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stagefoureddiediaz · 3 months ago

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Ok Buck and his two watch theory - I’m still percolating but here’s what I have so far!!

The second ‘watch’ is a fitness band - it’s a whoop band - top of the market biometrics tracking band that monitors your heath and fitness and offers you custom suggestions on how to improve things - sleep, fitness, weight etc etc.

This is not the first time we’ve seen buck go on a health kick - he’s done it periodically - the interest g tho g is when he’s gone on these health kicks! The first time we get health kick buck is in 201 - which is obviously when Eddie arrives on the scene at the 118. Now obviously we could tie it in to Eddie and buck feeling threatened by this hot new guy with a silver star - except that’s not what it is because he is already on his health kick (dhx scan!) before he knows of Eddie’s existence. Abby left Buck at the end of season 1 and this health kick is in gear in the immediate aftermath of that - almost as if he thinks that improving his body fat percentage and getting fitter, stronger, leaner etc will bring Abby back to him - that that is why she hadn’t returned - that he’s not good enough.

The second time we see a health kick is after Ali leaves him at the end of season 2 - we get buck determined to get back to work at the beginning of season 3 and therefore pushing himself harder than he should - which leads to his blood clots occurring. Buck has placed his worth in his job and therefore needs to be fitter stronger - healed - as fast as possible so he still has the one thing he has left - his job - because both of his relationships have been connected to his work so if he’s better able to do his job he’ll be more attractive to someone and then they’ll stay!

The third time is once again connected to the end of a relationship but it’s not so much about his physical health as it is his mental health - but buck did the breaking up this time instead of being broken up with. He splits with Taylor at the end of season 5 - he is the one to end the relationship. At the start of season six instead of placing his worth in his job and being fitter and stronger etc we get Buck deciding to take a different tack and he starts a year of yes, after reading a book, which does end up becoming about his physical health when he says yes to becoming a sperm donor - abstinence and alfalfa smoothie anyone?!

The sort of anomaly is his break up with Tommy - firstly because it happens in the middle of a season rather than at the end (it’s not even a mid season finale break up either) and secondly because he starts baking instead of going on a health kick. Baking is still about improving oneself - but it’s much more about learning a new skill rather than getting fitter etc. in someways it’s a continuation of the previous breakup coping tactic - in that it’s about mental improvement rather than physical and we haven’t seen it become about physical health. And before anyone tries to point out that the new fitness band is it becoming about physical heath - after they hook up in 811, reply with - the start of the fitness band wearing stems back to Eddie telling buck he’s moving back to El Paso - that he’s leaving him.

The Eddie leaving to go back to El Paso did happen at the mid season finale and we’ve returned to buck wearing a fitness band. They haven’t outright stated or even clearly shown why he’s wearing the fitness band, but this upcoming episode has it on full display so I’m hoping we’ll get to find out the reason for its existence (give me the exposition). My feeling is that it’s Buck once more trying to improve himself through his fitness and health, but unlike all of the other attempts this one has something much more permanently tangible - that band is always on him.

So whereas before all his breakups were connected to fad health and fitness regimes or as a way of improving himself through things that had a fixed date attached to them or something that is generally connected to poor health (baking as it’s cakes and breads are not really healthy) - a dhx scan is a one off thing not something you do all the time, the same for getting fit from you injury so you can get back to work and the year of yes and alfalfa smoothies have fixed time periods attached to them as well. These all speak of bucks abandonment issues being central to why he’s cycling through this behaviour pattern - in the same way getting injured as a child got his parents attention - temporarily and in an unhealthy way, these attempts to fix himself in the hope people won’t abandon him.

This time though there is no fixed time period attached to this potential health kick - the band is always on you and will feed back suggestions on improvements Buck can make on a regular basis.

The implication is that this self improvement kick is a genuinely healthy more sustained one and that it will therefore bring Eddie back to buck because he’s finally growing in a sustained way rather than a faddy way as a coping mechanism for being left or having to leave.

This is all purely speculation around a possible explanation for why the whoop band has appeared - there are all plenty of possibilities for it’s appearance on bucks wrist, including that they’re going to use the biometrics tracker as a way to have buck taking a sick day next episode when there’s nothing wrong with him - false data being provided by the tracker - which would also fit into the lying and fake theme we seem to be getting this season, especially because it’s collecting biometric data when we are seemingly going to get a biohazard incident of some kind in 814. Or it’s possible that it’s connected to the reverse - that the data buck is collecting on his biometrics helps provide information that helps put an end to the biohazard - although this seems very unlikely. It could also be an even longer game - and that it’s in some way connected to bobby and his impending death and resurrection - because a fitness tracker will only collect data if someone wearing it is alive - it can’t collect heart rate etc when there isn’t one. So if buck gets bobby involved in wearing a tracker for some reason it could either prove bobby is alive because it’s still getting data, or it could lead them to where bobby is located!

Only time will tell why we’ve now got buck wearing a fitness tracker and if I’m correct in any of my theories and speculation!!

#bucks fitness monitor #two watch buck #I’m actually leaning more towards the false data leading to a buck sick day theory right now #purely because of the fake and lying theme that’s running through this season #and the fact we’re suddenly getting to see them on full display rather than hidden under sleeves #we’ll see how it plays out #911 spoilers #911 abc #911 speculation #evan buckley #813

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leveloneandup · 1 year ago

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Christen Press on returning to soccer following ACL tear, season three of The RE—CAP podcast

Christen Press, the all-time leading goal scorer in Stanford history, has starred for club and country since graduating in 2010. With the USWNT, she has won two World Cups and scored 64 international goals. Press has played overseas professionally, including a stint at Manchester United, as well as in the NWSL with the Chicago Red Stars, Utah Royals and currently with Angel City FC.

After tearing her ACL in June 2022, Press required four surgeries and an arduous recovery. She returned to her first training session on Tuesday, after which she spoke to SBJ about her rehab and the new season of her podcast. Along with Tobin Heath, Megan Rapinoe and Meghan Klingenberg, Press founded a media and lifestyle brand called RE—INC in 2019. She and Heath are the co-hosts of the RE—CAP podcast, which returns for its third season on Thursday. The first episode includes appearances by USWNT legend Abby Wambach and author and podcast host Glennon Doyle.

On returning to the pitch . . .

I am currently in the car driving home from my first training. I would say the road to recovery happens very slow, and then yet it happens all at once. I have been back in the team environment for almost four months. So it's been a long time that I've been integrated into the environment, and it took four months for me to get ready to be in a warmup and a passing pattern — really simple, basic stuff. And I felt very ready for it. I felt almost underwhelmed by how easy it was because I've done a lot more complicated things, and yet it was also entirely overwhelming and joyful to be so connected to my teammates and be celebrated in the way that I have been these last two days.

I'm very grateful for that. They say it's the hope that kills you, and as I drive home, I just have this big smile on my face because I can't help it. I can't help hoping. I can't help believing that I'm going to make it back, and it's going to be everything that I see in my head. I'm relentlessly optimistic, I'm naively positive, and I like that about myself, and I'm not I don't intend to change it. I think the way that it left me feeling was just like, yes, I can do this.

On monitoring her rehab . . .

I'm a person of devices, so I have quite a toolkit, I'd say, of ways that we're tracking and measuring. The truth is we're really still working through issues with my knee, and I have chronic scarring of the knee, so I can experience some discomfort and some swelling that could lead to more scarring, which is incredibly rare, because most people don't scar after a couple months after their surgery. I'm now over nine months for my surgery and still at risk of scarring. So it just means that I have to try very carefully with how much impact my knee can take.

We're being careful, but we're progressing. In terms of my overall fitness, what my GPS has said is that I've got to like 60% of a match load, which is all that I really need to get in terms of volume. And yet, in the warmup and the passing pattern today, it felt like I played a 90-minute game. I was so fatigued. There's training, and then there’s really training. There's no way to get fit for football, except for playing football. And I've done a ton of running, I've done a ton of lifting, and now it's time to play.

On how deep she gets into data . . .

My performance staff would laugh because they said they've never worked with a player that cares so much. So right now, I wear a Polar Watch that I was given in like 2015 from the national team. It's just old school. And I wear my Apple Watch, which is connected to my GPS so I can see all my data live, from heart rate to distance to speed to all that. And then I do sleep with an Oura ring — although I'm not endorsing any of these products, I'm not connected to any of these products — but I do sleep with an Oura ring and track my sleep and my stress levels.

On season three of the podcast . . .

Our show really is about authenticity, and it's about creating a more inclusive space for sports and including diversity of perspective. And so that means we have hard conversations, and we have honest conversations and we have vulnerable conversations, and we have a lot of fun — the same spirit and joy that you saw last year during the World Cup edition of the show. We're back, and we're bigger than ever.

On the origin of the creating the podcast . . .

I never thought I would be in media. I think that's even more true of Tobin. There's two typical paths for athletes after soccer, and it’s coaching and broadcast. ‘So Christen, do you want to be a coach?’ ‘No.’ ‘So Christen, then you must want to be a broadcaster? I was like, ‘No.’

That's an interesting part of the story, but first and foremost, we decided to launch this show as current and active players, and that's unique and different. It's not really a stepping-back-from-soccer thing. It's current players trading stories and having a little bit more space to dictate the narrative.

And then secondly, we really approach this as business leaders. This is our business, this is our company. We are a 3C company: content, community and commerce. The most amazing thing about women's sports is the community, and we're trying to build the coolest women's sports community in the world in our membership, and we're feeding that with amazing content.

And I think because we have such an authentic and vulnerable relationship with our audience that we've developed over the last five years that we've been building this business, it made sense for Tobin and I to be our first piece of content that was really more large scale and more widely accessible. But the plan will be to find like-minded people that sit at the intersection of sports, progress and equity, to continue to hear stories from an insider's perspective. It really disrupts the industry in that way.

On topics they plan to cover in season three . . .

We're going to be talking about women's health, particularly in sport, which is obviously a really hot topic, and representation in sport — how we make it more diverse and equitable for more people, be it across the gender spectrum, the orientation spectrum, across different races and classes. I think that's incredibly important. Soccer in America is an upper-middle class sport, and almost everywhere else in the world, it's a very accessible sport that's found on the street. That's really the spirit of football, so that's really important to us.

On the role of athletes as activists . . .

The interesting thing about the community that surrounds women's sports in particular is they care about a lot more than the sports, and the values transcend beyond the pitch. And that's about diversity, inclusion, progress. And I think that's just inherent because it is disruptive in itself to see women embodied, powerful, unapologetic and also very celebrated the way that you do in the professional sports world today. The people that it's drawing in are the same people that want to march, and they want to create change and they want to stand up for what they believe in.

It's so embodied in the Angel City culture. The professional team that I play for has just nailed it. And when you're in the stadium, it's electric, and win or lose, it's a different type of vibe than any other sports arena I've been in because there's a connection point for all of the audience. They care about more than the X's and O's. They care about what we represent to them, the progress and the opportunity that we as women athletes represent.

On the versatility of women athletes . . .

It's always been that way in women's sports, and it's just becoming more popularized. I think the expectation is that we would always be multifaceted as women and expected to do multiple jobs in multiple roles, if we were going to have careers. And so it really did take to me and my personality to be a player and also be a leader off the field, on the US women’s national team, going through the Equal Pay lawsuit, going through the reestablishment of our players association.

For me, it was such a balancing sense of purpose that I continue to create space in my life for that, and I think that's what we've done with our business, RE—INC. RE—INC is reimagined, incorporated. We set out, in 2019 when we started this company, to reimagine the status quo, to reimagine the way women are seen and experienced in sports. And it's a very bold and ambitious goal, and we do it in a multifaceted way. And I'm really, really proud of that.

#christen press #angel city fc #article #interview

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cosmicretreat · 14 days ago

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On July 2, 1990, a second memorial for the late Jim Henson was held at St. Paul's Cathedral in London, England. It was similar to the televised New York service on May 21, and open to the public, as the earlier one had been. And it also culminated in the Muppets and performers singing "Just One Person."

At the London service, Frank Oz delivered a eulogy that included a story about how Jim would take the time to appreciate what he was doing:

"… After the service in New York…I wandered around for days and weeks like many of us did. And, while I worked, and while I was with my family, I thought about Jim. I couldn't help but think about Jim.

I thought of course about what an insane, profound loss it was. And then of course so many images and memories of Jim came back to me. So many images. But one image kept coming back to me—just a fleeting moment. And it was not of Jim performing or directing. It was not of Jim with his family. It was not of Jim with his colleagues. And it was not Jim working so hard, and it was not even of the great, stupid, silly fun that we all had with Jim—that I had with Jim.

But this one image kept coming back to me…Just of Jim, standing, with his arms folded, just having a very warm smile—looking. And, it wouldn't go away. It just kept on coming back. I realized it was Jim, appreciating. I know where I got that image from, I think. It was from The Muppet Show here at ATV or The Dark Crystal, the movie, or wherever we were shooting when we would look back at the playbacks. The television monitor would be right there. We would shoot the movie or shoot the performance, as many of you know. And then we would play it back and judge it. Often we would judge it and say, “Oh, that was terrible. Let's do it again.” But so many times I would see Jim—just appreciating it.

Many people see Jim as an extraordinary creator. I realize that I see Jim first as an appreciator. He appreciated so much. He loved London. He loved walking on the Heath. He loved…Parliament Hill, flying kites. He appreciated it so much. He appreciated his family and his colleagues and his Muppet family. And he appreciated the performances and design of a puppet. He appreciated the art objects that he might buy. He appreciated the detail in a Persian rug. He appreciated…just beauty.

Many times we would have meetings. I've known Jim for twenty-seven years now and this would always happen. And I'm sure some of you will remember. We would have a meeting and if it was a pretty day outside, he'd say, "Gee, couldn't we go outside? Couldn't we? It's nice out there. Couldn't we just go outside? Why sit in here?"

And he appreciated the day. He didn't realize why…why sit in a stuffy room when you could appreciate beauty out there? And I remember when we had meetings he would…often say, "Gee, can't we eat? Why don't we—I mean—isn't it time to eat? Can't we eat while we meet?"

And it wasn't because he was hungry. He just…it was a time to appreciate eating and it was a time to appreciate working. And even when he ate, I remember, he would always take dessert. He loved dessert. And he would…I just have this image of him…when you brought the tray over, I remember him saying, “What—what's that thingy—there?” He was always wiggling his finger and saying, “What's that little dessert thing?” I don't know why, but he couldn't order dessert without wiggling his finger. I'm not quite sure why that is but then he'd say, “I'll, I'll take that, that thingy there.” And he would have it. And then he would eat it. And when he was eating it, you'd hear these little “Mmm's” from him, as he ate the dessert. “Mmmm. Mmmm.”

And it wasn't just that it tasted good, which it did. But it was the time at that moment to appreciate it. To appreciate where he was at that moment—eating that dessert. And I think life was just this dessert for him. I really don't believe that Jim could have been such an extraordinary creator if he hadn't been such an extraordinary appreciator.."

#muppets #jim henson #frank oz

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yona049 · 2 years ago

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𝕄𝕚𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕝 𝕆'𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

𓆩𓆪𓆩𓆪𓆩𓆪𓆩𓆪

On a earth across the vast multiverse Miguel O'hara leaves a wife behind to grieve for him, she takes on the roll of Spiderman 2099, little to her knowledge another Miguel O'hara is about to find himself on her earth.

𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩𓆩🕸️𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪𓆪

Disclaimer°˚

>mention of death/Funeral

>slight intrusive thoughts

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

"Miguel O'Hara. A son, A Friend... A husband." This was all Y/n heard before her ears started ringing. Her brain scattered as she looked down at the freshly dug grave and clean polished tomb stone.

This wasn't right at all. Her whole body burning with anger when she saw only one or two friends had shown up to her husbands funeral. They'll never know what he did for this city! The pain he drove himself through, mentally and physically. Nueva York wasn't and never will be thankful for all his efforts.

Once she returned home she dropped down on the couch wearing the black clothing soaked in the rain that continually poured outside.

A once Happy household filled with laughter or the occasional fight, felt quiet. Unlike the house, the city outside was busy, traffic ushers angry drivers to a psychotic honking fit. This wasn't unusual, tho it was more active since the once hero disappeared without a trace.

Feeling drained of all emotion, Y/n looks over to the still filled trashcan. Bandages and futuristic heath packs filling it to the brim. That one horrible night is what brought this nightmare to life.

Y/n stood up from the couch and walks right by the bin and down the hallway.

When she stops in the hallway and looks at a hologram picture of her and Miguel at some vacation resort, hanging on the wall. She clenched her fists and grits her teeth. "Lyla, open the door, please."

The holographic picture quickly switches off before suddenly swapping to Lyla, wearing her usual white fluffy coat and pink heart shaped glasses. As she floats in the air in front of Y/n, she slowly removes the glasses. "This room is for Miguel's eyes only-" Lyla is suddenly interrupted by Y/n's sudden loud exclamation. "Miguel isn't HERE anymore!" This makes Lyla flinch back before she finally sighs quietly. Her eyes fill with sadness and sympathy as the pixels she's made of slowly fades out. A small opening starts growing bigger and bigger from where there was once a wall and finally Y/n walks through the doorway.

Once in the room, Y/n looks around at the walls with an infinite illusion of blackness. Completely empty and void of any objects she quickly calls Lyla again.

"Lyla, show me everything. Every file, every piece of tech, everything in this room that's hidden." she folds her arms into a protective self hug.

Slowly the infinite void starts to fill up with furniture one pixel at a time. Bits of suites in the making, a Soldering Iron and a motherboard laying on a desk.

Digital monitors watching all corners of Neuve York. Among all the digital things was real paper pinned to a cork board.

Y/n walks up to it and gently runs her fingers across the red thread. Just like she'd seen in all those old detective movies. She followed the thread to each pin seeing alot of different news paper cutouts. Tyler Stone, Carnage and Proteus. All classic villans of the great hero Spiderman.

Y/n finally spoke after a long few minutes of stareing and thinking. "The fate of Nueva York rested on his shoulders. He broke bones, scarred muscle and almost lost his life numerous times! And these people barely bat an eye. His efforts for them, all of this for THEM!"

Y/n makes a sudden scratch across the cork board! Papers are sent flying and pins drop to the ground, red thread hooking onto Y/n's fingers. This was anger, deep and uncontrolled anger. She kept clawing at the board. Ripping everything off and to pieces not bothering to take a breath or stop. When the board was finally free of all it's pins and papers, Y/n stopped, out of breath and not bothering to flinch at the holes the pins left in her hands and fingers.

A few moments passed. Lyla took this opportunity to appear again. "Y/n, your hands will get infected. I suggest disinfectant, and ointment. Please."

Hearing Lyla's worried tone, she slowly looks up though the loose strands of hair. "Lyla, I'm sorry. I-I'm.." she trails off as the warmth of tears cover her red puffy face. She sinks to the ground, hands too heavy to lift. All she could do was cry. A messy bundle of black makeup, tangled hair and bleeding hands.

After her hands were bandaged up, she was sat in the secret lab in her home. Dressed in one of Miguel's shirts with a cup of strong coffee. She looked around once more, the suit on a mannequin. No blood on the holographic suit, Only a large gash of broken pixels on the chest.

She looks back at the monitors now streaming some camera footage of all dark ally's or known crime hot spots. Her ears perk when she hears two guys waking down a particularly dark street and talking.

"This Spiderman hasn't shown up in almost 3 days now! Absent punk is binging all hell back to the city!" says a man wearing an irish cap.

His friend with a cigarette between his lips snorts and agrees "Yeah! No kidding. Well, it's not like much changed, villains always came back after he supposedly 'saved the day'. What a waste."

Y/n look a deep breath and exhaled a growl, she tried staying calm, but the anger in her boiled up once again. Her eyes seemed to redden before she looked right at the holographic suit.

Y/n Aggressively Brings the mug down onto the table.

"Lyla! That suit can be shaped to any body type right?"

Lyla looks at Y/n, not sure what she's suggesting. "Yes, but it's still a little damaged."

Maybe it was a chuckle of anger that escaped from Y/n's rapid exhales and inhales, but this ushered her on to stand up quickly and walk right up to the much bigger suit.

"Let's change a few things then."

°°

The men on the street are still chatting the night away. Taking about how they could easily be the Hero! How that would get them all the girls and money.

The cigarette smoke from the man, drifts up past the harsh gleaming street light. This is where Y/n hid. Ontop of a streetlight, effortlessly balanced thanks to the suit she wore.

Atone to her figure, the suit was no longer fitted to Miguel's large shoulders. The large opening of pixels still remained on her chest right below the collar bone. But something was different, the once blue and red suit now flipped in color. A blue symbol for Spiderman and a fully scarlet body.

Listening, seething with anger. They undermine her husband so easily. In the moment she was ready to charge, to use a powerful blow against these pests who dare to complain.

But something stopped her dead in her tracks. A melody she recognized instantly.

A small song being played on a very old radio by someone down the dark ally by a dumpster fire. A song that was playing the night she and Miguel met.

She had been invited to a bar to celebrate a colleges promotion, still being relatively new, she didn't know alot of people from Alchemax.

The rain was falling onto the glass windows. The bar stood out among the white plastic and blue lined technologies of the future, because of its original wooden texture and orange lights. The bar's "vintage night" a mixture of music and drinks they used to use in the far past.

The band played vintage instruments, and there it started, a guitar solo with a slow pace.

One by one everyone went to slow dance, long time friends and colleagues laughing their way onto the dance floor.

Y/n watched from the corner of the bar, no drink in particular, just whatever the others got.

She looked down at her phone for just a second when thunder suddenly struck. She lost her grip and her phone went flying across the bar.

"¡Oye, míralo!" a voice exclaimed.

Y/n Quickly collected herself and rushed to her victim.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, the thunder caught me off guard!"

Her eyes land on the hand holding her phone and as soon as she grabs it she looks up into his eyes.

A very tall man with incredible build and intense stare. Brown, near red eyes looked down at her curiously before letting go of the phone.

Y/n brings the phone to her chest looking a little worried.

"Did it hit you?" she scans his face for any obvious brushes.

"No, I have really good reflexes." he finally speaks with a dark chocolate voice.

Y/n nods and reaches to put her phone in her bag.

"Again I'm very sorry-" The sentence gets caught in her throat before she could finish when another bolt of lightning strikes.

Miguel seems to notice her distress before delicately offering his hand.

"The music is louder on the dance floor. C'mon!"

A little taken a back Y/n smiles and takes hold of Miguel's hand.

Finally on the dance floor Miguel places his hand on her side and takes her other hand. She clears her throat awkwardly before placing her hand on his shoulder.

"First I throw you with my phone, now you have to inconvenience yourself with me."

He smirks at Y/n's remark and shakes his head quickly.

"Its really the opposite." they gently swing side to side with a respectable distance between them.

"I was actually looking for a dance partner to celebrate my promotion with."

Y/n looks back intro his eyes before finally feeling more at ease and smiles.

"Y/n L/n" she introduced herself.

"Miguel O'hara"

°°°

Finally being brought back to her scenes, Y/n looks back down at the men she was fully prepared to charge at.

Her breathing was rapid, eyes ready to bring down a thousand rain storms. She lifts her hand and the electric webbing shoots from her wrists.

Swiftly she lands on a rooftop but as soon as her feet connect to the ground her knees give way.

Finally she gives in to the waterfall pushing her eyelids and yanks the mask off her head. Messy mask hair and puffy wet eyes.

With the sunrise rising over the city, her cheeks gleam in the orange light.

"Miguel... How can I bring you back to me?" She whispered with barely enough energy to go above a whisper.

After some distant staring, her eyes get a flicker of an idea.

"The spider serum!"

#miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #my fic #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #spiderman atsv #spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099

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inkmonster21 · 4 months ago

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Let Me In

Series Masterlist

Heath Ledger Joker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: TDK Plot, SMUT

Rev Up Your Harley

💚🃏💜

The Joker settled in the back of the van, Johnny calmly at the wheel, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. You sat next to the Joker, brimming with anticipation, your eyes fixed on him as you eagerly waited for his next instructions.

The Joker looked up at the clock, then gave the command, "Go." Jonny nodded, his attention returning to the road as he sped off towards Gotham General Hospital, their destination in sight.

Jonny pulled the van up to the main entrance of the hospital, and you turned to the Joker, your eyes wide with disbelief. "You're walking in the front?" you asked, surprised.

The Joker smirked and patted your cheek affectionately, his voice dripping with sinister charm. "No, no, Harley," he replied, his words hanging in the air. "You are." The weight of his command hit you like a ton of bricks; you were about to go do his bidding.

There was a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through you as you braced yourself for the task at hand. The Joker's command rang in your ears, and you knew that there was no going back. Your compliance was sealed. "Whatever you say, Mr. J," you echoed, knowing that this was your destiny now.

Joker's grip on your arm was firm, his voice laced with urgency as he shoved a knife into the waistband of your pants. "Meet me at the back entrance," he instructed, his gaze meeting yours with a dangerous glint.

With a swift salute, you opened the doors. You stepped out of the back of the van, the wind blowing through your hair. The parking lot was alive, fully aware of the chaos that loomed. Your eyes narrowed, focusing, and you approached the front entrance.

Just as the Joker had predicted, you found it surprisingly easy to blend in and make your way through the bustling hospital. The staff and patients were too occupied to notice your presence, affording you a sense of anonymity and seamless entry.

You navigated through the hospital's labyrinthine corridors, making your way to the back entrance as instructed. Nurses and doctors rushed past, their attention focused on getting everyone out of the hospital, blissfully oblivious to your presence.

You stood near the door, waiting patiently for the hallway to clear. A few minutes later, the area was deserted, the sounds of the evacuation growing distant.

The moment you opened the door, the Joker pulled you close, his lips meeting yours in a passionate embrace. He pushed you against the wall, the intensity of the kiss leaving you breathless.

A smirk played on the Joker's lips as he looked at you, his grip on your chin firm yet affectionate. "Look at you, following orders so well," he purred, admiring your obedience.

You couldn't help but giggle at his words, the sound escaping your lips like a sweet melody. The Joker's smirk widened, relishing the sound of your laughter, enjoying the power he had over you.

He guided you down the hallway, your attention now shifting to his outfit. A small laugh escaped your lips, and you remarked, "I love your crocs, puddin. You look so cute!" The Joker chuckled at your words, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Really? You think I’m cute?" he asked, a bit of playfulness in his tone. “Absolutely,” you replied, grinning at him. “The cutest.”

He stopped in front of a door, a playful smirk on his face, before donning a ridiculous red wig, the fake bangs falling over his eyes. He struck a comically silly pose, making a face that caused you to burst into giggles again.

The door creaked open, revealing Harvey Dent's sleeping form, his face still bandaged up, lying in the hospital bed. The room was quiet, the only sounds being Dent's soft breathing and the occasional beeping sound of the monitors around him.

As Joker began to free Harvey's wrists from the bonds, the hospital room door opened unexpectedly, and a cop stepped in, “Ma’am, we have to move him now.”

In a swift move, you took a single step forward and lashed out with the large mallet clutched in your hands. With a resounding crack, you struck the cop squarely at the back of his head. The force of the blow made his body collapse to the ground, rendered unconscious with a single strike.

With a sense of morbid humor, you burst into a fit of giggles as you looked down at the unconscious cop on the floor. "He just got 'Hammer Time'd," you quipped, unable to contain your amusement.

Joker chuckled at your joke, a smirk spreading across his face, appreciating your dark sense of humor. "That was good."

As Joker settled into the chair beside Dent's bed, the medicated man slowly began to stir, consciousness gradually returning. His movements were sluggish, a testament to the effects of the medications coursing through his veins.

Dent's vision, still blurry and weary from the medication, focused on the figure sitting beside his bed. Initially, he seemed oblivious to the fact that it was the Joker, his mind still foggy.

As the clown removed the red wig, exposing his true identity, Dent's initial confusion quickly turned to panic. Awareness filled his eyes, and he began to thrash and struggle against the bonds that held him down.

Your laughter rang out, unable to hold back your amusement. You shook your head, incredulous at the situation. "Really?" you said, giggling. "You didn't recognize him until he took off the wig?"

Dent's eyes widened as he looked at you, recognition slowly dawning on his face. Despite his hazy mind, there was a hint of familiarity in his gaze, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen you before. It was obvious that he knew you but struggled to remember where from.

You let out a sharp whistle, saying with a playful smirk, "My eyes are up here." The Joker snapped his fingers at Harvey getting his attention. Joker's lips curled into a sly grin, his voice dripping with dark humor. "Hi," he replied, his tone laced with a hint of mockery.

The Joker let out a deep sigh, his words filled with a strange sense of contemplation, "I don't want any hard feelings between us, Harvey." He paused, running his fingers through his tousled hair, his expression momentarily betraying a hint of hesitation. "When you and..." He trailed off as if struggling to remember.

In a heart-wrenching moment, Dent screamed, "Rachel!" His voice was filled with anger and anguish, echoing through the room with raw emotion.

The Joker began to explain, his voice oddly calm. "Rachel... were being abducted," he said, "I was sitting in Gordon's cage," he added. "I didn't rig those charges," he clarified, his words filled with sincerity, and innocence.

Dent let out a scoff, his disbelief evident in his voice. "Your men. Your plan," he accused. The tension in the room grew thicker, and the weight of the situation hung heavily in the air as their conversation continued.

The Joker raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of intrigue and sarcasm. He spoke, "Do I really look like a guy with a plan?" The question hung in the air, challenging Dent's assumptions and presenting a different perspective.

The Joker chuckled, a dark smile playing on his lips as he answered, "I'm like a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do if I caught one. I just do things." The casual nonchalance in his voice belied the chaos and destruction he had caused in the past. It was a stark reminder that he was driven by nothing but the thrill of causing mayhem.

The Joker's gaze locked onto Dent, his words hanging in the air as he continued, "The mob, the cops, Maroni, Gordon - they're all schemers. Trying to control their little worlds," he sneered, a sinister edge to his words. "I'm not a schemer. I just try and show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are," the Joker reiterated, his voice dripping with a twisted sense of superiority.

The Joker's voice took on a more serious tone as he punctuated his words, "So when I say that you and your girlfriend was nothing personal, you know I'm telling the truth." His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the chaotic world in which they lived. The Joker's eyes gleamed with a dark intensity as he spoke, his gaze locked onto Dent as if daring him to contradict his words.

The Joker moved around the bed, working on Harvey's second restraint, his movements smooth and practiced. "It's the schemers who put you where you are," he said, his tone mocking and condescending. "You had plans, and look where that got you." As soon as the restraint was off, Harvey lashed out, grabbing the Joker in a fierce grip.

The Joker easily overpowered Harvey's feeble grasp, a smug smile creeping across his face as he continued talking, "I just did what I do best. I took your little plan and I turned it on itself," he sneered, his voice filled with arrogant satisfaction. "Look what I did to this city with a few drums of gas and a couple of bullets." The words were both a boast and a threat, a reminder of the mayhem he was capable of creating with minimal resources.

The Joker's gaze shifted, turning towards you, a sly smirk on his face. "Look what I did to Batman's little protege when I showed her the truth." Harvey's gaze shifted to you, and his voice held a hint of realization. "(y/n)…” he murmured, his eyes locked on you.

You scoffed, spitting out the words, "No, no. She’s gone. Batman killed her, Gordon killed her, The whole fucking city killed her!" Your voice was filled with anger and bitterness, the pain of your past wounds still raw and fresh.

You perched on the end of the bed, your feet swinging idly, a bitter smirk on your face as you spoke to Harvey. "Joker's not wrong, ya know? Wouldn't even kill what's left of ya to listen to him." Your words dripped with a twisted humor.

The Joker's smirk widened as he continued, "Nobody panics when things go according to plan, even if the plan is horrifying." He paused briefly, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. "If I tell the press that tomorrow a gangbanger will get shot, or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics, because it's all part of the plan. But when I say that one little old mayor will die, everybody loses their minds!"

The Joker pulls out a revolver from his coat pocket, the motion deliberate and calculated as he pushes it into Harvey's hand, “Introduce a little anarchy.”

Then, slowly, Joker placed his own head against the barrel of the gun, his expression calm and unflinching. This was a display of power and dominance, a game he was all too eager to play.

Your heart tightened in your chest as the scenario played out before you. The thought of the Joker dying, of him leaving you alone, was something you couldn't bear. If the Joker were to die... you’d follow.

The Joker leaned closer, his finger pointed at Harvey as he spoke, "You upset the established order and everything becomes chaos," there was a glint of twisted delight in his eyes. "I'm an agent of chaos. And you know the thing about chaos, Harvey?"

The Joker's smirk widened, a sadistic gleam in his eyes, "It’s fair." The word hung in the air, the twisted philosophy behind it clear. Harvey looked into the Joker's eyes, a hint of understanding passing between them. His hand clenched around a coin, and he turned it over, feeling its weight in his hand. Dent then held up the coin, showing the good side to the Joker.

Dent spoke firmly, his voice filled with conviction, "You live." With a flick of his hand, he flipped the coin, its burnt side facing up. "You die." The Joker smiled, knowing that fate was now in the hands of chance, and the outcome would be irreversible, “now we’re talking.”

The Joker glanced at you, taking note of your eager smile, hand on your own pistol. It was clear that you were ready to follow him no matter the outcome. Such a romantic gesture.

Dent flings the coin into the air and catches it, a moment of tense anticipation hanging in the air. As he looks at the upside, the Joker's smirk widens, his confidence palpable.

There was a brief moment of suspense as the coin was in the air, but as it landed on the good side, Dent shoved the Joker away, his words betraying him. "It's your lucky day." Against all odds, the Joker had been spared death.

The Joker stumbled back, a wicked grin, a smirk stretching wide across his face like a circus tent. "Lucky day, indeed," he said, his voice edged with a mix of relief and dark amusement.

Dent's departure was filled with determination and a hint of sadistic intent, his steps purposeful as he left the hospital. You watched him go, feeling a mix of pride and trepidation for what he was about to do.

The Joker placed an arm over your shoulder, his voice dripping with mock sentimentality. "They grow up so fast," he remarked a hint of mockery in his tone. His eyes drifted towards the exit where Dent had just departed, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You walked beside him, joining in on the humor. "I know, right? I want three more!" you replied, a hint of excitement in your voice as you played along with his dark quip.

The Joker chuckled and spun you out down the empty hallway, a surprising gracefulness to his movements. It was a brief moment of joy, a glimpse of playfulness amidst the mayhem that he usually brought.

You and the Joker gripped each other's hands tightly as flames danced behind you, the sound of the explosions echoing in your ears. The hospital hallways became a canvas of chaos and destruction, a masterpiece of mayhem that only the two of you had the privilege of witnessing.

You and Joker exited the hospital, a wide grin plastered across each of your faces as explosions rocked the building behind you. It was a scene of utter chaos, and it was like music to your ears.

Citizens outside the hospital were in a state of panic, many of them screaming and taking cover. The scene was absolute pandemonium, with people running for their lives as the hospital continued to crumble behind you.

The look of confusion on the Joker's face was priceless as he repeatedly pressed the button, only to see that the rest of the bombs hadn't detonated. You looked at the device, trying to figure out the cause of the delay, when suddenly, the rest of the bombs went off simultaneously, causing a series of loud booms that echoed through the streets once more.

The Joker pulled you onto the back of a bus as the last of the explosions rocked the area. You clung to him tightly, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The chaotic destruction that they had just unleashed was a rush, a thrill, unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

The bus roared to life and took off down the street, the sounds of chaos fading into the distance. The streets were in chaos, fire and smoke billowing everywhere, people running and screaming. But you and the Joker sat on the back of the bus, safe from harm, and relishing in the chaos they had created. You were both intoxicated with the excitement.

You sat on the floor amidst the chaos of the building, the twisted sight of the news anchor bound upside down hanging before you. You couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as you went to work on his face, a sadistic smile beginning to spread across it. The news anchor could only watch helplessly as you worked, his expression a mix of terror and helplessness.

The desperation in the man's voice was palpable as he pleaded, "Please, let me go," his words echoing through the room. But the Joker merely chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the man's predicament.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the man's fidgeting, his attempts to free himself only serving to mess up the paint on his face. "Stop moving!" you snapped, a hint of annoyance in your tone. "You're messing it up!"

The man's words rang out, a desperate plea, "Please. I-I have a daughter." There was a flicker of vulnerability in his voice, a hint of human emotion. You fixed your gaze directly into his eyes, feigning concern, and inquired softly, "What's her name?"

The man's eyes widened at your question, a surprised look crossing his face. He hesitated for a moment before reluctantly answering, "Emma..."

You smiled, gently patting his face as you began applying makeup again, and inquired with a hint of curiosity, "Do you drink?" The man's expression softened ever so slightly, a hint of resignation in his eyes. "Yes," he admitted, "I-I do drink."

You nod with a smile, “well then let me tell you some good news for Emma.” You gripped the man’s hair tightly, “She’ll be better off without a father who drinks himself to sleep.” His face twisted in pain as you pushed him away. You stood up, a sadistic smile plastered across your face.

The Joker smiled, the glint of pride in his eyes growing ever stronger. "You did good," he said, patting you on the bottom as you walked away. You took a seat and watched as the Joker resumed his performance, the madness and chaos that he brought was a sight to behold.

He handed a paper to the anchor man, “Read this, word for word. I uh don’t like retakes so let’s do it in one,” he smirked, “or I’ll let Harley there use you to practice her swing.”

The anchor man nodded quickly, his hands shaking as he took the paper. He knew that any hint of resistance or hesitation would lead to dire consequences, so he took a deep breath and prepared to read. The Joker stood with a camera in hand, giving the signal with a firm command, "Action!"

The anchor man swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously to the camera. As the anchor man read from the paper, his voice grew more and more unsteady. His fear was evident, and the words trembled as they left his mouth, "What does it take to make you people want to join in...? You failed to kill the lawyer . . . I've got to get you off the bench and into the game. So, here it is. . .”

The anchor man continued to read, his voice growing weaker by the moment. The seriousness in the Joker's words was not lost on the anchor man, and his anxiety only grew with each word: "Come nightfall, this city is mine, and anyone left here plays by my rules. If you don't want to be in the game, then get out now."

The anchor man finished reading the last line, his voice shaking and faltering with every word: "But the bridge -and- tunnel crowd is in for a surprise. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha."

The Joker's laughter filled the room, his cackles echoing off the walls as he turned the camera back towards himself. Your smile widened as you waved from behind the camera, enjoying his performance.

The Joker continued to laugh uncontrollably, the glee in his eyes growing as each second passed. This was his moment, his time to cause chaos and revel in it.

His footsteps were unhurried and purposeful as he walked towards you, his gaze never leaving your face. Your fingertips danced lightly over his chest, toying with the buttons of his vest as you looked up at him with a sultry gaze. He leaned in closer, savoring the touch of your hand against his chest, his gaze growing heavy with desire.

You raised an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you leaned closer, whispering suggestively, "Don't you think we could go somewhere? Just for 15 minutes?"

The Joker let out a low chuckle, a smirk playing across his lips. "Just for 15 minutes?" he repeated, his words heavy with innuendo. He leaned in closer, his hand gently brushing against your waist.

You shrugged nonchalantly, a confident smirk playing on your face as you replied with a hint of sauciness, "I mean, I really only need two."

The Joker looked around, his mind buzzing with a million things that needed to be done. But with you by his side, all he could think about was how he needed to have you. He was torn - caught between his chaotic plans and his desire for you, a twisted battle within him. He groaned, his frustration evident in the sound, his body coiled with tension.

You smirked mischievously and tugged at his vest, your voice dripping with seductive playfulness as you asked with a hint of suggestion, "Come on, puddin'. Don't you wanna rev up your Harley?"

His expression shifted to a grin as he grabbed your arm, slinging you forward with a rough affection. "Lead the way, dollface," he repeated, a hint of mock obedience in his tone. He knew he would be taking the lead soon enough, but he enjoyed the thrill of the chase.

The stairs creak under your feet as you climb to a separate floor, the cold concrete biting through your shoes. You checked behind you every few seconds to smile at Joker.

You push him against a half-built wall, your hands already tearing at his belt. His laugh is low and rough, a sound that sends shivers down your spine, “Eager, aren’t you?” he teases, but he’s just as frantic, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. His lips crash against yours, hungry and desperate, his tongue demanding entry. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him tighter.

You’re both reckless, your kisses sloppy and wild, your hands roaming everywhere at once. He lifts you, pressing you against the rough concrete, and you wrap your legs around him, your moans echoing in the space. His face paint smears against your skin, but you don’t care. It’s part of him, part of this chaos. You’re made for each other—this raw, unfiltered need.

His hands slide down your body, rough and urgent, his fingers digging into your thighs. You arch against him, your nails scratching down his back. You’re both panting, shedding only the necessary articles of clothing, your bodies colliding with a passion that feels like it could shatter the unfinished walls around you. He slides his hand between your legs, his fingers finding your wetness, and you gasp, your head falling back. “You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice a dark whisper.

“I always am, J,” you reply, your voice hoarse with need. He lifts you higher, his throbbing cock pressing against your core, and you whimper, desperate for him.

Your hands gripping his shoulders. He smirks, that red smile wicked in the dim light, and slides inside you in one swift thrust. You cry out, the sensation is overwhelming, his cock filling you completely.

You move like a storm, frantic and fierce, your bodies slamming together with a rhythm that’s both chaotic and perfect. The sound of skin on skin fills the space, your moans and his rough grunts the only soundtrack. You’re lost in each other, the world outside ceasing to exist.

He pounds into you relentlessly, his hands gripping your ass, holding you tight against him. You meet his thrusts, your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails digging into his skin.

“Harder,” you beg, your voice a desperate plea. He complies, his movements brutal and primal, his cock driving deep inside you. You’re close, so close, your orgasm building like a storm on the horizon. “J, I’m—“ You can’t finish the sentence, your words lost in a moan as your body tightens around him. He growls, his own release nearing, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“Cum with me, dollface,” he commands, his voice a dark promise. You climax together, your bodies shaking, your cries echoing in the space. Your juices spill around him, mixing with his as he fills you, his cock pulsing deep inside you. You hold each other, breathless and trembling, your hearts pounding in sync.

He pulls out slowly, his eyes meeting yours, that red smile softening just a touch, “You’re insane,” he says, his voice almost tender.

“And you love it,” you reply, your lips curving into a smirk. You didn’t realize what you’d said until after you’d said it. A silence engulfed the room as he stared at you, his gaze intense and fixed on your face.

You became visibly nervous, stumbling over your words as you attempted to downplay the moment. "I was just-" But before you could finish, the Joker raised a silencing hand, interrupting you with a firm command, "Shh. Just. Stop."

You stand there for a moment, your bodies still buzzing with the aftermath, the dust settling around you. Joker grabbed your chin, swallowing hard, “If I uh get caught. You run. You get out of here. Got it?” You go to argue, but he places his hand over your mouth. “Understand?” He asks lowly. You nodded slowly, your eyes still locked on his face as you held back any further attempts to speak.

He fixed his gaze on you once again, a hint of seriousness in his eyes as he stated firmly, "I do, ya know that, right? You'd be stupid not to."

You look at him and see it clear in his eyes. He’d never said it. Never the words. But he’d always show it in his twisted gestures.

You cling to him. He was everything to you. He was all you had made all you would ever need. You bury your face into his neck, breathing him in, “I love you, Jack.” He wraps his arms around you and hesitates. He stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head.

#joker x fem!reader #tdk joker x reader #joker x reader #the dark knight joker #tdk joker #heath ledger joker x reader #ledger joker x reader #dc joker #joker #heath ledger joker #the dark knight 2008

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inspectorheath · 2 months ago

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@detective-fez

(Previous) Fez was up late yet again like clockwork. He’d been at the computer for an hour or more, which didn’t faze him, that’s what he preferred when he had time to herself, and his chunky monitor back home made him used to the harsh blue light that stung his eye welcomely. It was ghost-quiet, with only his fingers tapping each key snappily once in a blue moon to break the silence. He scanned through folders of countless watchdogs, searching but coming up blank in a few places. They laid back in the creaky chair of the file room, bringing his digits up to scratch his head. Then, once he heard the door open and the light switch hitch he tilted his head back to find Heath. He grinned widely and gave a delighted wave to her. “Oh, hello Mrs. Patty!” He greeted, using his heel to spin his seat around. “How’s it going? I didn’t expect you to be here so late.” He slouched. He was bizarrely unaffected by staying awake.

“Eh, I’m up when I’m up. Not even sure I have a twenty-four hour sleep cycle at this point.” Patty looked over Fez’ shoulder while she chatted.

Then she paused to examine why that nickname felt off. Maybe it was because she liked her title. Maybe it was because most of the honorific-first name people she heard of were school teachers.

Now that she thought about it, Fez’ name had that format. Although detective certainly had a different air to it than the default titles.

After a bit she said, “You can stick to Inspector, Inspector Heath, Heath, Patty, or Pat. But Mrs. Patty just..,” She rolled her wrist as she picked out the right words to explain it,

“Well, doesn’t sound much like me, y’know? Kinda sorta like Patricia. Like some girly-girl elementary teacher pushing retirement who may end up pushing daisies first if she doesn’t sit her ass down soon.”

#After Hours Chat #detectivefez

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covid-safer-hotties · 11 months ago

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Covid cases still rising and could go higher later in the summer, scientists warn - Published Aug 5, 2024

Covid cases are close to their highest level for more than a year after numbers started rising again, new figures indicate.

Scientists are warning, however, that they are likely to go even higher in late summer and early Autumn as people return from the Olympics and the school year resumes.

The latest government figures suggest that Covid infections rose by approximately 2 per cent in the week to Sunday 28 July as the proportion of people in England with symptoms testing for the virus in hospitals rose from 12.2 per cent to 12.4 per cent, according to the UK Heath Security Agency (UKHSA).

This is the second highest level in more than a year, just behind the 13.2 per cent figure recorded a fortnight earlier, on 14 July.

The proportion testing positive dipped slightly following that high before rising again the following week.

Although the data is for England, Covid levels have been broadly similar across the UK throughout while separate wastewater monitoring in Scotland also indicates “an enormous July spike” scientists say.

The current elevated levels of Covid infections are driven by waning immunity built up from vaccines and previous infections, lower uptake of the spring booster among eligible groups and the continuing spread of so-called FLiRT variants.

Scientists cautioned that these figures cannot be taken as a precise estimate for the level of Covid in the general population.

However, they say these ‘positivity rate’ figures are the best indicator of trends we have for the virus more generally across the UK after the government stopped the Winter Infection survey in mid March.

And they point out that estimates of Covid prevalence based on tests taken by the general population are increasingly unreliable as testing rates have halved since January and were far below peak levels even then.

“This third Covid wave of 2024 tells us once again that this virus remains entirely unpredictable and shows no sign of slowing down,” Professor Steve Griffin, of Leeds University, told i.

“The scale of infection, though difficult to tell, seems at least as bad as the winter peak, and could be even higher according to waste water monitoring in Scotland.”

Covid hospital admissions, meanwhile – another key indicator of the virus – decreased slightly to 4.24 per 100,000 in the week to 28 July, compared with 4.69 per 100,000 in the previous week.

As an indicator of prevalence, hospitalisations typically give a picture of infection levels a few weeks earlier than admittance as that is the length of time it typically takes for the infection to become serious.

Experts said the small increase in cases last week suggests infections are stabilising but they warned that levels remain high and that they could well start to rise more sharply in the coming weeks.

Read the rest at either link! (CovidSafeHotties skips the distracting in-text ads, if that's your bag.)

#covid #mask up #pandemic #covid 19 #wear a mask #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #still coviding #public health #wear a respirator

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lupa-von-wolf · 1 year ago

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I very rarely make serious posts on here, but this is a very serious one, and I need it to be shared as quickly as possible.

Friday, June 28th, the US Supreme Court overturned Chevron. What this means is that the Supreme Court will now have ANY and ALL power over any decision that has any generalizations that has come through congress. Previously this has been delegated to federal agencies that specialize in these generalizations, such as the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), the Occupational Heath and Savety Administration (OSHA), the Federal Avian Administration (FAA), just to name a few.

Previously, the levels of harmful objects found in food, such as rat droppings or pesticides, were monitored and maintained by the FDA, going forward it will be up to the Supreme Court to decide what these levels will be.

And this is only exacerbated by the fact that the Supreme Court has also made it legal to bribe them into deciding in your favor (as long as the "tip" comes after the decision). They've made it legal to be bought by corporations so they can turn a blind eye to the safety hazards that they'll be allowing.

The vote for overturning Chevron AND the "tipping" decision were both 6-3, with all 6 conservative justices voting in tandem, 3 of which were appointed by Trump during his presidency.

This election is more important than just "I'm going to show how I feel about the state of things by not voting." Rights and safeties are deteriorating before our very eyes.

Trans people are going to be forcefully detransitioned, and in the state of Florida, the state officials can rip apart families if *anyone* in the house is trans. Being trans in the state of Florida, if there are children present, is considered a sex crime, which can be punishable by execution. Trump has already stated that he wants to eliminate term limits if he wins again, and make it so he can't be removed from office. He wants to force the country into a theocracy and is complete against abortions, no matter what, including loss of life, ectopic pregnancies, or impregnation by rape or incest.

Refusing to vote, or choosing to vote for Kennedy is choosing to vote for genocide. It's choosing to vote for Trump, because we all know each and every one of his cultists is showing up. It's choosing to vote for the death and annihilation of your friends, your family, and America.

Yes, Biden is fucking terrible. But he's not Trump.

#election #election 2024 #vote biden #president biden #fuck trump #traitor trump #fuck biden too #stop the genocide #usa is a terrorist state #trump is a threat to democracy

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halfincontextmagic · 6 months ago

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Event Story: The Crimson ribbon for Désir | CH3

SHYLOCK — There aren’t only people who can answer immediately when asked “what do you want”, in this world.

If it’s someone reserved, then all the more so.

It may not be an easy task for one to face their own feelings, or to put them into words.

However, if there comes a chance to come in contact with someone’s wish….

That may be the moment they come to discern the outline of their desire, just like a series of ripples on the surface of water.

Why not cherish the time you spend choosing a gift while enjoying the stimulation you get from the outside, while you do so?

With you and Heathcliff, the two of you together.

SHINO — ………….

Gotcha. I’ll invite Heath later.

AKIRA — Um, Rustica. If it’s alright, can I also go to that exhibition?

MITILE — Ah, and if possible, me too…!

And…If it’s fine with you, Shino, I would like to help you look for what Heathcliff wants.

SHINO — You sure?

MITILE — Yes!

Because… I also understand the feeling of wanting my most beloved friend to be the happiest from receiving a gift from me.

SHINO — Mitile… Thanks.

MITILE — Ehehe, you’re welcome!

RUSTICA — Then Sir Sage and Mitile are also coming with us. The card said it’s fine for anyone to join in as well, so I am sure the organizer himself would be delighted too.

Oh, yes. If it’s alright, would you like to also come along, Bradley?

BRADLEY — Me too?

RUSTICA — The organizer is my and Chloe’s friend. He is a very knowledgeable person with a superb sense of aesthetic, you see.

If he is the one organizing this exhibition, I think there definitely would be something that would catch your eye.

BRADLEY — Ooh, if the bridegroom says so, then that guy’s sense must be something.

But dontcha got guts, huh, inviting a bandit to that. Don’t blame me if I steal anything!

RUSTICA — Ahaha. That would be a problem.

AKIRA — That’s—It’d be great if you didn’t…!

MITILE — That’s right! It’s bad to steal!

SHINO — If you’re gonna do it, at least do it in a way so you don’t get caught. It’ll create problems for us.

SHYLOCK — Fufu, would you be able to get away with it under our watch, I wonder?

RUSTICA — Competing with someone as skilled as Bradley would make my heart race.

AKIRA — Everyone!? Please go with the assumption that stealing won’t happen…!

A few days later—.

We brought our feet to the City of Wealth, where the exhibition was being carried out.

BRADLEY — Hey. Why’s the geezer here too.

SNOW — I couldn’t just let you roam free after hearing about you maybe planning on committing mischief, could I. I am here to monitor you. It’s monitoring.

RUSTICA — I am the one who invited Sir Snow. I thought it would be a great idea to invite everyone present on the day of the snow fight, while we were at it!

SHINO — It’s just as cold today as it was on that day. Feels like it might start snowing anytime.

AKIRA — Thank god Chloe’s clothes are so warm. The red coats and vests suit everyone very well!

MITILE — Ehehe…. The dress-code being ‘red’ feels kind of adult-like.

Don’t I feel a little bit more like a young man today, compared to other days?

BRADLEY — You getting excited over something like this means you ‘still a kid for a while.

SHYLOCK — ‘Red’ is the color of desire…. If you wish to dye in its color to grow closer to the adult, I will teach you how to, Mitile.

MITILE — Huh!? Th—That’s still a bit early, maybe….

SNOW — Additionally to the red hue, the decorating ribbons also make these the perfect things to wear to this exhibition.

RUSTICA — Indeed, I am very much feeling like I became a gift myself.

Chloe, will you receive me?

CHLOE — Ahaha! Of course, with pleasure.

Wait, we have to hurry to the exhibition hall! It’s almost time and Rustica overslept so we’re really tight.

RUSTICA — Oh, that’s right.

HEATHCLIFF — …Ah, there is a signboard right next to the café over there. Isn’t that the exhibition’s? That must be where the hall is.

I wonder what a gifts exhibition looks like. I can’t really imagine it.

SHINO — You’ll know when you’re inside. There, let’s go. Heath.

HEATHCLIFF — Whoa. Don’t pull me so much.

We walked in after Shino and Heathcliff at different paces.

That day, Shino had invited Heathcliff the moment he’d come back to the dining hall.

For a split moment, Heathcliff looked like he was about to ask about it but….

Maybe he’d noticed something in the depths of Shino’s irises, he’d promptly decided to nod: “I would like to go too”.

AKIRA — (I hope he can find it…. A present that would make Heath happy.)

CHLOE・MITILE — Woow…!

The moment we stepped into the hall, it was as though we were in the middle of a wintry forest.

Garlands of snowflakes were stringing between the trees draped in white, glittering brightly.

The dim, transparent lights enveloping us felt just like the winter sun.

And at the center of this forest, sat a mountain of presents.

AKIRA — Amazing…. There are so many present boxes they’re about to reach the ceiling.

SHYLOCK — My, what a spectacular view.

??? — Those over there, are the displayed goods of this exhibition.

When I turned around to the husky voice, a humble senior—a man from whom kindness was emanating, stood there.

He seemed to be around Mr. Vincent’s age.

He had a refined appearance, with striking, slightly droopy blue eyes and blonde hair, and a thin silhouette.

AKIRA — (What a beautiful person. I feel like, if Heath aged, maybe he’d look kind of like this.)

RUSTICA — Hi there, Klaus. Thank you for inviting us over, today.

CHLOE — It’s the second meeting for me and Rustica, right. Have you been doing well?¹

KLAUS — Thanks to you. I’d been looking forward to the day we would reunite.

BRADLEY — Ah? The second meeting?

MITILE — Aren’t the three of you friends?

RUSTICA — Yes, we are friends. The other day, we had a fateful meeting at an antique shop, you see.

KLAUS — We placed our hands on an antique ribbon simultaneously and these two kindly let me have it.

CHLOE — And from there, the conversation was just flowing on its own! We became friends right away.

SHINO — In Eastern Country, we’d call that an acquaintance.

RUSTICA — Is that so? I think the feeling of wanting to get closer to the other would already make us friends, however.

KLAUS — It’s an honor to be told as such by people like Sir Rustica and Chloe.

I used the ribbon the two of you let me have to wrap these gifts, you know.

CHLOE — Ah, so it’s just as I thought!?

I was just thinking “oh, the texture feels similar~”.

RUSTICA — By the way, Klaus, if I recall correctly you had also bought off a white canvas from that shop, hadn’t you?

KLAUS — …Yes. That canvas is also part of the goods on display. Please feel free to take it into your hands, later.

SNOW — A canvas, you say? There is none to be seen, though.

KLAUS — Oh…My apologies for that. Let me explain the concept of this exhibition to you.

Mr. Klaus directed a gentle smile towards us and started talking about the exhibition.

KLAUS — This hall was made with the idea of a pure white natural scenery that cannot be found in the Western Country.

And within this unusual, pure and peaceful space, the one that emits the strongest impression is that mountain of presents….

While I traveled to many places, I gathered things that were ostensibly gifted from someone to another and wrapped them one by one.

AKIRA — So there are presents in there….

HEATHCLIFF — It must have been difficult to gather this many.

MITILE — Um, Mr. Klaus. How do you gather presents that were given to people that weren’t yourself?

KLAUS — There are many ways to do that. For instance, an item said to be a great person’s gift to their friend….

Others are gifts I borrowed for the exhibition, when my friends shared deeply touching anecdotes surrounding them.²

SHYLOCK — I see. Then once again, we’ll have to be extremely careful while handling the displayed items.

BRADLEY — Borrowing, buying, exhibiting…. ‘Sounds so tedious.

Nothing new but are there nothing but eccentrics in the West.

SHYLOCK・CHLOE・RUSTICA — Your praise is an honor.

BRADLEY — I wasn’t praising you.

SHINO — But if you wrap them, we can’t see the gifts that are the main point of this. Why did you put them in boxes?

KLAUS — I would like everyone to undo those wrappings. Just like you would if you’d received a present.

MITILE — Huh? Is that alright?

KLAUS — Of course. Please feel free to pick whatever fancies you, open it, and look inside.

This exhibition is open to one group of people per day. After you’ve unwrapped and opened gifts and returned, I will wrap them again.

SHYLOCK — I see. So we can experience the joy of opening presents.

CHLOE — That sounds fun! I’m so excited!

KLAUS — Who gifted them, with what kind of feelings, to whom? What kind of desires lie within those?….

Please let your imagination run freely and tell me about your thoughts, within this tranquil forest, disturbed by none.

TL/n: chapter 3, we're getting close to where the real fun starts!

everytime klaus speaks and i have to tl that i am overtaken by the urge to bang my head against my desk

¹ Chloe says 二度目まして (nidomemashite), which is a commonly used wordplay mashing 'hajimemashite' (nice to meet you, or literal: first time we meet) and 'nidome' (second time). Bradley then repeats that in a tone of "wdym nidomemashite". I couldn't think of any better way to translate this without losing that in the tl so i decided to make a note for it

² the original sentence goes like this: "I listened to anecdotes of gifts from friends, those that made me feel touched, I borrowed them for the exhibition." (this line alone put me through so much lol)

Klaus uses the word 知人, which could either be "friend" or "close aquaintance", and I opted for "friend" since that's a westie right there weirding out all non-westies with him calling people "friends" immediately lmaoo

←CH2 CH4→

↞CH1 CH10↠

✧INDEX✧

#mhyktl #mhyk #shylock bennett #shino sherwood #bradley bain #heathcliff blanchett #translation #mhyk snow #rustica ferch #chloe collins #akira masaki #mitile flores #event story #mahoyaku

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where-is-soldiersam · 30 days ago

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@detective-fez

(prev) Fez felt shitty, then raised his lid at the door, he was about to fling himself at it until Amy spun back. He listened to her and as she spoke his eye widened. “Your priest?!” He asked, aghast. All that humoring himself came back to haunt him, his head spun with horrible thoughts of what could happen. He smoothed down his trench coat with trembling hands and felt the blaster from a few days ago which reminded him he was in control of this situation. He sighed “Ah, I mean uh- yeah. Okay.” He breathed. “Yeah, sure.”

Amy gave Fez a weird look before remembering any outsider would probably have that reaction to the prospect of meeting an evil cult priest. And yeah, Amy knew going to see Mike first was an awful idea, but she figured it’d be sooner or later before he and Fez met anyways, so might as well get it out of the way with the hopes he won’t totally obstruct their search for clues.

As Amy turned toward the wall, she caught sight of Fez patting down his trench coat and immediately understood the implications. She supposed she was glad to know he was smart enough to come armed. She then knelt down and pushed a panel on the wall, which in turn pushed back out so she could remove it. She crawled into the hole which led into a narrow tunnel, assuming Fez would follow after.

Indeed the narrow tunnel led to the vestry, where Reverend Mike was monitoring some security feeds on his laptop. He was waiting. The past few days he’d been keeping a close eye on Amy, and on her online activity, too. He knew she’d been corresponding with a detective. He wanted to be the first to speak with him when she inevitably dragged him to the Glornch. Mike would’ve had no qualms with simply doing away with any gumshoe who stepped into the Glornch, but he’d also done a deep dive on this Fez fellow’s blog and had a sneaking suspicion he had ties to Heath. The last thing he wanted to do was to draw her attention.

As Reverend Mike heard the two draw closer in the secret tunnel, he closed the security feed windows, opened a document of sermon notes, and turned around in his chair with a faux-surprised look on his face just as Amy and Fez entered through a door styled as a bookshelf.

The vestry was lavishly decorated with fancy paintings, display garments, and decorative weapons on the red walls. There were many wardrobes and shelves. All of the furniture was made from fine dark wood. In the middle was a desk where the priest sat. He was sharply dressed in a cassock and thin-framed glass. His eyelid seemed to droop in a perpetual expression of concern.

"Hey Rev," Amy flatly greeted with a half-hearted bow. "Someone locked the fuckin' main doors on me. Anyway I'd like you to meet my, uh, Glorble study s-student..." She awkwardly gestured to Fez.

Reverend Mike had a clear look of doubt on his face as he eyed the detective, but soon gave him a polite smile.

#detective fez #amy #the investigation #long post #reverend mike

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dearreader · 1 year ago

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hello fellow members of the tortured poets department.

today i enter into evidence so long, london and analyze it.

previous days: fortnight, THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT, my boy only breaks his favorite toys, down bad

oh… where to start.

so long, london is a song we’ve all discussed and talked about so much (because it’s so beautiful and heartbreaking) so most of what i’ll say might be redundant. but i still have stuff to say.

the song is done with so much intent to not only connect it heavily back to songs on reputation/lover/midnights etc. but also to really show just how much work taylor was putting in over the years and give hints into what led the relationship to ending.

the opening sound like the echos of church bells that you’d hear on a wedding day because she was left waiting at the alter for him to follow through on his promises and prove he loved her… similar to the reimagining taylor did of her life in its nice to have a friend where it ends with her being carried home from the wedding by him (and since that was a reimagining it can almost now be interpreted as a dream she was telling herself as she waited because she expected the end to be real but maybe none of it actually was).

the repeating of “so long, london” as if she’s telling not only him but herself, over and over, that it’s over… like they’d called it off before but he came back so all the past goodbyes are coming forth all at once

of course the repetitiveness being similar to the opening of death by a thousand cuts with “my” where in that song she would list parts of her he had touched so it felt like she just kept saying my over and over describing the loss. and with how taylor left all she knew for this place and made a new life here it would be like he touched every aspect of her life.

and even the first official line of the song reaffirms the idea of taylor picturing the future of past to get through the present

“i saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist/i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift/pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away”

fairy lights here can represent two things:

a bright warm and safe future. like in christmas tree farm where taylor closes her eyes and is taken away from the stresses of the modern world and imaging a cozy christmas with her lover surrounded by fairy lights or the christmas we see in the lover music video with the future of her lover and her with their child. so even through the worst moments where doubt was clouding her mind and worries for the future she just kept thinking if that warm bright future and kept trying to fix their issues while he was pulling back or glancing at others and possibly cheating on her. she just kept their future in her mind to keep pushing through the now

it’s another reference to how she constantly rewrote and looked back on how the beginning was to get through now. that he may be pulling away but he came in on a white horse with the winds of fate and he’d come back around if she kept trying. she just kept reminding herself of their love in its purist form before it started to die so she could keep trying to revive it

another interesting line connection i can’t stop thinking of is “stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped drying to drill the safe”//“stealing hearts/and running off/and never saying sorry” because taylor was doing everything to get his heart because he had stolen hers but he wouldn’t let her in to either let him love her or help him. also with cowboy like me in mind this hits hard because taylor saw herself in him and that’s why they could work and fall in love together… but he was the conman who didn’t leave his boots underneath her bed.

another one being taylor saying “i left all i knew/you left me at the house by the heath” because not only did she runaway with him but she left her country and old life behind. being an incredibly public celebrity who had her life monitored constantly to a life of complete solitude and finding different ways to get around together without being seen to not draw attention to them. this hurts harder when she says “and im just getting color back into my face/im just mad as hell cause i loved this place”. she is using london the place as a metaphor for him as she was living in his world for years and she did it because she really loved him. she would’ve stayed forever if he’d been there but he never came back…

and i’ll lastly touch on the boat line that i mentioned yesterday in down bad’s post. “and you say that i abandoned the ship/but i was going down with it/my white knuckle dying grip/holding tight to you’re quiet resentment.” this line feels like it’s referencing titanic, where rose was with jack until the end, even as the ship sank deep into the water and and was floating on a door that could only fit one and lost her love. it feels like taylor was on the boat until the very end and with the added line, didn’t even give up on it until she was taken away by someone else. who then kicked her off his ship and her waving desperately for him to come back but he left her alone to.

this song has so much more that i can’t touch on cause it’s so straight forward that i just say it and you know as well as just being an all around masterful song. it’s a truly gut wrenching track five. and with taylor’s monotone singing where she just sounds deflated and defeated through out it. just everything about it was done so perfectly and i can’t explain anymore without it being over kill cause like… yeah you get it when she says two graves one gun or saying she was the odd man out in her own lovers life. like even some stuff i said here is so straightforward i don’t need to add more cause you get it. its plain and straightforward cause at the end everything was so obvious to her.

list of parallels that i didn’t elaborate on/plan to elaborate on in the future:

“fighting in only your army/front lines/don’t you ignore me”//“my spine split from carrying us up the hill/wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill”//“i just don’t understand/how you don’t miss me in the shower/and remember how my rain-soaked body was shaking”

“is this the end of all the endings?/my broken bones are mending/with all these nights we’re spending”//“i think there’s been a glitch/five seconds later im fastin’ my self to you with a stitch”//“for so long, london/stitches undone”

“and the old widow goes to the stone everyday/but i don’t, i just sit here and wait/grieving for the living”//“you swore you loved me/but where were the clues?i died at the alter waiting for the proof”

“i can’t find a pulse/my heart won’t start anymore/for you”//“i stopped cpr. after all it’s no use/the spirit was gone. we would never come to”//“and my friends said it isn’t right to be scared/everyday of a love affair/every breath feels like rarest air/when your not sure if he wants to be there”

#kelly babels #so long london #ttpdminutes #song analysis #taylor swift #the tortured poets department

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hayleythecannibal · 8 months ago

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TWISTED MINDS: Act III- Chapter Twenty-Eight Primavera

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Implied Death, Death, Cannibalism, Guns, Mental Heath, Pregnancy, Talks of tragic loss

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter @dilfdemolisher

Twisted Minds Masterlist

HOSPITAL - WILL GRAHAM'S ROOM - DAY-

WILL GRAHAM'S EYES Slowly flutter open. He gasps, wincing as he draws air into his rib cage. He takes in his surroundings to find he is… A hospital bed holds him. Glowing monitors flank him. His abdomen is freshly bandaged and stitched.

His eye finds a WALL CLOCK. In his shifting, blurring vision, the numbers sag and drift onto the wall. Will stares a moment -- until the minute hand CLICKS. Time is passing and will continue to pass. This is no fiction of his mind. He gazes over at a Sleeping Y/N, One hand on a small bump and another holding his.

A FIGURE Until now unseen, moves at the foot of Will's hospital bed. A DOCTOR Inspecting Will's chart. He replaces it and turns and smiles, pleased to see Will is conscious.

“How do you feel?” The man's question seems almost alien in its simplicity. “Thirsty.” The doctor hands Will the hospital-issue cup next to the bed, and Will drinks slowly through the straw. The doctor looks to the open door of the ICU; an indistinct shadow indicates someone standing just around the corner.

“Feel well enough for a visitor?” The doctor exits through the door. Though it's still open, Will cannot see out it... until his visitor enters: ABIGAIL HOBBS Pale like Will, in a hospital gown of her own. She stands on the threshold, staring at him. Will stares back and his thoughts and ours are the same – Abigail is alive.

Abigail stands in front of Will's hospital bed, Taking Y/N’s Hand. Pillows prop Will up. They look at one another. A reunion neither thought they would ever see. After a moment: “They told me he knew exactly how to cut me. They said it was surgical. He wanted us to live.”

“He left us to die.”

“But we didn't.” Abigail averts her eyes, still looking for rhyme and reason. “He was supposed to take me with him. We were all supposed to leave together. He made a place for us.”

“Abigail…”

“Why did you lie to him?” Will has to consider that a moment, then: “The wrong thing being the right thing to do was too ugly a thought.”

“He gave you a chance to take it all back, and you just kept lying. No one had to die.” An almost-imperceptible wince from Will. “It's hard to grasp what would've happened, could've happened. In some other world... did happen.”

“Having a hard enough time dealing with this world. Hope some of the other worlds are easier on me.”

“Everything that can happen happens. Has to end well, and it has to end badly. Has to end every way it can. This is the way it ended for us.”

“We don't have an ending. He didn't give us one yet. He wants us to find him.” An awake Y/N murmurs in her stage of waking up. Strange for Will to hear that, and stranger yet to believe it.

“After everything he's done, you would still go to him?” Abigail quietly nods.

“If everything that can happen happens, you can't really do the wrong thing. You're just doing what you're supposed to do.”

EIGHT MONTHS LATER - NORMAN CHAPEL - DAY

The chapel's vast interior rings with the multiple languages of the travelers shuffling about the place. Among the TOURISTS, we find, A heavily Pregnant Y/N, Will, and Abigail as they enter. Abigail gazes up at the apse of the chapel and JESUS PANTOCRATOR -- "Ruler of All," an exquisite Byzantine mosaic.

Saint Andrew is depicted on His one side, Saint Paul on His other. The saints' tempera-painted eyes, their unfettered focus -- like Abigail’s -- on their savior. “Even in an enlightened world, we come here to feel closer to God.”

“Do you feel closer to God?” Abigail asks, as I adjust my FBI identification Badge. Because Will and Jack were forced to retire from the Bureau, I have become the Acting Head of the BAU. alongside some new profilers, Gideon and Rossi.

“God's not who I came here to find.” They move further into the chapel, admiring its beauty. Abigail notices a PRIEST watches them; she stares at him a moment, then averts her eyes. “Do you believe in God?” Abigail wonders if she does even as she asks it.

“What I believe is closer to science fiction than anything in the Bible.” Abigail notes the various people sitting and praying; she speaks low so only Will can hear her: “We all know, but no one ever says God won't do a Goddamned thing to answer anybody's prayers.”

“I'm sure answering prayers can be complicated, otherwise He would do it all the time. God can't save any of us because it's inelegant.”

“God allows bad things to happen because it's... elegant.”

“More elegant than stopping the universe to prevent an earthquake, put out a fire, cure cancer. Elegance is more important than suffering. That's His design.” I say as I stand from a Pew.

“You talking about God or Hannibal?” Abigail asks, “Hannibal's not God. Wouldn't have any fun being God. Defying God, now that's his idea of a good time.” I chuckle and rub my belly. Will raises his head, taking in the murals of saints and apostles that decorate the gilded ceilings.

“Nothing would thrill Hannibal more than to see this roof collapse midMass, packed pews, choir singing. He would just love it. And he thinks God would love it, too. Thats What Hannibal sees when he steps inside the frescoed walls of his own mind.”

“Do you feel closer to him here?”

“This isn't Hannibal, it's just where he begins. Beyond this, far and complex, light and dark, is the vast structure of his mind. A thousand rooms, miles of corridors. Everything he remembers, wonderfully and fearfully reconstructed.”

“Why "fearfully"?”

“Hannibal is well armed against the physical world, but there are places within himself he can't safely go. But we can. If we find them. And that's how we'll find him.” Will says as he moves my hair out of my face.

NORMAN CHAPEL - NIGHT-

A HORRIFIC TABLEAU In the center of the chapel's floor, constructed directly above the inlaid skeleton. At first glimpse, it appears to be A HUGE HUMAN HEART. But a second look reveals it's A MAN'S BODY, SKINNED -- limbs and back broken and folded to create the anatomical parts and chambers of the organ. The victim's head, hands and feet are missing, stumps portraying the muscle's severed vessels.

The faux organ hovers above the floor, supported by a makeshift tripod formed by a TRIO OF SWORDS run through the body. Down each blade, blood trickles. A bloody valentine awaiting its intended

NORMAN CHAPEL – DAY-

The white sheet belongs to a row of HOSPITAL PRIVACY SCREENS being erected around the broken and mutilated corpse. VARIOUS POLIZIA SCIENTIFICA AGENTS are busy working around the body. Camera FLASHES bounce off the white sheet dramatically. passing the priest speaking to a local officer, INSPECTOR DONAGGIO, in hushed tones.

Will and Y/N as they enter the chapel, moving with inconspicuous purpose through the CSI agents, reacting to the silhouette of a beating heart near the altar.

“Its him?” Before Will can respond, We’re rapidly approached by a Palermo poliziotto, named LAMANNA, who holds up a waving hand: “Per favore, signore. È proibito qui. La cappella è chiusa.” Will nods to the poliziotto, his eyes still on the display.

“I'm sorry, I don't speak–” Will says confused, I roll my eyes and am about to respond when- “The chapel is closed.”

“Signore…sono la dottoressa Y/N L/N, capo dell'unità di analisi comportamentale dell’FBI.” I try to introduce myself, But the Man is already gone…Me and Will turn to leave, trying to glimpse what we can of the crime scene investigation.

We see Inspector Donaggio talking with the priest, who is now pointing in Will's direction. Donaggio shouts across the chapel at Poliziotto LaManna and Will: “LaManna, non lasciarlo uscire. Voglio parlare con lui.”

“What did he say?” Will turns to me, “He said, he wants to talk to us.”

PALERMO POLICE STATION - BULLPEN - DAY-

past rows of desks, various POLIZIOTTI working in an office haze, some at their own desks, others gathered around Inspector Donaggio's desk.

Will and I sit in a row of empty chairs, a common area, waiting to be summoned for questioning. “Signor Graham...Dr. L/N….” We turn to see CHIEF INSPECTOR RINALDO PAZZI sitting down in a nearby chair. Even as he speaks, he sits facing forward as to obscure the obviousness of their conversation. “Chief Investigator Rinaldo Pazzi. Questura di Firenze.”

“You're a long way from Florence.”

“You're a long way from Baltimore. I read everything I can find on FBI profiling methods. I've read all about your incarceration. Its nice to meet the new Head of the BAU.” Pazzi says, shaking my hand. I smile softly.

“Keep reading. I was acquitted.”

“You come to Palermo and soon – very soon -- a body is discovered, sculptural in its mutilation.” Will doesn't respond. “The priest at the Cappella dei Normanni said you've been spending a lot of time there.”

“I've been praying. Haven’t you heard, I'm going to be a dad.” Will’s hand graces my lower back.

“There is some comfort in prayer. It leaves you with the distinct feeling you're not alone. Will studies Pazzi a moment, and then: “Signore…” Will turns to see Inspector Donaggio walking toward us, signaling for us to follow.

“Vieni con me.” As Will rises and follows Donaggio back to his desk, he glances back at Pazzi one last time. “Ciao.” I smile back, “Ciao.”

PALERMO POLICE STATION - STAIRWELL - DAY-

Will makes his way down the stairs, Guiding Y/N carefully toward Abigail who is waiting on the landing below. He smiles, happy to see her; she indicates Inspector Pazzi leaning against the bannister, a yellowing envelope tucked under his arm.

“Is Will Graham and The Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit here because of the body at the cappella, or is the body here because of Will Graham and Dr. L/N?” Will glances at Abigail who moves off inconspicuously. “Why are you here?”

“I'm like you. I do what you Two do. We share the gift of imagination.”

“I've got the scars of a man who grabbed his gift by the blade.” Will says as he rubs my belly. “You grabbed the wrong end. Those moments when the connection is made, in that synaptic spasm when the thought drives through the red fuse, that is my keenest pleasure.”

“Knowing.” I say softly. “Knowing. Not feeling. Not thinking. You know who murdered that man and left him in the Cappella Palatina.” Pazzi looks at me, I tilt my head with a smile. “Don't you?”

“I met him twenty years ago. Il Mostro, the Monster of Florence. It was his custom to arrange his victims like a beautiful painting.” That gets our attention. “Il Mostro created images that stayed in my mind. I can still see his tableaux peripherally.”

“Like looking beside an object to see it in the dark.” Pazzi takes PICTURES out of the yellowing envelope tucked under his arm, hands them to Will.

“Twenty years ago, I was dwelling on a couple found slain in the bed of a pickup truck in Impruneta…...bodies placed, strewn and garlanded with flowers, the woman's left breast exposed.”

PALERMO POLICE STATION - STAIRWELL - DAY-

“Like a Botticelli.” I say, I rub my belly. I gaze at the macabre art made from bodies in front of me. “Exactly like a Botticelli. His painting Primavera still hangs in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, just as it did twenty years ago.” As Inspector Pazzi pulls another picture from his envelope...

BOTTICELLI'S PRIMAVERA; The painting depicting a group of mythological figures in an orange grove.A woman in diaphanous white is being seized by a winged male from above. His cheeks are puffed, expression intent, and his unnatural complexion separates him from the other figures.

“The garlanded nymph on the right, her left breast exposed, flowers streaming from her mouth as the pale Zephyrus reaches for her.” Pazzi Explains, Will looks at the picture of the Botticelli, and the dead couple who honor it.

“Match. Match.”

“At the Uffizi Gallery... that's where you met il Mostro.” I look from the bodies to Pazzi with curiosity. And he lived this long to tell the tale. Hmm.

“That's where I met this man.” Pazzi produces a BLACK-AND-WHITE PHOTOGRAPH from the yellowing file folder, and Will takes it.

Its subject – HANNIBAL LECTER- Twenty years younger.

“The Monster of Florence.”

UFFIZI GALLERY - DAY-

Primavera hangs in the sparsely-populated museum. “To find the inspiration il Mostro used was a triumph. I went to the Uffizi and stood before the original Primavera day after day, and most days… I’d see a young Lithuanian man as transfixed by the Botticelli as I was. As transfixed as I imagined il Mostro would be. And every day I saw him…”

“...he would recreate the Primavera in pencil, just as he did in flesh.”

NORMAN CHAPEL - TWILIGHT-

Somber shadows have replaced stained-glass daylight. Will and Y/N stand with Inspector Pazzi in the empty church. Evidence of the crime scene investigation is still present, but the sculpturally-mutilated body has been removed.

“I knew. It was the best moment of my life. A moment of epiphany that made me famous and then ruined me.” Will reacts; Inspector Pazzi is a pale, older version of himself, with an entirely-different history with the Monster.

“In haste and heat of ambition, the Questura nearly destroyed the young man's home, trying to find evidence.”

“He doesn't leave evidence.” I say knowingly…..Pazzi Looks at me. “No, he doesn't.” I smile; “He eats it.”

“Another man -- not an innocent man, but innocent of those crimes -- was a dream suspect. He was convicted on no evidence except his character.”

“Blame has a habit of not sticking to Hannibal Lecter.” Will says knowingly. “It has a habit of sticking to you.” Uncomfortable memories, all too raw. In the background, the DULL BANGING of a door as a POLIZIOTTO enters:

“No, no. La chiesa è chiusa. Questa è ancora una scena del crimine.” Pazzi hands Will a folder full of crime scene photos, and approaches the poliziotto, showing his badge.

“Commendatore Rinaldo Pazzi. Questura di Firenze. Sto consultando sull'inchiesta.” Pazzi guides the poliziotto to the exit. “Posso parlare con te fuori?”

We watch as Pazzi glances back over his shoulder one last time before disappearing with the poliziotto. Will stands there a moment, holding Pazzi's crime scene folder. “My love?” I say softly, “Hmm”

“Open the Folder.” Finally, almost reluctantly, he pulls a single photo from the folder.

He takes a breath, exhales, then closes his eyes. We hear the slow THUD of his HEARTBEAT keeping rhythm with the AMBIENT HUM of his CIRCULATORY SYSTEM. A PENDULUM It swings in the darkness of Will Graham's mind, keeping rhythm with his heartbeat. FWUM. FWUM.

His eyes are closed. FWUM. The PENDULUM is now outside his head. It swings behind Will, wiping away the evidence flags. FWUM. The police tape. FWUM.

The HUMAN HEART SCULPTURE. we are no longer in the picture -- The human heart sculpture stands alone as it was intended. Will circles the sculpture, studying it.

“I splintered every bone, fractured them... dynamically. Made you malleable. I skinned you. Bent you, twisted you and trimmed you. Head, hands, arms and legs. A topiary.” The human heart sculpture swells slightly with a low THWUB. “This is my design.”

THWUB-THWUB. The human heart sculpture appears to be beating. Will starts slowly to back away from it, toward the altar. “A valentine written on a broken man.” The body SHUDDERS. One broken arm strains against the cording holding it in place. SNAP! The cord BREAKS and the arm PULLS FREE. Another broken limb BREAKS THE STITCHES holding it fast... and then another...

Bowed in a parenthetical curve, it begins to STRAIGHTEN. Vertebrae realign, setting forth sickly POPS and CRACKS. He stumbles back, unnerved, tripping on the altar steps. More restraints SNAP as another limb realigns... and next, a leg. What resembles a nightmare flower blossoming, the body – still without hands, feet or head -- resurrects its form…

THE BODY, Unfolding now, approximating its original shape, starts crawling forward as its cording and stitching hangs and drags. It crabs forward on stumps and knees. THUD. SLIDE... directly for Will. . FROM THE STUMPS OF THE SEVERED ARMS AND LEGS Horrifying BLACK HOOVES emerge, scraping and pulling at the marble floor, almost fawn-like, as it moves toward Will.

FROM THE SEVERED NECK Two points SPROUT from the raw meat, growing, blossoming bilaterally into familiar shapes -- a PAIR OF ANTLERS. No head emerges to support them -- only the antlers. As the ANTLERED NIGHTMARE that unfurled from Antony Dimmond's corpse is nearly upon him…

NORMAN CHAPEL - NIGHT-

Will leans against the altar, sweating, breathing heavily. He opens his eyes to see Y/N and Abigail walking toward him. “I do feel closer to Hannibal here.” He suppresses a small, uneasy laugh. “God only knows where I would be Without you and Him.”

“What did you see?”

“He left us his broken heart.”

“How did he know we were here?” Abigail asks, In our shared delusion I know its not her. Its a figment of what we want to be reality.

“He didn't. But he knew we'd come.” I say softly. “He misses us.” Strange for Will to consider, but he remains suspicious. “Hannibal follows several trains of thought at once without distraction from any, and one of the trains is always for his own amusement.”

“He's playing with us.”

“Always.” I smirk softly, I take a seat on the steps. My back is killing me, between the heels and the belly. He tosses the photos of the broken man heart on the altar, steps in front of Abigail. “You still want to go with him?”

“Yes.”

“He gave you back to us. Then took you away. Lucy and the football. He just keeps pulling you away.” Will is contemplative a moment, then suddenly sad: “What if no one died? What if we all left together? Like we were supposed to. After he served the lamb. Where would we have gone?”

“In some other world?”

“In some other world.”

“He said he made a place for us.” Will fights back his emotion, then: “A place was made for you, Abigail, in this world. The only place we could make for you.” Abigail looks up at Will and Then to me.

the – NEWLY-HEALED SCAR On her neck DARKENS. The broad line of shiny tissue grows red, like a second smile drawn in lipstick. And then it SPLITS and starts to BLEED. And bleed and bleed. It's a mortal injury -- the same one that left Abigail dead on Hannibal's kitchen floor. Our punishment.

Red pulses down Abigail's front and neither me nor Will try to stem its flow. His eyes unwavering from Abigail's until we reveal no one is beside Will. No one but Y/N.

He's seated in front of the altar, hand on his Fiancee’s belly.

the chapel, finding the CHORUS OF SAINTS AND APOSTLES, a streaming drapery of figures painted onto the high walls and ceiling. CAMERA continues to prowl until it focuses on one figure in particular.

reveal the figure is not part of the extensive mural; it is, in fact, HANNIBAL LECTER. He looks down at Will and Y/N sitting stoically at the altar. Hannibal watching, not moving, part of the chapel...

NORMAN CHAPEL – NIGHT-

Pazzi enters from the back of the church, calling out: “Are you praying?” Will considers that, shakes his head, then: “Hannibal doesn't pray. But he believes in God. Intimately.”

“I wasn't asking Hannibal Lecter.” Will's eyes are drawn to the ceiling and the murals overhead. He strokes Y/N’s back as she rests her head on his shoulder. “I think my prayers would feel constricted by the saints and apostles and Jesus Pantocrator.”

“Not buoyed?”

“Not these prayers.” Pazzi looks to the ceiling, following Will's gaze. “I hope my prayers escaped, flown from here to the open sky and God.” Will stands and helps Y/N as he does so, exploring the vicinity of the crime scene. “Praying you catch him? You should be praying he doesn't capture you.”

“I didn't head the Questura di Firenze for nothing.” Will glances into the GATED STAIRWELL under the pulpit.

“You couldn't catch him when he was just a kid, what makes you think you're going to catch him now?” I ask curiously “You.” A small, polite scoff from Will, unable to take his eyes off the small stairwell to the catacombs. I roll my eyes.

“What makes you think we want to catch him?” Pazzi studies Will -- does he mean to kill Hannibal?

The volume of his CIRCULATORY SYSTEM rises in his ears, drowning out Pazzi speaking in the background.

the gate, OVER THE LIP OF THE FLOOR, to find a small series of steps leading to a WOODEN DOOR. A small gap between the door and the landing. BLOOD starts to seep under the door. He stares, the sound of his CIRCULATORY SYSTEM fills his ears with a rhythmic ebb and flow.

Will slowly turns back to Pazzi. “If you could possibly be content, I would suggest you let il Mostro go.” I say softly, “Can't do that any more than you can.”

“He's going to kill you, you know. Usually right about these things.” Will says, all politeness out the window. “He let you both know him. He sent you his heart. Where has he gone now?”

“He hasn't gone anywhere. He's still here.” Will's glance down the stairwell, to the catacomb door…

NORMAN CHAPEL - CATACOMBS - NIGHT-

The catacombs are flooded with BLOOD-TINTED WATER. through the long corridor, like exploring a sunken submarine, passing SUBMERGED CORPSES, Will floats in the flooded corridor, holding his breath. As he can't hold his breath any longer.

He squeezes his eyes closed, and we... He opens his eyes, no longer submerged in his subconscious, and takes a small breath, preparing himself. We are --

NORMAL CHAPEL - CATACOMBS - NIGHT-

Punic stone two millennia old. Will listens, carefully monitoring his breath. He sees the walkway, weaving through DOZENS OF MUMMIFIED CORPSES, leads down into a darkened maze, only partially illuminated by infrequent candlelight. Following the ancient fortress wall as it leads him deeper into less-aged corridors of the chapel's crypts and catacombs.

Overhead, bare bulbs occasionally light the way, but mostly the underground circuit remains shrouded in shadow. In the distance ahead, Will hears unhurried footsteps. “Hannibal.”

The unhurried footsteps stop as Will’s shout echoes along the passageways. No reply. A moment, then the footsteps resume their march.

Will arrives at a fork in the corridors and he considers his choices. Clicks of Heels behind him. “Y/N, are you insane?!?” Will turns around. “Honey, we know this already, I am no more sane than you.” I chuckle.

“This was stupid, you are 8 months pregnant. You shouldn't be down here.” I give him a look. Footfalls come deep from within the darkness; someone is there. Will runs after them, dogged, into the black. I slip off my heels and follow as quickly as I can.

A moment behind Them – PAZZI Arrives at the head of the walkway. He draws his gun and pauses for only a second before he follows Will and Y/N. As the black swallows him as well...

We Pause at a JUNCTION in the subterranean maze. It widens to include a SERIES OF PILLARS, adorned with MUMMIFIED CORPSES, surrounded by passages branching off in different directions. The clatter of footsteps changes. Due to the shape of the gallery and the conducting power of the walls, the sound RICOCHETS, seemingly coming from both directions...

Another beat and Will looks to his rear, realizing it’s no trick of sound -- someone is behind him as well… PAZZI Continues his pursuit as quickly as the darkness allows. His breathing is heavy and his gun leads him like a dowsing rod, his finger on the trigger.

PAZZI Hears only his own footsteps as he arrives at – THE JUNCTION

The same one Will and Y/N encountered. Pazzi slows, taking in the pillars and the many passages... any of which Hannibal or the couple might have taken. He pivots, the seasoned cop, but there are too many blind spots. Too many angles to cover.

“Signor Graham...Dr. L/N” Suddenly – We Approach from behind Pazzi; the inspector is spun around. We’re Calm, quiet, yet unnerved. “You shouldn't be down here alone.”

“I’m not alone. I'm with you two.” I laugh softly, like that would protect him. “You don’t know whose side we’re on.” Pazzi stares at Will, cautious. “What are you going to do when you find him? Your il Mostro?”

“I'm curious about that myself.”

“You and I carry the dead with us, Signor Graham. We both need to unburden. There's no arguing the point.”

“Why don't you carry your dead back to the chapel before you count yourself among them. Will drifts away from him. “You're already dead, aren't you?” ...disappearing in the dark. “Buonanotte, commendatore.” I dismiss him. He stands there in the dark, alone. Listening.

Hannibal has not slipped away. Still and silent as the stone itself, he waits like a spider for Pazzi to come his direction.

Pazzi takes a last look in the darkness where Will disappeared, and he starts back toward the tunnel entrance. He moves deeper into the catacombs. preceding him and, as Will passes the pillar where Hannibal was concealed, we see Hannibal is gone -- no one is there. Will pushes forward...

Will’s imagination has flooded the catacombs in blood-red water. Treading deeper into the tunnels, propelled by guilt. No one materializes and Will moves on nevertheless… No intermittent bulbs light the passage. The frame of the corridor is lost to near utter darkness. Will pauses again.

“I forgive you.” His voice RINGS down the depthless inky black. I place my hand on his back, softly scratching it. I forgave Hannibal long ago….I was just waiting for Will to.

HANNIBAL Stands, hiding among the mummified corpses. He hears the plaintive offering -- and the echo that answers it -- but he says nothing in reply. Instead, Hannibal takes a silent sidestep and is swallowed entirely by the shadows.

WILL Stands, forlorn, with only darkness behind him, awaiting a response that is not to come.

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