#THIS time it’ll be the ra- *gun shots*

[buildoblivionthenwewilltalk]

#said with love of course #tbf one time it was actually the master 😅 #maybe this time lads #THIS time it’ll be the ra- *gun shots* #doctor who #spoilers #the church on ruby Road #oooo just seen another punter with the meddling monk #if we keep this up we’ll get through the whole deca #other names I’ve heard in the last 15 minutes #romana #rassilon #tecteun #iris #Brax #never change nerds

[thepancakeboi]

99. “Do it. I dare you.”

I don’t normally make a note on these writing prompt stuff outside of tags but I feel I have to warn that this one does get very dark and angsty, up to including the potential of character death (no one dies though, I promise). Now, on with the show!

“Let’s go,” Joker’s voice rings out, echoing against the walls of the Mementos station.

Mona jumps onto the tracks, transforming into his car form in midair. The rest of the thieves sans Joker starts to get in. Not everyone had been able to come today. Haru had business involving Big Bang Burger that she had to attend to, leaving it down to the nine of us to finish our Mementos requests. She had apologized profusely in the group chat, but the others reassured her that everything was alright.

I go to get in the back of the vehicle but am stopped by a hand grabbing my arm. I give Joker an unamused look as I ask, “What do you want?”

“You know where you sit,” he replies with a cocky grin to match. I sigh in frustration as I get in the front row after Joker. Every single time, he always wants me to sit right next to him. He refuses to take no for an answer on that. No matter how much outward annoyance I show, I secretly am content with this seating arrangement. I’m fairly certain that he is aware of this as well. It’s even more apparent today since, with Noir not here today, Violet ends up deciding to sit with Panther and Queen in the middle row. Joker echoes my thoughts as he remarks, “Hey, look at that. It’s just the two of us. Anything can happen~”

“Joker, if you try anything, you’re going to lose a limb or two.”

“Sounds fun,” he hums, laughing as I sulk and look away from him. I can’t even threaten him without his goddamn danger kink making its existence known.

“God, get a room, you two!” Oracle yells from the back.

Joker laughs even harder at this. “I might do just that.”

“No,” I say, refusing to entertain this idea any further.

“But Akeppi-”

“I said no.”

He looks disheartened for a brief moment before he smirks. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Joker starting to sing, “♪ I want your love, and I want your revenge. You and me could write a bad romance~♪”

I whirl around as I hear Panther join in with, “♪ Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!♪”

Joker apparently has no intentions of stopping. “♪ I want your love, and all your lover’s revenge. You and me could write a bad romance~♪”

At that point, Oracle decides it’s her turn, “♪ Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh! Caught in a bad romance!♪”

“Would you three shut up already?” I yell, turning so I can glare at all of them at once.

It’s quiet for all of one second before Oracle and Joker both, of course, decide to ignore me like the menaces they are, simultaneously singing, “♪ Ra-ra-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga, ‘Ooh la-la’! Want your bad romance~♪”

I groan at their antics. It’s the one annoyance that comes from sitting next to Joker. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. The chances of it being the last are minuscule at best.

The banter between the rest of the thieves continues as we continue to drive through Mementos. At some point, Joker took one of his hands off the steering wheel so that he could hold me close. He still has his arm around me when we run right into a Shadow that decides not to immediately disintegrate upon impact.

“Get ready, everyone!” Mona says in car form. “This one wants a fight.”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Skull shouts. “We’re gonna kick its ass!”

We quickly exit the vehicle while the Shadow is still stunned from being hit head-on by a cat-turned-vehicle. Almost as soon as Mona transforms back into a cat, the Shadow bursts into a black liquid, revealing itself as a Forneus.

I had been hoping for this fight to be done quickly, but this Shadow is decidedly stubborn. We’ve managed to knock it down a couple of times, but it simply refuses to die. After the third such time, it fires a Mapsiodyne that manages to hit all of us. “Queen!” Fox calls out as she collapses.

No communication is needed. Joker and I pull back to tend to her while the rest keep fighting. I bend down so that I can drag her out of harm’s way. However, I pause, sensing Joker’s eyes on me. Not this again. “Joker,” I start, moving Queen as I speak, “maybe you should be a little more concerned about Queen lying unconscious on the floor rather than staring at my ass.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

He quickly summons Sandalphon to revive her. Queen’s eyes flutter open, surprisingly unalarmed that she had been knocked out. It’s such a common occurrence with this group. How they’ve survived for so long, I have no idea. “She’s awake,”  I say, turning back to Joker. “We should get back to the fight.”

He nods. “Let’s go-”

“Joker, look out!” Panther calls out just as he is engulfed in a magenta aura.

He tries to move out of the way, but it’s too late. There’s nothing any of us can do without Noir and her Persona’s Amrita Shower. The aura clears. Joker stands there, his eyes closed. “Joker?” Queen asks from behind me, having gotten herself to her feet.

A sinister grin creeps across his face as he opens his eyes, his attention focused on the two of us. His eyes glow with an unnatural purple light as he rushes at us. “It’s not him!” I yell, blocking his dagger with my sword. His grin only widens, a frenzied look in his eyes. “He’s been brainwashed by that damn Shadow!”

“We gotta do something!” Mona calls out from the frontlines, where he’s working with Skull and Fox to keep the Shadow occupied. “He’ll keep attacking us if we do nothing!”

In an instant, I make my decision. “Keep attacking it, all of you. Oracle, make sure they don’t die doing it.”

“It’ll be easy peasy!” Oracle replies from above in Al Azif.

“I’ll keep Joker occupied while you do that until he snaps out of this brainwashing.” 

“Got it,” Panther responds, her Persona pelting the Shadow with fiery strikes as Makoto charges forward on Agnes.

With Joker’s next strike, I grab ahold of his wrist, fully intending on pulling him away from the fight. However, I’m distracted by Violet tentatively asking, “Is senpai gonna be okay?”

“Damnit,” I hiss as Joker escapes my grasp, his dagger slicing my wrist. “Quit your worrying. He’ll be fine.”

Ignoring Violet, for the time being, I regain a hold of Joker and manage to get the bloody dagger out of his hand. I drag him away, leaving the others to take care of that pesky Shadow. The moment we’re out of its vision, I turn to Joker, sheathing my sword for now. “Pull yourself together, idiot!” I snap, resisting the urge to slap him across the face. “We’re your friends.”

“Friends?” he asks, the first words he’s said in his current state.

“Yes, friends. You have those, remember?”

“No. You’re my enemy!”

He throws himself at me with little regard to the fact that he’s currently unarmed and I have a sword at my side. I struggle against him, trying not to hurt him. My sword stays sheathed. I can’t bring myself to cause him harm, even when he has me backed against the wall. “Joker, listen to yourself! I know you’re still there. You’re brainwashed. The Phantom Thieves are your friends. Don’t you understand? They’re not the enemy.”

“You’re right...it’s just you.” Nothing could have prepared me for what comes next. In one swift motion, he pulls out his pistol, pointing it at my face. His grin becomes wicked and full of malice as he sees my eyes widen in shock. “How does it feel, traitor? Knowing you’re about to die.”

“You won’t shoot me. You can’t.”

Despite how confident I try to sound, my heart pounds in my chest. Chills run down my spine. It takes a considerable amount of effort to hide any possible sign of trembling. I refuse to show any vulnerability to him. I don’t care that he could kill me. Even brainwashed, there’s no way he’s capable of shooting me. This isn’t him. Joker would never do this...would he? “Are you afraid?” he mocks. “Are you going to beg for me to spare your life?”

I look Joker dead in the eye...and laugh.

I am aware of the situation I am in, that Joker has a gun pointed at my head and could shoot me dead at any moment. At the same time, the irony doesn’t elude me. The tables have turned, and now it’s me on the receiving end of the gun. “Do you really think I would stoop so low? I know you’re brainwashed, but I think you’re bluffing.”

“Someone’s eager to die. What was it you said? ‘Case closed. This is where your justice ends.’ But it’s not my justice ending, detective: it’s yours.”

“Then, by all means, pull the trigger. Do it. I dare you.” When he doesn’t immediately react, I add, “Here. How about I make it easier for you?” With slow, deliberate movements, I remove my mask with one hand and push my bangs aside with the other as I tilt my head forward. He has a clear shot now, the cold metal of the barrel pressed against my forehead. Yes, this is reckless. I know that...but he deserves this chance. An opportunity to enact swift judgment on me for my crimes. I’m not worthy of a quick death like this, even with it mirroring my actions in the interrogation room. It doesn’t matter, though. If this is how it ends, then so be it. I couldn’t ask for a better executioner.

I stand there, eyes closed, waiting for death to take me. But the gunshot never comes. I open my eyes, staring past the pistol to the boy currently holding me at gunpoint. His grin isn’t quite as wide as before. He’s faltering. “What’s the matter, Joker? I didn’t hesitate when the situation was reversed. Go ahead,” I say as I close my eyes once again, my voice slowly rising in volume as I continue to berate him, “put a bullet through my skull. It’s only fair, isn’t it? I’ve murdered countless people. I even tried to kill you twice. I don’t deserve to be alive, so get on with it and fucking shoot me already!”

All I hear is a gasp, the gun clattering against the ground. I look up to see Joker, no longer brainwashed. It’s clear that he’s shaken. His lips are parted as he stares at me in wide-eyed horror. “A-Akeppi?” he hesitantly says, voice trembling. His mask isn’t able to completely hide the tears threatening to spill. He’s trying so desperately to pull himself together, but for once, it’s not working. I’ve never seen him so visibly distressed, and it hurts.

“You were brainwashed.” It’s the only thing I can offer as reassurance that I don’t blame him, that it wasn’t his fault.

“You’re...not hurt, are you?”

Figures, he’d ask that question. As always, he’s more concerned about my own well being than his own. “No, of course not,” I lie, hiding the blood on my wrist.

He isn’t fooled. He sees right through my response, as observant as ever. His touch is gentle as he moves my arm into his line of sight. The corners of his lips twitch when he sees the cut. “You are. I didn’t hurt you anywhere else, did I? Tell me the truth.”

“You didn’t.”

We stand there in silence, neither one of us sure how to proceed. I personally want to ignore it and move on, but I can sense that Joker won’t. His inner guilt is eating at him, I can tell. Meanwhile, something tells me he knows I’m hiding something from him. I just don’t want him to know that I had believed he was capable of killing me, even for a second. It’d be too much for him, I’m sure. Joker’s the one to break the silence. “Akeppi, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I instantly respond.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t kill me, tho-”

“But I could have,” he interjects before starting to ramble. “I could have killed you. I had my hand on the trigger, and you were willing to just die. What if I had actually shot you...and you had died? Akeppi, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I’m still here. You wouldn’t have fired the gun.”

“But what if-”

He abruptly goes silent, likely shocked that I’ve pulled him into my embrace, dropping my mask in the process. “Ren, trust me,” I say in a slow, hushed tone, dropping the codenames for now so I can get through to him. “It’s okay. I’m here for you, and I will continue to love you as much as before. Nothing will change that.”

“Goro...” His voice hitches as he returns the hug, desperately holding onto me as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t. I can hear his ragged breathing as he finally breaks down and cries. Taking cues from what he would do if the situation were reversed, I pull off one of my gauntlets and gently stroke his hair with my ungloved hand. My own tears run down my face, but I refuse to acknowledge them. I have to be strong, for Ren’s sake. He’s always been that way for me, and it’s about time I return the favor.

A few minutes pass before he starts to calm down. As he pulls back to look at me, I move his mask up so I can wipe the remaining tears from his face. “Even crying, you’re still beautiful,” I muse to myself, not meaning to say the words aloud.

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” he asks with a little chuckle. “You look like you were crying, too.”

I shake my head, refusing to confirm or deny his statement. His chuckling continues as he replicates my actions, although his hand lingers on my cheek longer than I had. I turn my head as I hear Skull’s voice. They must have brought down the Shadow without us. I reach down, grabbing my mask from behind Joker and putting my glove back on my hand. “We’ll keep this between us, alright?”

“Okay.” He moves his own mask back into its proper position. Even up close, it’s hard to see that he had just finished crying. “Hey, Akeppi?”

“Yes?”

“Can we cuddle when we get back home?”

The request is not exactly unexpected. We both know he loves to cuddle and that it helps improve his mood. He already should know my answer. After all, how could I refuse him after what happened? “Of course. Come on. Let’s meet up with the others.”

Prompt list

#akeppi writes #p5 #persona 5 #goro akechi #akechi #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #phantom thieves #except haru sorry i couldn't give her screentime #akeshu #shuake #writing prompt #this is the darkest writing i've done yet #this has been an idea months in the making #this one HURT to write #it hurt my soul #writing joker so vulnerable hurts #if it isn't clear i am hurt lol

[gingyboo]

Mirror Mirror

A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug

Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.

Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.

(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst.

This is a multi chaptered fic.

Please like, comment, reblog!

prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

Sam woke them up the next morning dropping into one of the armchairs with a loud sigh.

‘’Well, isn’t this cosy,’’ he announced, Bucky shot up with a start, but Nancy rose much slower pushing her hair out of her face.

‘’Anything from Torres?’’ Bucky asked noticing Sam was fully kitted out in his suit again.

‘’They’re holding him at an army base off the m20, they’ve approved us leaving from there. So, there’s a high chance they haven’t just let you go, so getting out of London might be difficult.’’

‘’Right so let’s take stock,’’ Nancy said now seemingly alert.

‘’Metal arm, I’ve got the shield and the wings, what can you bring to the table?’’ Nancy sighed racking her brain.

‘’I’ve got a degree in English literature.’’ She answered with a hopeful smile, Bucky snorted.

‘’Okay well we’ve got that too.’’ Nancy left them discussing a plan to go and get packed. She entered her room, pink and white candy-striped wallpaper adorned the walls, the large mirror opposite her showed herself. She stood up tall shaking her head. This was crazy, and yet it was something she’d been trained for. She grabbed a hold-all and made her way through to her walk-in wardrobe. She picked things out for practicality, jeans, a jumper, some shorts and vest tops, Wakanda’s climate being quite different to the mild spring in London. She looked over at her vanity, her grandmothers necklace still laid out from the night before. She slipped it into a jewellery case with some other select items. She wrote a quick note for her housekeeper, Samara, who was due later that day,

‘I’ll be away a few days, don’t worry, I’ll explain when I see you x’

She finished packing her bag and made her way back down the stairs, she could trust Samara to look after her home, but she still hated to leave it. She walked into the drawing room Bucky and Sam were both stood waiting for her. She smiled reassuringly at Bucky who winked at her as she came to his side drawing his hand into hers.

“We were thinking how to get to the airfield, I don’t feel like calling a cab, it could too easily be hijacked.” Sam started Nancy opened her mouth with a suggestion, but Sam cut her off, “Before you suggest it we aren’t taking the ‘tube’ either.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that, the underground doesn’t go out that far.” Nancy smirked with raised eyebrows. “Actually, I was going to suggest we take my car.”

“You have a car, you didn’t think of mentioning it sooner?” Sam said rolling his eyes.

“Alright so we’ll take the car.” Bucky said smiling at her.

“Well actually, we’ll take the car,” she indicated to herself and Bucky, “it’s a two-seater.”

“Great I’ll fly above, make sure no one’s on your tail.” Sam sighed, Bucky’s smile grew wider. Bucky thought he heard Sam mutter about what kind of car only had 2 seats, this made him chuckle.

They made their way to the back of the house where a door led to the garage. Nancy left Samara’s note on the kitchen counter where they’d find it. Sam looked disapprovingly but Nancy insisted they can be trusted. Her car sat covered in the garage she carefully drew back the cover and Sam let out a low whistle. Nancy smiled stroking the blue chrome finish.

“Isn’t she a beauty,” she mused fondly.

“It’s a nice car.” Bucky nodded attempting enthusiasm.

“You even know what kind of car this is Buckaroo?” Sam asked a look of offence on his face. Bucky exhaled loudly,

“Yes, its, um, a two-seater.” Nancy busied herself filling the boot and left Sam to explain.

“It’s a Mas-er-ra-ti.” Sam said sounding out each syllable, “It’s not just a car.” Bucky nodded in response and made his way round to the driver side door.

“Oh no you don’t James Barnes. My car, my rules, I drive.” She dashed over, blocking his entrance to the car.

“Sweetheart- “

“No no no don’t sweetheart me, have you ever even driven a car in this country, this century at least?” Bucky held up his palms in surrender and made his way to the passenger side. Sam clapped his partner on the shoulder as he strode past, lowering his goggles.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to follow you, she’s not exactly subtle.” Indicating to the sports car.

“No, but she is fast, hope you can keep up.” Nancy grinned wickedly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting out of London was simple enough, Nancy was comfortable enough on its busy congested roads. Driving with Bucky was a very different experience, he looked around constantly, watching every car that joined the road, looking out for anything close to suspicious. Nancy was calmer, driving was simple to her and when they hit the motorway she pushed the car into 6th gear.

“So, should we talk about how you’re about to meet my dad?” Nancy said brightly turning briefly towards Bucky.

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” This was true, with his whole priority getting her safely to Wakanda he hadn’t for a moment thought of the ambassador and what he might say or do to him should he find out. Nancy had been gracious in accepting him just as he was, past and all, somehow he thought no father would want their daughter to be bound by the fates to a 100-year-old ex-assassin. In fact, he was surprised every day how Nancy had managed to take it in her stride. It was simple to her, he wasn’t that man anymore, the winter solider wasn’t her soulmate, Bucky Barnes was. He found himself staring at her again, where others found it unnerving, Nancy never mentioned it, she caught him and smiled taking one hand off the wheel to squeeze his, holding it tightly for a moment.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll handle him, and he’ll understand, he’ll have to.” She kept her eyes on the road, she hadn’t a clue what her dad would say.

“Will he?” Bucky said quietly.

“I’m not letting you go.” She responded firmly.

Bucky felt a warmth wash over him, like sinking into a hot bath.

He then heard Sam’s voice in his ear,

‘’Two SUVs just joined at the last junction, they’ve been on your tail for the past couple of miles, could be nothing I’m gonna send redwing down, get a lay of the land.” Bucky relayed the information on to Nancy whilst looking out the back window, Nancy saw the two silver cars in her rear-view mirror. She saw a lorry in the left had lane behind her, she quickly darted out in front of it, the two SUVs carried on the lorry blocking them access to the middle lane. They overtook, one pulling in ahead of her. The other attempting to remain level, a BMW frantically flashing its headlight behind it.

“Sit back!” Bucky had his gun drawn pointing it at the driver’s side window, aiming at the second SUV.

“Don’t you dare hurt my car!” She shouted eyes darting left again before flying into the inside lane and up the slip road beyond. The two SUVs had no time to react and were pushed onwards in the throng of traffic.

“Please warn me before you do that.” Bucky said, shaking slightly from surprise. He looked around confused. “Where are we?”

“Not far off now, this is a couple of junctions too early, we’ll have to take the back roads, but that might actually be easier, now we know they’re following.”

“How are you so calm about this?” Bucky said, concerned at her blasé attitude.

“Compartmentalisation. My parent’s divorce, Kit’s death, the blip and now this. I just have to focus on one thing at a time.” She said taking a turn off the roundabout, this led them down a side road. Bucky explained the new plan to Sam who then, reluctantly, gave up following the two SUVs. “I’ve been seeing a therapist since I was 10, she says I do it too much, pack everything into boxes and leave them up there.” She tapped her temple, “I don’t even notice I’m doing it anymore.” Bucky watched her, a question burning on his tongue, what happened when you were ten, he didn’t ask it, another time he thought. It was as if she read his mind though,

“It’s nothing close to what you’ve been through of course, I mean I should be asking how you’re so calm.” She laughed almost half-heartedly.

“You think this is calm? I had a good therapist, and then there’s you, you help a lot.”

“I do?” Nancy said noticeably touched.

“Like my very own guardian angel.” He winked at her.

“Bucky...” Nancy started no clue where her sentence was going. Her skin lit up with goose bumps under his gaze. She felt tears prick at her eyes.

“It’s okay, we’re in this together now.” He curled a stray strand of hair between his fingers. The sunlight streaming through the wind screen lit up the copper tones turning her hair into a mane of shining metallic.

“I want to know who these people are Bucky, I want to stop them.” She said defiantly.

“I’ll stop them, I won’t stop until you’re safe. Katima said they wanted to ransom you for information and co-operation from your father.” Bucky explained.

“You spoke to Katima?” She sounded surprised.

“Yeah, she sent us to rescue you, I didn’t realise you knew anyone from Wakanda.” He said apologetically.

“She’s my dad’s girlfriend, that sounds so weird, she’s his partner, she’s lovely.”

“She did seem worried about you.” Bucky said.

“Dads’ going to be frantic.” She sighed.

“Maybe we should leave telling him about us for a while?” He suggested dryly, this made Nancy smile.

“Don’t chicken out on me Barnes.” She smirked, “He’ll only be more annoyed the longer we leave it.”

“That does not fill me with confidence.” He laughed lightly. They drove quietly down the twisting road. As they neared the airfield Sam dove down flying alongside their car. The gates granted them access on the first sight of Sam, they made their way up to where Torres was sat on the steps waving to them. Nancy tossed her keys to the nearest member of ground crew.

“Please look after her, I expect her back in one piece.” The man looked as though all his Christmases had come at once, his mouth gaping at the Maserati. Bucky took Nancy hand as they walked towards the jet. Sam was already aboard, hanging out the military jet.

Before they could reach the stairs a loud gun shot fired behind them. Bucky instinctively spun round pushing Nancy behind him, a man stood all in black, skin milky white, he could have been 30 or fifty, a cloud of dark hair surrounded his head.

“Give me the girl!” He shouted, voice clear and calm.

“Not a chance!” Bucky called back, his own gun drawn “get to Sam now,” he hissed behind to Nancy, she didn’t move a muscle.

“Nancy, come with me.” The man continued. Nancy stood defiantly, feet routed to the spot.

“Go now,” Bucky said louder this time. More mean appeared now, each wearing the same masks as the men from the night before. They appeared from the same silver SUVs as they’d encountered on the motorway. The men held up arms against the military personnel of the airfield.

“Christopher is alive!” The man shouted. Nancy’s composure broke.

“Liar!” She came out from behind Bucky and stared the man down. Bucky reached out catching her arm in his metal one.

“I’ll take you to him.” The man continued.

“Nancy,” Bucky started, she looked over her shoulder and smiled. From above their heads Sam swooped down, the intruders so focussed on Nancy they hadn’t been watching Sam. He gripped the black hair man by the shoulders and shot straight up in the air. His men followed them with their eyes. The brief distraction allowed the soldiers to overpower the masked men. Nancy ran up the stairs, Bucky helped her up into the jet, Torres was already initiating take off. Bucky brought her over to the bench, strapping her in securely. He knelt in front of her. Her head hung to her chest.

“Nancy, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, cupping her face in his flesh hand.

“It’s not your fault, that bloody bastard!” She shouted, Bucky saw Torres jolt at her outburst from the cockpit.

“Any chance he was telling the truth?” Bucky asked quietly, Nancy shook her head.

“Kits’ dead, he’s not coming back.” She ran her hands over her scraped back hair. Bucky raised himself onto the seat next to her.

“You should have gone when I told you to.” He Sid quietly taking her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles.

“I wasn’t going to leave you there. All alone.” Shook his head smiling, gently drawing her hand to his face and kissing her fingers. Nancy freed her hand from his grasp and cupped his cheek. “I’m not going to leave your side.” She whispered. He lowered his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.

Sam entered the jet with a bang as he landed on the metal floor. The couple jumped apart quickly.

“I’m sorry, were you two having a moment?” He jested, raising his eyebrows at the pair. He closed the jet’s side door and they all felt Torres increase the planes’ altitude.

#bucky barnes #winter solider #sam wilson #captain america #mcu

[shawtygonemad]

What Is This Feeling: Chapter 8

Fem!9th Doctor x Male!Rose Tyler

WITF Masterlist

The Doctor was in and out of consciousness. That laser almost hurt as bad as regenerating. She stayed silent. She didn't want to say anything that would make Van Statten blast her again. Suddenly a voice came over the intercom.

"Condition Red! Condition Red! I repeat, this is not a drill."

The Doctor lifted her head and made eye contact with Van Statten. Her voice was hoarse, but dead serious.

"Release me if you want to live."

He quickly followed her command and released the Time Lord. She had never gotten dressed that quickly in her life. Then again the entire world depended on it. Within minutes they were in Van Statten's office observing the cage from a flat screen on the wall. Ross was on said screen talking with them. The Doctor honestly couldn't be surprised.

"You've got to keep it in that cell," she told them.

"Doctor, it's all my fault," Ross spoke apologetically.

"I've sealed the compartment. It can't get out, that lock's got a billion combinations," the guard said.

"A Dalek's a genius. It can calculate a thousand billion combinations in one second flat."

The Doctor looked on as she was just proven right. The metal door slowly opened, and released the Dalek. The guard's started to do an open fire. Don't they know it won't work?!

"Ross, get out of there!" She commanded her companion.

Ross, the other girl, and the female guard managed to escape. The Dalek, however, was rolling itself towards the camera. Thus getting closer to the screen. It extended its plunger and broke the connection.

"We're losing power," Goddard gathered around the computer screen with Van Statten and the Doctor. "It's draining the base. Oh, my god. It's draining entire power supplies for the whole of Utah."

The trio was analyzing a holographic map of the United States. Utah blackened.

"It's downloading," the Doctor informed them.

"Downloading what?" Van Statten asked.

The whole West Coast blackened on the map.

"Sir, the entire West Coast has gone down," Goddard updated.

"It's not just energy. That Dalek just absorbed the entire internet. It knows everything," the Doctor stated.

Goddard started to pound away on the computer. "The cameras in the vault are down."

"We've only got emergency power. It's eaten everything else. You've got to kill it now!" The Doctor yelled.

Goddard spoke over the intercom. "All guards to converge in the Metaltron cage, immediately."

The three no longer had visual, but they still had audio. This was just as bad. They grimly heard the guards die one by one. They were soon all dead, and Van Statten couldn't care less. All he cared about was the stupid Dalek.

"This museum of yours, have you got any alien weapons," the Doctor asked.

"Lots of them, but the trouble is the Dalek's between us and them," Goddard explained.

"We've got to keep that thing alive. We could just seal the entire vault, trap it down there," Van Statten suggested.

"Leaving everyone trapped with it. Ross is down there. I won't let that happen. Have you got that?" She stared at the man with fire in her eyes. She then turned back to Goddard. "It's got to go through this area. What's that?" She pointed to an area on the screen.

"Weapon's testing."

"Give a gun to the technicians, the lawyers, anyone. Everyone. Only have one chance of killing it," she informed the assistant.

The Doctor sat down at the computer and began to attempt to get one of the screens to show visuals. After a few minutes the screen showed the loading bay. She practically whooped at her accomplishment.

"I thought you were a great expert, Doctor. If you're so impressive, then why not just reason with the Dalek? It must be willing to negotiate. There must be something it needs. Everything needs something," Van Statten question.

"What's the nearest town," the Doctor asked.

"Salt Lake City."

"Population?"

"One million."

"All dead. If the Dalek gets out, it'll murder every living creature. That's all it needs," the Doctor tried to explain to the stupid ape for what seemed like the thousandth time. He's turned out to be quite dense.

"But why would it do that?"

"Because it honestly believes they should die. Human beings are different, and anything different is wrong. It's the ultimate in racial cleansing, and you, Van Statten, you've let it loose! The Dalek's surrounded by a force field. The bullets are melting before they even hit home, but it's not indestructible," she tried to explain.

She turned from Van Statten and spoke to the screen. "If you concentrate your fire, you might get through. Aim for the dome, the head, the eyepiece. That's the weak spot," she told him.

Moments of anticipation passed. Soon Ross and the girl came running in, making most of them jump. They soon fled the battle area once again. It wasn't long after that the Dalek appeared.

The guards held open fire against the Dalek. None of the bullets affected it. The Dalek rose in the air and zapped the fire alarm. Water started to rain down from the sprinklers. Once the ground and metal beams were nice and wet, the Dalek zapped them. This caused the guards to all get electrocuted, and die.

The trio all stared at the screen in fallen silence. It didn't take long for Van Statten to start making an escape plan for himself. However, this needed to end. Now.

"You said we could seal the vault?" The Time Lord asked.

"It was designed to be a bunker in an event of a nuclear war. Steel bulkheads," the American confirmed.

"There's not enough power. Those bulkheads are massive," Goddard added.

"We've got emergency power. We can re-route that to the bulkhead doors," the Doctor told her.

"We'd have to bypass the security codes. That would take a computer genius."

"Good thing you've got me, then," Van Statten spoke as he sat down in front of the computer.

"You want to help," the Doctor was truly surprised at this.

"I don't want to die, Doctor. Simple as that. And nobody knows this software better than me."

Just then the large screen lit up with an image of the Dalek still in the rain.

"I shall speak on-ly to the doc-tor," it demanded.

"You're going to get rusty," the Doctor commented.

"I fed off the D-N-A of Ross Ty-ler. Ex-tra-po-la-ting the bi-o-mass of a time tra-ve-ler re-gen-er-at-ed me," it told the Doctor.

Her face was deadpan as she spoke, "What's your next trick?"

"I have been sear-ching for the Da-leks."

"Yeah, I saw. Downloading the internet. What did you find?"

"I scanned your sa-tell-ites and ra-di-o tel-e-scopes," it told the Doctor.

"And?"

"No-thing. Where should I get my or-ders now," it asked, almost sounding lost.

"All right, then. If you want orders, follow this one. Kill yourself," she told it honestly.

"Daleks must survive!" It shot back.

The Doctor could no longer take it. This foul creature was the reason she was forced to blow up her home planet, causing genocide for both races.

"The Daleks have failed! Why don't you just finish the job and make the Dalek's extinct. Rid the universe of your filth. Why don't you just die?!" She practically screamed at the creature.

There was a short pause before the machine spoke again. "You would make a good Da-lek."

Then the screen went to black. The Doctor's stomach dropped at the words. Her eyes were slightly widened as she stared at the black screen.

"Seal the vaults," she ordered quickly.

"Doctor, he's still down there," Goddard reminded the Doctor.

She quickly put a headset on, and called the number she knew by heart.

"This isn't the best time," Ross answered.

"Where are you," she asked.

"Level forty nine," he responded.

"You've got to keep moving. The vault's being sealed off at level forty six," she informed him.

"Can't you stop them closing?"

"I'm the one closing them. I can't wait, and I can't help you. Now for God's sake, Run!"

"Done it. We've got power to the bulkheads," Van Statten reported. Good news!

"The Dalek's right behind them," Goddard also reported in. Bad news!

"We're nearly there! Give us two seconds," Ross told the Doctor.

"Doctor, I can't sustain the power. The whole system is failing. Doctor, you've got to close the bulkheads," Van Statten said.

The Doctor was then left with an incredibly hard decision. Save her human, or let the entire human race get destroyed. No matter how much she wanted to wait for Ross. One race was already wiped out because of her. She was not going to let it happen a second time.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly as she hit the enter key, lowering the bulkheads.

Moments later, Van Statten spoke up.

"The vault is sealed."

The Doctor leapt up from her chair anxiously.

"Ross, where are you? Ross, did you make it?"

"Sorry, I was a bit slow," he sadly responded.

Her hearts stopped. Ross didn't make it. He was trapped out there because of her. Now the Dalek's going to catch up with him and she can't do anything.

"See you, then, Doctor."

'Oh God, he's saying his goodbyes!'

"It wasn't your fault. Remember that, okay? It wasn't your fault. And you know what? I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

In the background she could hear the Dalek's 'Exterminate', and the zap of its laser.

"I killed him," she said softly.

"I'm sorry," Van Statten apologized.

"I said I'd protect him. He was only here because of me, and you're sorry? I could've killed that Dalek in its cell, but you stopped me," she turned her self-hatred onto Van Statten.

"It was the prize of my collection!"

"YOUR COLLECTION!? But was it worth it? Worth all of those men's deaths? Worth Ross? Let me tell you something, Van Statten. Mankind goes into space to explore, to be part of something greater."

"Exactly! I wanted to touch the stars," he exclaimed.

"You just want to drag the stars down and stick them underground, underneath tons of sand and dirt, and label them. You're about as far from the stars as you can get," she paused in realization.

"And you took him down with you. He was nineteen years old."

Adele suddenly entered the office. The Doctor was quickly in her face, ready to release some more anger.

"You were quick on your feet, leaving Ross behind," she spat out.

"I'm not the one who sealed the vault," she yelled back.

The screen lit up with an image of the Dalek and a very much alive Ross.

"Op-en the bulk-heads or Ross Ty-ler dies," it demanded.

"You're alive!" The Doctor exclaimed excitedly. Oh was she so relieved.

"Can't get rid of me," he gave a small smile.

"I thought you were dead," the Doctor, almost tearfully, said.

"Op-en the bulk-head," the Dalek demanded once more.

"Don't do it," Ross yelled, attempting to be brave.

"What use are e-mo-tions if you will not save the man you love?" It asked.

It felt like time had slowed down.

'Love. Is that was this is? This confusing feeling I have for this pink and yellow human?'

No. It can't be love. How could a Gallifreyan possibly be in love with a human? They were two separate races! No. It just wouldn't work.

'Oh, my god. I'm falling in love with Ross Tyler,' she thought, horrified.

After her sudden epiphany, she looked at Van Statten.

"I killed him once. I can't do it again," she told him as she pressed the enter key once more.

The bulkhead opened. Ross and the Dalek made their way through.

"What do we do now, you bleeding heart! What the hell do we do," Van Statten yelled.

"Kill it when it gets here," Adele suggested.

"All the guns are useless, and the alien weapons are in the vault," Goddard stated, stressing out.

"Only the catalogued ones," Adele blurted.

Van Statten didn't look pleased. The Doctor shoved her towards the exit door.

"Lead me," she demanded.

Adele quickly took the Doctor down to her workshop. Once inside she showed the Time Lord the weapons. The Doctor went through the bin, tossing the useless items.

"Broken. Broken. Hairdryer."

"Mister Van Statten tends to dispose of his staff, and when he does he wipes their memory. I kept this stuff in case I needed to fight my way out one day," Adele explained.

"What, you in a fight," the Doctor scoffed. "I'd like to see that."

"I could do," she protested.

"What're you going to do? Throw your A-levels at 'em?" The Doctor grinned as she picked up a useful, and deadly, giant weapon. "Oh, yes. Lock and load."

Without second thought, the Doctor bolted out of Adele's workshop, and up the stairs. She was going to finally kill this thing and save the Earth. No, forget the Earth. She was going to save Ross.

Once the Doctor made it to level one she sprinted down the corridor. She stopped once she saw Ross with the Dalek. She didn't allow herself time to take in the situation. All she could feel was the adrenaline pumping in her veins, and the fury of her dead people. It was going to end, now! She held up the large gun, and aimed it at the Dalek

"Get out of the way." Ross just turned and stared at her. "Ross, get out of the way!"

"No. I won't let you do this," he protested.

"That thing killed hundreds of people," she said.

"It's not the one pointing the gun at me."

"I've got to do this. I've got to end it. The Daleks destroyed my home, my people. I've got nothing left."

"Look at it," he gestured to the squid-like creature inside the metal armor.

"What's it doing," she asked.

"It's the sunlight, that's all it wants."

"But it can't-"

"It couldn't kill Van Statten, it couldn't kill me. It's changing. What about you, Doctor? What the hell are you changing into," Ross asked.

Finally realizing what was going on, the Doctor lowered her gun.

"I couldn't- I wasn't- Oh, Ross. They're all dead," she said sadly.

"Why do we sur-vive," Dalek asked.

"I don't know," the Doctor frowned.

"I am the last of the Da-leks," it stated.

"You're not even that. Ross did more than regenerate you. You've absorbed his DNA. You're mutating."

"In-to what," it asked.

"Something new. I'm sorry," and she was.

"Isn't new better?" Ross asked.

` "Not for a Dalek," she replied.

"I can feel so ma-ny i-de-as," it spoke. "So much dark-ness. Ross, give me or-ders. Or-der me to die."

"I can't do that," Ross said quietly.

"This is not life. This is sick-ness. I shall not be like you. Or-der my des-tru-ction! O-bey! O-bey! O-bey!"

After a moment, Ross finally spoke up.

"Do it."

"Are you fright-ened, Ross Ty-ler?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"So am I… Ex-ter-min-ate."

Ross began to retreat to the Doctor's side, and out of harm's way. The Dalek closed up its armor, and began to hover. The balls on the Dalek detached themselves and surrounded it. The balls also formed a force field around it. The Dalek then imploded on itself. The Doctor nor Ross was harmed.

Once it was all over the Doctor dropped her gun. The pair instantly embraced one another and wouldn't let go. After a few moments the Doctor found her voice.

"I'm so sorry, Ross. For everything," she apologized.

"It's alright. You were upset," Ross soothed the alien. They pulled apart and Ross looked at the Doctor. "Tell me about it. The Time War."

So on their way back to the TARDIS, she told the tale of the Time War. Ross took all of the details surprisingly well. He seemed to understand.

Once back in the museum, the Doctor ran a hand over the TARDIS door.

"A little piece of home. Better than nothing," she said.

"Is that the end of it, the Time War?"

"I'm the only one left. I win. How about that," she gave a sad smile.

"The Dalek survived. Maybe some of your people did too," Ross suggested.

"I'd know. In here," she pointed to her head. "Feels like there's no one."

"Well then, good thing I'm not going anywhere," he grinned at her.

"Yeah," she smiled back.

The moment was short lived as Adele appeared with her bag in hand.

"We'd better get out. Van Statten's disappeared. They're closing down the base. Goddard says they're going to fill it full of cement, like it never existed."

"About time," Ross commented.

"I'll have to go back home," Adele said sadly.

"Better hurry up. Next flight to Heathrow leaves at fifteen hundred hours," the Doctor informed her.

"Adele was saying that all her life she wanted to see the stars," Ross said while giving the puppy dog eyes to the Doctor.

'Oh no! Not gonna happen.'

"Tell her to go and stand outside, then."

"She's all on her own, Doctor, and she did help."

"She left you down there," the Doctor accused.

"So did you." This shut her up.

"What are you talking about? We've got to leave," Adele asked confused.

"Plus, she's a bit pretty," the Doctor added.

"I hadn't noticed," he replied.

"On your head," she said regretfully as she unlocked the TARDIS and stepped in.

She walked over to the console and prepared for takeoff.

"What are you doing? She said cement. She wasn't joking. We're going to get sealed in. Doctor? What're you doing standing inside a box? Ross?"

"Oh, get in," the Doctor snapped.

This was going to be a long trip.

#romance #adventure #doctor who fanfic #doctor x rose #the doctor #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who #ninth doctor #bbc doctor who #doctor who imagine #genderbent #fem!9th doctor x male!rose tyler #fem!9th doctor #male!rose tyler #9th doctor x rose #9th doctor #rose tyler

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S4 Ep16: Rex and Weevil Do Not Understand “Rock Bottom”

Hey guys.

Hey.

So... kind of crazy out there, right?

Well, you know what they say. When life gives you lemons, you watch Netflix.

Anyway, Yugioh is racing down this canyon that should be going up alongside the 101 and through the middle of many cities. Don’t worry about it.

And then I found out the name of a card I haven’t seen yet and wow it’s a name.

I’m really glad that Rex Raptor, dinosaur enthusiast, has just no idea how to name dinosaurs and does so like a 6 year old child. Hornsaurus.

(read more under the cut)

So this episode is mostly about Rex and Weevil’s tragic backstory, and thankfully, it’s really not that tragic. We’ve had SO MANY bizarre and weird backstories under our belt, that to have a completely normal one is just...wild to me. They’re so freakin normal.

And on the way, our train just...

OK Train...anyway, I’ll do my best to show which scenes are flash back and which are not, but like bear with me because it flashes back like every other scene it feels like.

So Rex waxes long about that very short time in which he and Weevil were the best ever duelists in Japan (other than Kaiba, I guess, who they failed to mention in this flashback.)

(I used to have a very soft performance fleece sweater the exact same shade as Weevil’s jacket there, popped collar and everything, with piping outline. Don’t judge me, it was the 00′s, I’m just shocked that Weevil also shopped at Old Navy.)

(However I have no idea what’s going on with Rex’s three layers of clashing outfit styles that he has going on. A turtleneck under a thick button up jacket under an open fringe jacket is so much of a 90′s vibe.)

Up until now, bro has been PRETTY SURE every episode that Rex and Weevil are originally from America. I don’t know how I feel about being so right on the money about this one when the episode outright said that they’re from Japan. I don’t really want to out-Yugioh my brother, because at some point, I’ll accidentally let slip that in writing this blog I have accidentally gained all Yugioh knowledge, just like Noah did that one time when he was stuffed into that brain orb.

Just please don’t don’t ask me how this game works, I still have absolutely no idea.

Weevil and Rex had adoring fans in two-shaded polos exactly just like the type I used to wear in high school. But, their fans all left them the moment Weevil lost one single game against Yugi Muto.

Harsh. But granted, I feel like the people of Domino have rabbit memories and if you aren’t actively in the news every day because your blimp got abducted by sea pirates, then who the hell is EVER going to know who you are?

But youknow, Rex and Weevil are pretty sure that dodging getting murdered by Pegasus was actually their last shot at fame. It’s over forever. They’re done. Done until they beat either Joey or Yugi which...very specific, but, it would make you somewhat famous if you did that by simultaneously destroying the Caltrain.

And Weevil is like gunning for the King of Games title but...apparently no one in this episode wanted to mention to Weevil that the “King of Games” moniker actually went to Raphael?

That he needs to beat Raphael...not Yugi Muto?

Nobody?

Nobody feels like mentioning that neither Yami nor Yugi could possibly still be King of Games and that Weevil has no really good reason to be here? I mean it would save Weevil a lot of time. It would also save me a lot of time. We could just walk off this train and go back to what we were all doing before this happened, but nah, lets keep the lie going, because apparently Yami can’t bear to tell the truth, just like his host.

Waiiiit, isn’t Rebecca the King of Games because she beat Yugi in S1?

It’s the freakin Malfroy/Elder wand, it’ll be important in Ch 40 I’m sure of it. I’m sure they’re not going to just...forget...all of the people that beat Yugi before.

Man. Maybe that’s why Yugi is so hell bent on keeping tabs on Rebecca? Just to youknow...make sure she doesn’t tell anyone that she hella beat him that one time because otherwise Kaiba would have lost his freakin mind (again) that Yugi lost that title basically the same afternoon he came back from Pegasus’ island.

Also Rex and Weevil once charged for headshots and this makes them vile, terrible people for some reason.

Apparently this is a bad practice? I mean if you’re famous enough please charge for head shots, you need to make money between playing cards. Take it from this jaded artist, always sell out so you can save money for when you will absolutely get carpal tunnel.

Whatever. Back to Rex who is certain that he is not famous anymore because he lost to Joey.

S4 and still everyone is certain that Joey is bad at cards. Joey will just never be free from this.

It was beautiful anime food for like ten seconds until he did this. How dare. Literally though, how did he do that? Was that burger made out of potato chips?

Can we talk about what a freakin crime it is I can’t watch my Nick at Night retro shows on Netflix or Hulu? Like hell I’m going to get a third streaming service so I can watch and admire how bad “I Love Lucy” aged. I want to see how incredibly off-putting Fonzie is as an adult. But nah. Not even allowed. You can only watch Cheers.

Cheers. What am I? 65? Cheers wasn’t on Nick at Night. My Mom watched Cheers. Gross.

This show trying to convince me so hard that Rex and Weevils lowest point wasn’t when they were 5 seconds away from being set on fire and having their soul removed by Maxamillion Pegasus.

Like for reals, the lowest point for ANYONE (except for the Ishtars) on this show was when they were trapped on that island, without any camping supplies, surrounded by human skulls, Bakura pre-exorcism, and so many other duelists who were probably going to eat them had the tournament gone 24 more hours than it had.

The island that also had a basement that was entirely full of cultists who absolutely murdered a guy right in front of us.

Like when they finally got out of the island’s huge ass forest, their dinner included a soup filled with Pegasus’ eyes.

I would have gotten pissed on by like 70 stray dogs to get off that island, y’all.

So one of the best things about this blog is I don’t have to worry about the restraint of a.) looking professional b.) the fear of sharing my actual real deal opinion. Everywhere else I post, I can’t share anything. I’ve come to terms with this, and so I hide my hot takes deep, deep within this Yugioh blog and the only people who suspect my art rage are like...y’all in the corner of Tumblr who do not care about what I’m talking about.

++++++++++++THIS IS MY HUGE RANT ABOUT ART POLITICS AND ART BITTERNESS FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS. WE’RE QUARANTINING SO MUCH OVER HERE DUE TO THE VIRUS THAT I AM GOING A LITTLE BIT HOUSE CRAZY+++++++++++++++

But like MAN I need to mention something. Both Joey and Rex are completely off base. Both of them.

Like I’ll be real, because of the sudden extra time I have on my hands, I was originally ranting quite a bit about art culture and stuff and I will admit it was projecting somewhat onto a TV show that was written before the recession and the gig economy basically came and laid a huge dump across the creative industry.

However, I really, really, really don’t like it when people naively say “I’m successful because I did the research, I did the work, and then I got a following despite doing no marketing at all,” LIKE HELL YOU DID, DUDE. And there’s certain places I go where this is the mantra of a hell ton of ppl who don’t believe in luck, and I have to just suck it in because they succeeded at a young age. Because inversely, if anyone doesn’t succeed right away--clearly they don’t work hard enough, right?

I won’t dig into real world stuff because that’s...the real world and the real world is a bummer, but even in the universe of Yugioh there’s this crazy disparity in duelers that the people on the top refuse to acknowledge and the people on the bottom have absolutely no way to cope with so they become insanely bitter about it.

Mai has mentioned that despite all of her hard work and success--because she isn’t the top 4 duelists of Kaiba’s tourney--no one knows who she freakin is. The card industry is so toxic, that even KAIBA dropped out.

And even without Kaiba to compete against anymore, Mai still wasn’t able to get in there to fill that void. The void that also has Marik and Odion in it, despite the fact that I’m pretty sure Marik will never touch a card ever again and might be back to living underground or on a boat in the middle of no-where. And we don’t even need to mention Bakura, right? Bakura who should have also been here to fill the void of fame, but his face probably only comes out fuzzy on camera like people haunted by that girl from the Ring. So we’ll just ignore Bakura, that makes sense, I can accept that canon.

But really...it’s just Joey and Yugi at the top of the crop when there should have been room for at least 4.

So, it’s interesting that the Oricalchos in this situation is the “get me popular quick” drug that will somehow give Rex and Weevil what they need for automatic success because I see people desperately looking for this SO MUCH online. I have seen so many post “This is how I got 100000 followers in 100 days,” and it’s always the same story that isn’t so much about hard work, but more how to game a broken system until all other competitors are invisible. And then there’s the hidden factor about...luck...that really offends people although we all know that it exists.

But just remember I’m not allowed to have this opinion that luck...exists...So if anyone asks, I never said this.

And also...if Rex and Weevil had any support up until now from these kids who have been stuffing them in the trunk for over a dozen episodes, they wouldn’t have done any of this.

So talking as a jaded Millennial, I’m not gonna judge you if you take your Oricalchos, if you know what I mean. Everyone has their reasons, and no one’s too good not to ever do it, lets be real.

+++++++++++++++END OF THIS RANT, WOW, I WANT TO SAY THAT WHILE SLAPPING A WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE IN A GENTLE MANNER+++++++++++++

So I realized something. This cliff face is sort of an iconic train, but it’s the wrong train.

This is the Amtrak in the middle of Nevada/Utah, pretty sure. I know that shade of orange. I’ve done the Nevada drive a lot.

And part of the reason I’m even sleuthing into this is because as an artist I like to see where art inspiration comes from. It doesn’t just come from a void--they clearly did research and I just want to find out...how it happened.

So anyway, like I said last time, the Amtrak is in charge of the Caltrain management, although the Caltrain is not part of Amtrak. And so you get similar paint jobs--it’s just that Amtrak has blue topped cars, and the Caltrain cars are typically red. Yugioh safely did red, white and blue, which both cars do, to an extent, being American trains.

It’s possible that they decided to look up scenic trains in California and were like “this one looks neat.” This one is also named the “California Zephyr” which makes it seem super Californian but in actuality it goes from Emeryville, California to Chicago. Only problem is that Emeryville is North of Oakland, and we’re supposed to be taking the train “to the airport” when the airports are in Oakland or San Mateo. This train doesn’t go to the airport. You just drove by the airport.

This train also doesn’t go to Florida. Chicago is North, way north. This train exists to be a slow, scenic train for old tourists who want to sleep in cramped spaces or jaded millennials writing their award winning novel. It has no other purpose.

So, it doesn’t at all match anything story wise...but it looks cool. They would never take this train if the world was going to end, and Rebecca wouldn’t know it exists, but, it looks cool.

But anyway, onward to the next episode. I’ll be kind of bunking in my home for a while since my entire area basically shut down, so maybe I’ll get the next updates done earlier than usual? Maybe even catch up on my backlog? hm. Possibilities.

And if you just got here, this is all the Yugioh recaps in chrono order.

#Yugioh #ygo #Yu-Gi-Oh #recap #photo recap #episode recap #yugi muto #yami #train #joey wheeler #tristan taylor #rex raptor #weevil underwood #S4 #Ep16

[bluboothalassophile]

Wow, the new story with Jason is incredible! I liked it so much. Can you make a one-shot about Athanasia and Damian? Please! Cause they are siblings, but they grew apart and he didn't know about her. There was a moment in injustice comic when she tried to tell him about herself, mentionined the Lazarus pit. He wasn't listening, and she seemed to be hurt. What if she told him a little more and he rejected her because he didn't want a sister? This story must be touching and heartbreaking!

Hello,

I’m not sure I could give you what you wanted exactly, but trust me there is a whole HfaB story coming dedicated to the Jason, Maya, Athanasia and Damian drama of the League of Assassins. Trust me it’s coming, it’s just going to take a wee bit while I write Run Away Bride.

Here’s another snippet from Damned Prince of Gotham...

Unknown Ghosts...

They were standing there in the freezing cold, and she stared at the two boys. That’s what they were, the younger was about ten years younger than she. She recognized him, of course. It was impossible not to, especially with that glare and sneer in place. The smaller one, was very slight of build, his black hair was hanging wildly down, and his sleep deprivation made his glare almost comical.

“Where’s our brothers you harlot!” the young prince demanded, which had her turning to look at her little brother.

“I did not take our brothers!” she hissed fiercely to him. The young prince glared at her, and she snarled as she struggled against her restraints.

“Out brothers?” the smaller and elder asked.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, third son of the Bat, our father, third Robin, current Red Robin, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, best detective. Damian Wayne, also known as Ibn al Xu’ffasch al Ghul, son first biological son of the Bat and our mother, Talia al Ghul, first grandson of Ra’s al Ghul. Terrance McGinnis, affectionately called Terry, second biological son of the Bat, created through Cadmus and A.R.G.U.S. experimentation. I know who you are, and I know who has our brothers!” she snapped as she finally escaped her bindings.

“Who are you?” Tim asked her.

“You will know me as TH3 GH0ST.”

“You say our brothers? Are you…?” Tim started.

“I am the first biological daughter of the Bat and Talia al Ghul,” she answered.

“Impossible,” Damian whispered, his eyes were wide and studying her in shock and disbelief.

“I am Athanasia al Ghul, and we must hurry,” she said. “Jason is in trouble.”

“He wouldn’t be if you had left him alone!” Damian shrieked.

“You think I willingly dragged our brother into this!?” she demanded. “I needed help, and he is the only one alive who has bested Ra’s al Ghul on skill alone! I needed his aid!”

“And now Terry’s been snatched!” Tim snapped.

“I am surprised an enemy could get so close as to claim leverage with the children!” she spat out.

“Cat and B are in the JL ICU whoever the hell that was, it was inhuman!” Tim snapped.

“That was Grant Wilson, son of Slade Wilson, also known as Deathstroke. He is after Jason, he has been since they were fifteen!” she snapped out the information as she snatched up the blades her brothers had taken from her. “And he is employed currently by Dusan al Ghul of Leviathan!”

“Why would Grant be after Jason?” Tim asked.

“Because Grant was Ra’s best pupil and Jason always humiliated him in training!” she hissed.

“The American was grandfather’s best pupil,” Damian stated. “Jason is the American.”

“Jason is an American, but he was not the American. Jason, like I was a slave for the League, we were never members,” she stated as she found a console and started looking for where Grant could’ve lured Jason. Grant having Terry as bait would guarantee Jason would hunt him down, and no doubt Grant would try to gravely injure or maim Jason before they had their duel. She paused the feed when she spotted blood in a corridor.

“Grandfather would never enslave his granddaughter.”

“He could not enslave Maya, but he stole me from mother’s womb, put me in a tube and when I was a girl, he disowned me,” Athanasia explained. “And if you think our grandfather couldn’t do something so malicious know that he made mother and the Bat think they had had a miscarriage and drove them apart. And if you still think grandfather couldn’t do something so malicious then I will inform you of the circumstances of your conception. Now we can either dwell on my identity or we can go save Jason before Grant kills him!” she snapped.

“Why is Grant after Jason, specifically?” Tim asked cutting off whatever Damian was about to say.

“Because Jason is the sole perfect resurrection of the Lazarus Pit. Grant is a metahuman with full access to his brain, like his father, by all accounts he should be superior, and yet…”

“Jason beats him,” Tim deduced.

“Now lets go,” she said swiftly stalking past them, she snatched up her gun as she started moving through the keep. Grandfather had done his damnedest to break Jason, and used Grant as a tool to do it, Jason had never broken, and she knew Grant would do anything to break Jason. She had been Grant’s slave for years, she knew exactly what he wanted.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason walked out into the cold ring where he had spent many days training before he had been sent to the All-Caste, and all of Talia’s private tutors.

Grant glared maliciously at him, and Terry whimpered in his grasp. The five year old was trying to be brave, Jason could see the struggle for that, and he felt Ace’s hostility towards Grant rising behind him.

“Heyya Duckling, doing okay?” he asked; keeping his voice carefully carefree. He smiled at Terry and Terry smiled back, rather tightly.

“Finally you’re here, I thought I’d…” Grant started.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jason snarled feeling the Pit surface. “I was talking to my little brother!”

“I want to go home Jay,” Terry said.

“And I’m going to get you home buddy, just close your eyes and it’ll all be over like a bad dream,” Jason promised as he watched Terry closed his eyes. “Let the kid go now, Grant or I’ll tear you apart, limb by fucking limb.”

Grant smiled as he threw Terry aside, he saw his brother’s blood, and Ace streaked for Terry, Grant went to cleave his dog which had Jason slamming into the larger man with all his force. Grant threw him away, Jason rolled to his feet feeling all the aches and pains from previous fights today to get here, but it didn’t stop him as he smiled, tasting blood on his lips. His opponent held his sword with ease, and for the first time since Raven’s death, Jason felt the All-Blades tingling in his blood as he rushed Grant for another attack.

#bluboothalassophile #fanfic #hopes for a bastard universe #hopes for a bastard spoilers #hopes for a bastard #damned prince of gotham #hopes for a bastard: damned prince of gotham #jason todd #athanasia al ghul #damian wayne #tim drake #terry mcginnis #grant wilson

[breanime]

Rather Die Young

Finished the first of this round of requests:  i want to request something with diego that sort of reflects another lifetime by nao that’s super angsty OR something that reflects rather die young by beyonce that’s sweet and maybe a little smutty??? there’s so much stuff i wanna see with diego but those are my top two wants right now so whichever you would rather do would be amazing!!! 💞🖤 from @elekt-ra 

(I went with the Beyonce choice, but it didn’t turn out how I thought it would... Apologies!)

WARNING: slightly steamy, mentions of abuse and violence

*gif not mine*

You sighed, staring up at Diego with a frown on your face. He was sitting on the edge of the boxing ring, legs swinging, dressed in all black. He had a bloody gash on his forehead, bruised knuckles, and a bullet wound in his side.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” you said, stepping up and placing the first aid kit beside him.

“If you’re looking for an apology, you ain’t getting one,” he said back, voice rough.

You rolled your eyes. “What else is new?” You pulled out a pair of tweezers and a white cloth. “So, what was it this time? Home invasion? Shoot-out? Domestic disturbance?” He groaned when you lifted his shirt up and pressed an alcohol swab to his side. There was no shrapnel in his side, it was basically just a flesh wound. “Don’t be a baby.”

Diego put a hand on your shoulder, steadying himself, as you cleaned up the area and dabbed away the blood. “It wasn’t any of that,” he said, dark eyes focused in on you, “This was… I was handling a personal project. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” you huffed, slapping the bandage on a little too roughly, “Thanks for all the details—oh, and thanks for calling me out here in the middle of the night to patch you up just to say ‘fuck off’. So cool.” You slammed the first aid kit closed and yanked your plastic gloves off.

“Hey hey hey—” Diego reached out and grabbed you by the arm, “—hold on, don’t… I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed. “Look, can we go down to my room—”

“Oh, this was a booty call,” you said, smiling sarcastically, “Aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving?”

“Y/N, please,” he hopped down from the ring, and you stepped up to steady him, “I don’t wanna have this conversation here.”

You stared at him; he looked serious, and a little pale from blood loss. Diego had been, for as long as you’ve known him, someone who always wore their emotions on their sleeves. You’d only been sleeping with him for a month, but you knew there was more to what you had then sex. But you weren’t sure you wanted to be the first to admit it. You wrapped your arm around his waist, helping him walk. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

You helped Diego sit on his bed and sat down next to him. He held his feet out and gave you a look. “You mind?”

Sighing, you helped him take his boots off. “Anything else?” You asked drily.

“Think this would be easier if you took these,” he lifted his hips, indicating his pants, “off too.”

Chuckling despite yourself, you moved to accommodate him. He was perfectly capable of removing his own pants, you knew, but this was his way of apologizing to you. “Shirt too?” You asked.

“Yes please,” Diego was grinning now. He lifted his arms up to make it easier for you. He watched you watch him as you threw his bloodied shirt on the ground. His chest was rising and falling gently, and you wanted to hold him. “Your turn,” he said to you.

You sat back on the bed, leaning against the wall. “Tell me what happened first.”

Diego sighed, rolling his eyes. “So demanding,” he joked. He looked over at you, his eyes suddenly serious again. “I ran into your ex.” Your eyes widened. Your ex-boyfriend was probably the biggest reason you didn’t want to put yourself out there with Diego. Your ex had been manipulative, and cold, and probably the worst thing that had ever happened to you; the complete opposite of Diego. “I was working a case—this guy was scamming families by posing as an Airbnb and then robbing ‘em blind—and one of my leads brought me to him.”

“And he shot you?!”

“Slow down, I’m telling a story here,” he said back, “Anyway, turns out your ex—fuckin’ scumbag—was in on the whole thing. He set the families up with the contact and got a percentage of the bounty. He also started a side hustle selling private photos and videos of the women in their bathrooms and stuff.”

“Piece of shit,” you shook your head.

“Yeah, you definitely traded up,” he smirked before going on, “Turns out he was making more money with that than the robberies, so he started conning people without the help of his partner.” He put a finger up. “Ask me how I know this.”

“How do you know this, Diego?”

“His girlfriend,” he answered, “came to me with a black eye and swollen lip.” You saw something flash in his eyes, something that clearly said: ‘that could have been you’.

You nodded. “Sounds about right… So then what happened?”

He shrugged. “I gave her a card to a good women’s shelter and the numbers of a few counselors, then I jumped in my ride,” he took a breath, eyes burning like gasoline in a fire, “tracked him down…” He shook his head. “He knew who I was.”

“Well, yeah, everyone does—”

“—No, he knew I was your… that you and me have a thing,” he said, “Said he’d seen you leaving my place the other day.” Diego’s leg was bouncing now. “He had pictures of you on his wall. Told me he’d get you back, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Was this before or after he threatened you with a gun?”

“After, and right before he made me throw my harness across the room.”

“Jesus, Diego.” You put both hands on his face. “You—you could have died.”

“But I didn’t. Not done,” he said, continuing on with his story, “So he’s going on and on about how you belong to him and how I could never make you happy—which is ridiculous, by the way—and I told him to put the gun down and I’d arrest him peacefully.” Diego grinned, all teeth. “Thank Christ he didn’t listen.”

“So you let him shoot you?”

“That wasn’t apart of the plan,” he shrugged, “but I got the upper hand as soon as he pulled the trigger.” His dark eyes flashed again. “Think I used my whole arsenal on that asshole.”

You smiled softly. “No skin off my nose; you did good, Diego.”

“I know,” he smiled back, leaning close to you, “Which is why I called you, not for first aid or a booty call—though I’m not opposed—but to tell you this.” He put a hand on your chin and lifted it up. “He can’t ever hurt you again.” He swallowed, and you could feel the nervousness in his touch. “Look, what I'm telling you is that I'm giving you my life, it's in your hands. That’s… That’s why I called you. I just wanted you to know that… Whatever this means to you, it means… It means a lot to me, so—”

You shut him up with a kiss. Diego held you in his arms and pulled you on his lap. His tongue entered your mouth, and you moaned at the contact. You felt one hand go to the back of your neck, moving your head a bit and deepening the kiss. The other hand went to your ass, cupping it gently. You pulled back a bit, smiling down at Diego. He was wearing a matching smile. “I think,” you said, gently brushing your fingers across the bandage on his side, “I’m ready to take my shirt off now.”

Diego helped you shed your shirt, taking a few moments to kiss your exposed skin. You giggled as the hair from his beard tickled you. He licked your neck as you shimmed out of your pants. You felt his hardness beneath you and grinded into him happily. He was still smiling when you kissed him again.

“You promise to be gentle?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I promise,” you said, kissing him, “I’ll make sure any pain you feel is 100% pleasurable.”

A little over two hours later, you lay naked and sweaty in bed with Diego. You were on your side, cuddled up against him, and the feel of his fingers softly trailing up and down your naked spine made you sleepy.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice soft from sleepiness and all the screaming you’d just been doing, “Want to get breakfast tomorrow morning?”

You heard his chuckle deep in his chest. “You askin’ me on a date, baby?”

You looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

It was like the sun rose in Diego’s eyes as he grinned down at you. You laughed at the sheer look of happiness that came on his face. “Yeah, sure, hell yeah.” He agreed quickly. He kissed the top of your head and sighed contently. “And when we go out, we’ll see how long it’ll take for me to make you cum underneath the table.”

You swatted his arm, laughing once more, and hugged him to you.

Truly, this man was going to be the death of you.

****************************************************************************************

Gonna take another nap cause I’m a Sad Bitch, so please leave comments for when I wake up! Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @floralpeaceofmind @delicatelilyflower @dylanobrusso @ladyblablabla @banditthewriter @something-tofightfor  @starsfragments @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @hisgirlwednesdayaddams@fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta @sadnessxvodka @ymariejp @sunnycolors @moonlightsay @its-all-o-kay @damagelove @keyeluh @itsmylife98 @funerals-with-cake @littlemermaidprobz @teacuplotus @king4thesirens @mrsjaxtellerfan @thebabblingbook @tartelette-aux-fraises @madamrogers  @charlylama @iaintnofurry @k-buggz2001 @whitewolfslittlesilverfox @drinix @elanor-of-imladris @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @julliiaaq @holamor @ymariejp@shadowhunterscloset @songtoyou @anabella-baby @sssilverssserpent @heyitslexy @luminex3 @sithskywalkers

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader

[saffix-cherries]

my entry for the she-ra winter gift exchange/secret santa

@sherawintergiftexchange @tolstoyevskywrites

prompt: Catra being badass/cute or some glitradora cuddles are always great

for @smol-strange

hope you enjoy!!!

—

christmas was here, and snow had set over bright moon. peace had been brought to etheria at last, balance was restored, and a certain pink haired princess was whining at her best friends.

(it’s nice to know that some things never change.)

“cmon, adora, it’ll be fun! i can show you a classic holiday movie, and you’ll learn all about the old traditions of etheria! doesn’t that sound like fun?”

adora looked around surreptitiously for any sigh of sanity. ‘what about bow? can’t you force him into your celebrations?’

glimmer scratched the back of her neck sheepishly. ‘he’s at his dads’ for christmas, so it’s just me, you and-‘’

adora interrupted, suddenly panicked. ‘wait, shouldn’t you be with your dad? are you meant to spend time with your family this time of year? aah, am i stopping you from spending time with your family?’

she was interrupted from her worried rant by a familiar feline figure walking in. ‘hey, adora? calm! sparkles wouldn’t have invited us if she didn’t want us there.’

glimmer growled. ‘i am not called sparkles, catra, we’ve talked about this!’

‘okay, glitter,’ catra grinned at the aforementioned princess, as she walked into her room and flopped on the bed.

‘ i am so, bored. and hungry. do we have any chocolate?’ chocolate was one of the few things catra loved about brightmoon, even though it made her sick at times.

glimmer sighed. ‘yes, but it’s meant to go on the tree- adora!’

adora, who had been strangely quiet since catra walked, was discovered to have been eating the chocolate in question. she stopped her munching of chocolate to respond to glimmer’s exclamation with, ‘why would this go on a tree? it’s chocolate,’ like that made perfect sense.

‘exactly’ catra said in agreement, sneaking a piece of chocolate, and munching on it carelessly.

glimmer groaned, again. (she did this a lot.) ‘you GUYS, it’s a Christmas tree! decorations!’

both girls looked blankly at her.

‘holidays! celebrations! you didn’t have that in the horde?’

there was no response.

glimmer sighed, and dropped her head in her hands. ‘who am i kidding, you didn’t even have birthdays, or parties. there’s no way you got presents.’

‘i mean, there was this one time’ adora started, but glimmer interrupted with a beaming smile. ‘i’ll just have to show you both exactly how holidays work around here, right! cmon!!!’ she dragged out adora, who in turn dragged out catra, who was pretending to be annoyed but obviously didn’t mind.

‘i’m gonna show you the best christmas ever!!!!!!’ glimmer brandished pink sparkles everywhere, and catra winced, then laughed. ‘still not used to that’.

‘to the kitchens!’ glimmer yelled, and they were all gone in a puff of light.

four hours later, after taking as much food as they could find from the kitchen and random bakeries they found in the village, adora was covered in flour. how, may you ask? let us set the scene.

glimmer whined. ‘it wasn’t MY fault i accidentally teleported us right next to bags of flour! no one else managed to fall into them, you really are just that clumsy.’

adora shot finger guns at her. ‘got that right!’

catra laughed. ‘ever since we were kids she’s been like this. one time, she-‘

‘we’ll save that for another day’ adora interrupted hastily, but glimmer wasn’t deterred.

‘ooh, no, i want to hear about kid adora! what was she like??? do you have embarrassing stories?’

catra started ‘well, as i was saying’

‘catra if you say another word ill,,,idk what i’ll do’ catra grinned, and flicked her hair. ‘okay princess!’

adora tried to leap forward but ended up on top of catra, covering her in flour too, rising a squeal of ‘oh my god adora are you actually this clumsy or are you faking it’ from catra, who then then lunged for glimmer (‘okay sparkles ur not getting away that easily’). the princess in question squealed and teleported away, much to adora’s cries of ‘unfair! glimmer, come here and help me with her! she's covering me in even more flour!!’

once glimmer had given in and used her magic to clean them all off, they went back to glimmer’s room to watch a movie - the original plan. catra yawned. ‘i’m tired’.

‘how are you tired, it’s barely even nighttime’. glimmer half laughed, half sighed.

catra shrugged. ‘it is what it is.’

adora looked confused.

‘or maybe it isn’t’.

adora looked even more confused, while glimmer continued laughing. catra offered up a shrug, then slid onto the floor, and adora joined her. glimmer teleported in between them, and the two just looked at her with identical unimpressed looks. the attempt at a hug that followed ended in catra moaning ‘ew, stop it, get off me, you’re acting like scorpia’ but making absolutely no effort to actually stop her, and adora laughing. “okay, so what movie are we even watching?,” catra asked, eyebrows raised, and glimmer started suggesting names that no one had heard of yet still somehow sounded bad to both the other girls. glimmer groaned, laughed, and looked at catra and adora squabbling over the duvet. this was gonna be a fun, but long night.

#shera winter gift exchange #shera secret santa

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

One of the guys has RA (or something like that) and was not a huge fan of using a cane, when they finally do... They are amazed at how much easier life is.

Of course the Great Pretender ends up getting rheumatoid arthritis at the grand age of 40.

Of course the man whose career relies on him riling up a crowd with push ups and unconventional dancing gets the one thing that’ll prevent all of that.

Freddie ignored the symptoms for months. The aches in his joints, the swelling in his knees. It was what he was good at, after all. Putting on masks, disguises, facades. If he could pretend none of this was happening, maybe he could pull through without anyone noticing.

And you know, they do say exercise helps these sort of things. Perhaps not prancing and gyrating on speakers, but maybe it’ll help.

Freddie forces himself to keep this mindset, forces himself to keep preforming, forces himself to keep smiling, even though all he wants to do is collapse. All of this is doing more damage than good, though and he knows it. 

After some time, the others know it too. They see him before performances, heat bags on his knees. After performances, he nearly needs to be carried off the stage. Whatever is going on, it’s not good. 

One day, the three have had enough and hold an intervention of sorts.

“Fred, what’s wrong?” Brian asks, head tilting. They just wanted to know. They wanted to help.

“Nothing, darling, nothing. What’s this fuss all about?” Freddie says nonchalantly, taking a drag of his cigarette. He tries his best to act cool, but his heart skips a beat. The jig was up, wasn’t it?

“Don’t play stupid, Freddie. We know somethings up with you. We can’t help you if you keep us in the dark,” Roger pipped up, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn’t angry. He wanted Freddie healthy and pain free. They all did.

Freddie was going to remain steadfast, though. He was going to smoke his cig and sit there as if nothing was wrong. Until John spoke up.

“We don’t want you to feel bad anymore,” was all he could manage to say, lower lip trembling, voice cracking and shaking.

Goddamit. 

He let out a long overdue sigh, putting out his cigarette. He leaned forward in his chair, hands covering his face. “Fine, fine,” he murmured.

Freddie let out another exhale before explaining himself.

“It was some time last year. Didn’t feel quite right. Not good, not good at all. I went to the doctor. It didn’t take them all that long to figure out that it was...that it was rheumatoid arthritis,” he shook his head as he spoke

“I’m on the pills, getting the shots, doing everything right, but it doesn’t go away, you know? So I’m in some pain at times...a lot of the times. Not terrible. Tolerable. But...yeah,”

John was the first to react, letting out a tiny sniffle as his eyes glassed over. The other two just nodded, letting it all soak in.

“Why’d you feel you couldn’t tell us, mate?” Roger said, irritation subdued. He placed a hand on Freddies shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Freddie laughed a humorless laugh, shrugging. “Who wants a cripple as a front man?” he said dryly, burying his face into his hands.

Brian stood up, walking in front of Freddie. “I don’t care if you were in a goddamn iron lung. You are the best frontman Queen could ever have. And the fans either have to take you as you are or leave,” Brian said impassionately, eyes burrowing into Freddie’s.

Freddie could only wipe at a few stray tears, trying his very best to keep collected. He knew all along they’d support him. These were the greatest friends he’d ever had. And yet he was still so scared. Scared to tell them and scared of what was to come.

“So, Fred, what can we do to help you?” Brian finished, a hand resting atop of Freddies shaking one.

“W-Well...there’s been something I’ve wanted to use for awhile now, but I’m quite afraid of the reactions...”

“Excellent touch, Deacy!” Roger said as he put down the glue gun. John grinned, bowing with the soldering iron.

All four of them sat back to marvel at Freddie’s new cane. It was decked out in rainbow jewels and topped off with a regal crown that had LED’s inside, thanks to John’s handiwork.

Sure, it was impractical for everyday use (his everyday cane was just bedazzled in glittering red stones), but for concerts? It was gorgeous. And it gave Freddie the confidence to get out there and preform, cane in hand. He can last much longer now on stage and once a show’s over, he’s not near collapse.

He uses his cane like a royal scepter and absolutely bothers everyone on stage with it.

As it should be.

#freddie #rheumatoid arthritis #rheumatoid arthritis!freddie #Anonymous

[sunlitroom]

Gotham – s5e02 – Trespassers

As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham:

Did you miss the finale of season 4 and only now tune in?  For anyone who somehow forgot, Jeremiah’s bid to get Bruce to notice him helpfully coincided with Ra’s need to speed Bruce’s destiny along by destroying the city.  Jim helpfully tells us that the city is now up for grabs.  Tabitha made an absolute mess of attempting to get revenge for Butch – going out not only irritating and unsympathetic, but really, really dumb. Barbara wailed. Jim shot Oswald in the leg, for which he has put a bounty on his head. We are reminded that Jeremiah shot Selina – and a nurse with very distinctive eyebrows recommended that Bruce go find the witch.  A lisping big-eyed orphan child pleaded with Jim for help.

As always, long post will be long.  There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot might appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)).  There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism.  Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

We open on the boy, Will, from the last episode.  Jim and Harvey watch from the doorway as he is examined, and fill us in on his situation. His parents were killed in a home invasion and he was taken to a factory, to be a slave alongside lots of other children.  The people responsible are known as the Soothsayers.  

Harvey’s never heard of them before – but can hazard a guess as to the location of the tunnel they’re building near the docks.

Winsome orphan boy begs Detective Gordon to save his friends, because they’ll be punished for his escape.  

Jim and Harvey leave – Jim resolved to go rescue the children.  Harvey reminds him, though, that Oswald has a bounty on his head and he can’t safely leave the station.  Someone appears and tells Jim that there’s a call for him from the mainland

Jim goes to take the call. The voice on the other end tells him that confrontations must be avoided.  Jim tells him to please think of the children.  The voice says that his dedication is admirable but he lacks perspective – he runs the risk of sacrificing many to save a few.  He’s told that it’s the ‘collective opinion’ that he stand down and keep the green zone safe.

Jim protests – and says they need supplies.  The voice says they cannot risk any more pilots.  Jim snaps that they can preserve the lives of a few over many, but he can’t. The conversation is seemingly over and Jim stares consideringly into the distance.

Harvey enters with Lucius. Jim immediately starts to plan a rescue mission. They need to go through the Dark Zone.  Harvey reminds Jim of the ammo situation. Jim says he’ll talk to Barbara. Harvey reminds Jim that she might not be amenable.  Turning to Lucius, Jim asks him to sort out some sort of housing for the children they’ll rescue.  Harvey makes an unhappy face about the general risk of it all.

(An aside – in a desperate bid to extract something of interest from an episode that was pretty turgid.

I know we’re probably not supposed to complicate matters to this extent– but anything this straightforward is boring, so I feel like some over-analytical meta is needed to problematise everything.  

It occurs to me that this desperate time of suffering is maybe the happiest Jim has ever been in Gotham.

St Jim of Gotham.  They love their Jim Gordon.  Detective Gordon can save us.  

He constantly gets to be heroic – Jim Gordon keeping everyone safe, bringing them supplies. His word is law – Harvey and Lucius might pull faces, but they do what they’re told.  He has no boss, no troublesome politics to play.  There’s no awkward shades of grey – just good guys and bad guys.  The voice of authority is just that – a voice – and so perfectly unreasonable and hateable and removed – so absolutely in the wrong.  Hell – Jim should send Jeremiah a bouquet for this.

It’s telling, I think, that when Harvey later spots the candle burning in the abandoned building Jim’s head goes straight to the Wild West.  If you want to sell me that Oswald is enjoying playing benevolent leader over in City Hall, then it must also be accepted that Jim’s equally loving playing Gary Cooper at GCPD)  

We hear night time noises and see Bruce at the gates of an abandoned mansion.  He’s looking for the witch.  As he enters the house, we see ivy climbing over the walls.  As he progresses, we see it weapped around statues, and – more alarmingly – twisted around various corpses.

We see movement behind him. Someone has sneaked up on him – but Bruce had spotted them, and easily disarms him.

Are you with her?

What?  I’m not sure why Gotham went with characters from a Hammer Horror  - but, whatever.  It’s all corduroy waistcoats, flat caps, and English accents.

Basically – they’ve decided Ivy is a witch who can talk to plants and knows magic and can take souls.  They’ve trapped her in a windowless room with no food or water, and salted the floor. Eventually, they’re going to burn her. A few months of isolation and apparently parts of Gotham have turned into small superstitious English hamlets from the eighteenth century.  There’s terrible doings up at the manor!  His Lordship’s up to no good!

Bruce quickly makes up a story about a missing brother.  Credulous villager from another film says he’ll let Bruce talk to Ivy.  Bruce shines a torch into the room – and we see a sleeping Ivy. She’s wearing a sequinned jumper that also impressively manages to look like slimy moss.

Hello Ivy

At Sirens, where people are eating and drinking and generally having a good time.  Barbara, meantime, swigs from a bottle at the bar.

Jim enters.  We see there are lots of other men there.  Jim tries to make small talk about how busy the bar is.  Barbara points at his head and reminds him of Oswald’s bounty.  She asks if he’s out for one last hurrah.  Jim says he wants a favour.

Barbara laughs

A favour?  That’s why you stood back and did nothing while my best friend on this earth was stabbed through the heart?

(Best friend.  Best friend.  Wow.)

Jim protests weakly that he put Oswald down – but Barbara shrieks, eyes bulging with rage.

You restored his limp - he should be dead!

Jim takes what I think the Marquise de Mertueil described as ‘a marital tone’, and delivers an admonishing

Barbara

On this – Barbara starts shrieking

Everybody out!

Jim asks if she’s planning revenge.  Barbara retorts that

Someone has to do something about that freak

(An aside - Again with the ‘freak’ word.  It really does nothing to make her more likeable.  Also – the only things she could pair with it in the warehouse were the fact that Oswald has a beaky nose and a limp.  That’s all it takes for Barbara to decide you’re a freak. Writers - if you want to cultivate any sympathy whatsoever for Barbara and her lost ‘best friend’ – it’s perhaps best not to remind the audience that they’re both beautiful entitled rich girls who looked right down their noses at almost everyone else who failed to fit that description.)

Jim tells her he has an army – it would be suicide.  Barbara angsts it up and tells him to look around – they’re all slowly dying.  Some get to choose how.  I think this is meant to be about how she’d choose to die killing Oswald – but all it does is remind you that Tabitha most definitely opted for her fate – and renders it all less than sympathetic again

Jim tells her he’s sorry about Tabitha, and that things got out of control.  What things?  When she ran into a warehouse filled with Oswald’s men and a bunch of ammunition?

He goes on to say he’s trying to keep the city from falling apart. Barbara stares back at him and tells him he’s too late.  Jim frowns.

She goes on – though, and asks him about the favour.  He asks for trucks.  She asks what for – and Jim stodgily replies that it’s a police matter.  Barbara laughs at the absurdity of it – catapulted back to the compartmentalising days of their engagement – and says they could write that on his tombstone.

She caves, though, and gives him the trucks.  She then bizarrely screams after him, though

Knock yourself out - drive into the nightmare you created.  Here he comes, Gotham – your judge, gaoler, most hated son. Have at him - rip him to shreds.  No-one deserves to die more than he!

So don’t give him the trucks, then.  Make your mind up, Barbara.

Her lip wobbles and she drinks again.  I’d give it a rest, Barbara – that was mental.  You’re one drink away from a self-indulgent karaoke song.

Jim and Harvey drive through the city – specifically under a bridge, where we can see bodies hanging. Apparently, this area was a cesspool before – but is now even worse.  People dressed in gothy, skull-heavy outfits suddenly appear alongside them, flinging Molotov cocktails and firing arrows.

Welcome to the Badlands.

We’re at the location the place Will mentioned, where there’s child slave labour overseen by some tools in gasmasks.   One complains that the oldest boy we see – Gabriel – allowed Will to escape.  He thought Gabriel had promise – and offers a chance to inhale whatever is in his mask for energy or to see the future.

He then witters on about the tunnel they’re building that will give them exclusive access to the mainland for trade.  Until the situation is resolved.  Or, you know, someone just comes in and takes it from them.

Gabriel points out that the tunnel is too narrow.  Progress is slow, the roof is leaking, and it’ll collapse when they hit the river.

Beardy gasmask guy gets cross at this.  He had high hopes for Gabriel.  He points his gun at him, but is disturbed by one of his minions telling him to get out front.

Outside – we see trucks parked.  Beardy irritably asks who was on watch.  One of your tedious stoner mates?

Put your weapons down

Is that the James Gordon?

We get western-style music

Beardy comments that if they kill him they’ll get bullets and be in Oswald’s good graces.  They draw guns – but are surrounded by GCPD. There’s a bit of back and forth – but Jim takes his keys, and goes into the building, telling Harvey to kill him if he moves.

The children all stare adoringly at Jim.  He gives the keys to Gabriel, who starts to release all the other children’s manacles/cuffs/whatever.  It was a pretty tooth-rotting moment.

Outside, leader man asks Harvey why he’d be a cop in this town.  Harvey says the costume shop was out of gas masks – so it was either this or sexy nurse.

As they talk – the leader’s eye flits to one of his men, creeping up.  There’s a disagreement that quickly turns into a full rammy.  Most of the children escape in the trucks – but Jim, Harvey, Gabriel and two little girls are left fleeing on foot.

Back at the mansion, Bruce approaches Ivy.  She seems relieved – asking for his help. She says she didn’t kill the men in the vines – it’s the park. The trees, plants, roots – speaking to one another. The men came to kill her – but the plants saved her

Bruce tells her that he needs help for a friend who was shot – not naming Selina. The nurse directed him to The Witch – and here he is.  Ivy said she would usually help – but this park is behaving so oddly.

We hear a knock at the door – jaunty waistcoat villager.  Bruce asks him to wait. Ivy says there’s a magical seed under the oak – she’ll help him find it if he protects her.

Back at the Library, Ed wakes up.  He's chained himself down – and is exultant that it seems to have stopped his sleep walking.

Doesn’t he…. have the key? Jfc, Ed.

He unlocks the padlock and gets up, heading to the bathroom

No

Why am I seeing this?

I don't need Ed peeing

As he relieves himself – he talks to himself in the mirror about how the sleepwalking was likely just stress.  

We hear grunting from somewhere else in the room.  Ed pulls back the shower curtain, and finds a burly biker man tied up in the bath.  

Ed looks away, back into the mirror and tells himself there’s nothing there – laughing hysterically. His laughing fades and he closes his eyes.

He pulls back the shower curtain again – this time wielding a plunger.  Without washing his hands.

He asks the biker who the hell he is.  The biker is massively disgruntled.

Are you serious?

Ed admits he doesn’t remember.  The man’s name is apparently Tank.  He’s part of the Street Demons gang.Ed asks if he hit him, etc.  Tank is still sullen – and says Ed wanted information, but he wouldn’t give it.  Ed eyes him

I’m gonna guess you gave it to me

Oo-er, missus.

Ed says he can't remember the info – so they’ll have to do it all again, and hauls him out of the bath.

Jim and co running through the streets, hunted.  Shooting Oswald was dumb, Jim.  I know he’ll forgive you shortly – but it’s inconvenient in the meantime.

They run into a nearby building.  Harvey points to the candle burning, and warns that someone else is there.  Jim’s all caught up in the romance of his sheriff fantasy, and says that settlers in the Old West would sometimes leave a candle burning as a sign of sanctuary.  Maybe there’s still good people left in Gotham

Harvey raises an eyebrow at this romanticism, and then complains when Jim sends him to search the basement in this creepy hotel.  Jim meanwhile heads upstairs.  The children are left behind – and we see a shadowy figure pass behind them, looking sort of Victorian.

(An aside because this episode is boring – it’s odd how our collective imagination heads straight to Victorian stuff when it comes to ghosts)

Jim walks along the upper floor.  It’s a nice, creepy atmosphere.  There’s a room with a flickering bulb.  Jim offers a very tentative GCPD.  A small boy dressed in a school uniform runs out.  Jim reassures him.

Harvey in the basement, which is actually a proper kitchen like you would get in a big old house. Less traditional are the containers on the table containing jewellery, glasses, teeth, and fingers.

Harvey starts to quietly panic.  He’s then accosted by the masked Victorian woman wielding a razor, and starts to loudly panic.

Jimmmm!

Back at the library, Ed hits the biker in the face.  Am I expected to believe Ed was able to overpower this guy?  

He caves and passes the info – which is pretty pedestrian: Ed wanted to know where the Street Demon base was and whether their boss, Emmanuel Vazquez, would be there.

Ed asks the man what his demeanour was like last night.  Was he confident, flamboyant, charismatic?  Or a little repressed? Conservative?  Nerdy?

The man says he seemed stiff – in a daze.  Ed digests this, and then they leave.

Back at Ivy's impromptu 60s horror film.  Bruce leaves the room with a faux terrified Ivy.  Bruce tells the villagers to stay calm – he’ll take responsibility for her. Ivy promptly kills them all.

She turns to him – a hand on his throat – and tells him he’s utterly naïve.  Bruce says she didn’t have to kill them, but she replies that she wanted to.

Bruce stares balefully at her.  He tells her the friend he’s here for is Selina – she’s paralysed and has lost the will to live.  Ivy glares back at him.

Good.  That bitch destroyed the last drop of Lazarus water.  Let her suffer

Bruce says he doesn’t believe her.  Ivy avoids answering him like Jim has avoided awkward discussions about killing Oswald. She tells him she wasn’t lying about the park.  She’s been feeding it corpses.  It consumes them then flourishes.  She says she’ll plant Bruce.  What will grow, she wonders.

He tells her those men she killed were right.  She’s a murderous, callous witch. She smiles

Trying to bait me, boy?

Bruce says he wouldn’t waste his breath.  There’s no good left in her.  The park isn’t beautiful and colourful and flourishing.  It smells of death.  

Ivy doesn’t like this. She purses her lips and tells him it’s a work in progress. Bruce says it’s a nightmare.  She looks at him, and says if she helps him, he’s to leave her alone.  They leave for the garden.

Back with Jim and the kid from the room

(An aside – it struck me here that the pacing in this episode felt really off.  This should have been tense – but we spent too long with Ed and Bruce, and now we’ve lost a lot of tension.)

The boy tells Jim that his parents are dead – the woman here found him – the ghost.  She was kind at first.

They’re interrupted by Harvey. He says that there’s a crazy woman here. Jim tells the boy that they’ll protect him.  As they start to run, the boy says she makes him call her mother.

They head into a room off the corridor, but the boy slips out and shuts Jim and Harvey in.  We see the lights in the room flicker and strobe. The boy, stone-faced on the other side of the door tells them

The lights will make you dizzy.  Then fall asleep.  You won't feel a thing

Harvey starts to fold. Jim kicks at the door.  The boy calls that he should give into it.  As he does, we see the woman behind him, and she slashes out at him with her razor.

There’s a scuffle. Harvey smashes the window – allowing light into the room.  Her mask falls off, and the ghostliness is all gone.  She screeches at Jim – she’s the only mother the boy knows.  Harvey tells her she’s a crazy bitch – but she protests that she’s protecting him: she taught him how to survive.

She also manages to kick and slash Jim, and makes her escape.

At the biker hideout, which is apparently deserted.  As we look round, though, we see lots of stabbed bikers – including the boss.  Tank asks if Ed does this, to which Ed honestly responds that he can’t remember

Turning, we see a really boringly painted message on the wall

Penguin was here.

The biker growls: Penguin did this

Ed looks dubious.  I think not

Tank replies that whoever it was, someone started a war

Back at Ivy’s park.  She reaches into the earth as Bruce watches and extracts a seed.  It looks incredibly gross.  

She hands it to Bruce. He asks her if that’s human blood that it’s coated in.  She tells him that if Selina ingests it, it will find the way to the wound.  Bruce asks if it will cure her.  Ivy shrugs. Everyone responds differently.  The only thing that’s sure is that she’ll be altered forever – the darker angels of her nature unlocked and set free.  You very rarely see that one listed in the side-effect section of the information pamphlet.

She asks if Selina can live with it, then eyes him shrewdly and asks if he can.  Bruce tells her he doesn’t know any other way.  Ivy smiles – and tells him to go then, give her the seed. She adds that he still doesn’t know if he can trust her.  Bruce agrees and she replies.

Good – you’re finally becoming a man

Bruce asks where she’ll go, and she says that’s none of his business.  He needs to hurry: the seed will die if exposed to the air for too long.

(An aside - if I desperately scrabble to get more fro this episode - I could say that there’s maybe a Jim and Bruce parallel.  Jim’s doing good - but he’s definitely getting something from what he’s doing now.  Bruce’s actions are to save Selina - but also to salve his own guilt at how she ended up shot in the first place) 

Back at the haunted hotel, Harvey and Jim run downstairs and usher the children out.  As they do, Harvey turns to Jim

Not everyone wants help, Jim Gordon

They run out into the street.  We get a slightly too loud bit of dialogue between Harvey and Jim to let us know that Jim only has two bullets left. It had a real look out for snakes! quality.

The soothsayers and the goths show up.  There’s a standoff where they both have guns pointed at Jim – both keen to collect the bounty.

Bruce is back in the ward. Alfred tells her that Selina’s not great – hasn’t uttered a word since he left.  Bruce tells him the witch is actually Ivy.  Alfred looks dubiously at the seed – which does look really nasty.

Bruce says it might help. Alfred says Ivy is a maniacal cold-hearted killer

Selina suddenly pipes up

Give it to me

Bruce says he has doubts. Selina says that she’s suicidal anyway – so if Ivy wants to kill her, she can have at it.  Bruce hands her the pill.  She asks if she’s just to swallow it, and then does so without hesitation. Bravo, Selina.  That seed looked gross.

They watch. She exhales

Still here

Alfred laughs.

Selina says she knows Ivy has lost her mind – but Selina found her when she was first on the street, after her parents died.  It was a cold winter – and Ivy got really sick. Selina took her under her wing: showed her how to find food, a roof.  Eventually she got colour in her face – and Selina kept checking in with her every day.

I know she looks old now – but she'll always be that little girl to me

Alfred and Bruce look fondly at her – but as they do, she starts to sweat and convulse.  Doctors and nurses rush in, and Alfred holds Bruce back

My God.  What have I done?

Back at the standoff. This is really unforgiveably boring.

Blah blah  - Jim has two bullets.  Basically, Barbara arrives before things can go very wrong.  She’s had a change of mind since their chat.  Beardy guy takes aim at her from the ground, but Jim shoots him.  Barbara comments that it must be love, since it was his last bullet.

She steps closer and tells him to

Help me do what needs doing - kill Penguin

(An aside -I’m so very done with this stupid notion that Oswald is the big problem in town.  It makes absolutely no sense.  If anything, the only reason we don’t have all-out gang warfare is because there’s not enough ammunition to go round, because Oswald has a grip on it.  As for the notion that Barbara is somehow better – she’s hoarding food and drink to run a brothel while there’s not enough to go round.  If they show doesn’t make clear later that Barbara’s stance is entirely personal and irrational, I’m going to be very grumpy.)

Jim says they’ll table this discussion for later.

(An aside.  Barbara.  Harvey. Jim is not going to kill Oswald. If you don’t know this by now, then you haven’t been paying attention.  He didn’t do it to placate Falcone. He didn’t do it to string Theo Galavan along and get a conviction. He didn’t do it to guarantee silence after Theo’s murder. He didn’t do it when Oswald’s actions threatened to disrupt his work with the Court of Owls.  He didn’t do it when he was apparently all darkness and rage with the Tetch virus. He didn’t do it at the bequest of Sofia Falcone, and he didn’t do it most recently, when the city is a wasteland and Oswald controls virtually all the weaponry.  It’s a no, guys.   If he changes his mind on this, then it’s an ooc swizz.)

In the Green Zone - where the lighting is all idyllic.  Lucius shows off the new lodgings he’s found/created.  It’s not ideal – but it’s better than anywhere else. Citizens are gathering, and it’ll be full by lunchtime.

A woman approaches with her children to thank Jim for delivering them.  Barbara rolls her eyes and leaves – calling over her shoulder:

See you around, killer.  We have unfinished business

I have to ask – is anyone invested in this?  Anyone?

Back with Selina.  The doc says whatever she took put her into shock – but she’s now stabilised.  Bruce looks solemn.  There’s a statue of Jesus behind him.  Hi Jesus!

Alfred says they should go. He walks on, but Bruce lingers to peek in, and is shocked to see Selina’s bed empty and the window open.  He rushes in and looks out the window.  Selina walks up behind him

Bruce says it's a miracle. Selina’s eyes are closed, and she smiles beatifically.  She says she feels no no pain.  Bruce says he thought he’d killed her, but Seline says she’s even better than before.

They hug, and over Bruce’s shoulder, we see Selina open her eyes – which momentarily look just like a cat’s eyes.

General Observations

Ugh.  With a couple of exceptions, that was a slog.

No Oswald at all.  I’m not sure why this would be the case – but the episode palled badly without him.  If it’s to try and easily paint him as a flat villain in his absence, it failed.  Life in Gotham is mind-bendingly boring without him.

Ed

It’s not that I’m not interested in Ed, but there’s not really much need for interpretation or further examination for what’s going on.  It’s either part of his own subconscious (we’ve seen that this can happen with Ed), or something to do with Hugo’s tinkering.  I’m not quite sure why I feel a sort of weird lack of tension with this plotline, but there it is.

Barbara

Likewise – Barbara’s revenge plot is really just tiresome.  I will admit to being nakedly biased towards Oswald, but even if that weren’t the case - it’s hard to feel real sympathy here.  Babs – Oswald didn’t invade Sirens, seek Tabitha out and then stab her in the heart.  She went looking for him, and then left him with no other options.  Not only that – but she was fully aware that getting revenge for Butch meant leaving you alone.  Last, but not least: She.  Murdered. His.  Mother. I know the big female solidarity thing really only extends to women 18-40 who can turn a profit for you – but still.  Take a moment to think this over.

Look I get that it’s easier for her to be angry at Oswald than it is to be angry at Tabitha – but it’s still a bit tedious.  A lot tedious.

Jim

As previously discussed, there’s more meat to Jim’s story right now – but I’ve no idea whether it’s intentional.  I’m sure Jim does genuinely care about the citizens who need help.  However, Jim is also loving this.  All that murky stuff from the past is gone.  Here, he’s Big Jim Gordon, the heroic sheriff in a Wild West town.  His deputies do what he says, and Miss Kitty who runs the brothel can help out when needed.  Big-eyed children rush to him for help, mothers thank him, and he gets to rush headfirst into fights outgunned whenever he wants.  

I’m not sure where that fancy-dressed guy with the European name and the limp fits in to his story, but maybe Jim’s watched more Westerns than I have.

Hopefully this might head in a more complicated direction.  A couple of the scenes with Jim and the children seemed deliberately too saccharine. Harvey warned him that not everyone wants his help.   Let’s see where things go.

Jim and Barbara

I remember, way back when, commenting that the lack of real closure between Jim and Barbara felt unrealistic.  Jim’s serious-minded and quite traditional (or seemed so at that point, anyway).  He and Barbara were engaged to be married – church booked and dress bought, as Barbara told us.  The relationship did have had its problems: Barbara was depressed and day drinking, while Jim was busily emulating his father and compartmentalising like crazy – but it always felt like they would have more definitively closed the chapter, as opposed to just moving on like it was a short-term relationship.  I think what we’re seeing here is basically unfinished business being played out. Probably better for it to play out with the help of contraceptives, but hey, we know where they’ve decided to go with this.

Again - if you want to make it more problematic in a desperate bid to make things more interesting - killing Tabitha, having Barbara trade in ‘information’ instead of all out violence, masking what goes on in Sirens, putting a nice white coat on her: it’s all to ‘purify’ her character to make her suitable for the pregnancy storyline later.  Not too, pure, though.  My guess is she’ll die nobly at some point, and Lee will wind up raising the baby with Jim.

Recaps are a lot faster and easier when there’s no Oswald and the episode is a bit lacklustre.

Thoughts?

#gotham commentary #gotham s5e02 #trespassers

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Does It Come in White 06/13

“I was admiring how different your office looks when it isn’t sprinkled with blood and knives.” Lebeaux Desrosiers mused as he looked down at the pillow on the floor. With a long-suffering sigh he set about the task of folding too-long legs under himself and trying to find a comfortable way to sit in boots and breeches that weren’t made for that kind of bending. “ ’We have business’ as in you have a lead on my requested items, or you have a task for me?”

"Neither." Ryoko Kasai gestures around. "This is what message I send ta people tryin' ta kill me. They ain't changin' a damn thing." She gestures towards Lebeaux. "I'm pretty sure they're sendin' another assassin at me, an' when they do, I want info from him. Might need yer help with that. But not fer now. No, fer right now, here's th' deal. I don't got yer thumbscrews, an' it's provin' ta be a fuckin' bitch an' a half ta get any info on whatever this 'Inquisition' is. But what I do got is a few other products might interest ya."

“But of course, yet even if I’m not performing medical services it will still count towards our agreed terms.” Lebeaux pointed out, whether he was healing or harming it all shook out the same in the end. Even better if he had a chance to do both. He took a moment to smooth his cravat into proper order. “I see. How disappointing. I was hoping for an authentic set but I suppose there are limits to even your reach. I’ll make other arrangements.” He slid glasses up his nose. “Yet I am curious to see what other products you have around.”

"I don't got a lotta contacts throughout th' West, an' Ishgard in particular's hard ta break through with. Shitty fuckin' border laws. Th' fuck even is up with that place." Ryoko shrugs. "Anyway. How would ya feel about a few other tools ta help ya get info outta people? Or maybe somethin' that's real good self-defense when people don't realize yer armed th' whole time?"

Lebeaux moved from the cravat to adjust the lapels of his coat next, his smile serene all the while. “I suspect they’re something of collectors’ items now. It’s unlikely many of the Tribunal’s tools remained after the shift in focus.” A shoulder rolled in a small shrug as he smiiiiled at Ryoko. “I wasn’t aware I was in need of self-defense.” He began, his tone cooling considerably. “I was under the impression that aligning myself with the Golden Fox and the Kasai-Gumi would grant me some measure of protection despite being an ‘ijin’.” He leaned forwards, placing his hands lightly on the edge of the desk. “Imagine my shock to find my very employer is arming those I would need to defend myself against.” He noted pointedly.

"I sell ta everyone with money that ain't pissed me off directly. Whatcha talkin' about in particular?" Ryoko shrugs. "Th' nature a' protection is I ain't got people surroundin' ya all day every day 'less ya move in on my property, an' as much as we'll kill anyone kills ya, sometimes ya got people who don't care about that. What I got fer ya, it'll solve that little problem real, real quick."

Lebeaux sniffed indignantly at that. “I’m talking about the needles you provided Daijiro Satake, with full knowledge he was planning to stick me with them.” It was all well and good when he was the one wielding the horrifying medical tools, but if it was anyone else there was a problem. “I suspect you think that was rather funny, shall I jab you with a few red-hot needles and see how you care for it?” While it may have been a threat it was said in a manner more akin to pouting than any real anger.

Ryoko tilts her head. "He said they were fer acupuncture." She shrugs. "Ya want me ta not sell things ta people who wanna help ya? I figured it might a' relaxed ya. I take it it didn't? He wanted hot and cold, both. So I got him a set. Hot then cold then hot, feels real nice." She grins. "Or are ya gettin' uppity over somethin' ya don't understand?"

“It did not ‘feel real nice’.” He corrected a bit sharply. “It felt like being skewered with burning hot metal while rambling on some nonsense about balancing natural elements. If that’s some effort to understand the humours I could understand full well but such literal approaches-“ He exhaled slowly and lifted a hand from the table to smooth a section of his bangs back into order. “It’s of no matter now. I simply wish to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

"Well, I recommend that if ya don't want it ta happen again, ya don't let 'im do acupuncture. Real simple." She shrugs. "It's helped me, before. Maybe he's just bad at it."

Lebeaux was silent for a moment after that. His head tilted somewhat but he did manage to keep his smile in place. “Of course. So simple. Any roads. You were going to show me your latest marvels in defense for the gentleman about town.”

"I am!" She beams. "So let's say someone sticks ya up, or otherwise threatens ya. They already got a weapon drawn. Ya ain't got time ta draw yer sword, they'd stab ya before ya got the chance. Ya know what ya DO got time fer?"

Lebeaux folded gloved fingers together on the table, his smile slightly flattened in the middle where he had pursed his lips. Yet he didn’t interrupt at the salespitch began, simply stared down his nose at the au ra. “Aetherically searing their flesh from their bones?” He suggested flatly.

"Without a focus? What if they've got a mage with 'em, eh? They'd notice ya castin', wouldn't they?"

“Very true, nothing messier than a quick-draw competition amongst mages. Do go on.”

"Now, look at you. Yer th' most obvious goddamn mage in th' world. Anyone tryin' ta hold ya up, they'd expect magic. Ya know what they wouldn't expect?"

Lebeaux smiled vacantly at Ryoko. Letting the silence hang for a few moments to see if it was purely rhetorical or if audience participation was truly expected for this portion. A dark brow quirked. “What wouldn’t they expect.” He finally offered.

Ryoko reaches under her desk - pulling out what was, apparently, stuck beneath it - a small hand cannon. "Somethin' small enough it'll comfortably fit on yer sleeve. I got a new slide system I made, ya can rig a series a' different triggers if ya want - I think I can make an aetheric one, if ya want fancy, but right now it's a simple motion trigger. Either way, dumbass mugs ya, you reach down fer yer wallet, then WHAM. Gun in yer hand blasts dumbass ta th' next century." 

The smile perked up slightly from its deflated state as a small pistol was produced. He reached over to pick it up, inspecting the snub-nose barrel and petite grip. His hand was far larger than Ryoko’s making the gun seem even tinier. “I’ve only shot dueling pistols before, this is similar then?”

"It ain't accurate, but it won't be somethin' ya try ta shoot someone far away with. It fires a hell of a blast, guaranteed ta liquefy anyone less than ten fulms away from ya ya point it at. Comes with two rounds. Should punch through anything less armored than a Reaper, though I ain't tested it against th' highest-end Garlean armor. Can confirm it tears through one a' their footsoldiers' kits like it's paper, though."

Lebeaux turned the gun over, inspecting it carefully before he set it down on the desktop. “It’s certainly impressive how that much power can be packed into such a small weapon, but all in all guns are a bit vulgar for day-to-day usage.” It certainly tiny and adorable, but he wasn’t sure about having that much bang hidden up his sleeve. “And it seems rather excessive to deal with one, tiny pest.”

"If it's a gang, that makes th' rest flee or at th' least open ta negotiation. It'll draw attention so people tryin' ta attack ya would flee before too many witnesses show. An' as fer firearms bein' vulgar, yer behind th' times. What's /real/ vulgar is when ya get shivved in th' ribs an' yer guts spill onto th' street." She grins a wicked grin. "An' hey, I got other models. Smaller calibre, quieter, even smaller gun. It's all about havin' somethin' on hand yer enemies won't see comin'."

Lebeaux tilted his head somewhat, reaching for the pistol again and turning it over. “I can appreciate the need for such a thing.” He agreed, tracing fingers along the lines of the weapon. “Small enough to be concealed easily with enough stopping power to discourage the unsavory elements this place is all but crawling with. But…” He laced fingers together and seemed to be searching for the right way to say it. “It would clash with my attire. Don’t you have something a little… nicer looking.” After all, he had An Aesthetic to maintain.

@safestsephiroth 

#lebeaux #ryoko #kasaigumi #lebeaux has questionable priorities #probably should be concerned she's giving him a firearm

[optimisticcritique]

Gotham 4x22 - Review

Better late than never? I had a fever when watching this so...we’ll see how this goes. 

Intense scene. “Promise?” I doubt she will die but this breaks my heart. Poor Selina :(

I have a hunch Bruce won’t be able to keep that promise.

All the cops giving Jeremiah the death stare.

“We couldn’t talk with his girlfriend bleeding all over him” Hmm...well, maybe you shouldn’t have shot her then?

“I am a very good engineer” So modest. I’m curious how well he would get along with Ed :P

Jeremiah’s obsession with Bruce never seizes to amaze me. Such a contrast to Jerome. Jerome wanted Bruce to suffer and die, Jeremiah wants Bruce to suffer and then become dark as he joins him.

Hugo Strange! They skipped finding him and threatening him and went straight to this!

I’m surprised Hugo automatically knows how to cure him. Has this happened before? Is there another Grundy running around?

This is not going to work out well for them. No couple gets a happy ending in Gotham. 

“What? No, she’s in surgery. I’m going to go kill Jeremiah!” Haha well, that figures. You go, Tabby! I do love how much she cares for Selina. She has such a heart for her.  

I am suspicious of what Oswald will do when Tabitha leaves. He’s being too nice. I sense betrayal.

Well, hello Ra’s. That’s not creepy at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if that is how he meets his best friends. 

And another mayor bites the dust. At what point will people refuse to become mayor and they’ll have to draw names out of a hat to make someone take the role?

The way violence seems to un-faze Jeremiah. It’s like a punch to the face or a push to the wall means nothing.

Arrest Jim? Well, that’s a little extreme for disagreeing. 

“It’s polite to let people finish” Yeah Jim, he has barely gotten to give riddles this season. Don’t ruin it!

“RISE AND SHINE! Good morning sweetheart” First off, the sweetheart ;) Second, I will not be surprised if people start setting this as their ringtones. 

“Remember when you punched me in the face?” *slaps him dramatically* Wow, even his slaps are extra. 

“We are a little pressed for time” *laughs at his own joke* ...wow, this is probably the most relatable Ed has ever been.  

Ed with his long and extreme ways of killing someone. 

I hate the motive but I do love seeing Ed go full on like this :)

So...does Ra’s really turn out the lights for dramatic effect? Is there someone working for him that turns it off? Ra’s: ready? go! Man: *turns off light* Ra’s: *fights people* Man: *turns it back on* Me: Bet he’s fun at parties.

Some of his power is off? Hmm...I still don’t understand the whole point of this Babs and the painting of the look alike. 

This all just points to Ra’s totally trying to use her for the power. 

What? This guy doesn’t even care anything about Jim at all? I mean, I know he isn’t exactly priority but still...

“Closer Please. Closer” I just expect him to keep saying this until they are face to face. 

Destined as best friends? Well, you’re destined as something alright...

The wink XD With his bad eye, no less

I sincerely doubt that was the only bomb that was planted.

The way Jeremiah talks about Selina. Savage! 

Wow, Lee is acting so calm about this. 

“I am going to decide who I am going to be. Not you, not Jim Gordon.” Yes! Love it.

Lee is totally manipulating Ed by pretending not to care if Ed kills him so that she saves Jim’s life. It’s too obvious.

“She chose me” Umm not exactly Ed. 

“One question: who do I get to kill?” Oh, Oswald, strutting in and ready to fight. He just couldn’t stay away. 

Alfred, Babs, Tabby, and Oswald all working together? I love it!

Better hope Ed isn’t secretly listening to all this. 

Honestly, at this point, I want Lee to be done with these romances. I just want her to be happy and independent for awhile.

Basically, Ra’s and his plan is “meh” to Jeremiah. He’s just all in it for Bruce. 

“The brother I never had” “...together” aww how twistedly sweet of you. 

Oh, so now he cares what happened when Jim was taken? 

Just listen to Jim! 

I love seeing the GCPD being so loyal. They have come a long way. 

The demon’s head not working I guess is the convenient way to explain how they all get the drop on him.

Ha! I love how Oswald is the only one screaming as he shoots the gun, while everyone else just runs in. Honestly, it wouldn’t be an episode of Gotham if he didn’t. 

Wait, Oswald shot Jeremiah and saved Tabby? I’m just...that seems so weirdly nice. This is the same person that murdered his mother and yet he’s doing this. Not like they would let Tabby die though. Is that the surprising thing for RLT? Him saving her? My memory of the interview is so vague all of sudden. No...it has to be a bad thing. This can’t be it. 

Are you kidding me? They stab and kill him again? I mean, I never LOVED Ra’s but he was barely even alive! 

That grin on Jeremiah. I oddly love how devilish it looks. 

*Lee stabs Ed* What?! Oh, I did not see this coming. *Ed stabs Lee* Double stabbing! That one I was expecting. 

Seriously? A kiss now? 

So, in 4x14, Ed almost killed himself so that he wouldn’t try to kill Lee...now here we have Lee and Ed trying to kill each other. How poetic.

Whoa! Butch is back! ...Is he about to die? 

I’m kind of sad by how kind of shallow it is that Tabby doesn’t say “I love you” until he is back to being Butch. Also a bit sad by how confusing the relationship status is with Babs/Tabby too.  

*Oswald shoots him* Wow, he actually did it!

“Did you think I forgot that you murdered my mother?” Oh my god... YES. I mean, it’s sad that Butch is dead and I love Drew but like...I was just thinking about how Tabby killed Gertrude ...And I love callbacks way too much. 

Wow. So, he waited and planned to get her back for two seasons. This is some crazy stuff. Impressively ingenious. 

Hey, when did Oswald get the new henchmen?

*pans on Butch’s dead body* :( So sad...is that a tear rolling down his cheek? Was Butch crying? (UPDATE: It is very possible that was Drew crying from it being his last scene and now if that is a tear, this scene is even sadder.)

So, Selina won’t be able to walk? Surely this won’t last...at least I wouldn’t think. Unless they are going for something different.

Yes! You go, Bruce! It’s sad that you are leaving Selina but I love this. Be the dark knight! I hope this means Bruce will be the one to fight Penguin, Riddler, Jeremiah, Mr. Freeze, Scarecrow, and other new rogues next season. 

Oh yes!!! Love the new digs for Penguin.��

All these rogues carving up their territory. The montage, the costumes, the music. I love this so much. Why must season 5 be so short and be in 2019? 

Savage Jon! Scarecrow got a new hat! I like :)

“Penguin says fix ‘em” Wait...Ed and Lee? Did they die? First, the thought of Penguin going straight to Ed after all this mess and refusing to accept Ed’s death makes me very happy. Second, oh my god! What is that smirk, Strange? What are you going to do? 

Is she about to blame Penguin for everything? Ah, men...I mean, she has had a rough go with men so I guess I can see where her understanding goes.

Yay! Harvey and Foxy are staying :) 

I didn’t even realize Jeremiah got away. Sneaky!

The future bat signal! I love it. 

“I stayed to fight for the city” ...Wow. I was half expecting Jim to disapprove. Guess he knows it’ll be pointless and Bruce would just do whatever he wants anyway. 

Manbat! Sweet. Hello mother, how are you? Wow, brutal.

Part of me is excited, the other part is hoping all of this won’t be too much in the final season. 

Season 1 callback to their first meeting. “There is light” Love it :’)

Overall: Wow! What an episode! I loved it. Crazy to think that this is the last one for about a year but it definitely left an exciting impression.

Jeremiah was fun and had some great interactions with Bruce. Really building up that relationship in the past few episodes, which was nice. Overall, he’s great. However, I do still wish they could have introduced him sooner. We didn’t get to see enough. My hope is that we see plenty more of him next season.

Not a lot of Selina in this episode. Nice homage though. I’m curious where this story will take her, now that she is currently paralyzed.  

The Oswald/Butch thing was sad. I mean, I’m sad for Butch and I love Drew so it sucks. Drew is an amazing actor and I will miss his presence very much. Also, no Grundy :/ That being said, it was a surprise reveal and callback that I did not see coming. I’m so used to so many shows always forgetting plot points or being so serial. So, any time that a show does a callback, I love it. It reminds me that the writer's actually remembered their work and that the characters think about their past. And, for someone that murdered a man for insulting Gertrude’s singing in S1, it would be odd for Oswald to just forget about Tabby murdering Gertrude. The writers found a way to keep Oswald in character while also keeping Tabitha alive, only they had to sacrifice Butch and push the Butch/Tabby relationship a bit in order to do it. That kind of leaves me conflicted :/

The whole Lee/Ed thing is...well, I think it is over and they will now focus on their own separate stories, which I prefer at this point. I’m curious what Strange will do to them next season. Doubt it will be anything major physically though. 

Looks like rogues are taking territory, which is awesome! I expect every rogue to go embrace their personas like never before and now fully go up against Bruce. There’s also a few other rogues they are going to slip in, which will be fun. 

All around, there is a lot to look forward to. Wanted to make this review a bit extra long, since it was the final one of the season. I wanted to cover some of the main things that I enjoyed. There were a few things that left me conflicted, like Ed/Lee stuff, Butch dying, and Ra’s dying AGAIN, but I still really loved the episode. Can’t wait to see what is next!     

Previous Review: 4x21

#gotham #gotham 4x22 #oswald cobblepot #jeremiah valeska #optimisticcritique gotham review

[luckyredeyes]

Headcanons: Scars (2)

Not that they’re going to stop his annual “sun’s out, guns out” summer tradition, but Joey’s got lots of scars up and down his arms and shoulders.

The smallest and faintest is from where he fell out the kitchen window at age 2 and landed in front of the basement window. (Nobody’s fault — he was getting into EVERYTHING when he was a toddler). Apart from breaking his arm, the wrought-iron grate in front of the basement window cut his outer forearm open, below the elbow. Unfortunately for his mother, this meant taking him in for a tetanus shot.

Left arm, over tricep. He was seven and roughhousing with some classmates on the stoop while the school was remodeling their facade. A kid managed to push him backward off the stoop. As luck would have it, there was a stray 4” nail waiting on the ground that nobody noticed until too late. Tetanus shots again.

Right arm, back of wrist. He was nine and he tripped off a subway platform and fell on the tracks. Lucky for him, no train in sight, not due for another five minutes.

Thirteen-sixteen. And about that many scars all up and down his arms. Slashes. None self-inflicted. All from knife fights he was lucky enough to walk away from. Small, round scars here and there. Cigarette burns. Ragged, light lines circling his wrists. Rope burns. Neither the cigarette burns nor rope burns came from an enemy.

Jagged scars on the back of his right shoulder. Broken glass. That’s all he’ll say. Ever.

It’s a miracle that the scarring isn’t worse from the wrath of Ra. (Holy fire? Whatever, it still hurt like a bitch.) The first attack, Ra’s blind wrath at being taken in vain, is most definitely there, and he explains it away as a natural lightning strike. The scarring is faint, but it’s still there. It’s most visible near his shoulders, since the worst of it is along his chest and back. Strangely, there’s almost no evidence of the attack when Ra was in Phoenix form.

No visible evidence, anyway. The damage is done, even if it’ll only show itself in time.

That about covers it. Joey doesn’t have many scars fresher than that. He’s trying to be more careful.

#headcanons

[noenaimusic]

Nightcore- Murder - Lyrics - Song - Boyinaband

Ah Ah Ah I’m looking at you from a distance Mirrored in the glint of my knife Ah Ah Ah It could be over in an instant There within a blink of an eye

Not one for human connections But I feel restless piercing your flesh is the bestest Stabbing every inch of skin with force While screaming to myself “there’s not enough pores yet”

Trace the blade to your stomach push it and it’s bliss Now brace for pain as I twist it Round and round then flick it out like a discus And show nobody’s more vicious than Minx is

So babe, take this virgin blade So far in your back it’ll replace your vertebrae Pull out and watch your back snap Hahahahaha you’re damn right that’s the last laugh

Ah Ah Ah I think one of us is hiding something, hiding something (What does that mean?) One of us is gonna die One of us is gonna die, die (Oh my god!)

Ah Ah Ah I think somebody’s hiding something, hiding something (What does that mean?) One of us will be alive One of us will be alive, -live (Oh my god!)

Ah Ah-Ah Ah- I have you begging on your knees Oh it’s such a pleasing sight Ah Ah-Ah Ah- I know you’re scared but at least It’ll be over before your tears go dry

I can promise it won’t won’t hurt You look hot and tight with that rope burn But know tonight you’re getting broken ‘cause I’m prone to violence and emotion, RA!

Oh, don’t try to escape, it won’t work Just prepare to kiss this knife till your throat hurts While I push it further and further towards your sternum “please don’t let me die here” Well where do you want to be murdered?

Shh Shh, don’t be shy Tell me how you feel What’s it like knowing you’re going to die? I’m ready to commit to you Yeah, cause tonight I’ll be with you for the rest of your life

Ah Ah Ah I think one of us is hiding something, hiding something (What does that mean?) One of us is gonna die One of us is gonna die, die (Oh my god!)

Ah Ah Ah I think somebody’s hiding something, hiding something (What does that mean?) One of us will be alive One of us will be alive, -live (Oh my god!)

I walk in and the air gets Chilled Chaos ensues and the blood gets spilled No subtlety left, step into the room Knife out Next one to move, you’re doomed

“Oh Look who’s brought a knife to a gun fight” “I’ve tracked your crimes for weeks, it comes down to this one night” “No better detective, I’ll show you how it’s done right” “Hah, You’re underestimate what I can do with this blunt knife”

“Ahhh oh my god! I feel the blade on my neck” “Shut up slut, or I’ll cut this vein and you’re dead C’mon mr. detective, shoot me!" “Fill his brain with lead!” “Ok, take a breath, just aim for the head

“Aaaaah, not like this, I got shot in the gut” “Oh no, what have I done? This is all too much” "Oh, that was your chance, (I missed!) what a surprise (no!) Now it’s time to take a guided tour of your insides"

Badum Badum, that’s the sound of a chase Badum Badum, that’s the sound that it makes Badum Badum, then a fatal mistake and Badum Ba - the dum never comes

Badum Badum, that’s the sound of a chase Badum Badum, that’s the sound that it makes Badum Badum, then a fatal mistake and Badum Ba - the dum never comes

Ah Ah Ah I think one of us is hiding something, hiding something (What does that mean?) One of us is gonna die One of us is gonna die, die (Oh my god!)

Ah Ah Ah I think somebody’s hiding something, hiding something (What does that mean?) One of us will be alive One of us will be alive, -live (Oh my god!)

[veloxaraptor]

Training Day (Captain Errol Flynn)

(Lapold Reul belongs to @schrammes-ramblings and is used with permission.)

“Alright maggots, listen up.” Errol strides out, front and center of the troops daily formation. “You've been receiving training under the commander and I for a while now. But that's all pointless if you never get to test the things you've learned. So today, we will have a real, live-fire simulation.”

The troops all side eye one another and a quiet murmur breaks through the ranks. A tic goes off in Errol’s jaw and she immediately calls them all to attention. “Oy! No talking in formation! How many times must we cover this?!” It was true, she had. And each time they messed it up, only served to infuriate her more. “All of you! Drop! Rifles on your hands, give me twenty! The Lieutenant here will keep watch. Any of you screw up and you start back over. As a group. Lieutenant.” She turns to her randomly selected accomplice. “Once they’ve finished their exercise satisfactorily, escort them to the training grounds out back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He offered a snappy salute and Errol marched off, hands clasped at the small of her back.

Half an hour later, the troops began to putter in, looking sweaty and tired. Errol, on the other hand, looked well rested and quite refreshed. She stands up from the random lawn chair she had managed to produce with a clap on her thighs.

“Ah yes, my little gizka. Perhaps next time you’ll remember to keep your trap shut.” She claps her hands together and then gestures to a table full of water bottles. “Hydrate yourselves and take a few moments to catch a breather while I explain today’s training.” Gratefully, the men stampeded over to the table and drank as they turned to focus on their Captain.

Once she was confident she held the men’s attention, she gestured behind her to the open desert where barricades were set up. “Today’s scenario, gentlemen, is a small scale riot. Now, as I am sure you’re aware, sometimes our leaders make decisions that are not popular with the general populace. For example, putting down a group or sect of people because they feel they’re no longer relevant and pose a threat.”

She clenches her fists behind her back and takes a deep breath before continuing. “Other examples are changes to laws, or tax raises that the local populace doesn’t agree with. Sometimes, this causes such dissent, that locals will arm themselves and revolt. They’ll take to the streets, gunning down anyone they perceive as a threat or opposition. Anyone they think is supporting the leadership.” Errol pauses to make sure the men were registering so far. Pleased with their responses, she continued. “It’s in these scenarios which men like you and I are called into action to protect not only the leadership, but the law abiding citizens in harm’s way. So today’s exercise is two fold. One; put down any violent rioters. Two; protect and avoid civilian casualties.

“Things can get pretty hectic.” She continued. “Sometimes you don’t always have a clear shot at a target because they are using a hostage. In that case, you need to use your better judgement. Sometimes it is better to let the target go than risk the life of an innocent bystander. Sometimes it’s not. Today’s trial won’t put you through that, however. Just don’t shoot civilians, yeah?”

With that, she waves the group over. Beyond the barricades which were meant to simulate buildings and kiosks, was an array of droids. Skytroopers, target dummies, and protocol droids. The men seemed a bit confused for a moment and looked towards Errol for explanation.

“Alright, mites. Here’s the scoop. I had some defunct Skytroopers shipped here and repaired with training protocols. The Ras was kind enough to loan us some of his outdated protocol droids, and I bought some training droids. I think they’re defunct HK models…. ANYWAYS.” She claps her hands again. “The Skytroopers represent heavy duty rioters who may take more than a few shots to take down. The training droids are standard folk who are just dumb enough to try and fight with no training. And the protocol droids represent civilians.

“NOW. I have programmed these droids to shoot at you.” There were gasps and murmurs amongst the men. “Oh stop it.” Errol waved a hand. “They’re programmed to shoot weak bolts at you that’ll feel no more painful than a punch. The point is, don’t get shot. If you get hit in the chest or head, you’re down. And I’ll know who because it’ll hurt.”

Errol’s grin widened as a collective gulp rippled through the company. “These barricades represent buildings and kiosks you’d likely encounter out in town. Use them for cover while you wait for an opening. And DONT,” She stressed, “Shoot any civilians. These droids are on loan from the Ras with the strict understanding that any damages will be paid for out of the Commander’s pocket. I really don’t want to deal with his rage when he finds out what I’ve done behind his back if one of those droids get destroyed. Because then I’ll take it out on you.”

“You have two minutes to get into position. Starting… NOW.” And with that, the men scurried off to find a place to hide from incoming fire. Or at least tried. Several ran into one another trying to get to spots, others tried to cram too many into one spot.

By the time the scenario began operating, only three quarters of the company were behind solid cover. Immediately, three individuals were tagged in the head or chest by incoming fire. Errol used the force to pull them to safety while the remainder of the troops continued the exercise.

Several managed to adapt to the situation remarkably well, almost as though they had had training before. Errol made a point of taking note of who they were to pass along to Lapold. Others seemed to struggle, but she hadn’t expected a well oiled machine. This drill was to see where the men stood and what needed to be worked on most. A couple panicked. They had either hid behind cover, cowering the whole time, or would pop up, spray and pray, and then hide again. Errol also took note of who they were, so that she could make recommendations and pull them aside for personal tutoring if necessary.

Finally, at the end of the hour long session, the “rioters” were down, more than half the company had “survived” and only a few “civilians” had tragically lost their lives. Luckily, she had been joking about Lapold having to pay for them. Mostly. Errol was mildly impressed. The company had fared better than she had been expecting, though not as good as she would have liked. Still, she was proud of them and called them all over for post-scenario debrief.

“Alright, everyone. Take a knee and put your safeties on.” She stood in the center as they all formed a half circle around her, ready to listen to what she had to say. “I’m honestly impressed with you lot today. You did much better than I had expected. But you still have a long way to go. So I’m going to address what went wrong first, and how to improve, then tell you all what you did right so we end on a high note. Hmm?

“Now,” Errol had begun when suddenly the sound of a weapon firing echoed through the field. Suddenly, there was a searing pain in the Captain’s gut. It took a moment for her to register what had happened and the congregation sat there silently, looks of pure shock and terror on their faces.

From his office window, Lapold had looked up just in time to see the events unfolding in slow motion. One moment, Errol had been addressing the men, the next, a stray blaster bolt whizzed by and pierced through her abdomen, just below her ribs. He was on his feet in an instant, rushing to the scene.

Errol looked over to where she had suspected the blast had come from, to see a cadet holding his weapon, looking petrified. “I-I’m sorry, Captain. I… I was trying to turn the safety on and hnng--” His words were cut off as Errol reached out with the force and began to choke him.

Finally, the men had snapped out of it and one stood and rushed off, shouting behind him. “I’ll go get the Commander!”

“GET A GODS DAMNED MEDIC. I CANT HEAL MYSELF.” Errol roared, tightening her grip on the cadet’s throat. Her free hand gripped the hole in her gut that had gone clear through. Bad day for her to have chosen her Scion’s gear over armor.

Lapold rounded the corner as Errol was shouting, medic already in tow. The man had impeccable timing, Errol thought to herself as the pair rushed over to her. Lapold placed his hand on her outstretched arm, gently trying to lower it.

“Captain, let the cadet go. You need medical attention.” His voice was soothing, at least to her.

“No shit, sir.” Came her response through gritted teeth. “Choking the everloving life out of this buffoon is the only thing keeping me from collapsing right now.”

“Let go.” Lapold repeated himself firmly. “I will deal with his punishment while you’re treated.”

Errol didn’t want to let go. She wanted to wring the life out of the little fool with all of Tyth’s rage. She wanted to snap his little neck. But alas, her injury finally took its toll and weakly, she released the young private before crumpling into a heap on the ground.

#Errol Flynn #Knights of the Outer Rim #Swtor #Swtor rp #Zakuul Scion #Lapold Reul

[elfnerdherder]

The Unquiet Grave: Ch. 1

Summary: There are 3 types of empaths in the world: Seers, who can look into the eyes of another and see their secrets; Dreamers, who can see the space between the world and fall into the past, present, and future; and Feelers, whose skin touches the memories and feelings of things left behind.

Then there is Will Graham, a potent combination of all three.

Agent Will Graham works with the FBI in the Empath Behavioral Analysis Unit, a profiler that hunts Rogue Empath Agents that fall astray from reality due to the horror of what they face while working for the Bureau. With gloved hands and averted eyes he views the world, well aware that his cup is most certainly half empty. He tires of looking into the eyes of another and seeing their secrets, of touching palms to their skin and knowing their thoughts. The world is an open book, and it is one that Will Graham is tired of reading.

How shocking for him, then, to one day look into the eyes of Dr. Hannibal Lecter and find that instead of the normal, invasive whispers, there is absolutely nothing at all.

In truth, he's never been happier.

Romance, angst, thriller, mystery, slow burn, and a wholeheartedly disenchanted, grumpy Will Graham.

You can read Chapter 1 on Ao3 Here

Gifted to @hanfangrahamk for being such a stellar, lovely person :)

Chapter 1: With Quiet Hands We Touch

           Will Graham waits alone by the SUV until he’s told that it’s alright for him to enter the crime scene.

           Jack Crawford’s job is to make sure it’s a ‘safe space’ for Will to enter, and no matter how many times Will explains that that makes no fucking sense, the rules remain. Empaths on the scene of a fresh crime have a tendency to vomit, to collapse from the sensations, and no one is going to take a risk with him, no matter how resilient he is. While a normal Seer-empath boasts an ability to see the realities that occur around them, a Feeler can touch and gain impressions from tactile feel, and a Thinker can recreate, Will Graham is a special blend of all three, the shining star of the Empath-Behavioral-Analysis-Unit. A rare, somewhat mentally stable E-3. They don’t want him tarnished, not when he’s so damn good at what he does.

            If he wasn’t so strung out, he’d have felt almost cherished at the thought they gave him, to cradle him like a fragile little teacup meant only for the best of after dinner sit-downs over lady fingers and a cup of French press.

           He rubs his palms together, stares down at his familiar, worn pair of standard, FBI-edition leather gloves. They block the sensations of touch, keep the worst of the world at bay. They’ve been his constant companions for the last five years, helped him through the thick of things. There is a fray on one of the seams, and he notes that it’ll need fixed soon. It wouldn’t do for a seam to come undone and accidentally expose him to anything.

           When he hears footsteps, he glances to them, then to the hands clenched into fists swaying beside a stiff spine and a taut stance. It’s not a pretty crime scene, and Will can see it before he’s even been inside.

           “How many?” he asks.

           “Just the wife, but it’s bad. RA and daughter are missing.”

           RA and daughter are missing. Will lets those words roll around in his mind, lets them settle. He can imagine the fear, the terror on her face as she’s hauled about, nothing more than the weight of her skin and her bones as she cries. He’s panicked, Will thinks, but he’s not stupid. He’s desperate, but he’ll still have fight in him.

           He stands up, adjusts his glasses and heads into the house.

           It is bad, just like Jack Crawford promised. Blood trails from the entryway towards the kitchen, and as he walks in he’s given wide, respectful berth. His regular team waits in the entry to the kitchen, and he notes Beverly’s grim smile of encouragement as he steps in and looks around, inhaling the tangy aftertaste of mortal terror and betrayal.

            The mother’s there, just like Jack promised. She lies in a pool of blood, throat cut open to expose everything within, and Will stares down at her for a time, studying her. Impressions of her life do not lay in her corpse, but the final moments of her death does. He hunches down, head tilted as he removes his glasses and studies her in sweeping, smooth motions. His gaze pauses on her throat, on her shoulder. He tastes pain, fear, fury, and a longing that claws so deep he wants to cry out with it.

           He steadfastly refuses.

           Instead, he meticulously removes his gloves and tucks them into his coat pocket, reaching down in order to grasp her shoulder and her neck, the spaces that seem to light up moreso than the rest of her, begging him to just touch.

           It is all at once, a rushing, choking, cloying pain, the sensations rippling like the water right before a tidal wave. They twist, curl, red hot and furious, and blood pools around like rivers of hatred, of disdain.

           Will ignores the sensations, the feeling of her death. It is a difficult thing to ignore, but he focuses instead on the feelings that surround her, that led to her final moments, the light ethereal that held death with such tender malevolence.

            You are nothing, but you will give me time. You will give me time, you will give me an escape, and the many years I’ve endured you, endured your cutting glances, your knowing stares will finally come to an end.

           It is time for you to come to an end. You’ve served your purpose. This is my design.

           Will jerks back with a hiss of breath, and he stares down at her, pulling hands away quickly. The aftermath of her emotions, of his emotions rings through each pulse of his heart, and he gulps in air as he looks around, trying to ground himself. The sink is a good place, and he stares at it until his breath can come without burning, until he can calm his steady heart.

           It doesn’t want to calm, though. Not when it’s found a trail.

           He sees it, glowing imprints of the one that no longer remains. Just as the Shrike placed hands upon his wife’s shoulder before he took her life, so too can Will see the glowing imprints of a hand to the edge of the sink, dragging along the counter before making its way to the doorway just across from them, leading outside.

           Will knows where to go.

           He follows the trail, stumbling over a fallen rain boot before catching himself, hands fumbling with the doorknob until he’s outside, gulping in the fresh afternoon air of fall, cold and rejuvenating in his lungs. He inhales the trail, looks around and spies that same glow, that same light that moves first left than right. He bends down, touches his palm to the footprint, and like a jolt from touching a live wire, he senses purpose, determination. Alongside it, stumbling and whimpering, he senses mortal terror. The daughter is alive.

           The daughter is alive.

           He isn’t aware that he’s running until he slips down a small incline on fallen leaves and has to catch himself, fingers pressing to the earth. He senses the startled jump of a doe not an hour before, the slither of a snake through underbrush ten minutes ago, and his hands are up again, pumping as he stares at the golden trail, ignoring a shout in the distance, ignoring the sense that something terrible is going to happen.

           It’s two miles out before he finds what he’s looking for, and when he does relief is only the mildest of balms. The cabin has the same sense, the same aura, and he opens the door to it, pleased with the way the hinges do not squeak, do not betray him. He steps in, the air within just as fresh as the outside, and he knows this is no place that sits abandoned for too long. He sees the man’s essence on every surface, in every nook and cranny. He is here often, this place he’s made into a fortress.

           A creak upstairs distracts him, and he looks up to the sound of scuffling feet. There is a quiet, despairing sob, and he’s up the stairs, feet carrying him fast, breath puffing with a burning need before he rounds the corner and comes face-to-face with the man he’s tracked, the man he so easily found because of course he’d find him when they were one in the same.

           “P-please,” the girl whimpers, and Will’s hands find their way to his gun, drawing it up to level at the man before him. His head is bowed, his mouth is moving, and when a hand shifts near her neck, Will does not hesitate.

           First one, then two more. The Shrike does not fall back, merely wrenches his arm to the side, and blood spurts from her neck, an arc of color catching in the light from the window with a dazzling array. At the action, another two shots, then five more as he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s been shot, that people that have been shot should fall down and die. At the tenth round hitting his flesh, he finally manages to fall, body hitting the sturdy oak floor with the sound only a dead body can make.

           Will rushes to the girl, drops to his knees beside her. Blood gushes from her neck, pooling in a sickening design about her, and without thought he puts his hands to her neck, gripping tightly to try and staunch the flow.

           It is the wrong thing to do.

           He isn’t aware that he is screaming until the screams stop and his ears burn with the aftermath. Her skin is raw, and his skin is peeling back, blood gushing down his neck as each heartbeat takes them closer and closer to the end, to the place where time is nothing because they’re ultimately nothing. He can’t see, he can’t see, and it isn’t until he’s wrenched away from her body that he realizes anyone else is even in the room.

           “Will, Will,” someone urges, and hands pat at his jacket, withdraw his gloves from his pocket. He isn’t aware of the actions though, merely the sensation of what it is to die and die afraid, terrified of the one you love most in the entire world. His breaths choke, are wrenched from him, and it isn’t until gloves are slid onto his shaking hands that he’s able to gain some semblance of control over himself.

           He curls into a ball on the floor where he shot Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and he presses his hands to his eyes as he sobs.

-

           He’s not allowed inside of Abigail Hobbs’ hospital room, so he sits outside. Beside him, Dr. Alana Bloom waits with him, as patient as a tulip bulb in winter, waiting for her chance to break the cold earth around her.

           “You’re not in trouble,” she assures him, not for the first time.

           Will says nothing. His throat is hoarse from the screaming.

           “Your quick actions saved her life, and no one is going to ignore that. No matter what happens, you saved her life.”

           “I felt him die,” Will manages after a prolonged sort of quiet that rubs against his skin wrong. He rubs his neck, studies an ugly black scuff mark on the tiled floor. “I can feel everyone dying inside of this hospital.”

           “Do you need your medicine?”

           He shakes his head, slumps further in his chair. The medicine quiets things, but it makes him lethargic, too numb to function right. Each blink of his eyelids is a gunshot, each breath a jerk of shoulders as Garrett Jacob Hobbs takes a hit.

           “He was a RA, and you did your job,” she says, and Will has to cling to those words. You did your job.

           “I did my job,” he says, and there is a bleak, sinister sneer to his lips.

           “I know being an empath isn’t easy –I’ll never know what you’re going through,” Alana says kindly. “Just know that you’re supported by everyone on your team, and we’re going to help you through this.”

           He wants to snort, to bite back with something snarky, but he can’t bring himself to. No matter what anyone says, from the Seer-empath he shared a room with for all thirteen years of his education to the Feeler-empath he trained with at the academy, Will Graham is utterly and painfully aware of just how not easy it is to be someone like him. Dr. Bloom says it to comfort herself just as much as she’s trying to comfort him. There’s no one in the world like Will Graham, and Will Graham fucking knows it.

           Long after Alana leaves, he stands up, shrugs his coat on and heads for the exit, gloves tugged taut over fingertips that still recall the feeling of Abigail Hobbs’ blood.

-

           He’s found a week later at his home in Wolf Trap, blinds closed and dogs roaming restlessly in the front room. He lays sprawled alongside a boat motor, gloves on, and tinkers with it, fumbling over the feeling of a faulty fan and a piss poor belt.

           “I finished the paperwork on the case,” Jack says, sitting down at Will’s desk. He doesn’t ask, and Will doesn’t offer.

           “Good.”

           “Despite you not following empath protocol, you’re still in active duty. The director was more than willing to be understanding about an E-3 losing themselves to the sensations and following those rather than the rules. She’s given an informal warning.”

           He grunts, puts his shoulder into the turning of a screw, pleased when it loosens and drops into his waiting palm.

           “I guess the question is whether or not you want to be back in active duty, Will,” Jack continues when he gets no reply. “No call, no e-mail; you’d might as well have dropped off of the face of the earth. How are you doing out here?”

           “Better question is how you’re doing without me,” Will replies, and he won’t look at Jack. He can already sense it in the air, a feeling of need, of words unsaid but wanting to be shared. He doesn’t want to go down that road. It’s been nice to only feel the base, pure needs of the dogs around him that want nothing more than his love. It’s been better therapy than whatever doctor is waiting for him at the bureau to evaluate his psyche, a walnut cracked under pressure.

           “Make no mistake, we need you. I’ve already got another case with your name on it, but that’s nothing if your head’s not in the game.”

           Will holds back a smile that’s more of a gritting of teeth. His head’s never been in the game, too lost as it was in the thoughts of another, the ideals of someone just across the room. Jesus, he can’t even look at a person without seeing their heart’s desires, their thoughts laid bare, and Jack thinks he’s at some point been in the saddle, let alone faced the right direction?

           “You ever read what it does to a feeler to kill someone, Jack?” he asks.

           “I’ve read about it,” Jack says evenly. “I had to pass several courses before I was even considered for my position at the EBAU.”

           “They’re both the killer and the killed. It’s in their skin, their cells, their brain; a feeler once dropped dead, heart stopped after they killed someone in self-defense. A thinker has the sensation that they’re the ones being killed, and they can go into a coma. A seer has been said to have visions of their own death in the face of taking another’s life. With me-”

           “You got a mix of all three,” Jack finishes for him. “Dr. Bloom said you’re not coping well.”

           “I’m not fucking coping at all,” Will retorts. He sounds angry so that he doesn’t sound so god damn afraid. “I’m not…I’m not coping.”

           He’s not coping. In his dreams, he’s standing behind Abigail Hobbs, slitting her throat with a devilish hunger and a sadistic smile. When he wakes, he thinks that maybe he should just finish the job after all. He thinks of how his own neck felt, splitting open as hers did, and it quells the thought nicely. Sometimes he wakes and feels as though he’s dead, as though he never were.

           “She referred me to a doctor that has worked with empaths and comes highly recommended, Will,” Jack says. “I spoke with him, and he’s willing to talk to you, maybe help with some of the thoughts in your head.”

           “No therapists,” Will snaps.

           “If you just-”

           “Since I was five-years-old I’ve had doctors climbing in and out of my head, Jack,” Will warns him, and he pokes his head out from around the motor to scowl at his pant leg. “No therapists. I’ll come in on Monday.”

           Jack wants to argue, and Will glances to his shoulder, noting the tense set of it. This isn’t an easy conversation for Jack any more than it is for Will. Neither one of them share emotions well, let alone conveyed in a way others can wholly understand.

           “Thanks for coming,” he adds, to sound congenial. It’s also a dismissal.

           “If you’re not in by Monday, I’m sending the doctor to you,” Jack warns.

           It’s a fair warning, and Will’s silence shows his compliance. Jack sees himself out, and Will sets his tools down, laying sprawled out beside the motor, chest heaving with the thought of having to go out and look at people after a week of blissful solitude. Buster crawls onto his chest, lays there, and he absentmindedly pets him, still gloved because if there’s one thing he’s learned in this world, it’s that even the pure emotions of a dog against his bare skin is enough to rend his mind in two.

-

           He shows up on Monday because he knows Jack’s threat is real. He’d scrounged through his closet, found his least wrinkled plaid, belt cinched tight because a week of bad eating habits –rather, of no eating habits –has dropped a few pounds off of him. In Jack’s office he accepts a file after he’s signed a form saying that he in no way blames EBAU for what happened, that he takes full responsibility for his actions.

           Then he sits in a room with other empaths somewhat like him and listens to them talk.

           A Feeler’s gloves ripped at a crime scene and he thought he’d been stabbed, leading to an anxiety attack that took him out of work for a week. Will listens to his bumbling mouth form words, taking them back to that moment, and in their own way everyone in the room is there with him, being stabbed as well. The Seers avoid looking at him, Dreamers try and hear the words and those alone, compartmentalizing their thoughts before they can become nightmares, and Will gnaws on his bottom lip, focusing on the tactile feel of his new gloves, issued to him after he showed Jack the ripped thread. No sense in having what happened to the guy three seats down happen to him. Not after he’d already had his own special blend of breakdowns.

           “Agent Graham, you recently returned after something similar,” the director prompts. “Would you like to share?”

           Although he doesn’t have to see a doctor, there is a Director of Empath Agents that has full rein of the empath program in the FBI, and he does have to report to her. After a stint like his, there’s a slew of group meetings, sharing, and comforting one another with a special, potent vibe of an organization much like Alcoholics Anonymous, minus the coffee bar in the back. It’s better than a psychoanalysis, though. At least with these, he normally has to just show up and do his time. Most people, other empaths included, give him a wide berth and leave him well enough alone, the way he wants.

           Will glances to Director Hansen’s shoes, jaw working furiously. “…I empathize with his struggles,” he says dryly.

           Everyone in the group laughs, except for the director.

           “This is an exercise meant to make you more comfortable with returning to work. It’s a support system so that you know you’re not alone,” Director Hansen says. She’s not impressed with his joke, and he can feel her displeasure on his skin like muggy Florida humidity. “It’s also a requirement that you participate so that I can sign off and support you back into the field.”

           “I’m not feeling well,” he decides, and he stands up, walking out of the room. He’ll get a sign off from someone else later, from someone that isn’t a director of empath agents, someone that’s not in charge of babysitting the lot of them so that some higher-paid neurotypical can keep them all in line.

           He pauses by the small vending machine, kicks it idly and feeds it a crumpled dollar. He snatches up the bag of trail mix from the bottom, as well as a candy bar long forgotten by someone else, and he paces along a wall displaying the photos of empaths fallen in the line of duty.

           Half of them fell due to a potent blend of self-destructive habits and suicide, but they don’t share that part in the FBI tours. He recognizes some of them as the Rogue Agents he aided the FBI in tracking down.

           “Lost in your thoughts?” someone asks. Will refuses to look over at them, taking a huge, unsightly bite of the candy bar, a little disappointed that someone abandoned a 100 Grand rather than a 3 Musketeers. Maybe that’s why it was abandoned. No one really enjoyed a 100 Grand candy bar, they simply made due because that’s all that was there.

           “Yes.”

           “I imagine that happens often, given the way a Dreamer thinks.”

           Will doesn’t bother to correct him –he’s not a Dreamer, he’s an E-3, something far worse, far less stable than a Dreamer.

           “Thoughts lending to a less tasty side of the world, no matter where you point your gaze.”

           “I build forts,” he says. The person draws close but leaves a respectable distance, the way everyone does. There are no laws saying you can’t impose on an empath’s personal space, but there’s an unwritten, tacit rule that you just don’t get too close unless you want them knowing your deepest, darkest secrets like it was common knowledge.

           “Nightmares rise quickly in your line of work, I’d imagine.”

           “So do forts.”

           “Forts are not so effective when you incidentally lock the monsters inside, though,” the man says, and Will lets out an unattractive, ugly snort before looking over at him, gaze pinned to his pocket square in a loud shade of yellow. He doesn’t dare look at his face. He doesn’t want to see.

           “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?” he demands, glaring at the offensive color. “Did Director Hansen send you after me? Agent Crawford?”

           “Do you feel psychoanalyzed?” the man asks. Out of Will’s peripheral, he sees neatly combed hair in enough shades of blonde to be confusing, a strong jaw and cheekbones sharp enough to cut. His expression is placid, calm in the face of Will’s annoyance.

           He takes another bite of the 100 Grand, talks around it in his mouth. “You can ask anyone else here, no one likes to see me psychoanalyzed.”

           “You’re speaking as though I should know who you are,” the man says. “I’m merely making conversation.”

           “Bull shit,” Will retorts. “Lies are about as easy to see as acne. You know who I am.”

           “Can you see my lies?” the man wonders. His clipped, smooth accent dips and lowers as his cadence slows. “If you looked at me now, would you see my lies as a Seer would?”

           “Yes.”

           “Show me.”

           The taunt is just needling enough that Will glances to his eyes, an easy enough feat when they’re the same height. Eyes reveal all, and Will Graham has seen enough eyes to learn to hate them, resent them for the secrets they hold that he’s never wanted to know. The place the iris meets to the pupil is the ugliest of all because he always feels like he’s falling into them, going to a place where the labyrinth of the mind falls away, leaving him with hands black with tar and a stomach churning from the dark. He always sees a person’s darkness first before he can see the good, and it’s always bad enough, always bleak enough that no matter how much good offsets the evil, he can’t find his way out. He’s trapped, and he can only see the monsters.

           How surprising for him, then, when looking into eyes the color of aged blood, he sees nothing at all.

           He thinks to look away, eyes watering, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s stunned at the absolute nothing that he sees, the emptiness of a void like there is no person beneath. The man stares back at him, meeting his unsteady, wavering stance with an assurance of someone that knows the thoughts racing through his mind, having probably heard it for a long, long time from many others.

           I can’t see him, Will thinks to himself, dazedly. I can’t hear him. It’s like there’s nothing there at all.

           “…What are you?” Will says out loud. If the man is offended by the question, he doesn’t show it. He isn’t breaking Will’s dumbfounded, open stare either, staring right back with equal frankness.

           “I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he says lightly, extending his hand. “I’d like to have a conversation with you, if at all possible. I think I may be of some help.”

           And Will, unable to help himself, spellbound by a face that doesn’t crowd his mind and make the demons crawl inside, reaches out and shakes his hand. He coughs to dispel a pressure building in his chest, something threatening to burst, and he nods dumbly.

           “…Alright. Let’s talk.”

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