#except 1) i’m closer to being in mob’s place here and 2) they’re not actually that similar

[gumy-shark]

sorry for posting about this guy so much but in my defense i have a sneaking suspicion the little fuck got into my brain somehow. anyways picks up ritsu mp100 and shakes him around wildly again. i want to hit him with a car but also take him to 7-11 and get him a slurpee

[dcomicsficrecs]

Do you have any fics with Jason just being a Bro™️? Or any with him rejoining the family after UTRH?

For the sake of this post not being too long, I am going to rec only one fic or series from an author, but all of these authors are great writers so I recommend checking their other works as well. Hope you will enjoy this fics as much as I do!

1. Jason and Damian being bros

1.1 Bet on it by Lysical  

Even Damian could admit that his older siblings occasionally had their uses. __

"I need your assistance," Damian said, voice low and tense.

"No," Jason replied, and hung up.

Short but adorable story of Jason helping out Damian to hide something from their father, just like big brothers out to do.

1.2 Cracked Foundation by Cdelphiki    

The last thing Damian expected to happen when he ran away from home was to spend a day crammed into a small space with Jason Todd.  His father's second son was a black sheep.  An outcast.  An angry, insanity driven criminal who enjoyed screwing with the batfamily in every way he could. At least, that's what Damian thought.  Maybe he was wrong about Todd.

Perfect hurt/comfort with a lot of family feels and Damian and Jason bodning. Bonus points: Jason actually apologizing for shooting him; exploration of Bruce’s relationships with them both too.

1.3   Good Grief by lysiabeth                

“I know who you are, you know. I got my degree at GCU.” The girl says, eyes boring into Jason’s chest as if the red bat were still plastered on it, and Jason’s back stiffens.

“Right.” Jason’s teeth click together as he closes his mouth. He’s eighteen-hundred miles out from Gotham, and of all the Goddamn vet centres he could have broken into it’s probably the only one around that knows anything about his city.

WIP with 8K words so far but worth early reading and bookmarking/subscribing. Case fic, plus Damian and Jason bonding as siblings through Talia? Leviathan also plays a part in this story? Hell yeah.

1.4 Jason and the Three Terrors by Cdelphiki                

One moment, Jason was peacefully sleeping, perfectly content with his life with the League of Assassins.  Okay, so maybe not content content, but he wasn't unhappy, either.  Then Talia woke him up at 2 am, threw three children at him, and told him to get them to America and far away from Ra's al Ghul.

What the fuck.

The last thing he wanted was to see Bruce. But with three brats relying on him and no Talia, there weren't many options for sanctuary. He just didn't expect the kids to grow on him so much in two short weeks.

A superb AU where Jason helps Damian escape League of the Assassin (against his wishes and with two unwanted additions to boot, which is half the pleausure). They aren’t brothers, stictly speaking, at the start of the fic, but become them as the story progresses.

It’s a WIP but it has 50K already and it will be so much more. I am excited with every update and I’m sure you’re gonna be, too.

2. Jason being a brother to Cassandra

2.1 Nests and Cages series by LanternWisp, Lysical starting with Needles or Pins  

Jason Todd's journey back to the Batfamily. Takes place in the Frankenstein's monster of a canon I've stitched together. Each plot is rather self-contained, but the fics do flow into one another

Jay and Cass are bio siblings, and Jason’s slow return to the fold. I love this series, and I think it’s one of the greatest take on Lady Shiva being Jason’s mother too.

2.2 Didymous  by   Hinn_Raven

Didymous: adjective: growing in pairs or twins.

Cassandra and Jason are born twins, raised by their father to be killers. Two heads are better than one.

It’s a great AU with Jay and Cass being biological siblings.

2.3 the patron saint of the lost causes series by evanescent

Pre-Flashpoint AU based on canon what-if Lady Shiva was not only Cassandra's biological mother, but Jason's, too. Mostly focuses on Cass and Jason's relationship, and how that fact changes the dynamics in Batfamily.

It is also a great series with Cass and Jay being biological siblings and I recommend reading every fic of this series.

2.4 Rebirth by Ionaperidot                

"The boy is clearly ill, and while she’s almost certain that he is, impossibly, Jason Todd, almost is not good enough. She can’t drop heartbreak on her beloved’s doorstep, and she can’t run the necessary tests when Damian is vulnerable to her father’s wrath. There’s no way around it. He’ll have to come home with her."

Unexpectedly in charge of a second son, Talia struggles to raise her children without unwanted attention from the Demon's Head.

An AU where Talia is the one who unites Cass and Jason. It also contains Damian, and he’s a little brother to them both.

3. Jason and Duke being bros

3.1 Bats are Dorks by   Reah22                

Duke hadn’t meant to literally trip and fall on to Jason. He really hadn’t. For the record, he blamed Steph. It was probably one of her old pranks that she forgot to take down. That, or she deliberately left it up for someone to trip over in the dark.

Just Duke and Jason, hanging out. Super nice.

3.2 oh, where do i begin? by LazuliQuetzal

“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” Jason says. “We’re a-okay. Just peachy. Good times.”

“Oh,” Duke says, lamely, working himself out of crisis mode. There’s an awkward silence for a moment before he speaks up again. “Why did you call?”

“Right, right," Jason mumbles, which seemed a little out of character to Duke. His sort-of wayward brother was generally intimidating, even when he wasn't trying to be. "Uh, Dick said that you had a guinea pig when you were younger. How do you take care of a guinea pig?” _____

AKA, not-exactly accidental guinea pig acquisition

Absolutely adorable short story about Jason going to his little brother for advice.

3.3 rockstar au series by addiebey starting with disconnect:

jason and duke bond. dick just doesn't get it, but what's new?

Another great no-capes AU. Only two fics from the series, both under 1k, are focused on Duke and Jason, but they are so great. The whole series is, actually, though it’s not finished. I am just grateful even this much exists, but I am definitely bookmarking and subscribing it in case there will be more. Please give this series the attention and praise it deserves.

There are, alas, not many Duke and Jason-centered fics. Though there is another one I wanted to recommend, about Jason training Duke, but I can’t find it for some reason. It was short and funny, and if anyone recognizes this description, I would be glad if you told me.

4. Jason and Dick being bros

4.1 i was naive and hopeful and lost by heroics (figure8)

Clark and Bruce take in a troubled teen.

The The Fosters AU no one asked for.

It’s a part of the series which is one of the best no-capes AU I’ve read, if not the best, and it’s a great family-focused fic with a good parent Bruce. The road for Jason to become Dick’s and the rest of the kids’ brother is slow but greatly written.

4.2 To Reconcile by CasualDanger      

“Babs slapped me at your funeral.”  Jason goes to laugh, but it’s just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up.  “She hated me in that moment.  I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died.  And I wondered,” his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, “did you hate anyone when I was gone?  Because I was gone?”

Short and emotional fic where Dick and Jason open up to each other during pressing circumstances.

4.3  Five Times Dick Grayson Read about Jason Todd in the Newspaper by Engineerd              

If Dick hadn’t been special ordering the Gotham City Gazette, he wouldn’t have found out for - well. Years, at this rate.

Short and very full of emotion story. I love the exploration of Dick’s almost unchanging attitude toward Jason - well, unchanging right before the last time he would read about him (or almost the last time). They’re not really close here, and won’t grow closer, but sometimes siblinghood is like that.

4.4 The View From Jade by lowflyingfruit                

Being transported to the past is not the sort of thing one normally expects. But this having happened, and with no easy way back, Jason's determined to make the most of it. Though the Bat still stalks Gotham's streets, the city's crime is run by the mobs instead of the rogues. There's no Joker yet.

There's no Robin.

Maybe there shouldn't be.

Time Travel Jason&Dick focused AU! One of the best time travel fics where they actually change stuff even if it doesn’t transit to their universe - for exception of their more strong brotherly relationships.

5. Jason and Stephanie being bros

5.1 this time, the loser wins by parkerstorms

They were two sides of the same coin.  They understood each other.  It was nice.  It was a downright relief.  She’d never had a big brother before.

There’s not a lot of Jason and Steph being bros stories I have not mentioned before, but this one is one of them, and a great one too.

6. Jason and Tim being bros

6.1 Bonding Habits of Robins by  GoAwayOlivia                

Giving each other shit is how the bat brothers show they care. Jason and Tim do it particularly well.

It’s a funny and nice fic with exactly what’s said in the summary.

There’s a lot of fics with Jason and Tim being bros but my memorie went blank when I tried to recall. Which is not a statement about their relationships or quality of fics that depict them, it’s just sometimes my memory doesn’t work properly. This is the case with the Jason and Steph, too. As soon as I remember or discover new fics about their relationships, I am going to update this post or maybe create a new one just for the three of them. We’ll see!

7. Batfam Jason-featured sibling relationships

7.1 If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You)  by  lurkinglurkerwholurks

or, 5 times Jason Todd saved his siblings... and one time they saved him.

It was only by luck that Jason was still there when the bodies came crashing down the street. Bad luck, he would argue. He could hear them long before he could see them, their bodies preceded by the thunderous pounding of boots of asphalt and shouted curses. Three or four figures flashed by his little alleyway, a tight mob followed by a lone, slender figure in a streaming cape.

Summary speaks for itself. It’s a gradual description of Jason slowly coming back to the family after UtRH and starting feeling like their brother.

7.2  this is a long drive (for three robins who don't agree on much) by   drakefeathers

(Bad Robins road trip AU!) Steph’s trip home to Gotham takes a huge detour thanks to Jason and Damian’s conflicts with airport security. She’s stuck driving the two brothers cross-country to reach Tim’s wedding in time.

Damian, Jason & Steph bonding road trip AU that warms your heart. Seriously, if you like any of these characters, you read this.

7.3 on a thin chain of moments and something like faith series  by irnan

Jason really oughta know better than to talk to Bats.

Jason bonding with both Steph and Cass! Love it. It’s fluff and angst, which is hard to pull off together, but it works here. It also, in places, incredibly funny. I love re-reading it from time to time.

7.4   Tremor by  LueurdeLaube              

Nobody can tell Jason Todd that joking about his own death is not a valid coping mechanism.

Not about Jason being a bro per se but about Batfam and Jason so I hope it counts!

7.5. the lost sidekick society by  redtruthed                

The batkids make a group chat.

Chaos ensues.

One of the best groupchat AU for Batfam.

[greensaplinggrace]

Hello! This is kind of out there but I was wondering if you could do a post apocolypse au? With tons of Barret but not very shippy. With lots of found family though! Thanks

“I know you didn't list Barret as one of the character you write, but you also said that the list was only a sort of guideline and not actually hard rules. If that's the case could you maybe do a prompt for some Dad!Barret and Marlene fluff? Thank you 💞💕” - Anon

Filling two prompts at once here, so I hope this fits the bill for both! Also I got really into this prompt so I’m honestly probably going to continue it? If so, it’ll on ao3, but here’s what I’ve written so far. Sort of the start of the fic/a prologue. A five + 1 type premise, beginning with Tifa XD

-UPDATE! The fic is now finished - PART 2 - PART 3 - ALL PARTS ON AO3

-If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE and HERE!

------

His daughter makes him a crown of dead flowers.

Barricaded inside of some long abandoned home, the only pieces of nature still visible are the wilted remains of a bouquet once gathered neatly in a vase. They’re faded, of course. Neglected and passed over for more urgent necessities; victims to the cruel fate of the merciless virus. Just as humans had been.

Just like every other living thing on the planet.

Yet Marlene doesn’t seem to mind. As soon as they’re both settled in for the night she takes the flowers up, small fingers clutching ever so delicately at the crumbling stems, and weaves him a crown. Kicking her feet on an old dusty couch and humming away, she even appears almost happy and content, though he knows she’s not.

He knows she’s afraid. Sees it every day in her frightened tears and hears it every night in the tiny, terrified whimpers of her nightmares.

These things - these small, innocuous pieces of joy she seems to find at the strangest of moments, are the only pieces of innocence she has left. Her only protection from the monsters inside of her head. 

Barret can’t rob her of that; he never could. Even if the flowers she plays with are dead and the couch she sits on once belonged to someone else. So when she looks up at him with wide brown eyes and that big, loving smile, presenting his crown like the glittering tiara she imagines it is, he can’t do anything else but kneel to accept it.

Can’t do anything else but return the smile and play pretend, heart aching with the loss of something he knows she’ll never get back.

Sometimes, he thinks of what his life would be like without her. Thinks of the kids out on the streets and the parents he’s met along the roads. Shell shocked, blank faced victims, waiting for the infected to end it all, and he knows he’s lucky. Lucky to have her at all in this destructive world, and the loss of her innocence isn’t so horrifying in the face of her simply being here with him. Safe and cared for and alive.

Because Marlene is the only thing he has left in the world - she’s the only one who matters - and he knows he’d do just about anything to keep her safe.

More importantly, though. More than anything else. He’d do anything to keep her happy.

So he plays pretend.

He wears the crown made from dead people’s things and cooks in their kitchen. Ignores the plundered and violated remains of their home to search through his own bag for some food, and hopes that his little girl doesn’t go looking upstairs to see the empty baby’s nursery.

Dinner is small again. It’s been beans and carrots for the past week, and it’ll be beans and carrots again today. Considering their circumstances, it isn’t exactly surprising. Watching over Marlene means making certain sacrifices, and raiding the bigger places for better supplies is simply too difficult with a child in tow.

Impossibly difficult. 

But it may soon be necessary, if things keep going the way they are. The thought that he might have to expose Marlene to the atrocities of their new world doesn’t sit well with him, but he might have to start doing so if he wants to keep them both alive and fed. Especially if he wants any tools of a high enough quality to maintain his arm.

Right now it works, but the thing is too slow to be useful for anything except shooting, and he relegates it to hanging limp and useless beside him on most days. Though even when his arm had been working at it’s finest, it was never useful for cooking.

Mechanized gun arms tend to be like that.

“Daddy?”

He hums, pots and pans banging, relieved when the stove starts without problem. “Yes, honey?”

“Where do you think the people who lived here moved away to?”

That warrants a glance backwards, and Barret turns to see Marlene still on the couch. She’s got a large photo album opened up on her lap now, flipping through it with a childlike curiosity. Her feet are still kicking off the edge of her seat, and after a beat of silence she looks up at him questioningly.

He pushes back the urge to snatch the book away from her - to protect her from the darkness only he can see hiding between the pages. 

Alive or dead, those are happy photos. Moments of a better life and a better time, and Marlene’s touch can only make them brighter. So he leaves her to it and returns to his cooking.

“They could be anywhere,” he still tells her, hoping to give her whatever small shred of hope he can, “maybe they’re hiding somewhere safer.”

“Like a Camp?”

“Maybe.” The nearest Camp isn’t for miles, but he knows the army and fast formed neighborhood watches had been evacuating people to safe sites. A lot of those had been transformed into Camps or eventually transferred to other Camps. For anybody living near the city, it isn’t exactly a stretch to imagine.

More of a stretch than Barret can muster, though.

“What if they Clustered?” Marlene asks after a moment of thought.

Barret isn’t at all expecting the words, and he barely manages to bite back an unsavory comment upon hearing them. What Marlene refers to as Clusters, most call Mobs, and he’d rather jump off a damn cliff than ever even look at one again. He doesn’t want to scare her, though. So instead he clears his throat and focuses on making their plates to distract himself, lips tightening. 

“Then at least they’d be safe,” he offers mildly.

“Well then why aren’t we in one? If it’s safe, I mean.”

“Because it’s only safe for certain people, baby.” When she opens her mouth he cuts her off, raising the plates in an apology. “You just have to trust me, okay? Let’s talk about something else.”

At her huff of reluctant acceptance he moves back to the couch, sitting close and pulling away the photo album.

He closes it and tosses it aside immediately, but in the half second his gaze finds the photos, he notices they’re all of a happy old couple. Thin and frail and paler than porcelain from a distinct lack of sun.

Dead, he realizes. 

There’s no way they would have made it.

“Daddy? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m fine. Let’s eat, huh? We gotta finish up soon if we want you in bed on time.”

Marlene pouts at that, suitably distracted, and they both dig into their food with gusto.

Speculating about strangers will get in him nowhere, he knows. Especially when it comes to the dead ones. 

There’ll be time for mourning later.

Much, much later. 

So he sits and he eats and talks about ponies and princesses, the crown still adorning his head, and he doesn’t think about anything except his daughter.

Doesn’t think about a thing except how he’s going to keep her alive.

They finish their meal in record time. Soon enough, Barret is tucking a fussy Marlene into bed. She’s curled up in her cot near the living room heater, bundled beneath some extra blankets he found in the linen closet, and she’s out like a light as soon as her head hits the pillow.

Barret sits and keeps watch while she sleeps. Through the slivers of space between boards, he watches dusk pass peacefully by. The infected begin to meander away once his and Marlene’s disturbance becomes old news to them, and a silence befalls their cozy sanctuary as the sky gradually darkens.

Then shit goes horribly, explosively sideways.

It happens in the middle of the night: a deafening boom that rocks the world and instantly has Barret on high alert. The air around them erupts in a blaze of fire and screams, upper level catching like dry tinder before he can so much as blink. 

Barret jumps to his feet with a yell, turning to grab Marlene as the ceiling crumbles around them. She’s glossy eyed and confused, but he doesn’t have the time to explain it to her. Doesn’t have the time to do a thing as beams pop around them, tires screeching in the near distance. Then the sound of shattering windows rends the silence of the night, a sadistic chorus of hoots and hollers following right at its heels. 

The approaching thunder of footsteps is what pushes Barret into motion. Quickly, with the rise of voices goading him to move faster than he ever has before, Barret pulls their bags onto one shoulder, hefting his little girl over the other, and races to the crooked backdoor. He kicks it down amidst a cascade of red hot cinders, ducking underneath the doorway without hesitation, and looks up to see dewy grass stretching out cold and exposed before them.

Another explosion sounds out from the house, the footsteps beginning to get closer as the war cries rise, and he has no time to waste anymore - no time for second thoughts.

Barret takes Marlene and he runs.

------

After that night, their situation only gets worse. The Mob isn’t tracking Barret down, but it’s clear they’ve set up shop in the surrounding buildings and aren’t planning to move anytime soon.

As a result, Barret gives the city a wide berth. Skirting past the outermost houses and heading into the open fields, he eventually leads them into the surrounding forests. He’s hoping for some modicum of safety within the boughs, but greenery is scarce and the leaves are falling. Winter’s chill becomes more prominent with every passing night to exacerbate the issue, and it drives home their need for four walls and a roof like nothing else ever could.

Yet for now, it’s better than nothing. Better than being left so vulnerable again, defenseless in another family’s home.

The added protection of the trees brings other problems, however. They’re isolated from civilization and traders out here, with no friendly faces to be seen for miles, and the subsequent dip in their supplies is severe. 

By the end of their first week camping out in the forests, Barret finds himself staring at his and Marlene’s very last can of beans, and knows without a doubt that they’ve finally hit the breaking point. 

They’re going to have to go looting again if they want some food.

And it is that thought that finds Barret and Marlene outside the remains of an empty, half hidden store just a few too many paces off the main road. With not a single infected in sight, it looks like the perfect mark.

Marlene huffs into the chill beside him, breath fogging. “What if there are monsters inside?” 

“Daddy will take care of them! Don’t you worry a bit about that.”

Marlene shuffles her feet and ducks her head. She has a death grip on his fingers, body closed off and fearful, and he already regrets making the decision to come out here. All around them, the silence of the abandoned store echoes with a warning.

“I’m scared,” she whispers at the ground, and Barret squeezes her hand lightly in reassurance.

“It’ll be real quick, baby, I promise,” he says, voice strong even as he eyes the flickering store lights with trepidation, “we’ve just gotta run in and out. Grab all the food we can carry and haul ass, huh?”

“But I can’t carry lots,” Marlene replies mournfully.

“That’s no problem! I’ll do most of the carrying. Your job is just to stay on my shoulder and make me feel better.”

“Like a cheerleader?”

“Exactly like a cheerleader. You’re my hype crew!”

Her giggle lights up the dark parking lot, and he kneels to give her a gentle hug. When her small hands come up to wrap around his neck he gets an arm under her, lifting her up with exaggerated force until she’s clutching at his fingers and giggling wildy.

Shifting her to his shoulder is almost easy after that. She’s distracted and pleased, beginning to hum her little happy song again as she kicks her legs in the air, and Barret hates himself for having to make it go away.

“Now you gotta hold on real tight, remember? Cause I need both hands free for this.” He looks up to see her nod and frown seriously, heart aching at the maturity in her expression. 

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll be quiet, too.”

“Good. Just like we practiced.”

“Mhm!”

Then it’s go time.

They move towards the store slowly and enter with care. Barret’s desperate but he’s not going to act the fool. There could be any number of threats inside, and he isn’t going to risk his daughter because he acted rashly - made too much noise or stepped too loudly. Isn’t going to give the infected the satisfaction of seeing him fall.

Marlene is careful, too. She’s got a death grip on his shoulder and his hair the entire time he walks. Yet the pain is nothing compared to knowing she’s safe, so he stays silent as they creep past the threshold. 

As soon as he steps foot in the building he sees the checkout. It’s right beside the door, as he’d known it would be, but it’s holding way more registers and lanes than he’d planned on seeing. Immediately, Barret takes a longer look at the aisles spreading out a fair distance in front of them, and realizes with dread that this store is a lot bigger than he’d given it credit for.

The CVS sign in the far corner blares accusingly from its place above another, smaller checkout.

Medicine is his first thought - his only thought - for a long time after seeing it. And of course it is. Medicine is indescribably valuable during catastrophes such as this. It’s priceless.

And he’s staring at a whole roomful of it.

This store hasn’t been looted, he realizes blankly, and that’s when the second thought hits. Harsh and brutal as if he’s been hit by a truck.

Threat, his mind blares, and he’s instantly tensing as he readies for a battle or a confrontation - anything.

This is no longer a simple search for remaining loot. Any Mob or Camp worth a damn would be on this shit in seconds if they knew it was here, and they wouldn’t shy away from using any means necessary to obtain the supplies.

Hell, if a Syndicate finds this place they might as well give up on life right now.

His heart skips a beat, hand coming up for just a brief moment to squeeze tightly at his little girl’s leg, and she hugs him from above. She doesn’t say anything, though. Merely patting the top of his head in an attempt at comfort.

Smart girl, he thinks, moving to grab one of the shopping carts lying about. It’s completely intact, and even the mere presence of a fully functioning shopping cart at the entrance of the store lets him know nobody has set foot in this place since shit hit the fan.

They’re loud but they’re handy, and Barret plans on filling the entire thing to brimming. With this whole basket full they’ll be able to eat well for weeks.

An insistent hand tugs at his hair. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, honey.” He begins to wheel the cart around, but Marlene’s next words stop him dead.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He demands, but he’s already tensing, gun charged up and free hand coming to steady his little girl. 

He whirls around to face the back rooms just as she yells out a “that!”, and as if on cue a crash rings out, several voices rising in the sounds of a fight. Barret barely has the time to raise his gun and take a step back before the doors are bursting open, a long haired woman flying through to skid painfully across the white tiles.

Marlene gasps. “Daddy, it’s a girl!”

“Marlene baby, don’t-”

Then the doors burst open a second time with a reverberating thud. It’s loud enough to wake any infected in the nearby vicinity, and though Barret doesn’t hear any cries rise up from the surrounding forest, he knows it’s only a matter of time before some creature comes looking.

“Hey!” He snaps at the people coming through the doors. They’re all white men, though two are big and burly while the other is slighter, only coming up to their shoulders. 

All three look pissed as hell. 

“Who the hell is that?” One of them hisses, gesturing with a bloodied wooden bat in Barret’s direction, and Barret wastes no time in directing his gun straight at the man’s ugly mug.

“I’m your worst damn nightmare unless you back the fuck down, boy!” He growls menacingly, and though his chest tightens at Marlene’s fearful whimper, he doesn’t let the stony facade fade.

The smaller man scoffs. “You and what army? The seven year old on your shoulder? I hate to break it to you big guy, but that we could take you both down within seconds.” The cocky shit brandishes a pistol as he speaks, finger pressed so tightly to the trigger Barret’s half afraid he’ll fire wide without meaning to. 

Subtly, he tightens his hold of Marlene, about to speak again when the woman on the ground coughs and rises to her hands and knees. 

“No!” She protests loudly, to both Barret and the smaller man’s surprise. Her voice is scratchy yet strong with heated conviction, eyes burning a brilliant red as they come up to glare accusingly at the other. “She’s only a little girl, don’t-”

“Any fool stupid enough to carry around a brat during the apocalypse deserves to have her ripped from his fingers.” It’s one of the larger man that speaks this time around, and Barret has to grit his teeth through the rush of anger that sears through his veins, seconds away from putting thirty fucking bullets through the man’s worthless smirking face.

“What the hell did you just say?!” He demands.

“I said we’re going to kill you and your little brat, and then after that we’re going to kill this stupid whore for thinking she could steal from us!”

“No!” Barret’s heart almost stops at Marlene’s shout. The way every eye in the room is drawn to her. The way the gun points straight at her head - “You can’t hurt her! She’s ours, now. Tell them, Daddy!”

Barret turns to break the gunman’s line of sight, but surprisingly it’s the woman who speaks again, shaking her head wildly as she struggles to get to her feet. “Please! Please don’t get involved. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”

Stunned, all Barret can do for a moment is stand frozen, staring down at her. Her face is bruised and swollen, lip split and bleeding where she’s biting it aggressively to fight back the pain, and her arm curls around her ribs in a way that indicates they’re at least bruised, if not broken. Yet still she tries to rise up in their defense - in his daughter’s defense - despite her injured and unarmed state.

“Daddy-”

“I know, honey.” He can’t risk Marlene but he can’t just stand idly by as someone else gets hurt.

Before he knows it and before anybody can do a thing to react, he’s stepping forward and placing himself firmly between the woman and the three twitchy men. They all buck back like frightened horses at his rapid approach, making harsh, surprised noises that instantly tell Barret what he needs to know.

So he grins and bars his teeth, massive gun swinging around to aim at each of them for a second. Lingering until every last one is skittering uncomfortably, shifty eyed and sweating.

“I ain’t gon’ let you touch this girl and I am sure as hell not gonna let you so much as look or think about my daughter again! Now scram!” Bullets ring through the air, battering the concrete by the group’s heads and making them scream with terror, scattering like ants. Even the gunman forgets his own weapon and fragile bravado to turn tail and flee right behind his friends.

Then, as quickly as they’d appeared, the men are gone; glass doors sliding closed behind them as they stumble and stagger their way through the entire length of the parking lot and disappear into the trees.

Barret doubts they’ll last long with the infected in their current states, so he doesn’t bother chasing them. Instead, heart racing and mouth dry, he falls to his knees beside the woman. Though he pays her no heed as he sweeps his daughter from his shoulders and tucks her close to his chest.

“Are you alright?” He gasps into her hair. “Are you okay? Did they-did they-”

Marlene giggles, squirming against his hold until he’s forced to let her go. She twists her dirty pink shoes against the floor and holds her hands behind her back, smiling up at him so widely her eyes crease with the force of it. “I’m fine, Daddy!”

He sighs and checks her over with his eyes. Nobody had attacked them, of course, but he just can’t shake the fear that she could have died. One stray bullet or unfortunate ricochet. If the men had been any braver or the woman any more willing to use her proximity against them. If…

“You promise?”

“I promise!”

He gives her another quick hug, because she’s his daughter and she’s alive and he can, and then pulls away again to take a look at the woman behind them. 

She’s dead to the world, eyes closed and completely limp. So still that if it wasn’t for her breathing, Barret would be hard pressed to think she was dead.

“Is she our friend now?” Marlene asks, going to her tip-toes to peer around his large bulk curiously.

Barret snorts. “What did I tell you about strangers?”

“To never talk to them or trust them and to always stay away from them!” Marlene recites proudly.

“That’s right! That’s very good, Marlene. If you meet a stranger you come straight to me, okay?” 

He pats her on the head, but that doesn’t stop her from huffing with agitation and clenching her hands into fists, glaring up at him stubbornly. “But you are here. And she helped us!”

“I know-” Barret begins, but Marlene cuts him off.

“We can’t leave her behind, Daddy. She’s hurt and it’s our duty to help people. You always say that.”

“No, it’s my duty to always help people. It’s your duty to stay out of danger so Daddy doesn’t worry about you.”

She doesn’t respond this time around, bringing out the full force of her puppy dog eyes as she pouts, and Barret shakes his head, circling the woman’s battered form. Her breathing is heavy and steady, so at least she doesn’t seem to have a lung problem, and when he runs his fingers along her ribs he’s relieved to note that they’re only bruised and not broken. Painful but manageable. She should be up and about soon.

If they take her back.

Barret sighs, glancing over to Marlene’s wide, pleading eyes. “Who the hell am I kidding?” he grumbles to himself, moving the woman to a more secure position. 

“So we’re keeping her?” Marlene asks, solemnity instantly turning to excitement at whatever she’s gleaned from his actions.

“Only until she’s better.”

“Okay!” Marlene squeals. She holds her arms up expectantly until Barret leans down and scoops her onto his shoulder. “We can bring her back with us!”

“After we get the food, sweetheart. You know we need the supplies.”

“‘Kay. Supplies first, then her, then home!”

“Yeah...home.”

And that’s how it begins. With one person - one chance encounter - and in a second their family has grown.

Tifa Lockhart, she later tells them her name is, while still laid up in the cot they’d prepared for her beneath the swaying boughs of the tallest tree.

She won’t stay for long, is all Barret can think in response, watching his chipper daughter chatter happily into her ear. She’ll leave before the night is out, and we’ll never see her again.

And only later - five more people and two years later - will he realize that he was gloriously, beautifully wrong.

[dashielldeveron]

Viper VI: Suppressio Veri

Summary: Reality continues to ruin your life. This jackassery will not stand.

Warnings: violence, swears, the law. Severe injury.

Ding.

You reached towards your holster and silenced your phone. “I’m here to see Judge Le,” you said, sliding the papers across the check-in counter. “She’s expecting me.”

The receptionist hardly glanced at you. “Have you visited her before?”

“Yes. She’s on the third floor. Room 310. I’m dropping off gifts from her co-workers,” you said, shifting your bag up your shoulder.

Ding.

“She should be awake by now. I doubt you’ll get much conversation out of her, though; she only just got out of her second surgery this morning.”

“I don’t mind,” you said, “and I won’t be long. I’ll just be glad to see her again.”

“Go on, then,” she said, “Elevator’s broken. Take the stairs.”

You nodded and strode in their direction—not directly, though, because Judge Le wasn’t your only target this time at the hospital. You were doing a run checking up on the doctors and admins who took care of members of the mob and kept it under wraps. A thank you, if you will. Judge Le was going to be the recipient of direct evidence you were going to deliver regarding an upcoming trial—and you’d had time between the Davey’s run and physically seeing Ms. Pham today, so you’d picked up more biscotti than usual for the doctors. Security and common courtesy, really.

Ding.

And Tom wouldn’t stop fucking texting you, yet he wasn’t quite saying anything. You unlocked your phone.

Tom: You’re late. I thought I told you I wanted you in my office at 9:00 sharp?

Tom: Where are you?

Tom: I want you now.

Stopping in your tracks, you (with a rather dry throat) twiddled your thumbs uselessly over the keys before typing out a response.

You: Chill. I’m at Central Hospital. What do you need?

You stowed your phone away, determined to make him wait, and you swung open the door to the stairs. The doctors’ break room was on the second floor, so you’d run by that first. You counted five stairs before checking your notifications.

Tom: You. In person.

You: What do you need me to check out?

Tom: Give me a second, and I’ll show you.

Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Second floor door, here we are.

Ding.

Does he not have anything else to do? He actually had a meeting scheduled at 9:00 this morning, so that was why you weren’t there. Tom should be meeting with the D’Aleo underboss, but he apparently wasn’t, if he had the time to text you back. You opened his message, and your heel curled in, making you stumble.

Tom: Don’t be gentle with me.

[image attached]

Tom had sent you a picture of another polaroid, this one of you and Tom exiting the sewer, both grimy as all get out. However, he had taken a picture of it lying flat on the edge of his desk, and the bottom third of it showed his clenched left fist resting on his upper thigh, his pants so tight that you could make out the hem of his tucked-in shirt through them, and his belt pulled snugly around his hips with the end unlooped, probably intentionally loosely curled around half of his cock—the view you would have if you were resting your chin on his shoulder and looked down.

You leant against the wall outside the break room and held your phone to your chest. Fuck. Fffffuck. This manipulation, this—charming—of you. 1) He didn’t know you knew about it. 2) What exactly did he want? You didn’t have any ulterior motives.

3) You wanted it. Oh, God, did you want it. 4) But you wanted Tom to treat you like this out of genuine feelings, not to get something out of you. So, 5) you couldn’t exactly respond well, because you’d be doing exactly what he wanted you to, except 5a) you didn’t haven any information he wanted [5b) except where you lived, your social security, etc.].

6) You were a little insulted that he thought he could charm you through basic shit like hot dominance and a pic of his lap. 7) You hated that it was working.

So, 8) how do you handle this?

Mulling it over, you allowed yourself to leave the letters to the doctors on payroll and to arrange the biscotti (traditional, lemon wedding, and chocolate almond) and crumiri in the doctors’ lounge before you responded.

You: Am I supposed to be impressed? I can’t make that out for shit.

Tom: Come back to Osseous to get a better look.

You: I’m busy, Holland.

Tom: Oh, yeah? With what?

You snapped a picture of the biscotti, pausing to bite out of a crumiri, and held it up in front of the rest.

You: Want a bite?

You moved to stow away your phone, but he responded immediately.

Tom: More than one.

Time to stop. Time to fucking stop. Shoving the crumiri into your mouth, you left the doctors’ lounge, fuming. You had made it halfway back to the stairs before he sent you another text, and you scowled, stopping in front of an open hospital room and tapping your heel with aggression.

Tom: It’s time to stop fucking around and come home, V.

Your fingernails tapped against the screen as you tried to figure out what to say, and from the open hospital room, you heard a weak voice call your name—your real fucking name.

Hand on your knife, you treaded lightly into the hospital room, completely void of personal effects, where on the bed lay a body heavily shrunken by severe burns. Months ago, you would have winced and shied away, but now, you merely grew closer towards the red and white flesh, twisted, scarred, and barely healing—second and fucking third degree, oh, my God, primarily around the upper body, and disfiguring almost to the point of non-recognition the face of—oh, gross.

Your old boss, Polson, scowled at you from his hospital bed and pressed a button so that it tilted into a sitting position. Tendons around the bones in his hand quivered when he did, and he let out a deep breath, like the action had been too much for him. “If it isn’t the bitch who left my firm without even a two-week notice. What do you want?”

If that’s how it’s going to be. “What happened to you, Mr. Polson?”

“You weren’t hard to replace. There are thousands of desperate receptionists out in New York, but it pissed me off to go through the hiring process again,” he said, “Got someone who doesn’t complain, though.”

You crossed your arms. “That poor woman. Why are you in the hospital?”

“I bet you’re making your new boss’s life a living hell, right? Unless you’re working for yourself now, which would make sense why I haven’t heard a damn thing about you.”

Ding.

Polson glared at your hip, and you silenced your phone again. “My new boss can be demanding.”

“Is that him?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You bothered to sleep with him, right?”

“Mr. Polson,” you said, “You, of all people, should know that I will never compromise professionalism and justice for the sake of my own personal advancement or enjoyment, and I will never use anything other than my brain to move forward. With all due respect, sir—” Shit, you shouldn’t’ve called him that; old habits, you guessed. “—I’d like to move on to why you’re lying in a pathetic, empty hospital room, looking like you’ve been frying in bacon grease for the past four hours. Care to elaborate?”

Polson shifted in his bed and tugged his sheets farther up his chest. “Someone lit my house on fire. I was sleeping. Didn’t realise until it reached my bed.” He licked his lips and the burnt skin surrounding them.

Ding.

“How do you know it was arson? You could’ve left your stupid gas stove on—”

“Roscoe’s and Jennings’s apartments burnt down this past two weeks, too,” said Polson, “Or are you too big and important nowadays to remembers your co-workers?”

No, you remembered. Roscoe worked with child custody cases, and Jennings was Polson’s co. Jennings liked talking about superhero movies with you, and Roscoe was the first one to show you the town when you moved here. Roscoe was the one who had helped you move into your own apartment, along with another co-worker, Harriet, who lived below you. “Someone’s…targeting members of your staff? You don’t think they’re accidents?”

Ding.

“Firefighters say all the fires started at the front door,” said Polson, “and whenever I get my hands on whoever did this fucking shit—” He made a choking motion, his hand shaking with tension. “We’re all staying at a hotel until we can find new places, but you know how the market is.”

Ding.

Nodding, you moved to leave, but you, with doubt and pity, backtracked to give Polson a pack of leftover biscotti. He wouldn’t look at you.

Tom: You do as you’re told, understand?

Tom: If you don’t get your ass to Osseous within the next thirty minutes, you’re on sentry duty in Brooklyn for a month.

Tom: I don’t care about traffic. The deadline stands. Come here.

Tom: I get it. You’re ignoring me because of how much of a hardass I’m being, yeah? Well. Show me you can follow orders, and I’ll be a lot kinder.

You: Say please.

***

Tom wasn’t in his office, even though his schedule said he’d be there, so you took the elevator to the lower floors and checked them, culminating with your coming to a halt when you stepped into a conference room permeated with smoke and sweat. You wiped your nose with the back of your hand.

“Viper,” came Tom’s voice through the haze, “Good of you to finally show up.” He must be at the head of the conference table, judging from the direction of his voice; how many others were present? Motion, motion—from both sides, multiple pairs of hands, cigars, cufflinks—the suits. Funding. They weren’t supposed to be here until tonight (that meant there were six of them, because Taylor cancelled). You rubbed the fog off your watch—they were hours early, and you were late for Ms. Pham.

You got out your phone to text her that you’d run into a snag, but Tom’s voice came through the smoke, sharper this time. “Ah, ah, Viper, put that thing away. You don’t need it here.”

You glanced at Tom, his figure becoming clearer as he waved the fog away. “Try to stop me.”

The air thinned as the suits fell silent. “Is that a challenge?” Tom asked coldly, snuffing out his cigar in the ashtray. “You’ve always had a mouth on you—and I can think of a few ways to shut you up.”

Laughter from the suits. One of them (Cristo, from the files) grabbed your hand and jerked you towards him, one of your hips pressed against his shoulder. “A girl like you shouldn’t be so disobedient,” he said—and when he tried to nuzzle his nose against your hip, you flinched out of his grip and struck the back of his head.

“Don’t infantilise me,” you said, brows downturned and heat rushing to your face, “A girl is a child, punk. That’s not me. And I’m not here for you to touch.”

When another suit reached for your hand, Tom said, “Enough.” He was staring you down, his eyes not quite angry, but you couldn’t label what it was exactly. He beckoned you with two fingers, his golden watch slipping down his wrist and into his shirtsleeve.

Tom yanked you down to his level (his hand was warm from holding the cigar) and said into your ear, spit flicking onto you from the harsh consonants. “Listen. I can’t have these people all over you, and these morons are old-fashioned. If they see a woman dominate me, they’re not gonna back me anymore.”

“Don’t you trust me?” you said under your breath.

“You’re not the one I don’t trust,” said Tom, and he licked his lips, the tip of his tongue grazing the shell of your ear. “You know I’m on your side, right? You’ve got to do this for me.”

Hell to the fucking no. If Tom thinks you’re going to sacrifice your dignity and reputation that you’ve built over the past year, then he’s got to—

“Please.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. You held your breath for a moment, and then you said aloud, shrinking away from him, “Yes, sir.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Tom loudly, shoving your hand away, “If you think that was bad, just wait and see what I’m gonna do to you once I get you alone. Go wait in my office for me.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding once, and you skirted out of the room, a final laugh from a suit erupting before you shut the door.

What now? You guess…you guessed you go wait in his office.

Once there and mindlessly assigning via email capos territory scouting overnight, you had time to think. That whole interaction was weird as hell. Who were these guys Tom was keen on keeping an image with? They weren’t anyone extraordinary. Just businessmen. Yeah, there were loads of people you had to work with in this business who didn’t treat people right, let alone women, whom they didn’t consider to be people—it was like they were straight out of Tolstoy’s The Kreutzer Sonata: misogynistic, violent men apt to jump to conclusions about deception and sex.

Was this a sex thing? Were they under the impression Tom was fucking you? (You shook yourself; the bluntness of that thought shocked you. Sleeping with. Under the impression Tom was sleeping with you.) You supposed that most of them would think that a don would only be keeping a woman around for sex, but as Viper, you were clearly Not the Mistress. So, why now?

Tom had better have a hell of an explanation.

And then seeing Polson again, all burnt and pathetic, made your stomach lurch. That man—you didn’t want to say that anyone deserved to burn, but Polson made you want to bend what you usually thought. The burns, it seemed, calmed him the fuck down and made him a lot nicer, but his nice was still not how you deserve to be spoken to. You didn’t like having a part of your old life resurface. Hearing your real name said aloud made your heart palpitate. Polson still didn’t respect you and called you a bitch first off, so why did you give him…? He didn’t deserve that. Polson’s a jerk. He shouldn’t…whatever.

You started typing a reply to Haz’s email. Told him that it’s taken care of. That the men killed off today would disappear legally. That you’ve got it under control.

Three fires connected to your former co-workers. Should you be concerned? You’d check the files on arsonists later, yeah, when all of this was over. See who’s out and about. You’ve already got one pattern, but maybe there’s another.

Hours ticked by. Fucking hours. At least there wouldn’t be much plant recording to listen to tonight. You advised a group of soldiers and their leading capo about their boundary crossing mission tonight (“Take the train; although the tickets mark your presence physically, fewer people are likely to be watching underground.”) and dug out the arsonist files. No one with a pattern had been released from prison in the past two years.

You jumped when your phone rang, but thank God; it was only Zendaya talking about a series of screeching noises coming from the sewers in the heights, and she just wanted to report it to you. She also made sure you logged Harrison’s latest injury that he hadn’t written on the last write-up (his ankles are going to be fucked up when he’s older). You thanked her.

When the clock hit 5:00, you stopped doing mob work and moved onto an Epiales article. You were ahead of your deadlines by three weeks, now, so you didn’t really concentrate too hard. You wrote half of another article and decided to check that fake-o’s twitter account. The past few days had been strangely apolitical.

Epiales (@Epiales): Pasărea în văzduh.

[image]

Epiales (@Epiales): L'Oiseau dans l'espace.

[image]

Epiales (@Epiales): Bird in Space.

[image]

Each image was a new angle of Bird in Space. You’d never heard of it. Apparently, it was a marble and bronze series of sculptures by Constatin Brâncuși, but only the bronze ones had been posted. But it was, like, parts of the bird instead of the whole thing, mostly looking like single feathers on stands. The captions had been the title in Romanian, French, and then English. The sculptures themselves were actually in the city, housed at the Met and MOMA.

What the fuck.

Epiales (@Epiales): A night in. The world out.

[image]

This picture was, strangely, a normal Instagram-type picture of someone’s (a liar’s) coffee table, with an open wine bottle, a glass, and—oh, how fucking clever—a copy of Catch Me If You Can propped up against four corks. Dumbass. You wrote a note to review the plot. Maybe this identity thief is also into forgery? Maybe that’s a stretch.

Four corks, one bottle. Why…why the fuck would that be featured? Are other bottles off-screen? Oh, there’s an update.

Epiales (@Epiales): Just heard from Central Hospital. James Polson has passed away. Tragic. Burns that severe can often turn deadly.

Your stomach plummeted.

That’s…that’s a little too personal for your tastes. A little too close. You locked your phone and tucked it between the cushion and the arm of the chair, and you brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them.

Your identity thief was the arsonist, wasn’t he?

Shit.

Fucking fuck, did that mean he knew your real name and who you were? He hadn’t known when he wrote that note for you and Tom to retrieve Isadora (you felt a pang in your chest at the thought of her), but, you guessed, you’re not perfect. You could have slipped somewhere, and he could have found you out. But when? You’d been scrupulous. If you fucked up somewhere, it had to be minor, something so small that you wouldn’t notice it. Who the fuck are you dealing with? God. Where’s your panic medicine? You felt a panic attack coming on.

It’s at the bottom of your bag, baby. Just dig through your shit—that’s right, under your laptop, your flash drive pocket, wallet—you’re doing so well, honey; that’s it—where’s the damn pill bo—

“Oh, thank fuck, Viper. You’re still here,” Tom said as the door slammed open into the wall, shaking the nearby frame, “I thought you might leave after I treated you like that.” C’mon, unscrew the cap slowly; nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong. Is there a liquid besides liquor in here?

“But I have to say, you did all right. They licked it up, so the rest of it went well.”

Guess you’ll have to dry swallow them. Fuck, you could never get used to the scratching of the pill capsules as you choked them down your throat.

Tom raised an eyebrow when you threw back the pills. “Need anything?”

You swallowed again, but your throat was too dry. Focus on your breathing, honey. You can’t hyperventilate now.

“The fuck’s wrong with—?”

You gasped and cleared your throat. “Fuck all the way off, Holland.”

Tom’s face snapped into a grimace with hard, cold eyes, and he reached behind himself to lock the door. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“You,” you said, tossing the bottle back into your bag, “You can’t fucking behave around me like you did down there. I don’t deserve that.”

“Then what do you deserve?” He crossed his arms and leant with most of his weight on the door.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you. I don’t have to explain anything,” you said, and you closed your laptop and slid it into its case, “I have the right to say no. I’m not your dog. But I’m still human, in case you haven’t fucking noticed.” You looped your portfolio closed and slid everything into your rucksack. “And I will not stand for the way you’ve been treating me.”

Tom scoffed. “I’ve been more than kind.”

“Not—not really.” You slung your rucksack over your shoulder. “You’re trying to manipulate me into something. The way you’ve been talking—all this, the inflections, the innuendo—I don’t want it if it’s not real.”

Tom moved away from the door as you approached it, his arms still crossed but his gaze on his shoes.

“You think I can’t spot a change in behaviour?” You think I don’t have a listening device in your cactus? “Think again, bucko. I’m not gonna tolerate maltreatment, jackassery, or anything I don’t deserve.” You gripped the doorknob and turned it, but you didn’t pull it forward. “I cordially invite you to braid your rectum, since you’ll need something vaguely aesthetically interesting to draw attention while you’ve got your head up your ass.”

You paused to swallow again, and Tom took the opportunity to ask quietly, “Are you gonna be in for work tomorrow?”

Rubbing your eye, you took a deep breath and a moment. “Yeah,” you said, “I’ll be in. Just don’t talk to me until after lunch.”

Tom nodded once, and you eased the door shut behind you.

***

You took a taxi home; you couldn’t bear the subway tonight. You just couldn’t. You leant your forehead against the cold glass and ignored the cabbie’s attempts at conversation, your eyes fluttering shut (the city lights still flashed through your eyelids).

At least you still had your job.

Well, it’s not like he could get rid of you at this point, anyway.

Whatever. It was all so fucking exhausting. If Tom were completely honest with you, that would take a load off of your shoulders. You don’t need near-gaslighting anywhere in your life right now; you needed someone in your corner. You supposed that was part of why you were exhausted: you didn’t have a local support system for your mental health. Sure, you had Dr. Prine on speed dial, but she was miles and miles away; Grace at the women’s centre needed more help than you did, and Ms. Pham didn’t seem to have feelings. Zendaya was cool, but you didn’t exactly know the nature of her relationship with Harrison and whether or not you could talk to her honestly without her relaying some of the information back to Haz or Tom.

Haz? Forget it.

Tom, though, he really screwed with your mind. You hated it. You could see the potential in him to be your main confidante, if only he would do the same with you (You were on a level of that already, but somehow, even though you had a lot of his dirt, it was like it wasn’t personal to him, like it held no weight. Dumbass). Tom must relax around Haz, right? They were friends before the mob, so there’s got to be some sense of genuine comradery about him, right?

He can’t be all bad. He’s got a dog, and pretty much everyone speaks to a dog in a high pitched voice.

You brought your knees to your chest, your heels on the edge of the torn leather, and you scrunched your eyes shut more tightly—the lights were getting brighter and harder to ignore; you dipped your head between your knees.

The cab driver gave a low whistle. “Holy motherfucking shit,” he said, and you dragged yourself up to look out—as he came to a stop.

No. No, it couldn’t—fucking fu—your apartment building was on fire. The flames blazed from a corner room on the third story and licking up towards yours—your own damn apartment. The worst of it was coming from the…the apartment right below yours. Harriet.

Paying the cabbie took way too fucking long, and you grabbed your bag and immediately dumped them on the sidewalk; where was Harriet? Moreover, where was your fucking cat?

You were turned away from the entrance. You manoeuvred your way through other tenets, calling for Trout, skinning your knees when your dropped to the pavement to scan the bushes for her, and by the time you found Harriet, your face was all red and blotchy, and the front of your shirt was soaked.

“Oh, my God. It’s good to see you safe,” said Harriet, gripping your shoulders and also crying, “I just got off the phone with my mom, and. And I don’t know what to do. The fire department said they’d be here soon, but it’s fucking five o’clock traffic, and—”

“Have you—” You hiccupped. “Have you seen a cat?”

Harriet shook her head. “Want me to help?”

Harriet looked so sincere and willing, with her wide eyes and strong voice, even with her hair already in its bonnet for the night. Harriet had always been kind when you’d worked with her; she’d always been—so why wasn’t she already in your corner? Why had you shuffled her off for the most part?

You looked her in the eyes and then back up at the burning building, your life flaking away in wallpaper ashes. Her life, too. “No,” you said, “You have enough on your mind right now. It looks like the fire started in your apartment, anyway, so there’s got to be a lot of damage you’re gonna have to deal with.”

Harriet nodded. “How’d you know it started in mine?”

“I—” You closed your mouth and frowned. “I didn’t. Did—did you leave the oven on, or?”

“I was downstairs in the laundry room facetiming Roscoe,” she said, “We started dating since you left, by the way. I was down there forever, but I can’t remember if I left anything on or any incense burning or anything.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, snapping your head in the direction of low movement, but it wasn’t Trout. “Have you heard about Polson yet?”

“Polson?” Harriet crossed her arms, her phone in her armpit. “No, why?”

“I’ll tell you later. You still have my number, right? I—you should find the landlord, talk to him about this. Ask him about renters’ insurance. I’ve got to—I’m gonna keep looking for my cat.”

“You do that,” she said, “I’ll check up on you in a few hours, all right?”

“Yeah,” you said, “Thank you.”

She walked off towards the admins, and you stood frozen for a minute, your eyes glazed over, until a spark flitted down to your arm. You flinched and swatted at it, your gaze falling to a smoking leaf at your feet.

You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?

Backtracking to your bag on the sidewalk, you found your found and found his contact with shaky thumbs. It rang once.

“Viper?” His background was silent.

“Tom?” You forced your jaw to stop quivering. He can’t hear your fear.

“It’s me,” he said, and his voice sounded more urgent. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

Fuck it. “You. I need you,” you said, your eyes watering again, “Are you that far out in your commute? I need you to come to—to my apartment. It’s on fi—fire, Tom.”

You heard him slap the leather of his chauffer’s seat, a familiar gesture for him to pay attention. “Address, now.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you if you’re that far out—”

“Address.”

You gave it to him, and he cursed with his mouth away from the speaker before barking it to his driver. “I’ll be there as soon as I possibly can, okay? I want you to stay there. Can you do that for me, V?”

You nodded, remembered he couldn’t see you, and said, “Yes. I’ve, uh. Thank you. Thanks, Tom.”

“Stay there. I won’t be long.”

“Okay. I’ve got to keep looking for my cat, so, um, I’ll be close. See you in a bit.”

“See you.”

You hung up and wiped your eyes. What’s done is done.

You were searching the bushes on your hands and knees when his car pulled up and parked behind the firefighters. When he tapped your back, you jolted and gave a shout, but you recovered slightly and shifted back to sit on your knees.

“Hey,” said Tom, crouching next to you, his tie still tight around his neck.

“Hey,” you said, “Her name is Trout, if you don’t remember, and she’s beautiful and stubborn, and I love her, and I can’t find her.”

“Is she in the building?”

“They wouldn’t let me inside to look.”

“If we don’t find her, someone else will. Does she have a collar?”

“Why would a cat whose entire world is a two-room apartment have a collar? No, I mean,” you said, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand, “She doesn’t.”

“Hey, that snark,” said Tom, “That’s how I know you’re gonna be okay. You haven’t lost it. We’re gonna find her before we leave.”

He let you cry in peace while the two of you searched, sirens and the water hoses too loud for further conversation, anyway. He couldn’t even hear your sob of relief when you discovered Trout licking drops from a hose faucet on the opposite side of the building, and you scooped her up and kissed her little forehead.

Tom scratched her neck before directing you towards his car, jogging back to your bag himself. But you stood outside his car, staring at your reflection in the window. Part of the building groaned and collapsed behind you, thousands of sparks flying upwards.

Your mind blanked.

That was your whole fucking life.

Crumbling to the ground.

Holy shit.

Where do you go from here?

You supposed the answer literally was the closest hotel, which was that stupid Holiday Inn, but it probably didn’t allow pets, so you’d have to go farther, which means a higher fare for the taxi, but now you need to conserve as much money as possibly to find a new place, and since Polson couldn’t even find one, then you were probably sunk, which meant—

“Were you waiting for me to open the door for you, darlin’?” Tom jogged to his car and opened the door to the backseat. “Go ahead and get in. It’s gonna be okay, I swear.”

Staring at him for a beat, you stiffly climbed into the back and released Trout once Tom had thrown in your bag and slammed the door shut behind him. Trout was freaked out by the sudden movement of the car, but once it became constant (or as near constant as it could get in New York traffic), she began exploring the car, starting with burrowing under the driver’s seat.

You wanted to touch him. If there were ever a time for it, it was now, when you were weak and gross and now possibly destitute. He’s seen you cry, now, so it’s like he’s seen too much of you. No one ever sees you cry, and you just wanted for once to have physical comfort from someone? You’ve never had someone there for that sort of thing, and damn it, you wanted Tom to hold you.

His suit’s wet and dirty, and he’s stuffed his tie into a pocket. He tapped his fingers on the leather seat between you as he scrunched his face up, lost in thought. Tom glanced at you, and his face softened, his eyes flickering from your blotchy face to your trembling hands. “All right, you’ve made deductions. Tell me what you think.”

“I don’t—” Deep breath. “I’m unsure I can talk right now.” What to say except Hold my hand, bitch?

“V, I swear, when you wake up tomorrow, you’re gonna be all numb. You’re gonna try to distance yourself from reality. I know you will. So, please,” said Tom for the second time that day, “Tell me what’s going on in that whirling brain of yours.”

You ran your tongue over your lower lip. “Is there any water in here? I haven’t—thanks,” you said, accepting the water bottle when Tom pulled it out from under his seat, “I haven’t ingested anything since this morning. I’m running on empty.”

“Bet you are. Take your time,” he said, leaning on his elbow against the window, “There’s no rush. We’ve got a bit of a drive.”

Nodding, you watched Trout loaf on the seat between the two of you. She let out a low meow.

You placed a hand on her back and scratched her lightly. “I really was angry at you this afternoon. How you spoke to me. How you made me wait.”

You paused to take a sip from the bottle, and Tom simply watched you, his gaze slipping to your neck when you swallowed. “But other stuff happened today that’ve put me on edge. I’m, uh, I’m not doing too hot right now.” Really, now? “I went to the hospital earlier, and you were texting me all those—strange things, which were already unnerving me. But then I ran into my old boss. From the law firm. He said some pretty awful things to me. Reprehensible, really.”

“I’m gonna fucking murder him,” said Tom, shifting in his seat.

You reached out a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back down, letting your touch linger (although there was still ash on his jacket). “He’s already dead.”

His lips parted. “What?”

“Polson was in the hospital for burns. Someone had burnt his house down. Told me it happened to some of my old co-workers, too.”

Licking his lips, Tom said, “Then your apartment building was arson. They knew about you.”

“I don’t think so,” you said, working through it yourself, “One of my co-workers lived beneath me. She’d recommended the building to me in the first place when I moved here, and although there’s not an official report yet, I’m pretty sure it started in her place. I’m not certain, though; I’m judging by the fact that her apartment was completely doused in flames and that fire climbs. It hadn’t engulfed mine entirely yet.”

Tom folded his arms and unbuckled; he turned to face you and crossed his leg over the other at the ankle. “You said Polson was dead.”

Sighing, you picked up Trout and put her in your lap. She did not want to settle. “I was doing research while I waited in your office. I ended up on that fake Epiales’s twitter account, and he announced it. Whoever the fake Epiales is is probably behind the arson, too. Targeting Polson’s employees, for some reason. I don’t know; I haven’t thought about it too hard yet. It was too personal for me, uh, to handle.”

“How do you know that?” Tom said, leaning in, “How do you know they’re the same? How do you even know that Epiales is fake, anyway?”

“Grammar. Syntax. The fact that the real Epiales wrote that it wasn’t him on his website?”

“You said that last time. What’s the real reason?”

You closed your eyes. “Please, Tom. Please trust me on this. I just know, okay? I can’t elaborate.”

“Will you eventually?”

You opened them. His face seemed relaxed, but his knuckles were pinched white. “I can’t promise you that. Please, trust me on this one thing without explanation.”

Tom glared at you, the city night lights not even reflecting in his eyes, and he dropped his arms, moving to tap his fingers on his thigh. He edged a hint closer to the window. “I can do that,” he said, smiling too widely.

He’s lying.

He’s so lying.

He’s still going to be constantly vigilant, waiting for you to let something slip. You cannot afford to let your guard down around him, even now that you’re beyond vulnerable: no house, no possessions, and no composure. You’ve got to be even more careful, now.

“Oh, and Viper?” Tom didn’t even look away from the window. “If they’re targeting people associated with your old workplace, don’t you think you had better cut all ties with them? Erase evidence you were connected?” He put your phone on the seat between you.

“I guess so.”

Deleted pictures. Emails. Harriet’s cheerful picture smiled up at you from her contact. She’d offered to check on you tonight.

You blocked her number.

There, you thought, setting your phone aside, That’s the end of my old life. Completely gone. Trout squirmed out of your grip, and she stumbled over to his lap and headbutted his lower chest. Now my life is nothing but Tom fucking Holland.

And there’s nowhere else to run to, only him.

Out of all the thoughts churning inside, one question bubbling to the surface, and another, you bottled-up.

“Where are we going?”

Were you safe?

***

suppressio veri: suppression of the truth.

***

taglist: @hollandroos @starksparker @pparkerwrites @qxeen-of-hearts @stealth-spiderr @presidentbttrflyfreak @parsleysbaby @madmadmilk @paradoxparker @bi-writes @astronomyparkers @bornsickbutilove @infamous-webhead @laurfangirl424 @softspideys @gryfinpuffs @plethoraofpuppies @laucontrerasv @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @spiderboytotherescue @cassiopeiaskies

[stillness-in-green]

Gundam IBO Odds-n-Ends (1/2)

 Being the first part of an essay commemorating all the interesting, odd, and just plain funny screenshots I saved on my rewatch of Gundam IBO.  I offer it in the spirit of shared fandom, as interesting information for the consideration of fellow fanfic writers, or simply meta for those who enjoy reading such things.  

I have split these photos into three major categories: Worldbuilding, Characterization, and Hilarity. The first category is the largest, and makes up this first post.  It consists of pictures that illustrate aspects of the show’s setting, and is further subdivided into Locations, Society, and Language & Arts.  If any of those sound interesting to you, hit the jump!

Worldbuilding: 

  Locations: Screenshots of the various locales of the series, both to point out interesting things about them, and, about as often, to highlight hilarious signs. We begin, as the show does, on Mars.

I think it’s very easy to think of Chryse as kind of a dirthole in the show.  We so often see it from the perspective of people like Tekkadan—whose base is located outside the city—or Atra, who grew up in a very poor area. Obviously there are some nice places, like Kudelia’s home, and there is a kind of dusty, sunny appeal to even some of the poorer areas, with their colorful signs and graffiti, but by and large, up until we start seeing locations like Admoss Company, it doesn’t seem much like a major planetary hub.

I think that’s because we don’t get a lot of high-angle views.

Here is Chryse as established in the very last episode, free from Earth meddling and finally self-governing.  We’re clearly in its more affluent downtown area, given the government building (bearing the flag of The Martian Union) in the middle of the picture.  It’s possible that it looks worse up close, of course, but notice the broad walkways, and the light-to-the-point-of-being-nonexistent traffic.  Notice the splashes of blue, green and red in the architecture.  Notice all the trees, both lining the streets and blanketing the city in broad swathes that would seem to indicate an unusually large concentration of lush parks.  In the far, far distance, you can just see the mountains that surround the city on all but its north side.  

All the evidence we have suggests a pretty awful class divide on Mars, but man, Chryse’s downtown area is still really nice.  Kudelia probably spends large amounts of her professional time in areas like this.  

Here, you can see that we’re far closer to the outskirts—note the slopes climbing rapidly into mountains—and are definitely back in a poorer area of town.  The ground is bare, and there are no trees.  At least the streetlights all work!  Kassapa Factory is located in an area much closer to this than the gorgeous downtown, to judge from the proximity of the mountains in that final shot of Yamagi in the epilogue.  

Moving on out of the city entirely—I’m thinking to the north, assuming the geography of Chryse is roughly analgous to that of Chryse Planitia, the Martian plain it takes its name from—one would find the Sakura Farm and associated holdings.  We’ll stop in there later, but in the meantime, I did want to include this picture.

Though it’s never referred to by name in-series, this is the actual orphanage Kudelia founded at Sakura Farm.  The photo is one of several in Kudelia’s Admoss office showing her company holdings—there’s also a picture of the mines—and was presumably taken not long after the building was built, judging by the lack of the art that would eventually come to decorate all its exterior walls.  Derma and Dante work here in the epilogue, but Atra lives on the farm as well, so one can assume Akatsuki is never lacking for other kids to play with.

We move now to Jupiter—or at least, one of the colonies orbiting Jupiter.  Saisei, where McMurdo Barriston lives and reigns, is home to an extremely healthy little shopping district, and it is just full to the brim with interesting or hilarious storefronts.  Lets look at some of them!

First off, Saisei is loaded with bars.  Seriously, the one the boys stop in on their first visit, Pub Someday, is one in a string of at least three—it’s sandwiched between Public House (‘public house’ being the term that the word ‘pub’ actually derives from) and Pub Always.  I think Naze probably recommended Pub Someday to them, and I think that largely because, left to their own devices, I’m sure they would have gone into Pub Always instead. Why?

Note the neon red and white fleur-de-lis hanging on the side of the establishment (which they’re standing around in front of the entrance to because they’re a bunch of ill-mannered yokels).  My god, how did they not go into this place?  It has their logo just right there on it.  

There are marginally less alcoholic portions of Saisei, however, like the one Lafter and Azee go do a touch of retail therapy in after Naze’s memorial service.  They pass a store just called Delicious, but I think my favorite was HOUSE STORE, seen below.

What does one buy at this store, I wonder?  Furniture? Furnishings?  Knick-knacks?  Oh, perhaps it’s actually an office front, and this is where one comes to rent/purchase an apartment or other living quarters at Saisei?  

Down the way from HOUSE STORE, of course, is the ill-fated Bear Factory.  I want to look at the place next to it, though, because it has caused me some serious confusion.  

So, the imagery here—the slightly frosted glass, the gold lettering, the delicate wrought-metal window decorations—suggests something like a high-end coffee shop, or perhaps some manner of light, ritzy soup-and-salad-type lunch café.  If you run a Google search for “cocotaso,” however, the primary thing you’re going to get is something that does not at all match this building’s elegant exterior.

At least so far as the English-speaking world is concerned, “cocotaso” is a Hispanic-by-way-of-the-Caribbean slang term for when someone (often a parent) strikes you on the head with their knuckles; it’s usually in the context of a disciplinary hit, like a kid in the US might describe getting a ruler rapped on their knuckles, or “dekopin,” the forehead flicks you see in anime sometimes (in IBO itself, even—Naze drops one on Orga early on).  

Now, I did manage to dig up another possibility, one that’s definitely the more likely reference, if by far the less popular Google result.  “Coco” by itself is the Spanish word for “coconut,” and it’s possible to find some bottles labeled “cocotaso”/”cocotazo” advertising coconut water or coconut-infused brandy and the like—mostly by running the term through Image Search instead of a straight Web Search.  I have no idea what the taso/tazo is indicating there, unless it’s just colloquial—particularly in the case of the booze, it’s no different than calling a drink a Screwdriver.

So, if I had to guess, I’d assume this lovely storefront is yet another bar, one of a vastly different cultural influence than we see in literally any other place in the show.  I find it alternately hilarious and rather confounding.  

Anyway, Saisei is really great to me, you guys.  It’s like the space Mall of America except there are 1000% more bars and it’s run by the mob.

How about anything else around Jupiter, though?  Saisei is literally all we ever see of the Jupiter Sphere, which is a bit disappointing when you’re wanting more worldbuilding.  Well, I did spot one image that might be giving us a look at something else in that area.  Specifically, in Naze and Amida’s flashback, we see them in a nice hotel room following a successful delivery, with Naze asking her to stay on with him more long-term. There’s a brief moment where the camera looks out the window, and gives us this vista:

You can compare this to the scenes that take place outdoors on the Dort Colonies; the structures running down the center right of the picture are clearly of the same general design.  A close analysis, though, suggests that it’s definitely not one of the Dorts we’re looking at here.  For starters, they’re huge. Compare the 4-to-5-storey buildings on Dort to the huge office buildings here; they come up to about the same height relative to their respective pillars.  There are also the lights up the center of the structures, suggesting some absurdly expensive offices or apartments available to rent—the pillars in Dort don’t have anything like that. Consider too the fact that in outdoors shots in the Dort Colonies, you could always see either the central pillar or the curve overhead of another part of the colony, often both.  While it’s nighttime here, the way the whole town is lit up suggests that, if this colony were the same size as Dort, its sky should be full of “stars”—the lights from the buildings on the other side of the ring.  But the sky is black and empty, without even a suggestion of the central pillar, much less the other side of the colony.  

No, I’m inclined to think that this our only look at an actual colony in orbit around Jupiter—not an enormous ship like Saisei, which is technically classified as a “large planetary cruiser,” but an actual permanent colony.  It’s one of the most metropolitan-looking places we ever see in the show, and certainly offers a fascinating glimpse of a place in the Jupiter Sphere unattached to Saisei.  

One last look at a planetary location, in one of my favorite bits of accurate but poorly deployed English in the show.  This shot is from Edmonton, during the Season One finale.   

I direct your attention, not to the perfectly acceptable roadblock signs, but rather, the large bank on the left side of the road.  You can tell it’s a bank because it’s been helpfully labeled as such.  Twice, even, in case you missed it the first time.  I mean, I guess you could say that this reflects the fact that Earth is divided up primarily by business interests.  After all, normal banks are named after people, or regions, or types of trees, or major industries in the area—something sort of pleasantly descriptive of their history or business aims.  But as Earth is run by divisions literally called ‘economic blocs’, you certainly can’t get much more descriptive than BankBank.  

Meanwhile, out in the vast reaches of space…  

Possibly this was obvious to everyone but me, but in the interest of sharing the information with people who share my lack of experience with a) sci-fi and b) mechanical thinking, I offer a pair of pictures of the bridge of Rustal’s ship, Arianrhod’s flagship vessel.

Like, compare those working areas, that raised, rear bridge area to the same layout on the Isaribi. I’m pretty sure just half of that back area would fit Tekkadan’s whole bridge.  Tekkadan’s bridge has five positions counting the captain’s seat—the halfbeak here seats—what, like thirteen?  Cripes.

Speaking of things that are way bigger than I had initially assumed, my last photo for this section is of one of the Ariadne beacons.  

That tiny little lifted bit crowning the Isaribi is, of course, its bridge, where Orga and company hang out all day on their space travels.  Compare it to the beacon in the background.  I had no idea the Ariadne beacons were so huge until I went looking for a picture of one.  I’m pretty sure just the lighting array on that thing is taller than a grown man, and that’s with the beacon still fairly well in the background of the shot.  I have no idea why anyone might need this knowledge to write fic with, but I did think it was interesting, so there you have it.

  Society: Pictures of stuff in the world, things that illustrate local color, shadows of unnamed organizations, bits of home furnishings, and other such things that influence what you might loosely call the setting’s ‘lifestyle’.  As before, lets start on Mars.  

One of the things we see, if I recall, fairly early on with Atra is that she knows how to drive. This crops up periodically throughout the series, with probably its best showing in the season one finale, but my favorite scene of Atra driving is probably in the first episode of season two. Why?  Well, because in season two she has her own car—and you can tell its hers by the vanity plate.  

“ATR” for Atra, “16” for the year (most of) the show aired in, see?  I’d also peg the 016 as indicating Atra’s age at the time she did the paperwork for the vehicle registration.  Kudelia is sixteen when we first meet her (per Gjallarhorn’s info), and Atra being two years younger than her feels about right.  This would also make Atra sixteen or seventeen when she and Mikazuki make a baby together, which is in line with Japan’s prefectural laws regarding the age of consent.  

The vanity plate lettering aside, this does also tell us that cars need to be registered with someone in this world, which further implies the existence of a Martian DMV, which is just delightfully terrible.  

It’s probably so terrible that when people get done, they really feel they need a drink.  Well, luckily the setting has loads to offer on that front.  Consider the following:

(What do you suppose happened to all the booze in Maruba’s office?  I’m inclined to think Orga didn’t have time to do much with it just after the coup, and by the time he got back, he’d had the experience of getting trashed at Pub Someday and decided to cultivate less vomit-inducing vices.)

So, one thing to note is that, at the official bars in the setting, you tend to see a pretty high amount of repeat bottles, especially at that Earth-side bar Galan and Radice are meeting at.  I’m altogether certain that the meta reason for this is just duplicated resources—setting designers have only got so much time to slap together alcohol label designs—but it is a little interesting to contemplate in-universe reasons.  If so much of Earth was destroyed, how much is really suitable for cultivating the sorts of plants you need for alcohol?  Is vineyard destruction why so few of these bottles look like wine instead of amber liquors like bourbon, brandy, and rum?  

Moreover, is Pub Someday considered to be a “fancy” place (per Lafter) because it has Earth booze? Note that you can see some label overlap between the first and third pictures if you look closely, whereas the stuff in Maruba’s office doesn’t match anything else.  Do they manufacture alcohol on Mars?  Are there any local specialties?  Is import and export very restricted?    

The “Gift of Nature” there is, if I’m reading the label right, a brandy—though a cheap one, according to Amida.  It’s Naze’s favorite, the one he and Amida drank at their first meeting (though the label on that bottle looked different—perhaps a redesign has happened in the, what, 10+ years it’s probably been since then?).  From an American perspective, this is pretty amusing to me—brandy is one of those drinks with a very posh, moneyed kind of image about it. That Naze buys Amida cheap brandy—a poor man’s rich man’s drink—really just says everything about where he was in his life at the time.  

But talking of money: I mentioned this some time ago in one my Human Debris Masterpost installments, and at least one fic I wrote for Yuletide last year, but: we do actually have a canonical shot of what denomination this setting’s money comes in. 

Two possibilities here. The obvious one, phonetically, is that the money in this setting is literally named after its biggest police force, Gjallarhorn.  This is both funny and deeply depressing, but either way, illustrates Gjallarhorn’s power in the setting.  It even makes a certain amount of sense, if Gjallarhorn is nominally there to arbitrate between the economic blocs—you would want a common currency, and wouldn’t want it to be too tied to any one bloc.  

There’s also a Norse myth that’s relevant, though, and given how accurately the Vidar reference was deployed, it’s worth looking at what ‘galar’ could indicate in that context. 

Fjalar and Galar were dwarf brothers, distinctly murderous ones, and their main claim to fame is the murder of a supernaturally wise man, Kvasir, and use of his blood to create the mead of poetry, which grants wisdom, knowledge and creative inspiration.  Using Galar as a name for money is an ugly little metaphor, I think, and one I could certainly see some very smug—or deeply jaded—scholar coming up with.  Money buys all manner of things, of course; artists can have patrons, put money in, get art out.  But because the denomination isn’t named for the source of the inspiration, the murdered man, but rather one of his murderers, there’s an undercurrent of violence, a suggestion of blood money.  No matter what you want, throw enough money (violence) at it, and results will blossom beautifully.  Guys, I’m pretty sure whoever named this setting’s money lost his entire family in the Calamity War, or something equally morbid.

As to its value, I think one galar is probably far closer to one yen than one dollar.  Why? Well, while I can’t remember where I pulled this shot from (Atra’s flashback to meeting Mikazuki, maybe?) we do see bills in this exact same denomination in one other place in the series—the cairn for Tekkadan’s dead after the fight with the Brewers.  So, yes, I think the bits of money that a bunch of underpaid orphans were able to scrounge up out of their pockets to literally shoot into space are likely to be very low value indeed.  I imagine most major transactions are just handled electronically.  

One other thing: I think this is the back of the bill.  If you compare it to the reverse-side of the same denomination, the other side has the more elaborate design, the more visible numeral, and higher general visual clarity.  It also has a big old picture of the African continent on it—perhaps other denominations also feature geographic regions?  On the reverse side, meanwhile, are an indiscriminate blur of what I think are meant to be people, presumably some manner of historic group or another.  

While we’re talking about emblems and the setting’s peace-keepers, I want to point out something I noticed in the epilogue—I think Rustal’s done away with the Seven Stars logo? Like, it’s still on all the flags at Vingolf, but there’s a new one on the Reginlaze standing behind him when we first see him in the epilogue and find out he’s become the new head of Gjallarhorn.

On the old emblem, six stars surround the central star; on this new one, the top and bottom stars have been removed.  I wouldn’t think it was to honor the fallen members—the Seven Stars as a governing body were retired, first of all, so they shouldn’t be on the logo at all anymore. More to the point, though, the group lost three families, not two—Issue, Kujan, and Fareed.  Perhaps the new arrangement is a reference to the four economic blocs, with the cental star now representing Gjallarhorn itself?  

Still talking about emblems, here’s a screenshot from way early in the show:

So, as far as I can tell, this is the emblem of Gjallarhorn’s medical branch—you can see the same uniform on the doctor getting yelled at by Gaelio about Ein’s prognosis, later on.  And that’s all well enough as it is—I wonder what the logo is meant to represent, in an organization so built around Norse mythos?—but we do see it in one other, somewhat more interesting place as well.

First-aid kits!  So I guess we can assume the logo fills in the place of our world’s red cross.  Of course, in our world the red cross is a legally-recognized emblem that can be misused or misapplied, in use the world over (with different variations in use in other countries, most prominently the red crescent), not bound to any particular government.  Unsurprisingly for the Iron-Blooded Orphans world, their red cross is affiliated primarily with Gjallarhorn—no different than their money, I suppose.  I wonder, very much, if the economic blocs have tried to keep their own currencies and the like that struggle to remain valid under the supremacy of Gjallarhorn?  

But, enough about institutions!  Who wants to look at home furnishings??  

Specifically, the furnishings in what I’m assuming is the Fareed apartment on Vingolf, as we see McGillis and Almiria here repeatedly in season two, and it’s the place where Almiria stands her ground as McGillis’s wife against Gallus coming to take her back home.  It’s an interesting mix of fairly standard looking furnishings—nothing too futuristic or archaic, just a modern-looking space, airy and warm, if perhaps with one too many chairs in it.  There are only two things in it that stand out to me on a technological level.

While I’m pretty curious about where those stairs hiding behind the potted tree go, given the stretch of building visible outside the sliding doors, what really caught my eye here was the speaker system tucked against the bricks, above McGillis’s head. It looks like such a perfectly real-world device, so much so that I wonder if it’s some kind of antique, or built to resemble one.  I’m pretty certain we never see anything else like it in the show, and it makes me wonder about the role music has in this setting, especially recorded music.  

Is it a thing for the very rich only?  Are there Martian radio stations?  Are there subtle variations between the genres of music popular around Jupiter’s moons? What about live music?  Does anyone busk on the streets with hand-me-down musical instruments?  How much would the Seven Stars pay for live entertainment at one of their important parties?  Are there still famous musicians that hold blow-out concerts on Earth?  How much cultural exchange is there between the planets and colonies in the system where their music is concerned?  

Moreover, what kind of do you suppose McGillis likes?  Myself, I’d guess big Wagnerian operas with convoluted plots and a lot of tragic-yet-noble bloodshed.  I feel like it’d appeal to the same moral binary in him that the Gundams do.  

The other thing in this space that caught my eye is the fireplace.  What’s that?  You don’t remember there being a fireplace?  Well, that’s because…

This—this can’t be very safe, can it?  I mean, it’s basically one enormous heating coil, like someone super-sized an electric stove and plopped one of the heating elements down in their living room.  But, again, it’s huge.  I have no doubt it can heat that whole room; what I question is the idea that any of that furniture wouldn’t be much too close for comfort.  To say nothing of the carpet!  

Also, if you’re not going to have actual open, dancing flames (or at least an image thereof), why bother with the huge recessed space for it?  And does that space lead to a chimney?  Is this just the world’s most bizarre space heater design?  I am just—so totally baffled by this thing.  

Lets look at someone else’s living space.  

I saved this first with the thought, “Man alive those are some huge bricks; where did he even get them?”  I have since realized that, duh, they’re certainly stone tiles, not huge bricks, but still, they are pretty ginormous, and lend a chilly, austere severity to Jasley’s room.  Most of the wealthy seem to prefer warmer spaces; McMurdo Barriston and Nobliss Gordon’s offices are all wood and warm brown shades (even though Gordon likes to sit around in the dark), maybe accented with cool furnishings here and there. Likewise McGillis’s apartment, above; the enormous purple rug in the middle of it is the one cool touch in a mostly neutral-warm palate.  

This certainly contrasts Jasley, who is, I’m pretty sure, one of the financial moguls of Jupiter—he heads J.P. Trust, which sounds very much like a bank name to me, and we know finance is one of Teiwaz’s corporate activities.  Does he just has unusually spare tastes for a rich man in the setting? That seems unlikely, given his loud coat and paisley-decorated battleship.  Or is the loud stuff for a public face, while privately he prefers the more stark sensibility?  (Of course, it’s also possible that it’s mostly a meta choice, to remove any warmth from around the character, as he’s not a man the audience is meant to feel warmly towards.  But I always want to look for the in-universe reason first, for a project like this.)

Also, Jasley, you’re so rich.  Get some more comfortable furniture for you and your goons to sit on, jeez.

Lastly, to stay with Jupiter for a moment longer, I offer some flowers.

This is the arrangement Jasley sent to Naze’s memorial service.  I wondered for a bit where these come from—imported, for maximum braying display of wealth and power?  Local, because trying to transport fresh flowers across the expanse of space sounds like an enormous pain in the ass when you could just build a greenhouse locally? It seems to me that these are probably local—local to Saisei, even.  All the other flower arrangements in this scene look like they contain mostly the same sorts of flowers, just in far more modest numbers.  That suggests to me that there’s probably a florist in Saisei’s shopping district who occasionally gets ludicrous amounts of money from some mafioso or another who wants to swagger a bit at a rival’s memorial.  What a life, eh?

Lets look at a little more ‘in-the-life’ stuff for the setting.

    Language & Arts: A short section on, as it says, language and arts.

So, while of course the series is voiced all in Japanese, overwhelmingly, the written language of the setting is English.  The signs, text from Gjallarhorn/Ariadne databases, newsfeed scrolls—all of it is in English.  Given the cultural mishmash the Earth and its outer orbit colonies have become—look no further than Mikazuki Augus sitting alongside Biscuit Griffon!—I’m inclined to think English is just the language that survived as the dominant written text, and is probably the language everyone is “actually” speaking (see Translation Convention).  There are a few places where others crop up, though!  They are in exactly the places you’d expect.  

I can’t make out the full title on the book kidlet!Gaelio has here, but I do see “Im” and “Wald,” so it’s “In the ____ Forest” in German.  I can’t imagine the organizations’ members on the whole speak the language—we see English on all their screens—but it’s not at all surprising that the leaders of the organization would have some exposure to it, though German is not, itself, a linguistic descendant of Old Norse.  (Of course, if associating Norse myth with the German language is as close as IBO ever gets to the UC’s fascination with Nazi stand-ins, we should all count our blessings.)

The other language in the show is the more obvious one—Teiwaz is the place in the show where the yakuza/mafia trappings dwell most openly.  The first time we see Japanese in the show is in their brotherhood ceremony, and they are where it crops up most regularly.  There are a few places I’d like to mention specifically, though.

So, that thing I mentioned earlier, where I said the language on screens was always English? This is the only exception, and it’s really cleverly deployed.  Teiwaz may or may not conduct all their internal business in Japanese—their ceremonies use it, but English is still the dominant written language in Saisei—but Radice uses the language for all his accounting.  We know that, not only did Radice betray Tekkadan to Galan Mossa, he had also been engaged in the more mundane crime of embezzlement, and who would ever have caught him at it?  No one in Tekkadan reads the language, even if they did understand accounting well enough to follow his tracks—Merribit was, I suspect, the only person in the organization who had even a chance of figuring it out, and she was on Mars. Radice is a rat bastard, but not an un-clever one.  

The other places we see the language in the show are unconnected to Teiwaz, save perhaps through discreet family alliances.  We see Iok practicing some calligraphy during his mid-season “exile,” and we know he has a longstanding family connection with Teiwaz, so him playing around with the language is eyebrow-raising, but not all that shocking.

The other place is a little weirder, though.  

Okay, so, Makanai Togonosuke—that is a seriously Japanese name.  I think he’s actually the only example in the show of someone who has a Japanese family and personal name.  He was the Prime Minister of the economic bloc that had its capital in Edmonton, Canada, but that’s not so strange—the economic blocs encompass huge, improbably strata of geography, after all.  The weird thing is that Arbrau isn’t the economic bloc that actually includes Japan—Japan is in the Oceanian Federation.  Arbrau has all of Russia, which certainly gets it very close to Japan, but it does make me very curious about Makanai’s early history.  

Did his parents emigrate? They must have stayed fairly connected to their Japanese heritage—despite being a leader of Arbrau, Makanai never lost his grip on Japanese culture.  It’s not just his name, but his clothes and his housing, too.  Of course, his island exile might have been around Japan; if he maintained strong ties to the country, and remained fond of it, why not live there while in exile?  This would certainly match with having to travel over water to land in Anchorage. Perhaps this strong connection factors into whatever scandal it was that got him ousted in the first place?  

In any case, it seems Japanese culture certainly survived the Calamity War and on into the future, where we can still find calligraphy practiced as an art, and bonsai trees tended as a hobby.  

What about more traditional art?  Well, certainly you can find examples of paintings all over the show, in offices and halls and homes.  I wanted to turn my eyes to two specific examples of things we see framed in the show. The first is not a painting, but actually a photograph. 

Specifically, it’s a black and white photo (maybe two of them) hanging up in the store where Atra worked at the beginning of the season.  Now, a black and white photo hanging in a store wouldn’t seem so strange in a modern setting—it’s the town founding! Or the store opening!  Or just some generic decoration!—but it does seem pretty weird in a futuristic setting long, long after the development of color photography!  We know color photography still exists—the show’s last ending sequence is a slow pan-out from an in-universe photo, after all—so what possible reason could there be for the set of black and white photos here?  People work in monochrome for artistic reasons sometimes, but this photo is just a bunch of buildings—it really does look like a “founding of the town” kind of photo, save that, again, this is a far-future sci-fi setting that has no reason to have been limited to black and white photography any time within the last, what, four to five hundred years?  

Suffice to say, I find it pretty bizarre.  

On the topic of pictures of places from long ago, though, what does everyone make of the painting on the left here?

Specifically, what are those spires on the left side?  They don’t look like any kind of object I can make out, nor any sort of architecture with which I’m familiar.  They’re not ship masts, nor do they match up with Gjallarhorn’s HQ ship-island, Vingolf. I sort of like the idea that we’re looking at some kind of very early spaceport facility, though the geography on the right side is a little prominent to be landing a big shuttle on. It almost has to be some kind of old Earth structure, though, given the painting’s location in the private home of a member of the Seven Stars.

Lastly, I wanted to showcase something that I wish I saw paid a bit more attention to in all the post-series Ride drama—the young man’s artistic streak.  I can’t prove he’s responsible for every one of the works below, but it does seem in line with what we know he did—the Tekkadan logo, which Orga asked him for, and no small portion of the Isaribi’s interior graffiti, which we can see him working on in the second closer.  He has an eye for fun shapes and mural work, and if he’s responsible for all or even most of the paintings we see around Tekkadan and Tekkadan-adjacent properties, art clearly consumed a huge portion of his time.  Of course, for all the hugely colorful work on e.g. the orphanage, we don’t see Ride doing anything artistic in the second season.  In retrospect, I wonder if this is some early foreshadowing of the darker path he’s headed down—that he puts down the paintbrush to focus on mobile suit training instead.  

In any case, here are a few screenshots of, presumably, his stuff that caught my eye.

It’s a little thing, but the sunburst here is pretty, its curves and use of color somewhat more delicate than a lot of Ride’s stuff.  A lot of his stuff is big and bold, using large amounts of red, orange and gold—this is softer than that, though it still speaks to a certain brightness of image and hope.  It even kind of matches the bridge’s color palate!

 This, on the other hand, is much more in keeping with his usual stuff.  It also confounds me, in that it certainly looks like calligraphy, but I can’t make heads or tails of any Japanese characters that might be hiding in there, and it certainly isn’t using the English alphabet.  I’d dearly love to know what, if anything, it’s saying, though.  If it isn’t a rendition of any particular writing system, I wonder if it was inspired by Teiwaz’s big brotherhood ceremony banners? Ride wasn’t at that particular ceremony, but enough people were whom Ride might have pestered for details about what it was like that I could see him hearing about it—and that’s assuming he didn’t just see some around Saisei or the Turbines ship at some point between Tekkadan’s first joining up with Teiwaz and McGillis and Orga standing around having this conversation.  If that is the source of the inspiration, I wonder what Ride was trying to communicate with this?  What words he thought he was writing?   

Lastly, I turn an eye to this fountain of feathers.  This is the least likely to be Ride’s work of the three, especially if it’s chalk instead of paint, but if it is his, I wonder where his mind was at when he drew it? Wings, for freedom?  Feathers, for angels, for death and/or the afterlife?  It’s a piece that looks perpetually unfinished, or perhaps restless—I like to imagine it is his work, but it’s from after Orga and Mikazuki’s deaths, but before Ride has cut ties with his old gang, when he’s still wrestling with what to do and, perhaps, still waiting on the older boys to come up with a plan he can stomach the idea of.  

And with that bit of shameless speculation, I draw this portion of the essay to a close.  

The second half of this essay will contain the other two categories mentioned at the start: Characterization and HIlarity.  The second category will consists of pictures that illuminate or provoke questions about the show’s characters.  The final category contains pictures I just thought were funny and wanted to highlight. If you got through this whole post and still want more, keep an eye out!

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #153 - Hail, Caesar!

Spoilers below.

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: Yes.

Was it a movie I saw since August 22nd, 2009: Yes. #408.

Format: Blu-ray

1) At the very beginning of this film - before anything else - we are introduced to Josh Brolin as Eddie Mannix.

And his very first line?

Eddie: “Bless my father for I have sinned. It has been four hours since my last confession.”

Eddie is a man who is always in conflict with time it seems. It is this conflict - with time, with himself - which defines his character. The visual motif of him checking the watch is a constant. He’s late for dinner, he goes to confessional as often as he can because he doesn’t KNOW if he’ll have the time later. But more than that there’s the conflict with the slow march of time. He is weighing this offer from an aviation company involved in the h-bomb, something which feels like the future. He questions the timeliness of his job, if films will be relevant in the future or if they’ve had their day. Everything Eddie does in the film is marked by the conflict of time (over scheduling, double booking, time moving forward, being late) and it is that idea which carries him through the end of the film. Josh Brolin is great in the part, being able to express Eddie’s conflict in a way which isn’t cloying or obvious. You see he’s dealing with an internal conflict but he never says it much. He never says, “there’s never enough time,” his performance just convinces us - the audience - of that truth. A great part for a great actor.

2) There are a few things that happen in this film which make me uncomfortable (the earliest of which is Mannix telling an actress how the studio owns the right’s to her likeness and slaps her around for breaching this contract), but I think they’re supposed to. 50′s Hollywood wasn’t exactly the most progressive of places. While simultaneously this is obviously a romanticized version of 50′s Hollywood, so there was a conscious decision to leave that as it was. So I don’t know how to feel about it in the film. I just know I’m uncomfortable at times.

3) Alden Ehrenreich as Hobie Doyle.

Ehrenreich (our new Han Solo) steals every single scene he’s in. As Hobie he shows off this incredible heart and sincerity while still being an idiot. You never dislike Hobie, you’re never annoyed with him even if he can be a bit of a dunce. He honestly wants to do a good job and puts in the work to do so. He has no ego, he takes direction well, he’s pretty much the reverse of your stereotypical Hollywood star. He’s a nice guy who just cares about doing a good job and you love him for that. And god if Ehrenreich doesn’t just breathe such life and warmth into Hobie. It’s a star making performance and considering he IS Han Solo in the upcoming film, it seems to have done just that. Made a star.

4) George Clooney as Baird Whitlock.

This is a film who’s strongest aspect is the performances it features, and Clooney is no exception. Believe it or not, the role of Baird Whitlock feels more like a juicy supporting role than the lead (with Josh Brolin being the lead) but that doesn’t mean Clooney’s phoning it in. He is fun as an idiot and a person who is - honestly - a total phony. He changes his attitudes and beliefs to match whatever environment he’s in. He thinks what the studio wants him to think, he later thinks what the communists want him to think. He just goes with whatever is expected of him/easiest to go along with, and that makes for some funny scenes to watch.

5) Holy shit, the meeting of the religious leaders.

There are so many brilliant quotes and bits of humor in this scene I couldn’t even begin to quote just the best lines. The entire scene is amazing and shows off the Coen brothers’ penchant for strange/witty comedy. It’s a laugh riot through fast pacing and unique character established in not much time at all but still consistent. It’s just a truly hysterical scene (with a particular shoutout to the actor playing the Rabbi).

6) One of this film’s most unique features can also be seen as it’s biggest flaw, and that is the devotion to extended scenes paying homage to classic Hollywood cinema. It helps make the movie a love letter to that era, but also slows down the pacing with fun/entertaining scenes which don’t necessarily service the main plot. They don’t ruin the movie even a little bit, it’s just easy to be distracted or zone out by them.

7) Scarlett Johansson is a lot of fun in this film, even though I believe she only has two scenes.

I like Johansson’s performance when she takes on more comedic roles, and Hail, Caesar! allows her to do just that. Through her thick Jersey accent she is established quickly as abrasive but fascinating to watch. She’s got a big mouth but that’s not a bad thing. I don’t think there’s a character in this film who is played to be dislike; they’re all human and you understand that. You like them all, and Johansson’s DeAnn is no exception.

8) Love this line.

Eddie [about DeAnn’s ex husbands]: “One of those was a minor mob figure.”

DeAnn: “Vince was not minor!”

9) Another scene which perfectly showcases the Coen brothers’ taste and mastery of certain comedy is the scene between Ralph Fiennes’ Laurence Laurentz and Hobie while the former is trying to direct the later.

I don’t even know what to say about this scene other than Fiennes and Ehrenreich play off each other brilliantly for maybe the funniest and most memorable scene in the whole picture.

10) Let’s consider this room full of communists for a second:

So a bunch of well off successful white guys feel like they’re not getting enough, feel marginalized, and so think Communism is the way because it’ll raise them (again, a bunch of white dudes) up.

11) Tilda Swinton in the dual roles of Thora and Theslie, two twins who write their own separate news columns.

The pair are a nice representation of both sides of the news media: the side that takes itself oh so seriously and thinks it’s above everything else against the side that is media and needs to hold the interest of the public to survive. They need each other to exist but often times one will dismiss the existence of the other. Swinton is fun in the parts, but there’s not too much of her in the film. But like every other cast member, she doesn’t phone anything in. She devotes herself to each part totally and is able to make the sisters unique while still related. It’s a fun performance to watch (and she nails the American accent).

12) So Hobie is actually smarter than people give him credit for.

Hobie [after hearing Baird has been kidnapped]: “I would look at the extras.”

Eddie: “The extras? Why?”

Hobie: “Well you just never know with an extra. They come and go. Everyone else, I’m on the set, I see the guy setting up the 5K, I think, ‘Why there’s old Buck setting up the 5K.’ Script girl, wrangler, same thing. Extras, that’s different. Not making a blanket call here. I mean, there’s good extras and bad extras. All I’m saying, you look at an extra, you got no idea what he’s thinking.”

This is not some, “Oh, extras! They’re so awful! They’re always ruining my amazing shot!” He makes that clear he doesn’t think less of extras, he’s just made an observation about the situation he works in which is wildly helpful to Eddie and the film. Have I mentioned I love Hobie?

13) “No Dames”, otherwise known as the most homoerotic scene you can find in this film.

The bar is called “The Swingin’ Dingy”

Burt says (in regards to not seeing any women), “Can you beat it?”

Despite the lyrics, the song becomes a happy dance between a bunch of guys at the prospect of not seeing any women for months.

Burt holds a guy’s crotch up to his mouth with a smile.

Burt gets caught grinding between two sailors dancing only for the bartender to exclaim, “This ain’t that kind of place.”

And I’m never uncomfortable watching it, not even a little. I just find it wonderfully random that the Coen brothers are actually deciding to acknowledge gay culture in 50′s Hollywood through this film in at least some small way. And it leads to a truly fun scene in the film.

14) Once you learn Burt is a communist, it makes so much sense that he wants to give the bartender more focus to even the playing field. He is the IDEA of communism, while the privileged white dudes bitching about not getting paid enough despite having nice houses in LA are closer to the reality.

15) Frances McDormand has a brief but memorable scene in this film as editor CC Calhoun.

The fact that the film decides to have a woman in a position of importance in the 1950s is actually pretty accurate. Mainly because back then editing was NOT seen as a position of importance. It was seen akin to sewing in that it didn’t really matter it just needed doing, so there ere a lot of female editors. That’s also why CC has such a shitty office. The studio doesn’t really care about the editors. Now (even though there are still jokes and such at the expense of editors) Hollywood has a better idea of how important an editor’s job is.

16) What a perfectly good waste of Alison Pill.

Alison Pill is one of the best characters out there today, giving stand out performances in Scott Pilgrim VS The World, Midnight in Paris, Snowpiercer, and “The Newsroom” among others. And in this film she has one scene as Eddie’s wife who is very much a doting 50s housewife. This line actually comes out of her mouth:

Mrs. Mannix: “But what do you think honey? You know best.”

A part of me hopes there are deleted scenes which devote more time to Pill’s character, make her more than just that one line (because that one line perfectly represents who she is as a “character”). Honestly if I have one big issue with this film it is the waste of Alison Pill.

17) Jonah Hill is another big actor who has only one scene in the film, but at least unlike Pill he’s not wasted. He is able to portray a dryer, more subtle type of strange humor than usual. And the Academy Award nominated actor does so brilliantly. In a short amount of time it stands out on his resumé specifically because it is so against Hill’s standard “type”.

Probably the best part is that DeAnn makes eyes at him. We learned earlier that she doesn’t want to get married because the men turned out to be louses. Then she meets this guy, who is literally described as the most reliable human being ever, and it is a massive turn on for her.

I like that it ties so directly into her character.

18) Earlier in the film the communists said they slipped communist themes and messages into Hollywood films. Well it seems that is the case for Hail, Caesar! (the film which gives this film it’s title) as well.

Baird’s Character [antagonistically]: “Romans before slaves! Romans before slave!”

Baird’s Character [upon redemption]: “This man was giving water to all. He saw no Roman, he saw no slave.”

While these aren’t exclusively communist ideas and not on their own negative ideas, they definitely play into the communist belief. And the flaw with communism is that it expects to raise "slaves” to the same level as “Romans” when in reality it makes everyone slaves.

19) Hobie and Carlotta have a fun chemistry.

I think this is largely because they’re both treating each other with respect. They’re not grumpy that they’re forced to be with each other at the studio, they’re not looking at the other as just a sex object, they both admire the other’s work and from that mutual respect they are able to play well with each other. I don’t think I’ve ever shipped two characters who have spent such little screen time together.

20) In keeping with the Coen brothers’ strange/surreal/well done humor born from a slower pacing, the entire extended sequence where Burt boards the sub after the communists row him out there is fun (if slow).

Although I don’t know if sacrificing the money for the dog is meant to be a commentary on communism, capitalism, or just a fun twist on the scene.

21) I always felt the studio represented capitalism, but Eddie shouting at Baird to do his job because everyone has their job to do...I don’t know, that feels sort of communist-y. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but this line always stuck out to me.

Eddie [to Baird]: “You’re going to do that because the picture has worth and you have worth when you serve the picture.”

Yeah, I’m probably overthinking it.

Hail, Caesar! may not be the best silly Coen brothers’ film (*cough*Big Lebowski*cough*) but it’s not even close to a bad film by any means. It’s fun and funny, featuring the filmmakers’ signature sense of weirdness and comedy. The acting is excellent (with a particular shout out to Alden Ehrenreich) and while the extended film-within-the-film scenes CAN dog down pacing they’re still entertaining to watch. All in all it is a well made, funny, enjoyable film that is worth your time if you decide to see it.

[inappropriatefangirlneeds]

Gotham s4ep7 “A Day in the Narrows” Review 

 “I need some air” Warning spoilers below

 *  THE WHOLE CITY IS A GOOD COP & BAD COP ROUTINE 1. I appreciate it that they show what justice under Pax Penguina means. It means criminals just doing what they want.   2. I still appreciate that they show the tie ins between criminals / criminal behavior and cops 3. I don´t appreciate that they forget Jim Gordon very much participated in 2.

Pyg kidnapped cops in the Narrows. A place of poverty that does not collaborate with cops. This means for Bullock that they have to make people more afraid of cops than of criminals. Jim Gordon is trying to stop the violence. “Hey! Hey! Get off! Get off of him. They're potential witnesses. They're not perps.” “This is the Narrows, Gordon. You think there's a difference?” It´s hints of S1 Jim yay. This and having them explain that the three cops weren’t there for duty: “Three officers, different precinct, same patrol car they were freelancing. Look, I know how it is down here. A lot of bad stuff happens; half the time it's the cops doing it. They were running some sort of protection racket” paints a grim picture of the GCPD (2) 

Jim tires to ask for help from a local lady but Headhunter interrupts using his own methods. Out in the open those are (for the viewer) put on display against each other.  Empathy vs Violence.   However in the plot context Headhunter talking about how he has never done the “good cop & bad cop” routine ties which that back to the collaboration between GCPD and Criminals (2)  This is highlighted when we see a cop complimenting Headhunter in the background. He seems impressed about the criminals signature. That´s not what Jim wants. J im seeks out collaboration but not in public!  (3) 

Having Headhunter and his crew all loose and doing their thing (1)  makes Jim Gordon telling an Oswald Cobblepot who shows up at the GCPD to help with Pyg “We don´t want your help” look good. But let´s not forget one thing: Jim refuses official collaboration but he went to Oswald for information when the case started. Granted have Penguin´s security consultant work on the case is something different than interrogate Oswald as someone who is involved is something vastly different, and should be treated as such but both is “help.” (3)

 * GOOD COP, BAD COP or HERO, the designated kind? When Jim Gordon talks to the injured cop/Pyg it´s surely not all technique to build trust with him when he says:   “I guess he's just reached a breaking point. There's so much rot in Gotham. All of it, high to low. Sometimes even I feel like breaking, you know?” “I get it. I've done bad stuff myself. For Penguin, even. But you and I can make it right. Now you have a chance to make right what you've done wrong. Help me.” Moreover Oswald Cobblepot calls him out on all he did do that would classify him as bad cop: “Because I'm against dirty cops.” “Except all of the times you are one.”  However the cop/Pyg tells Jim  “You are one of the good ones, Jim.” (It reminds me so much of the scene with Puck) We have both in that episode: Jim being declared good (cop) and Jim being declared bad (cop). But what does matter? When we take a look at what happens we see Penguin celebrating the saved life of the cop but he instantly adds a remark about his own selfish reasons: “Technically I saved that cops life. Such great PR.” Backing that up Penguin´s men refuse to run into the abandoned courthouse to help the people stuck in there:  “Get in there” “Mhmm”  Jim in contrast does. Jim runs in there. Jim is “justice”, Jim is heroic. You can´t buy that. You don´t find that with criminal “justice” (1) Also when Harper thanks Jim and says no one could have done it like he did it implies that you don´t  find that with cop “justice” (2) either, least nothing quite like it.   Jim is the hero, the press is clear about that but he´s not one that should be on a high horse (3). Jim is reflecting on not being a good cop this week but he has no doubt that he can make things right yet refuses to give eg. Harvey the same chance.   Heroes don´t need rules, heroes don´t need to answer to anyone. Heroes do just the right thing no matter what it is (just ask Bruce getting basically thanked for punching someone .. )

* HARVEYs DILEMMA  Harvey is just in between the parties.  Jim: “I'm giving you three seconds.” Headhunter: “ I'm giving you two.” Bullock: “No one is counting!” Jim Gordon does not want to back up Penguin´s system any more:  “Are you out of your frickin' mind?”  “Jim, listen” “You are legitimizing him, Harvey.” “He's been legitimized for years. He was the freaking mayor!” This week it´s all about the PR: Oswald want´s the fame for saving the city. “Thanks Jim for leading the way, we take it from here” Jim does not want him to have it. “And the people need to know they don't need gangsters to keep them safe. I'll tell you what, I'm gonna find Pyg, alive, and I'll bring him to justice.” “Good for you.” Harvey is somewhere in between (okay Jim would say something else) He just wants so save those cops and tries using all help.(You know like when Jim tries to save the city with the help of the mob, but that does not happen in public.) 

 * PYGMALION “Did you know I spell my name with a y”  Pyg is gonna create a new Gotham, a new Jim. “Oh, and those things that you want to get done well they're the same things I want.” “Only if you want to go to prison for the rest of your life.”  It seems they will continue to play on the parallels of Jim Gordon and Pyg. They continue to highlight that they both share the same mission but I´m pretty sure in the end it will be Jim being separated from Pyg because of their methods. Jim will still be the hero despite having flaws himself. They will pull up a pretty rigid distinction between the two I guess.   I do still wonder why Pyg, no even having heard Jim´s confession about having done bad things for Penguin is so keen on stylizing him a s a good "one”. It´s like even the criminal determined to kill all corruption deader than dead falls for Jim.  I guess Pyg can see this as Jim being even closer to him because Jim as well uses questionable methods to reach both their mission but damn it why does only Jim get that privilege?  * “Half the precinct skipped town because they didn't want to wear bacon-flavored death masks. We need the help.” “You are dangerously overreacting.” “I'm overreacting because every cop in this precinct got a death threat. Except, of course, for you.”

 * Oswald has a new security consultant, one Victor recommended. Oswald is at the GCPD without any entrance performance whatsoever. This is disappointing.  What kind of beef does he have with HEADHUNTER?  “ Colorful, isn't he? But effective.“  // “And there's that Headhunter person I was talking about. Kind of a moron, but he is effective.” Does he think he is the one with a monopoly on being a colourful criminal? Is he just pissed about Victor leaving him and taking that out on what Victor left behind? 

* TWO CHILDREN & THEIR ANGER This week it´s BRUCE WAYNE being more a parallel to Oswald Cobblepot than Jim Gordon. Bruce hosts a charity at his place because he does not want to go out. Alfred tried to leave him some air but Bruce is troubled and hurting. “I just I can't stop thinking about when I .. I should feel bad. Guilty. I, I just”  “You're just angry. That anger is concealing what's really going on. Unless you face it full-on, it will consume you. And it will erupt.”    ALFRED PENNYWORTH is out of his depth with that matter and Bruce keeps pushing him away. He “needs air.”  Bruce apologizes to Alfred, he recognized that he´s not behaving the right way, he probably regrets being a jerk to the waiter too but he´s not ready to solve his issues. He walks away from them. This is some child like behaviour we haven´t seen in quite a while from him.  A girl his age that knows him from school takes him away from the charity to a friends place. A friend Bruce punched in the past, but its okay the guy says he deserved that.   Bruce´s anger and use of violence are being justified in this case.  However there is someone else who is an ahole to Bruce and we see him fantasize about punching that guy however Bruce holds back and finds a non violent way to take out his anger.  He is humiliating him by buying the club they couldn´t get into. ( On a side note:  Bruce Buying the place. Well how do you make jerky behaviour look nice you put up a bigger jerk. But given the horrible health care situation we´ve seen with Butch/Grundy as well as Leslie recently, all the talk about the horrible conditions in the Narrows this episode I just want to take that money that went into the club and use it on public services. But Bruce held a charity event at his place so I guess its okay?? Or something. ) >> All while painting anger and violence in a bad light the show still back ups a certain type of violent behavior of Bruce.  >> Bruce can´t have the bad kind of anger and violence but he can have a party. He tries out “a new side” for a while.  >> As long as it´s just for a while I could actually see that as something that could be beneficial for him but the music at the party changes before the cut. Seems they want Bruce to get back on punching guys that deserve it track, or they are just illustrating that it still is not a good method to tackle your issues. 

OSWALD COBBLEPOT Is at Sofia Falcone´s place and surrounded by children (Same Oswald, I cant with them either) He is obviously meant to look like one of them when he cries out for Sofia´s attention and is pissed when he doesn´t get it.  He acts childish. The Pyg case is on TV. “Technically I saved that cops life. Such great PR.”   Oswald is so happy about his success but Sofia is not having the reaction he wants. He asks about her opinion and demands it when she refuses the first time. She says how her father Carmine Falcone would not have sided with the GCPD, they are incompetent, they will fail and drag him with them. Oswald is stressed and eats. He is also childish again showing a now more than ever reaction. He´s going to get more involved, personally even!    Sofia is not having any of it and I love it:  “Don´t ask for my opinion if you don´t want to hear it”  (Okay I´m super suspicious maybe there is a Pyg & Sofia connection but would she be so good at subtle manipulation to set that up, like damn .. playing the situation all emotional to keep Oswald from thinking straight and planning? )   (( Also: SOFIA FALCONE is so fucking clever when asked about her opinion she doesn´t give it, she gives her fathers! She is still playing that she is no threat to Oswald. She is suggesting that she doesn´t have mob leadership plans and skills when she is referring everything back to her father. That and utilizing Oswald´s connection to his mentors is so effing clever!!)) Things go bad. Penguin tries to argue to the press that he doesn´t have control about the GCPD, talk about backpedaling but the press does not care Jim is the hero. Hooray.  >> Oswald is angry and he´s not applying any other strategies like Bruce he stabs Headhunter “Second one´s my signature“  It doesn´t matter that it is his fault for ordering them to go in he lets out his anger on others.

 * A TURN OF TIDES? IS IT THE SEA or THE MOON THAT IS DRUNK?   JIM GORDN & HARVEY BULLOCK Detective HARPER openly thanks Jim: “That's from all of us, even if they're not saying it. Thank you, Detective.” “You'd have done the same.”  “Yeah, but not as well.” Jim inspired change. Another cop rips a license to pieces. For once the GCPD is on the side oft heir hero. HARVEY BULLOCK is looking dark and grim and disappointed while watching this.  I´m not buying what is going on here. Harvey risked his life because of Jim. Rushing into danger without backup just because Jim said so. Harvey was annoyed at the young boyscout who wanted to change things and still had his back every single time.  I can buy that the new commissioner job might take a toll on Harvey, that he might be relieved about things going smoother for him with Penguin´s system but I doubt that this is what he wants.  I believe what he told Jim that it´s better to have him in this position so he can act when it matters. He´s not been keen to have that position he has voiced that but we have seen him in action and he didn´t look miserable. He does now. Why the heck?  Also on JIM GORDON´s side: He knew what Harvey did under Loeb and he helped him to destroy the files and evidence on it. He seemed to have forgiven him and accepted him on his side. That was arguably worse than “just” taking money and wait by.  I would be okay with Jim dropping Harvey when he does not act when it´s about time and okay in some way I guess this was the moment this week when Harvey called Headhunter & Penguin along the GCPD to the abandoned courthouse but it was a reasonable thing to do.  It was focused on the matter and safety not on PR. Jim and Oswald are the parties that are butting heads and want the PR, Harvey is the one who is arguably free of the ulterior motive in this situation.  (Okay unless you are Jim who absolutely thinks this is Harvey supporting Oswald´s system and helping him by giving him a chance to cement his reputation in the public.) But still Jim is painted as being right and Harvey having betrayed him.  Moreover Jim has called crime (Penguin and Falcones) to aid several times (okay he´s tried to keep that secret so it´s a difference in not doing damage to the GCPD reputation but still ..) , now Harvey does it and he´s not accepting it. I´m not buying that years of friendship and Bullock having Jim´s back with every rubbish he pulled would be over like that.  Harvey always trusted Jim, would he be so “petty” to stop that just because Jim is questioning him?  This quite frankly is a mess.

 BARBARA KEAN & SELINA KYLE   Ra´s al Ghul´s money is gone Barbara Kean wants to stop the whole operation. Selina still think they can make the initial plan running. She knows a gang to steal money from and wants to do it on her own to proof Barbara they can do it. She almost gets caught.   Barbara pretends not to care. We owe her TABITHA GALAVAN says but Barbara replies that´s what the money is for. Tabitha comes to Selina´s rescue. She just wants a purpose & a home Tabitha says.   This week it is Barbara who is broadcasting Selina´s  “ care about Number 1, and number one is you” rule: “Well, how about a little parting lesson from big sis. In this life, you're on your own. Always.“ While Selina has changed her mind about this. When Tabitha wants to draw fire on herself to help her escape she says: “Screw that. Whatever we're doing, we're doing together.” Barbara shows up and saves the day with a gun.  She is a Queen and this is a damn great entrance:  “Hello? Excuse me? - Did you guys order Thai? No. Good, 'cause I don't have any.” >> However with everything Selina and Tabitha have done in the past it´s odd that they need Barbara to save them.  We know Ra´s has trained her and she has been great going after Edward when Tabitha got kidnapped so I´m not having issues with her kicking ass but Selina and Tabitha not kicking ass.  >> That being said it already felt odd that Selina got caught in such a situation. With all we have seen her do in the past (eg. sneaking into Arkham) it is so damn hard to believe that she wouldn´t just have walked out of that garage. >> Selina forgot her old rule, it´s nice to see that she wants a home and connects that with connecting to other people but it´s so odd that she would have dropped that self preservation and self preservation is a damn good purpose too, moreover she has followed that rule with keeping friendships and connections before (eg. Bridgit, Ivy .. )  What is going on?! >> One thing I do get is Barbara adapting the “Number 1” credo.  It´s not like she has treated everyone else in a stellar manner but the other way round didn´t happen either. I´m still angry and puzzled over Tabs just letting Butch throw Barbara out when she was vulnerable (No I can´t let that go) That does make sense for me. But hey here she is re-establishing the bond with Tabs and Selina. >> This is the second time Selina took action and a risk and someone else followed suit. She did so when taking Penguins invitation for her and Tabitha alone.  

>  “I guess it´s time to burn rubber.”   Is another Facette of the  JUSTICE vs CRIMINAL JUSTICE play (2). Once the criminals see one of them failed his task they torture him. It´s brutal, Selina winces. On a side note: It´s pretty telling that the show has the trio try steal from criminals and target them. They just can´t cross a certain line. Selina just can´t become a “proper” CriminalTM

 GOTHAM MUSIC  & BRUCE * The party music is The Prodigy: Spitfire   It´s a stretch but maybe the “Cause you know that I can” line is meant to refer back to what Alfred told Bruce about being capable .. * Before getting into the club it´s “Spandau Ballet: Chant No. 1 (I Don't Need This Pressure On)  And those “I don't need this pressure on  Oh I should question not ignore” lyrics are definitely referring to Bruce running away from the issues to a party.