#episode 241

[wt-nv-quotes]

It’s the eye of the tiger. It’s the mouth of the tiger. It’s the gnashing, ceaseless teeth of the tiger. Then, only darkness.

[officialkakagai]

[syvellsworld]

TV of the Lost - episode 241

[dtccompendium]

Episode 241: The Bullet Train Transport Case (Part 2)

Three suspicious characters were witnessed walking through the train compartment, joined at the hip – Stonehead, Sweating, and Quackface. They also all had newspapers that somehow relayed the message “go to the bathroom” to the deceased criminal. Quackface killed the drug dealer in order to conceal the drug route. He stabbed him through a newspaper, so that he wouldn’t get blood on him. Conan realizes this when he finds part of the newspaper imprinted in the blood on the victim’s hand. Takagi takes down Quackface with an empty coffee can, knocking him forcefully to the ground, and then Sato jumps on him, pinning him to the floor.

Best Quotes:

Conan: (looking at the coffee can) “How could you say 'go to the bathroom' with this?

[anti-gruvia-blog]

Gray, about to be attacked? You'd think she would give a fuck about that right? Maybe she would be concerned about his actual health and life? Nope. She somehow thinks a metal enemy is going to ' embrace gray-sama from behind. '

[givemegifs]

[akai-anna]

[avatarquake]

KEVIN AGAIN! HI BABY!

KEVIN!!!! IT'S KEVIN!!!! KEVIN IS BACK!!!!

(And I can almost not believe I love that lunatic - for the potential he lost before the Smiling God, and the future realisation of the loss of that potential.)

[tabbi-mysteries]

Episodes 1-250 Mouri Ran's Wardrobe

+ Films 1-5 & OVA1

Thanks for all the support! I wasn't expecting this project to get so popular. For this update I've made things much neater, they're organised by date first shown (hopefully) to see how her wardrobe has changed over time. There's also a key to show if the outfit was from an episode, opening, ending, film, next Conan's hint or OVA! Lemme know if you have any other organisation suggestions for future updates! And as before if you spot any mistakes or any outfits I missed pls let me know!

[wt-nv-quotes]

Lost: Keys. Several Florida Keys, which used to appear on the map now don’t. The key of E minor. A handful of keys from an old typewriter, namely the letters H, E, L, P, and M.

[officialkakagai]

[macgyver2016-bracket]

Season 1, Episode 18: Flashlight

Mac and the team travel to Hawaii to help out when an earthquake strikes and partner with Chin Ho and Kono to rescue a group of government scientists trapped in a building about to collapse.

Season 3, Episode 12: Fence + Suitcase + Americium-241

Phoenix teams up with a woman who's a soccer mom by day but a master thief by night to catch one of her contacts, and underworld criminal, who has hired her to steal a dirty bomb.

[thevoiceofdesertbluffs]

"I know what I have to do with this knife."

“I have to put it… into a body!”

“I have to put it into a body over and over,” he says, “until everything comes out.”

[zmediaoutlet]

An hour. The ruler of hell and the most powerful witch in the world and an angel that’s been a god and the literal creator of the universe waiting in the wings and with all that, Sam’s brother says, “You can give me five minutes, huh? Take a number,” and grabs Sam by the elbow and walks them both out into the bunker halls and into a room and slams the door, and holds his hand against it like all that power could be kept out, and blows out a breath, and says, “God.”

An hour, ticking down. Sam stands still with Dean’s fist still wrapped in his sleeve and takes him in. His head bent, his eyes tight at the corners with the pain of whatever’s happening. His body seared by power. Not the first time. Not the—

“God,” Dean mutters, and then shakes his head. “Gotta stop saying that when he’s right down the hall.” He puts his fingertips to his chest. Grimaces. “Guess that won’t be a problem, huh?”

Sam should say something. Nothing’s adequate.

This is one of the spare rooms. An unmade bed and a bare desk. Dean made a crack when they’d moved in, after things were better between them, about how they ought to christen every room in the place, complete with waggling eyebrows and a significant glance below Sam’s belt. They didn’t make it very far, and never made it in here. It smells like dust, basements. Unliving things.

“Sammy,” Dean says. “Sam. I’ve got to.”

Sam closes his eyes, reflex, and then opens them again immediately because he isn’t—he can’t check out, he doesn’t want to, he needs every second of this that he can get. When they have time, for once. When they at least got some warning.

Dean’s watching him. Not nervous. Of course, he wouldn’t be. He just looks sort of—tired, and like it hurts, in that way Dean looks where he knows it’s going to hurt for a long time and he’s just got to deal with it until he can put it down. Like he’s waiting for Sam to catch up, but that’s not fair because Sam gets it. He doesn’t have to like it.

“You here?” Dean says, and Sam says, “Where else would I be.” Dean nods, this little jerky thing, and then pulls Sam in by his jacket and puts his face in Sam’s throat and his grip hurts on Sam’s ribs, his hip, the middle of his spine. Pulling in with nowhere to settle. Sam curls in—over Dean’s shoulder, and it feels strange, when Dean’s always trying to reach up and pull Sam down to him like Sam’s still actually the little brother. He holds the back of Dean’s neck. His skin hot with the trapped power but not so much that Sam can’t touch him.

“I’ve got to,” Dean says. Very quiet, warm against Sam’s collarbone. Sam knows but he can’t—he puts his lips to the top of Dean’s head, smells the long day there. Sweat and that hair wax crap he pretends he doesn’t use and the shampoo they’ve been buying forever and his skin. Salt, warm. This last year, they’ve shared beds about half the time, and Sam’s met the day in sheets that smelled just like this, and had Dean’s skin under his hands just like this, and he’d thought—if it were like this, for what days they had left, he could handle just about anything. He could manage.

Through the door, from somewhere down the hall: Time to go, hero.

“Why did we invite Crowley,” Dean mutters.

He pushes back from Sam’s chest. Still in pain and not complaining. Settled, that way he always is when there’s a job to do and he’s the one to do it and there’s no other choice, so it might as well get done. When Sam was a kid it made him furious. Now there’s just this—tight horror in his chest with nowhere to go. An hour, less now, and there’s nothing—he can’t say anything and he can’t do anything and he doesn’t know, after, what life will be worth living, in this place that smells like dust.

“Guess I’ll drive,” Dean says. His cheek sucks in on one side and then he gives Sam this one-sided smile. One of those things Sam’ll remember on his deathbed. Dean, trying to make it okay.

“Could let Cas try,” Sam says. It cracks a little but so what.

Dean scoffs. “Not even when I’m dead,” he says, and prods Sam in the chest. “Making that part of the will. Cas is not allowed behind the wheel, okay. You guard those keys with your life.”

“Understood,” Sam says. Dean smiles at him, barely wider. Then Dean reaches up on his toes and kisses him hard and fast and painful with their teeth pressing through their lips, for two searing seconds that end when Dean drops back to his heels and lets out a quick breath and opens the door and shouts down the hall, “All right, all right, let’s get this over with,” and Sam’s lips throb, and Dean disappears through the doorway into the bright hall, and the bottom drops out of Sam’s chest. He understands. How impossible the next fifty-five minutes will be. How he will have to live through them, anyway. And then, after that—