have any brothers or sisters.. or anyone else for that matter,” it sounded so nice to hear him say those things, though. To speak of his brothers with such fondness. It made you envious, not having people that cared for you. Being completely alone.

“Which is why I'd like to help.”

What other options did you have? You could continue running, try to get out of the city tonight. But you didn't even get those two hours of sleep for the last two days and you were afraid you would just pass out in the middle of the street. And then they'd definitely find you. And how bad would a night be? Just one night..

“Alright.. one night.”

He smiled and nodded, extending his hand, “I'm Namjoon, by the way.”

You carefully and slowly extended yours, smiling a little for the first time since you entered the shop and Namjoon's breathing stopped for a second, “I'm (Y/N).”

One night, you kept telling yourself.

Just one night.

#bts x reader #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon imagine #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagine #bts imagine #bts #bangtan boys #kim namjoon #namjoon #reader #mine #I AM SO HAPPY WITH THIS ONE OMFG

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btsjeonjazz · 6 years

Text

Stargazing II pt. 2

Jimin x reader x Taehyung

genre: ANGST, slight smut, confused feelings and plot twists

word count: 15.9k

He was your first love, your soulmate who shaped your heart, covered it with scars no one was able to erase..except for the one causing the indentations deforming the once beautiful muscle that still longed for the part that was torn out on a day in late autumn.

Was it really Jimin who decided to leave you or was it another person pulling the strings? Confused feelings that threatened to break you slowly started to clench your heart..

The last time you felt the aching sorrow numbing your heart was the night you lay in your bed after Jimin had left you. Rain splashed against your window above your bed, not a single star hanging from the blackness of the night sky while you reached for the invisible figure of your ex-boyfriend hovering over you, his still perfectly shaped face smiling down at you. The sparse light flickering over your wet cheeks made you remember him every single night. That time you couldn't feel the tears anymore, hours of crying milking your tear glands and the only feeling clenching your heart a strange emptiness. It was the worst night of your life, never ending and full of nightmares that wouldn't go away when you woke up, because you didn't sleep for weeks.

Tonight wasn't any different. Even though you felt how anger and frustration built up inside you, turning your guts in a grumbling mess, ready to hurl out your intestines your heart was occupied by the same emptiness you experienced the night three years ago. It filled your heart and crumbled the remaining lowered walls protecting it from him. But it didn't help, the shield dropped and your beating muscle was free, vulnerable and attacked again. Your breath was stuck in your lungs as you stared at the girl standing before you, her hands laying possessively on Jimin's shoulders while he didn't dare to look up once. You saw your hands shake before you pulled them off of the table to clench them into strong fists to stop them from erecting. How were you supposed to react in that kind of situation? It was as if you were thrown into icy water without a life vest, dipped under the freezing surface by Jimin and his..his..Mey.

Feeling every person's eyes on you – except one pair of color brown – you forced a smile on your face, ignoring the stinging pain blurring your vision.

“Y/n..”, Taehyung shifted to the side without really moving, his warm palm giving you the help you needed not to throw your glass at the girl and young man in front of you. “We can go if you want. Now”, it was a faint whisper of his low voice offering you to get you out of that unbelievable nightmare, but you were over him, right? You were over him. Jimin was nothing but a mistake in the past. Right? He broke your heart and didn't even care how miserable your life was afterwards, not only leaving you with a bleeding heart, no, without an explanation moving into another city.

Clearing your throat you stood up. Nobody could hold you there with him and his..his..

“I forgot something important at home”, you declared vague, not caring how stupid and disbelieving your excuse sounded, snatching your coat and scarf to place them under your arm to rush out as fast as possible. A second longer and you would've imploded.

Your two friends nodded sadly, throwing you apologetic and worried glances as you stumbled over your feet, screeching the chair over the floor. Turning away you stopped right where you were, a hand enclosed around your upper arm.

“D-don't go. Please”, Jimin's voice was a whiff, begging for you to stay although he had no right to ask you for something as hurtful as this while leaned across the entire table to hold you back. “I haven't seen you in so..long. I want to get to know-”

“Oh shut up, will you?”, you beamed with fury at his faked words. “Getting to know me? While you're flirting with your..your..”, you paused, biting your inner cheek for the bitter taste in your mouth to go away. “Mey. She's here for you, you better not fake being sorry for leaving me and being back to check on me. I'm perfectly fine.” You whispered the words so no one else would eavesdrop, but it was obvious what you told him. “Go and be happy, Jimin. You don't need me for that-”

“Jiminie? Let her go if she wants to go home”, the female voice burned into your head a lot louder than any other voice filling the room. The hand on your arm fell off with the first word leaving Mey's lips.

Looking past Jimin you saw her tilting her dark thatch, smiling innocently at you which switched on something inside you, inflamed an emotion you were forbidden to feel. Jealousy. She was toying with you. Testing your limits and patience because she knew who you were and that Jimin's heart once belonged to you. Hence you felt forced to meet your ex-boyfriend's darkening eyes, seeing hope fading inside them as to why you rummaged for your phone.

Then you sighed trying to give off that you were unlaced by her tries and the whole situation itself. “An hour, nothing more.”

Challenge lacing your orbs you sat back down between Tae and Bee, your tongue poking your inner cheek whereas you cocked up your brows. They should see how pissed you were, but giving in after you developed the strength to deal with being broken and alone? Not a chance.

Awkward silence filled the air around the group of you as Mey sat down without inviting her to, personal space foreign words for the sweetly smiling girl. She practically sat on Jimin's lap while he nervously squirmed under three pairs of eyes, yours included.

“And who exactly are you? Coming here out of the blue like an intruder that waited for the perfect opportunity to burst in a nice conversation?”, Bee crossed her arms in front of her chest, her expression ice cold, directed in the direction of the girl fidgeting with Jimin's softly looking, big sleeve that caused way too familiar sweater paws. How you loved Bee for that! A proud smile creeping on your face you silently thanked god for your best friend. “I mean, we don't even know who you are and now you casually burst in our group-”

“Stop it, Bee”, Jimin's quiet voice shut your friend up in one go. Not only she was surprised by his words. “She's..she..She's my..” You saw realisation in his narrowed eyes, blinking for a few times without continuing his phrase you knew would lead to.

“Girlfriend.”

All eyes turned your way. The words that wouldn't even dare to cross your mind slipped out of your mouth, pissed that your ex hadn't the balls to be blunt about their relationship, because she wasn't hiding anything. Her glance told you how mighty she felt, how right you were about your accusation. She was what you claimed her to be. His..Jimin's..fuck. Girlfriend. The one young woman he most certainly fucked every damn night. Who he invited on beautiful, romantic dates and the worst, you were confident about the fact that he also explained the stars to her like he did to you. Night after night gazing at the tiny shining sparkles peppered over the black night sky.

Your head fell back briefly, your throat dry and the knot signalled how far you stood on the verge of tears. But you wouldn't cry. Not now.

Clearing his throat Jimin scratched his neck, his brown orbs flying over your face. “What? It's not-”

“Don't be shy, Jiminie!”, Mey pinged his rose cheeks with an innocent smile plastered on her face. “Around four years already.” F-Four years? “But most importantly, you must be Tae, Jimin always speaks about you and you two are?”

You stared at a point over their heads, the far distant of the windows, down the street and further where you knew lay your house. How would you survive a whole hour with them at this table? Why didn't you rush home just as you intended?

Taehyung put his arm around your shoulders, being the protection you missed, soothing you with his thumb drawing circles on your upper arm. “I'm Taehyung, that's right. That's Bee and this is y/n. You should know their names as much as mine, because these two are your friend's longest friends, too.”

“Boyfriend's”, she corrected the guy beside you and you had difficulties not to puke. “He must've mentioned your name some time, y/n. But I can't remember in what context.”

“Is that so?”, you asked without sounding too suspicious of your murderous thoughts.

“I told her”, Jimin's soft voice was heard over the quiet music and the chatter in the room. “I-”

“When?”, Mey shifted her head to the side. “I really can't remember.”

It was ridiculous. You had enough, but for real now. Jimin's new girl was not only teasing you, she was degrading you with her questions, not caring about you at all. But why would she anyway, huh? She had what you'd never have in your life again.

Not saying a single word you wriggled yourself out of Tae's touch, pecking Bee's warm cheek and nearly running out of that place you wouldn't face the next weeks, or months. Outside the restaurant you walked through the piercing raindrops that slowly started to solidify into faint snow flakes. You hated the winter. It reminded you of Jimin, in good and even worse ways hence you pulled your scarf tighter around yourself, burying your face in it.

Now it was you who would have to start anew, again. Your wounds were brutally opened, your walls crashed, your mind a haze and you still wanted nothing more than to fall into the arms who held another girl by now.

“Why, god, why did he come back?”, you looked heavenwards, standing still at the end of the street to wait for the traffic lights to change.

Deep in your bones you felt the upcoming storm approaching. And you heard how your heartbeat began to decrease, determination seeping into you. One thing was for sure, maybe Mey and Jimin had made your night the worst – expect the years he ripped out your heart – but from this moment on, your swore, you would arm yourself against them in every possible way. Starting from a healthy mind.

“You won't knock me down again”, you threw your fist in the air, punching the invisible face of the young man who still sat next to your best friends inside the warm shop. “Never, Park Jimin!”

Laughing at your sad try to find the courage to go on, you were sure that it needed a lot more than a shout in the empty streets to get over what happened to you tonight. And you were right, because the next day your shaking determination was tested already.

Tae: I'm sorry, babe. I should have told you that Jimin moved back [09:54am]

You received Tae's message the morning after the awkward moment you met your ex-boyfriend Jimin after almost four years. Of course you were mad at Tae for not telling you, hiding the fact that Jimin would come back in town. If he had told you you would've braced yourself and put your mind to peace with thoughts that everything would turn out absolutely fine, but like that? Not a chance you were prepared for his return.

You: Get it over with, Tae. I'm a big girl. Wanna meet up tonight? [17:39pm]

As if. You caught yourself lying at him, but who cared? He was sincerely sorry and you wanted to be brought on other thoughts as to why you suggested hooking up. Maybe it would free your mind, maybe you wouldn't be able to forget, but you had to try it at least. It took him not even a minute to answer although you let him wait for a couple of hours.

Tae: at 9. My house [17:40pm]

Grinning at your display you slandered in your bathroom to get a hot shower, pushing the clenching feeling around your heart off. Jimin, who? You snickered. Man, it was a long way to go, but mind blowing sex with your buddy was the perfect start to get rid of the pictures in your tired head that evoked an ultimate urge to gag. Jimin was your past. Period. And now it was time to look forward again.

His lips traced over your neck, biting in your soft skin, leaving you shuddering beneath Tae as he sensually rolled his hips against you. He made you feel like floating, his low growls getting you closer to your orgasm while his thrusts reached deep, brushing the spot inside you that brought the coin to flip.

“Oh, shit”, you moaned out loud, your fingernails scratching deep marks on his tanned back, his slight chuckle driving you crazy. “You know me too well, Tae..ah.”

You were close, your legs wrapping themselves around his moving hips to press him deeper as he already went in.

“Babe, don't. fucking. do. this.” Taehyung's voice pressed through his gritted teeth as he propped himself on his elbows to shove his wet tongue in your mouth. And you gladly accepted it, playing, teasing him while he fucked you into oblivion, your painful feelings and nightmare like thoughts disappearing the closer he got you to your climax. “Come for me, babe. I want to see your pretty face while my cock makes you c-come..” The last word was swallowed as you started to contradict harshly around his erection inside your folds, the heat you felt in the pit of your stomach exploding.

“Fuck..Ji-”, you stopped yourself, eyes wide with shock as you locked them with Tae's chocolate ones. If you were able to you would've apologised immediately, but you couldn't as your orgasm washed over you. Everything went white before you clung panting on your friend's neck as he leaned down to muffle your frantic mewls by pressing his red, heart shaped lips on yours. While riding out your high Tae continued to move his mouth on yours ere he straightened himself on his knees, his dick still buried in your heat.

Embarrassed by yourself you slapped your hands over your face. “I'm so fucking sorr-”

“Shut up.”

Surprised by his harsh tone your hands were smacked away from your pink cheeks. How did this happened? You closed your lids for like two seconds as you came, but he was the first thing your sick brain imagined whereas you came. Groaning your legs were spread wider than normal, Taehyung's fingers tapping on your knees.

“It's okay, y/n”, he smugly smirked down at your highly embarrassed self. “You better let me spread you.”

Nodding you bit down your bottom lip not to moan a name you really didn't want to say aloud right now.

Tae on the other side had other plans with you, trying his best to occupy your busy mind with nothing but himself and his amazing thrusts. “Moan my name. Now.”

Obeying you grabbed him by the shoulders, your voice starting off rather quiet before you cried out his name over and over again, feeling his skin hitting yours. And then Tae's feral, deep grunts and hisses filled his bedroom, his hips getting slower.

“Taehyung!”, you threw your head back, arching your back because you knew how much he adored to see you that vulnerable and craving.

Slick spurts of his release shot in the condom he wore, his lean, tanned body was tinged in sweat, collapsing on yours while his lips attached themselves on yours.

“That's the only name you'll scream from now on, got it?”

Heavy breathing you nodded, slightly smiling up at his attractive face. “Got it.”

Pulling out of you he threw the condom on the floor. “You didn't. Damn, Tae, that's disgusting”, you hit his chest, but your wrists were grabbed the instant, his tall body thrown on top of you again. His big, beautiful hands began to nudge your sides, knowing that tickling was the best medicine to get your attention – after sex.

Laughing from the top of your lungs you two bickered around, his long fingers teasing your naked body while throwing you around the bed and right as you were ready to attack back the door was opened. Tae's body still half on yours, almost covering your bare skin and private spots a pair of ebony orbs got wider than you had ever seen them.

“Fuck, sorry..shit”, with a deafening thud the door was slammed shut and Jimin out of the room.

Frozen in place your fingers lay on the skin above your heart to feel if it still beat. It did. Faster than ever.

Taehyung on the other side sat up into a sighting position, his loud, low voice echoing through his house. “Never heard of fucking knocking?!”

Instead of an answer you faintly witnessed the front door falling into it's lock.

“Y/n..”

“No, it's totally fine”, you lied, tapping on the free spot beside you, curling yourself up. “Let's sleep, yeah?”

Shooting you a suspicious glance Tae sighed, but accepted your offer and crawled next to you, his hand wandering over your stomach to stroke your skin gently. “Wanna watch a movie while cuddling up?”

Nodding you smiled reluctantly at the boy who tried his best to get a special someone off of your mind again, just as he did the last four years. As he climbed back into the warmth of his bed, you immediately put your head on his chest so he won't see the rush of emotions running wild over your face, your eyes glued to the screen without actually seeing something. Fuck. Repressing a major groan you felt how fast your heart still beat, your eyes drying up while you didn't dare to blink, anxious about the shocked face that would burn in your lids. Jimin looked like a ghost, his flushed skin getting pale whereas you saw nothing but pain in his chocolate colored pupils. The evil side in you cheered for yourself, seeing him hurt because of Tae touching you, but the naïve you felt utterly miserable that he had to see you in such an intimate moment.

“Y/n?”

Flinching at the loud voice and the fingers shaking you, you lifted your head. Taehyung arched his brows up, smiling down knowingly.

“It seems like I need to distract you a lot more.”

As if hit by a truck I sat outside the house in the rain, an umbrella over my head..my best friend, Tae, was..was..

“Fuck!”, I let out a frustrated cry, my hands running through my short hair to calm my twitching nerves. I had never thought that you would..I couldn't even think of the words that I had seen a few seconds ago. You, naked..your wonderful body and your perfect laugh..Tae's hands on your..

“Calm the fuck do-”

“Jimin?”, there that high voice was again, Mey's silhouette forming in the dark, walking light-footed towards me with her signature innocent – fake – smile. She was the last person I wanted to see right now, trying to collect my own thoughts. “Why are you sitting outside?”

“Can we go to the convenience store? I'm hungry”, was all I said, walking past her to get to the light illuminated shelter in the form of a shop. I heard Mey's hasty steps behind me, her rather big hand grabbing mine while we went past my old house, past your house..

The night was painted by lack of sleep, a snoring Taehyung next to you whose leg was clinging on your body. Around two in the morning you had witnessed the front door getting locked, some silently tip toeing footsteps and some pretty loud ones walking down the hall where Tae's bedroom was situated. And of course you knew whose steps you heard. Jimin's and Mey's. Unluckily their bedroom seemed to be the one right next to yours and you prayed with all your might that Jimin would have a bit of decency not to fuck her while you could hear absolutely everything. Starting from her constant chattering to his grunts of understanding further to the way the bed creaked under his or her weight. You imagined them cuddled up, his painfully pretty face so close to Mey's..

You had enough of the piercing feeling that wouldn't stop hurting your heart as you lay in the dark with your eyes closed shut and the pictures in your head driving you insane. Your gaze flew to the guy beside you, his leg carefully lifted as you wrapped yourself in one of the blankets, storming out bare feet. Down the stairs you took the corner that lead to the huge terrace of his house, Tae's parents long moved out – almost two years now – while you visited him after Jimin had left you. Since the moment he found you crying, desperately looking for your ex in front of his house Taehyung never dared to leave your side, and for that you were more than grateful. He was your saviour as you needed one so bad who developed to your fuck friend, but you had the strange feeling that he wanted more from you than just your body. Which was the reason you didn't spend as much time at his house as you used to the last years, definitely not ready to start something knew, afraid he might gain enough power over your emotions and would let you fall like someone did in the past. It was ridiculous, you knew it, but you weren't ready to fall in love, especially not now after Jimin was back, turning your entire, difficult, tightly organised life upside down, ripping out the healed spot in your heart a second time with the appearance of his new girlfriend. Merciless asshole, you thought whereas you opened the door to the garden and a gust of a cold early winter's night took your breath for a brief moment.

The frozen floor was numbing your toes as you walked towards the ice cold pillows of the couch that stood underneath the glassy roof of their terrace. With force you pulled it behind you, ignoring the icy sparks below your feet. Right under the stairs to the actual green of the grass the sofa stood now while you rushed inside to bring another blanket from the living room to wrap your naked body in them against the cold air of the night. Your warm breath formed in front of your face, your view turned upwards into the sky where you met old friends hanging from the firmament above your tiny body. They knew you better than anyone else, all your problems cried out to them, the beautiful moments they were able to see long gone as you only visited them whenever something clenched your heart and soul. The smallest of shiny stars in the night sky made you happy, your thoughts, negative or not, made place for the numbing void in your head only the sight above you was able to give you when you felt like shit, just as the last days.

A small sigh escaped you, your eyes covered with emptiness as you let out everything that darkened your mind. You didn't even care that you definitely looked pathetic as you sat there in the blackness in nothing but two way too thin blankets, talking to the stars as if they'd seriously listen and help you with your problems while one of the most attractive, caring and humorous guys in the entire world lay upstairs and thought you were next to him dreaming peacefully.

“..I can't even cope with all the suffering anymore”, you whispered, your legs pulled against your chest, your chin dropped on your knees while you stared heavenwards. “He even saw us! And it still hurts like hell to know that he's back, you know? And..and with h-his..I don't want to speak that shit aloud..”

A crack behind you made you flinch hard, your silent conversation cut off immediately as you realised someone was eavesdropping on your heartfelt, pathetic monologue. In slow motion, afraid it might be the wrong person listening in on you, you turned around with wide eyes, the blanket pulled tighter and tighter.

“I-I didn't mean to listen!”

You didn't know if you should feel relieved or even more upset as you saw Jimin standing there in his black sweatpants and a big blue sweater that caused major sweater paws on his lean body. You knew that damned hoodie too well. It was the first present you made for him on your very first Christmas years ago. You had met up in the middle of the pavement that perfectly parted his and your side of the big property, his cheeks flushed, ears red from the cold, the tip of his nose reddened and his hands shook as he gave you your own present, a Polaroid camera to save precious moments of your future relationship. The many pictures you took over the years stuffed into a big carton that was dropped somewhere on your parent's attic.

Now that you had an uninvited guest your peace was gone, all menacing thoughts that left your brain storming in at once, stumbling over more worries as they clenched your head. He had heard everything you entrusted to the stars and that worried you to the bone. Jimin, the one it was all about, knew your deepest thoughts now, didn't he? But you tried not to look too desperate and flustered as you shifted around, signalling him to leave you alone by ignoring him. Minutes passed and as you dared to throw a glance back you saw him leaning against the frame, his brown eyes staring into the night sky. The softness of his expression made your blood boil in anger.

“What do you want? Can't you see that I want my fucking peace or why do you think I'm out here, feeling like a snowman?”, you turned around, your arm spread on the rest with your voice showing your annoyance. But instead of letting you alone with your thoughts a small chuckle was heard, his hand running through his dark hair. “What?!”

“Feeling like a snowman?”, Jimin held his long sleeve over his mouth to hide the grin pursing his plump lips.

Blood rushed into your pale face, heat coursing through your cold body at his words. Right now you hadn't shown him a cool, aloof side, no, an awkward side with a childlike description of your state. Good job, y/n. As embarrassed as you were you coughed to hide it, averting your gaze as you turned around again, facing the firmament a second time.

“I'm sorry, y/n.” After quite some time you gave up on him leaving you, so you tried to ignore him instead, if he wouldn't constantly start a conversation you really didn't wanna hold. Not after he had seen you having naked fun with his best friend, and not now or never really. “May I join you in silence for a while?”

You couldn't answer his quiet question, too torn between shouting at him and waving him closer to have him for yourself without getting disturbed. But that was wrong, your heart and mind not ready for that. To your surprise did Jimin the opposite of what you expected. He came closer, sitting right beside you in the dark in silence. The moment his bum met the soft, but freezing surface of the sofa your body stiffened. The last time you were that close to him alone was an eternity ago, the bit of heat resonating from his body warming you up from top to toe although the young man didn't even touch you. Seconds passed and you didn't know what to think while you couldn't help yourself but to throw glances his way, scanning Jimin from up close with furrowed eyebrows. He was as attractive as ever. His hair a bit shorter than you remembered him, his skin lighter and body broader. Jimin had matured. He wasn't the young guy you had loved once. The only similarity the softness of his faint smile that seemed to never leave his lips, not even now, in the dark with you, his ex, by his side.

“Aren't you cold?”

“I thought you wanna sit with me in silence”, you scoffed back.

“That was an excuse to not get chased away by you”, he said with a smile in his deep voice. “I missed you, y/n. Believe it or not-”

“No.” There was nothing else to say to that bullshit. That bullshit that made your heart skip a beat. Damn heart!

“Let me talk”, he shifted to the side, his eyes boring in your side profile. “I know how hurt you must've been the last years. I'm sincerely-”

“Shut up”, you whispered, the hair on your body standing straight, not because of the cold. “I don't want to hear the shit of you apologising for something you did while using your full mind. You weren't drunk, on drugs or anything else. You did it, because you wanted it. Period. Now shut your mouth or leave.”

Jimin was silent for a few seconds before he stood up. “You better get in before you catch a cold.”

With that he was gone and you sat there, kind of dumbfounded and confused. Jimin wasn't like this before he left you three and a half years ago. He was gentle, always smiling and charming, not cold or accepting anything that would mean something 'bad' and going as if he didn't care. Never. Wide eyed, not sure if you should be pleasured with yourself or disappointed that he was actually gone, you swallowed loudly, wrapping your suddenly shivering body tighter into the blankets.

“You can't catch a shitty cold”, Jimin was back two seconds after he left with a huge amount of blankets picked from the couch in the living room. Throwing one over your body after the other, he got closer, his hands tapping over your barely covered one to wrap you in the other pieces of cloth. Your heart stopped for mere seconds whereas his pretty, delicate face was only centimetres away from yours.

You weren't able to talk as long as he was near you, his familiar touches making sure you weren't cold anymore.

“Wh-”

“Friday. Six pm at yours. I'll pick you up because I have a lot to say”, Jimin interrupted you with a glance that told you to better not complain again ere he was gone.

What did he think? Scoffing you stared at the spot where you had last seen him. As if you would meet him just because he said so! Shaking your head you snuggled up into the many blankets he had wrapped you in, the faint scent of his smell in your nose while you glanced back at the night sky again with a lot less on your mind than before.

The coldness of the night was still in your bones as you woke up the next day on Tae's large couch, your hair a complete mess, your body tinged in so much sweat you felt uncomfortable, all thanks to the many blankets on your still naked body. It was earlier than you thought, around eight, as you slandered up the stairs to fall next to the sleeping guy you had left the whole night. Taehyung didn't move as your weight caused a big indentation, your fingers flying over his soft strands.

“Tae?”, you whispered, your touch waking him with confused eyes.

A mumbling answer followed by a grunt. “Go back to sleep, baby. I'll take care of you when I wake up..”

“No need to, I'm going now”, you said aloud, snatching your stuff, throwing your clothes on your body and leaving with a snicker at the wide eyes that locked with yours as you waved him goodbye. His loud protests could be heard through the door of his bedroom as you walked down the hall, the stairs and finally that front door. As your feet touched the pavement you could breath through for the very first time since you were caught by Jimin yesterday and to top it all after he had talked to you alone in the cold of the night.

Slandering towards the convenience store a few blocks away to get fresh roles and visit your parents to free your mind you bumped into someone who was quite busy with a few bags of sweets rushing out of the store. One of the many snacks fell to the ground and then you heard the voice behind all the stuff for the first time and froze.

“Can't you open your eyes?”

Swallowing the hatred that coursed your veins you straightened mid way as you wanted to help the girl with the fallen bag of cookies. No way you'd move one inch for the girl who lay in bed with the love you had lost years ago, her proud, mighty eyes laughing at you as she cocked her brows up to see you she had bumped into.

“You're the one that can't see through the amount of unhealthy stuff in your hands”, you responded in a monotone tone as you pushed inside to walk to the small bakery in it. “Ten roles please.”

“Don't think I don't know you, y/n”, Mey's voice was close behind, her view still downgrading your being as you stood there waiting for the cashier to be faster. But to your negative surprise didn't she back off, her words making you freeze. “I heard everything Jimin said to you yesterday. And let me tell you that you better take your hands off of him, because we are a couple now. He won't ever touch you again, his heart and body is mine, understood?”

You counted to ten. Deeply breathing in and out not to turn around to smack the bags of hers to the ground with an evil smile that should hide the pain that pressed on your lunges, making it difficult to breath properly. The fucking grin on her face that was situated a few centimetres above yours was enough for you to stay composed. She wouldn't win this war she had started with those words. Mey and Jimin were in a relationship? Fine, they deserved each other. But opening the wound on your heart with those damned words was too much. She had crossed the line a new girlfriend had. And she had no fucking right to talk to you like that, because she knew nothing.

“Hope he fucks you as good as he did me”, you shrugged your shoulders even though you felt like slapping her, your eyes laced with reservedness. “But if I think about it now. Tae's a lot better. You can keep Jimin then.” Shifting around again you thanked the cashier with a bright smile, pushing passed Mey while hitting her shoulder, a couple of snacks falling out of the her hands. “Oh sorry, did I do this? My bad, have to go. Bye bye Mey.”

Proud of yourself you breathed through whereas you walked light-footed back the way you came from, deciding it would be a better day than you had thought at first, the girl who was with Jimin right now making your day a lot sweeter. Although it was bitter sweet.

“It's a fucking masterpiece!”, you cheered at Carol and her brother, Tae. “You did it?”

You rounded the kitchen's table where a cake was put in the middle, a photo of your friend Bee put in the centre. It was her birthday, a day before the date Jimin had asked you – you wanted to call it threatened you – to meet him to talk. But you didn't want to talk.

“We worked for hours after Tae had burned the first cake this morning”, Carol said with rolling eyes at which Taehyung next to you just shrugged his shoulders with an apologising smile.

“You can't entrust me with baking stuff, you know I ruin everything.”

Snickering you leaned onto him, your head falling on his shoulders, your eyes heavy. It was an exhausting week after your boss had given you too much work to handle, but you managed everything today, beginning at five in the morning and ending work twenty minutes ago. Lucky you he had given you the day off tomorrow hence you were able to celebrate Bee's birthday until late just as planned. If you wouldn't fall asleep before it started.

Feeling Tae's hand on your back, warm and protecting you looked up into a blushing face, his eyes avoiding yours. “You know that I want a cake to my birthday, too?”, you asked, your cheeks against his upper arm. Taehyung was a lot taller if he stood beside you and you loved that you could lean on him like this whenever you felt like it.

“When was your birthday again?”, he pouted, but you witnessed his edges twitching.

Acting mad you pushed him away, circling the table again to wrap your arm around his sister's shoulders. Whispering nonsense she started to giggle, her brother's eyes widening.

“It was a joke! Stop tattling, y/n, Carol!”, he shouted. “Come on. I know when you're birthday is!”

Shaking your heads you and your friend looked at each other. “She's mad now, Tae. You can go.”

“Yah, y/n. Don't come begging for me tonight”, Taehyung pointed at you, his face contoured in knowing might. “Or should I say come and beg for me, babe?”

“I can't hear anything. La la la”, Carol let go of you to hold her own ears like a little girl that was told to clean her room. “Dis-gus-ting”, she added, walking straight out of the room to get the drinks from the basement.

Laughing embarrassed you scratched your neck, throwing the glowing guy across from you a menacing glance.

“You better beg tonight, boy, because I won't be lying in your bed tonight”, you declared with a superior smirk at the falling face of his. “Excuse me, I have to decorate the table for Bee.”

Turning around with a grin you had to repress you fidgeted with the chain of lights you wanted to decorate the table with. Knots made it difficult, but what else took your attention was the guy pressing on your back, his hands around your shoulders to lay his chin on one of his arms next to your head.

“Babe”, Tae breathed out loud, a cold shiver running down your spine at the low voice of his. “Y/n”, another whisper ere his vocals echoed louder from the kitchen's walls. “I'll beg a lot. Chain me up and do things to me I never experienced. I'm so ready for you”, his suggesting, pretty nice, words were accompanied by his down low area pressing on your lower back, his erection rubbing over your light blouse you wore this day.

“Oh, boy, so needy?”, you giggled, letting go of the chain to turn around, his arms falling from your shoulders to land on your waist. “I'll think about it.”

Chirping those words you freed yourself from his grip, but was spun around a second later, your back meeting the coldness of the counter behind you. Taehyung's face came closer, his body holding you in place. “I tried to give you a chance once, y/n. Too bad you didn't agree immediately, because that means I have to be rough on you toni-”

“Oh my god, take a room.”

The guy holding you again froze at the shrill, female voice filling the room. Your eyes darted up to glare at Tae who had lied to you. Trying to shove him off he held your wrists so Mey couldn't see it, his voice a mere whisper.

“Bee invited Jimin, but I had no clue that she is coming as well. Fuck, I'm sorry, babe. “

“No babe right now”, you reacted as second larger steps entered the kitchen, pushing the boy so close to you away in one go. “You owe me something.”

“Y/n, let me-”

“I count on you tonight”, you still glared at him as you turned around to face the two people staring at you. “What is she doing here, Jimin? Bee invited you. Not your girlfriend”, confidently saying this you crossed your arms, Tae next to you also arching his dark eyebrows up.

“Dude, she's right. It's not good if she's here.”

The black haired young man dressed in a dark turtle neck pullover bit down his bottom lip, seemingly nervous to see you two and Mey in the same room. Most certainly did he know about the incident inside the store last weekend.

Looking from one person to another while Mey clung onto his sleeve, his soft voice fell from his plump lips. “I couldn't leave her alone, could I? We stay here as long as..our new home is ready to move in. Please consider her a guest as well. We won't be disturbing the peace, I promise.”

Jimin's dark orbs averted yours as he said that, his new girl nodding innocently. If it weren't for Bee's great day you'd have made a scene, asking if he knew of Mey's shitty behaviour towards you, but you guessed he already did. Not that she was the bad person in it, but you.

Sighing beside you, you were met by Tae's hand rubbing soothingly over your back. “Fine. Sit down, Mey. Jimin we need your help with the lights.”

Confused you wanted to explain that the chain of lights was for the table, but Taehyung shook his head slightly, taking it in his large hands and waving his friend to his side. Leaving the room with them you looked back shortly, Mey throwing you death stares you really didn't know why, but smiling was the best attack, so you did just that as you followed the two boys out of the room.

Coming to a halt inside the living room, Tae turned to Jimin, his eyes telling more than words could.

“It was her idea, wasn't it? Can't you see how y/n feels about all of this? You've no decency, Jimin.”

Your eyes shot wide at Tae's dangerous voice declaring such things to his best friend. Something inside you turned, your stomach roaring at him protecting you.

“I know, okay? And I'm really sorry, y/n”, looking your side Jimin showed you a sincere face, his cheeks flushed to the ears. “Mey's just..”

“A bitch”, you ended his sentence, two shocked pairs of eyes staring at you in doubt of your choice of words. “Oh come on, what do you expect me to say? She even-”, you stopped yourself. You didn't want to have pity from them hence you snatched the chain out of Tae's hands. “Where do you want to put them?”

Long silence was created whereas Jimin and his friend, your fuck buddy, watched you spreading the lights above the coffee table, knotting it on the lamp above it. If they didn't say anything you had to decide, and as you did you heard faint whispers from them, but you tried to ignore it as you climbed off of the table.

Taehyung rubbed his face ere he lay a shoulder on Jimin's shoulder, leaving you with restraint in his steps. Where was he going? And why did he leave you alone with him? It was one thing to spend tomorrow with him in order to hear him out, but with his new girl in the kitchen and your lover right next to her? Not okay. That was the reason why you hastily collected your shit and tried to escape from the awkward atmosphere Tae had left you in. And as Jimin then started to speak, too, you felt thrown into cold water. You weren't ready to deal with his words.

“Y/n, I don't want to go on like this”, his voice had a strange severity in it you never knew of, but his tone seemed to be beyond believe, a mask that he wanted to show. “The thing is, I want you to accept us just like I accept that you..you fuck my best friend, okay? You think it is easy for me to see you nearly humping each other in the kitchen?”

What a great way to exaggerate the situation in the kitchen, because there was no such thing as humping each other. Innocently flirting, nothing more.

“Oh come on, Jimin. I do accept it”, you crossed your arms in front of your chest again, your heartbeat fastening like crazy. “But she's just..she's..dishonest. She seems fake-”

“Stop”, Jimin shook his head, his dark thatch thrown from side to side. “You have no right to talk like that. Just keep quiet and accept it.”

Jimin showed you his back, visibly angry with you, but your own anger slowly drifted past your sentiment side of your brain that tried to sooth you and the whole damned situation he had brought you in by taking her to this gathering. This was the reason the next words left your lips. And by god, you enjoyed every single one of the syllables forming on your tongue like the venom you felt in your blood as he left you more than three years ago.

“You ask me to keep quiet? Just as I did the moment you let me fall into the snowy puddle? Accept the fact that she's here beside you now just as I was forced to accept you leaving me all of a sudden? I matured, Jimin. I won't keep my mouth shut a second longer”, you trembled from keeping your voice low so Mey wouldn't eavesdrop again. “I'm a full fetched woman that has her own way of thinking and I gladly accept that you turned your back to me, but I'll tell my opinion freely from now on, just as Tae told me to, unlike you.”

Your last words were louder than the previous sentences you told his back as you walked past Jimin, your eyes glued to a point in the distance to hold you back from saying even more and ruining your rather good mood, because it was Bee's birthday and you wouldn't spent it with a dropped face!

“I guess your words were enough for me to understand that you won't tell me anything more tomorrow. Let's cancel the talk”, you said, looking over your shoulder.

“No”, Jimin's voice was heard faintly behind you, making you stop. He took his time to talk more as to why you contemplated to just go, but his low voice kept you on the spot. “I don't want to talk about..all of this..Well, I do, but I want to hear you out as well. Don't cancel it, y/n.”

Why was he able to affect you so much? Your head spun. His voice, the begging sound of a craving you couldn't explain after he had bluntly told you to stay put. Now this? What was it he wanted? Your head in your neck you shifted to the side.

“Six pm. You have an hour.”

“More than enough.”

His dark, deep eyes locked with yours and you felt the urge to sit down and get lost in..Stop. Shaking your head you escaped the room with fast steps. Jimin followed you in a close distance, his body right behind you as you came to a halt in the kitchen door's frame. Mey was alone, no sight of Tae or Carol. Therefore you wanted to go again, but your body almost collided with your ex-boyfriend's.

“S-sorry”, you mumbled, but without anyone's notice you saw Jimin's hand shooting up to nearly help you steady your posture. His fingertips brushed over your hand and you could feel a tingling sensation where he touched you.

“No need to, join us”, he said, his voice a mixture of hope that you'd deny and of hope that you'd really join them for the time being. Torn between both you looked up, seeing that behind his chocolate eyes was more than he actually admitted. “Tae and Carol will be here in no time, so no need to hesitate.”

Nodding stiffly you felt heat tinging your cheeks in a rosy color. You had no choice with Mey's eyes piercing your back. That's why you jumped over your pride and sat down next to Jimin who took his seat across from Mey. It was the strangest fucking situation you found yourself in that you fished for your phone to write both your friends a message that they'd better move their asses faster into the kitchen. You also heard them upstairs preparing Bee's birthday present but you still wanted the time to go by. And as you heard the only other female voice you frowned. Why wouldn't she shut up once?

“Why were you two alone?”

You had difficulties not to roll your eyes at her blunt jealousy, but instead just smiled at Jimin in faked awe. He on the other side didn't grant you one look, talking as if nothing happened in the form of painful words being exchanged.

“We hung up the chain, nothing more.”

“Why's she looking at you like you confessed to her again?”, she pulled up her eyebrows, a bitching expression on her face that made you snicker quietly.

“Stop being jealous. I already told you last weekend that I have not the slightest interest in my ex thanks to Tae”, you mixed in into their conversation, hearing faint footsteps drawing closer.

Ignoring the slight flinch from the guy beside you, you concentrated on the crumbling innocence Mey's, laughing into your fist.

But before the situation took overhand and the Jimin died from holding his breath the door bell rang. You took the opportunity to jump up, running to the main door to greet your friend with a huge hug and a lot of flattering words on her birthday. The other's joined you and in no time you celebrated her birthday until late, eating cake and forgetting Mey as she was shut up by Bee the moment she saw her sitting in the kitchen. Jimin on the other side was smiling the entire evening, occasionally mixing in the talks and you almost – well, no, but it was okay – felt good enough in his presence.

“Y/n”, it was Taehyung who lay his hand on your thigh on the couch where you gathered to drink some champagne and hear music while Bee talked about her plans to celebrate her birthday big the next weeks.

Looking left and right you leaned in to listen to what he wanted to say, seeing that another pair of eyes watched you out of the corners. Jimin had drunken a few beer and if he was still the one he was years ago he couldn't hold his liquor. But that was none of your busy.

“I'm so hard right now, babe. I know it's Bee's birthday, but my balls hurt already and you look way too fine tonight.” His red lips kissed you underneath your ear slowly, wet, his deep vocals a breathing the next words into your ear. “The offer still stands. Chain me up and I'll be-”

“I'd rather you fuck me rough”, you shifted your head to the side, whispering those naughty words in his own ear. “Now.”

It was the best of opportunities to get away from the watching eyes of your ex-boyfriend who still managed to drive you crazy with his girl beside him, stroking his thigh lasciviously for the last two hours. Taehyung didn't need to be told twice, standing up and pulling you behind him with the words: “Nice party, see you guys. Don't wait for us.”

Groaning got loud and you recognized Carol's as the loudest, but you couldn't stop yourself but to glance back at the only other guy in the room. His face was redder than before, his expression ice cold and eyes lingering on your hand holding Tae's.

The moment I lay in bed I couldn't focus on the tiredness that desperately tried to lull me into sleep. Not as long as your voice droned faintly through the way too thin walls of my best friend's house. Moans, hisses and muffled conversations I really didn't want to hear were heard. Your moans. Your hisses. Your voice talking to none other than..

Rolling around the hundredths time already I faced the sleeping figure of the girl I brought here with me. Her dark, short hair was all over her sleeping face, but I didn't brush it away, my hands clenched into fists at the sounds reaching my ears.

“Stop sounding so cute”, I whispered into the dark, my eyes glued to a point above Mey's head, her mouth slightly agape.

My hands did sloppy work as I tried to abandon your moans calling out to another guy, my mind full and blurry from the night, the bit of alcohol I wasn't good at and you. How could you dare to throw such words at me? How-? No, it was wrong, and that's what I knew myself. You did nothing wrong as it was me, who did shit in the past that no one, not even my will to do so, could change. If I were able to turn back time..would I change the past? Deep inside the blur that was my mind I knew that I wouldn't be strong enough to do so, despite your crying face, the precious tears of yours falling from your chin. If I stayed with you, what would have happened to Mey? And if-

Too many 'ifs'. Past is past. Now is now. And now, I really wanted to dive into a dreamless sleep that wasn't full of nightmares anymore, but I couldn't, your voice too loud and the excitement mixed with ultimate fear because of tomorrow only making it worse.

Sitting up, the warmth of the blanket on my lap I thought about tomorrow. Would you listen to me? What would you say if I explained what drove me to leave you? Would it change the way you see me? As heartless monster? Vague, maybe. But hope was the last thing I wanted to let go of.

Standing up, dressing into a shirt and sweatpants I tip toed through the room I knew was Tae's old bedroom, now guest room towards the door next to ours. The voice of yours was as feminine and hungry as I remembered, my throat dry and I cursed myself for getting turned on at the noises you two made, but it was enough. Three hours. Three fucking hours ago you two disappeared upstairs to..have sex. And right now my nerves twitched although it was only a faint sound that slipped into my room.

Taking all my courage I knocked on Tae's door, the sounds stopping immediately as if they'd feel caught. What they were. I waited a few seconds before I heard my friend muttering apologies and curses, the key turning in it's lock. What I say made me mad, but I wasn't in any position to protest at the sight. Taehyung was always the womanizer, his humour and good looks catching every girl's heart, but yours? I never believed you'd be the one spread out on that bed I had spent nights in with my best friend, talking about girls – mostly you in my case – and watching some adult movies. But seeing you pulling up the blanket underneath your chin, the softness of your skin peeking out at the side, your curves showing slightly..

“Dude, what do you want?”, Tae took all of my attention away from you by pulling the door close as he stepped on the floor. But I wanted nothing more than to stare some more at you..

“W-would you mind being a bit quieter?”, I blurted out, my voice a shadow of what was going on inside me. “I mean, go on, but please. We talked about it just last week that I-”

“Sorry, Jimin. I forgot because she's just so fucking..never mind. We'll be silent, I promise.”

Nodding I had to refrain from pushing him away and rushing inside to wrap you in my own clothes, taking you out to bring you..bring you where? To Mey? I couldn't think clearly anymore hence I nodded again, going back in my own room where you weren't..

Inside I felt like my blood boiled, my stomach turning upside down and then she turned around, her eyes opened a crack, searching for me in the dark.

“Jiminie? Come to bed”, her raspy voice sounded desperate, afraid of something I couldn't grab, but as I saw the panic washing over her face there was only one thing I could do.

My arm wrapped over her body, that was so much larger than yours, I stroked over her arm that she held close to her chest. She smelled like shampoo, but it wasn't the one you used as I leaned back a bit to close my eyes..until I heard you giggling in the room next to ours.

It was awkward to sit down beside Tae and his sister who was hungover the next morning, Jimin and his girl, Mey, across from you three. Silence was all you heard and the constant crunching sound whenever someone decided to take a bite from their roll you had bought this morning. You still contemplated how Jimin wanted to pick you up as you were sure that he didn't tell Mey his plans. The morning went by too slow for you, the breakfast a torture as you didn't know where to look at and the worst part that you felt Jimin's eyes on you from time to time, Tae's, too. But after two more hours you were finally released from all of it, going home and taking a long ass shower ere you went to Mrs. Won's to chat a bit, telling her who was back.

“Y/n, sweetie, that's what I wanted to tell you as you visited the last time”, the old lady lay her wrinkled hand on your shoulder over the small table in the back of her boutique where you two sat and drank tea for an hour now. “Don't let him down now, sweetie. He is back, fight for him.”

“Fight?”, you asked in confusion, your voice getting higher. “I'll fight his ass, but definitely not because I want him back! Granny, you're insane!”

“Oh dear, you two are blind”, she nipped on her tea with a glance your way and back to a customer who slandered the small shop. “He came here and told me a lot and I guess that's why he invited you today as well. Use your pretty head when he talks to you.”

Standing up to level out her petite, flowery dress that was way too chilly for a cold day like this, Mrs Won shot you a view only she could, a brighter smile appearing on your gloomy face. She believed in your, be it the one way or the other, but you knew who would catch you if you fell again.

“Thanks, granny”, you stepped towards her, hugging her shortly with a kiss on her warm, rosy cheek. “Guess I shouldn't let him wait at least.”

Nodding her strict bun wobbled before you received a flick on your forehead. “Go no, girl, and don't forget to tell me how it went!”

Laughing and rubbing your forehead from her strong flick you you waved her goodbye, opening the boutique's door, the bell ringing, and the cold air taking your breath away for a split second. Thankfully you had written Bee a text that she should write Jimin to pick you up at Mrs Won's at six instead of your home. Yes, you still didn't exchange phone numbers and to be honest you didn't want to neither. It would end up in chaos, texting, chatting daily, photos..as if. You almost laughed out loud in the street light you stood under to be seen for the guy you wanted to pick you up in like two minutes. Even though you tried to control your heartbeat, it went faster by the second until it was a staccato that bumped inside your chest and it beat even harder as you saw the black car you've seen in front of Taehyung's house driving around the corner. It was time to face the talk you didn't want to hold and asked yourself why you agreed.

Biting your inner cheek you put on a straight mask, hiding the many emotions rushing over your flushed face as you climbed onto the passenger's seat next to Jimin. He smiled softly at you, the same pursing of his plump lips you adored so much years ago, only manlier these days.

“Did you wait long? I drove as fast as I could, but you know the other drivers are a pest if it's cold”, Jimin's voice was quiet while his shaking hand turned off the radio.

“No, I was at Mrs Won's the entire day”, you answered him without ever looking to the side again, your voice laced with nothingness.

Swallowing loudly he nodded as fas as you could see, his eyes glued to the street as he began to drive through the Christmas lights illuminated city. The air was cosy hence you pealed yourself out of your black jacket and the beanie on your head, folding your clothes and laying it on your lap.

“You're still doing it?”, his slight laugh made you look up. Jimin pointed on your lap where the neatly folded jacket lay.

“Y-yeah”, you stuttered, your cheeks tinging a lot darker after he had pointed out a habit only he knew. “Where are we going?”

The question filled the room, impatience in your vocals mixed within shyness. It was strange, uncommon and highly awkward to sit so near him. How long did you long for this situation to come? Two years? Three? Always? Deep inside you, you knew that he still hung on an edge on your heart, but at the same time you knew how wrong it was. Park Jimin had left you. Cold. Crying. Alone in a puddle. Those thoughts outlined the past mercilessly, pushing you back to reality instead of lulling you into a fake reality you wished was still true..

“A place we're alone and where you can't escape from the talk.”

“Escape? I would never..”, you began, but shut your mouth at the truth behind the words. “Okay, true.”

“See?”

“Mhm.”

In the corner of your eyes you saw Jimin running his hand through his silky hair that shone in the lights passing by your car ere he drove around a corner up towards a path that got up to a peek. Wide eyed you shifted to the side, your hands on the door's frame.

“We-we're going to the peek?”, you hated yourself for the excitement in your voice, but it was a spot you always wanted to come to at night, but hadn't the courage because it was the place Jimin had brought you for your first real date at a sunny day two weeks after he had confessed to you. And if you believed people it was the most beautiful spot to watch the stars at a night like this, if it wasn't one that clouded the shining dots in the sky, like tonight.

Clearing his throat he parked the car a few hundred metres higher the small road, no other car or a sign of life in sight. You felt nervous, but at the same time you couldn't help but to want to get out of the car to the actual peek to see how many stars you would be able to count. But you refrain from doing this, waiting for Jimin to give you any sign to do so or sit back and wait for him to finally start the painful conversation.

“We're here because you cannot run away the entire way back”, his voice was quiet again, but you heard the grief in it. “Well, do you want to take a look first?”

Weighing your options you decided that you wanted to give it a try before you were crushed again. What a great way to die a second time.

Outside your breath formed in front of your face.

“You should get your jacket, y/n”, was all you heard ere his hands reached down for your coat to hand it to you. “I don't want you to get sick because of me.”

“Too late”, you mumbled, taking the jacket and scarf to tightly wrap it around your body. It wasn't fair to say this, not after you had to see sorrow washing over his face, but what was said was said.

Silently walking beside him your eyes got wider whereas you witnessed no stars in the sky, but the city was so light illuminated from all the Christmas decorations you were astonished.

“It's so beautiful! Look! I can see my parents'-” You stopped yourself. It was wrong to talk amazed by the scenery and definitely not with Jimin, but even if he got that and may have felt embarrassed and hurt he didn't show it, his body getting closer to your own, your arms subtly touching.

“I never came here at night, but it's really something, huh? Luckily it gets dark early.”

Jimin was a soft person, always dreaming high and looking after the people around him as to why you had to swallow back the knot in your throat, a wetness coating your eyes at the thought of him caring about none other but you. Lights and stars were a soothing therapy if you were by yourself, but seeing all of this with the boy who broke your heart you felt shattered. All of a sudden you sniffed violently, holding back the storm that loomed inside your orbs.

“Y-y/n”, it was panic you heard in his vocals, his hand absent-mindedly enclosing around your upper arm to turn you around. “We didn't even start! Stop crying!”

At the sound of his voice, his hand on your arm the dam broke. In no time your lower lip quivered, the back of your hand covering your eyes as small sobs left your lips. Too late to stop now you let it out just like this, crying your eyes out until you felt no tears coming anymore, but that wasn't all as you were pulled into wide arms, wrapped in a tight embrace. Your face was pulled against his shoulder where you frantically sobbed against. Of course this wasn't how you wanted to be seen. Fragile. Dependent. Crumbled and lonely. But that was what you were. All of it at once as you clung onto Jimin's upper body, your arms flexing from the menacing grip on his waist. Why did it feel so dangerously good? Familiar and like home, your head being stroked while his usual softness whispered nonsense in your ear to calm you down.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n, I'm here, okay? I hate to see it, but cry as much as you want if I'm the cause. Let it all out.” A short break as your sobs got louder. “Y/n, princess, it's alright. We can go if you want..”

You froze in place, your hands loosing their strength. Princess. At this point you felt the urge to fall on your knees, but you couldn't. Hence you pushed him off of you, your face a mess, your hair feeling heavy from the way too lovable stroking of his.

“Never call me that ever again”, you stuttered in between your twitching voice, a shadow of itself. Your throat was hoarse and sore, your cheeks heated. “You already have someone new by your side you can call this ridiculous nickname. I hated it anyway”, you lied, the words piercing your soul more than his as Jimin just stood there, a glimmer in his brown orbs. He cried, too. “T-talk. Now or never.”

It was enough now. Twenty minutes you had clung onto him like a bag of rice, a nuisance to the young man you once loved. Loved. Yes, loved. Trembling you gnawed on your bottom lip to make it stop quivering whereas Jimin sighed, his eyes avoiding yours.

“I'm sorry that I called you, whatever you said about it”, he began, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked like a shy, little boy that had to explain the shit he did with the other kids. “I-I.. Y/n.. The time..it were long three and a half years..”

“I have time.”

Scratching the back of his head he pulled his lips in between his teeth. “I don't want to turn back time anymore. It all happened because it was necessary. Believe me, it was a like a nightmare to leave you like this that one day I had to go. It-it..” Jimin stopped, his lips red by how hard he bit on it out of nervo1usness and to hold back his own tears as you saw.

That's why you jumped over your shadow, over your pride and promises, your fingers grazing his hand, silently telling him to follow you back to the car as you didn't trust your own voice. The pretty guy understood, his hands wiping of lost droplets from his flushed cheeks. Inside you turned on the heater for a few minutes to warm up the car again, the scenery you took a glimpse of long forgotten.

“Tell me why you left”, you commanded as he was composed enough.

Nodding reluctantly he began his story, your voice not once filling the compressed air.

“It's not easy to describe it, y/n. But do you remember that one night we spent together and Mey called crying over the phone?” You nodded. “It all started years ago. She had a difficult home, her parents strict and violating her daily. My own parents helped her up, so we basically grew up together. But that's just unnecessary. So, when she called that night something had happened at home although she had moved out years ago, but her stepfather fought with her mom and it all escalated. Mey was on the bottom asking for my help and should I have left her alone in her despair?” Jimin looked at you, but as no sign or emotion responded went on.

“You told me I should help her, but what I saw at Mey's home was worse than I had imagined. Not one stone lay on the other anymore, her flat a mess, her entire life upside down again. And then my parents lulled me into helping her more than anyone else did. More than you did. And lastly I stood between you and her.” Your heart clenched at the thought that he chose her over you, his girlfriend. “I felt sympathy for her situation as I knew where she came from and I wanted to do everything to get her out of her nightmares. And I knew very well what that meant. I had to bring the strongest, most stubborn girl I love to the ground to help the other one up, because she's the one that's weak and I was confident that you would get up and fight. You did. She didn't.”

What did he want now? Empathy for her situation? Of course she went through hell, but that was none of his business anymore.

“To be honest I was too young to decide to go back, but I saw no other choice-”

“You could've asked me for help”, you threw in, his eyes widening.

“You-you..”, he paused, gulping. “I never thought about that. But now we're where we are and I want to tell you that I always loved you, y/n. Always.. It was just that she needed someone by her side. She had no one so it was my duty to be by her side, and so I was. The time I left that day you waved me good-bye at the train station I was sure to come back with her, so you could meet her, but it all went a different way. She was bound to stay where she lived and I had to move in to protect her from herself and her family. She got stronger-”

“Do we have to talk about her the entire time? Why did you leave me?” You lost your patience. She. She. Mey. She.

“I left because I had to help her.”

“Alone?”

“I couldn't bring you as well. She was down and needed me, y/n. I promised to stay with her as long as she felt like she is right now, and it doesn't get better. Mey's still sick, her depression not cured or anything near okay that's why I left. Definitely not because I didn't love you anymore. It was just time to part and do good to the people who received nothing but pain. I'm really sorry, y/n.”

That's it? He left because he had to help another girl? Because he promised her to stay with her as long as she was mentally ill?

“I get the point in your hero like actions, but why did you end our relationship? We could still be together-”

“No, we couldn't”, he interrupted you, his brows furrowing. “Mey told me that she needed only me and that every other person would make her even more insecure, that she searched peace in me being there, nobody else. She wanted nothing but to be loved by a friend”, his voice showed the anger that started to evolve. “Should I just let her destroy herself? You are strong, you have a family that loves you, friends that would die for you, but what did she have? No one. Nothing. Pain and sorrow.”

It was nonsense he spoke. Not a trace of understanding you in all of this. Only seeing the side of the girl who desperately tried to take him from you. Parts of that story felt too fake that you had no other choice but to doubt her even more. She wanted help? Why only Jimin's? Why not finding friends in you and the others that could've helped her also?

Breathing in deeply you turned to the side. “You left me because she wanted you to?”

“Wh-”

“What did she say as you told her you have a girlfriend?”, you bored, wanting him to admit what you assumed inside you.

Instead of a steady, confident answer all you got was silence and a blank expression. You knew it. He had never, not once, thought about it. Just believed Mey's words like a blind man.

“You left me because you wanted to help her? Why wouldn't she take professional help and make friends with your closest ones in the first place? Why did you have to move into a city so far away for her? And why didn't you tell me all about it from the beginning?”, your voice cracked, tears burning behind your eyes as you fathomed what caused your breakup.

Holding his head he growled, a sound pretty new to you in another context than sex. “Stop it, y/n. You know nothing about what actually happened!” His voice got louder and louder, but you didn't back off.

“So what? Leaving me behind in a dirty puddle was okay then? You never loved me in the first place, right? It was easier to get rid of me to get to another girl than to tell me in my face that you-”

“Shut up!”, Jimin shouted. “Y/n, I fucking love you more than my own fucking life. It's unfair to hear this shit coming out of the one mouth that I would have never dared to think about saying such things! You always mean the world to me okay?”

Shaking you head you straightened yourself, tears streaming down your face again. “Then be honest you jerk! What did she say about me?”

“She..”, he stopped shouting as realisation hit him, you saw it seeking in. “She said that you'd hinder me in helping her. That you're no good for the both of us and she'll never be happy and healthy if you stayed by my side..Fuck..y/n, she needed m-me..”

Quieter and quieter his vocals got, his eyes never blinking once while his fingers clung onto the driver's wheel. He shook and so did you. It was her.

“Tell her she did a great job, because honestly. If I'd have been there, I'd have never helped her, because she's in love and I bet she always was, Jimin”, you closed your jacket. “Let me tell you that I never stopped loving you. Not even now. You're a jerk and a blind man to her actions.” You opened the door, letting the cold air inside. “She wanted you to break up with me because only then she'd be able to get her life back? Why's she still depressed and cranky then? Does she want you to stay with her as her boyfriend? Because if that was her plan and if she only wants to let you go if she's fully okay, then you've lost your life, boy and she won over the both of us.” You got off of the seat that was already nicely warm, walking straight towards the thickly vegetated trees. In the distance you witnessed Jimin turning the car, driving full speed beside you, the window dropped.

“Get in.”

“No thank you. You were right with your assumption that I'd want to escape, because that's what I do.”

The breaks screeched before you were spun around, faced with a heavy panting, raging Jimin.

“For fuck's sake, y/n! Even if you're right with all you said, don't think I'm able to break off all strings attached now! She's still sick and needs me!”

“Blind idiot”, you mumbled, but stopped moving, the headlights of the black car lighting your way. “You really believe her?”

“I-I..do.”

Laughing out loud you shook your head, angry with the man in front of you. “So naïve, Jimin. You said she'll be back to her normal self fast if you were by her side, right? Why's she still like this?”

Breathing out a salve of warm air that formed in front of your faces, he closed his eyes. “I don't know, okay? But one thing I know. The talk isn't over. You're still so..”

“Angry? Hurt? Feeling as if my heart is ripped out after your confession that she wanted us to break up? And you actually did like she said without questioning her one tiny bit?”

“That-”

“No, Park Jimin. Just, no. I accept that you chose her because of health issues, but why are you a couple? Did she say it gets even faster if you fucked her, kissed her?”, you laughed bitterly, your face contoured in disbelieve and disgust. “Oh, come on.”

Holding still Jimin ran his free hand through his hair, clearly nervous from your words. “We aren't a couple.”

Nodding sarcastically you smacked his hand away. “At first I felt pity for you as you cried there”, you pointed behind his back to the peek where the lights still were too beautiful to ignore. “But now I feel messed around. If you want to make a joke of myself, you did a great job, because I feel like shit now.”

“We never fucked or anything”, he burst, his hands holding onto your shoulders as you wanted to turn away. “Yes, I left you. I can't change that anymore, but I want to change the way you think about me, y/n. See me as you saw me once. A nice guy that does everything for you to forgive me. I want to see you smile and make everyone happy! Just why aren't you all doing that?”

“You said you're strong? Weak is what you are, Park Jimin. Seeing everyone around you smiling and happy and laughing while you don't have what you yearn for? Love yourself first before you try to make Mey love herself, because you're not the guy I used to love. The boy was cheerful, charming, soft and funny, but what are you now? Shy, reserved, never smiling since I saw you back in the city. You're a shadow of the person you once was. Yes, in the past you acted strong, but that's gone now, too.”

Silence surrounded you accompanied by the quiet sounds of rustles in the trees around you. Was it too much for one night? Did you say hurtful things?

“Maybe I lack someone that makes me feel myself..yeah..”, he answered, his voice calm, seeking a feeling he had long lost. “You're right, y/n, I'm weak. Never was strong enough to help Mey in the first place. But I want to change her. I want to change myself.”

Jimin craved nothing but other's happiness, losing his own and himself in the process, you understood that as he broke down in front of you. His head hanging, his shoulders falling like the hands that held you steady falling to his side with faint, quiet sobs falling from his lips accompanied by tears landing on the ground.

Torn between the option of getting away, never looking back to the guy that dared to leave you for..for another girl who claimed to seek help in him, but wanted nothing more than a man by her side to love her, to leave his girlfriend for her own selfish reasons – okay, maybe she was mentally unstable, but that wasn't an excuse. The other option was to lead Jimin into his old life with the high chance of getting hurt the same way he did three years ago. Throwing your head back you prayed to the heavens.

“Come.”

Teary eyed, pale and sniffling he lifted his eyes to meet your cold ones. Your hand held out to reach for his you waited for him to grab it. You were a bitch after he left you, fucked and sucked around, but seeing him like this was enough even for someone who slept with his best friend. Therefore you got impatient as Jimin let you wait with confusion behind his deep view.

“I want to escape”, you said, adding words which were able to lighten the mood, also you felt as if your heart lay on the ground and someone danced on it, “Wanna grab a coffee and talk?”

Closing his eyes you watched how his lower, pink lip trembling as to why you leaned forward to get hold of his ice cold hand that was covered by his large hoodie. You wanted to escape. Escape into a reality where everything was how it has been years ago, Jimin by your side, loved and adored by him, but that wasn't how real life worked while you escorted him on the passenger's seat. Starting the roaring engine of the sports car you drove in silence past the scenery you had watched for a short time on the peek, the boy you buried his face in his hoodie, eyes puffy and tip of his nose reddened beside you.

Arriving at a small café near Mrs Won's shop that was quite new you sat down across from each other on the padded chairs on the window's side where you watched people from your warm place inside, still no words spoken by the two of you. A big cocoa and a hot latte served by a young waitress that shot you her perfect smile you stared at Jimin who didn't dare to meet your eyes.

“How are you in general?”, you started the conversation lightly. “And foremost your parents?”

“Oh”, the handsome, blushing guy with the hot latte between his fingers shrugged his rather slim shoulders. “They moved out last summer, but they're still close. Around a hundred kilometres from this city they found a huge house. But they're fine, I guess.”

Nodding you sipped on your warm drink, the darkness of a late evening outside the shop while quiet Christmas music sounded through the café. Four weeks to go. Late November. You didn't know what to respond and how to react at everything going on, but you tried for the sake of your heart's sanity and for the boy you had long lost in a cluster of deceiving words from someone who wasn't involved most of the time you two dated.

Nervously brushing your hair behind your ears, your make up ruined hours ago as you cried your heart out, you roamed the shop with your eyes as long as you weren't forced to see the emotions on Jimin's face. “That's good to hear”, you casually said while still avoiding his eyes.

“Y-you? How are you, y/n?”, he asked, his head shooting up, his lips gently biting. “I mean, I know it was hard, sorry for asking dumb-”

“It's okay”, you interrupted him. It wasn't like Jimin to feel sorry for asking someone how they were or politely apologising for that kind of care. “Tae, Bee and Carol also stayed by my side and it was okay, actually. Really.” It was not, but that's what he must've noticed so far. “But I want to look forward, forgetting that shit again that haunted my the past years. You're back with your girlfriend”, he waved a no, but you continued, “ and I have to accept how it is just as you accept Tae hooking up with me.”

Testing his reaction you were surprised to see him furrowing his dark eyebrows. “I don't accept it. It's making me sick to see you with him and especially at night when I hear..well, I hate it.”

You guessed it was hard for him at some points as well, but this? Why did it make your heart go faster, bumping heavily against your chest? This wasn't right.

Hearing another Christmas song play in the background you felt how your cheeks got pinker, your blood rush heard in your ears. “It's just weird seeing the other with someone else, isn't it?”

“Yeah..” There was more he wanted to say, but he found no courage to do so as to why he simply snatched topics from the place. “Is it okay for me to say that I still miss you? I me-mean the talks.”

Nodding away the embarrassment you hastily sipped on your cocoa that was too sweet. “Me, too.”

“Can we exchange phone numbers? T-to chat if necessary?”, Jimin reached for his phone laying flatly on the table close to his drink, but as he unlocked it his eyes flew your way and back down the screen, his face redder than ever.

Curiously you dared to sit straighter, looking where his eyes were glued to, the saliva in your throat stuck. “You still have it as your background?” Wide oculars stared at him and the way he tried to hide his phone from your open stare.

It was too late obviously, the boy with the dark hair busted.

“It's so embarrassing, y/n. Please forget it”, his hands covering his face with his signature sweater paws Jimin's ears were red.

“It's cute”, you mumbled, your view glancing down his state with a faint smile, the first you granted him after he came back. And all at once he was back to his usual, his eyes brown getting wider, a soft curve pursing his pink lips up.

An eternity passed while you two inspected each other's face, taking in the details you remembered and finding new things in that you could stare at forever as if someone switched on a button that excluded you from the outside. Jimin matured to the point it hurt. His chubby cheeks were gone, his eyes wider, his lips the same curve they always had while he got broader and even more handsome..but that wasn't all you recognized.

“Your crooked tooth got fixed!”

Woken by your loud voice Jimin flinched, his searching pupils coming to a halt on your lips. “You noticed just now?” His voice was low whereas he shot you a charming smile that made you shudder. He better stopped doing that.

“I feel as if I look at you for the first time since you're back”, you confessed, your gaze not wavering one second. It was as if you watched a canvas, art, and still had no clue how to fill your body with the many details you had missed out on.

The handsome with the huge hoodie ran his hand through his hair, the nervous habit he couldn't shake off. “I really want to say the same, but that'll be a lie.”

Holding your breath you leaned back on the rest in your back, your head narrowed on your lap. The evening and early night was a banter of confusion, but you felt strangely free as you talked a bit with the boy you had missed sitting there, his eyes lingering on you. Whatever happened from this point onwards. It was undeniable that old, buried feelings dug themselves out of their grave.

“W-we should go”, you cleared your throat, gulping down your warm drink. “You make me nervous, Jimin.”

“You don't. I feel at ease for the first time since I left you.”

No. No. No. Shaking your hair you stood up, waiting for the guy to do it alike.

“Wanna bring me home or do you have plans with..you know with Mey?”, the name spilling from your lips felt like it burned on your tongue.

As if he also felt the burn on his body your ex-boyfriend shot up, grabbing his coat and throwing on his black scarf. He then told you to wait a minute whereas he paid for both your orders and by the time he escorted you out of the café it felt like a real date, also it was only a talk between two familiar strangers who desperately tried to handle the whole situation.

Holding him back you shook your head, your beanie pulled over your ears. “My apartment is two blogs down there”, you gestured in a vague direction. “No need to drive me.”

“But you asked me if I wanted to make sure that you get some safely”, confused words followed by a puppy like expression you shot him a tiny smile before you tugged at his coat, walking with your hand grabbing it absent-mindedly.

“We walk”, you said, determined to pull him behind you while you moved down the road from one lamppost to another. “The first thing we change is to stop being lazy and enjoy a night like we.. like the old you used to tell me.”

Jimin's stepped that followed you easily got slower until he didn't move any longer and you had to look back, asking him silently what was wrong. Letting go of his thick coat you turned around completely, your face lifted into his. “What's wrong?”

Taking your hand in his, the warmth in his fingertips tingling on your skin as he positioned it back to the hem of his sleeve where you had dragged him down the pavement. “Don't let go yet. May I ask you something, y/n?” Tilting your head he went on, breathing in deeply. “Do you want to help me out of this hole because you still love me? Or do you help me and Mey because you want her to get up as well?”

Dodging his question because you didn't want to disappoint any of you, you shook your head in denial. “I want you to be yourself.”

Not waiting for another reply you spun around, pulling him by the sleeve, your fingers sliding down the fabric. Jimin and you exchanged a shocked glance ere your eyes slowly narrowed down your hands enclosed tightly around the other. Neither he nor you let go, but as you gently pulled your hand out his grip got harder, pulling you in him instead of shoving you away.

“Y-you're cold, aren't you? Your hand is freezing”, softness was laced within an unfathomable emotion you ignored because right now you had to solve your own problems and hidden feelings that threatened to break free. Jimin bit down his plump bottom lip, letting go of your hand to unwrap his scarf, delicately laying it around your neck. “You need it more than me.” With that he gradually drew closer, his hand searching your own and you had no choice but to nod an okay.

“J-just this once”, you whispered while you two began to walk again, your apartment already in sight whereas you two walked by each other's side in absolute quietness. Your numb fingers got warm thanks to his heat, his skin prickling on yours.. “We're here.”

Inspecting the house your apartment was in Jimin nodded disappointed, his hand not letting you go. “I'll see you?”

“You bet.”

Squeezing his fingers around yours he parted from you, turning away from you, but you still had your eyes glued on his back as he took a few steps. So that's where the start line was drawn, hm?, you asked yourself, afraid of what the future might bring. Afraid of the tight clench around your heart that ached for the young man that suddenly stopped a couple of metres on the pavement you came from, but you didn't saw that because you already turned the key in your main door's lock, subtly pushing it open as his hand touched your shoulder, spinning you around. Wide eyed you flinched at the closeness between the two of you.

“I'm sorry, y/n.”

Scrunching your face you opened your mouth. “What-”

You couldn't fathom if time stood still or raced past you in unimaginable speed. Jimin's lips pressed on yours, the delicacy of his mouth softly taking yours, tasting you with a slow dance of his pretty lips on your own. Closing your eyes in attempt to push him away in the next second you caught yourself responding to his sudden kiss, a wave of unfulfilled desire washing you away on the spot. And then the way too beautiful, actually short sensation on your lips that spread warmth in your bones and blood was gone as fast as it came and you stood on your porch with swollen lips and flushed cheeks, disbelievingly staring at the young man who blushed as well, his smile knocking you off of your feet.

“You taste even sweeter than before”, Jimin's voice was deep and husky, slightly reluctant as he scratched his neck and walked away with fast steps, turning back to wave shyly at you ere he was gone with his hands covering his face, leaving you standing there with a perplexed expression on your face.

Jimin was back and he was able to open the drawers to your feelings for him once more..if there weren't the girl you didn't notice standing on the other side of the road..

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tkmedia · 3 years

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Raw recap & reactions: The Hurt Business, New Day go to war

Big Poppa I love an overarching thread with multiple twists, turns, and a logical conclusion. Monday Night Raw set it off this week with a match pitting WWE Champion Big E vs Bobby Lashley. Lashley truly believes E can’t beat him, which explains all the rationalization he’s done since the All Mighty added “former WWE Champion” to his resume. Their opening match, which was ill in all the right ways, showcased a dominant Lashley and the reinstatement of the Hurt Business. Yes, ladies and gents, the Hurt Business is apparently back in business. Once Shelton Benjamin and Cedric Alexander made their presence known, Xavier Woods and Kofi Kington stepped in. A brawl ensued, a DQ was handed out, and it was the best kind of chaos. Adam Pearce, clearly not a fan of anything he saw, said the match would continue later tonight in a steel cage. No Hurt Business, no New Day. Just Lashley x E trapped in twisted steel. These two cats didn’t disappoint. Besides the brutality of the match, it was the clear desperation both men showed. Bobby Lashley needed to beat E to prove his point. Before the bell rang, got all of the upper hands on the champ. Lashley didn’t want to leave anything to chance and wanted every advantage he could muster. If that meant tossing E around the floor before the match officially started, then so be it. If that meant calling the Hurt Business down to do business, that’s cool too. E needed to beat the All Mighty to shut him and anyone else up who believes he’s not a legitimate champion. Despite the pre-match ass whooping, E lit Lashley up like a pinball machine once the bell rang. He used the cage to his advantage every now and then, but he wanted to overpower the man. It wasn’t just about proving he was the better man; E needed to prove he was the stronger man. In every good or great wrestling match, a character flaw is shown and exploited. Early in the match, we got ours from Lashley. Rather than continue to go for pin attempts, Lashley tried climbing out. Corey Graves, a man who should make it his business to be Flava Flav to Lashley’s Chuck D, said Bobby wants to win the title in dramatic fashion. Bobby’s ego didn’t allow him to just take the W when it was right there; he had to showboat and continue his pattern of habitual line stepping. E stopped him from getting out and tried to do a Big Ending from the top rope, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Not yet anyway. We even got a tease of a Hurt Business x New Day feud I’m dying to see. When Shelton and Cedric interfered to stop the champ from climbing out, Woods and Kofi represented as they should. Woods, in particular, looked like a man who needs a belt around his waist when he slammed the cage door on Bobby Lashley’s head, and superkicked Cedric back to Main Event. No diss to the man or Main Event, but yeah, you get the point. Once the four men were finally in the locker room, E and Lashley continued their war. That desperation I mentioned showed up again as both men had chances to walk out of the gate. When Lashley tried to walk out, E grabbed his arm as many times as possible. When E looked ready to saunter out, Lashley grabbed his ankle. They were literally holding on for dear life because the title, and beating each other, means that much to them. Neither man wanted to stay down and neither could stay down. E survived a spear and a spine buster, while Lashley survived multiple suplexes and a Big Ending. But when the challenger had the champion in a precarious position, his fatal flaw reared its ugly head again. Rather than walk out the gate or go for a pinfall, he once again decided to climb out of the ring, apparently learning nothing from earlier. E caught him again and this time, he nailed the Big Ending from the top rope. 1-2-3. While basking in the moment, a familiar tune blasted out of the arena speakers and Drew McIntyre, sword in hand, made his intentions known to the champ. We didn’t get a fight—and still no swordplay—but it’s clear Drew Mac wants a fight and E is ready to give it to him. I hope this isn’t the last tango the Hurt Business and New Day do, but this was a fantastic story and match. In just a few weeks, E and Bobby told a succinct story with a logical conclusion. Well done, boys. Priest x Sheamus Get Extreme I didn’t think they’d get me. After seeing Sheamus and Damian Priest go blow for blow over the United States Championship for several weeks, I got it. Priest is better than Sheamus right now. How many times can they tell the same story? Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t put money on that because the extreme rules stipulation was the proper escalation of a feud built on physicality. As usual with most matches like this in WWE these days, they start out wrestling until one guy realizes they can use kendo sticks, chairs, and whatever plunder they can find. Chekov’s table made an early appearance thanks to the champ, and he suffered a White Noise for his troubles. In fact, with Sheamus’ history as a brawler, one might think this was the perfect match for him to finally best the Infamous one and snatch back the gold. Right? Yeah, about that. We’ve seen Priest outsmart Sheamus in their previous matches. Even last night, he was just quicker to the draw than the Celtic Warrior. This week, Priest showed he’s the better man physically as well. He survived Sheamus’ best shots, and, in my favorite spot of the night, threw a chair at the man’s face to counter a Brogue Kick. Ultimately, Sheamus met his...reckoning...after going through a table in the corner of the ring, and then taking a Reckoning. This should be the last gasp in this feud. The draft is Friday, and these two have fought each other enough. Damian needs more challengers, and Sheamus might benefit from a change of scenery. Good ending to a story that went a long way in making Damian a legit tough cat and not someone you want to mess with. Extracurriculars Words from Goldberg’s Garage Goldberg doesn’t know what kind of a papa Bobby Lashley is. Clearly, Lashley isn’t the type to have a painting of his arm and his baby clinging to said arm on his wall. But that aside, Goldberg wants to fulfill a promise he made to his wife and his son to always protect the latter, at all costs. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to kill Lashley. This is a good story because its relatable and understandable. Lashley hurt Goldberg’s son, Goldberg wants his pound of flesh. And you know what? I hope he gets it. Goldberg’s never been the best promo but that worked because it felt real and I’m riding with the old man. Finally Phenomenal AJ Styles can pretty much do anything he wants in a wrestling ring with anyone he chooses to do it with. Styles and Riddle put on a dope television match that, at times, looked like someone was legitimately hurt. From a story standpoint, he needed this W. AJ’s racked up several Ls over several weeks, and looked anything but phenomenal. That changed this week and it was beautiful to watch. Charlotte Has no Time for This Either Charlotte Flair wasted an open challenge on Doudrop because, duh, Eva Marie isn’t finished with her former “friend” yet. Anyone who knows wrestling saw this coming from 25 miles away, so it’s not shocking. However, it is disappointing because there’s no end in sight to this thing between Doudrop and Eva plus it ruins her first title match. No one was served well here, so consider it a swing and a miss. And yet.. Raw moves fast. Remember when I said it looks like we’re still doing this thing with Eva and Doudrop? Like I just said it? Scratch that. Eva got on the mic and said she should be Raw’s champion of women. What’s more, she believes she can beat any woman in locker room. This brought out an angry Shayna Baszler, who did to Eva the same thing she did to Nia Jax last week. I guess WWE thought Shayna would get booed for this? Handsome Finish Angel Garza x Erik danced for a bit as a breather after the hot opening segment. It was a glorified squash as Garza got the W. Reggie Lives to Fight Another Day Silly me for thinking Richochet was getting a real chance to get some gold around his waist. Instead of a match filled with cats getting higher than a giraffe, we only got a taste of that until R-Truth, Drake Maverick, and friends interfered. Wherever this ride is going, I want off. That’s no Bear, That’s a BearCAT Tozawa, fresh off another 24-7 embarrassment, demanded a match with anyone. Out came the newly minted Keith “Bearcat” Lee. This is obviously a reboot for the former limitless one. And he looks good. He looks like someone I need to take seriously. But Bearcat? Really? I guess if you’re going to debut that nickname, Cincinnati is the right place. If only Lee wasn’t from Texas. Matching Capes Nikki A.S.H. wants matching capes for Super Brutality. Rhea Ripley isn’t convinced. Six Man Chaos Jeff Hardy, Mansoor, & Mustafa Ali vs. Jinder Mahal, Shanky, & Veer battled in the ongoing saga of Jeff Hardy wandering from position to position on Monday nights. This was a quick hitter that didn’t last long enough to get good or bad. Jinder and the boys got the W as the holding pattern before the draft continues. He’s the Commanding Officer Now Another squash/holding pattern match between Karrion Kross and Jaxson Ryker. They’re building Kross as a dominant super shredder, one who even poked fun at Ryker’s military service. It was a nice touch and added personality to a guy who needs as much as he can to overcome that look. Raw was good this week. The show moved at a good clip, was bookended by two dope matches that told one long story, and was mostly entertaining in the middle. While a lot of it was a holding pattern because things change Friday and next Monday, it was a good sendoff for Raw as we know it. Grade: A- That’s my grade and I’m sticking to it. Your turn. Read the full article

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vestedbeauty · 3 years

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Guilty of People Pleasing? How to Stop (Even if This Is How You've Survived Until Now)

New Post has been published on https://vestedbeauty.com/guilty-of-people-pleasing-how-to-stop-even-if-this-is-how-youve-survived-until-now/

Guilty of People Pleasing? How to Stop (Even if This Is How You've Survived Until Now)

OK, so, it’s possible that my people pleasing way of life was just coded into me based on the stars and planets. I’m not personally really into astrology but a lot of people I love are. So, I’ve learned that I may be the Libra-est Libra who ever Libra’d. And apparently people pleasing is a thing for us.

But while I weigh that a bit (sorry, Libra joke), I’m going to go share my thoughts on this… trait? Flaw? Coping mechanism? Well, whatever category people pleasing falls into, let’s take a look.

It’s a Good Thing Puppies Are Cute

She’s nearly four now but Pickle has settled down a whole lot. (I’m currently working through a dog training course with her and the rest of the pack to see if we can end the jumping up on people nonsense.) When she was tiny, she did a pretty good impression of The Very Caterpillar. She ate through our slippers. She ate through our blankets. She even ate through the drywall in a couple of places.

“Pickle, it’s a good thing you’re cute,” we said, about a million times. And it’s true.

It’s the same with tiny humans. They smell bad. They cry and cry and cry. And they leave their parents exhausted to the point they can barely remember their own names. But on the deepest level there is, we bond with them to the point we’d give our lives to save them.

Still, it’s a good thing they’re cute.

In part, a baby’s cuteness is a way of people pleasing. We cannot function or even survive on our own. Our survival depends on our parents being willing to take care of us, even though we offer nothing in return.

Last One In Is a Rotten Egg!

Fast-forward a few years, and our world expands from our parents and immediate family outward to include friends, teachers, and a whole lot of people we’ve never met. Humans being humans, we start forming smaller groups.

Like it was programmed into us, we can get pretty ruthless as we sort through the crowd of humanity. Yes to this one, no to that one. We find best friends and second-best friends (remember that?), and we learn how to fit in.

But we also get some brutal lessons about living in kid society. We discover the pecking order, watching some kids rise to the top of the social order and others fall into a perilous place where they are practically untouchable.

The permanent rotten egg, the kid nobody seems to like – even enough to defend when human decency demands it. (I still think about some of the kids I grew up with who were socially brutalized, bullied, cast out. I hope they survived and healed, and while I’m glad I didn’t actively hurt them, I shamefully lacked the courage to befriend them.)

In this Lord of the Flies world, kids learn quickly how important it is to gather allies. Perhaps for the first time ever, they grasp the reality that if they piss people off, they will be shunned and thrust out into the cruel world on their own.

People pleasing becomes a survival mechanism. I believe that’s where it starts for many of us. We learn to walk, talk, and behave in ways that please our cohort enough to keep us safe.

Keep Your Hands and Feet Inside the Ride at All Times

It doesn’t take a genius to realize it’s crucial to fit into the box kid society draws for its members. Fit or face destruction.

So, we contort ourselves to fit. If some odd bit refuses to fold neatly into the box, we cut it off. Survival demands ruthlessness.

… Got a weird hobby? Not anymore.

… Have a weird freckle on the bottom of your foot? Shoes, forever.

… Freaky smart at some subject or another? No. Get a ‘B’ and live.

… Set your sights on a career that seems a little “extra”? Probably don’t talk about that anymore.

It’s not like that for everyone, of course. And there are pockets of welcoming hearts who’ll accept people as they are, thank goodness.

But I suspect this is when many people pleasers develop their modus operandi. People pleasing can look like:

Having a hard time saying no (or even wanting to)

Feeling gutted if someone’s displeased with you

Agreeing with what others decide because you know you can make anything work

Feeling like you’re responsible for other people’s emotions or experiences

Apologies… so many apologies… for everything

Conflict avoidance at any cost

A persistent craving for praise from others

Inability to admit or express “negative” emotions

Struggling to make decisions that impact other people

This nasty list makes sense when you understand that a people pleaser weighs the safety of every word, step, and choice. It makes even more sense when you realize they may have zero experience moving through the world in any other way.

When Enough Is Enough

As a young woman, I took all of this to the next level by choosing a very public life as a pastor’s wife for a couple of decades. Pairing my childhood fascination with Emily Post’s etiquette book with the deep desire to be a good example, I had that box’s contents under control. The stakes seemed to be of eternal significance, after all.

But I learned something huge, courtesy of one of many youth group outings that ended with dinner. It took decades for this lesson to register, but now I can’t unsee it.

“Kids don’t know diddly-squat about what’s good and what’s not good.”

Given the choice between filet mignon and a burger from McDonalds, pretty much every kid in every youth group we ran would choose the golden arches. I could rattle off a bunch of similar examples, but you get it. Discernment comes with age.

That’s why the nerd gets the girl… later in life. Once we can embrace our greatness, right in the face of a crowd that punishes outliers, we flourish. We can become who we were always meant to be. Not coincidentally, that’s when we also find deep personal fulfillment and a sense of finding and fulfilling our purpose.

Allowing some pre-pubescent ghost from decades gone by to dictate how you show up in the world just seems silly. That whole threat to expel you from society for not fitting in becomes laughable.

I mean, it’s not even a thing anymore, anyway.

Who, in the adult world, roams the halls of their home or workplace, shoving people into lockers? What adult taunts someone else about what they brought for lunch – or the fact that person dared to eat when people could see them? And what adult torments another adult for having a passionate interest in an offbeat hobby?

Ridiculous.

You’re Not the Boss of Me!

I’m half-obsessed with Scotland. Many of my family’s roots start there. I freaking love that place, the music, the terrain, the food, the whisky, the spirit of the people – it’s got my heart. Anderson there is like Smith or Jones in America. The Anderson crest reads “Stand Sure.”

Oh, the irony.

That hit me hard as 2020 came to a close. It was both the best and the worst motto I could imagine. These two words, I’d seen on a crest on the wall for as long as I could remember. But it wasn’t really for me.

Some people, as a new year approaches, choose a word for the new year to embody for them. I chose “Stand Sure.”

It felt dangerous. Like, I knew this was going to impact my whole “tread lightly” philosophy in life. I had absolutely zero ideas about how I’d possibly go about addressing my people pleasing. It was so ingrained in me, like when a surgeon refuses to cut out a brain tumor because the brain has grown around it. Or, like separating conjoined twins. This seemed like something I’d just have to live with forever.

MindFix Did the Impossible

I’ve done some woo-woo stuff along my personal development journey. That includes walking on fire, walking on broken glass, climbing redwood trees and jumping off (harnessed in!) to grab a trapeze, and SO many seminars. They all helped me grow. A lot. But during a long weekend in January, I got to work with the team at MindFix.

And it changed everything. But only in the areas where I’ve applied it so far (haha – only a few amazing, miraculous changes!)

Going in, I knew roughly that I wanted to work on this whole people pleasing thing. That’s it. I didn’t know how to even describe it. It felt embarrassing, vague, and permanent. In fact, we never actually discussed it directly. We worked on some other things. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I noticed its absence.

I can’t even begin to explain how Erin and her team do what they do. I won’t even try.

But I can explain this…

I came to a realization that the SUPREME DIRECTIVE under which I’d lived most of my life… was proclaimed by a little kid. A little kid who’d choose a $.67 mass-produced burger over a delectable filet mignon.

You Don’t Know Nuthin’ about Nuthin’

That kid did her best to protect me. To her, safety depended on fitting into a box. Anything that didn’t quite fit should be bent or lopped off.

I’d outgrown her in every way. But I was still listening to her, so life apart from people pleasing felt dangerous. I still exhibited most of the symptoms above – and those behaviors were hurting me.

The work we did helped me go after this dragon and slay it. In realizing that kid version of me was just trying to help, but really didn’t know how, it opened a whole new possibility… just being me.

I could see evidence indicating it was safe to shut her down.

I have weird hobbies (drone flying, chicken raising, classic VW ogling, front yard gardening – just for starters). Nobody torments me over that. (I mean, can you imagine how insane that would be?)

My mate and I are flat-out weird (so much ink, in bed by 7, both creatives – and that list goes on). Nobody follows us, taunting us. (I mean, we did get called the perfect insult in the VW restoration world… Billy-Bob shade-tree Chip Foos wannabes – I can’t even tell you how many giggles I’ve had over that pejorative on our YouTube channel.)

Even my work life is strange (I’ve discovered that the way my brain operates is REALLY unusual. Some would see it as a huge plus; others would find it perplexing.)

And then there’s this one “flaw” that put me in danger of ostracism so much that I shut it down entirely… until I saw it differently and felt safe valuing it.

It’s my capacity to love, like geeking-out, human exclamation point levels of enthusiasm for certain people. (I always gathered that I was too sensitive, too excitable.) That one’s back in play big-time, and it adds incredible joy to my life. Like, one of my favorite things to do is to SEE someone’s greatness and then tell their story in a way that others see it, too.

If This Isn’t Irony…

So, “Stand Sure” is in play.

Undoubtedly, there’s still a little kid inside, desperately trying to keep me in line by pleasing people. But she sure seems quiet these days.

I did crack up, though, when a colleague mentioned that since the start of the year, I’d really started to own my own value. He continued, “I’m not seeing that people pleasing way you used to show up.” And that… that pleased me greatly.

Who knows what else is possible? The best is yet to come.

#people pleasing

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crimethinc · 6 years

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Weathering Jail and Prison: Tips from Anarchist Prisoners Dane Powell and Joseph Buddenburg

Dane Powell, the first of the J20 defendants to be sentenced, just completed his four-month sentence after taking a non-cooperating plea deal in which he pled guilty to two felony charges. During the demonstrations against Trump’s inauguration, Dane was filmed risking his freedom to save a child who was brutally attacked by riot police. Dane teamed up with Joseph Buddenburg, another political prisoner serving two years for Conspiracy to Violate the Animal Enterprise Terrorism Act, to compose the following guide to surviving jail, prison, and transportation between holding facilities. Whether you are preparing for the possibility of doing time yourself, getting ready to support someone else through a sentence, or simply curious to learn more about life inside the prison-industrial complex, read on for a wide range of essential tips.

For perspective on how to weather the process leading up to the verdict, read “How to Survive a Felony Trial: Keeping Your Head up through the Worst of It.”

Joseph Buddenburg.

Dane Powell, immediately upon his release.

Dane Powell:

When you’re facing a possible prison sentence, the anxiety can be overbearing. No person who is in prison knows what lies ahead from one day to the next. It is quite literally a step into the unknown.

When I first got to jail, I kept notes on experiences that might help ease some confusion for my codefendants. I had no idea I would be transported hundreds of miles to the sunshine state over a three-week period.

Roughly a month at Coleman Federal Correctional Institution, I was introduced to Joseph Buddenburg, another political prisoner, who is serving a 24-month sentence. Joseph was originally serving time in California and was sent to the east coast, away from his support, as a form of punishment. I shared this writing project with him and we decided to combine our energy and experiences. Our goal is to give tips and tricks we had to learn the hard way. These are things we agree that we should have known before we heard the first door lock behind us.

I. Washington DC Jail

Presentencing

Prior to being sentenced, if found guilty, you will go through presentencing. This office will interview you and send a report to your sentencing judge. This report recommends a sentence. Be careful with how you word things during this interview, as everything you say can and will be used against you. I recommend your lawyers be present for this interview. For example, certain substances are legal in Washington DC, but if you’re found guilty of a felony you’ll be doing federal time / federal probation.

Once you’re in the DC jail, it can hard to reach anyone for a very long time. It took me almost three weeks to get in touch with support because I didn’t have numbers. Prior to the day of sentencing, I recommend making a list of ten people including their phone numbers and addresses. You get one free five-minute call after you’re processed in and seen medical. You can acquire a pen and paper prior to this call and call the one person with that list. You should also have someone lined up to pick up your clothes and other person belongings as they’re only kept for 14 days. Unless you want your support to be the ones making your wish list for reading material, you should already have this done as well.

DC Jail Schedule

Food comes about every eight hours to your cell. Breakfast comes at the odd hour of around three am. When you’re in intake you get about one hour of rec Monday through Friday. The rest of the time you’re locked down. This changes when you get into general population (genpop). I was in this lockdown of intake for three weeks and I only managed to get put into genpop by going on a hunger strike. Once you’re in genpop you’ll be out of your cell for about 8 hours a day. You also get two video visits a week and your support will need to sign up for this.

Random Jail Tips

If you’re having any issues on the inside, it will almost never be resolved the way you would like. The #1 thing to do is tell your support and have them put outside pressure on the jail. This works 99% of the time.

The mailroom was shit in DC. My support was calling daily as my mail wasn’t getting through. The mailroom kept telling them they were backed up by two weeks. You can get books but they need to come from a publisher and can only be softcover (this has varied at different locations but this is specific to DC). Legal mail can only be opened and looked through in front of the prisoner and shouldn’t be read.

There are no lines (in the sense of queues) in jail or prison for things like computers or phones. For a turn on the phone, you ask who the last person is and let them know you’re after them.

If you require a special diet, tell the Chaplin it’s for religious purposes. This still took me a month to get, though.

To check your canteen account and order commissary, they have touch screen computers installed in the units. Don’t order any commissary until you get to genpop [general population]. If you order it in Intake, they’ll take your money and not give you anything. You can get it back, it’s just a pain in the ass. When you first log into this computer, you’ll need to use your DCDC number (your number as a prisoner) for your username and password. You’ll be asked to set your password at this point.

The clothing exchange is the worst! You only get your clothes washed once monthly, so every day you have to wash your clothes with you in the shower.

Your toilet is in your cell and offers no privacy between you and your celly. There places in the wall that you can shove a spork into; then you can hang a blanket from the spork in order to build a temporary wall for a bit of privacy. You should save about 8 sporks for this purpose and to hang clothes-drying lines.

You should really be saving everything you can get a hold of like salt, sugar, pepper, and other things like that. You can make an air freshener with a bottle of nose spray and the green cleaner they use on the floor. Chaplains give out free holiday cards and sometimes free phone calls.

When you write a complaint, sometimes the officer you whose behavior you are addressing in the complaint will be the one to take the complaint out of the box. When this happens, there’s a good chance that that complaint will get “lost.” There is a workaround for this: you go to the law library or the chaplain’s office and put your complaint in their box.

The sole of your shoe can serve as a pencil eraser. Treat the detail crew on each block with respect and they’ll treat you right. They’re the ones who bring bathroom supplies, food to the door, and other things like this.

Tips for LGBTQ

My celly for a week of my time in Intake was an amazing person. When I told him that I was writing this, he wanted to give tips for any gay comrades who might be coming to DC jail. So these tips are coming from a gay man. He told me the gay community sticks together almost like a gang. If you have any issues, you go talk to other gay prisoners before anyone else, and they will help you faster than anyone else. You can ask to be housed with other gay men / trans women if you identify as such. Trans peeps should see the Chaplin for hormones (if needed), magic shave, and bras. If a celly is making you uncomfortable, you need to speak up ASAP.

In part two I’m teaming up with Joseph Buddenburg to talk about our experiences with being transferred all around the United Snakes. He has experience from the Cali to FL and I have been all over the east coast.”

II. In Transportation

Joseph Buddenburg:

Other than the time I’ve spent in the SHU (Solitary), being transported is the most stressful part of my experience while incarcerated. I’ve been held at six different federal prisons / holdover jails over the last seventeen months. That’s a bit of an anomaly; if you’re a “short-termer,” you should spend the majority of your time at one facility, with a short stint in transit at holdover facilities.

For folks designated to a federal prison on the East Coast, you’ll be bussed or fly ConAir to USP Atlanta’s holdover facility before transport to your designated facility. For folks designated to the West Coast, you’ll pass through Oklahoma City Federal Transfer Center, or Pahrump, NV—a privatized Corrections Corporation of America facility that functions as another Western Region Processing Center for federal prisoners.

In my experience, these holdover facilities freak out when a political prisoner arrives. I was held in max custody at Pahrump, and at Oklahoma City I was thrown in solitary for the duration of my time. If this happens to you, it’s important to keep in mind that this is only temporary; once you get to your designated prison, you’ll have more “freedom”, access to the outside, and more contact with your supporters. I was held at Pahrump for three days and Oklahoma City for two weeks.

If you’re thrown into solitary, there is very little stimulation. Use the time to work out, write, and engage with the prisoners on the housing block, who are just as bored and frustrated as you are.

During transport itself, I found it important to fast and not drink water. You’ll be cuffed and shackled, and access to the bathroom is nearly impossible. On ConAir flights, the US Marshals allow you one chance to use the bathroom on a several hour flight. They go row to row at a time chosen by them. They’ll yell and threaten you if you try to stand up or walk to the bathroom. The meals are disgusting and you’re only given an eight-ounce bottle of water anyway. You may be “black boxed” during transports, which is especially uncomfortable. Because I was convicted of a “domestic terrorism” statute, this happens to me. You’ll be cuffed and shackled, and if black boxed, a black plastic contraption will be locked to the handcuffs, creating wrist discomfort and near immobility of your hands. Make sure the handcuffs are somewhat loose. Cops are assholes, but they can be reasoned with, sometimes.

I found the bus rides are generally much longer, with no air conditioning, and less space. If you manage to get a window seat, try to sleep throughout the ride. Other things that helped were attempts at meditation, deep breathing, and just talking to other prisoners. Keep in mind that your designated facility will be nothing like these shitty county jails and holdover facilities, and that the misery of transfer is temporary. Most likely, you’ll be designated to a low security prison, with access to recreation, “programs,” college classes, and the like.

If you’re vegan or have other dietary considerations, be prepared with a number to call your support person to pressure the jail, and perhaps to go on hunger strike. At Oklahoma City, they threw me in the SHU; they don’t allow prisoners in the SHU use of the phone until 30 days have passed. They also (illegally) don’t allow prisoners to have stamps—you can send out three letters a week, only on Wednesdays. This resulted in my being unable to contact friends or supporters, so I had to refuse meals until they finally put me on a “no flesh” diet. This was not always vegan, but there’s enough vegan sustenance to survive on. Ask for a celly when you first arrive, so you’ll be able to trade food.

Dane Powell:

I was awoken around 4 am in my cell in DC. The cop told me “pack your shit, you’re heading to the Feds.” I was so new to everything, I thought I was already with the Feds. After all, I was put into the custody of the US Federal Marshals after sentencing. I was excited when my celly told me the Feds are “easy time.” On the other hand, I had just got settled in and had a nice collection of books. You can’t bring anything with you except for legal papers (put your contact list on your legal papers). So I left my books and letters as property that was to be picked up, and I stepped off again into the unknown.

From the morning I left DC, it took me three weeks to get to Coleman, FL. The process of waking you up at 4 am was repeated each time we would be transported. In my three weeks, I saw one jail and two prisons before getting to Coleman. The first morning, after leaving DC, we were brought to Warsaw, VA. We were put into a large, dormitory-style housing unit with TVs, phones, and video calling. We were at this holdover area only for a few days until we were moved once again.

This time, we were moved to Petersburg, VA. At holdover here, we were all put into solitary (SHU), and we didn’t come out from there once. We even had showers in our cells and were denied out daily recreation time due to our transportation status. We could yell to each other, but that was it. We had no books or anything to keep our minds busy.

This was the hardest week of my life, and I’ve been through a lot. I hear about people doing months or years in solitary; they have my highest respect. Only those who have been separated from human contact like this know the barbarism it takes for a human being to do this to another and the pain and suffering this torture causes. I hope I’m not affected from this time long term, but only time will tell.

After climbing out of the bolus of hell, I was brought to Atlanta Federal Institution. My experience in Atlanta was like a combination of the two previous locations, as we were mostly locked down due to two stabbings on the compound.

When you’re being transported, you should try to be first in line if you are trying to get a window seat. I think I got a window seat once; the three other times, when I didn’t, the only thing I could think of, the whole trip, was to tell others to get a window seat. I would fall asleep and with every bump I would smash my face on the seat in front of me. You’re chained up with cuffs on your hands and ankles and the cuffs are attached to a chain around your stomach. When the guards are putting on the abdomen chains, you should protrude your stomach as much as possible. That way when you’re sitting normally, it won’t be too tight.

Normally, your support will get instructions on how to setup a prepaid account when you call them the first time. Every single prison and jail I’ve been to has had a different phone system. At all the places except for Petersburg, I was told that the next place would have the same system and support could load up on their prepaid accounts, but this was never the case. Once you get into the federal system, those systems are all the same; but your support won’t need to set up anything at that point.

Some of the best advice I can give about being thrown into new environments so frequently is just to be observent. You shouldn’t really be asking too many questions unless you absolutely have to. You should ask your fellow prisoners if that situation occurs. At the same time, don’t bombard other prisoners with questions. Don’t come off as someone who’s new to the system, even if you are. You can learn everything you need to know by just sitting back and watching what others do. This takes time but it’s the safest way to approach this unknown. If you follow this, you’ll be a step ahead of most others.

III. Federal Custody

Joseph Buddenburg:

I did most of my time at medium facilities, in terms of the levels of violence, the programs, the “freedoms” afforded to me, and general demeanor, politics, and culture of prisoners.

There’s a rating system for prisoners: 0-11 points means you go to camp, 12-15 to a low security facility, 16-23 to a medium, and 24+ high security. The following factors determine federal custody levels:

detainers / pending charges

severity of current offense (mine was moderate, 3 points)

criminal history score / past convictions (0-1 past convictions is 0 points, 2-3 is 2 points)

history of escape attempts (should be 0, unless you’ve been found guilty of past failures to appear)

history of violence

voluntary surrender status (0 for no voluntary surrender, -3 for receiving a self-surrender)

age (8 points if 24 or younger at the date of sentencing, 4 points if 25-35 years old)

education level (0 points if you have a copy of your high school diploma/GED in your presentencing report, 2 points for “non-verified HSD/GED)

drug or alcohol abuse / convictions (0 for never or more than 5 years previous, 1 point for any drug use or convictions in the last 5 years).

If your charge is political, the BOP (Bureau of Prisons) will likely place a “management variable” of greater security or a “public safety factor” on you. This will make you ineligible for “Club Fed”: federal prison camps, in which there is no fence and you have more freedom of movement. Political prisoners will go to low security or higher.

A “management variable” will bump you up one level, so if you’re at camp level, you’ll go to a low; low points go to mediums; and so on. Only long-term prisoners or those with a serious criminal background will be sent to a penitentiary.

Make sure to clean up any pending charges or warrants before resolving your case—I ended up getting 7 points added for a pending misdemeanor, which bumped me from camp points to low so the BOP sent me to medium security facilities. Also, be sure to have a copy of your high school diploma or GED included in your “pre-sentence report” prior to sentencing. The pre-sentencing officer won’t track this down, it’s on you to track down a copy—this will subtract two points from your custody scoring and could mean the difference between a low and medium security facility.

Ask your attorney to request a “self surrender” from the judge. This typically allows you to turn yourself in to the US Marshals / prison to begin your sentence. That will subtract 3 points from your score and gives you around 60 days to clear your affairs before turning yourself in. My sentencing judge doesn’t give self-surrender, but my attorney convinced him to give 24 hours to self-surrender, thus lowering my points.

Low security prisons are devoid of convict politics. Snitches and sex offenders are everywhere, but you’ll find a few solid people—usually older guys who have worked their way down from penitentiaries. It will be rare to find anyone who shares your politics, but for the most part other prisoners will respect you for “being standup”: for standing up for what you believe in and not snitching.

The prison bureaucrats may fuck with you, pinpointing you for harsher treatment or fucking with your mail or outside support. If this happens, be prepared to have your support pressure the prison, BOP, and oversight bodies and seek assistance from radical attorneys.

The most difficult thing about prison for me has been the isolation and interference by the BOP, and I regret not fighting it from the beginning. Don’t fear their retaliation and petty games: the nature of being a political prisoner will get you targeted from the beginning. Having support is your best weapon to fight back, so never hesitate to call your people and the movement in general for help.

Dane Powell:

Depending on how one looks at it, I got lucky for spending my federal time in a low. There’s a lot less prison politics in a low, which is good for political prisoners who don’t want to deal with racist prisoners, but it also has drawbacks. With prison politics low, prisoners are less likely to “check in” snitches and child molesters (i.e., to force them into protective custody). With a yard full of snitches, it’s almost impossible to organize anything unless you start running with groups that check papers.

Ask your lawyer to send you your sentencing papers as soon as possible. These papers will prove you’re not a snitch or a sex offender and you’ll likely need them to prove your story.

One of my cellies told me over and over that they were in for gun charges but refused to show papers. He always had an excuse as to why he couldn’t get them. Most prisoners see right through this, as I did. Turns out, this celly is in prison for trying to have sex with a fake 9 and 11 year old. I judge good jail praxis by whether the act of retribution gets the person who administers it caught or if they can pull it off without the recipient knowing. Someone had great praxis.

During my time at Coleman, I was welcomed into the native community. Some facilities’ native groups allow white people to sweat with them and some do not. If you’ve done a sweat before, the ones done in prison will likely be different. We would have a pipe ceremony every Saturday and this is where new natives or invites would bring their papers and introduce themselves. The papers would be checked by all to ensure that no sex offenders or snitches would sweat with us. It was nice knowing those guys could be trusted.

When coming from a jail, you might be told your mail will be forwarded. It’s very unlikely that any jail will forward your mail; you should just assume it won’t be. Your funds will be forwarded. For me, it took about 20 days once I got to Coleman to receive my funds from DC.

If where you’re sentenced and where you’ll be released are different, and you’re going to have probation, you’ll need to get a transfer. If your probation isn’t transferred before you get out, you will have to report to probation in the district you were sentenced, even if you have no place to go. To get the transfer, you’ll need to see your case manager and have an address to live at which there are no felons or guns, among other things. It takes about a month to properly transfer your probation.

I had issues with the email system that was offered to us. You’ll need to add your friend’s email address as a contact on the computer system. When you add it, that email address will receive an email for them to set up an account through TRULINCS (the system the BOP uses). From what I’ve seen and heard, this process can be confusing. If they get past this and they have an account, they can email you. They need to understand that when a prisoner emails them, they will not get an email notification to their actual email address alerting them of your message. They will have to sign into TRULINCS to see your emails every time. For some reason, a lot of people didn’t understand this.

There are also private secondary services out there through which you’ll be assigned a phone number and friends can text this number. The company then sends you an email with the text message and you can respond to that email and they text your message to your correspondent. This service costs about $15 a month and you’ll likely need someone on the outside to set it up for you.

Most of the clothing you’ll need (like gym shorts, sweats, and shoes) can be bought in your housing unit. The most common forms of currency are stamp books (flats) and packages of mackerels (macks). Prisoners make a job out of fixing up shoes and clothing that was trashed and repurposing them. You can pick up items for a fraction of what the commissary sells them for; the ones available from commissary are normally made by prisoners at sweatshops in the numerous other facilities the BOP runs.

I saved the best tip for last. To bring hot sauce into the chow hall, put it in a medicine bottle and your food will be more bearable.

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