#but yes let him be an anarchist and truly live up to the name

[aliteralchicken]

Lonnie needs to start being a menace again.

Speaking of Lonnie, have they resurrected him yet? I haven’t seen him in a while

[perriwinklesblog]

Depending on the source and interpretation, depends on what God Harpocrates is.

The most common associated we have nowadays is the God of Silence.

However, they also have links to Horus as the Greeks adapted them from their mythology. And even in the Greek mythology and modern mythology this God  links to Egypt too.

In some modern occultist groups Harpocrates is known as being a trickster God. Others believe them to be a higher being above others

They have also been described as the embodiment of hope. 

Harpocrates is also referred to as the God of Secrets and Confidentiality. 

They’re often associated with roses apparently.

So depending on what route route they go down with the link my main candidates are;

Callahan. 

Foolish 

Hannah

Dream

Captain Puffy

Callahan

When we think of silence, we think of Callahan. He has been around on this server since it’s beginning and often watches the destruction and chaos from the background. Recently, he was there during the Community house confrontation and he watched silently as L’Manburg blew up. 

Perhaps, he’s had enough of the corruption on the server. Perhaps Doomsday was the last straw. He may be the God of Silence but perhaps he does not want to sit back and be silent anymore. He has watched the server move from an equal group of people, building a home together, to a hierarchal nation with citizens hellbent on being the most power they destroy the things they claim they love. 

Since Callahan watches so much it would make sense that he has picked up a few secrets along the way linking into that.

If Callahan wanted to join in on the lore, this would probably be the way that makes the most sense. It’d also be interesting how this would play out for him. 

Reasons why it’s unlikely...

Callahan doesn’t seem to involve himself often. He prefers to watch and chill on the server so it is highly unlikely he would be apart of the lore. No matter how much we beg. 

If anything, he’ll show up to whatever chaos happens as a result of the Syndicate. 

Likeliness Score: 2/10

Foolish

Whilst Callahan is my personal favourite. This one is one of the most likely to me. 

Foolish has his secrets. He’s older than he seems. Seems to know things we don’t. Always dropping hints. He even has secrets underneath his statues. Whilst not necessarily a direct to silence, he has been withdrawn from the egg plot and now recently deciding to take a stand. This could be interpreted as being silent no more. 

The involvement in the egg plot is also another reason why this could be him. He admitted to needing to find people to help him take the Egg down. 

Harpocrates also has many ties to Egypt and Foolish’s summer home is quite Egyptian. 

He’s becoming more involved in the lore and I think this could be a good way to introduce more into the heavy, heavy stuff. 

Reasons why it’s unlikely...

Whilst he’s getting more involved in plot, its not necessarily this plot. Also he’s not that fussed about governments. He’s friendly with Tubbo and Tommy and lives in Snowchester. 

If he’s already joined the Syndicate, it’d be highly unlikely that Techno hadn’t already known and checked Snowchester out. So the fact that he didn’t, suggests he’s not joined the Syndicate. However, that doesn’t mean he won’t in the future. 

Likeliness Score: 8/10

Hannah

HERE ME OUT. 

A symbol associated with is the rose! And who is the person on this server strongly associated with roses? HANNAH.

I don’t know much about Hannah and I’ve not seen much of her in the current main plots. She seems to bee involved with a few pranks which ties in with the trickster god aspect of Harpocrates. 

Is this how to becomes more involved with heavy lore?

Reasons why it’s unlikely...

I don’t know much about Hannah so i don’t know about her opinions on lore on the server. Many like to chill and vibe on the server, which is equally as valid as the lore so perhaps she’d rather not be involved in the chaos of plots and storylines. 

Whilst I think it’d be an interesting choice, and bring in some fresh blood into the plot, I am unsure of how likely this outcome will be. 

Likeliness Score: 5/10 (could go either way)

Dream

I’ve seen this one being floated about. 

He would fit the description for secretive, trickster and definitely believe himself to be above others (especially with the current power he’s holding). Bizarrely theres also an argument for hope. 

We know Dream can be secretive and we know he can trick people. We know those reasons. But why hope? Why have i chosen to associate him with hope? 

Well, once Tommy has been let out of Pandora’s Vault (and he will), Dream will be all thats left. And I know. I know. this take on the myth of pandora is very surface level etc but come one guys, if they were to play on any trope of Pandora, this would be it. We have so many ways in which this whole hope thing could play out and perhaps this scenario is one. 

It is bizarre to associate him with hope and very unlikely. But it’s tinfoil hat time people. No stone left unturned. 

Technoblade owes him a favour. He, apart from Puffy, is the only one that has a current link with Techno so it would make sense that he might be apart of the Syndicate. 

Reasons why it’s unlikely...

Y’all. We focus too much on that favour. I know I do. But so do all of you. 

Why the fuck, would Dream, someone who wants to be the most powerful and essentially created the hierarchies on the server, join an anarchist group? 

The only reason there was a team up before was because their motive aligned for a moment. That’s it. 

Their basic morals do not align. They don’t. Not at all. If it turns out to be Dream I will scream. 

What I truly believe will happen is Dream will ask the Syndicate to help him and due to the favour, Technoblade will feel obliged. The others will be like hell no, it’ll cause conflict within the syndicate and Techno will once again feel betrayed. Thats my predication for any involvement involving Dream. 

Likeliness Score: -2/10

Captain Puffy

She’s a trickster. She is a symbol of hope in a lot of the storylines and for us due to her sticking up for those who cannot. She is a knight afterall. 

I won’t lie, I’m unsure of why this is a popular theory other than the fact her and Techno have kinda sided together against the egg. 

Reasons why it’s unlikely...

She’s a knight. She’s Erets knight. She is technically an active part in a hierarchical society. 

She may be allied with him on the egg but that doesn’t mean she’s part of the Syndicate. She doesn’t even believe in the Anarchists beliefs. She’s very clear that the reason she wanted Techno on side was to help destroy the egg. She’s very clear that it’s due to the need of man power.

I just, I’m struggling guys. I’m struggling. I see the reasoning for teaming up but I do not see the reasons for her joining the club and I do not see the strong connections with this name. 

Likeliness Score: 5/10 (I could be missing something)

EDIT: I’ve been informed that Puffy isn’t a knight anymore and has gone rogue... I still don’t think she’s a full time member of the Syndicate. It doesn’t seem quite correct. Especially the way in which she acts about the rest of the SMP. She’s never outright said she’s an anarchist as far as I’ve seen but she has said she needed his help. There is a different in requesting help and joining an organisation.

And because many have suggested I’ll add this on for the end...

Fundy

A trickster yes, but he has said he’s stepping back from lore, only being a part of it when asked or needed. This storyline has been ready for a bit so I don’t think Fundy is a part of it otherwise he wouldn’t have made that lore announcement. 

Also Techno and Philza dislike Fundy. Like theres a lot of bad blood between them. There is no trust and a big part of the Syndicate is trust. So whether he was still actively participating in lore or not, it’s unlikely he’d be apart of it. 

I know we’re starved of Fundy lore and a bit sad that he’s taking a step back, I am sad too. but it’s very unlikely he would be joining the Syndicate. 

Likeliness Score: -10/10

Final Thoughts. 

Personally, my favourite would be Callahan but I know that’s unlikely. I feel like Foolish might be the best one for being a member. 

These are just some of my theories and reasons why. As I say with all my theories and stuff, I am am more often wrong than not. The creators on this server are brilliant at red herrings and twists that you’ll think one thing and be sure of it and then BAM. Something else. It’ll be interesting to see who it is and I’m excited to see where this storyline is headed as this is just the beginning. 

[thevalleyisjolly]

Transpacific Stories Rec List!

Happy Lunar New Year!  To celebrate, I thought I’d do a “Top 5″ rec list of creative works that I really enjoy by transpacific Asian creators.

1. diaspora babies by Kai Cheng Thom (poem)

This spoken word poem haunts me to this day.  There’s a lot of immigrant (especially Chinese immigrant) emotions mixed up with queer experiences as a child of immigrants, and the vibes are truly just indescribable.  It cannot be expressed, only felt, so link is to the 4 minute video with captions.

2. Yellow Peril: Queer Destiny by Love Intersections (documentary)

A documentary about Vancouver drag artist Maiden China, which also features lines from diaspora babies!  It is all about that queer Chinese immigrant experience, discussing the nuances of both individually and together.  What is it like to be a Chinese immigrant, or the child of Chinese immigrants, in a North American society?  What is it like to be queer?  What is it like where those two parts of you intersect? 

I had the chance to meet one of the directors on this project and listen to his guest seminar, and the story behind this documentary and the production house came from an incident where some members of the local Chinese Canadian community launched a very public opposition to LGBTQ+ policies by the school board.  The news media of course went into a frenzy over this, and the producers noticed how the story was framed as “the Chinese community is “traditional” to the point of homophobia” (which...yes, there was homophobia involved, but not because of an innate “traditional Chinese are all homophobic” quality).

The documentary creators wanted to unpack, explore, and challenge this, and also to assert that queer Chinese people exist, which is exactly what the documentary does.  It showcases a variety of different relationships and interactions that queer Chinese people have - with their families, their immigrant communities, their heritage traditions, their broader Western society.  It’s a really complex and nuanced discussion, and one of the best documentaries I’ve ever watched.

3. Disappearing Moon Cafe by SKY Lee (novel)

Oh, you thought I was done with the queer Chinese immigrant theme?  Absolutely never.  This is a landmark book in the history of Chinese Canadian publishing - it was the first novel by a Chinese Canadian author to ever be mass distributed by a publishing house (SKY Lee is a lesbian, so first queer Chinese Canadian author as well!)  It follows the story of the Wong family across four generations, discussing themes such as settler colonialism and the roles and relationships that Chinese immigrants had and have with that, migration, family, and the nature of queerness in a non-Western context.

(I do have a whole essay talking about how understandings of queerness are frequently grounded in Western perspectives and how SKY Lee challenges and reframes non-heteronormativity in a uniquely Chinese immigrant context.  But also, you will totally ship Kae and Hermia.   You just will)

A deeply emotional, intense exploration of Chinese Canadian immigration, from its history to its experiences, good and bad and everything in between.  Truly, this may be a fictional novel, but the research is so well done, and if not every detail is historically accurate, the emotional truth of it is.  An excellent book that gives you so much food for thought.

4. A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki (novel)

One of the most intense books I’ve ever read, and am still thinking about years later.  I can’t speak to the accuracy of the experiences it represents, but it is a book that will make your heart ache and long and wonder. 

The premise: Ruth, a Japanese American novelist, discovers debris from the 2011 Japanese tsunami washed up on the cost of British Columbia.  One of these is a Hello Kitty lunchbox containing the diary of a girl named Nao.  Nao is a Japanese American teenager whose family had to relocate back to Japan.  She struggles with living in a foreign culture, family struggles and mental health issues, and severe bullying.  However, she also meets her great grandmother, a Buddhist monk over a hundred years old who was an anarchist, feminist, and novelist in her youth.  In documenting her great grandmother’s story in her diary, Nao comes to tell her own.  The novel goes back and forth between Ruth translating the diary and wanting to learn more about Nao, and Nao’s story (and her great grandmother’s) as documented in the diary. 

One of my favourite aspects of this book is the way it plays with perspective.  What is a story?  Who is telling it?  How is a story created and changed by every person who touches it?  What does it mean for a story to end?  Fair warning, there are some very heavy topics dealt with in this book, including depression, suicide, attempted sexual assault, and grooming.  It is a very good book, but please look after your own well-being first. 

5. M. Butterfly by David Henry Hwang (1988 play)

You know the opera, Madame Butterfly?  The racist Orientalist story of the white American Navy officer who goes to Japan, marries a Japanese girl for convenience, abandons her and their child for an American wife, and then she kills herself because she’s so in love with him that she can’t bear it?  Man, just typing that out pissed me off, and it sure pissed off David Henry Hwang too.  So let me tell you what he did about it.

There was a historical incident where a French diplomat, Bernard Boursicot, was caught in a honeypot trap by the Chinese spy Shiu Pei Pu, who was a Chinese opera singer.  For those who are unaware, Chinese opera singers are traditionally men.  Boursicot was unaware of this.  He had a decades long affair with Shiu Pei Pu, who identified themselves as female to him, and they eventually lived together as a family with a child.  It wasn’t until Boursicot was caught smuggling documents and put on trial that he found out Shiu Pei Pu was AMAB.

M. Butterfly is a play based off of this story, with explorations of Orientalism and how Song Liling (the play’s Shiu Pei Pu) was able to exploit racist beliefs and tropes such as “yellow fever” to win the heart and confidence of René Gallimard (the play’s Boursicot).   There’s a monologue in the original 1988 play (I’m not sure if it’s in the 2017 revision though) that Song delivers in the first few scenes of the play that explicitly addresses and tears apart the original Madame Butterfly story (which makes Song’s later use of it to seduce Gallimard all the more spicy - dude, they literally told you from the beginning why they hate the story, and you still believe that they want to be your docile little Butterfly?)  The overall play is a fantastically clever deconstruction of truly so much Orientalism and really challenges how Westerners perceive and depict Asian (especially East Asian) people.

A note on gender in this story: When the play was first performed in 1988, Song Liling’s character is AMAB and largely identifies as a man, with the strong subtext that he enjoys presenting as feminine.  Since 1988, Hwang has acknowledged that the gender reveal of the original play reinforces gender binaries, and has expressed the desire to revise his depiction of gender in the play to encompass genderfluid/GNC identities, which he did in the 2017 Broadway revival.  I have not seen the new version of the play, in which Song identifies themselves as AFAB and male presenting to Gallimard, so I can’t judge how it was handled.  I’ve heard that 2017 Song embraces a more explicitly genderfluid identity, but cannot confirm this.  The 2017 revision is based off of new information revealed about the Boursicot case, including that Shiu Pei Pu initially introduced themselves to Boursicot as someone AFAB who was presenting as male. 

[demivampirew]

Do I mean anything to you? part 2 (final part)

It started as a one-shot, but I had an idea for a second part, so here it is 😁

Soft and fluffy (and angry too) August x reader

Triggers: fighting; kidnapping; anarchism/terrorism; metions of guns, bombs, etc; crying

A/N: This is a re-writing of the movie ending.

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

Tag list: @lunedelorient​​ @henrythickcavill​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @mary-ann84​ @desperate-and-broken​ @peakygroupie​ @summersong69​ @ivvitm1109​ @madbaddic7ed​ @iloveyouyen​ @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog​

- Did you truly think you could fool me and get away with it, Walker? - Sloane asked August, who was handcuffed into a chair in an interrogation room. They were alone in that room, but there were plenty of agents outside of the room in case their boss needed them to help to control him. August remained silent with his eyes fixed on her.

After the IMF played him to prove that he was the double agent, August allowed them to take him as a prisoner, only to allow the rest of the anarchist team to help Lane escape. They asked him many times about his location but August did not know the answer and even if he did he wouldn't help the CIA catch him. He knew that he was to value to the cause against The Apostles so they wouldn't get rid of him, and if they did it, at least his mission of freeing Solomon was a success.

- You won't talk, would you? Huh.- she questioned, raising an eyebrow- Well, let's see if I can find something that'd make you talk.- Erika said and grabbed his phone, dialled a number and after waiting for the person in the other side of the line to respond, she said "bring her in" while starring directly into his eyes. There was panic on them, anyone could have noticed it. He knew at that moment who "her" was.

Minutes went by and then the door opened. An agent grabbed you by your arm as he walked you into the room and as soon as you saw August, you ran into him. You cupped his face with your hands and press your forehead against him. He wanted to fight it. He should have pretended not to know you for that would have been the best for you, but as soon as he felt your sweet touch, he lost all the strength for resistance.

The agents in the room forced you to stand afar from him, not without a fight.

- Hurt her and I'll fucking kill you!- he shouted with burning anger. His eyes went from the agents to Sloane.

- Calm down.- the CIA leader ordered to the double agent- Tell me what I need to know and I'll set her free. Hell, if you give me all the information I need, I might consider pardoning you and allowing you to retire to live a happy life with this woman, but that's all up to you.- she offered him- So, tell me August, what are you going to do? He closed his eyes and looked to the other side. Erika sighed and gave a new order- Take her away and locked her. He quickly turned his eyes when he heard her complain about how the agent that was holding her was grabbing her too tight and made her hurt.

- Stop!- Walker shouted and Sloane looked at him. His white pearls were showing. Rage was written all over his face- You want Lane? Fine, I'll give him to you. I don't know where he's now, but I'll find him for you.- he promised her- But first, I need your word that you would let her and me go afterwards.- he said, looking at you and then his eyes were set on her again. -Fine. Considered it done.- she agreed after a moment of thinking. - She, of course, will stay here until your mission is fulfilled. Considerate a security deposit. Bring me Lane and the plutonium and you both are free; fool me and I'll kill her. Don't play with me August, you know me well.-she warned him and with a head gesture she indicated her employees to take you away- The sooner you complete the mission, the sooner you'll be back in the arms of your lovely woman.

He wanted to kill everyone there. He hated every single rat working there and he hated you. He had ideals he was fighting for...a better reality and he was about to give all that up to save you and to be with you. But, even the thought of hating on you hurt him: he loved you, more than anything. He hated himself to be honest. He hated how he allowed himself to fall in love with you and he despited himself for putting you in danger. Now was the time to make things right.

He had no idea where Solomon was, but he figured out that at least one of all the other double agents should know something about it. He found one of them and convinced him that he managed to escape or that was what he thought. The man set him a trap and a group of gunmen were waiting for him to kill him. August might be a big man, but he was quicker than he seemed. He took down the anarchists, leaving the one who planned the trap alive to make him tell him where Lane was. Walker broke the fingers of the agent's right hand, hearing his screams of pain, promising that the pain would get worse if he didn't give him the information he required.

Solomon was in a small medical camp on Siachen Glacier. He planned to explode the plutonium bombs there.

As August expected, Lane knew that Walker was a traitor. He had him surrounded by his subordinates as soon as he set a foot on the house he was staying.

- I did not have you as a weak person.- Solomon told him- what's the reason behind your change of teams?- he asked studying August's face- Let me guess, they found your lady friend, didn't they?- Walker's eyes were wide open now. He knew about her as well. - Yes, I know about her.- he replied as if he could read his mind- And I was going to finished her in you failed on the mission, but I guess they found her first.

That confession unleashed August's anger and with quick yet strong moves he took down the ten men in the place, leaving only Lane alive. He grabbed him and threw him on the floor, quickly tying him so he would no escape. After the call with Sloane, he remembered that he still needed the plutonium to complete the mission.

- What's the matter? Missing something?- Lane mocked him when he saw August focused on his thoughts. - Shut up.- he ordered him. - Do you think she's worthy of all this trouble? Tell me, do you seriously believe that you'll be able to live a happy life with that woman now that she knows what you have done? All those lives you took... people like her do no understand our mission. “There cannot be peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace.” You'll suffer a lot her loss, true, but think about the reward. You still on time to do the right thing.- Solomon said trying to change August's mind.

- Raise your hands!- someone shouted to him. It was Ethan Hunt. He entered the house and was pointing towards Augusts with a gun. He turned around to face the IMF agent, as he did what he asked him. - I'm on your team, Hunt.- he informed him bitterly. - Yeah, sure.- Ethan answered with a short sarcastic laugh. - I'm being honest. Sloane sent me to bring her Lane and the plutonium.- he explained. - Why I'm supposed to believe that you're telling the truth?- he questioned. - Julia. - August said and he saw his enemy's eye open wide in surprise. - How do you know that name? -he requested both angry and afraid. - Don't you think I would work with you without making a previous research, did you?- he explained- Anyhow... you have your Julia, Sloane has mine. She will kill her if I don't give him what she wants. - That doesn't make you being on my team. Now surrender, I'm taking you both back to CIA.

To Hunt's surprise, Walker was quicker than he seemed and was fighting him even before he had a chance to blink. The men fight each other until August had Ethan's head trapped in his arm. The IMF hero tried to set himself free but couldn't for his arms were too big and strong. August realized that he needed to work with him if he wanted to succeed, so he had to convince him.

- Listen to me.- August shouted to the man fighting him to free himself- We need to work together. We can end this sooner and you'll save the life of the woman you love and I'll save mine. The CIA will soon be here to take him down and I'll go with them. You can come as well if you don't trust me. But I need to find the plutonium and give it back. If we stop fighting now and get to work, soon this will be over, otherwise, I'll have to kill you, because I won't risk the life of the person I love for you. - I cannot trust you, Walker.- Ethan pointed out. August sighed and grabbed his phone with his free hand and searched on his gallery, opening a folder locked with a password and then showed to Hunt. He looked at the photos: lots of photos of you - sleeping, cooking, laughing; pictures of the two of you kissing and hugging. The way August looked at you was what the IMF agent needed to know you were being honest. Your man trusted him because he knew that Hunt wouldn't allow an innocent life to be taken as collateral damage.

Ilsa Faust and Benji Dunn took the task of making sure Lane didn't escape while they searched for the bombs. One was found by Luther and Ethan's sidekick called him to let him know that the other explosive was on the house.

Lane's words were stuck in August's mind. He was on his way back to rescue you. Getting the plutonium and the anarchist was the easy part, making the love of his life, such a sweet woman to want to be with him knowing that he was not how he told her he was. He never lied to you since your relationship started, but certainly, he hid information about his other side. Could you forgive him for killing people? He knew that even if you hate him now, just the fact that you were safe was good reason enough for him to go that mission.

Sloane kept her part of the deal and released you and pardon him, with the condition that she would send people constantly to check that he was truly out of the game.

You ran into his arms and he pulled you closer to him, putting an arm on your back and the other in your head. After an inspection to make sure you were unharmed, he kissed you and pressed his forehead against yours. You hugged him tight and cry of fear for everything that had happened.

Two weeks later...

He bought a new house in a suburb using his life savings. He was used to renting apartments and move constantly, but this time he wanted a stable place for you two. After a long talk, he promised you that his anarchist days were behind, same for the CIA job. He would find something else to earn money and live a decent life with you. You, on the other hand, assured him that you would work hard to make him see the world through other eyes, so he could see why his previous belief was wrong. You'll teach him how beautiful the world could be.

[luvargas]

     i think i just saw LUCILA “ LU ” VARGAS ride by on a golf cart . at least i think it was her . after all , CREDIT IN THE STRAIGHT WORLD BY HOLE was blasting on the transistor radio . maybe she was on her way to work , i hear she’s a PERSONAL TRAINER . but she totally could have been on her way to SNEAK IN A SMOKE AT THE GARDEN . guess we’ll never know . you’ll definitely know its her when you see LOOSE AND TANGLED HAND WRAPS , BUTTON BADGES ON VEGAN LEATHER ,  AND HEAR THE SHRILL SOUND OF BICKERING around the country club . let’s just hope she stays off the green after hours or else the sprinklers will get her !

( new muse, messy thoughts, u get the gist. pls know the views of this chara do not reflect my own. the name’s katya, 21, she/her pronouns & im ready 2 party. feel free to hmu wnvr or drop a like to plot n ill com 2 u ! x — oh n pls be a pal n read this quick disclaimer. tysm ! )

BASICS

24 years old

15 april 1997

5′1″ or 1.55m tall

bisexual cis woman, she/her

aries sun, aqua moon, and aqua rising

love languages : quality time & acts of service

BIO POINTS

kid o’ divorce, lived w her ma in chicago til she was 6 then w her dad in highlands til 14 then back to her ma ! 

def a daddys gorl. so used to her white pop’s leniency that livin w her strict latina ma durin her teen yrs was So Not Her Vibe ergo * cue her rebel grrrl phase *

did not finish hs ! left senior yr 2 to go w her “ radically progressive ” college bf to [ insert dev country. ] they broke up after a few mos but she kept at that life for a couple more yrs

seen some places. lived in new countries. done some shit. some good, some sus, but all generally well-intentioned. tis a whole thing but u get the gist, nywy !

lu’s back in da usa by 21. rel w the ma is strained but the pa is chill w stuff, they kept in touch. he said shell get her college fund if she gets her ged so she does !

her dad is v active n stuff so shes just always been v sporty w him. lu turnin 23 w zilch plans worried him so he implored her to get certified as a personal trainer ! n when she did, he called in a few favors w a pal he knows et voilà ! ur hired.

LU AT WORK

shes been workin at the country club fr a little over a yr now. most her clients are influencer-type gals n they luv her bc shes can take rlly cute pics n stuff for content. lu sorta likes some of em n she fakes the rest for the bread. u can bet she clowns all em richies behind their back   

unless she got clients, catch her runnin’ about the club n minglin’ w the other workers. does it annoy mngmt ? yes. n she luvs that. but bc her soon-2-b-karen clients luv her n wont stand for her bein booted, she can milk that impunity

actually knows her shit n lowkey rlly enjoys the work. she picked back up the boxing n tae kwon do she did when she was younger plus she was always in the track team at school. v healthy lifestyle save for her smokin vice n the party moments

PERSONALITY 

passionate ! has lotsa opinions. helluva a drama queen, bit of a loud mouth, argumentative n stubborn but her heart’s in the right place, albeit a lil misguided. comes w the whole activist bit, bitin her tongue just aint it. highkey makes everythin political n smtms gotta realize .,.,. it just aint that deep chief. some say shes needlessly defiant, but maybe thats a in the beholder typa thing ? fingers crossed 4 lu’s sake

fun, fun, fun ! can be real naggy but shes no buzzkill. wannabe anarchist-slash-mutineer who wants 2 stick it 2 the man ! get rowdy go crazy

fight, fight, fight ! goin back to the first bit, she talks big. esp w like ,, men n the whites lol. she can actually walk her threats tho she isnt actually violent. w arguments, she likes to start em but finishin is ... ruff.  also any dare, she wont back down in either doin it or arguin why doin it wld be smth-ist. shes not the sharpest tool ok rip lu

loyal legend ! fr her friends n buds, shell turn a blind eye. pals r the only exception ! truly ride or die n will do errthng 4 em. v much a believer in the power of community n ppl needin ppl or wtvr, yk, all that stuff. shes mouthy but like, she helps ppl 

here’s a brief blurb n a more coherent look into lu as a character

TIDBITS

lu can understand spanish but hers is a bit broken, tis her secret shame shhh

she doesn’t believe in the institution. any institution. u name it, shes got beef

pls dont fact check her she cant hear u

probs lowkey thinks shes better than u bc shes vegan

prefers 2 be called “ lu ” n ny1 who insists on lucila is dead 2 her 

comments abt her not lookin like a pt w her height n frame will result in an earful n a dramatic outburst. it aint worth it chief

watches lotsa sports w her pops. mostly indiv ones. mma, boxing, tennis, track, etc

dont ask me abt her principles n politics, i cant explain em either. v inconsistent n just messy at this point tbh but here’s a lil attempt ig

she drives a 2018 prius n lives in a p nice 1br apt outside the club

her mom’s middle class n her dad is almost upper-middle class. he isnt a member of the club but, like ,,, he cld be if he wanted to lol. he spoils her sm while she hasnt rlly Spoken to her mom besides civility, rip they both stubborn, tis a vargas thing

she is v much in a comfy position money-wise n dsnt hav much Need to hustle but sis does hav a couple of organizations she regularly sends some dough to so thats nice ig

she went fr grassroots activist to a veteran twitter/tumblr/reddit/wtvr ranter n a change.org gofundme petition regular. is it burnout ? is she ok ? honestly who knows

WANTED CONNECTIONS / TAKEN CONNECTIONS

found family ! pals n squad wanted. y’all gotta hav patience or ear plugs to power thru her self-indulgent mini-rants but shell luv ya back tenfold !

carpool buds ? cld be a pal ! or maybe yall had a lil argument or small beef but lu still drives ym bc her pride ? said mother earth first even tho the tension n silly drama is funny 

homies to smoochies ! just sum nsa makin out. cld be pals, cld be flirty, idk, but if u wanna kiss her shes probs ok w that

smoke bud ! just sum1 thats her go-to 2 smoke w on her breaks. knows not to call her out on how its not healthy fr a trainer yada yada she knows ok. let her live

an ex ? idk yet shes not rlly datey but thats out there

crushes ! this bitch hot but does she know how to flirt ? not rlly. watch her fumble

debate club ! aka sum1 she bickers w relentlessly. its valid, sum1 fite her. r u a worker or a club member ? either works. its a whole club bc she can have tons, lu can be hella annoying n testy

clients ! self-explanatory. do they get along tho ? lets find out ! 

( im officially braindead now but if y’all got more ideas or think theres smth lu wld fit just lmk !!! down 4 wtvr, wld luv 2 hash it out w yall <3 ) 

[itstittycitybaby]

From the Ashes We Are Born (Part 7)

A/N: Finally we’ve made it to part 8! I apologize for the wait just been dealing with things but here we are! Thank you so much for your love and support throughout this series I really appreciate it.

You knew V was either going to be livid or disappointed at what was currently smothering you in the shadow gallery. There hadn’t been a discussion about pets in the gallery so technically you weren’t breaking the rules right? He was a mountain of a dog; he reached up to your hip and his hair shed everywhere. The moment you saw the dog spread across V’s beloved sofa you almost had a heart attack. Oh, you were in for it now. Hopefully V wouldn’t be too upset about the hair that littered the couch and the big friendly dog. What were you supposed to do anyway? The poor thing was wailing loud enough that you were afraid that chancellors men were going to find it. Unbeknownst to V, you figured out the latch on the bedroom window and snuck out into the night. The dog’s soft whines led you to him and that’s how you got a scrape on your arm once it tackled you and licked your face. He was intimidating considering his mountain of a size but he was a gentle giant. He reminded you of V. Scary as hell but a sweet angel underneath it all. The dog had a worn collar around his neck but no tag. Your fingers were numb from the cold streets of London and the rough material of the collar didn’t help either. “C’mon,” you cooed, setting a fast pace for the dog to follow. You’d be thoroughly fucked if a henchman caught you. Your shoes thumped underneath the cobblestone and the dog’s little click of the paws were the only thing you heard as you made your way back to the gallery.

You paced as you waited for your masked lover to come home. Nerves made you jittery as you moved around the kitchen. The dog watched you curiously, his head tilted as he watched you loose your mind. V would ask how you left the gallery in the first place. The bedroom window wouldn’t be able to open once V found out. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he glued the damn thing to keep you from leaving. “It’s dangerous out there darling,” he said one night, trying to convince him to let you out. It was snowing that night, the white puffs fell from the sky gracefully. You grumbled in reply much to V’s amusement. The dog’s tail wagged as he looked at you. He was smiling at you as you stood there debating the poor thing’s fate. Your masked boyfriend was kind and gentle. V’s voice was soft spoken unless he was excited about his next anarchist plans, or was cheerful that day. Surely he would have sympathy for a dog. Right?

“Where is my love?” Shit. The clock blinked 3:23. You almost dropped your favorite mug in your hands. The dog perked up as it heard V. His tail wagged happily and his big jaws grinned and his eyes twinkled. “In here,” you yelled, cursing softly at the voice crack. V’s footsteps hurried. Have you been hurt? “Darling?” Panicking, your fingers clutched the dog’s collar as you forced him behind you, right as V turned the corner. The fluttering in your heart never seemed to stop once you saw V. It had been a year since being with him and yet here you were still enraptured by the man. God, you felt like stupid teenager all over again. His head cocked to the side. You missed the man and his grinning mask. He’d been busy, staying out late and sleeping for a couple hours and then heading out. V’s head would sink like a scolded child when you saw the wounds he was trying to hide. “Is everything alright?” “Yea,” you replied a bit too cheerfully. Fuck, I’m a bad liar. V’s eyes narrowed a bit under the mask. His lips tugged into a small frown. Your blood ran cold as he raked his eyes over your figure. More importantly, what you were trying to shield from him. “Darling,” he started, “what did you do?” You grinned sheepishly, shuffling in front of the friend you had made. “U-uhhh,” you stammered. You knew you couldn’t hide anything from V, let alone a giant dog that was trying to wiggle it’s way from your grasp. 

“My little minx has brought something home,” he commented. “Uh..No.” V sighed. “Darling I can see the paws of a dog between your legs.” On cue, the dog wiggled from your grasp and pounced on V. A little yelp of surprise came from V as the dog stood on its hind legs and started attacking his mask with kisses. “Down,” V demanded between breaths, snapping his fingers. You giggled, once again catching V’s attention. Once the beast’s hunger had been slain (V’s words not yours) did V turn to you. The dog was oblivious to the obvious tension in the air. “Okay just hear me out,” you started, clasping your hands together and giving your boyfriend the best puppy eyes you could muster. V crossed his arms. He was amused at your efforts of keeping something so trivial as a beast from him. Let alone in his own home. “I heard him crying out there in the cold and I didn’t want him to get hurt! Look he’s so skinny that his ribs are showing V,” you exclaimed waving your arms around. V did admit he was admired by your stubbornness and you did look quite adorable looking so passionate. That was until it struck him. You left the shadow gallery. His clever little minx found a weak spot in the gallery. V was a little disappointed that you had left. His love knew the rules and how dangerous it was to leave without him by his darling’s side. “Darling, how exactly did you manage to get the dog?” 

Oh you were fucked. The question that you were waiting for. The grimace that pulled onto your face said it all. V sighed, his curtain of hair following the shakes of his head. “Show me.” Your head sunk low.  The dog licked your fingers wanting to be pet. Your heart hurt as you realized this would be the last time you pet the sweet thing. Giving his ears one last scratch you left the kitchen as V and the dog followed your lead.

V was impressed. Your efforts into saving just a dog on the cold harsh streets of London made him chuckle. More importantly, how you managed to squeeze you and the beast through the bedroom window. A huff of amusement left him once you showed him how you managed your great escape. The window was big enough for you to wiggle your way through. “I hope you do realize my love, the consequences of this.” A sad smile graced your lips. “I know V,” you muttered. You glanced at the sweet dog, grinning at the both of you who was oblivious to its fate. He sat between the both of you with his tongue dangling out of his mouth. “He is a charming one,” V said as he followed your gaze. You perked up a bit. Hope bubbled in your chest. Your eyes pleaded with his. V smiled underneath his mask. “Is there something you’d like to ask darling,” he asked smugly. Watching you squirm and be teased under his wavering gaze made him laugh. “C’mon V,” you whined, a pout gracing your lips. “You know what I want.” V cocked his head, “I’m afraid not my darling.” You huffed in frustration especially at the mock of innocence in his tone. “Use your words.” You felt your cheeks heat up a bit. Huffing, you mumbled, “canwepleasekeepthedog?” 

“Klaus,” V hissed. It had been a week since the beast had become a part of the household. Klaus was good for the most part, however V grumbled everytime he had to clean the hair from the couch. Klaus looked up from his spot on the bed. Next to him his darling slept peacefully blissfully unaware at the predicament V was in. The dog side eyed him and let out a huff. V stood there dumbfounded. Of all things he did not expect a dog to have an attitude. V grabbed the dog by the collar and gently shoved him off. He grumbled at the awful hair on his side of the bed. The sheets and blankets had just been cleaned and already they were dirty again. V looked at Klaus again who just smiled proudly and wagged his tail. He let out a sigh and pet him before he slipped into bed with his darling. 

It was noon when you woke up. V’s spot was empty and Klaus was nowhere to be found. The sight of hair on V’s side of the bed made you cackle. He would grumble about it during lunch you were sure of it. The thought made you snicker even harder. Trudging out of bed with a blanket wrapped around your body, you left the room. The crackle and the heat from the fireplace made you hurry. Winter had always been harsh in London but in the shadow gallery it was absolute hell. Once you reached the living room your heart warmed at the sight of your boyfriend and Klaus. V sat on the couch, book in hand, and Klaus stretched over his lap. You laughed. V closed his book and looked at you. “Good afternoon love,” he said. You grinned, “I see you and Klaus have been getting along well.” As if on cue Klaus let out a loud snore. “You could say that,” your boyfriend replied, “though he has a talent for leaving his hair around the place.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a dog V.” The masked vigilante just huffed in retaliation. “Yet, my darling, you brought him home.” “Yes, my darling, but you were the one who named him,” you bantered. “Klaus is a charming name,” V replied. “I know honey,” you said, leaning over giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m gonna fix something to eat. Want anything?” “I’ll do it dove,” V replied, trying to get up from the couch. You rolled your eyes. You appreciated V’s sentiment, you really did, but V deserved to be pampered too. Klaus woke up and side eyed the masked man. You laughed as V struggled to gently push the dog off of him. Klaus was too heavy to move and stubbornly refused to do so. V sighed as the predicament got hair onto his clothes. “You’re a bit occupied V,” you giggled. He sighed, “It seems so my darling.” Giving your boyfriend one last kiss and a kiss to Klaus’ head you left the kitchen to prepare a meal for you and the one you truly loved.  

[kneamet]

Angel of cards (13/16)

Trigger Warning: no.

Summary: Joker, Mr. J, anarchist psychopath, Tom Hiddleston. He had many nicknames. Joker was Gotham’s most dangerous and insightful man, with sharp makeup and horribly memorable scars on his face in the form of a smile. He was absolutely crazy and deadly. No one knows his real identity and everyone is afraid of his cruel jokes. But what happens when he becomes obsessed with an ordinary girl?

She belongs to him. No one can take her away from him. Even The Batman.

Chapter thirteen: the Hospital

"Dear Bruce,

I'll be honest with you... I'm going to marry Harvey Dent. I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. When I said that if Gotham didn't need Batman anymore... we can be together... I wasn't lying. But I'm sure the day will never come when you don't need Batman.

I hope I'm wrong. And if so, I'll be there. But as a friend. If you have lost faith in me, please keep your faith in people.

With everlasting love, Rachel, " Bruce whispered the last sentence softly, resenting the loss. There were gentle tears in his eyes. The hand clutched the paper on which the love words were written.

Why Rachel? Why her? Why exactly the love of his life, and not... someone else? Why did the Joker say this address and not some other address? Why did he name the place where Harvey is?

"Alfred?" Without taking his eyes off the window, his right eyebrow slightly raised, but still with an emotionless, steely voice that had an anxious and trembling note in it, Wayne asked.

In his peripheral vision, Bruce could see that Alfred had entered the room, dressed like a string. He couldn't see his expression or feel his feelings, but he knew that his beloved butler was also deeply sorry.

"Yes, Master Wayne?" asked Alfred, in his usual voice, with a hint of regret in it. He knew how much his master loved Rachel.

"Is it my fault?" Bruce asks with a sigh, feeling the paper get wet because of his sweaty palms from the fear of responsibility. "I was supposed to inspire good... not madness and death, " Wayne's always calm voice faltered. His jaw trembled slightly. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

"You inspired good, but you spat in the face of the Gotham mafia. Did you think there would be no consequences?" Alfred asked, still holding the bottle of wine in his old hands, which Bruce would probably drink in one gulp. "Life always gets worse before it gets better," he sighed again and stood up from his comfortable black chair, turning to Pennyworth.

"But Rachel, Alfred," he countered, raising his voice slightly. It was too much to bear. Will Bruce be able to cope with such grief on his own? Would the general darkness swallow him up?

"Rachel believed in what you stood for. Gotham needs you, " the butler said in a reassuring old voice, moving closer to his master. He just looked down.

"Gotham needs a real hero," a real one. Not like him. Gotham needs someone who can always defend their rights and protect Gotham in a truly legal way. "And I almost let that psycho blow him to hell," Bruce whispered softly, referring to the Joker.

Wayne's hand, which was already holding the piece of paper with the love and voluptuous words, only tightened and tightened. The Joker. This blood-pumping and frenzied lunatic who only thinks about how to destroy Gotham.

And what about his equally beloved Blake? The same person who could always support him when Rachel was away? And if Rachel, he sighed, could be subject to that darkness, he didn't notice it for Blake.

Still, what does this fucking nutcase want with his best friend's niece? Bruce licked his parched lips of honey that had become wet from the tears of the meek.

He must understand everything.

***

"She wanted to wait for me," Harvey mumbled, gripping his aching knuckles tightly. He could still see the pleas and screams of his beloved as she died. Rachel. He opened his mouth slightly in annoyance, pulling his lower jaw forward. Will he be able to live without everything now?

First, the Joker took away the first ray of light in his life — Blake. His beloved niece, whom he adored with all his kindred love. Would he have been able to break into the ranks of prosecutors if he hadn't been there? Hardly.

The second thing the Joker took from him was Rachel. His favorite, his sweetest girl, for whom he was willing to do anything. Exactly the same one. The one who always supported him, helped him.

He didn't listen to Gordon's useless talk. Even aside from the fact that he was a very nice person who really felt sorry for him, Harvey didn't want to see him right now. His obsessive and mumbling behavior only irritated him and injected more anger.

"I'm sorry about Rachel," he said suddenly, after a long silence that lasted about a mortal two minutes. Dent choked on his breath. "The doctor says you have a terrible pain, but you don't take your medication. That you refuse... from a skin graft, " knowing that it would not entail anything good, Gordon said quietly. Harvey only stifled a guttural growl. Idiot. Idiot. What kind of mumbling creature is this?

"You remember that name... what you gave me... When did I work for you?" Dent asked, turning to face Jim, who was standing with his head down and his brown-and-green cap in his hands.

He could see the flash of fear in the commissioner's eyes, but immediately suppressed. Is he afraid of him? But why? What's there to be afraid of? These burns on the second half of the face? Or what?

"How was it, Gordon?" he asked in a more severe voice, squinting his right eye.

"Harvey, I am..."

"Speak up," Harvey said in a steely and very stern voice, feeling an uneasy shiver run down his spine. He knew the nickname. Knew. "Speak up!"

"Two-face. Harvey is two-faced."

"Why hide who I am now?" the man asked, baring his teeth and swallowing.

"I'm sorry," Gordon said in a low voice, only clinging more tightly to himself. He didn't like being shouted at, even though he'd seen a lot of things in his life.

"No," came the steely reply again.

***

Damn Moroni! The Joker thought furiously. His thoughts were now just a hailstorm of thoughts and a chaotic chaos that couldn't calm down. He licked his dry, bland, cold lips with a rough tongue. He was walking briskly toward Harvey Dent's room.

Oh, yes, the very man he had almost killed, and whom Batman had saved just in time. What a good boy he is. He would have to do it again somehow, and arrange a soft and favorable game for his favorite toy.

Although to be honest, Batman was eerily boring. That mumbling, stern voice and thoughts that he couldn't even properly show and say. Were you sure he was Bruce Wayne, the son of rich parents?

The Joker clenched his fists. His nostrils flared wide and he drew in a sharp breath. He resisted the urge to grimace. He likes the smell of the hospital. Medical supplies and equipment. Terribly. It's disgusting. Antiseptics for surface treatment, autoclave, hospital food, quartz, and the patients themselves, who apparently rarely wash, also had an unpleasant smell.

The Joker pressed the black plastic doorknob, pushing open the white door and entering a room that was clearly designed for premium guests. He chuckled, licking his painted lips again. Sloppy.

He quickly looked around the room, trying to find something that could be used against him. His quick and deft eye caught only a small silver tray, but he was unlikely to be able to defend himself with it.

The Joker sat down on the brown chair next to Harvey's bed. What beautiful burns the fire had left him, the Joker grinned. It definitely suits him. And how he hadn't done that to himself before. He stifled a small laugh.

"Hi," the Joker drawled, grinding his teeth together and making an unpleasant sound. Harvey, of course, woke up. The man saw the body of the injured patient tremble slightly and suddenly Harvey turns his head, shuddering slightly and trying to stand up.

"You know..." the Joker drawled again, prolonging the intrigue, until suddenly he noticed the terrible look of his interlocutor. Why is he looking so surprised? Oh, yes, the nurse's costume. In general, he liked it.

The Joker, or rather Tom, always liked to dress in women's suits. He felt to the bottom sometimes... more complete, or what? Yes, I suppose so, considering that it was only his mother who took care of Tom at the time.

He pulled back his fake red hair, trying to mess it up even more. Although it would seem that much more? They were already in a very sloppy state.

"...I don't want any hard feelings between us, Harvey, " the Joker curled his lips in disdain, slightly pinching his nose and frowning. "When my angel..." The Joker liked this savage look of Harvey, who was ready to tear anyone up for his favorite girls in the form of Blake and Rachel. But now that neither one, that is, Harvey, nor the other, that is, Bruce, has a favorite, how will they cope now?

How good it was that he had an angel of his own.

"Blake!" said Harvey loudly. The Joker grinned imperceptibly and raised his hands in the air, as if admitting the truth of the other person.

"...my angel was kidnapped ... " the Joker continued, taking great pleasure in Dent's anger. "...I didn't kidnap her. More precisely, I kidnapped her, but not to kill her. I'll do you a huge favor... My angel, or yours, or maybe Bruce's, Blake, is still alive. And I confess from the bottom of my heart, I'm being a gentleman to her," he saw Harvey's displeased face.

What doesn't he like? His niece is alive and well, she is happy to spend time with him, what is the problem?

"By the way, I didn't detonate those bombs," the Joker said quickly, as if trying to get off the subject, raising his hands again and licking his lips. To be honest, it was not pleasant for him to go without his favorite gloves.

It's terrible to look at your scars. They're so awful, Tom thought, suddenly breaking into the Joker's thoughts. Go away, Thomas! You're in the way! And didn't the Joker tell you that it's not exactly the right time to show up? Yes, and that very moment of obsession.

"These are your people. Your plan!" accused Harvey loudly, trying to rebel again, but the Joker only let out a nervous laugh, after which Det immediately stopped moving, froze with his eyes wide open.

"Do I look like someone who has a plan?" the Joker asked in an insistent tone, arching an eyebrow. He chuckled. However, suddenly, his eyes widened and he quickly jumped out of the chair, lowering his shoulders down and taking quick steps towards the door.

Harvey asked when the Joker was already out the door, but still not closing the door. The man just smiled reassuringly.

"My angel will miss you, I know, but I promise I'll beat the crap out of her and she'll be my wife," the Joker said unctuously, watching as Harvey's eyes began to grow larger. He tried to do something again and began to move quickly, trying to free himself and stand up. Suddenly, a door slammed. "Goodbye, Harvey-ee-ee," the Joker sang.

The man began to walk quickly towards the main exit. Now the fun begins. I wonder if the media will like this show? But he didn't want to think about it now. His biggest concern right now was his angel. Oh, how she must have missed him... Hungry and bored for sure. Well, he would help her.

And now we need to kill Harvey Dent.

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. XLIII

It was a love story from the very beginning.

Being Useful for You

(9x09)

Hello My Friends? Are you enjoying this hiatus and the Holidays???

Here I am with a new meta from this series, this time I'm gonna talk exclusively of episode 9x09 Holy Terror. The Destiel scene here is a classic one, full of flirtation, had been analyzed a hundred of times, so it will be a hundred and one! 🤣🤣

I want to say thank you to my friend @agusvedder she made all the gifs for this meta and discussed the episode with me, thank you my dear! 😍💕

Now, let's began.

Let it shine

When the episode starts... There's this faction of the angels coming into a bar for a fight with Malaqui's angels.

The nuns were singing...

♪ This little light of mine ♪

♪ I'm gonna let it shine ♪

♪ this little light of mine ♪

♪ I'm gonna let it shine ♪

♪ this little light of mine ♪

♪ I'm gonna let it shine ♪

♪ let it shine, let it shine, let it shine ♪

Which is a prelude to Castiel recovering his angel's powers.

But then, inside the bar... The rebels angels, anarchists, were listening this song...

you got a nasty disposition ♪

♪ no one really knows the reason why ♪

♪ you got a bad, bad reputation ♪

♪ gonna hang your head down and cry ♪

♪ you got bad, bad luck ♪

♪ bad, bad luck ♪

♪ you got bad, bad luck ♪

Again this is talking about Castiel, like that bad one between the angels. The one with the bad reputation.

And is not casualty Cas will take the grace from one of the rebels. Because his rebellious nature.

Flirting in front of Sam

When they arrived to the bar, Dean and Sam found Cas already investigating as an FBI agent.

And because Sam was ignoring the whole "Zeke" situation, he saw Cas working and it was fun for him, feeling all proud, he went with the river.

But Dean wasn't amused. He knew the whole angels want to kill Cas issue, so he knew Cas won't be safe.

But... There was a really blatant flirty situation between Human Cas and Dean.

Castiel was a little drunk, because it was his first time doing that, I think he repeated that like twice, and a very easy going fluidity of words and second meanings.

Let's see ...

CASTIEL: It is so good being together again. You know, this is my first beer as a human. I hope it's okay, me joining you?

SAM: Why wouldn't it be okay?

DEAN (looks alarmed at this turn of the conversation) You know, Cas, are you sure you're ready to jump back into all this? I mean, it seemed to me like you'd actually found some peace.

CASTIEL: Hey, you once told me that you don't choose what you do. It chooses you.

DEAN: Huh?

Dear is still his role model, and more now that he's a human.... But the flirtation starts with a suggestive movement coming from Castiel. He had lived a couple of flirty situations with Dean in episode 9x06, even if he's kind of innocent, he is not that innocent when is about seduction, as I said so many times, he knows about seduction, and maybe he could notice some of these in Dean when he came alone to see him in the Gas n sip. And then in the car. So he knows... Now there's not boundaries between them. They're both humans... So... A little of alcohol and he went for it...

Look at Castiel's eyes and head movement, he also caressed his bottle gently, with a seductive gaze, he know perfectly what he is doing.

SAM: All right, well, then, in that case, we have to figure out, uh, who are we up against, what do they want, and how do we stop them.

CASTIEL: Well, Bartholomew wants to reverse Metatron's spell. Presumably to – to retake Heaven once his following is large enough. (...)

Wow... Here. Castiel had lived the fact that Dean had been jealous about Nora, so, why not try jealousy again? Yeah, let's mention this reaper... So Dean picked up that ball quickly.

The reaper you banged well that was kind of hard, and not with a buddy face of approval there... He looks mad, and jealous. Yeah, the reaper you banged, is like a jilted Lover recriminating a betrayal to his lover.

And Cas responds... Yeah, and you stabbed.

And his face is like YEAH, YOU WAS JEALOUS.

We all know Dean killed her because he killed Cas. But the tone of the conversation takes another context because their faces. Is like they're playing there to change the cause of April's death. You stabbed her because I had sex with her and you was jealous of her.

Tasting very dangerous waters... Dean redirect the chat to how hot she was.

Dean is the one who replaces the gay tension, to the straight safe place. And Castiel follows him. Because he is not unaware of this. He knows exactly what Dean is trying to do. And when Castiel does that, Dean comes back again to openly flirt with him.

That's a very suggestive gaze, and line, and everything, he even smiled at him with the tongue between his teeth, looking adorable, he know he looks adorable doing that, and I'm pretty sure he uses to seduce. Even the touch in the shoulder, everything here is pure flirtation my friends... And Sam was there... Pure thrid wheel soul looking at them in awe, how they're doing that at sunlight.

Then he will try to be a good brother, and leave them alone, but my sweet Cas didn't pick up that intention... And he will offer himself to go for more beers.

SAM (smiling at the exchange)

All right. I'm gonna get us another round.

CASTIEL: Nah. I'll get it.

CASTIEL hops off his bar stool, then returns.

Mm. (swigging the last of his old beer, and setting the bottle on the table.)

You know, I've never done this before.

And that line again, he is too cute. But what Cas, you had never flirted so openly with Dean? 🤣🤣🤣

Cas' prayer

But not everything was fun, because we had right there our official cockblocker, Gadriel.

So, is goodbye again.

Castiel is by himself and he decided to give a try to the pray.

If you recall in episode 9x03 Castiel went to a Church and he found a woman that talked about what faith meant to humans. Well he tries to use some of that, trying to contact other angels to get some info about the case.

That scene of Castiel praying in different postures was delightful. Trying to use what he learned, being human again. He even asked to himself if he's doing it properly.

When he was captured by Malaqui, he uses his strategy again. Malaqui names him like THE GREAT CASTIEL, and he is indeed. His innate soldier flaws again, and he was able to steal grace and scape from their captures. Not just that, but he killed all the angels in that place.

Why he decided to take Theo's grace and came back to the game like an angel? Because he heard Ezequiel was dead. And again Sam and Dean were in danger. And he felt he wasn't useful in his shape as a human. He thought maybe Dean was trying to protect him because he thought he wasn't useful like that. So he wanted to be useful.

I did what I had to

I will talk about this quote in another volume because it repeats all over season 9, and twice in this episode, first Theo and then Castiel.

But, let's come back to the fact that Castiel took a stolen grace (in one of the most sexy scenes I ever saw... Well... Is Misha, he makes everything hot) because he wanted to save Sam and Dean, to be useful to the battle. And he felt he would be more useful as an angel.

So, he called Dean by the phone (pointing Cas knows Dean's number) and we had this sad conversation...

CASTIEL (on the phone) Dean, I don't have a lot of time, so listen. The leader of the opposition is an angel named Malachi.

DEAN: How do you know that?

The concern is all over Dean's voice, he needs to know because he knows this case was very dangerous for Castiel, and he feels guilty for leaving him alone. Even if he knows Cas is strong, his protective nature can't handle the fact he failed to his friend in protecting him.

CASTIEL: He had me. I, uh, I was tortured. But I got away.

DEAN: How?

CASTIEL: I... I did what I had to. I became what they've become. A barbarian.

Here is the quote, is the mission, for the mission, he became a barbarian.

DEAN: What are you – Cas, where are you?

Dean is sensing Castiel is making bad decisions again, he thinks because he wants to help angels, but the truly reason why is HIM AND SAM.

CASTIEL: It's better I stay away. They're gonna want me even more now. But I'm gonna be all right. I... I got my Grace back. Well, not mine per se, but it'll do.

This is it. Cas is an angel again. Dean and Cas know they're in war, but... They had began something... Now the boundaries between them are here again... So is kind of frustrating...

Castiel smiles... The mojo is so Dean, to describe his grace. Yes is sad because they will be separated by that difference, but is necessary...

When Cas says I'm an angel, Dean asks immediately : And you are okay with that?

Because, what would be nice for Cas being a human? He suffered a lot, he doesn't even had a place, or his own bed. Why on Earth Dean was thinking Cas was feeling great as a human? He is not talking about those things, at all, he knows Cas was not having a great life, or great human experience. Then why Dean is asking this? Because of them. Him and Cas. It was obvious they were free, to do, say or even flirt with each other, and that felt good. The easy going, because they were both humans, not boundaries between them. Because both of them knew this. Even with that cockblocker and being apart, maybe Dean was thinking it wouldn't be for ever and eventually, Cas will be living in the bunker with them and maybe... Just maybe... They could be finally together.

So... Because they felt that thing between them, so real now that Cas was a human, so reachable... Why now to choose to be an angel again? Right. War. Mission. That's the way Cas thinks. Goodbye opportunity...

Then, Dean was about to say something... Something we will never know, because Castiel cut him off, I know this is frustrating, but the way Dean says CAS, it could be something coming from his frustrated and concerned heart.

And Cas ... He needed to be useful for Dean. For his mission.

To Conclude:

Castiel and Dean kept flirting. Cas being a human, without boundaries, knowing Dean had flirted with him in episode 9x03, decides to do the same, Dean doesn't stays back, and flirted with him too in front of Sam.

Castiel decided to get back to the game as an angel when he hears Dean and Sam were in danger. He also felt he wasn't useful for Dean, because he rejected him twice, so maybe for this war, he needed to come back powerful like an angel.

I hope you like this meta, I'll see you in the next one!

Tagging @metafest @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @trickster-archangel @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @foxyroxe-art @authorsararayne @anonymoustitans @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @wildligia @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-is--endgame @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @tenshilover20 @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester

If you want to be tagged, just let me know.

If you want to read the previous metas from season 9, here are the links...

Vol. XL; Vol. XLI, Vol. XLII

Buenos Aires December 23rd 2019 9:32 PM

[gimmeyoon]

You’ve Become My Favorite Sin [10]

     ✷ Pairing: Jimin x reader | feat. Jungkook x reader and Yoongi x reader

     ✷ Setting: Angels and Demons au, slowburn

     ✷ Ratings/Warnings: M for Mature, religious themes, language, Smut (Oral (m), dirty talk, slightly sub Jimin, unprotected sex, but Angels and Demons probably can’t have kids or get STDS and you can, so wrap it before you tap it)

     ✷ Word Count: 3.1k

     ✷ Summary: When Jimin started questioning his place in the world as an angel, you took it upon yourself to show him the darker side of life. Suddenly, falling from grace doesn’t seem so bad.

Prev | Next

    "So, you trust him?" Jungkook asked. He had finally come by your office today, despite having avoided it for about a human week now. He always needed space after your fights and you allowed it because eventually he would come back when he was ready.

   "Yes," you said. "You've never known angels like I did; I can tell which ones are the righteous assholes."

    "They're all righteous assholes," Jungkook retorted, throwing a knife at the board on your wall.

   "So that's how you really feel about me?" you teased.

   "You're not an angel," Jungkook said, frowning a little.

   "Am I not?" You looked up at the ceiling as you considered it. "I don't know which I've been longer."

   "You are neither angel nor demon," Jungkook said matter-of-factly as he sat down across from your desk. "They have a whole new word for you."

   "That's one way to look at it," you said with a small smile.

   "I'm sorry I lost my cool on the mission," he said with a sigh.

   "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

   "I won't say I think your judgment is totally clear."

   "Because I have a fetish for Angels?" you laughed, though not with the full robust humor you usually had.

   "No, because you clearly like him more than you've let on."

   "Clearly," you scoffed.

   "You can't fool me," Jungkook said, smirking. "I haven't fucked you in months."

    "Maybe I'm bored with you."

   "There's no need to be mean," he said, mocking pain as he placed a hand over his heart.

    He was right. You hadn't really thought about it, it hadn't been intentional, but since you and Jimin had grown closer you hadn't called your favorite demon to you. It's not like you owed Jimin anything, you knew that he knew at least parts of your history with Jungkook, but it hadn't even been a thought in your mind.

   "I think I've changed," you said, looking up at Jungkook, who slowly nodded his head in response.

   "Subtly," he said. "If you blinked you would miss it."

   "Do you think it's a bad thing?"

   Jungkook seemed to consider this for a moment. "I always liked your humanity. You've always been different than the other demons, perhaps more so now than ever before."

   "You would still follow me?"

   "Always."

   "It seems unlikely we get out of this unscathed."

   "That should be the title of your memoir."

   "We're fucked."

   "Good, we're demons of lust."

   You sighed. "I'm being serious."

   "I know," Jungkook said, smiling widely. "There's nothing wrong with you."

   "Then why have I changed for him?"

   Jungkook floated his knife in the air as he looked up at the ceiling and considered this. "Reversion to the mean," he said looking back at you.

   "Math?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

   "The way I see it," he said, adding a second knife to the air. "You're over here," he said moving one far to the right. "And he's over here," he moved the other to the left. "As the two of you interact more, you move closer and closer to the middle. To the average of whatever heaven and hell is."

   "Yes, but I need souls to live."

   "So keep getting souls," Jungkook shrugged. "You and I both know you have less to lose in this."

   "I know," you said, nodding your head. "I hate everyone."

   "At least that hasn't changed."

   It's in unexpected ways that you see his influence. Jungkook's right, it's not too hard to hide any goodness in you. You've messed up a few deals, at one point sitting a girl down and telling her no man was worth her soul.

   Jay had given you a weird look, but when he asked what wrong you just told him you were thinking about Yoongi. That seemed to be enough of a response to explain why you passed on her soul.

   She had reminded you of you, that much was true, but it was the cross around her neck that made you hesitate. What if she was Jimin's charge? You'd never seen her, and frankly Jimin never really talked about her anymore.

   Neither of you really talked about work anymore. Jimin helped you with Dragas and nothing else. You didn't talk about the obvious ways your worlds clashed.

   Jimin was more than an angel and you were more than a demon, yet at times it felt like all that didn't matter. You had higher callings to answer to.

   You had been naive in thinking that by becoming a demon you wouldn't have to answer to duty anymore. Sometimes you wondered if Jimin truly grasped what had happened to you. You regretted that those thought only came when you were apart.

   You were selfish and greedy, just as a demon should be, and when he was around you wanted nothing more than to kiss every inch of his body, to show him just how much you wanted him.

   When you thought better of whatever your relationship with Jimin was, you reminded yourself that he was wise enough to make his own choices. He could handle himself and you had already told him your story. He knew what the consequences of giving into desire were.

   And he seemed not to care.

   "If you think anymore your head will explode," Jungkook said, pulling a knife from the dart board. You hadn't even noticed he had returned to the spot.

   "I'm doing a bad thing, aren't I?" you said, to which Jungkook shrugged.

   "According to who?" Jungkook moved to stand in front of your desk. "The big guy up there? I thought you stopped caring what he thought a long time ago."

  "A girl never stops wanting her daddy's approval," you winked.

  Jungkook laughed heartily, throwing his head back. "Seriously," he said composing himself. "Who's to say what's good or bad?"

   "The entire system we work within."

   "Yeah, but we're anarchists. Always have been."

   "Jimin's not."

   Jungkook scoffed. "Yeah, you're right, _____. The angel that asked you to hide him from Heaven and that has willingly watched us buy souls isn't an anarchist."

    "He'll resent me," you said, shaking your head as you stood from your desk began to pace the office.

    "Because you resent, Azazel or Yoongi of whatever his fucking name is?"

    "I don't resent Yoongi," you insisted, shaking your hand at Jungkook.

    Jungkook raised an eyebrow in response. "You don't?"

    "I mean I did," you said. "I got over it."

    "Did you resent him for the fall or for fucking the first human he found?"

    "There's no need to be mean," you said, mocking Jungkook from before.

    Jungkook laughed. "I'm just saying, there's no reason to assume how Jimin would react. All you can do is talk to him."

    "Gross," you said, scrunching up your face.

    "I know," Jungkook said, his face matching yours. "That's the true evil."

    Though Jimin doesn't seem interested in talking the next time you see him. When you feel him tug at your bond, you call him to your home. You offer him a greeting, that might as well go completely ignored, as he is kissing you the next moment.

    "Sorry," he giggles, as he pulls away just enough so that your noses are still touching. "I've been thinking about that all day."

    You can't help but giggle with him, moving to rest your head on his shoulder. His arms tighten around you as you nuzzle into him.

    "Are we doing something you'll regret forever?" you asked, your voice quiet.

    "No," he said, pulling back so that you had to look at him. "I could never regret you."

    "You say that now-"

    "And I'll say it forever," he said, giving you a serious look before pulling you into another kiss.

    "Promise?" you asked, as he pulled away.

    "Promise."

    And then you kiss him again, harder, because you want to believe it. You want to believe that in the end the two of you can still look each other in the eyes. Maybe Jungkook's right, maybe this is all based on Yoongi, but you don't want to think about that, as Jimin's hands slip under your shirt.

   You encourage him, pulling back and raising your arms, so he can rid you of it. He smiles as he throws it across the room but it drops slightly as his eyes return to you. He's seen you in this before, the black lingerie you wore out on Fallen Day, but the way his eyes widen, it seems like the first time.

    "Do you want to see more?" you asked, causing him to look back up at you.

    "I feel like that's obvious," he said, blushing a little.

    "Minnie," you smiled, pulling him closer to you. "Whatever you want, you just have to ask."

   "Whatever?"

   You nodded you head, a smirk on you face. "I doubt there's anything you could ask that would surprise the demon of lust."

   "I think you underestimate me," he said, kissing you again. "I want all of you," he whispered.

   "All of me is yours."

   "Promise," he laughed, pulling his own shirt off of his body. Your eyes fall on the crescent moon you marked him with on your first meeting. Your hands instinctively brush across his ribcage as you admire it.

   "I always keep a piece of you with me," he said in a low voice.

   "Still not fair," you said looking up at him. "God made you look like that, and expects me to keep my hands to myself."

   "Please don't," he smiled, pulling you flush to his body again.

   "Only because you asked so nicely," you said before kissing his neck. You sucked lightly at the spot beneath his ear, causing Jimin to let out a breathy moan in response.

   "More," he said in response, causing you to laugh lightly, before lightly biting at his ear.

   "Needy, baby," you said, your hands resting on his chest as you kissed him again, Jimin smiling as your lips intertwined.

   "You've made me this way," he said as you pulled away, your hands traveling down his torso to his pants.

   "I guess I owe you then," you said, winking at him, before undoing his belt. You briefly palm him through the fabric as you get on your knees, Jimin taking a deep breath as you move to unbutton his slacks.

   "Wait," he said, causing you to stop, as your fingers danced along the waistband of his boxer briefs.

   "We can stop," you said quickly, moving to stand up straight.

   "No," Jimin said just as quickly. "I just," he motioned towards you.

   "Yes?"

   "Pants off, please."

   You look down at your covered legs and then back up at Jimin, partially trying to comprehend what has just happened as your heart beats quickly in your chest. The other part of you is trying desperately to relax.

   "Oh," you finally said, nodding your head as you stood up.

   "It's not fair," Jimin smiled, pulling you to him by the waist band of your pants.

   "Needy," you whispered again, earning a laugh from the angel.

   "You said whatever I wanted."

   You nodded your head, as Jimin undid the button on your pants. You helped him by stepping out of them, and begin laughing lightly, as Jimin's hands roamed back up your body, stopping on your ass as he pulled you flush to him again.

   "I wish you wore a different one," he said, one hand coming up to play with the strap on your body suit.

   "I didn't plan for this to happen today," you said before kissing him.

   "You were with him last time," Jimin said, a small frown forming on his face.

   "That was so very cruel of me," you agreed, kissing him again as your hands once again painted over his body, ending at his underwear. "I promise to make it all feel better," you said, once again returning to your knees and pulling Jimin's briefs down as you did so.

   He watched you eagerly as your hands traveled up his thighs. You placed a kiss on the right one as you took his length in your hand. You pumped him slowly, smiling up at him as you placed a kiss to the top of his cock, to which his eye's went wide.

   "You are cruel," he said, though the effect of his words was lost as you licked a line up the underside of his dick, causing him to quickly suck some air into his mouth. "So very beautiful and cruel," he added as you took him all the way into your mouth.

   You hummed in agreement, causing Jimin's hands to find purchase in your hair.  You almost jumped to your feet as the sound of Jimin's wings spreading above you filled the room. He looked so powerful and beautiful standing above you, his white wings proud behind him. Something about it has your core throbbing with want.

   "I almost stopped myself from cursing, ah fuck," he said. "But then I realized, that was the least of my worries."

   You hummed in agreement again causing another slew of curses to fly from Jimin's mouth.

   "Where'd you learn to talk like that," you teased, stroking him as you released him from your mouth.

   "Hell," he replied with a light laugh, that died in his throat as you sucked the head of his cock like a lollipop. "Jesus Christ."

   "Do I remind you of him?" you asked, earning a weak glare from the angel. "Do you like me down on my knees?" you asked, before kissing the head again. "Like I'm praying to you?"

   "Down on your knees, pressed against me, fuck," he said, his head falling back as you took him as deeply into your throat as you could. "I love it all."

    Drool dripped down your chin as you dropped him from your mouth again. "Wait, until you get me on top of you," you said. "You could make a religion out of that."

   "God, I will," he said, pulling you up from your knees and into a passionate kiss. "I want that, now."

   "Of course, angel," you said pressing on his chest so that he walked backwards towards the bed. He sat down as he reached it, his hands not abandoning you for a second, as they came to settle on your ass again.

  "Strip, please," he said, patting your ass lightly as he smiled up at you.

  "A little harder and you could call that a spank," you teased, taking the straps of your lingerie and slowly sliding them down your arms.

   "I'll practice for next time," he said, a lightly blush settling on his cheeks as his smile widened.

   The room fell silent as the bodysuit fell to the floor and you stepped out of it. Jimin's eyes roamed your body, the blush on his cheeks deepening as he took all of you in. While he admires you, you do the same to him, your hands absentmindedly reaching out to stroke the very top of his wings. Jimin shudders in response, looking up at you with wide eyes.

   "Sorry," you said, a smirk falling on your face. "I forgot how sensitive they are."

   Jimin nodded his head as his breathing normalized again. The two of you said nothing as his own hands traveled up your body, ending at the very bottom of your scars.

    "May I?" he asked in a small voice.

   When you nodded your head, he softly guided you with his hands to turn around. You felt bare before him as he lightly caressed the black scars where your wings had once been. You hated how he could do that. How he could make such an innocent touch feel more vulnerable than your naked body presented before him.

   He kissed each slowly, his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you to him. "A magnificent, beautiful and cruel creature," he said, slowly turning you around. "My favorite creature."

   "I guess that's your last warning to get out while you can," you said, looking at his wings instead of his face as you said that.

   He shook his head, his face set. "I'm not going anywhere."

   You reached back out to caress his wings again causing him to shudder and fall against you chest. He placed a kiss to your breast before looking back up at you, through his eyelashes.

   "Will you continue to mourn my wings before they're gone?"

   You shook your head as you closed your eyes and tried to move past it. Jimin was right, you were losing yourself to a potential future instead of enjoying the present with him.

   "Good," he said, kissing the other breast. "Now what was this about you on top of me?"

   "A religious experience," you smiled, as you flicked your eyes to the headboard of your bed. "Lie down over there."

   "Whatever you say," he said moving to lay on top of your black silk sheets.

   "You are too good to resist," you said as you crawled to him, placing kisses along the length of his body.

   "Then stop resisting," he said.

  You laughed at this, moving to straddle his body. "Old habits," you responded as you lined his cock up with your core. "Heaven here we come," you said, before sinking down on him, Jimin's hands flying to your hips as you took him all of the way in.

   "Better than heaven," he breathed as you rocked against him.

   Your hands anchored to his chest as you rode him, the two of you filling the room with curses, moans, and the sound of skin on skin. Jimin gripped tightly at your hips as you moved against him, his eyes closed tightly as he threw his head back into the pillows beneath him.

   "Your missing quite the show," you said, earning an attempt at a laugh from Jimin as he moaned again and opened his eyes to meet your own.

   "Closing your eyes brings you closer to God when you pray," he responded, his breath quickening.

   "Why in Hell would you want that?"

   "I want to be as close to you as possible," he said, winking quickly before he threw his head back yet again as you quickened your pace.

   "Oh, fuck," you smiled as you let his words consume you. "Who's ruining who?"

   "Let's ruin each other," he offered, a string of curses following.

   "Does it feel good?" you asked, teasing him.

   "So fucking good," he said. "I think I've had just about all I can take."

   "Then, cum, angel," you said, rolling your hips against his.

   And he did, saying your name like a praise as you rode him through it, and as he held onto your body through it, you reached your own high. You kissed him messily as you helped yourself through it, the two of you breathing heavily as you finally rolled off of him and laid down beside him.

   "I could have had that since the day I met you?" he finally said, rolling over towards you, a look of disbelief on his face.

   "I'm nothing if not a demon of my word," you said, laughing a little before kissing him again.

© gimmeyoon — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, or translation onto other sites even with proper credit given is not permitted.

[popwasabi]

What “The Dark Knight” says about our bad politics

Waaay back in the summer of 2008, me and my dad drove up to Northern California to attend San Jose State University’s freshman orientation.

It was a long drawn out process where first-year students basically were told and shown a bunch of things they would forget and relearn by their first day anyways and culminated with all of us spending one night in the campus dorms so we could all get a taste of the “campus life” experience.

I wanted it to end badly for a couple reasons. Being an introvert, I was not comfortable sharing a room with anyone, let alone a stranger, for a night but more importantly, I was being kept from the biggest movie premiere of the year that day: “The Dark Knight.”

As soon as I woke up the next morning, I rushed my dad to find the nearest theater and purchased tickets immediately for a late-night screening. I was already a huge fan of “Batman Begins” but every trailer to Christopher Nolan’s epic follow-up indicated we were in for an even bigger blockbuster than before and I was beyond pumped.

(Me getting the fuck off campus to watch “The Dark Knight” that day.)

Two and a half hours later I left the theater blown away by the experience. “The Dark Knight” was everything, at the time, I was hoping for in a comic book movie; angsty, dark, edgy (all things I thought I was as a teen), cinematically sharp, thrilling, a fantastic score once again by the legendary Hans Zimmer, and fulfilled just about every fanboy wet dream I had at the time for a perfect Batman movie.

To this day it remains the most satisfying theatrical experience I’ve ever had seeing a movie, not that it’s my favorite movie of all-time anymore, mind you, but that I have never gone into a movie with such high expectations and had them blown away quite like that since.

(Conversely, this^ was my most disappointing experience...)

I’m a different person now, of course. If you were to wipe my memory of the film and had to watch it again today I doubt I would have the same fanboygasm I had then as the cynical 30-year-old I am now but I’ll argue that “The Dark knight” still remains a high mark, if not the standard, for comic book movies today.

That said, parts of this film have definitely not aged well. Visually the film still holds up, the action is still exciting, the performances are all stellar (though Bale’s Batman voice is still bad) but what hasn’t aged well, for me, are the movie’s politics.

“The Dark Knight” is, of course, a post 9/11 movie, in fact, it’s arguably the definitive one as its pop-cultural footprint dwarfs pretty much all within its sub-genre. This Nolan sequel deals heavily in themes of terrorism with its iconic villain The Joker, played maniacally by the late great Heath ledger, wreaking havoc across Gotham with various explosive devices. Though the Clown Prince is more an anarchist than someone with an ideology, like those in Al Qaeda or the Taliban, the results of his beliefs/non-beliefs are more or less the same; cause pandemonium and fear in the masses. Batman, representing the power of justice and order, does battle with this in a war to save Gotham’s soul and again this is still a damn entertaining and thrilling story.

(Seriously, it’s still a rock solid entry in the comic book movie genre.)

But where the film’s 9/11 politics become problematic is toward the end of the film when the Joker begins his final act to plunge Gotham into unstoppable chaos. Batman becomes desperate; The Joker has eluded him at every turn, always two steps ahead of him, escaping justice no matter what Bruce Wayne does so he concocts a plan to finally to locate and stop the Joker for good.

He creates an elaborate sonar system using every cell phone in Gotham, effectively creating a massive surveillance state to spy on its citizens in order to locate the Joker.

(And it’s the only time we have ever got the real Batman eyes on screen, damn it!)

Lucius Fox, played by Morgan Freeman, appropriately calls this out telling him he’s wrong and that he cannot support this but Batman insists that it’s the only way. Fox reluctantly agrees and tells him he’ll resign once this is over as he can’t morally support such a system. The sonar, of course, works and Batman is able to stop the Clown Prince once and for all and upon Fox entering his name into the sonar computer the program dissolves and is deleted presumably for good.

This is of course to wash Batman’s hands of this deed to the audience. Our protagonist knows this is wrong, the audience is told it is wrong but by ending the surveillance he shows he would never abuse such a program, that sometimes good men have to do terrible things to defeat evil and that makes it ok.

For years, as a bleeding heart liberal (at the time) who grew up in the Bush years but loved the hell out of this movie, I tried to reconcile with this part of the story because Batman was the hero. I thought maybe this kind of action is ok because if the “good guy” is in charge bad stuff is fine because he/she won’t abuse such power. That’s real justice, right?

The problem is in the real world, at the top, there really aren’t any good guys and they are counting on you to believe that they are when they get a hold of such power because that’s how we are programmed.

The Patriot Act, which was the signature Bush-era reform post 9/11, created our current surveillance state. In the interest of national security and ensuring those “dern turrists don’t go killing lil’ Timmy riding his tricycle out in Des Moines, Iowa” our elected leaders, both republican and democratic (make no mistake), effectively signed away our constitutional rights to “ensure our safety” by spying on us basically without warrants. The proponents proudly claimed its necessity in fighting the “War on Terrorism” and those naysayers either shouldn’t worry “if you have nothing to hide” or worse were un-American Taliban sympathizers.

For progressives, of course, this was an evil violation of our civil liberties but for many conservatives, this wasn’t a big deal. They are just trying to keep us safe after all. 

But conveniently ignored by many on the left still today is the complicity they had in bringing about this era in warrantless surveillance. Yes, this policy started under Bush, of course, but it continued to be re-upped through the Obama administration and the Trump administration, not to mention revolving majorities in the House and Senate, showing no matter who was in charge they all liked the idea of keeping an eye on all of us with or without reason.

Considering the Patriot Act was made to win the “War on Terrorism” our leaders were never going to relinquish this power anyways because you can’t win a war on terrorism. Terrorism is not a country or a people, it’s an ideology behind many different ideologies. The US, no matter how you see it, be it as liberators or oppressors, will always have enemies and that’s all the reason they need to keep this power it seems.

Having the data on our lives mined like oil can easily be used against us in a variety of ways regardless of if any of us have terroristic or even criminal intentions. But for many in this country, it was only a problem if the wrong guy wielded that power. As soon as their “good guy” got in though, suddenly it was no big deal. I wonder why...

“The Dark Knight” puts forth a problematic view on who can and should wield supreme power, that even terrible choices can be made as long as the “right” person is the one making them.

Liberals are notorious for justifying them when it’s one of them who does it.

It’s a lie. A lie that both parties use to their advantage because they want you believe everything they do can be justified because you happen to be a part of their party; the “good guys” once again. But there is something extra cynical about the way liberals wield it as they parade themselves around as paragons and moral pillars against the Jokers of the Republican party.

For all the platitudes liberals give, that would make some superhero speeches seem benign, they wear masks about as well as the vigilantes do but not for the same reasons. When confronted by this blatant hypocrisy, liberal voters justify all kinds of horrible things as long as the other “bad guy” isn’t the one doing it. For all the shit Bush gets, and rightfully so, for plunging us into a military, financial, and humanitarian quagmire in the Middle East, Obama gets almost zero real pushback by liberals for effectively drone bombing the hell out of the same people. During these past three years Trump has more or less allowed ICE to run rampant on immigrant communities sure and liberals have been critical, again as they should, but who made the cages they were thrown into and who deported more of them during his first three years in office than Trump did?

(And once again, and I can’t emphasize this enough, Andrew Cuomo is NOT your fucking friend...)

Liberals often like to present themselves as the moral purveyors of good in the face of conservative opposition and they use it to their advantage to more or less do many of the same foul things those with R’s next to their name do. Sure, not all their actions are equally as evil but even then, we rarely truly hold either of our leaders feet to the fire because we believe their actions are somehow better because they have a “D” next to their name.

These horrific policies and actions will never see justice as long as we keep justifying them because the “right” person is behind them.

No, this is not an all sides are equally bad take. That discussion requires more nuance and for a different time, but I will say both sides are varying degrees of bad that should be taken seriously instead of not at all and can’t be pushed aside again and again and again because “the other guys are worse.” 

We are running into the same situation today as our presidential election features a credibly accused rapist, sexual predator, who supports Bush-era tax cuts, who takes money from major corporate lobbyists, who is against Medicare for All, has open disdain for millenials, and not only supports but openly bragged about the aforementioned The Patriot Act.

Hmmm, sounds an awful lot like someone we know, huh?

You could argue that one of these two men mitigates, or even vastly mitigates, harm if in office and I’m not here to necessarily scold you for making what you feel is morally the least awful choice but the point still remains; we are justifying evil again because our “good guy” is in charge.

Being liberal, just on its own, does not vastly minimize the problematic nature of a bad person.

Regardless of how you feel about this election and what choice you plan to make this November (and again, I’m not here to tell you what to do), bad things and bad policies will be continued to be enacted by bad people because that’s what choices we’ve been given. There isn’t a good one and the most vulnerable will be hurt the most by it regardless of who wins. There is a reason so many are disillusioned with voting and it’s not just voter suppression laws.

I can already hear some of you screaming “OH MER GERD pURiTy TeStS,” but this is far more cynical a standard we have than simply choosing a less than perfect candidate. Many are already making rather tone-deaf comments about people being “privileged” for choosing not to compromise their morals anymore. What’s “privileged” is voting for the guy who will do less harm for you but ultimately still disproportionately harm more people of color no matter who is in office.  

(The country and the world can really begin to truly heal when a Democrat is in charge of one of these Freedom Machines once again!)

Yes, I might agree that one is probably a net positive for the world at this point but to act like someone choosing to not participate anymore in what is effectively a never-ending cycle I can’t say I blame them either. At some point, our society has to draw a real line in the sand on these things with our leaders and force a more moral standard for our government instead of the status quo.

We can’t go on this endless “pragmatic” path picking “the lesser of two evils” until we gradually just become evil. You can make the argument that maybe the time isn’t now, and you might be right but when? These folks at the top are COUNTING on us accepting circumstances and justifying terrible beliefs and actions over and over again because of the state of our politics.

“The Dark Knight” believes that sometimes bad things must be done to defeat evil but the real world can be so much less cynical if we stopped compromising on our beliefs. It’s not entirely too late for us to do the right thing. We can’t go on forever letting bad behavior go because the “good guy” will be the one doing it instead of the other one.

Taking money from corrupt billionaires is wrong. Extra-judicially drone bombing the Middle East endlessly is wrong. Throwing migrants in cages like fucking animals is wrong. Rape and sexual assault are wrong. Mass warrantless surveillance is wrong. Doesn’t matter if its Batman or fucking Superman doing any of these things; immoral behavior cannot and should not be ever justified.

Otherwise, we really will live long enough to see ourselves become the villain...

Looking forward to the comments on this one...

[gravityfissure]

[meta] What, if any, games, movies, books, tv shows, etc. have you drawn influence from for your character?

Okay so round 2, much in the same vein for Arthur there are... A lot. Possibly even more things that influence and inspire where Otto’s muse and views comes from. That said in writing this there are also a LOT of similarities between the characters I can pick out certain attributes and to be honest there’s a lot of crossover with the traits and characterisations highlighted.

Namely: playful and proactive, self-serving yet loyal to those that meet his criteria as to who is deserving of it. A grifter by nature that will approach almost any situation if he feels he’ll get something out of it while equally hoping that one day someone might actually bother to ask him (and maybe give him a true reason) to stay.

Dorian - Dragon Age: Inquisition

Uh, the heir of a famous magical dynasty? A flair of magical talent that made him the envy of his peers? Studied at one of the best colleges for the magical arts before being kicked out and privately tutored before eventually vanishing and being found by Magister Gereon Alexius who offered to take him as his apprentice eventually becoming a fully-ranked enchanter. A pariah for opposing every fault his homeland is renowned for?

It’s been years since I’ve played DA:I and Dorian always was one of my favourite characters but tbh I completely forgot his background and it’s only in revisiting it now I actually realise the similarities in the framework of their characters/development/story line. Not to mention the fact they both enjoy playful flirtation and witty banter and oppose the things they don’t fit into their view of the world. They will probably do the right thing, but that doesn’t mean they might not take their sweet ass time in actually getting into a situation.

Isabela - Dragon Age II and Inquisition 

AND AGAIN. Isabela’s a great character - a pirate scourge of coastlines and nations around the world who values fun, freedom and getting ahead in life. They both value solving situations in clever and devious ways and getting ahead even if it means being somewhat selfish when they’re dealing with other people, example: Otto conning Deirdre out of $28k when she tried to cover for Regan or those plans he has to try and record a banshee scream? They’re both always down for trying to squeeze that little bit extra out of a person. If it one ups them in life and people are gullible enough to fall for it well... They really did it to themselves didn’t they?

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t depths to that hardened persona they both present. There are actual feelings and things hidden behind the wall and appearance they both present to the world. And underneath it all they’re both afraid of being left behind, but figure it’s best to push people away before they decide to leave of their own volition. At least that way they can say they have some control over the situation.. 

Sera - Dragon Age: Inquisition

Apparently this is a DA characters list but you know what sue me. x) So NEXT on the list is Sera, an elven archer who is incredibly impulsive and reactionary. She takes pure delight in humbling the established authority she views as arrogant and selfish. It’s less about what’s right in the grand scheme of things but more about what’s right in that very moment. She doesn’t believe in actions taken for a greater good, instead viewing it as just another excuse to hurt others undeserving of such treatment because it’s easier than making the truly hard choices in life. 

Felix Dawkins - Orphan Black

Look Felix is one of the many fascinating characters on Orphan Black. Don’t get me wrong there are SO many and it’s a great show. But Felix is a character whose very existence proves that you can have a very effeminate, boisterous, loud, witty gay character and not have him be limited to the perpetuation of the sassy gay friend stereotype. Why? Because he has a whole complex personality beyond just that aspect of his life. He’s got to deal with real life issues on top of all the drama clone club brings into his life and he deals and he survives and he cOPES.

Not to mention he’s a positive representation of foster children being happy, positive representation of LGBTQ+ characters and gives positive representation of sex workers. Not to mention on top of all that representation you see how he’s smart as hell, the only person who knows Sarah well enough to keep her on track. The BEST uncle to Kira and one of the most supportive characters on the show. 

Sarah - Orphan Black

Felix’s foster-sister, another character that shows the positive and complex dynamic that foster families tend to have while also demonstrating the fascinating found-family dynamic with clone club. Sarah’s interesting because she’s a natural chameleon, she’s street-smart and tough, a born outsider living on the fringes by her wits while in possession of a dark sense of humour that sees her by.

Sarah and Otto have a rather morally ambiguous compass, they’re both characters who swing between being very self-serving and selfish and acting for the greater good when they decide it’s needed. Not to mention the act as if they don’t care about other people’s issues (see clone club) when actually it transpires they both might just care a little more than they actually let on.

Garcia Flynn - Timeless

Unfortunately Garcia fits the my favourite character type: tall, dark, snarky, sassy antihero motivated fiercely by love and willing to do things of questionable morality against a greater evil, self-aware and doesn’t make excuses for his behaviour, but isn’t wringing his hands over it either.  A character who so dearly loves the people in his life (see revenge for his wife and daughter) so much so he’s still fighting for them 5 years later just to be alive and not even to have anything to do with him again because he knows the things he’s done are enough the he could never go back to being that person for them. The man who loved his mum and went on a trip just to make her happy and save his brother. When he truly cares for someone he does EVERYTHING for them while somehow having none of the toxic jealous possessive business, despite his  well-attested Garbage Drama in other departments, and just generally being a mature adult and an essentially good person who has gone down some really dark places and is finally rediscovering what he’s buried and lost. Look man, I’m a suuuuuuuuuuuuucker for found family, enemies to lovers, and villain becomes weird family member. And he covers all of those, so yes. 

There’s a lot of that I’m planning and drawing on for Otto, this weird currently antagonistic little self-serving shit who is out for his own ends but maybe along the way finds some semblence of a conscious and maybe has a fair few moral dilemmas and self-questioning moments along the way? Who maybe finds friends (and even love?) Who has to deal with FEELINGS and things he’s repressed for years because of the things he’s done just to survive the life he fell into? Uh, yes give me give me give me.

Jesse Custer - Preacher

Okay, so this one’s kind of another given. Jesse’s another character I’m fascinated with because before Genesis’ arrival he was a down upon his luck preacher. A man who was trying so hard to fit into his dad’s ideal and not let the life he had before affect his day to day. Except it all goes to hell in a handbasket because of course it does.

Jesse essentially gains the ability to make anyone do anything he says. And that power? It’s addictive, and we see the struggle he goes through to learn how to control and manipulate it to his own end. To begin with he tries to right wrongs, to tell people to stop doing the bad things they’re doing in their lives and fix them so they’re better people but with each act that power and god-complex grows. It goes to his head until we meet the moronic messiah Humperdoo and Jesse eventually agrees to take his place. The messiah-complex and power corruption is complete, and the repercussions of his choices are devastating especially with how they impact Cassidy or Tulip and the repercussions in Angelville.

Much like Otto’s own magic, the more its used the more enticing it is to carry on using it for more and more things. At first it was small deeds, little acts of good until Otto in kind started to realise that good deeds weren’t enough to make a change. They weren’t enough for other people around him and with each act it grew and grew - and it continues to grow. The question is to what level? And if it ever got out of control, would he ever know how to stop it?

Crowley - Good Omens

An overall non-threatening demon, who tries to be “evil” in his own way to fit into the role his society (other demons) expect of him. Crowley wants to save the world (for his own reasons) and can be rather self-serving in certain moments. There’s plenty of times he tried to convince Aziraphale to run away with him and let everything else forgive the irony but for lack of a better term “go to hell” but he always comes around in the end (typically to a Queen track) to help when it really counts for something.

 Not to mention his flare for the dramatic, very rarely thinking things through, with many of his own plans backfiring on him.  

Sound familiar?

Wrench - Watch Dogs 2

Part-hacker and full-fledged anarchist who wears a freaky mask with LED displays capable of bizarre emoticons. He's vulgar, crude, entertaining and an absolute adrenaline junkie who lives on the edge. He's jokingly called the wrench because he's the wrench you throw into somebody's gears to grind them to a halt.

The final one on the list, because it’s a side I haven’t yet played into so much but I’m curious to given means and opportunity to. Otto does have some inclination towards an anarchistic nature, if a system doesn’t seem to work he isn’t afraid to speak out or more likely act out against it. Whether it’s in the greater good or not isn’t so much relevant rather that he would happily take a torch and burn something to the ground if it meant starting again with something new and better in its place. It’s definitely something I want to explore more down the line.

I also find it interesting the whole concept of “hiding behind a mask” which is something wrench quite literally does. Both have built personas to defend themselves from people breaking through and seeing that what actually exists on the other side is a rather shy and awkward person who tries to “act out” and be “dramatic” in an attempt to get attention from a world in which there’s so much noise how could anyone ever feel like their voice mattered let alone be heard unless they started shouting “HEY, LOOK AT ME” at the top of his lungs?  

[jeditrilla]

all of second sister’s dialogue

i’ve compiled almost all of her lines, as well as the databank info on her and lines about her said by other characters for fanfic writing purposes. lmk if i forgot something and pls beware of spoilers.

SCENE 1: Brocca

Second Sister: Is this all of them?

Second Sister: We seek a dangerous fugitive. This is no common anarchist but a devotee of the treasonous Jedi Order. Failure to turn over this traitor will result in a charge of sedition. Turn yourself in or everyone present shall face summary execution.

Prauf: (...) To the Empire... we’re all just expendable.

Second Sister: Yes, you are. (kills him)

Cal: NO!

Second Sister: Look at this. A lightsaber.

SCENE 2: Brocca II

Second Sister: Going somewhere?

Second Sister: I recognize that stance. Perhaps you had some training after all. Who was your Master, Padawan? Someone I killed, perhaps? What Jedi gave their life so that you might live?

SCENE 3: Brocca III (aboard the Mantis after escaping Second Sister)

Cal (about Second Sister): Who was that back there?

Cere: An Imperial Inquisitor. She’s a Force user hunting Jedi survivors. And now that she knows who you are… She will not stop until she destroys you.

DATABANK: The Second Sister - 1. The Second Sister

A relentless Imperial Inquisitor, the Second Sister arrives on Brocca to hunt Cal Kestis, a surviving Jedi Padawan. Sadistically toying with her prey, she ruthlessly kills Cal’s friend, Prauf, before striking. In the attack, Cal is forced to flee, barely escaping, but the hunt has only begun.

SCENE 4: First mention of Trilla

Cere: When the Purge started… Clone Troopers turned against us, my Padwan and I took several Younglings and went into hiding. But… we didn’t last long. Imperial patrol was about to discover our location so… I tried to lure them away from my Padawan, Trilla. She stayed behind with the Younglings. But… they caught me. And they... tortured me. They wanted to know about the others and… How many were left but mostly they wanted to know about… Cordova. And where he went.

Cal: But you escaped.

Cere: Yeah, it was a prison riot. I saw my opportunity and I took it. But they almost broke me… And I am not the same as I was, Cal.

Cal: Your Padawan… did she survive?

Cere: No.

DATABANK: Cere Junda - 3. Cere’s Padawan 

Cere shares an awful memory about her past. During the Jedi Purge, she was captured and tortured by the Empire. She was able to escape, but her Padawan was not so lucky. Years later, the event has left her scarred and reluctant to use the Force.

SCENE 5: Imperial excavation

Second Sister: Cal Kestis. How predictable. Oh, yes. I know your name… Your past… And most importantly, about Cordova… Tell me, where did you hide the Holocron?

Second Sister (after Cal ignites his lightsaber): Outstanding.

(Shield scene after the fight)

Second Sister: You’re learning. Not quite as gifted as Cere’s last apprentice but not bad.

Cal: You’ve been keeping count.

Second Sister: I’m surprised she didn’t tell you. Cere was never good at keeping secrets.

Cal: And you know her so well, huh?

Second Sister: (laughs) She was weak. Cracked at an Imperial torture chair. Surrendered the location of her naive Padawan. They would never have found me… (removes helmet) If it wasn’t for her. (tosses helmet to the ground) She betrayed me.

Cal: You’re Trilla.

Trilla: In the flesh.

Cal (turning away): I won’t let you manipulate me.

Trilla: So sure, are you? When faced with the choice to protect herself or her Padawan, she chose self-interest. She’ll sell you out too.

Cal (turning back): Well, I can handle myself.

Trilla: Can you afford to take that chance? Your new master harbors great darkness. The look on her face when she saw what they had done to me. As I am now. She turned. Exposing her true nature. She used… the dark side.

Cal: She cut herself off from the Force.

Trilla: Oh? How long before she cracks and betrays you too? Is that who you want beside you when you find the holocron? What would Jaro Tapal say?

Cal: You have no right to mention his name!

Trilla: I wonder… What would he think if he could see his Padawan now? 

Cal grunts and comes closer.

Trilla: Skulking in the shadows with a betrayer. Granting her access to a legion of impressionable students.

Cal: No. I won’t let anyone touch them.

Trilla: (turning away) I thought the same thing once.

DATABANK: The Second Sister - 2. Cere’s Padawan

The Second Sister revealed that she was once Cere’s Padawan, Trilla, whose location Cere gave up under Imperial torture. Trilla was found by the Empire and transformed into an Inquisitor.

SCENE 6: comm link conversations on Miktrull

Comm I.

Cal: I found it. But… Cere, why didn’t you tell me?

Trilla: Because she’s a liar.

Cal: You! How?

Trilla: I rerouted communication the moment you tried to contact her. Slicing encrypted transmissions was always a pastime of hers. She taught me once. There’s no technique Cere has that I haven’t perfected.

Comm II.

Trilla: You’re running out of time.

Cal: For what?

Trilla: My scouts located an artifact of interest at the rear of this tomb. Even now I’m studying, learning his secrets. It seems Cordova was rather taken with these Zeffo. Perhaps enough to hide the holocron amongst their bones.

Cal: Yeah, we’ll see how much you learn.

Comm III.

Trilla: More of my soldiers breach this tomb every minute.

Cal: Afraid to face me yourself?

Trilla: Had your droid not intervened, I would have killed you with ease.

BD-1: BEEP!

Cal: It’s okay, buddy. Just ignore her.

Comm IV.

Trilla: Imagine the artifacts the Empire would’ve missed if it weren’t for your intervention on this backwater planet.

Cal: Sure it’s worth the cost? I hear Project Auger came at a high price.

Trilla: Stormtroopers and workers. Expendable resources.

Cal: You’re a monster.

Trilla: I am what Cere made me.

Comm V.

Trilla: I’ve taken the artifact back to my ship for analysis. Pity you couldn’t make it in time. 

Cal: Doesn’t matter what you steal. You’ll never understand it.

Trilla: Yet you do?

Cal: You’ll find out soon enough.

Trilla: I’ll take those odds.

Comm VI.

Trilla: I noticed something while examining this sarcophagus. It’s a very convenient location to dispose of nuisances.

Cal: You lured me here. Was this your plan all along?

Trilla: You truly have the wits of a scrapper.

Comm VII.

Trilla: You survived.

Cal: Not part of your plan?

Trilla: Luckily, I always allow for contingencies.

Comm VIII.

Trilla: Very good, Padawan. You’ve cleared the way.

Cal: What are you talking about?

Trilla: (laugh) I needed this tomb raised. And now that I have what I need, you’re of no use to me.

SCENE 7: Discussing Trilla

Cal: I had a nice chat with the Second Sister. Trilla.

Cere: What did she tell you?

Cal: She told me… She told me you betrayed her to the Empire. Is it true?

Cere: She’ll say anything to jeopardize this mission.

Cal: Is it true?!

Cere: She was my apprentice. Before the Purge.

Cal: You should have told me.

SCENE 8: Force Echo on Kashykk

Trilla: Normally I wouldn’t waste my time with the likes of insurgents. But I’m looking for a Jedi Padawan. And I know he’s been here.

SCENE 9: Ninth Sister

Ninth Sister: I don’t know what’s got Second Sister thinking you’re so important… She likes her souvenirs, but… I’m not in it for the memories (...)

SCENE 10: Family dinner on the Mantis

Cal: (...) Things are bad down there.

Cere: Inquisitors?

Cal: Well, Trilla… (corrects himself) The Second Sister… Is gone for now but she’s still chasing us.

(...)

Cere: (describing her capture and torture and how eventually Darth Vader came) In the end I gave them Trilla. And I know there’s nothing I can do to make that right.

DIALOGUE (not sure about the order here)

Cal: I’m not Trilla. I’ll be fine.

SCENE 11: After the temple

Cere: Cal, it’s time I told you everything that happened to me when I escaped the Empire. They brought Trilla in the room. And when I saw her eyes… They showed me what I had caused. She was an Inquisitor. And something in me gave. And I lost all control. I tapped... into the dark side. And I killed them all. Every last one of them. Except for her.

SCENE 12: During the Force vision

Second Sister: Cal Kestis. Surrender now and we may spare the youngest… That’s right. On your knees.

SCENE 13: Finding the Holocron

Cal: Had a bad feeling I’d see you here.

Trilla: Oh? How uncharacteristically prescient of you. Here I thought your greatest virtue was your dogged persistence as you stumble from one debacle to the next.

Cal: Guess you made a mistake not killing me on Bracca then.

Trilla: A scant mercy. I wagered one meaningless Padawan against a prize that will win me the Emperor’s favor.

Cal: You think I’m gonna let you walk away with the holocron?

Trilla: Of course not. We both have our pride. But yours has cost you the lives of all the Force-sensitive children on that list. As well as your own.

Cal: Like you said, Trilla. I’m persistent.

(AFTER THE FIGHT, as Cal grabs her lightsaber)

Trilla: Careful with that thing. It’s been through hell.

SCENE 14: Force echo of Trilla’s lightsaber

Trilla: Don’t go. We need to stick together.

Cere: No. I’m going to lure them away and then I’m going to circle back. Stay with the Younglings, Trilla. May the Force be with you. 

Trilla: Master, don’t leave us!

Youngling: Trilla, what’s going to happen?

Trilla: It’s okay. It’s okay.

DATABANK: The Second Sister - 3. An Inquisitor is born

When the Second Sister encounters Cal inside the Vault on Bogano, an unlucky maneuver places her saber in his hands where he witnesses a Force echo of her tragic past. Cal learns Trilla’s history as Cere’s Padawan, including the disturbing details of her capture and transformation into the Second Sister. The revelation leaves Cal momentarily paralyzed, allowing her to steal the holocron.

SCENE 15: inside the Mantis on Bogano

Cal: Cere. I saw what happened. Between you and Trilla. What you both went through. I’m so sorry. I was arrogant, I was foolish. I could never understand what you went through.

Cal: She has a holocron. I don’t know where she’s taking it.

Cere: I’m responsible for the path that Trilla is on. And what she does next is the cost of all of my mistakes.

Cal: Our mistakes… are in the past. And it’s all of our responsibility and it’s about what you do next that’s important. You taught me that, Cere.

Cere: You’re right. I know where she’s taking it. There’s a fortress. Where they take Jedi. Where the Inquisitors come from. It’s a place of torture.

SCENE 16: Fortress Inquisitorius

Cal: Trilla. I saw what you’ve been through. You’ve experienced great suffering. It’s not too late to let it go.

Trilla: Let go? I’m stronger now because of the pain.

Trilla: I knew you’d come back for this. No thank you? You’ll never make it out of this place alive.

(They fight; Cal injures her shoulder and she falls to her knees. Cere shows up.)

Cere: It’s over, Trilla.

Trilla: Nothing is ever truly over.

Cere: This fight is over. I know the darkness that is eating you up inside and every day we choose to either feed it or fight it.

Trilla: It’s too late, Cere.

Cere: No. It’s not. I know the choices that I made took all your choices away. And I have failed you, Trilla. I failed you. And I’m so very sorry.

Trilla: I’ve carried so much hate for you.

Trilla (When Darth Vader strikes her down): Avenge us.

BATTLE DIALOGUE: You can’t run forever. / That was nothing. / No. / A poor show of skill. / That was slow. / I’m the superior fighter. / Your demise draws nearer. / I’ve suffered far worse. / This is too easy. / Oh, so close. / You’ll have to do better. / Know your place. / You can’t win.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Joker (Suicide Squad)

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Boy oh boy, talking about the Joker is always fun! Who are we talking about this time? We’ve covered Ledger’s creepy anarchist and Nicholson’s unhinged mobster, so who do we have left? Romero’s madcap clown? Hamill’s multimedia masterpiece performance? Maybe Joaquin Phoenix’s fresh new take on the most iconic villain in comics?

No… sigh… we’re talking about Jared Leto. Might as well get him out of the way. And while this is certainly not a Joker I like dwelling on, I think there is a fair deal to discuss in regards to this incarnation the Joker, in particular why he fails as a take on Batman’s most famous enemy and what could have been done to fix him, because really, it would not have been hard to make this Joker work.

Actor: Jared Leto is not necessarily a bad actor, but he is certainly not the kind of guy you’d expect to play someone like the Joker. Sure, one of his most famous roles is in Fight Club where he gets his face pulverized, so we know he’s good at getting the crap kicked out of him (a requirement for being the archenemy of a superhero who loves to beat up criminals), but that was a minor role. Here he’s taking on the one comic book villain that even people who have never read a comic could probably name, and I just don’t think someone who is better in supporting roles could pull it off.

Not helping his case is his extremely creepy on-set behavior, where he method acted in incredibly disturbing ways to the point he harassed his costars. Even more baffling is that all the weird, edgy stories of his method acting showed he had no understanding of who Joker is as a character; Joker is not some weird, cringey stalker who sends people dead rats, he’s an unhinged madman who would probably bake a dead rat cake and send it to someone’s house with a bomb inside that would explode at their kid’s birthday, raining dead rats everywhere, all because the kid’s dad cut in front of him at the grocery store. 

In all honesty, Leto is probably the biggest problem because of this. It’s the same problem Eisenberg had as Lex Luthor: he doesn’t understand or care about the character he’s playing, and it shows, because it is almost entirely off the rails from what one would expect, and not in a good way.

Motivation/Goals: The Joker in film typically has the goal of causing a ruckus, overturning society in some way, or just being evil in general… but with a fun twist. Joker is always supposed to do stuff because it amuses him. Nicholson’s Joker got this down the best, but even Ledger’s anarchist take on the character got this down extremely well.  Here though, Joker is pretty much a bit player in the story, and his entire purpose in the narrative is showcasing Harley’s origin and then showing him coming to rescue her. That’s about the extent of his being in the film: he exists solely to help Harley break free from captivity, which he fails to do until the very end of the film.

This is disappointing in an extremely obvious way: this is THE JOKER. This is a character who demands to be the center of attention. This is a character who hijacked the plot of every single one of the best Batman video games ever made. This is a villain who just won’t die. This is the archenemy to end all archenemies, and yet here in this film he’s playing second fiddle to a CGI witch. A lot of his scenes were apparently cut, which makes things even worse, because we could have perhaps had a better grasp of who he is. As is, Joker is really nothing but a satellite love interest to Harley.

Personality: What little we see from this Joker is mostly unappealing. He’s creepy, he’s crazy, he’s strange, but a lot of it feels recycled from other Jokers and not a unique spin put on by Leto. However, there is one aspect of the character that is truly great and deserving of praise: this Joker almost certainly genuinely loves Harley Quinn, in his own demented way. Finally, an adaptation brings Joker and Harley’s relationship back from “romanticized domestic abuse” to the Mad Love it excelled at being. The director’s cut actually added in a little bit more to really showcase these two do love each other, as crazy as the two of them get. It’s like the saying goes: She was fearless, and crazier than him. She was his queen, and God help anyone who disrespected his queen.

Final Fate: They make it look like Joker dies in a helicopter crash… but it’s Joker. You can count on one hand the amount of times his death actually sticks in any continuity. He survived and busts Harley out at the end, ending the film on a kind of sweet note, honestly. 

Too bad it’s one that’s doomed to be undermined by later films, as Birds of Prey is almost certainly going to have Harley kicking Mr. J to the curb and Jared Leto is seemingly cut from the DCEU, and even if he wasn’t it’s doubtful he’d ever be able to get out of Joaquin Phoenix’s shadow at this point. I can’t even jokingly say “Press F to pay respects” here, because neither I nor anyone else respects Jared Leto in the slightest anyway. 

Best Scene: I’m a bit fond of the scene where he dives into the chemicals with Harley, if only because it really reinforces that their love, while utterly insane, is genuine in their own twisted way. I honestly really like this take on their relationship.

Best Quote: This entire exchange, because as corny and silly as it all is, again, it reinforces what I think worked with Joker:

The Joker: Question! Would you die for me?

Harley: Yes.

The Joker: That's too easy. Would you... Would you live for me? Hmm?

Harley: Yes.

The Joker: Careful. Do not say this oath thoughtlessly! Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes power. You want this?

Harley: I do.

The Joker: Say it. Say it. Say it. Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty...

Harley: ...Please?

The Joker: God, you're so... good.

Final Thoughts & Score: Jared Leto’s Joker gets a lot of flak for things such as his design, his mannerisms, the overall performance… and I can’t really argue with much of that. While the base design isn’t terrible, the overdone tattoos, particularly the infamous “Damaged” tattoo, really don’t feel much like the Joker. His mannerisms for the most part just don’t scream Joker either, or at least not a particularly new or interesting take on him. And, overall, the performance in general is weak, lackluster, and inconsequential to the film as a whole. I believe even the director has stated Joker would have made for a better antagonist than the magical Enchantress, and frankly I have to agree, especially since it would have given Leto’s Joker more screentime as well as a more grounded threat for the Squad to face on their first mission. Really, considering most of the characters are just normal people with highly trained skillsets or mild mutations, wouldn’t it make more sense for them to fight off an insane gang leader clown rather than an interdimensional witch demon bringing about the apocalypse?

Combine that with what little is good about him in the actual film – namely, his genuine affection for Harley – and it may have actually made for a good, compelling plotline, with a conflicted Harley forced to choose between an insane relationship she loves and her newfound ragtag group of wacky friends. Not only would it have strengthened Harley and Joker’s roles in the narrative, it would have almost certainly given a better lead in to Birds of Prey. Leto’s Joker could have had more of a chance to exert his charm over Harley and perhaps even be more of an intimidating presence on the screen, maybe even use some classic Joker gags. As I said at the start, this character would have been seriously easy to fix. Just clean up the costume, give some better direction, and let him have a more central role that naturally creates conflict while allowing the Squad to develop closer bonds with each other.

Joker shockingly gets a 2/10. Yeah, I don’t think this is the worst abomination ever put to film, and honestly, even among bad comic book villains he’s nowhere near as bad as someone like Malekith, Weapon XI, or Fant4astic Doom; at the very least, this Joker has some redeeming qualities to him that I can’t ignore. He’s certainly one of the worst adaptations of the characters ever, but still, credit where credit is due, he does some things right. It was all just mishandled, as often things were in regards to the DCEU at the time.

[shhbean]

snufkin

heres a snufkin character study/big ole headcanon. i wrote this before i stumbled upon comet in moominland and realized ALL of it was incorrect kjhgjkfhkjfdh anyway i had more planned for this but i got tired but i think i stopped at an okay spot

pls enjoy

Snufkin was known as many things, a wander-heart, a vagabond, an old soul, a wise soul. A recreational anarchist. A traveller. A derelict (to fewer, snootier people). And more frequently these days...a lost boy. Snufkin was the product of a Joxter with a little too much tomcat in him, and Mymble who had too many children to make time for them. They loved him, for the little time that they knew him. But just as Mymbles run round all day and party all night, Joxters roam on and on until any roots laid down become tiny and vague thorns in sides.

Snufkin left home much earlier than lost boys normally do. He had his teachings from his parents, his mother managed to impart on him the value of connection– no matter flippant, and the value of making one’s own entertainment. His father left him with a wanderer’s heart, a healthy distaste for authority, a head full of stories, and his sense of style. The forest taught him everything else.

And so, Snufkin set out. A little too young, a little more green than your average vagabond, but he was out. And Snufkin loved the world, wide and wild. He was a child of the woods with a heart that belonged at sea. The forest a new, hasher parent. His sore feet and makeshift tent a more uncertain home, but the boy wouldn’t have it any other way.

You see when you cross a Mymble and a Joxter you get a calculating, adventurous, wild thing. A perfect, wandering woodland child. But you would be surprised to know that all woodland children are creatures of habit, whether they’d like to admit it or not. Snufkin was no exception. It is common knowledge that no one can ever truly abandon their nature, but a woodland child was just as stubborn, if not more, as a dragon when it came to their way of living.

Snufkin could not have been a day over fifteen when he first arrived to Moominvalley. The rolling hills cut off by a serene river, meadows as far as the eye can see, a clear blue sky that stretched on for miles– all nestled in the warm embrace of the forest. The valley was full of funny-odd creatures, running about, dancing and singing. The funniest and oddest of them were the Moomins. Strange little trolls, though always kind and accommodating by nature. Snufkin could recall a story from his father from long ago, a tale of a travelling and drinking companion. An loud, boisterous moomintroll with the oddest sense of fashion– always sporting a top hat. And so Snufkin travelled through Moominvalley until he stumbled upon a small bridge over the river, just over a mile or two from the strangest house Snufkin had ever seen, that seemed to call out to him somehow. And although every part of his brain screamed at him to leave these strangers alone and remain reclusive, his heart grabbed control of his feet and walked him right up to that porch, knocking on the door twice.

Snufkin years later would attribute lady fate herself to Moominpappa answering the door, as the man was known to hole himself up in the study or read in his chair, leaving the welcoming of newcomers to his wife. But there, Moominpappa stood, hat and all, eyeing the lost boy in front of him. The encounter was a little awkward at first.

“Joxter! My good man, finally come to visit your old friend! Well you don’t look a day over–” Moominpappa froze, and for the first time in a long time, put his past adventures behind him. “Ah. You are not the Joxter.”

“Afraid not,” Snufkin replied calmly, he had been used to being mistaken for his father by now. “Though, to be fair, I share half of what makes him what he is.”

Moominpappa’s eyes lit up in realization, followed quickly by pure, genuine elation. “Well, I’ll say! The old boy never wrote to me about a child. Though, to be fair, he never wrote to me at all. Well, come here dear boy, you’re practically family!”

The older troll then wrapped Snufkin in a hug, and although Snufkin wasn’t very fond of hugging, especially from strangers, he thought it best not to fight this one. When Moominpappa had just about thoroughly squeezed the life out of him, he let go slightly, holding on to the boy’s arms and giving him one last final look over.

“You certainly have your father’s looks...and his fashion sense. But there’s something else there, something untamable, yet completely grounded.”

Snufkin’s brow furrowed. “Well...my mother was a Mymble if that’s what you mean.”

“No, no,” replied Moominpappa with a wave of his hand. “The Mymble in you is as clear as day. No there’s something else...not just Mymble or Joxter. Tell me boy, what is your name?”

“Snufkin.”

“Snufkin, really? Did the Mymble name you, then? Alright well...you are not just Mymble or Joxter, you are something more wonderful and unique. You are snufkin.”

Before Snufkin could ask what Moominpappa could possibly mean by that, a smaller lighter voice broke through the conversation.

“Papa? Who’s at the door?”

Just then, a smaller and younger Moomintroll appeared in the doorway. Moomins are quite possibly the softest and roundest creatures on earth, but this one may have been absolute softest and roundest. He had no hint of edge to him, all fluff, round shapes, and bright blue eyes. He came up right to Snufkin’s height, and he had a small, welcoming smile. Snufkin was marveled.

“Ah! Moomintroll!” Moominpappa yelled, breaking whatever sort of moment Snufkin was having admiring the younger troll “This is Snufkin, he is the son of an old traveling companion of mine. Snufkin, this is Moomintroll, he should be just about your age now that I think about you.”

Moomintroll smiled wider and stuck out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Snufkin said slowly, shaking it softly.

“You should come in! Mamma is making tea and jam, you would love her fresh jam. You must be exhausted from all that traveling.”

Moominpappa nodded. “Splendid idea, Moomintroll. Yes do come in dear Snufkin, and tell us the tales of your travels. My son and I do love a good adventure story now and again.”

Snufkin struggled for a moment. He wasn’t even sure why approached this house in the first place, other than a strange tug he felt in his heart. And now, here he is in front of his father’s old travelling companion, being told he is not Mymble nor Joxter but Snufkin, whatever that means. Greeted by another moomintroll of the most captivating appearance, one that is kind and appears to be his age– though he’s not entirely sure what to make of that information. And they are prodding him with tea and jams of all things. The wild heart in him wanted to turn and run away, far away from Moominvalley, back into the uncertain wood.

But the curious young boy in him, fascinated by his place in the world and intrigued by the kindness of the trolls before him nodded sagely and stepped forward into the home.

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (14)

Oh my God! It’s done!

This story has been in my head for over a year, and now I can finally bring it to a close. I’ve had this planned out since before I even started writing, and it’s such an incredible feeling to finally have it on (virtual) paper and concluded. I can’t believe how fun it’s been, guys.

As always, I am overjoyed to write @hntrgurl13‘s and @missinspi‘s respective OCs Adeline Marks and Madeline McGucket, and @scipunk63‘s Addiford ship. You guys... just...  <3

I am so freaking proud of this. Enjoy.

AO3

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Chapter 14: Finale

???    ∆

Ford? Ford?

He was underwater; everything was blurred. Smeared like a water painting.

Come on buddy, wake up. We gotta move.

He could feel something crunchy. Somethings crunchy. Crackling in his ear, along his cheek. Everything was swaying, rhythmically back and forth. Underwater smelled earthy… strange.

Okay, hold on Ford, just hold on.

Brown and dried leaves fell away from him. Brown and dried leaves fell away from him.

A sound stopped making noise. The silence deadened everything even more so. Some kind of blast. Distant. Contained explosions. They had stopped.

Muffled swearing.

He let the depths claim him again.

∆

“-Meanwhile, we go to an update on the situation in Manhattan.

“Power still has not been fully restored to the isle, in what has now been confirmed as a planned attack on American soil. At precisely seven o’clock last night, Manhattan began experiencing massive power failures until the entire city was completely dark. As many have speculated, these blackouts were indeed caused by several electromagnetic pulses, weapons designed to fry the circuits of any and every electronic device within their extensive range, planted in strategic areas for maximum damage. We are now receiving reports from multiple sources which outline Oracle Division, a covert government agency created to investigate and terminate anarchist extremist plots to sow chaos into the world, as the perpetrator for this crime. It seems that what was once Oracle Division’s duty to investigate has now become their duty to instigate. Up next: feel like there’s no one you can trust? No need to worry, because it seems like the end of the world is approaching anyway-”

A Road Somewhere? (USA, Probably)    ∆

There was a loud, uncomfortable rumbling under Ford’s left ear. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of a driver’s side red leather seat – the interior of the Stanleymobile. He was lying on his side, cheek stuck to the surface of the back seat.

His heartrate skyrocketed.

“Ford, you back with me?” Came Stan’s voice.

“Yes!” He scrambled to push himself up. Stan was in the driver’s seat. Obviously. No one else was in the car.

More memories hit him.

“Turn arou-”

“Ford, shut it,” Stan’s voice was tight. “You think I’d be taking us away if we could go back? We’re lucky we got out-”

“Fiddleford and Addi-”

“It’s thanks to her we even are out! If she hadn’t been off drawing as much attention as she possibly could, we’d be in the same boat as her right now! So shut up, sit back, and be grateful, while I make sure that what they did is actually worth something!”

A bolt of anger fired through him. Like hell he would.

“Pull over,” he demanded.

“No,”

“What happened to Fiddleford?”

“What do you think?”

Menace entered his voice. “Pull. Over,”

“Do you actually think you can change anything at this point? They’re long gone by this time, Ford, and there’s nothing you or any other pretentiously-named agency full of ineffective, useless people can do for them, so we are going-”

“You’re just going to give up? After everything that’s happened, you decide-”

“-back to Sacramento to get Carla, and we are getting safe-”

“-that this is where you draw the line of all places-”

“-because crap has well and truly hit the fan and I am not letting-”

“-when Bill Cipher is a bigger threat than ever and he probably has Addi and Fiddleford right n-”

“JHESELBRAUM CAN HANDLE IT FROM HERE!”

“PULL THE DAMN CAR OVER!”

The brakes screeched, rubber burned, and Ford almost shot over the front seat as the car skidded to a halt.

∆

"Breaking news; a statement outlining the reason behind the closure and police perimeter recently established around the FBI field office in Roseville has just been issued by a federal spokesperson. The head of the office, Special Agent-in-Charge Ned Guy, has been killed, and agents have reason to believe that the assassin is still in the area – perhaps even inside the office itself. Further information pending, but the question remains: who sent this person, and who is their next target? Whoever it is, our thoughts – mostly along the lines of ‘I hope to God it isn’t me’ – are with them,”

The Side of a Road Somewhere (USA)    ∆

Ford was out of the car practically before it had stopped moving, and Stan tore off of his seatbelt to meet him.

“What is wrong with you?! We have to help them!”

“Haven’t you been listening? We can’t! We have no idea where they are, and even if we did know, there were at least thirty agents in that forest! How many of us are there, Ford? Two! We have a better chance of being invited into their homes for coffee and evil plans than we have of taking them on and winning!”

“We have Oracle Division, Stanley, and the FBI, and we will use them because I am telling you right now that we are not running and hiding from this!”

“So we act like idiots and end up like Addi and Fiddleford, who for all we know are already-”

The silence roared as Stan cut himself off, not daring to finish that sentence, and Ford fought to keep breathing evenly.

Finally, Stan looked him dead in the eye and said lowly, “Get in the car,” which brought a whole new wave of rage over Ford.

“What world are you living in that I ever would?” He snapped. “Our friends are suffering at this very moment because of my mistakes, because of things I allowed to happen!”

“Ford-”

“And not only that, but the world is in imminent danger from that madman, and you still won’t even consider trying to save anyone but yourself-”

He thought Stan was going to hit him.

“Of course I tried to save them! What the hell is wrong with you that you think I didn’t?! Fiddleford was right there with me, and I would’ve gotten him out, I would’ve, but we got separated and – and suddenly everything was going to shit and Addi was being swamped-”

“And you just left her?!”

“-I thought you were dead!”

The thudding in Ford’s head quieted down and all the panic for his friends that was clawing its way up his throat in preparation to be screamed at Stan caught, his voice refusing to give it power.

Stan looked about a second away from ripping his hair out, and he was staring desperately at Ford in mixed rage and pain and despair.

“I thought you were dead, Ford! Not in trouble this time, not hurt – dead. I heard gunshots, and when I ran towards them I found you, and you were lying on the ground and you weren’t moving and I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea what that’s like?” His voice cracked.

A low-lit room, bitingly cold despite the pleasantness of the bar next door, two bodies bleeding out on the ground, one of which could so easily have been Stan. Yes, Ford knew what that was like.

“So I’m sorry that I couldn’t do enough, and I’m sorry that we can’t do anything right now, but if you think I’m ever gonna let something like that happen again, then you really are entirely as much of an idiot as you act like when you’re scared,”

With that, Stan slumped against the driver-side door, exhausted. Ford felt hollowed-out, everything inside that had been propelling him gone for the moment. On jellied legs he made his way over and leant next to Stan, tentatively pressing his shoulder against his soon after.

Stan was right. He needed to get a grip. Spoiling for a fight – with Stan, Cipher, anyone – was the worst possible thing to do at present.

So what was something they could do?

His mind was blank. Judging from Stan’s equal motionlessness, he didn’t really know how to proceed either; Ford could guess, based on what his brother had just said, that until he’d dug in his own heels Stan had been (and, most probably, still subconsciously was) operating on the single priority of get who you can safe with practically no other considerations until that goal was fulfilled.

The problem was, Ford wasn’t letting him complete that goal, and even though the reality check Stan had given him had been effective, his own mind didn’t seem to be able to supply a solution either.

∆

“We have previously reported that Oracle Division, notorious rogue government agency behind the Manhattan Blackout, is also more than likely involved in many other plots to sow discord and chaos among the nation, and, perhaps, the world at large. Since that time, we have received many accusations of spreading false information through speculation, contributing to mass panic, and we apologise. Here is the following correction: Oracle Division, notorious rogue government agency behind the Manhattan Blackout, is most definitely behind Ned Guy’s assassination among many other disturbing events. The idea that sources can concur on any one thing is a myth, so why even bother to mention ours. We apologise, again, for the former inaccuracy,”

I-I Don’t... Know    ∆

He’d gone. The- the man with the… weapon. Yes. It looked like a gun, it fi-fired like a gun, ergo, it was definitely a weapon, if not one he recognised. But the man had gone, up an elevator, and he’d taken it with him and now he and the woman were left alone in the dark.

She was staring at him, speechless, horrified, and grief-stricken. She was crying, and he didn’t know why, only that he wanted to help her. Had she been there this whole time? It was hard to recall... it was hard to think…

It was like he should be hurting – he felt like he should be so, so hurt, but it was like his head was full of fog instead, and it was hard to do anything. The thing that hurt most was his eyes… which was definitely odd because he didn’t think he’d stared into that blinding white light from the weapon all that many times. A few, yeah, but surely not enough to make his eyeballs feel like they’d been scoured with a wire brush...

He wished she’d stop crying. That wasn’t going to help anyone, and he should know.

Should he know?

... yes, he thought so. He was pretty sure it was useless by this point.

How did he know that?

He felt floaty, which was not something he was used to feeling, but he wasn’t going to complain because it was a lot better than what he’d expected.

He’d expected?

Yeah, expected. He was too tired to think further about how he’d known to expect something. His brain felt exhausted. Imagine if the next round of… (was he being tortured?)… imagine if it involved sums. A bubble of laughter made its way past his lips. Now that would be torture.

Anyway, he felt floaty. Which was strange, because… because… he couldn’t stand… and he couldn’t stop shaking either. He was hanging and trembling from his wrists and his mind felt wrung out and the woman was saying something about the man going up for a phone call and they needed to get away, and she just looked even more scared when he asked what a phone call was. She explained. He snorted. That sounded like something out of science fiction if he’d ever heard it. Useful, but obviously fake. In fact, the only thing he could really feel was…

… anger. At that red book on the table. Because whenever the weapon fired, the book was consulted and it knew everything about him… didn’t it? It certainly didn’t know about – about – about… he couldn’t remember… and he was terrified more than ever for some reason because he couldn’t remember the boy’s name, or what he looked like, or –

He couldn’t remember.

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

“Wexler, the deal was you’d tell us what we needed to-”

“Was that I would reveal the agents I know of if, and only if, Cipher is taken down,”

Carla gritted her teeth.

“Until such time as that happens, I’m afraid I will be keeping my mouth – wisely – shut. Furthermore, I believe you have yet to follow through on your promise to place me in the Witness Protection Program.” Wexler regarded her with a very much unbeaten expression and she berated herself for forgetting that he had accepted the deal to save his own skin, meaning that he remained quite firmly on the side of the Cipher Wheel until that no longer became an option.

“Well, plans change, as you and your buddies have seen fit to demonstrate. We need to know where Cipher is. And what those names are, thank you very much,”

He smiled indulgently at her and kept silent.

“It’s only a matter of time before Cipher is dead or behind bars! The FBI is aware of the threat. We have in place layers and layers of resistance to meet him. He cannot win!” She protested, but she’d lost him and she knew it. He’d goaded her into begging, or close enough. Even though it hadn’t been completely successful, the assassination attempt had proved that Cipher’s reach was only growing, and had flipped her and Wexler’s positions: he had the upper hand now. Every line of his body oozed confidence.

“And yet you’re now coming to me, desperate for help. Where did that fierce drive to win go, agent? Don’t tell me. It disappeared, along with all your friends,”

“You’re afraid of Cipher,” she snapped. Wexler shrugged. That was news to no one. “We can keep you safe, you know we can. You wouldn’t have agreed to the first deal if you didn’t think so. We will still do that, but things have changed and you need to tell us what you know sooner rather than later,”

“In fact, McCorkle, I don’t know that you can deliver on all your promises of safety. An assassin is still after you, are they not? More than likely they have already made their way into the building, based on the amount of time that has elapsed since the first killing. So no, thus far, you have spectacularly failed to build any kind of rapport with me or earn any sort of confidence in you. Why should I not just keep my silence, wait for the Cipher Wheel to win, and you to die?”

“DAMMIT!” Carla shouted, striding into the room she had designated as her temporary, windowless, singularly-entranced cell of an office. Jheselbraum didn’t even look up from the news report she was watching as the door slammed closed.

“I take it he’s refusing to cooperate in any manner now?”

Vicious, if muttered, swearing and agitated pacing answered her.

“Has there been any word on El Dorado?” Carla reached the wall, spun on her heel, and strode back the way she’d come.

“The forest is still crawling with Cipher Wheel agents. I’ve heard nothing about Stanley or Stanford, or Agents Marks and McGucket, but we can assume that someone, perhaps even all of them, managed to escape the ambush. The forest would not be so active unless that was the case,”

Another pivot. “But at least one of them’s also been captured,” she stated flatly.

“The vehicles that have left the forest do indicate that,” Jheselbraum confirmed, a pillar of stillness in direct contrast to Carla’s flurry of movement. “As yet, none of my agents have been able to follow them without risking exposure,”

“And with Wexler refusing to talk, we have no other way of finding out where they might be going. Which is wherever Cipher is.” Carla stopped, braced her palms on the table in the centre of the room, and leant heavily on them, trying to work out the tension in her back before all the coiled muscle there snapped something important.

The next time she saw Stanley, and she would be seeing him again, if only to kill him herself, she was never letting him out of her sight again. A bit of a counter-productive sentiment, but rationality had had a foot halfway out the door since the day began.

And at some point she had to deal with the assassin, who was most certainly getting closer with every minute that passed. The building was on high alert, but regardless, she doubted Cipher would have sent anyone after her who couldn’t deal with that.

She had absolutely no idea where to go from here. Other than to pick up some Witness Protection Program forms, she supposed.

A phone rang in the silence. She felt the vibration through the table and looked up to see Jheselbraum reach for the device and stiffen, staring at the screen with the closest expression to dread Carla had ever seen on the woman’s face. She turned her gaze to the screen as well.

The caller image showed a single terrifying yellow eye.

The Road Again (USA)    ∆

Eventually they’d just sunk to the ground, drained.

It wasn’t that Stan wanted to admit that things looked pretty bleak... it’s just that they did anyway.

The silence between them was interrupted sharply by his phone ringing. He felt Ford jolt next to him.

Honestly, the turn the day – the past half hour – had taken meant that if it had been anyone other than Carla calling, Stan wasn’t sure he would’ve picked up. As it was, he turned on the speaker so Ford could hear as well, figuring that just because he wasn’t in the mood to plan a desperate and useless counterstrike against Cipher was no reason to keep that opportunity from his brother.

He hit the answer button.

“STAN?!”

Ford jumped again, and Stan flinched too. Had he accidentally turned the thing up to full volume again?

“Oh my GOD, you’re okay, you’re okay- you are, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Oh, hell, are you hurt? How bad is it? Listen to me closely: if you see a light, and it’s not the sun, do not-”

“No, no I’m fine!” Stan assured her hurriedly. “Ford’s here too, we’re both fine,”

“We’re unhurt, Carla,” Ford supplied, and from the look on his face Stan couldn’t help but think that he was not confirming the situation to Carla but more correcting Stan’s choice of words. Stan was inclined to agree with it.

“Jesus, that’s good to hear.” A pause. “Addi and Fiddleford?”

Stan’s stomach dropped out and Ford was silent.

“No,” he managed to get out. “No. They’re not,”

A sigh washed over the speakers. “I was hoping he was lying..."

“Hoping who was lying?” Ford said sharply.

The brief quiet on the other end of the line was very telling. So much so that Stan pretty much already knew what she was going to say before she’d gathered herself enough to say it.

“Jheselbraum and I just got a phone call from Bill Cipher,”

“Let me guess, it wasn’t to surrender himself and his network,” Stan said, dragging a hand down his face. Ford was rapidly losing what colour he’d regained as he too worked out what Carla was about to say.

“No, it... definitely was not. He wanted us to get a message to you.” She paused again, working out how best to phrase it, and Stan really wished she would just spit it out.

After a second, she gave up and did just that.

“He says Addi and Fiddleford are still alive, and if you guys show yourselves quick enough, they might even remain that way.” She let that sink in.

Hearing it out loud when you’re expecting it should really be easier than this, Stan considered with an air of detachment.

“He didn’t say anything else?” Demanded Ford.

“Other than a few taunts and name-calling? No,”

“So how are we supposed to hand ourselves over if he didn’t tell us where he is?” Stan exclaimed.

“I know. It’s a shame, but he really isn’t an idiot. He knew I’d be listening in to that call. He wasn’t going to reveal anything that might lead the FBI to him before he’s ready to fully take us on,”

“What about you, Poindexter?” Stan said urgently, turning to Ford. “You have any idea where he might be?”

“Cipher didn’t just use one place as headquarters,” Ford said, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “He moved around fairly often. I know of a few places he’d frequent, yes, but there’s no guarantee he’s at any of them right now, and we don’t have time to check them all before he loses his patience with Addi and Fiddleford. Which is another thing! We don’t even know if they’re in the same place he is!”

“Yes we do,” Carla said unexpectedly, neatly stopping Ford dead in his increasingly hopeless rant.

“We do?” Stan looked at Ford.

“Yes. This whole situation with me got Addi and I thinking: he’s made it clear – even more so with that phone call – that he wants to kill or capture you two himself.”

“What situation with you?” Stan said warily.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, and he definitely didn’t believe that at all, but she was on a roll and they needed to know this, so he let it go for now. “The point is, you’ve been too much of a pain for him not to hold a grudge. Same situation with Oracle Division,”

“So they’ll be in the same place,” Stan nodded his understanding, and then frowned. “But that still doesn’t help us a whole lot. It just means we only have one raid to do instead of two, in a location we still don’t kn-” Stan stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d just seen Ford stiffen. Looking at him again, there was the tell-tale gleam of understanding in his eye: he’d just worked something out.

“Ford?”

“I know where he is.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t why I thought it was possible he’d be anywhere else,”

“Alright, tell me where. We can alert Tactical and take him out before knows what hit him,”

Ford opened his mouth, and shut it again.

“No,” he said.

“No?!” Stan repeated incredulously. “Do you want Addi and Fiddleford back or not, Ford?”

Ford’s gaze was flinty and his words were cold enough to chill the Sahara.

“If Bill didn’t think he could kill Addi and Fiddleford before a strike team managed to kill him, he would not have gotten that message to us through you, Carla,”

“Ford, I know you’re worried about them, and I understand that their safety is paramount, but tactical teams know what they’re doing. They are trained for situations li-”

“Their safety is paramount, which is precisely why I’m not going to endanger them even more by telling you where Cipher is,”

“Oh, jeez-” The situation was rapidly flying off Stan’s well-used map of moves-that-could-be-considered-even-remotely-sane.

“So you’re just going to blindly hand yourselves over?” Carla said witheringly, as if she could stop Ford through brute force of will alone. Unfortunately, when Ford got like this there wasn’t really anything anyone could do short of getting into a fistfight with him, and Stan knew from personal experience that that would only harden his resolve.

“Of course not. We’re going to take him down ourselves. Or-” Ford faltered for the first time. “Or I will, anyway,”

He looked up at Stan defiantly, and Stan half wanted to get into that fistfight just to see if it was possible to knock some sense into the guy this time. The other half of him though, was indignant. He’d followed Ford across the world to make sure he wasn’t in trouble. He’d punched more people than he could count for him, and that wasn’t even from this recent jaunt. He’d willingly been flown by someone who didn’t know how to fly, almost been shot, actually been shot (and now his shoulder was hurting again, great), been drugged and dumped, chased and left behind, ambushed, momentarily convinced his brother was dead, and Ford still hadn’t been able to shake him.

Honestly, the most unbelievable thing about this situation was that Ford thought Stan wouldn’t come with him on this.

He groaned. “Weren’t you listening earlier? You don’t think I’m gonna let you do this alone, do you?”

Ford’s face broke into a relieved grin which told Stan that despite how it had sounded, he wasn’t taking this course of action lightly in the least.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Stan could practically feel Carla’s mind whirring.

“As soon as it’s safe to, you need to tell me where you are,” she reluctantly compromised.

“We will,” nodded Ford. Good. At least he wasn’t being idiotically stubborn.

“And Stan?” Her words were clipped and short, but the next ones had the hint of jaunty casualness to them, nevermind if it was a bit forced, just like they always did when they said goodbye. And because it wasn’t the last time they would, Stan thought fiercely, there wasn’t any need for it to be different this time. She might not be able to stop Ford through sheer willpower, but he knew she’d be damned if she let that mean she couldn’t stop anything else that way.

“See ya later,” she said.

“Can’t leave ya hanging, can I?”

There was a brief whiff of sound that might have been a huff of laughter, and the call disconnected.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” he said as soon as it did.

“I don’t,” said Ford immediately.

Stan stared at him. “Well, at least you ripped that band-aid off quickly,”

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

Busy. Keep busy. That was the thing. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to think about… whatever she had just condemned Stan and Ford to. She aggressively ripped the Witness Protection forms out of the printer.

Just get this to Wexler and mush his face into it until he agrees to sign it. She sighed. Well, no. She wouldn’t do that. Although maybe she could get away with staring at him unnervingly until he did.

Abruptly, she pulled back from the corner she was about to turn. Window. Large window.

Stay away, you don’t want a bullet in your brain. Way to go, Carla.

She turned back, striding down an alternate, less populous, route. It took her deeper into the building.

Get to interrogation, get to interrogation. Not far now.

And someone knocked the breath out of her.

The Road, California (USA)    ∆

“He’s not going to let them go, Ford.” Stan said flatly. “We can’t just turn ourselves in and hope for the best. Guy’s convinced he’s on the verge of plunging the world into chaos-” He paused, rethinking that statement. “Guy is on the verge of plunging the world into chaos. No way is he going to stick to any deals we make with him. We need to be smart about this.”

Ford paced up and down the dusty roadside, nodding in agreement. “We should also expect that he’ll expect us to try something, and he’ll be accordingly prepared. The question is, does he know that we expect he’ll expect us to do something, and therefore expect our expectant strike at a whole new level of-”

“You’re making this too complicated,” Stan interrupted, passing rapidly through stages of grim agreement, horrified fascination, and irritated dismissal. “Stop thinking about might-bes and doing that get-in-his head routine - this isn’t some Sherkey Homes adventure,”

Ford looked faintly disappointed.

“What we know is that when we get there, he’s going to take our guns off us-”

“Actually, mine’s back in the forest somewhere. We only have yours now,”

Stan’s stomach dropped. “I don’t have mine either,” he admitted.

Ford’s eyebrows shot up and he warily asked, “What happened?”

Stan told him. Ford slapped a hand over his eyes.

“It’s still in the car somewhere!” Stan said defensively. “There’ll be plenty of time to find it on the drive there,”

“But you actually lost-”

“Shut up,”

“You shut up,”

∆

Her body had shut down with that blow. She couldn’t breathe. Her stomach muscles were seizing up. Before she collapsed to her knees, the assassin caught her by her collar and plunged a knife towards her throat.

She caught his wrist and wrenched it down and around, felt something give and his hand sprang open, the knife clattering to the floor. He hissed through his teeth, instinctively loosening his grip on her collar. Her legs took her weight. Her elbow took his senses.

He stumbled back, reeling from the strike to his jaw. She’d bought herself some time. Fighting back the surges of adrenaline that had her shaking and her brain screaming at her to sprint away as fast as she could, Carla focused, and her lungs seemed to expand again, filling with air, combating the pain and panic.

The assassin recovered at the same time she did. He struck first. She dodged, stepped in close, fired a punch into his side and stepped away again, springing lightly on the balls of her feet. He was driven back sharply, but that seemed to be all. Not a flicker of discomfort registered on his face as he reappraised her. Her mouth quirked in response. You didn’t have Stanley Pines as your sparring partner for long without picking up a thing or two.

Keep it simple, keep it simple.

∆

“Alright, alright, keeping it simple.” Ford considered. Having no weapons was a substantial drawback. “We get the memory gun off Bill and use it on him,”

Stan frowned. “Good plan – except there’s no way he going to let us get that close without a fight. And do we really want to fight him while he has that thing and Addi and Fiddleford?”

Before Ford could irritably point out that at the rate he was shooting down their ideas nothing was going to work, Stan straightened.

“Wait, yeah, that’s good. We should just fight him,”

“You just pointed out why that would be a bad idea,” Ford said, annoyed that the one time Stan was changing his mind about a bad idea was when the bad idea was his own.

∆

Not good.

One of the assassin’s legs hooked behind hers and tripped her up. His hand closed around her throat. Her back hit the door of the observation room. Her head slammed forward from the recoil and something metallic snapped. The door sprang open, and they were falling.

∆

“I can keep a gun from shooting me and whoever else is around,” Stan said confidently. He had just spent a couple weeks proving it, after all. “Look, Cipher’s probably not going to be paying much attention to me – you’re the one he wants vengeance and ruination and a spike up the butt and whatnot for-” Ford winced slightly – “meanwhile, what did I do? Just tagged along and punched him in the face that one time. So, you just keep his attention and when he least expects it, I’ll grab the gun from him.”

“If he doesn’t really care about you then why would he demand you show up as well?” Ford objected. “We can’t count on that working. And even if that wasn’t the case, you grab the gun from him and then what? You don’t know how to work it, Stan,”

“So I’ll smash it instead,”

“But then there’s still the problem of Bill – and before you say anything else, remember that he’ll probably have more weapons than just the memory gun on him,”

Stan closed his open mouth. That was a good point.

“So I should do it instead,” Ford stated.

That wasn’t.

“No,” said Stan instantly.

“I know how to work the memory gun. You distract him, I can take it from him, use it on him, and problem solved,” Ford insisted.

Blinking away images of his brother lying motionless, Stan rallied and said, “One: I’m the better fighter,”

Ford frowned and opened his mouth to argue, probably on principle, and Stan quickly amended his statement to, “I mean, you literally cut a probe out of your head and stitched it up a few hours ago. It’d be weird if you were still alright,”

Ford allowed him to continue, moderately appeased.

“Two: how am I going to distract him? If he is interested in me, we don’t know why, and even then you’re the one who’s been working for him for years: no matter what, you’ll be able to distract him better,”

“I refuse to believe that you wouldn’t be able to figure something out,” Ford said firmly. “Stan, it has to be you. The best and quickest way we have of neutralising Bill is if we use the memory gun on him, and since I’m the only one who knows how to do that safely-”

“Safely?” Stan picked up.

Ford waved a hand vaguely. “It’s a very delicate device. If it gets even slightly damaged, the consequences of using it could be-” he hesitated – “not good. Very, extremely not good.”

Stan practically radiated a demand for a better explanation.

“Well, for a start, it could explode, and since when I constructed it I dismissed trying to extract memories in their rather abstract pure form…”

“Right, that does sound hard,” Stan acknowledged.

“I designed it to simply rewrite matter instead, and while I intended the matter to only be neural pathways, it could conceivably be anything,”

Stan stared.

“In my defence, it was just meant to be a prototype,” Ford said in embarrassment.

Stan took a deep breath. “And you thought that was easier than just trying to grab memories?”

“I did,” confirmed Ford. “But the point is, it gets damaged, bad things happen. Most likely in a… silicaceous manner,”

“Bad things,” Stan said hollowly. “Yeah,”

∆

The assassin was at her back, an arm wrapped around her throat, crushing her windpipe. She’d managed to get a hand under his elbow before the lock was fully on and her muscles were screaming as she strained to break it. Her vision was going fuzzy at the edges. She sucked in a sliver of air. She… she had legs.

She hooked an ankle behind his and threw all her weight backwards. He tried to shift his stance to compensate but his foot was trapped by hers and he overbalanced, falling, and she felt the jolt as they collided with something. It was just enough of a distraction to rip herself free of the hold, spin, drive a fist into the side of his face and stumble backwards, coughing violently as the air simultaneously stung her throat and cleared her mind. No time for recovery. She made herself push off the desk she was clutching and ran forward and flung herself at him and took him off his feet and hurtled into the two-way mirror behind him.

∆

“I’m telling you, this is the best chance we have of defeating Bill-”

“And I’m telling you, you’re not a match for him right now! Sure, it could work, but there’s too high a chance that you and the others would get hurt. My way will be less dangerous for everyone,”

“Besides you, you mean,”

“Yes!” Stan said vehemently.

Ford gritted his teeth. They had been running in circles with this plan for far too long, and with every minute that passed he was itching more and more to just get underway already, the temptation to try and figure everything out in the car growing stronger and stronger as the thought of Addi and Fiddleford pressed increasingly insistently at him.

Stan was glaring at him, and had by now joined him in some irregular pacing. He was also occasionally clenching and unclenching his hands to let some agitation out. Clearly, he was also feeling the pressure.

He sighed, and Stan echoed it a moment later.

“Look Ford, there’s no way this is going to end perfectly,” Stan said. “We just have to go with the best option available,”

“And that’s the problem,” said Ford ruefully.

“Because you think using the memory gun on him will end it quicker, with the added bonus that it’s a poetic way to go out and will be pretty cathartic for you,” Stan said with a humourless smile.

“And you just want to do to him what you do to everyone who hurts the people you love,” Ford countered, equally pointedly. “Make sure he can’t do it again by hitting him like a ton of bricks,”

∆

A startled yell rang in Carla’s ears, almost missed in the cacophony created by the shock of the landing and the crash of the glass all around as they’d gone through the window.

She untucked herself from a protective ball, giving no acknowledgements whatsoever to the pains in her neck, back, shoulder, side. They were barely registering anyway. Her head was ringing. She scrambled up off the floor of the starkly-lit interrogation room, the assassin doing the same on its other side, jagged reflective fragments spread across the floor between them. Breathing hard, she got herself into a boxer’s stance, glancing at her hand when she had trouble closing it into a fist. Huh. It had a piece of glass sticking out of it.

The assassin had picked up another, larger shard. He held it firmly in his hand.

Oh joy, Carla thought numbly. A weapon. She decided then and there never to tackle someone through a window again.

The assassin didn’t make to move towards her. His attention had been caught by the third person in the room, handcuffed to the table and looking fairly shocked at what was going on. A person who could be very damaging to the Cipher Wheel, should he decide to cooperate.

The assassin switched targets and lunged towards Wexler instead. He leapt out of his chair and attempt to skirt around the table, but the cuffs anchoring him to the middle restricted his movements. The assassin recovered from the momentum of his first swing and jumped onto the interrogation table. Wexler paled, unable to move out of range. The assassin drew back his makeshift blade and Carla tackled him. They crashed to the floor, Carla saved from feeling most of the impact due to the combined effects of shock, adrenaline, and the relatively cushioned landing provided by the assassin.

His head had cracked against the floor. The fragment had gone deeper into her hand. The room was wavering slightly, but she didn’t think that was actually happening. She’d probably hit her head at some point. That didn’t sound right. The assassin had probably hit her head at some point. Jerk.

He groaned below her, trying to get up again. Carla drew back her good hand dealt him a swift uppercut. He slumped back, and didn’t move again.

“What the hell…” breathed Wexler behind her.

Ah, right.

Carla staggered to her feet and pushed her sweaty hair out of her face. She took a deep breath to try and get her – her everything under control, and delved deeply into her pocket. Wexler watched with wide eyes.

Out of it she drew a very crumpled and slightly torn sheaf of papers. She laid it down in front of Wexler, brushed some glass off, smoothed it out, left some bloodstains behind, and straightened up again.

“Please sign this form to apply for the Witness Protection Program,” she said professionally.

Wexler stared, slack-jawed.

“Unless you still think the FBI can’t deliver on its promises to protect you,” she added.

Wexler’s eyes flicked to the motionless assassin behind her, and back again.

“No, I’ll sign,” he said quickly.

∆

No bright ideas suddenly sprang into Ford’s mind to break the stalemate they found themselves in. No desperate last-minute solutions. Nothing.

Eventually, Stan sighed, and looked away.

Then he cocked his head slightly. Ford looked back at him. He was staring at their reflection in the Stanleymobile’s windows. There was nothing out of sorts to see there, as far as Ford was concerned.

“Y’know,” said Stan slowly. “I’m really glad I got that haircut,”

∆

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are just receiving word that the crisis at the FBI field office has ended, and the assassin has been apprehended with no further fatalities. We go now to Roberta Lopez, spokesperson from the FBI, and – oh, her, uh, colleague?”

“Thank you, yes. While the assassin has indeed been arrested and secured in a holding cell, the current situation is far from over, and before we go any further, we must inform you that Oracle Division is not the agency behind the Manhattan Blackout and Ned Guy’s assassination as the news has been reporting. Thanks for that, by the way. Rather, they have been framed by an organisation known as the Cipher Wheel, which the FBI has been investigating for several months now. At this very moment, we are concentrating our best efforts on bringing down these terrorists before they can cause any more harm. In collaboration with Oracle Division, who Mr Colleague here is a representative of, we fully expect to be able to handle this threat. Take it away, Neil,”

“BOOM! How d’you like them facts?!”

“Thank you, Neil. We will now take questions,”

∆

“Well, at least he’s cooperating now,” Jheselbraum said, arms folded as she peered over Carla’s shoulder at the folder containing Wexler’s new identity.

“For the most part,” Carla muttered, scratching at the bandage over her wrist. She was covered in glass cuts and more, but had only deemed the actual stab wound serious enough to address at the moment.

“Cipher is a sticking point. He insists on the guy being dead before he spills the beans, which on the bright side means we’re back to the original deal, but unfortunately also means that the only lead we have in figuring out where Stan and Ford have gone won’t talk until such time as it doesn’t matter anymore,” By which she meant “until Stan called her to tell her where they were because they’d managed to kill Cipher” and not “because Cipher had effectively destroyed all systems of world order thereby making Wexler’s sharing of information redundant.”

Jheselbraum’s speculative voice broke through her dark thoughts.

“Actually, I have been wondering about whether he is our only lead,”

Carla looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Has Oracle Division tracked down Addi and Fiddleford?” she asked eagerly.

Jheselbraum’s mouth quirked. “Not Oracle Division. And I’m not even certain she can help us. But if anyone has the ability to, it’s her.” She straightened decisively. “I’ll get back to you soon. In the meantime, perhaps you should deliver that folder to Agent Wexler, and savour the look on his face,”

Indeed she did, when she handed his new identity over a minute later. It was the least he owed her for the past few months.

“Alright Mr Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, it’s time to meet your new life as a travelling banjo minstrel,”

Gravity Falls, Oregon (Soon-to-be-Divided States of America)    ∆

A proximity sensor buzzed, signalling the approach of Pines, which was good news to Bill, who was getting impatient, and especially good news to Blondie and Fiddlesticks, whose heads he had been about to riddle with bullets.

“And right in the nick of time, boys,” he said, grinning as he lifted the gun off the man’s forehead. All sorts of shouts and protests finished their ringing echoes around the basement, leaving a breathless stillness in their wake that left him free to speak without competition. As the prisoners sagged, he continued, “Congratulations you two, you get to live another few minutes,”

They didn’t reply. Fiddsy he wasn’t even sure could at this point.

Spinning on his heel, Bill turned to the monitors.

He’d brought the brother. Good.

Stanford and Stanley were trudging across the grounds towards the cabin, their movements slow and deliberate. A smart choice, as Bill was more than capable of killing them where they stood thanks to Stanford’s enthusiasm and/or paranoia in his design of this place’s defences. It really was a shame that he’d sided against Bill.

They reached the front door, hands raised in surrender. As per Bill’s orders, the agents in the house above them let them through.

“Hey, you guys wanna play a game?” Bill suggested suddenly. McGucket made no response. He just hung there, his legs no longer able to support him. What a drip. Marks though, she raised her head and fixed him with a gaze that was definitely more lost than it had been a couple hours ago.

“Let’s try and figure out what their play is.” He peered theatrically at the next monitor, putting the gun on the desk before placing his palms flat against it too, pushing his face close to the screen. The upstairs agents were searching the brothers for weapons, going over every inch of them so that not so much as a pen knife would be brought down to the basement.

“Hmmm. Hope your pals here weren’t going to try taking me by surprise.” Twisting the screen around so that she could see, he asked, “What do you think?”

Marks’ eyes flicked over to it momentarily, but she seemed reluctant to look away from him – how flattering.

Then she did a double-take, and her eyes locked back onto the screen. She looked like she was concentrating. She was even leaning forward a little, trying to see it closer, an expression like there was a word she couldn’t think of right on the tip of her tongue, but remaining stubbornly out of reach.

Bill narrowed his eyes and stepped over to the edge of the desk, where he’d laid the memory gun on top of the Journal as a bookmark. He flipped backwards a few pages until he found what he was looking for.

“Ohh, right, you gave Fordsy your own little stop-and-frisk session back in China, didn’t you?” he teased.

Her eyes flew back to him, a sudden clarity in them. Hmm. Obviously his new toy wasn’t as refined as he’d thought.

“Funny,” Bill said, tilting his head. “I thought we already covered China…” He shrugged. “Must have missed this bit.”

A brief spin of the dial and a click of the trigger and a flash of light later, and those memories were once again gone. Marks flinched back, gasping, shaking her head and blinking the stars out of her eyes. When she looked back at the search of Stanford that the agents were finishing up, there was no recognition of the situation.

“Damn thing.” He shook the memory gun a little. “What about you, your head’s not fixing itself is it?” He shot at McGucket before he replaced the device. He didn’t expect a response, but he got one anyway.

“Well, it ain’t like Ah’d tell you’f I was!” And then he cackled – yep, cackled – briefly. Huh, looked like he was finally losing it. Well, it made things livelier anyway.

Out of curiosity, Bill tried erasing the ocean from his head. There was a brief pause, but McGucket continued cackling soon after. Marks looked sick.

“Finally, one of you’s seeing the humour in the situation. I don’t mind saying, you’ve been a pair of Debbie Downers lately.” Bill rolled his eyes and replaced the gun on top of the Journal, then resumed his position in front of the monitors. McGucket’s laughs died down soon after.

Pines and Pines 2.0 were being led through the house now. Returning to his musings on their possible plans, Bill said, “Credit where it’s due, at least they’re not attacking those agents. That would just be embarrassing for everyone,” If either of them so much as twitched aggressively towards an agent, the others, both visible and hidden from view, would bear down on the Pines like the wrath of, well, Bill.

No incidents occurred. Last week, Bill would have been inclined to put that down to Stanford’s forethought. Now… Bill was more informed.

He watched them walk compliantly through the rooms. Another thought struck him.

“Do a perimeter sweep,” he ordered through the mike. “We don’t want Oracle Division pulling any fast ones,” The command was acknowledged, and the monitors showed an increase in activity around and within the property moments later.

He doubted Stanford would have told the FBI where he was, not with Marks and McGucket so easily within his reach, and so far his and his brother’s cautious actions were confirming that. But Bill knew Jheselbraum. If there was anything that witch was good at, it was coming out of nowhere with devastatingly unexpected strikes.

The Wheel reported that all was quiet, however. It seemed that not even she had managed to find her way here.

On the central screen, one of the agents opened the bookcase revealing the stairs down to the basement’s first level. The other two escorted Stanley and Stanford through with a warning hand on their shoulders. They moved carefully.

At the elevator the lead agent typed in the access code, the buttons on the grainy image lighting up. Turning his gaze to a smaller monitor off to the side, Bill wondered if the elevator would be where they attempted something. It was the most strategic place for it.

Stanley and Stanford wordlessly entered the small area. The three guards visibly tensed in the tighter space, clearly also expecting an attack. Bill heard the elevator begin its trundle downwards, the sound propagating through the space and filling the once again silent area. Marks wasn’t even attempting to make escape plans with McGucket anymore. The lack of whispers in the background while he was apparently distracted was new. It was probably the certainty of death that was hanging in the air. Earlier, they probably hadn’t fully realised that he was going to kill them. And doing it in front of Stanford? Just a bonus.

The elevator reached the third level of the basement and its doors opened, revealing Pines, Disappointing Pines, and Guards One, Two, and Three, who had not been subdued, injured, or knocked unconscious. They pushed their charges out roughly.

Bill moved sedately over to the end of the bench, the motion alerting Stanley and Stanford to his presence. Their eyes alighted on him immediately. He settled comfortably against the edge, with the memory gun and Journal to his left, and the regular gun to his right, both easily within reach. He grinned at them.

“Just dump their weapons over there, you two,” he directed the agents.

“They didn’t bring any, sir,” reported one of them.

Bill raised an eyebrow at the Pines’. “Not very hopeful, were you?” he quipped. When they didn’t respond he continued, “Alright then, go back to your stations. Keep watch, be on guard, all that jazz. If you hear any screaming, that’ll be them. Don’t worry about it,” With a cheery wave, he dismissed them, and they turned and walked swiftly back to the elevator.

Once it started its rattling journey upwards, Bill examined his new prisoners. Stanley and Stanford returned his gaze with identical apprehensive expressions. And jeez, speaking of identical… they really did look similar. The monitor screens hadn’t done it justice. Stanford of course had blood and dirt all over his shirt, and Stanley wasn’t wearing glasses, but other than that… sheesh.

“I’m glad you brought your brother, Fordsy,” Bill started conversationally. “I would not have been happy otherwise,”

“You’re happy now?” said Stanford disbelievingly.

“No,” Bill admitted. “But this is nothing to what I would have been like,” The viciousness in his words was tempered by the palpable trepidation in the room.

“Well, you know,” said Stanley, far more flippantly than the tension in his body suggested he was capable of, “wherever we go, we go together,”

Bill gave an overexaggerated wince. “Ooh, might wanna rethink that line, buddy,”

Another difference between the two was that Stanley’s focus was solely on Bill, whereas Stanford had noticed McGucket and Marks manacled to the wall on Bill’s left.

“I assume I don’t need to do introductions?” he said lightly. Marks was looking all pathetic and desperate as she looked back at the frozen Stanford, which made Bill glad he hadn’t gotten around to burning out the latter bits of the Journal from her mind. No recognition would have been so much less entertaining, although Pines’ reaction to that would’ve been a sight to behold. Upsides to everything, Bill considered.

Stanley finally appeared to notice the other occupants of the room, and the expression that crossed his face was such a mixed bag of intensity that Bill actually laughed, whereupon it just became one of hate. Stanford had never been so open and easy to read. He liked this new guy.

“Addi? Fiddleford?” He asked in that rough voice of his. “You two-” He shut himself up before asking if they were okay.

“And look at that, you’re smart, too,” Bill praised. “No, Stanny, Miss Adeline and Mr Fiddleford are definitely not… well, how about you tell them yourselves, guys?” He gestured for them to go ahead and speak.

Marks glared, jaw clenched tightly shut. McGucket, however, was the more noticeably silent of the two. Not only did he not speak, but he didn’t move either. He hadn’t, in all the time that Stanley and Stanford had entered the basement. All eyes were drawn to him.

“Fiddleford?” said Stanford cautiously. No response.

“You wanna tell them or should I?” Bill cheerfully asked Marks.

She swallowed.

“He- he doesn’t know that’s his name,” she said softly.

Bill nodded emphatically. “Yep-amundo! Oh, don’t look so shocked, I had to do something while I waited for you guys, didn’t I?”

McGucket stirred. On shaky legs, he pushed himself to stand on his own a little more. “S’my name?” he murmured to Marks.

“Y-yeah. Fiddleford,” she replied unsteadily.

Well now the guy seemed a little more focused and clear-headed, and that wouldn’t do at all.

He slammed his left hand down on the Journal, and Stanley and Stanford would have had to be blind not to notice McGucket and Marks flinch as he came close to grabbing the memory gun again. Instead, he picked up the Journal.

McGucket’s eyes burned as they fixated on it. Bill’s grin broadened, and he flourished it at Stanford, who’s jaw was tightly clenched.

“Look familiar? It sure does to these two, I’ll tell you that. And it’s just chock full of all sorts of information! Families, histories, interests, missions… and I’m sure they both wanted all of it to end up in an easily accessible diary like it did, to be used against them at their earliest convenience!” Bill gave a mock salute. “We’re ever so grateful, Stanford,”

“Ford, he would’ve just found other things to use against us, or another way to get the information-” Marks started, valiantly trying to preserve the idiot’s feelings – and sure, she may have been right, Bill would have gotten the information anyway, but where was the fun in admitting that?

It was McGucket who interrupted her before Bill could, however.

“Didja write that?” The man was shaking, and not from the spot of torture. His hands were clenched tight, fingers biting into his palms. “All that- in that there book?”

Bill looked at Stanford, whose face was stonily shut down, unresponsive.

Like a switch had been flipped, McGucket chuckled suddenly. There wasn’t the slightest hint of mirth behind it, but he still shook with laughter.

“An’ Ah only had two months before retirement!”

Bill rolled his eyes. “I swear I already wiped Oracle Division…” he muttered. He picked up the memory gun again and shrugged amiably at Stanley and Stanford. “The things that slip your mind, am I right?”

He spun the dial with practiced ease and loosed the bright stream directly into McGucket’s face. The Pines’ started forward.

“AH, AH, AH, BOYS!” Bill held up the memory gun. “Stay where you are,” he warned vehemently. They did, standing further apart than before. “Good. No need to forget what the order of things is here, now is there?”

McGucket hadn’t reacted all that much to the burst from the memory gun. Bill would have wondered if it had even worked if he hadn’t stopped laughing so quickly.

“Alright, enough messing around,” he decided, leaning back against the bench once more and replacing the memory gun in its position atop the Journal, although he kept his hand on it. Pines and Disappointing Pines looked just about ready to charge, and while it would entertain him no end to have yet another excuse to hurt Blondie and Fiddsy because of them, he did want to get around to dealing out some pain for the Brothers Dim, too. That would only be delayed if he had to go and restrain them.

“You have us. Are you going to let Adeline and Fiddleford go?” Stanford said, his gaze flicking momentarily to the memory gun.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just waste my time with that question,” Bill said flatly.

“Then why are they still alive?”

In the peripheral of his vision, he saw Stanley take a step closer to him. So that was their play. One of them distracts him, the other gets the memory gun off him. Not great, and not going to work, and he would have thought that Stanford would be the one trying to wrest the thing away, but he’d play along for now. It’d make the finale all the more fun.

“Oh, because of this and that. Just never got ‘round to it, I suppose.” He turned to face more fully towards Stanford, like a thought had just occurred to him, and Stanley took the bait, edging closer.

“I gotta say, I am surprised you’ve managed to stay alive up ‘til now. I s’pose you’ve got your bro to thank for that, haha. Seems like a shame though, to let all that hard and unrewarding work just… disappear,” He punctuated the word by tapping his left fingers playfully on the memory gun. Stanley came closer still. Honestly, he hadn’t even crossed half the distance! He could definitely do with some pointers on strategy.

Quite happy to keep talking, Bill continued, “Y’know, what the heck!” He spread his hands wide and then dropped then back down, noticing that yes, Stanley had taken advantage of that chance too.

“Since you left, Stanford, I have to admit, there has been a bit of a vacuum left in your wake, and I don’t want to fill it with just anyone, you know what I’m saying? It really does need a Pines touch,”

Stanford stiffened.

Bill tilted his head innocently.

Stanford said, “No way in-”

“I’m sorry, WAS I TALKING TO YOU?” Bill thundered, and then he stuck out his right hand and grabbed the gun that didn’t fire white light and shot Stanford in the chest.

∆

“A’course Ah know where he is, y’think I was gonna let my husband go off in a state’f emergency without havin’ me as backup? I put a tracker under his tie this mornin’. He’s in some town in Oregon,”

“Thank you so much for your help, Madeline,”

“Why don’t you know where is? Jheselbraum? Why are you out of contact with him? Something hasn’t happened, has it?”

Silence.

“Madeline, we’ll need you to transfer us your tracking frequency as soon as possible,”

Silence again.

“Ah’m bringin’ it to ya myself. See you in twenty,”

∆

The blast hadn’t finished echoing around the basement before Bill was turning to Stanley.

“So whaddaya say, sport? Finally ready to join the fold? I gotta admit, I was sceptical at first, but y’know what, Sixer’s convinced me! He’s been singing you praises since months before you even showed up, isn’t that right Fordsy?”

On the ground behind him came a spluttering, gasping, pained noise. Stanley’s face was sheet white, his whole body frozen as if every joint was suddenly locked. Bill tossed the gun to his other hand and picked up the memory gun. So many guns! So many targets! Not the guy in front of him, though. At least, not if he made the right choice.

“All through that tour around the world, after every single mission, it was ‘Stanley this!’, ‘Stanley that!’ and I’ll admit, I didn’t wanna see it! I thought IQ over there was the golden boy!” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Stanley’s eyes finally moved to follow its trajectory – hah, tragic-tory, more like.

“Wasn’t meant to be, unfortunately. Good thing you showed up! And I reckon you’re much more suited to this kind of life. After all, you didn’t go making friends with enemy agents first chance you got, you know how to focus on what’s important, and you know how to think on your feet and do whatever it takes to get what you want. And I bet you, kid, know what the smart option is now, don’t you?”

Stanley staggered a little. His eyes looked distinctly wet.

“I get it, you need a moment to think. Gotta weigh up those choices. Sure, on the one hand, I shot your brother. But on the other, I could just as easily shoot you. I’ll give you…” He deliberated for a moment. “… until I next get bored to make your decision, how’s that?”

He spun around to chat to his other prisoners. Marks’ expression was delightful, it was like he’d shot her instead, with that open-mouthed, shocked look, and eyes slowly filling with tears as she processed what happened. And even though McGucket wasn’t really up to date on what was going on, he didn’t appear any less affected. What a guy! Bill had been telling him practically since he’d arrived that the guy who wrote the Journal was the reason for all his torture, and he still only looked horrified. He was also the only other person in the room who hadn’t just stopped, rock-like. Even now he was examining everything that was happening, and fixing Bill with a pretty impressive evil eye.

Stanford’s groans of agony meanwhile were growing less and less, as were his laboured breaths. Bill didn’t even spare him a glance.

Feeling the constant background thrum of anger in him spike again, he was about to turn around and demand an answer of Pines when Marks drew a quick, shuddering breath and attracted his attention.

“Got something to say, lovely?”

She was stuck for words for a moment, but quickly found something to say.

“How- how could you do that?”

Pity it was so unoriginal.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Blondie, but I’m a little short on all those ‘heroic qualities’ you value so highly,”

“Ya- ya didn’t haveta kill him,” said McGucket, not letting the tremors in his bones stop him it seemed.

“Didn’t I, now?”

“He could’ve still been useful, fer yer – yer whatchamacall it… robotical and weaponisifyin’ office! Where all the mad folk go to unleash their minds upon the world!” He cackled again for a moment.

“You mean the R and D department?” Marks asked him.

“That too,” agreed McGucket.

Bill arched an eyebrow. “Thanks for the suggestion, but he was being far more annoying than useful by the end. And besides! Too late now,”

There was a flicker on both their faces. Wow, shooting Stanford had really rattled them, hadn’t it? They hadn’t been this in sync with each other for hours. It was almost like they had a common goal again.

Bill frowned. “You guys aren’t trying to distract me, are you?”

He whipped around just as Stanley finished crossing the distance and slammed his boot into Bill’s wrist. The memory gun went flying.

It hit the floor, threw up sparks, skidded, and whirled around and around until McGucket brought his foot down and stomped on it with a viciously triumphant expression. The shimmern bulb audibly cracked, and electricity fizzled up and down its length before dying out.

It was broken, that was for sure.

And Bill had no other copies.

And of the two men who could build another, one was all but dead, and the other was rapidly heading towards insanity.

Was Bill angry? No. Was he incandescent? Closer. Most importantly, he was still holding one gun.

“YOU IDIOT!” He roared, and brought it up and struck Pines across the face with it. He went down hard, and Bill wasted no time lashing a kick into his side that knocked him away and onto his back. Bill advanced again as Stanley, coughing, went to scramble up.

Pines made it to his feet and threw a punch. Bill dodged it easily and sent his boot into the side of Pines’ knee, which dropped him again with an agonised yell. Must’ve already been injured. He kicked it again, snarling. Pines screamed.

Stanley was kneeling now. Good. Bill brought the gun around but couldn’t resist hitting him again with it. It struck his temple in the same place as the first time, colliding with his skull in a satisfying crunch, sending him sprawling. Bill brought the gun back again, finger on the trigger, so ready for the sight of some blood and brains, but Pines caught the barrel and pointed it away from his face. Bill fired anyway. The bullet shot into the ground by Pines’ ear, concrete scattering, the bang deafening. The heat from the explosion scalded Pines, who yelled out again and shifted his grip off the hot barrel and over Bill’s own hands, still keeping the weapon away from himself. Bill pressed down with all his weight. Almost immediately, he began to win. Well, it was good to know that the esteemed skills and strength of Stanley Pines were so easily overcome. He must have hit him in the head harder than he’d thought.

Pines was flat against the floor now, almost all of Bill’s weight bearing down on the gun in the grip between them, forcing it slowly back towards Stanley’s face. Bill pulled the trigger again. It blasted into the concrete, barely a millimetre between that hole and the first. He pulled the trigger again. Stanley’s head jerked away from the third hole, neatly in line with the others, but he didn’t let up. Again. A fourth hole appeared, and this time the bullet skimmed his ear, the blood dripping into the cracks on the floor. Bill grinned right into Pines’ strained and desperate face. He sighted along the barrel of the gun. Pines’ left eye widened underneath it.

“Hey wise guy. Thought you wanted me dead,”

No. There was no way.

Bill looked back so fast his neck cracked.

He was on his feet. How was he on his feet?

There was a trail of blood marking where he’d crawled from his prone position. He had one hand pressed tightly just below his ribcage. He looked like any second could bring him down, but the grim set of his face gave some inkling as to how none had yet. And he was aiming the memory gun, the broken, sparking memory gun that Stanford Pines would not fire in a million years, directly at Bill.

He forgot about the man under him and bounded up, one hand extended out in a wild grab-

“STANLEY-”

-and nothing.

∆

The blinding flash faded from her eyes and Addi blinked desperately to clear them.

“What…”

She kind of wanted to scream, kind of wanted to cry, kind of wanted to curl up and pretend like nothing was real, but she didn’t. She didn’t, because the futile hand Cipher had outstretched was immobile, that expression of frenzied desperation permanently locked onto his face. The colour had been leeched out of him.

He’d been turned entirely to stone.

His back still to her, Ford’s arm shakily dropped and the memory gun clattered to the floor once more. He groaned and his knees sagged, and he would probably have fallen flat on his face if Stan hadn’t suddenly been there, grabbing him and offering what support he could.

“Stan? Oh God, how- how do you feel?” Stan was saying… as… he lowered… Ford to the ground…

His voice sounded very different.

“Worse’n I look. Urggh, no, actually scratch that…”

And he sounded different too.

No. Nononono. Wait.

Cipher had yelled out Stan’s name right before…

“You switched?” she burst out, cursing herself for not seeing it sooner. Ford had six fingers, for crying out loud! And they were similar, yes, but not identical…

Neither twin responded, which she supposed was fair enough. F-Stan squeezed his eyes shut as Ford put pressure on the wound. There was a lot of blood, but evidently it wasn’t in an imminently fatal position – although the amount of time that elapsed before Stan got proper medical attention would still be a deciding factor. She’d seen Stan doing his best to plug it, but frankly she was amazed he hadn’t passed out yet.

Ford cursed and looked around, spying his glasses lying a little way away where they’d dropped off Stan when he was shot, and jammed them on his face with a trembling hand. Nope, she needed an answer.

“Why did you switch?” she demanded.

“We thought Ford was the only one who Cipher would be distracted by for long enough to get the memory gun off him, but he was also the only one who knew how to work it,” answered Stan, looking like he was trying to distract himself. “So we switched so I could distract him and Ford could get the memory gun off him, and hopefully everyone would come out fine.” He winced as Ford shifted. “As you can see, it worked amazingly,” he grunted.

It was possibly the most ill-advised plan Addi had ever thought anyone could conceive of. On the other hand, they had pulled it off, in a kind of roundabout way.

“Ford, get me out of here,” Addi called. “I can help, I have medical training,”

Thank God Cipher hadn’t taken those memories from her.

“Not ta mention we’ve been chained to this wall fer hours and we don’t want to be anymore,” Fiddleford chimed in with a far more valid reason. When Addi looked at him, he seemed utterly confused, but she thought that was because of Stan and Ford: he’d been clear-headed enough to keep Cipher’s attention on them. That most definitely did not mean that he was fine, though; he trembled like a leaf, and he couldn’t hold himself up properly. She was getting him, and Stan, and Ford as well, to a hospital ASAP.

Ford hadn’t moved from his position tending to Stan. It was like he hadn’t even heard her. Her heart clenched.

Five gunshots right next to the ear, plus dazing from multiple blows to the head. He probably didn’t.

As if just noticing that the shirt Stan was wearing was beyond saving at this point, Ford sighed and complained – a little louder than he normally would have – “You got blood all over my clothes,”

“You got blood all over your own clothes,” Stan muttered, affronted.

“What?”

“You got blood all over your own clothes,”

“What?”

Stan rolled his eyes and gestured towards herself and Fiddleford. “Just- just go help them down, Addi can at least recognise snark…”

Following his pointing finger, Ford’s eyes widened and he sprang up, finally remembering them. The key was on one of the workbenches, and as soon as it was jammed into the slot on Addi’s manacles, they clicked open. She hissed as her shoulders rotated for the first time in hours, her fingers and forearms tingling painfully as feeling rushed back to them, her back aching-

And Ford enclosed her in a hug and everything seemed a bit more bearable.

What did she know? She knew… she knew he was important to her, very important, as both a friend and something not yet defined but certainly real. She also thought that they’d probably worked together. He made her happy. He was fun, and stubborn, and she knew she needed to help him out of trouble a lot, and... damn it, what else? The little she knew of before Cipher and the basement seemed like a hazy dream. The first moment she could remember between them was… a reunion? In the El Dorado forest.

No, that wasn’t true.

A flash of memories crossed her mind. Her heart beating fast as he held her hands and leant in close. The breath literally being driven from her as he elbowed her in the gut and immediately looked horrified. His suddenly nervous but pleased expression as she asked him to buy her a drink.

Reluctantly, she let him go, and made her legs stumble over to Stan. There would be plenty of time to puzzle out the past later, when they weren’t dying.

She shook her head and dropped down beside him.

“How’s your breathing?” Other than painful and quick. “Difficult? Do you feel like coughing?”

“Nah. Kinda hard to focus, though,” he said, head lolling around to her.

“That’s the blood loss. Try and stay awake, okay? Tell me all about, uh…” She faltered at the realisation that she didn’t know him well enough to bring up his interests. Then a name burst into being behind her eyes.

“Carla! Tell me all about her.” She bent down and listened to the hole in his torso, moving his hands for a moment. She couldn’t hear any air. The bullet had missed his lung then. His hands felt clammy as she pressed them back down. He was in shock, too.

“Ford, we really need to stop this bleeding,” she said, interrupting Stan’s rambling. Ford straightened up from helping Fiddleford to a chair.

“Right.” His gaze passed rapidly over all of them in succession, lingering harrowingly on Stan. “I’ll- I’ll go upstairs and call for help-”

“No, ya darn well ain’t gonna, Stanford Pines!” Exploded Fiddleford. “’Cause there’s a veritabibble army of Cipher Wheel murder-machines dressed’n human form up there and I haven’t had a cat-piddlin’ second to design my own murder bot fer a counterattack!”

Addi stilled. The Wheel. It was still active. And the only reason she and her friends were still alive was because they didn’t know their boss was now a garden ornament. If they came down here, out of all of them she was the only one who would have any kind of chance at fighting back – Stan needed immediate medical help, Fiddleford couldn’t stand on his own or stop shaking (and that wasn’t even addressing his mental state), and Ford was one good hit away from collapse himself. It really shouldn’t be up to the girl with a mind like swiss cheese to protect them all, but it appeared it was.

The elevator came to life and dinged open.

“Area secured,” Carla McCorkle, dressed in full tactical gear, said into her mike.

“We found ‘em. They’re in th’basement,” her partner breathed in relief, throwing her head back and slumping.

Her partner…

“Maddie!” Addi cried.

“Addi!” Madeline McGucket responded automatically.

∆

“It seems that trouble has once again come to Gravity Falls. In a shocking turn of events, the creepy cabin in the woods that we all feel like is watching us when we go near it and out of which strange sounds and black-ops-looking type people occasionally enter, has been the headquarters for a mad spy organisation this entire time. It was stormed by the FBI and Oracle Division – whatever that is – not two hours ago, and four severely injured individuals were safely recovered from the basement, in which they had been held prisoner by the leader of said mad spy organisation, Bill Cipher. In events that are not entirely clear, Cipher had been… turned into a statue? Is this right? It is? Alright then… Cipher had been turned into a statue. When it was brought up out of the house and our reporter on the scene questioned whether Cipher might still be alive inside it, the thing was fly-kicked into a million pieces by one of the aforementioned prisoners, a Mr Fiddleford McGucket, to assorted cheering from the other prisoners, the FBI, the Oracle Division agents, random spectators, and the mad spy terrorists themselves. To conclude, the answer to that question is a resounding ‘no’.

“Meanwhile, the prisoners themselves are receiving treatment at the scene, as they are apparently too stubborn to leave things in other people’s hands…”

∆

From what Stan could see from his position lying on the stretcher in the ambulance, the clean-up seemed to be going well. Red and blue lights flashed into the night, and an almost continuous stream of Cipher Wheel operatives were being led out of Ford’s house, loaded into FBI vans, and driven away. It was much easier to take in his surroundings now that pain and cold fear weren’t pulsing through his body; the paramedics had given him something, and now the entire left side of his body was numb. And they’d assured him he wasn’t dying anymore, which was a relief. Also, they’d bandaged up that bullet graze on his shoulder. It was nice to be looked after.

Carla’s fingers were winding through his hair.

“We’re getting married as soon as possible,” she said. She was sitting in a chair next to him, occasionally touching the plaster the paramedics had insisted on putting on her multitude of cuts and scrapes.

“We are?” he asked.

“We are,” she confirmed. “I don’t trust you not to go off on yet another adventure and do something reckless and get yourself shot again before our wedding day,”

“Me do something reckless?” Spluttered Stan. “You tackled an assassin through a window today!”

“But I didn’t almost die!”

“That bandage over your wrist arteries and those bruises around your throat beg to differ,”

She flicked his nose.

“Ow!” He decided to let her idiocy go, at least until he could properly defend himself. “Yeah, let’s get married soon,” he agreed.

The last of the Cipher Wheel agents were driven off.

“So, case closed, huh?”

“Almost, thanks to you,” she smiled. “There’s still moles in practically every agency on the planet, I’ll bet, not too mention all the bureaucratic higher-ups Cipher had in his pocket – Jheselbraum’s superiors, for one. Fortunately, Wexler is free to help us with that, now,”

Stan groaned. “I thought you were going to take a break! What happened to us having some time off together?”

Carla blinked, startled. “I- uh, well, I’m still needed, there’s still things to-”

“Agents! There you are,” Came Jheselbraum’s voice.

Tilting his head, Stan saw her standing at the entrance of their ambulance.

“I couldn’t help overhearing the tail-end of that conversation,” she stated, “and I’m afraid Carla is right, Stanley. There is still much to see to with regards to the Cipher Wheel investigation,”

Stan’s heart sank.

“In fact, Carla, as a reward for the extensive amount of time and effort that you have put into this case, as well as the exceptional valour, initiative, and determination you have displayed these past few hours in the midst of crisis, I have taken it upon myself to use my not-inconsiderable influence to offer you a promotion,”

Carla’s face lit up.

Great. More work for her to take on.

Jheselbraum continued, “This will enable you a firmer command over the investigation, and I expect you’ll want to take full advantage of the delegative duties now available to you,”

Delegative duties? Well, just because it doesn’t sound like more work doesn’t mean it isn’t…

“I should also mention that this promotion comes with the condition that you take appropriate steps to address the large amount of stress and mental strain that this has placed upon you. Whatever those steps may be,” Jheselbraum looked from Carla to Stan, and back again. “Some leave, perhaps? Or time to work from home?”

For one heart-stopping moment, Stan thought Carla was too proud to accept. A few different expressions warred on her face, until something in it cleared.

“I’ll take that as a yes, Supervisory Special Agent McCorkle,” Jheselbraum smiled.

Carla sat back in her chair, breathing out slowly, and then grinned at Stan, who beamed broadly right back.

“So that’s that, Agent McCorkle?”

“That’s that, Mr Pines” she agreed.

Stan looked out of the ambulance again. Directly opposite, another ambulance was parked, its back doors open to them. He raised a hand in a brief wave to Addi and Ford, who were cuddling with their legs swinging off the edge of the ambulance floor. Ford had finally gotten some proper stitches in his head, as well as a bandage around it, and a knee brace. Addi was physically fine, but had a shock blanket draped around her shoulders. His brother smiled back at him.

“How often do ya put trackers on me?” Fiddleford wondered. His ambulance was next to Ford’s.

“Only when there’s a big whoppin’ emergency,” Madeline answered. Fiddleford was sitting up on his stretcher, and Madeline had joined him on it. The tremors had all but stopped, Stan was glad to see. Those were what had scared Madeline and the paramedics the most, but it had apparently only been shock symptoms, and wasn’t indicative of any kind of lasting brain damage. That hadn’t stopped Addi from flatly stating that both Fiddleford and herself were going to be booked up in mental therapy for the next few months, an action which Stan for one wholeheartedly agreed with.

Funnily enough, Fiddleford’s erratic speech was nothing to worry about. Madeline had disclosed that it wasn’t that out of character for him. He was way worse when he was drunk, apparently.

Something that balanced out the heartbreak that Madeline had shown when Fiddleford hadn’t entirely recognised her was the amazement and happiness on his face when she managed to tell him that she – at this point flushed from the action of the conflict with the Cipher Wheel agents, dressed head to foot in tactical gear, and backlit by the light from the elevator like some sort of avenging angel come to save them all – was his wife. Since then he’d seen Fiddleford staring off into space occasionally, just thinking things over.

“So what’s happening to Oracle Division?” Carla asked.

“We’re dissolved,” Addi replied. She nodded off to where Jheselbraum had moved to talk to some FBI officials. “The director said our mission’s over. The FBI has it handled from here, and Oracle Division agents will be picked up by other departments,”

“Is that what's going to happen to you?” Stan inquired, looking between her and Fiddleford.

Addi hesitated.

“Like hell it is!” Fiddleford snapped for her. “Whatever son of a bitumen road tries to stop me from retirin’ right this minute is goin’ ta be sorry. Ah’ve had it up to here with spies!”

“Fair enough,” Stan said, as Madeline high-fived him.

“I think I’m done with that scene for a while too,” Addi said, nestling closer to Ford.

“In that case,” Ford said, clearing his throat, “since I appear to be out of a job as well, how would you like to stay here with me? I’ve been thinking about going the scientific research route for years now, and this seems to be the perfect opportunity to do it,”

“Wh- really? Yes, of course! I’d love to!” Addi exclaimed, lurching off his shoulder to look him in the eye.

Happy as anything, Ford leaned forward so he could see into Fiddleford’s ambulance. “You’d be welcome too, Fiddleford. I can also look back over the memory gun schematics, see if I can reverse-engineer them. Any chance to make things right-”

“Ford, ‘making things right’ isn’t going to happen,” Addi interrupted.

Ford looked shattered.

Addi blanched. “No, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s because the memories are coming back on their own! We don’t need you to make a reverse-memory gun!”

“Wait, they are?” exclaimed Stan.

She nodded at him. “Every now and then another one gets triggered,”

Ford looked at Fiddleford. “Is this happening with you as well?”

“It is. Maddie’s been tellin’ me about Tate, and I’m rememberin’ him better all the time,”

“Well then maybe-” Ford reached behind him and grabbed the Journal, which he’d taken from the basement – “it would help if I recounted our missions together… that is, if you want my help…?” He looked uncertainly at Fiddleford. Stan winced as he remembered the anger he’d seen on the man’s face as Cipher had indicated the Journal.

Fiddleford sighed. “Stanford, Addi’s right. Cipher didn’t need that thing to hurt us, it was just convenient for him. Ah’d greatly appreciate yer help, and,” He glanced at Madeline, who shrugged in an easygoing manner, “Ah’d be happy to work with ya in th’future,”

Relief crossed Ford’s features.

Stan privately noticed that Fiddleford was clearly – to him at least – holding back quite a lot. Those first sentences had a rigidity to them that Stan thought probably meant that while Fiddleford could say them, and know they were true, there was still a way to go before he would really believe them. However, the fact that he had said them meant that things were already looking up.

“So you’re… doing okay?” Carla cringed at the inadequacy of the question.

“Improvin’,” Fiddleford nodded. “The memory gun stopped workin’ on me after a while, so that’s helped. Don’t think Cipher noticed, or cared too,”

“It did?” Addi asked, wide-eyed. “I mean, thank God, but… it did?”

At Fiddleford’s shrug, Ford straightened up. “That’s incredible! Perhaps you built up a resistance to the ray, or maybe the gun lost its power after a while – although that wouldn’t explain why it continued to work on Addi… I wonder, if we took an MRI of your brain-”

“Ford, are ya a neuroscientist?” Madeline asked with an amused tilt to her head.

“Ah, no-”

“Then leave it alone fer now. Let’s just relax for a while,”

Ford gave an embarrassed grin and Fiddleford squeezed his wife’s shoulders contentedly.

“All that bein’ said,” he piped up suddenly, irritation entering his voice. “Writin’ down yer top secret escapades was an idiotic thing ta do, Stanford, and if I’m goin’ to be workin’ with ya, you’ll be usin’ a computer, yer hear?”

“Computer’s can be hacked,” Ford responded weakly.

“Not mine,” said Fiddleford grimly.

Ford nodded his acquiescence, not that he had much choice, and then turned hopefully to Stan and Carla.

“We’ve already got jobs,” grinned Stan.

“We’ve also got some mandatory leave,” Carla put in. “I’d be happy to spend it here. After all, we’ve got ten years to catch up on, Ford,” She offered, and laughed as Stan immediately agreed to the idea. He was in no way ready to say goodbye to his brother yet, and he didn’t think Ford wanted him to leave yet either. There was still plenty of sappy hugs and conversations to have before then. And it looked like they were about to start now, as Ford opened the Journal on his lap, pressed a kiss to Addi’s hair, rolled his eyes at Stan’s eyebrow waggle, and began to read.

What had his life been like two weeks ago? He’d had a girlfriend who loved him, but who had also been extremely pressured by her work. He’d had a steady-ish job, but no friends. And a brother who he hadn’t seen in five years. Two weeks ago, life had been lonely, and quiet.

Now, he had a fiancée who loved him and whose case was all but wrapped up so she wasn’t in danger of dying of stress, he had taken down a terrorist and probably deserved a medal or some cash or something, he had two very firm friends who pulled stunts he found completely nuts but which probably meant that they weren’t about to be scared away any time soon, and a brother who wanted him around, who liked talking to him, who once again wanted his help and wanted to help him in return.

Now, life was moving on to better things, and he was looking forward to their next adventures even more.

[heroesarelife]

Could I request for a scenario/imagine of Aizawa finding out his s/o's b-day is a few days after his? Like Hizashi was asking what he was gonna do his s/o b-day. Aizawa asked why did he asked all of a sudden. Hizashi deadpan that their b-day is on the 13 November. Just 5 days after his. What would Aizawa do after knowing their b-day? Sorry if this is too self-indulgent. My b-day is at 13 November so I'm really excited and I love how close both our birthdays are since he's one of my favourites

YEEEEET HAPPY BIRTHDAY MATE! (I will cal you uuuuh 13-non? I am so not creative with anon names i’m so sorry)

I am so sorry this gotten so long omg. My preference for aizawa is showing.

Word count: 1834

Warning: Too much fluff, risk for diabetes ahead.

To describe what he was currently feeling as tired would have been an understatement.Exhaustion filled his bones and joints with surgical precision; heavy ironsattached to his ankles and wrists, weighting his every step and tampering hismovements. Any and all sensations numbed, turning them into nothing but faintexperiences, too distant to feel real. He had work to do. A lot of it. A hellof too much of it for all he was worth.

“E…ser!”

He had approximately two whole stacks of papers to grade andexactly null disposition to do so. However, such was the life of an adult. 30years old as of yesterday, no celebration allowed. With a heavy sigh, Shoutatook the first paper of the bundle, exhaling his entire soul upon seeingKaminari’s anarchist handwriting. This one promised to be a train wreck. Hecould feel the beginnings of a migraine creeping in on him; not that his friendseemed to care about making it worse.

“Oy, Eraser!”

Grunting in what could pass off as a sound ofacknowledgement, he attempted to ignore Mic’s strident voice. He couldn’t catcha break.

“Eraser, say. You have time to karaoke this weekend?”Midnight’s velvet voice reached his ear, with its ever present mischievousundertone. Aizawa failed to answer, running his eyes again through the paper.He must have made a mistake. Having a negative grade was impossible to achieve,even for one with such an outstanding capacity for failing exams as Kaminari.

“I’m saying he probably has plans for [Name]’s birthday.” Micwhined, sighing much more audibly than strictly necessary. Right there, he hadmarked one of the questions incorrectly. Not that this would help the boy’s caseovermuch. Maybe if he offered lessons… Wait just a second.

“Birthday?” Shouta finally raised his head in something of asurprise, only to squint angrily at the cigarette between Mic’s fingers. “Takeyour shitty smoking outside.”

“[Name]’s birthday is this weekend. You know, your s/o.” Notabashed in the slightest, the other hero placed the cigarette behind his own ear,seemingly happy enough with himself. “Aren’t you going to celebrate with them?”he smiled up at Shouta, somewhat wickedly, obviously having noticed that he hadforgotten. Damn it. It had completely slipped his mind. What, between thegeneral consistency of his fatigated state and his personal disregard of hisown birthday, he had failed to notice that theirs was nothing less than 5 daysaway. No, correction: 4 days away. Well, shit.

That explained why they had made a point of telling him,with all airs of importance, that they had no plans for that weekend. Despitehim not having asked them. Things suddenly clicked in his brain and he pressedhis fingers to his eyes, feeling like a dumbass. Of course they were expectingsomething. And he had forgotten.

“Hey, no worries, Eraser!” Mic’s overly excited voicestormed his eardrums, much too close for comfort, as he felt his friend’s armrest amicably on his shoulders. “You still have 4 days to think of something.”

“Shut up.”

—-

The light is what wakes them up. Eyelids fluttering gentlyopen, they look around in confusion, still slightly lost on the dense mist ofsleep. The telltale way in which the sunlight filtered through the room, withalmost devastating clarity, gave away exactly how much they had overslept. Itshould be almost noon at that point. All heavy limbs and fuzzy mind, theystretch languidly, revelling on the soft feel of the sheets tangled aroundtheir body. Trying to pretend the absence of Shouta didn’t bring sadness totheir heart.

Because it did, more than what they cared to admit. Thespace besides them was empty and cold, which by itself felt like a ratherlonely birthday gift. Shouta probably left for work, on a Saturday of all days.At this point, they were convinced that he had forgotten. They could all buthear their own heart breaking just by remembering last night. How they hadwaited awake, because they enjoyed to just wait for the clock to turn midnightso they could just welcome their special day. And how Shouta had arrived frompatrol shortly after, only to promptly collapse in bed, absolutely oblivious asfor what reason his s/o would be excited at such a late hour. Not even a modest‘happy birthday’ before falling into a deep slumber. Nothing.

Already drained of all the possible excitement they mighthave felt for the day to come, they get up slowly, staggering into the livingroom in a daze. At the exact same time as Shouta came in through the front door.He scoffed in half amusement, apparently finding something funny in their dishevelledappearance. “Sleeping much? Sit you down, sleepyhead. I will press some coffeefor you.” He jested through his customary sarcastic demeanour.

Huffing irritably, they sat down on the couch, tellingthemselves that it was absolutely notbecause he told them to, but rather because they still felt just too dizzy fromexcess of sleep. Yes, that was it. As it was, they almost jumped out of theirskin when something suddenly fell unceremoniously onto their lap. A small box.

They looked up at the culprit, namely Shouta, who was nowplacing a hot mug of coffee on the side table, looking as unfazed as always.Feeling their hearts swell with renewed and bright hope, they opened the smallgift. Inside there was the new album of one of their favourite bands, accompaniedby a sweet note signed with the flashy handwriting unmistakably belonging toPresent Mic. The disappointment was so strong that they could swear they heardthey heart die a little bit, almost like a wounded animal attacked by surpriseby a hunter in the woods. Fatal injury. It wasn’t Shouta’s. He had trulyforgotten.

“It’s from Hizashi” their boyfriend explained, rather unnecessarily.Acquiescing silently, they bit down their lower lip, fighting back the sillytears that threatened to spill. It’s not that they weren’t glad with Hizashi’s thoughtfulgift – it’s true that they had been blabbing about that musician nonstop forthe last few months – but it hurt them so to know their own boyfriend would soblatantly overlook their birthday. And he must know at this point, surely. But the cold disregard and lack of acknowledgementfelt a bit much at this point. They sniffed, lightly but still more audiblythan they had intended, and they heard Shouta clicking his tongue, as a clearshow of his own discomfort.

They heard the shuffling sound of clothes and the faintingsteps as Shouta walked away. Well, great. The day was going downhill barely 30minutes since waking up. It was a talent of theirs, apparently. Maybe they shouldput it on their CV and get a job as a day-destroyer, as they were clearly inwrong profession.

Absorbed in their thought, they didn’t hear he come back,and were snapped out of their thoughts by the deep sound of his voice. “I alsodon’t have any plans for the weekend.” Even through their upset haze, hesounded a bit awkward.

Surprised, they raised their eyes to meet his, not quiteunderstanding where this was going. He was sitting on the couch’s armrest.Close enough to be touched if they so much desired, while still giving themenough breathing space. He placed his hand behind his neck, scratching the areaas if in embarrassment, somehow managing to further mess his already sloppylocks.

“What I mean is…” he went on, taking a deep breath as iflooking to gather himself. “I took the weekend off. To spend with you.”

It took some seconds for the information to sink in. Theirheart behaving wearily in fear of further disappointment. But this was a verbaladmission. He had freed his days, to spend only with them.

“So we can do whatever you like. I know it’s not ideal andnothing much but—”

“You remembered.” They croaked, stupidly emotional over thesimple conclusion. Shouta’s eyes widened, and pressed his lips together,letting his hand drop to his lap in some sort of defeat.

“I had… In truth, I had forgotten. Hizashi reminded me.” Headmitted, voice dropping ever-so-slightly to what could be described as anabashed tone. “I’m sorry. I—” He was suddenly interrupted by a soft and muffled‘meow’ which came from some location within his person.

Their mouth fell open, in an almost comical surprise. “Isthat a…?”

Had they not known any better, they would have sworn that thechange of tone in his cheeks was that of an embarrassed flush. However, Shoutamost certainly didn’t do blushing, so it was probably a result of roomtemperature. Right? Right. Despite that, their boyfriend reached somewhereinside the coat he was wearing, revealing the most cute, fluffy, and small kittenthey had ever laid their eyes upon.

Unable to suppress an enthusiastic squeak, as well as thebeautiful warm feeling that began to spread through their heart and stomach,they stretched their hands eagerly, receiving the little thing with carefuladoration. The kitten blinked lazily, apparently confused with the change ofenvironment, rolling over on their palm carelessly and proceeding to adorably pawtheir finger. It had a black and silky fur, and was wearing a loose red ribbonaround its neck, almost as if it was placed there in an afterthought.

“That’s why I left earlier. You said you wanted one for sometime now. And Kayama has a friend whose cat just had a litter and, well, Ithought you would like.” He trailed off, noticing they were barely paying himany mind.

“But… You said you were too busy to care for one.” Theysaid, feeling their heart twist painfully at the mere thought of having toreturn the lovely creature. They loved it already. “Or would I take it to myhouse? You can maybe visit it sometimes? Or it stays here and I will visit itsometimes?”

“That won’t be a problem if you move in.” He put in, withappalling simplicity, as if answering that obviously the sum of two plus twoequals four. Not as if he had just invited his long term partner to live together.They felt their heart stop, the air leaving their lungs altogether.

“Do you mean this?” They said quietly, emotion taking overtheir soul in strong waves as the kitten bit at their thumb softly.

He nodded, a rare gentle smile touching hislips. “Yes, I do. If you will have me. No don’t.” He added in mild panic, asthe tears threatened to spill down their eyes. He closed the space between themboth, wrapping his arm around their shoulder, allowing them to bury their faceon the crook of his neck as they tried to regain control. “Happy birthday,[Name].” He said lamely, sounding mildly afraid to cause another emotionalburst. But they knew now: he meant it.

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