#i’d say a killer one liner and just pass away

[dang-dood]

see, they should let me into unit. i’d throw a bone and say fetch and everyone would cheer when sutekh runs after it.

[slickbackdani]

Batman Movie Villains Ranked from Worst to Best

Recently, a YouTuber I follow by the name of Mr. Rogues released a list of Batman villains ranked from worst to best. I have nothing but the utmost of respect for Mr. Rogues as a content creator, but I took issue with his list because his long-standing biases were often the deciding factor in many of his rankings. So, I decided to do a list of my own.

I’ll be going over every Batman villain to appear in the movies, briefly analyzing their portrayals and ranking them on a scale of 1 to 5. To prevent the list from being too cluttered, I’ll be separating the villains by which movie series they’re part of. Here we go!

Burton/Schumacher Tetralogy

Bane: Perhaps the only villain in this series I’d call “bad.” The calculating tactician of the comics is nowhere to be found here; instead, he’s reduced to a monosyllabic, brain-dead stooge for the other villains. Overall, he does nothing that couldn’t be done by a random henchman. 1/5

Two-Face: A deeply layered villain in the comics, Two-Face sadly gets upstaged by the other major rogue in the movie, but that’s not to say he doesn’t leave an impression. Tommy Lee Jones gives him a manic and mercurial demeanor that, combined with his colorful design, wouldn’t be out of place in the Adam West series. The size and scope of his criminal organization make him a genuine threat, and there’s something darkly fitting about Batman’s former ally being responsible for the creation of Robin. 3/5

Poison Ivy: Mr. Rogues for some reason ranked her as the worst Batman movie villain of all time, and frankly, I don’t see why. Like Tommy Lee Jones as Two-Face, Uma Thurman gives this character a delightfully over-the-top demeanor that combines with a colorful, comic-booky ensemble to make for another great “what-if-this-character-appeared-in-the-Adam-West-series” take. She does a good job juggling the differing facets of Ivy’s character: she’s the put-upon cynic, the craven opportunist, the radical eco-terrorist, and the suave seductress all in one package. 3.5/5

The Penguin: Fuck the Razzies. Danny DeVito made this role his own and set the stage for the character for years to come. He’s a bit of a departure, but a welcome one: far from the refined gentleman of crime Burgess Meredith portrayed, this Penguin is an animalistic thug warped by a lifetime of anger and hatred of the society who rejected him due to his deformities. His signature wardrobe, trick umbrellas, and Penguin gimmick are all there, but DeVito sells the role by showing amazing versatility: he can go from a comical and pitiable weirdo to a terrifying sociopath at the drop of a stovepipe hat. 4/5

Mr. Freeze: I honestly can’t say much about this character that my mutual @wonderfulworldofmichaelford hasn’t already. Arnold Schwarzenegger perfectly encapsulates both popular versions of this character: the flamboyant, pun-loving criminal genius from the Adam West series and the Animated Series’ traumatized scientist desperate to cure his loving wife of her terminal illness. Sure, the puns and hammy one-liners are what this version character is known for, but Ahnold definitely knows when to apply the brakes and give a greatly emotional performance as he tries desperately to cure his wife. 4.5/5

Max Shreck: Probably the only time you’ll see a movie-exclusive character on this list, and deservedly so. Corrupt businessmen are dime-a-dozen in Batman stories, and most of them have little personality outside of being greedy scumbags who either get defeated by the hero or betrayed by the other villains. Shreck, however, is different. Not only does he have an eye-catching fashion sense on par with any of Batman’s famous rogues, but Christopher Walken brings his signature manic intensity to the role, creating a character that’s as wicked and sinister as he is cool and stylish. You totally buy that the general public sees him as the good guy. His warm relationship with his son is also a delight to watch. 4.5/5

Catwoman: Michelle Pfeiffer does a lot to really make the character her own. She gets a lot of genuinely badass moments, but underneath all of her coolness lies the undercurrent that she’s a broken, traumatized character lashing out at the people who abused her and took her for granted. Even when she takes these ideals to unreasonable extremes, you never stop feeling like the retribution she brings on her enemies is at least a little warranted. Also, she has amazing romantic chemistry with Batman and her costume is fucking metal. 5/5

The Ridder: It’s Jim Carrey. 5/5

The Joker: This role is perhaps the one that set the standard for future Jokers to follow: Jack Nicholson’s humorous yet unnerving performance signaled to audiences early on that this would not be the goofy trickster of the Silver Age, but a different beast entirely. This Joker is a film noir gangster on crack: a disfigured mob hitman who quickly takes the entire criminal underworld by storm and unleashes his special brand of chaos and destruction across Gotham. He’s an artist, a showman, a charismatic leader, and the man responsible for ruining Bruce Wayne’s life. 5/5

Christopher Nolan Trilogy

Talia al Ghul: You know that recent trend in Disney movies where a side character we thought was harmless and inconsequential turned out to have been the villain all along in a twist with no buildup or foreshadowing with the reveal happening too late in the movie for this character to really do anything cool or impressive before being unceremoniously defeated? That’s Talia. DKR is the weakest of the three Nolan films, and I feel like it would’ve been much better received without this twist villain contrivedly shoehorned in. Also, while I could kinda forgive the trilogy’s whitewashing of other villains like Ra’s al Ghul and Bane due to the talent their actors display, Marion Cotillard doesn’t get a pass because she just doesn’t have the charisma or screen presence needed to pull it off. 1/5

Victor Zsasz: While the idea of redefining Zsasz as an over enthusiastic mob hitman instead of a serial killer is very interesting, it’s ruined by the fact that he barely even appears in the movie and doesn’t really do or say much of anything despite the buildup he gets. 1.5/5

Two-Face: Aaron Eckhart portrays Harvey Dent as a character of tragedy in a slightly different way than other tragic villains in superhero movies: he’s lashing out at a society he feels wronged him, but instead of being a lifelong outcast or put-upon loser, he was a handsome, successful crusader for the common good who lost everything he once held dear all in one fell swoop. You really feel for him even as he does horrible things. If I had to nitpick, though, I am slightly bothered by the fact that he plays some comic book movie cliches straight (i.e. they never call him by his alias and he dies at the end,) but it’s a solid performance overall. 3/5

Scarecrow: I’ll be upfront and admit that I’m more than a little annoyed that certain facets of the character had been changed in the name of “realism” — once again, they never call him by his villain name and he never wears a comic-accurate costume — but other than that, I can’t complain. Cillian Murphy plays the character with a smarmy, eerie charm that really makes his scenes stand out, his willingness to ally himself with other villains suits his character well, and the fact that he appears in three consecutive films with a different evil scheme in each really helps tie the movies together. 3.5/5

Catwoman: Much like other secondary villains in this trilogy, she really doesn’t get a chance to shine compared to the main antagonist — and, once again, it pisses me off a little that they do the whole “never refer to her as Catwoman but vaguely hint at it” thing — but she’s everything a modern Catwoman should be. She’s sly, manipulative, really holds her own in a fight, has great chemistry with Bruce Wayne... it’s all there. It’s also great to see Anne Hathaway break away from her usual type casting to play a role this dynamic. 4/5

Ra’s al Ghul: He’s a character that was in desperate need of mainstream exposure, and by God that’s what he got. Making him Bruce Wayne’s mentor adds a layer of personal tragedy to the climax where our hero has to stop the man who made him who he is from destroying Gotham with his admittedly brilliant plan. Add in a strong, captivating performance from Liam Neeson before we found out he was a racist asshole, and we’ve got one hell of an overarching villain. 4.5/5

The Joker: Everybody’s already discussed this version of the character to hell and back and likely will for years to come, so I’ll keep it very brief. He’s funny, he’s badass, he’s terrifying, he has great dialogue, it sucks that Heath Ledger didn’t live to see his performance reach the audience it got, and he basically makes the entire film. 5/5

Bane: Mr. Rogues actually ranked Bane higher than Joker on his list, and keeping it 100, I actually agree with him here. Finally, after decades of being dumbed down and misrepresented outside of comics, Bane is finally portrayed as the tactical genius from the comics. Tom Hardy plays Bane to perfection, being very believable as the peak of human physical and mental achievement, the man who broke Batman physically and emotionally. His design is iconic, his every line is quotable, his voice is weirdly fitting, and the memes are funny. 5/5

DC Extended Universe

KGBeast: Another point where I agree wholeheartedly with Mr. Rogues. He is absolutely wasted in BVS, being nothing but a generic henchman for Lex Luthor. He doesn’t wear his costume from the comics, he’s never referred to by his alias, he doesn’t have his signature cybernetic enhancements, and he never does or says anything noteworthy. 1/5

The Joker: Ugh. I don’t know what’s worst: the tacky clothes, the stupid tattoos, the weird Richard Nixon impression that passes as his voice, the fact that promotional material hyped him up as a “beautiful tragedy” of a character even though he’s only in the movie for like 10 minutes and barely does anything, Jared Leto’s toxic edgelord behavior on set done with the flimsy pretense of “getting into character,” or the fact that he’s just trying to copy Heath Ledger instead of making the role his own. 1/5

Victor Zsasz: Chris Messina proves undoubtedly that Zsasz CAN work as a secondary villain in a Batman movie. He’s once again a mob assassin who enjoys his job a little too much, but unlike Batman Begins, he really gets time to shine. He’s just as sadistic and depraved as in the comics, but he also has this disarming, casual demeanor about him like he’s just indulging a hobby instead of slicing innocent people’s faces off. His close friendship with his boss Black Mask adds some depth to the character as well. 3/5

Killer Croc: Sadly, he doesn’t get much time in the spotlight, but he’s pretty cool nonetheless. The makeup and prosthetics used to create him look amazing, and Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje’s deep voice and imposing body language make him really stand out as an intimidating presence. He’s often in the background, which fits his role as an outcast by choice and a man of few words, but whenever he does get focus, he has everyone’s attention. It really would be a shame if this character’s only appearance was in a mediocre schlock action movie, but he makes the most of what he has. 3.5/5

Deadshot: Another highlight of what would otherwise be a forgettable film, Deadshot is just as cool and competent as he’s always been in other media, but this portrayal stands out for one simple reason. Will Smith was a very odd choice to play the role, but it worked out for the best here because you get the sense he truly understands the characters. He’s ruthless and pragmatic, but has just as enough charm and depth to make him likable. 4/5

Black Mask: I, like many, was skeptical when I saw early trailers depicting Roman Sionis as a foppish weirdo who doesn’t wear his signature mask, but upon seeing the final movie, I really feel like he has the high ground over other DCEU villains. Ewan McGregor is endlessly captivating in the role, portraying him as a swaggering dandy who is nevertheless dangerous due to his boundless narcissism and explosive temper. Sure, those who deal in absolutes would be put off from the differences with his comic counterpart — who is far more cold and humorless — but from a certain point of view, this flamboyant take on the character isn’t so much a departure as it is an addition to make him stand out while keeping his role the same. Black Mask has always been a middleman between the traditional mobsters of yesteryear and the colorful rogues that plague Gotham today, and this portrayal perfectly encapsulates that. He works in the shadows, but isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty; he flies off the handle and gets reckless at times, but there’s no question that the whole operation was his idea. 5/5

Harley Quinn: Margot Robbie owns this role. She’s unbelievably dazzling as a badass, funny, sexy antihero who deals greatly with tragedy and proves that there’s always been more to her than her initial role as the Joker’s sidekick. Again, not much to say, but she’s almost perfect. 5/5

[scribeofmorpheus]

A Princess for Halloween

Paring: Cisco Ramon x Reader

For the SPOOKTOBER 2018 Competition

Requested by @itsjaynebird : Hii!!!!!!! For the Halloween thing can I ask for a Cisco fic with an Asian reader/oc? And the 109 ("Why are you naked?") prompt???? Thank yooooou~

Words: 2107

Warnings: Fluff and mentions of sex.

A/N:  So this one didn’t turn out as long as I hoped. And it’s not really NSFW, I tried but it just refused to be written. Also, I tried to write the reader as Asian but that also brought up problems because Asia is one of the most diverse continents and I didn’t want to stereotype or constantly use derivative writing tropes so I made it as subtle as possible.

Prompts in Bold-Italics.

 Star Labs was decked out from ceiling to tile in lavish, overly detailed and verging on bad-slasher-movie calibre spooky decorations. The whole look would have been completely comical if not for the fact Cisco and Caitlin had spent hours decorating the lab with serious crinkles on their brows -this was undoubtedly the furthest thing from comical to them, the holidays were a serious occasion for Team Flash apparently.

At one point you had joked to Joe that it was probably their collective OCD kicking into overdrive. He had laughed, Caitlin and Cisco had shot you a scowl and handed you a box of decorations as reparations for your joke.

But looking at the usually clean and medical lab in a confused collection of colour and cheap dollar-store decorations, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at your work -even if, in reality, Cisco and Caitlin had done most of the work.

"I gotta say, this place doesn't look too shabby. Good thing for teamwork, ey?" Ralf said with a cheery grin as he rocked on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets.

Cisco rolled his eyes at Ralph and replied, "Ralph, you did nothing, your box of decorations are still in the box! You spent the whole day napping in the Pipeline."

Ralph feigned looking hurt, in a very dramatic fashion. You shook your head and let out a little snicker, your hair -newly cut short for the new season- swayed about like satin sheets.

Suddenly, a bright red streak zipped passed your peripheral and situated itself next to Joe. It was Barry. You were beginning to think you'd never get used to his speed. And speaking of speed, Barry, ironically, had been late to the informal decorating party. Halloween apparently brought out the crazies in town, he had stopped over four shoplifting cases.

"Oh, did I miss it?" Barry asked.

Joe nodded his head and said in a sing-song tune, "It was a graveyard smash."

"Oh, man!" Barry kicked at the air, his head hanging low. Another streak of lightning erupted and he was back standing next to Joe, only in civvies. "I was looking forward to decorating!"

Ralph's face lit up and he stretched his arms towards the box of unpacked decoration. He shoved them into Barry's chest enthusiastically. "Here, this one's all yours, buddy!"

Caitlin rolled her eyes at Ralph and Cisco grabbed a Red Vine from his back pocket, before taking a bite and pointing accusingly at Ralph like a substitute finger, "Ah, ah, mister. No slacking on your Team Flash duties!" Caitlin pushed the box back at Ralph.

Ralph pulled a long face -literally. Joe turned away in horror and exclaimed, "Eew, that's just nasty Dibny." Ralph shook his head and his face snapped back to normal.

"When you've got the great gift of showmanship like I do…" Ralph shrugged as he began using his long limbs to hang decorations in hard to reach places.  

Cisco quickly made a portal, jumped through it and returned moments later with a smaller box labelled: LIGHTS. "Here ya go, Barry. You can be in charge of cable spaghetti."

Barry grabbed the box and used his super speed to quickly untie the knotty mess. You watched in awe of his blurry speed, a part of you still found it hard to reconcile the fact that you were dating a genius IQ level Breacher who was best friends with the Flash and Killer Frost. And to think, this all started because an evil version of you, from another earth, decided to team up with an evil version of Cisco -also from another earth- just to destroy her ex-boss's fast-food chain stores in every universe because she was fired during Christmas without a holiday bonus!

It's a good thing you preferred Halloween!

You watched Barry make light work of hanging up the lights, but he seemed a little more tired than usual. You walked over hoping to offer your assistance.

"Need some help?"

"Yeah, sure." He yawned under his elbow.

"Tough day?" You asked.

"Nah," he said breezily. "Just too many met humans breaking into costume stores."

You laughed while trying to hang up a string of lights, "Honestly, considering how expensive Halloween costumes can be, I can relate." Barry shot you a quizzical look.

"To using met human abilities to rob a costume store?" He asked humorously.

"Hell yes! Those things ain't cheap! I'd kill to get a good costume… Well, maybe not *kill*, kill. But maiming isn't off the table." You joked.

Barry laughed, "Remind me to steer clear of you if you ever get powers during Halloween!"

"Trust me, I'm not crazy enough to incur the wrath of Iris."

In no time, the entire STAR Labs complex had been draped in gaudy decorations and filled with spooky light effects.

Caitlin and Cisco turned about the room and inspected the new gothic decor. They looked at each other and nodded. "Halloween has officially begun!" Caitlin exclaimed. "I'll go help Iris set up the projector for our Slasher marathon!" She said before disappearing behind a set of doors.

"I feel like we're missing something..." Cisco took another turn around the room.

You clicked your fingers together, "Fruit punch?"

Cisco looked at you as though you'd saved him from the purgatory of perusing his mind. He smiled, walked over and gave you a kiss on your forehead. "That's why I love you. What would I do without you?"

You stuck your nose in the air, pretending to think hard on his question. "Hmmm, probably still kick ass as a superhero!"

He blushed and turned to everyone, "Did you hear that? I kick ass as a superhero!"

Everyone else chuckled at Cisco's goofy expression while you hid your blush by lowering your head and tucking your hair behind your ears.

"Okay, I'll head over to the--"

"Don't worry," You cut in before Cisco could finish, "I think I can handle punch duties!" You gave Cisco a wink and began towards the elevator.

As you were walking down the corridor, you caught wind of a conversation between Iris and Caitlin.

"Is it me, or have you and Cisco gone a bit overboard with the Halloween spirit this year?" Iris asked.

"Don't tell him that I told you, but…"

"But what?"

"Cisco knows this is Y/N's favourite holiday. She never celebrated Halloween as a kid so he kinda made it his life's mission to give her the best Halloween experience." Caitlin whispered. "I've honestly never seen him so determined about something since… well, ever!"

"You know, suddenly his annoying over-perfectionist behaviour makes sense," Iris said lightly.

You felt a hot blush spread to your cheeks as you skittered down the corridor faster. You stomach all warm with glee at the thought that Cisco had secretly done all this for you. You'd have to think of a way to thank him later.

A whole half an hour later, you returned with all the alcohol and tropical mixers your two arms could carry.

Once the punch was set up, everyone made their way to the makeshift movie theatre in the lower levels. Barry and Iris were snuggled up on a couch, Caitlin curled into a ball on a chair she made Dibny carry over and Joe and Cecil lounging on a pull-out couch. Dibny had chickened out, citing horror films as not being his particular taste. Cisco and you decided to lay on a warm blanket to give the ambience of a Halloween picnic.

The two of you snuggled close, regularly sharing kisses and coos of sweet nothings when the other yelped or jumped slightly from a jump scare. Most of the night was filled with low laughter from everyone's one-liners pointing out all the obvious decisions one shouldn't make in such a situation. By the end of the night, you and Cisco nursed a warm buzz from the fruit punch, the tangy sweet scent of tropical flavours hanging on every kiss. When there were few left in the room, and after progressively getting more frisky, Cisco suggested you head back to the apartment and you were more than ready to dispense with the gift giving… well, his gift for organising the best Halloween night of your life.

"Shall we?" Cisco giggled in between kisses on your neck.

You let out a breathy sigh and nodded your head, your cheeks as pink as rosé. "No time like the present."

You giggled when he hoisted you up, stumbling slightly.

"Woah!" He steadied the both of you, then laughed. "Maybe we should've stood a little slower."

"You think?" You asked sarcastically. Cisco simply placed his hands on your waist and lifted you up, only to spin you slightly. You giggled at first and then squirmed with fear at the prospect of falling, your eyes crinkling shut. "Sto-ho-ho-hop, Cisco!"

When Cisco set you down you could feel his breath against your cheeks when he let out a playful laugh. You took comfort in that, but the world still spun slightly so you kept your eyes shut. Then you felt him trace kisses from your forehead to the corner of your eye that slanted upwards and all the way down to your rounded button nose.

When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the circular, electric bluish-white cloud portals that Cisco created with his powers.

"Let's go home," he said with a deep gruff.

"Let’s," you agreed, but then a devious smile crept up on your face.

Cisco tilted his head to the side, eyeing you slightly, "What?"

You flirtatiously interlaced your fingers around his neck and slowly inched your lips closer to him, but when he was about to return your kiss, you jumped and locked your legs around his waist.

"Carry me!"

Cisco chuckled against your ear, wisping your hair a little so it tickled your neck.

"How could I refuse?" He asked rhetorically as he carried you through the breach portal. Next thing you knew, you were back in your apartment exchanging feverish kisses and sweet nothings.

You trailed kisses from his neck to his cheek and finally to his lips as your fingers twined themselves with the locks of hair on his nape. God, you loved the feel of his silky strands softly caressing the pads of your fingers. His hair smelled of that conditioner of his that drove you crazy.

"Hmmmm," you moaned and you breathed in his scent.

Cisco's arms instinctively tightened their grip and hoisted you higher up so he could get access to your collar bone and the dip between your breasts.

"You know," he whispered lowly. "As much as I loved today..." He placed another biting kiss, this time you were sure it'd leave a mark. "I've been dying to do this all day!"

Cisco had been so focused on serenading you with his tongue that he had accidentally bumped you against the vanity in your bedroom.

"Ow," you whined against the nape of his neck, biting him playfully in retaliation.

"Ow," he mimicked you.

Just as he started moving towards the bed, you whispered breathlessly against his ear, "Wait, I have something for you?"

Cisco dropped you, letting your legs touch the floor.

"What is it?" He smiled excitedly.

"Just wait, it's a surprise." You playfully pushed him onto the bed and then disappeared into the bathroom with a bag from Star City Comics.

When you re-emerged from the bathroom, you were fully decked out in a fake brass bikini accompanied by a Princess Leia wig. You spun into the bedroom, twirling like a ballerina and asked when you stopped, "What do you think?"

"Wow..." Cisco said. He was completely blown away and so were you when you noticed his starkly nude body resting on top of your throw blanket.

"Cisco?"

"Yes, Princess?" He said unabashedly.

A hot blush spread across your fare cheeks, "Why are you naked?"

He gave you a look of confusion, "Oh I'm sorry, was that Princess Leia bikini not supposed to lead to my state of undress?" He retorted sarcastically.

"Eventually," you put your hands on your hip.

Cisco shimmied off the bed and hugged you close, "Then why are you still dressed?"

You kissed him passionately, "I don't know, why am I still dressed? Maybe you should do something about that..." You winked mischievously.

Cisco growled as he lifted you off the floor and onto the bed, “Well then, my fare Princess, perhaps I may be of assistance?”

MasterList

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

All or Nothing (Chapter 1)

Uhh...So don't even ask me about this one, it just hit me out of nowhere. Now I know what you’re thinking; Sarah, fancy cell phones and dating apps weren’t a thing in the 90’s, and yes, you would be right.

According to the deleted scene in BDS, the boys were 27 during the movie, this is set just before it so they’re around 26. BUT, I’m bringing the boys into modern times so this storyline can work and I love how fucking beautiful they are around the first film. To put it simply, the boys are 26 (look how they did in the first film), but it's set now.

So yes it’s AU, if you can handle that, then keep reading.

It's mainly Murphy centric to start but honestly, Connor will be getting in on the action eventually, because let's face it, I’m greedy and thirsty for these boys, like shiiiiit. :’)

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

Savannah lay on the couch as she scrolled through her phone, a dramatic sigh leaving her lips. Her best friend Amy had convinced her to sign up to Tinder and she was wondering why she had agreed. Every guy she spoke to was getting on her nerves, they were rude and entitled and it was all about sex. It wasn't like she hated sex, but a hello would have been nice before they started on about it. She had the day off work and she was still in her pokemon pajamas despite the fact it was almost 6pm now. She had gone on Tinder as a last resort because she was bored and there was nothing on Netflix that she hadn't seen that appealed to her.

No. Swipe left. No. Swipe left. Looks like a serial killer. Swipe left. Oh hello… She looked at the picture of someone, his name was Murphy apparently but my God he was beautiful. She swiped right and snorted derisively, there was no way in hell he would match her. He was perfection and she felt like one of those trolls that lived under a bridge. Her eyes widened though as instantly it came up that she had a match with him, it turned out he had already swiped right on her. She chewed her lower lip as she glared at her phone. Usually, she wasn't too bothered about messaging someone first, she had anxiety issues but through messages, she was able to hold a decent conversation. But this time she felt nervous, maybe because the guy was fucking sex on legs and she didn't really know how to deal with that.

She didn't have much time to dwell on it though because her phone pinged as she got a message. She opened it to see it was off the man himself and she felt a strange fuzzy sensation build in her stomach.

‘Hey love.’

She couldn't help the smile on her face, according to his profile he was Irish and she could just imagine his accent when she read it.

‘Hey :) ‘

She facepalmed herself that it was the best she could come up with, this guy made her lose any sense of being a functioning human being even over messages.

‘How’s it going?’

‘Pretty good thank you, how about you?’

‘I’m grand thanks.’

Ah, small talk, how she loathed it. It always felt so stilted and awkward, so formal. Sometimes she didn't know how to respond to people, like right now, so sometimes she would just stop replying altogether. She wanted to think of something cool or intriguing to say to keep him talking to her, yet her mind came up blank every time. Her phone pinged again though as she got another message off him.

‘You’re fucking stunning btw ;) ‘

Her jaw dropped a little as she read the message over and over, a grin creeping its way onto her face. She was blushing which was ridiculous since they were not even talking in person.

‘I think you need glasses Murphy :’) ‘

‘Ah fuck off, my eyes work perfectly fine love.’

She snorted to herself, the stupid grin still plastered on her face.

‘Well you’re pretty handsome yourself.’

‘I’m flattered ;) ‘

Another hour passed by as she and Murphy chatted some more about this and that, he had told her he had a twin brother and they had talked about their jobs; Savannah working at a bookstore and Murphy at a meat packing plant. She didn't stop smiling once as she pottered around her small apartment cleaning up.

‘So, what do you think about meeting up?’

She stilled, butterflies blooming in her stomach at the thought of meeting the man face to face. She hadn't met anyone off the app yet but she seemed to get on well with Murphy and he actually knew how to talk instead of banging on about sex right away. She wasn't quite sure what he would expect of her when they met, but part of her wanted to find out.

‘I’d like that :) ‘

‘Tonight?’

She swallowed thickly and looked at the clock, it was just past 7 now, which meant they’d meet up pretty fucking soon, she hadn't really expected him to want to see her tonight and she felt nervous that she had a severe lack of time to mentally prepare.

‘What do you have in mind?’

She sat on the couch as she waited for a reply, his replies had been coming in right away but this time it was a few minutes and she wondered if he had a change of heart and decided he didn't want to meet her after all. Anxiety was a bitch. She was relieved when her phone went off again.

‘Me and my brother usually go to an Irish pub just near our apartment, we could go there if you want?’

She quirked a brow as she read it, an Irish pub, it wasn't really date-worthy but she guessed it wasn't really a date, they barely knew each other, it was more just meeting and feeling each other out. It would be a crowded place, so on the off chance he was a psycho, a hot psycho, but crazy nonetheless, she would be around other people. Amy had been very clear with her that if she was to meet up with someone, she must meet them in a public place and see if she got any bad vibes.

‘Sounds good to me, I’ve never been to an Irish pub before.’

‘What?! Fuck me, you’ve not lived girl ;) ‘

She snorted to herself and nibbled her lower lip, Amy was going to have a field day with this situation when she found out.

‘I guess not haha. What time?’

‘8?’

‘Okay :) Just so you know, I have like major anxiety so I might be super quiet at first and you’ll have to keep poking me to make me talk :’) ‘

‘HA, I think I can handle that love’

He gave her the directions, she would have to get a bus but she didn't mind and he gave her his number in case she got lost and needed his help. She ran into her bedroom and pulled out almost all of her clothes, she didn't want to dress up too much, it was just a pub after all, but she wanted to look decent. It was summer so she settled on a nice strappy black dress with little red flowers on it. It was a skater dress and ended just above her knees. She paired it with a lacy boho style black cardigan that was floor length and her ankle high Doc Marten boots. Her dark brown hair was just past her shoulders and naturally slightly wavy, she kept it down and put a headband in with a little black bow. She slapped on some winged liner and mascara and that was good enough for her. It was her usual makeup, nothing over the top and she felt comfortable.

She grabbed her bag and left, the anxiety starting to build up. When she got off the bus she looked around, she hadn't ever been to this part of Southie before and she had no clue where she was, there were a lot of people bustling around and it was getting dark, it only made her panic. She hated social situations and she cursed herself for even putting herself in this position, what the fuck was she thinking? Her eyes darted around nervously and she took her phone from her bag, chewing her lip as she looked at it. She needed to call him, she didn't know where she was and she had forgotten everything he told her about where to go from the bus stop. Phone calls were hell for her. She wasn't sure what it was about them that triggered her anxiety tenfold but she started considering hopping back on the bus and fleeing, never talking to him again and pretending it all never happened. She couldn't though, she’d feel bad if she did that and also, he was drop dead gorgeous and she didn't know if she would have this opportunity again.

She took a deep breath and scrolled through her contacts until she found his name, pushing call and wincing, fighting the panic and urge to just hang up.

“Hello?” She heard on the other end, she could hear people chattering in the background and he shouted at someone to shut up, she couldn't help but smile and it eased her just a little.

“Hey Murphy, it’s Savannah.” She said shyly, cursing herself for sounding so fucking small and pathetic.

“Hey love! Ye get off the bus?” He asked, sounding like he was smiling. She heard movement on the other end and suddenly it went quieter, she wondered if he had moved from the noise to hear her better.

“Yeah but uh...I’m kind of lost.” She mumbled, her cheeks flushing slightly, she felt so stupid. She heard a boyish laugh on the other side of the phone and it was such a beautiful sound it made her legs go weak.

“Ye still at the bus stop?” He asked her.

“Yeah.” She replied and she glanced around, still feeling nervous about being out in the dark on her own.

“Hold on, I’ll come grab ye.” With that, he hung up.

She moved to lean against the building next to the bus stop as she waited for him, she was so fucking nervous to see him in person, what if he didn’t like her when he actually saw her? She whined to herself, once again wondering why she had done this to herself. She glanced up and saw him walking over. He was wearing a black t-shirt that seemed to stretch across his broad ass shoulders and arms, she didn't think she'd ever seen shoulders that wide before, but fuck if it wasn't perfection. She swallowed thickly as he beamed a grin at her, walking over.

“Hey there love!” He smiled, taking her by surprise as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. She hadn't really expected any physical contact so soon and she tensed at first before her brain registered what was going on. She brought her arms around his middle to hug him back loosely, feeling awkward and not really knowing how to interact.

When he moved away though he either didn't notice or didn't care as he just grinned at her.

“Ye ready for yer first experience o’ an Irish pub?” He smirked at her, his accent almost made her swoon and that would have been fucking embarrassing. She nodded shyly, unable to find her voice now she was face to face with the man and he tilted his head as he looked at her. His cocky smirk vanished and it was replaced by a kind smile instead.

“Hey, don’t be goin’ shy on me now love aye? Ye’ll be fine.” He said softly, making her heart flutter at his kind words and tone. She was grateful he wasn't mocking her or making her feel stupid.

The walk to the pub wasn't far at all and Murphy chatted about little things on the way, helping her feel more at ease. When they got there, they stopped just outside the door and she glared at it like it was a poisonous snake. She could hear the rowdy people all the way from outside and she got nervous again.

“Ye’ll be fine alright, I’ll stick wit’ ye and they’re all good people.” He smiled down at her, making her blink up at him and nod. She could do this, she would be fine, she just had to push past her anxiety and do it. She was sick of not living her life, of hiding away, always choosing to stay hidden away at home and not going out because her anxiety ruled her life. Murphy seemed like a good guy and he seemed to just get her, wanting to put her at ease, if she stayed by his side in there, maybe things wouldn’t be too bad and for once she could actually have fun.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag

[surfersofbole]

Draft of the Most Crucial (Parts 2 & 3)

The following two portions are released together. Just like Frank Zappa deemed parts two and three of his wonderful album Joe’s Garage too small to be released separately, I’ve deemed parts two and three too small to post separately.

I haven’t read through the entire thing in one sitting, so I wouldn’t come into this with high expectations. Anyways, I hope you don’t suffer too much trying to read through this post.

Part 2: The Fragmentation of Dreams

2A: Dreams on the Ocean Liner

Nautical Particle

A little rot ought not stop this promised ship; A farcical barnacle is a spectacle we welcome. Seldom should we find a delicacy on a trip As those Portuguese so often eat them Before their metamorphoses is complete.

See, they may cling to things and such But that is because they lay dormant. Foreign to fresh feed, the Portuguese eat much On the sea beast, but if they had faith, just a gram They’d wait and find there’ll be more meat.

See, the goose is not actually a bird; Rather, it is some kind of crab. ‘Bove rabbinical and levitical word, God’d not explain the reason for this truth But he gave us eyes to see his work.

The goose, when it remains submerged, Begins to turn to stone. It calcifies, Defies understanding but when it has emerged… The Benedictines held in their mouth each tooth Except one, who whispered an animal does lurk

Within the flowers of the coral tree. They’ve come above the water; Utter praise to god that has blessed thee And me and all for the geese Shall grow, and and a goose we’ll feast.

So when you question the life ‘neath the ship I’ll have you know that you question our own. Aaron, you sea pup, those beasts below that grip Will give food and will please All of the men, for we’ll dine three nights at the least.

The Blinding of Argus I*

Onward and steadfast into the tumultuous storm. Only faltering fools should fall to the rain, So fasten yourselves because this is your alarm. Before us is the swirling drain And drain you of life it shall with exquisite form. Pray now to your God, and refrain Once we enter; there shall be no arm So strong to save you the pain Of hell’s wilderness, Leviathin’s scorn. Water swirls like the sand in the storm; grain Beating upon the very soul, worn Down by utter disdain.

Charybdis bites at the heels to quench her thirst. The Moskstraumen that shall paint a world so bleak, unmarked.** Leviathin’s eye that consumes the light first And then consumes the souls of men lost in the dark.

The Waves*

Like pleasurable ecstasy, Wave after wave upon me Come to drown my tiring soul, And I cannot let go of the frame When, for a moment, things are tame. Howling out my shipmates’ name, Tides gain force and hug the hull. Wave after wave upon me Like pleasurable ecstasy. Wave after wave upon me As the storm grows strong and blows. My heart that beats for such a beast should come down like a rogue Unto the ship, feasting so that it eats th’ whole of my ship. I pray to God that I might not let go. I fear to slip  And disappear forever into the eternal empty sea. Where are you God? Your hand, I cannot see. Where are my mates? No one knows, And I am without ease within. Oh, if you should please to hope, Give me a sign, I fear this Calm won’t last too long.

The Sun

The cold rain stops, swirls ‘long Gentle breeze of sea salt air, The sun is no longer gone. I breathe on in; something is wrong The peace is gone, I, not aware, Walk back down and see John,

Undone and slaughtered dog; And all my friends were too undone. Tears, for hours, I would cry. Before began to turn the cogs And the rot began to fill my lungs, But the tears still welled in my eyes.

One by one that go the residents. Sick to my stomach, I feel not pleasant I know their carcasses must be jettisoned As I find them to be ever r‘pugnant.

Sabotage on the Argus

Some say that my ailment should be cured with ale, And I know that I’ll rather medicate than meditate Because I was sold on a ship that’s sailed, Only leaving me with my teeth grating. Tomorrow may promise to come, but it is paled Awfully by the promises that, yesterday, I left, mistaking Mossed stones for green pastures. Stale, Ever so tasteless, but not painless; such is fate.

Oh, that I might be able to change; Not that I may become strange…

To me, it’s a matter of correction. How a corrosive connection Ever makes painful every inspection.

Ailed, I have been for far too long. Repugnant, I’ve found this failure of mine; Gall that I shouldn’t blame myself. But I’ve been wronged Utterly and thus erred eternally, cursed to the brine. Sabotaged on the Argus, to which I belong.

Imagining Old Friends

“Where now to, my captain?” “I don’t know. I think back to souls I left so long ago. I think back to the days of young, When the salted air’d not beat my lungs, And I can only hope to hold to dreams. I think if I could only write upon the beams, With knife in hand, I’d write until I filled the pages Of empty reams that have been forgotten for the ages If it would mean I could preserve a legacy Lived in the empty hull of a ship damned at sea. But the past was lived so long ago, And we live to tell this tale, so I’ll not write it… no. Now then, let us travel, for I’ve not the heart to stop And if we live, it’s because, unlike stones, we shall not drop. I say we should go until we find our foot holds to the ground And we’ll sing our praises until we reach the holy mount, For in these seconds, we realize that we’re in the midst of conversion And angelic souls shall fall like demons if we wait hold to diversions.

2B: Awakening

Dream

Thus went th’ walk through hell: Weary dreamer leaves his cell With my key to all. Escaped the blurred hall, Fell into the bivalve shell Before the portal.

The pressure and heat, Coquina spread b’fore your feet. ‘n Marcos leaves you meek; Before it, land, bleak. And you’re sent to walk the street T’ find wild’rness’ mystique.

Call

Anastasia’s at your back And she’ll wait for your return But everything’s empty inside your mind.

August, in its right, has come And James had long been gone Before you had the chance to say goodbye.

All’s gone through the wilderness; All’s gone into the deep. Baffled you, the emptiness, with its creep.

Mystique

The western road takes you to th’ unknown The northern one leaves you at the offshoot of the river And it’s killer for to travel down the coast But the wilderness boasts with shivering leaves The cool wind that’s blown when God breathes.

Confusion

How far must you walk in these woods? You are lost. All the trees grow slender, with bark turn’d to white. You walk the wooden path with splinters at your feet And the nails in your coffer replace your daily wage.

How far must you walk? In these woods, you are lost. As concrete jungles rise around you to fill your sight, You realize you have a common place at your feet. How it seems common place to forget at your age.

When you look back upon your life, what hope should it foster Will the weight be unbearable or are things a bit lighter? You are such a common man. No effort t’ move a meter. Are you a puppet on God’s stage? You have no answer, I’d wager.

(The First) Reflection

If hell is for my afterlife, should I have myself a beer? I think that maybe hell is here and it makes me feel right queer. The pilfered moments pile high, but stand only for a while. Is life merely mere or mirrored small f’ ‘ppearance and for style.

Part 3: Consequent Ending After Facing the Truth

3A: Once More Unto The Beach

Confrontation

Through brooks, the bream would travel through, Not baffled by the path it took. Where laid the eggs, ‘t’d disperse the seed. Thus stays its line, birthing its breed.

You mistook my dreams. They addled you. Your rattled laugh… I’d bit the hook; Hang me up to dry on high. Low below bellows my cry.

How your life is shades of gray; Dark, no color, feel no shame For all you ever were was fake. They look at you and call you brave.

I look at you, another stray. You fail the grade but it’s all a game; You have no goal, no claim t’ a stake. They’re naive to believe a knave.

Bury four dozen seasons (and all without reasons)

Remember when we were young? Remember those days of old? Remember how you made me feel? I remember things professed and told.

Pretending you’d love me, Pretending you’d care, Pretending you’d need me. Pretending, you’d swear That you’d never leave me – ‘til death do us part – But I couldn’t stop thee When you did depart.

You tell your old stories. You tell your old tales. You tell them your worries. Your mind never fails Except now it scurries; It’s been far too long. Now, with you here, Maurice, All I knew was wrong.

Recall those stories you read Of sailors and pirates out west. You read it, you lusted, you fled. So, you left me and the sun at rest

To go hide in Avalon, And I’d never known. For twelve years, you were gone. Twelve, I was alone. For twelve years, I would don A face made of stone. That wanton, early dawn, You cannot atone. A widow’s veil, I wore. Years wearing that veil. To God, I prayed and bore Tears with no avail. And then I resigned more. I did not prevail. Well, now I shall take your Minister’s black veil.

You distort the truth you give. You purport adventures incurred By a man whose life has been lived. You took all your tales from another.

(The Second) Reflection

What am I but an unholy soul riding the waves of destiny? A sailor cast away into the tumultuous inferno, I’ve been struck with profound emptiness that any light in me would shine ethereal. As pass the millennia, so pass the centuries; those pass like seconds on a clock and moments in a lifetime, unhappy. Blessed be I if, a moment in life, I could steal. But cursed am I, for in truth, life is nothing but a collection of fleeting moments of ecstasy and misery. I may wish for pleasurable endeavors and treasures abound, but I’ve worthless fruits with value unsound and fruitless worths with futures destitute. Just as quick as the dark is cast to a crevice, so too is a dark veil to be set over my eyes.

Secondary Ending: Unsalvageable

It’s lost, like a ship Cast into the deep. Bubbles that’d quip A whisper of sleep.

The gargantuan beasts — Those devilish seas —, They bite at the coasts, Nibbling children’s toes.

I needn’t wonder; They no longer creep. Rolling of thunder, But th’ heavens won’t weep.

How much was I rused? As much as I’d choose. What my heart had seized Was only a tease.

And now, what’s worse: The sea demons’ keep, Or hunger and thirst? To th’ ocean, I leap.*

Dutch’s Sorrows (or; Maurice’s Regret For Jumping Ship)

The deep, blue sky that stays above My sullen, wanting eyes. Drive me closer to my home, My strong, silent creator. Lead me to the place I’d known (That I might win this race)** Until I hold on to my love And the sea is gone. Drive me closer to my home, Turbulent composer; All the love you hold, please show Because I’m growing old.

3B: To Live And Die A Self-Proclaimed Sage

Wide-Eyed, Foolish Dreams

Why would I choose to write If an angel wrote in my journal? All the pages would be blank For the moment it should come back and write again. But I, foolishly, Thinking I could respond, did write In the hopes that being nocturnal Would bring the diurnal being to flank Me to fill the pages, but ‘twas never again. (Never again.) Why’d I foolishly Think in responding, it’d write?

The Forgetful Muse

A sad man lost at sea, a soul th’t starved. Please, r’turn me th’ strength and the intell- -igence. One final letter I shall write: A cruc’al draft, th’ last long tale I’ll tell,

For in this foreign sea, forgotten writs Are in th’ books inscribed with my p’n marks, And th’ last hidden thought has hid b’hind Wrinkles in time that are apart and far.

I turn away th’ troubles of m’ life. If these lost mom’nts left with blowin’ winds, They would soon be r’turnin’ back to me, Like scrapped, old dreams ‘nwrit; to them, akin,

For in this foreign sea, forgotten writs Are in th’ books inscribed with my p’n marks, And th’ last hidden thought has hid b’hind Wrinkles in time that are apart and far.

She is th’ inspiration stowed away. She is, t’ me, th’ beauty cast from me. I wish so much t’ call, with force, her name; She’s th’ forgetful muse called Euterpe.*

I – a forgetin’ mule that’s been displaced – Pray that p’rhaps a return shall soon be. It’s been long time since overdue f’r when She would, discreet, come and command to greet

A sad man lost at sea, a soul th’t starved. Please, r’turn me th’ strength and the intell- -igence. One final letter I shall write: A cruc’al draft, th’ last long tale I’ll tell.

Primary Ending: The Second Social Death

(I) Was beholden, once more, To the place in my dreams; N’ther beauty of life nor Truth in the reams

Of letters written by Machinations o’ th’ mind, And so long that I’d pry But so little t’ find.

I shall let my mind drift, As I now have my word, Since those letters ‘d now sift Like sand in water.

See, my bottle was smashed On the stones of the sea And my message was dashed For eternity.*

[barinacraft]

100+ Halloween Jokes, Puns, Riddles & One Liners

Hysterical Halloween Humor & Hilarious Haunted Holiday Humdingers

There's over one hundred All Hallows' Eve jokes on this page ranging from whimsical word plays to scary squibs, clever clowning around to frightening farces, and everything eerie about Halloween in between. You might want to settle in with a spooky sip because this could take awhile.

If you're still begging for laughs after this large list of larks, links to even more holiday hijinks are provided at the bottom of this buffoonery. Buckle up and chuckle.

Bat Banter

Q: What is Dracula's favorite cocktail to drink at a baseball game? A: Bat Bite.

Q: What is Dracula’s favorite position in baseball? A: Bat boy!

Q: Why do vampires need mouthwash? A: Because they have bat breath.

Black Cat Comedy

Q: What do you get when you cross a black cat with a lemon. A: A sourpuss.

Devil Droll

A woman whose husband often came home drunk decided to cure him of the habit. One Halloween night, she put on a devil suit and hid behind a tree to intercept him on the way home. When her husband came by, she jumped out and stood before him with her red horns, long tail, and pitchfork. "Who are you?" he asked. "I'm the Devil!" she responded. "Well, come on home with me," he said, "I married your sister!"

Q: What happens when Ambrose Bierce drinks the Devil's blood? A: He gives new meaning to Mephistopheles' mustache.*

Dracula Jokes

Dracula is the most famous of all the Vampires. Those mythical nocturnal beings that feed on blood, get burned by sunlight and usually must be killed by stabbing them with a stake to the heart. There's something funny going on there.

Q: What kind of boat pulls Dracula water skiing on Halloween night? A: A blood vessel.

Q: What is Dracula's favorite kind of dog? A: A blood hound.

Q: What is the tallest building in Transylvania? A: The Vampire State Building.

Q: Where does Count Dracula usually eat his lunch? A: At the casketeria.

Q: What drink does Dracula order when vacationing at the beach? A: A Blood and Sand cocktail.

Q: What does Dracula like to drink when he brandies about the ship? A: Nelson's Blood.

Ghost And Goblin Gaiety

A Halloween ghost walks into a bar. Bartender asks, "What'll you have?" Ghost says, "I'm here for the BOOs. A disembodied spirit if you please."

Q: Why don't ghosts like to go out in the rain? A: Because it dampens their spirits.

Q: Why do ghosts like to ride elevators? A: It raises their spirits.

Q: Who did the scary ghost invite to his party? A: Any old friend he could dig up!

Q: What kind of shoes do baby ghosts wear? A: Boo-ties!

Q: What do goblins drink when they’re hot and thirsty? A: Ice cold Ghoul-aid!

Q: Where do hard working ghosts go on vacation? A: The Eerie canal!

Q: What did the little ghost have in his rock collection? A: Tombstones.

Q: What did the mother ghost say to her baby ghost? A: "Don't spook until you're spooken to."

Q: What do ghosts serve for dessert? A: I SCREAM!

Q: What do you call a ghost with a broken leg? A: A hoblin goblin.

Q: What do you get when you cross Bambi with a ghost? A: Bamboo.

Q: What games do ghosts like to play? A: Peek-a-Boo and Hide & Shriek.

Q: What happens when a ghost gets lost in the fog? A: He is mist.

Q: What happens when a ghost haunts a theater? A: The actors get stage fright.

Q: What is a ghost's favorite oatmeal? A: SCREAM of Wheat.

Q: What does a ghost get when he falls and scrapes his knee? A: A boo boo.

Q: What do ghouls eat for breakfast? A: Ghost toasties with evaporated milk.

Q: Where do ghosts go swimming? A: The dead sea.

Q: What do you get when you cross a ghost with an owl? A: Something that doesn't give a hoot if they scare somebody.

Horror Humor [sic]

Q: What happened to the guy who couldn’t keep up payments to his exorcist? A: He was repossessed, again!

Q: Did you hear about the cannibal who was expelled from school? A: He was buttering up his teacher.

Q: Did you hear about the guy that lost his left arm and leg in a car crash? A: He's all right now.

Q: What is a cannibal's favorite type of TV show? A: A celebrity roast.

Q: What is Beethoven doing in his coffin right now? A: Decomposing.

Q: What do you call someone who puts poison in a person's corn flakes? A: A cereal killer.

Did you hear about the cannibal boy that was 8 before he was 7?

Jack-o'-lantern Laughs

Q: How do you mend a broken Jack-o-lantern? A: With an orange pumpkin patch.

Q: What’s the true ratio of a pumpkin’s circumference to its diameter? A: Pumpkin Pi!

Q: What do you get when you drop a pumpkin? A: Lots of squash seeds to sear.

Q: What do you call a fat Jack-O-Lantern? A: A plumpkin.

Monster Quips

Two monsters went to a party. Suddenly one said to the other, “A lady just rolled her eyes at me. What should I do?” “Be a gentleman and roll them back to her.”

Q: Have you seen Quasimodo? A: I have a hunch he'll be back!

Q: What do you do with a green monster? A: Wait until it ripens.

Q: Why wasn't there any lettuce left after the monster party? A: Because everyone was a green goblin!

Q: What's a haunted chicken? A: A poultry-geist.

Q: How do monsters tell their future? A: They read their horrorscope.

Q: Why did the Cyclops have to close his school? A: He only had one pupil.

Q: What does a monsters' child call his parents? A: Mummy and Deady.

Q: What do you call a monster with no neck? A: The Lost Neck Monster.

Q: What do sea monsters eat for lunch? A: Fish and ships.

Mummy Gags

Q: Why can’t mummies go on vacation? A: Because they’re afraid they’ll relax and unwind!

Q: What do you call a little monster's parents? A: Mummy and deady.

Q: What did the mummy say to the detective? A: Let's wrap this case up.

Scarecrow Caws

Q: Did you hear about the scarecrow who won the Nobel Prize? A: He was outstanding in his field!

Skeleton Shenanigans

Q: Why aren’t there more famous skeletons? A: They’re a bunch of no bodies!

Q: When does a spooky skeleton laugh? A: When something tickles his funny bone!

Q: What did the skeleton say when his brother told a lie? A: You can’t fool me, I can see right through you!

Q: What do skeletons say before eating? A: Bone Appetit!

Q: What type of art do skeletons like? A: Skullptures!

Q: What did the skeleton say while riding his motorcycle? A: I’m bone to be wild!

Q: What did the skeleton say to the bartender? A: I'd like a beer and a mop!

Q: What do you give a skeleton for Valentine's Day? A: Bone-bones in a heart shaped box.

Q: What does a skeleton order at a restaurant? A: Spare ribs.

Q: What instrument do skeletons play? A: Trom-BONE.

Q: What kind of key opens a casket? A: A skeleton key.

Q: Why don't skeletons like parties? A: Because they have no body to dance with.

Spider Antics

Q: What do you call two spiders that just got married? A: Newlywebbed.

Trick Or Treat Tomfoolery

Q: What do birds give out on Halloween night? A: Tweets.  [ Tweet this Joke! ]

Q: How did the priest make holy water? A: He took some tap water and boiled the hell out of it.

Vampire Riddles

Three vampires walk into a creepy bar. Bartender asks, "What's your poison?" The first vampire says, "A mug of blood." The second vampire says, "I'll have what he's having." The third vampire says, "No, not me. I'll have a glass of plasma." Bartender says, "OK, two bloods and a blood lite."

Q: How do vampires invite each other out for lunch? A: Do you want to go for a bite?

Q: Why did the vampire get fired from the blood bank? A: He was caught drinking on the job!

Q: How can you tell if a vampire has a horrible cold? A: By his loud coffin from deep down in his chest.

Q: What kind of fruits do vampires like? A: Adam's apples and juicy neckterines.

Q: What did one thirst vampire say to the other as they were passing the morgue? A: Let’s stop in for a cool one!

Q: What is a vampire's favorite holiday? A: Fangsgiving.

Q: Why did vampires toast the Democrat in 2000? A: They wanted to Gore.

Q: How can you tell that a vampire likes baseball? A: He turns into a bat every night.

Q: How does a girl vampire flirt? A: She bats her eyes.

Q: What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire? A: Frostbite.

Q: What does a vampire never order at a restaurant? A: A stake sandwich.

Q: What does a vampire fear most? A: Tooth decay.

Q: Who do vampires buy their cookies from? A: Ghoul Scouts.

Q: What is a vampire's favorite sport? A: Casketball.

Q: Why did the Vampire subscribe to the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal? A: He heard they had great circulation.

Q: What is a vampire's favorite ice cream flavor? A: Veinilla.

Q: What do you give a vampire with a cough and a cold? A: Coffin drops.

Witch Wit

Q: What do you get when you cross a witch with a clown? A: A brew ha-ha.

Q: Why do witches need to wear name tags? A: So, they would know which witch is which!

Q: What did one old witch say to other when she asked for a ride? A: There’s always broom for one more!

Q: What did the scary witch do when her broomstick broke? A: She had to witch-hike!

Q: When do witches like to cook their victims? A: On Fry-Day!

Q: What do you call two witches living together? A: Broom-mates!

Q: What do you call a witch who lives in the desert? A: A sand witch.

Q: What is a witch's favorite subject in school? A: Spelling class.

Q: How do you make a witch scratch? A: Just take away the 'W.'

Zombie One Liners

Q: What do you do when 50 zombies surround your house? A: A: Hope it's Halloween.

Q: What do you call dead cows that come back to life? A: Zombeef.

Q: What do zombies like to eat at cook outs? A: Halloweenies.

More Halloween Jokes

What A Great Costume

How Much Are We Taking Off?

References

* - Ambrose Bierce authored The Cynic's Word Book in 1906 which was retitled The Devil's Dictionary in 1911.

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #201 - Predator

Spoilers Below

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: No.

Format: Blu-ray

1) There is very little in this film to make it a sci-fi movie (because for the large part it isn’t, but more on that later), but the very first scene of the alien ship sending down SOMETHING leaves no doubt as to the origins of the Predator. It’s not demonic, it’s not a government experiment gone wrong. It’s extraterrestrial, plain and simple. Which means the film can jump right into the story past sci-fi exposition.

2) This initial “hand shake” between Dillon and Dutch really shows the very basic conflict at the heart of their relationship. A conflict of strengths, each needing to be better than the other. Arnie has fun with it but Dillon seems to be a bit more insecure. It is this conflict which is at the heart of their relationship.

3) Arnold Schwarzenegger as Dutch.

Dutch is actually my favorite character played by the legendary action performer. Upon first meeting Dutch you easily understand who he is as a character. There’s a sense of honor and morality, a strength to him (both physical and - you can sense - emotional), and he’s not eager for a fight. This last one is important. Dutch is the leader of rescue team. He’s not looking for a life, he’s not looking to take life. He’s looking to save it. But he will do what is necessary to save his objective. Dutch is also able to keep a straight head constantly and work through bad situations, something which will save his neck more than once. The thing that transcends Dutch above other Arnie characters for me, like The Terminator for instance, is that he just feels unique from those other characters. It’s a little more than just Arnold Schwarzenegger while also being very full of life and just interesting.

4) When you are working with an ensemble cast in a 107 minute runtime, you have to establish things quickly and you have to establish them well. The chopper ride into the jungle gives the audience a clear sense of not only the team dynamic but each character as an individual. They transcend basic stereotypes to be unique. You understand their sense of humor (or lack there of), their relationship with each other, their bravado, you just get who they are.

Language warning: use of f****t.

5) There is a simple base difference between Dutch and Dillon which speaks greatly to the conflict they will have.

Dillon [about the mission]: “Never knew how much I missed this, Dutch.”

Dutch: “You never were very smart.”

Remember, Dutch isn’t itching for a fight. But Dillon is. Dillon is very much a hit first kind of guy, while Dutch is a hit second but hit hard kind of guy.

6) The first scene in the jungle and later the skirmish between Dutch’s men & the guerrillas does well to establish how tough/capable they are. How dangerous they really are. The scene with the guerrillas in particular does this in an entertaining action movie way, but more than anything else it helps to also establish how deadly the Predator is. It takes a LOT to take this guys out, as we see in these two scene. They’re not some drunken teenager at a cabin in the woods, they’re fucking killers. So the fact that the Predator ends up killing pretty much all of them speaks greatly to how dangerous IT is.

7) The skinned victims is our first indication about how fucking deadly the Predator is. These weren’t random people in the jungle, at least one of them was a green beret. It creates a greater sense of tension and fear, while Billy’s analysis of how the fight went (they fired in all directions but there’s no blood or tracks) continues to set up a great sense of danger.

8) The Predator’s heat vision is akin to the point of view shots used in Jaws. It builds suspense by giving the audience info the characters don’t have (that the Predator is near and could easily kill them) while also playing into our fear of the unknown. We know it can see them but we don’t see it. We don’t know what the Predator really looks like for most of the film.

9) Ah, cheesy 80s one liners.

According to IMDb, this was improvised by Arnie.

10) This is…I just…I laugh at this every time but maybe I shouldn’t.

(GIF originally posted by @drivingmradam)

Poncho: “Huh…okay.”

Like, it’s kinda stupid and even Poncho knows it! Like what kind of hyper masculine bullshit is, “I ain’t got time to bleed?” But it’s so fucking awesome in how fucking ridiculous it is! This is one of the most iconic lines from the film and it’s just…it’s a lot. I’m laughing as I write this! I love that stupid line!

11) I really like this film but I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out it had literally only one female character who doesn’t pass the sexy lamp test. She’s basically an exposition device (and not a great one) who acts as an obstacle for the guys more than a character.

12) Carl Weathers as Dillon.

Weathers plays Dillon REALLY interestingly. You understand that you’re never seeing the whole picture with Dillon. There’s something always beneath the surface. Something always mysterious about the character. He plays the part with a wonderful amount of snake-likeness and gives the strongest performance outside of Schwarzenegger. He’s just really good to watch.

13) Fun fact: that’s 80s screenwriter and current writer/director Shane Black as Hawkins.

Producer Joel Silver wanted Black close around to review the script in case there were issues. Black didn’t have to make any edits though I think, liking the script as it was. He is currently directing the sequel/reboot of the series with The Predator (coming out in August of 2018).

14) Sound design is a surprisingly important aspect for the Predator’s design. Not only the vocals provided by legendary voice over actor Peter Cullen (best known as Optimus Prime in the Transformers franchise), but the way he plays with soundbites from other characters to creep the audience out. It works really well.

15) The tone shift once the Predator kills Hawkins is striking and powerful. You know shit just went sideways as the tension skyrockets. This is no longer an action movie with a war setting. This shit just got scary.

16) Predator really isn’t a typical action or sci-fi film. It doesn’t concern itself too much with space jargon or big explosions (although the film does have some of the latter). The bet way to label the film would be as a survival movie above all else. Through heavy elements of suspense and still the inclusion of solid action, we know what the goal of the movie is for these characters: to live through it. And that works really freaking well.

17) SAVE SOME FREAKING AMMO GUYS!

Poncho: “We hit nothing!”

The look on Dutch’s face and how scared shitless all these badass military dudes are upon hearing this continues to set up just how bad a situation this is. These guys don’t scare easily, if at all.

18) So after Blain dies Mac freaking loses it.

Mac: “He was, um, my friend.”

THIS IS PURE HEADCANON BUT I think Blain and Mac were dating. People on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum weren’t allowed to serve in the military in 1987, so they have to stay closeted (which would also explain why Mac talks so passionately about his sexual appetite with women on the chopper; he’s overcompensating). The hesitation in Mac’s voice before he says, “friend,” makes me think they were more than just friends. And we get a sense of just how incredibly deep their relationship was as the film progresses, with Mac talking to the sky alone thinking Blaine is looking down on him and going so passionately after the Predator which killed his love. It’s probably NOT this, I’m probably just looking for a little more gay in my movies, but I think I’m just going to head canon it this way because it’s fun.

19) Survival isn’t an easy thing, not in the circumstances set up by the film. But there is always that possibility. If there’s no hope this wouldn’t be a movie about survival, it would be a movie about death.

20) Tension comes from slowing things down not speeding them up. A scene which represents this idea well is when the surviving party is waiting for the Predator to fall into their trap. The tension is so raw, so intense. It could be watching them already for all they know. And just when the film lets the tension relax just a little bit THAT’S when the figurative bomb drops.

21) A similar scene which gets high tension out of slow pacing comes from when Mac and Dillon move in on the Predator. It’s slowly paced and the audience never knows quite what to trust. If the voice of Mac calling to Dillon is really him of the Predator’s recording. It all just works very well.

22)

Dutch: “It didn’t kill you because you’re unarmed. No sport.”

Then why are you all carrying around your weapons? (Below is “How Predator Should Have Ended”.)

23) I don’t know why, but this line has become super iconic with time. I think it’s Arnie’s accent.

24) Every good movie has a low point. A place where there’s no clear way out. Dutch laying in the mud, waiting for the Predator to kill him, and the audience totally expecting that to happen, is this film’s low point.

25) The design of the Predator.

It’s at this point in the film when we start getting good looks at the Predator (albeit not its face, but more on that later). There is a nice almost tribal look to it, with the mesh and the way the armor looks on its body. When you see it you just understand that this is a hunter above all else. These elements help to differentiate the Predator from other movie aliens (like the Xenomorph from Alien or the invaders of Independence Day). It’s striking, simple, elegant, and above all else memorable. THAT’S what works.

26) The climax of this film works well because it does away with sci-fi and action film tropes. Gone are the blasters and big machine guns, no more explosions (until the very end), it’s all very old school and analog. It takes what the story is most basically about - survival - and boils that idea to its core. That’s what Dutch is fighting for right now, that’s what is at stake. Not the planet, not a war, not for ideals. He is fighting for his right to live.

Beyond just what the scene is about, it’s wonderfully paced. With strong tension through and through, it’s born from a clear visual palette and (again) slowed down pacing. But it picks it up when necessary, throwing in the surprise and monkey wrench into Dutch’s plan as well (such as when the Predator approaches from behind Dutch). It just really fucking works.

27) It is worth talking about that the Predator is not some mindless, purely animalistic creature. the Predator IS a character. There is a personality and flavor to its actions. A sense of pride in the way it hunts, a sense of honor. There are multiply times where it can EASILY key its prey but it has to be done right. I always got a vibe that this was a younger Predator too, although I can’t explain why. This feels like more of a right of passage than a trip to a game reserve. It makes mistakes, which I think makes it a little more inexperienced. It’s incredibly important that it succeed at its task and to me it’s so it can be considered an adult now.

28) The face of the Predator.

The reason the face of the Predator works, why that reveal works, is because it matches perfectly what we know about the character while still being surprising. Its large teeth represent its viscousness, its eyes are fierce and piercing, the whole thing just FEELS threatening.

28.1) It’s worth noting that the Predator mandibles were James Cameron’s ideas.

29) Tying into note #27 about how the Predator is a character, that final laugh it has before killing itself is so wonderfully freaky. It is the honorable thing to do, taking its own life so this “lesser” being can’t. And the laugh is because it believes that by killing itself Dutch will die too, completing the task it set upon itself. Even when it loses you feel like it’s still a threat.

30) Is it me or do these end credits feel like the opening credits for a cheesy 80s show?

Predator is an excellent gem in the sci-fi/action genre. By doing away with many of the tropes which define both of them, we are treated to a richly suspenseful story of survival. There is a wonderful sense of pacing to the film which supports its suspense, while its elegantly simple plot (survive) is a clear motivator for the characters. The Predator itself is an amazing monster to grace the screens of cinema, but the human characters are nothing to sneeze at. Not when you have performers like Schwarzenegger and Weathers throwing their hats into the ring. All in all, Predator is just a really great film.

[shakespearedidnothavecumsh0ts]

Maleo Week Day 2 // July 17th → Crossover Theo and Malia as Bruce Wayne (Batman le duh) and Talia al Ghul from Son of Batman.

“Take a look Damian, one day, all of this will be yours,” Peter smiled, looking down at his grandson as they watched the assassins train from the balcony. “We’re going to rebuild the world, you and I.”

The young boy looked up at his grandfather, then to his mother and allowed a faint and rare smile to cross his lips. A smile Malia returned, sadly, she’d hardly seen her son smile in all his ten years of life. She supposed it was a given, she never smiled much at his age either. Even before the death of her mother her father hadn’t been one to joke around. She never quite knew if it was as a result of being brought back to life as many times as he was or if all the horrors he’d seen throughout his centuries on earth were what had made him this way, but one thing was certain, Peter Hale had raised both her and her son the same way.

Perhaps Peter wasn’t entirely to blame, if she remembers correctly, Damian’s own father never did smile often. He also shared Damian’s innate affinity for capes as well. Damian was a carbon copy of his father and every time she thought of the last night she’d shared with him, her heart broke a little inside.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Malia smiled turning to face Theo.

He’d yet to have removed his uniform she noted, he must have been informed of the security breach.

“Malia, what are you doing here? And more importantly-”

“How did I get in?” she asked with a smirk. “Your security could use some work. I’d expected more from the incredible Batman.”

“Don’t insult me,” he scoffed, hiding a smile grin.

“I came to thank you.”

“To thank me? For what?”

“You may not know this, but the man you put away tonight was to become my husband and my father’s successor.”

“Should I be offended at how easy it was for your father to replace me?” the Dark Knight asked with a smile.

“Peter is a proud man, he doesn’t take rejection well and with all the times you’ve told him no, you’ve all but crushed his ego. In fact, he’s only persisted because of my feelings towards you.”

“Malia-”

“You know how I feel about you.”

“I know that you’ve always declined my offers to stay in Gotham.”

“As have you declined all mine to leave.”

“Gotham is my city. It’s my job to protect it.”

“Peter is my father, my place is at his side.”

“He’s a misogynistic homicidal maniac. He never gives you the respect you deserve Malia.” Theo countered.

“Oh, and I suppose you will? All you care about is this city. This one small crack in the wall. You could do so much more-”

“Your father gave me the speech countless times Malia. I’m not joining the league.”

“I didn’t come here to recruit you Theo…”

“Right, you came into my bedroom in the middle of the night to thank me.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Malia spoke huskily as she slowly began unzipping the front of her bodysuit.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve always wanted to act on my feelings Theo, I’ve just always been distracted some way or another by my father… Now let me see your eyes,” she said walking over to him and placing a hand on his cheek.

Theo pulled back his mask and met Malia’s eyes. Even after she’d slipped her suit off, that’s where his eyes remained.

After slipping her boots off, she was shorter than him and tilted her head upwards to kiss him. The kiss was soft, softer than either of them had expected; they were- after all- very passionate beings.

A fact demonstrated by the way he kissed her as he shoved her naked against the wall of his bedroom, her long legs wrapped snugly around his bare midsection. Malia grabbed a fistful of his hair in an attempt to make the kiss go her way. It would have worked, had he not brushed his thumb against her clit, causing her to go lax and moan into his mouth. It was a thing of beauty really, Malia’s muffled moan, he sought to draw more from her lips and opted to bring both her legs to his shoulders. He breathed against her core and she locked her ankles around his neck in anticipation.

They’d been in this position before he remembers, quite a lot of times. Of course they’d both been trying to- virtually- kill each other. He doubted sex would be much different, everything was a competition with Malia. Still, she writhed and moaned his name. He knew she hated not being in control but clearly her desire to come apart on his tongue far outweighed that as the only moves she made were grabbing his hair and ensuring his head remained buried between her legs. Theo caught a glimpse of her face as she’d began to shake from her orgasm and he could barely contain the groan that threatened to slip past his lips, he’d never seen her look so beautiful. He loved it.

“I need you,” Malia panted out as Theo laid her on his large bed.

“Of course,” Theo smirked, walking over to his bedside table to retrieve a condom when Malia slipped a hand into his silk boxers from behind and started stroking his erection.

“I don’t enjoy being kept waiting, beloved,” she breathed huskily into his ear.

“Right, how rude of me,” Theo smirked pinning Malia to the bed and kissing her neck.

Theo had been so distracted by her that he completely forgot about using protection all together. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the only problem she seemed to have was being beneath him. This was demonstrated by how she flipped them, clearly in the mood to control the pace. He didn’t mind for the most part, he could see her a lot better. Yes, it was far easier to admire her beauty when she wasn’t pointing a gun at him or escaping with her father.

Of course- her multiple jabs about being the one in control had left him eager to prove her wrong and he pinned her beneath him- amidst several protests.

“Relax sweetheart,” Theo smirked putting a finger to Malia’s lips.

Naturally, she bit his finger in response, prompting him to pin her hands above her head as he brought them both to climax.

“Well,” Malia panted.

“I know,” Theo chuckled, pulling her to his chest.

“I can see why you’re such a hit with the ladies.”

“I’m not one to kiss and tell.”

“Of course, you’re a noble gentleman,” Malia chuckled getting up and walking over to the table where Theo had Scotch laid out.

She poured them each a glass before unscrewing a vial from her pendant and pouring the contents into Theo’s glass.

“Why do you sound so shocked?” he asked taking the glass from her and taking a swig of the brown liquid.

“I guess I just realised that nothing I do will convince you to join the league of assassins.”

“No. But-”

“But what? Are you okay?”

“Sorry, must be some late effects from facing your father.”

“Right, my father does have that effect on people,” she smirked resting on his bare chest.

“So do you,” Theo smirked kissing Malia.

“I imagine, bottoms up,” she grinned downing her drink.

Theo downed his drink and felt even more lightheaded. Everything was blurry and the room started to spin.

“Malia,” he gasped.

“Shh,” she spoke huskily placing a finger to his lips.

“Sweet dreams beloved,” she finished, placing a kiss to his lips. Malia let out a sigh as Theo shut his eyes.

She still had a job to do. Slipping one of Theo’s shirts and buttoning it up, she made her way down to the Batcave and began decrypting the codes. She needed to be quick, lord knows she couldn’t risk alerting Theo’s butler or the boy wonder.

She managed to get in in under two minutes. His system really did need some work. Nonetheless, she wiped his system clean of any information about her father.

“Hello, father?” she spoke into her communicator.

“Yes Malia? Has it been done?”

“He’s knocked out and the system is wiped clean.”

“Good job. I’ll send you the coordinates of the rendezvous point. You have an twenty minutes.”

“Good thing my beloved has a multitude of cars I suppose.”

“We’ll be home in no time. I’ll speak to you then.”

“Yes father,” she nodded hanging up the phone.

 The sound of helicopters and gunshots shaked her from her daze. The compound was under attack. She needed to act.

Malia fought valiantly but Deathstroke had still managed to best them. It didn’t matter that Peter had lived for centuries or that he had such an amazing legacy, all that mattered were the few inches that separated his badly burned body- now corpse- from the Lazarus Pit.

He couldn’t be brought back now. The time of the demon was over, and she had a decision to make.

Would she bend a knee to Deathstroke and have her father’s legacy forever tarnished; or would she avenge her father and rule her way? The choice was obvious.

Theo was pinned down by Killer Croc, possibly about to be eaten when someone tasered the (somehow even more mutated) mutant, causing him to pass out at Theo’s feet. The masked man contained a gasp when he saw who had saved his life.

It was none other than Malia who had smirked and delivered some witty one liner before telling him to meet her on her yacht. She said they had things to discuss, he went ahead, skeptical but curious about what could have brought her to Gotham.

She’d had time to change her outfit, clearly this was a social call, he thought as he avoided the ample cleavage and thigh high slits on either side of her long red dress.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked, pouring herself a glass of Scotch.

“Last I remember that didn’t go so well,” Theo scoffed.

“If I remember correctly, I slipped a little something in your drink,” Malia smirked, walking over to him.

“That’s how I remember it too.”

“Wasn’t all bad was it?” she asked, biting her lip and sliding a now exposed thigh up his leg before wrapping her arms around him.

“I suppose,” Theo scoffed.

“Hmmm…. So you do remember our time together…”

“Some of it…”

“The best parts?”

“Before you drugged me and left my bed to return to the league.”

“You know what they say about blood being thicker than water,” Malia pouted sexily, looking up at him.

“What do you want?” Theo scoffed, grabbing her by her shoulders and detaching her from him.

“My father’s dead,” she sighed.

“Peter?” “How many fathers do I have?” Malia scoffed.

Theo raised a brow in response before muttering an apology. “He just always seemed-”

“Like you? Indestructible?” Malia spoke, cutting him off.

“You should see my X-rays,” Theo grinned.

“You could show them to me sometime,” she smirked.

“You don’t seem too broken up about this…”

“There’s no time to mourn,” she shrugged. “Assassins threaten to take over my father’s organisation. They’re led by a man dad thought could be his successor. Before he found out about you of course,” Malia sighed taking a sip of her scotch. “Now he wants to kill us,” she finished, tossing the drink back in one swig.

“Us?”

“Not you and me. Your son and I,” Malia said gesturing for him to follow her down the hall.

“My son?” Theo scoffed as Malia stopped before a door.

“I assure you he’s yours,” she said opening the door to reveal a little boy who, admittedly- looked exactly Theo when he was that age.

“My son?” Theo asked again, still shocked.

“Don’t look so shocked father, I thought you’d be taller,” Damian spoke looking up at Theo.

“Funny, your mother said exactly the same thing.”

“Forgive me for expecting the fearsome Batman to have a more imposing physical make up.”

“We need to talk,” Theo scoffed shutting Damian’s room door and dragging Malia back to the main room by her bicep.

“I quite enjoy these types of talks.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me we had a son?” Theo growled.

“I’ll answer when I’m talking to Theo and not Batman,” Malia scoffed crossing her arms.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Malia!” Theo scoffed removing his mask. “Happy now? Good. Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“Forgive me if I didn’t think you’d have time to raise a child whilst playing both Batman and Billionaire Playboy.”

“Wanna try saying that again? Maybe this time I’ll believe that’s the real reason.”

“What would be the real reason?” Malia asked, glaring at him.

“You not only played me that night, you used me. You didn’t have sex with me because of any feelings. You did it because you wanted me to get you pregnant.”

Malia’s hard expression faltered, “Theo-”

“Let me guess, your daddy told you that an heir would be have better than failing in his task to get me?”

“He had nothing to do with that!” Malia snapped.

“Don’t you see I didn’t have a choice?!”

Theo let out a scoff, “You never have a choice Malia.”

“Producing an heir with your DNA was the perfect solution to all his problems… I wouldn’t need to be in fear of him marrying me off to some barbarian like Bane in the hopes of me being bred well.”

Theo was disgusted at thought of Malia being regarded as just a womb for Peter’s empire to grow. It made him detest the man further, luckily for them both, he had already been killed.

“Still, you stayed.”

“He’s my father.”

“He’s a monster Malia. You once told me that you were the strongest of all your siblings, the most competent.”

“I am.”

“Yet he’d overlook you and search for successors elsewhere.”

“I’m a woman… I wasn’t meant to lead the league of shadows. It’s my one flaw he’d always say… He’d have corrected it if he wasn’t afraid it’d alter me all together. I got lucky our son was born a the way he was… A strong, healthy mix of two talented beings. He was perfect.”

“Perfect for Peter to sink his claws into and mould into whatever he wanted right?”

“It got him off my back and kept me from having to choose between the both of you ever again.”

“Let’s be honest here, you have and always would have chosen him.”

“Why do you think you’re still alive Theo? Heck- why do you my father even considered making you his successor?” Malia scoffed. “It’s not because of your amazing prowess and touching backstory. You’re alive, because of me.”

“That’s a bold statement don’t you think? Especially considering that every time I met your father in battle I’ve won.”

“My father had been alive for over five centuries and knew virtually every style of fighting ever invented, yet he was bested by a man dressed like a bat? Really beloved? I knew you were arrogant but I never thought you were stupid.” Malia sighed. “Even if you did manage to beat him, he had countless expendable assassins who could have systematically taken you out. But he never did.”

“I’m confused as to what you had to do with that but okay. Remember it how you will.”

“My father didn’t kill you and string your corpse up for your precious Gotham to see because I was in love with you!”

“What?”

“I was in love with you,” she sighed. “But, that doesn’t matter now… It’s too late for us and we’ve proven that we won’t work.”

“Malia-”

“Take care of our son? Please? He’s all I have now.”

“I will, but why don’t you stay?”

“I need to avenge my father and stop the league from falling under that psycho’s control.”

“And after?”

“I’m not sure,” Malia sighed. “I admit, I’ve thought about you a lot lately. How things could have been different had I stayed that night. How Damian could be different.”

“Different?”

“He idolises Peter. Hopes to fulfill his mission. But he’s so much like you-”

“Malia-”

“He’s strong, stubborn, brooding- it’s too late for us but not for the two of you. I want my son by my side when I take over the league, but not as some mindless killer.”

Theo let out a sigh, “This guy, the one who wants to kill you-”

“No. I have to do this on my own. Just please keep an eye on Damian. He’s inherited your inability to stay away from a fight. And I fear he’ll become a target.”

“I’ll keep him safe, I promise,” Theo said cupping Malia’s cheek.

She nodded and allowed herself to give him one final kiss before she watched him and her son walk through the door and off of her yacht. There was no time for tears. She had a job to do.

[elfnerdherder]

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 6

You can reach Chapter 6 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 6: One Black, One Blue

           He stayed in the depths of the FBI HQ for the rest of the day as well as the next morning, up to his elbows in reading through the different patients Lecter took extensive notes on. Will would credit him this: he was organized. He kept clear, concise information in a slanted script, the details of a person more than whether or not they thought it right to laugh at a funeral. He examined their micro-expressions, the way they clasped their hands on their knees, the way their eyes cut to the side after a difficult question. Hannibal Lecter saw all.

           He wasn’t rescued from his work by a moment of eureka, but by his phone buzzing at his hip.

           “Graham here.”

           “It’s Alana.”

           He rubbed the bad eye, like she could somehow see it over the phone and through his ‘Cloud blue’ contacts.

           “How are you?”

           “How are you?” Alana asked. Her emphasis would have been mildly insulting if it was anyone but her.

           “Trying to read between the thin lines Lecter left,” said Will, thumbing through another patient’s file. There were two that stood out to him in stark relief against the shitty lights of the evidence locker, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of Occam’s Broom or because he’d found something substantial. “Why?”

           “Jack called.”

           “Are you my keeper?” Will snorted derisively.

           “Well, that’s why I told you. He asked me to be discreet, and I said I wouldn’t lie to you. Also, you’d know if I lied to you.”

           “I would,” Will agreed.

           “He said you stormed out of the police precinct because they asked you about Hobbs.”

           Will leaned back in his chair and peered up at the corkboard ceiling, rubbing his mouth to soften the words that he wanted to hurl out. He shouldn’t have cussed at the chief. His mind made leaps people couldn’t follow –always had. Jack was best at trying to reel him in so that he could understand, but someone from the Baltimore police wouldn’t see what he was saying unless he took the time to flower it up.

           “I took a walk,” he said at last. “I needed a walk.”

           “I’ve seen you talk about Hobbs before, Will. This wasn’t just about Hobbs, was it?” He knew what she was asking without having to clarify. Time did that to people, he supposed –you knew without knowing, heard without hearing. Then there was him, and he saw the little pieces most people left behind.

           “You were right, Alana. He’s a son-of-a-bitch,” Will admitted.

           “Did he get in your head?”

           “…It felt like ants crawling around my skull. He took one look, then another, and he saw as much as I saw.”

           “You saw, though?” Alana sounded surprised.

           “He said that if I wanted to get the scent of a killer, I only had to look in the mirror.” He had looked in the mirror. Several times. Too many times. He wanted to shatter the mirror in his hotel room the way Soul Stealer had.

           “How did you feel, hearing that?”

           “Psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Bloom?” he quipped, not quite kind but not unkind. Somewhere grey, somewhere in between.

           “Asking as a friend, Will. Three years, then you jumped in cold turkey to something you’d wanted to leave behind.”

           “…It felt like I never left. I sat in that room, and I looked at the evidence, and I saw it the same way I used to. The Soul Stealer and I have a lot in common.”

           “You also have crucial differences,” Alana pointed out. “Mostly your kindness-”

           “-Even Molly would laugh at that, Alana, Jesus-”

           “-and your ability to empathize and treat people as people rather than playthings,” she finished.

           Silence. Will chewed on the pen cap and jotted a note down, staring down at the notes in front of him. It was nice to know she could sense his unease at a distance, feel the way he was uncertain of his own mind. Years did that for them, made things soft with understanding rather than disquieted. She never treated him like a patient, although she was honest with him like one. There was a reason they stayed friends, even after their experiences together didn’t one day monumentally shift as her eyes became his. While he’d relished in the lack of change, Alana had decided to walk away.

           “I saw Dr. Gideon. He misses your home cooked meals.”

           “Are you going to make the rounds on all of the inmates I’ve spoken to there?” she asked.

           “I thought about it,” he replied thoughtfully. “He sounded almost fond of you.”

           “I spoke to him as a doctor rather than a psychopath, that’s why.” He could almost hear the sound of her struggling to say more, trying to weigh the words. “…If you’re not doing well-”

           “I’m alright,” he reassured her.

           “Are you? Dr. Chilton said you’ve visited with Dr. Lecter a few times now.”

           “He’s going to make this a show, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve to get him talking the way I need him to.” A pause. He wasn’t going to go into detail about the tricks up his sleeve. “I think it helps that he didn’t know me before.”

           “He’d be curious about you,” Alana admitted, and she didn’t sound happy about that.

           “He is,” Will agreed. “From my grief counseling to my two blue eyes and my promise ring. Like getting my skin peeled with a cheese grater.” Silence. “He knew we dated.”

           “Yes, I’d mentioned you before,” Alana said.

           “He said he recognized me by my smell. You smelled of me.”

           “He has always had a sharp nose,” Alana said. “He knew if I stayed over at your house instead of mine because of the smell of my shampoo, too.”

           “Huh.” Will fiddled with his pen, tossed it to the side. He wondered if Hannibal found comfort in the scent of his cologne, now that they were soulmates. He’d have asked, if asking didn’t sound so utterly stupid; if it didn’t imply he cared about the answer.

He grabbed the pen again and pocketed it since he’d chewed on the cap. He grabbed the two profiles and tucked them into his bag, then found his way out of the locker with a vague wave towards the agent at the desk by the door. He wondered if Lecter had ever tried to meet his eyes, then. Probably not. Will was pretty damn good at avoiding eyes.

           Not good enough, apparently.

           “How does Molly feel?”

           “Molly thinks I can help people,” he said, and he rubbed his stomach when it panged. Hannibal wanted to see him. He didn’t want to see Hannibal. A twenty-four hour period wasn’t enough for him to feel like he’d adequately washed away the feel of Lecter’s fingertips passing just under the hollow of his eyes.

           “You do help people. Just make sure one of those people is you, Will.”

           “I should take your one-liners and print them out on inspiration posters –you know the kind?”

           “And you should know that your snippy, deflective humor doesn’t fool me,” she retorted.

           “The best one I saw in high school was a cat hanging from a branch. It said, ‘hang in there,’” he continued shamelessly. He noted the deference a few desk jockeys gave him when they saw him, and he wondered what Jack had said to warrant such a behavior from them. Maybe he’d regaled them of tales of Will getting a read on them so acute that he could speak of their lives like he’d lived it personally. That would have rattled some of them up, if their lives had been less than exemplary.

           “At the risk of sounding cliché, I’m going to ask if you’re hanging in there,” she said, and he heard the smile in her voice.

           “…I am,” he replied, and at the scent of freshly mowed grass, he inhaled deeply. The day was already promising to be hot; he needed an air conditioner and a new eye.

           “Are you feeling pretty stable?”

           “Enough for a few horses and a mule,” he promised.

-

           In his dreams, he lay in a field of poppies. Someone caressed his skin like a lover, and he choked on the razor’s edge of the mirror shattering over him.

-

           Crawford’s call woke him early morning, and he picked up with bleary, watering eyes.

           “I got something,” Jack said.

           “Something good?” Will sat up, grabbing the shirt he’d discarded on the other half of the bed. He ignored the pillow he’d been holding close to his chest, a poor man’s comfort. He wasn’t sure if he’d been reaching for Molly or Hannibal in his sleep.

           “By the tree with the killer’s coke can, we found a design. Could have been kids, but I doubt it. I’m sending the image now, and I’ve got Katz on the way since it looks Chinese in nature.”

           “There’s a racial stereotype in there somewhere,” Will said, putting the phone on speakerphone. When the image came up, he studied it, tilting his head one way, then the other. “Doesn’t look like a swiss army knife made that.”

           “My thoughts exactly. Do you recognize it?”

           “It’s a Mahjong tile, isn’t it?” Will didn’t play Mahjong, but he did have a Molly who most certainly did. The name of her games were Sudoku, Mahjong, Spider Solitaire, and Minesweeper. The bored housewife’s evening ritual while the news droned and the husband napped in the recliner.

           “I don’t think the killer was playing Mahjong as he waited,” Jack said dryly. “Meet me down here.”

           Will grabbed the two files he’d taken with him from the evidence locker, and he got ready as quickly as he was able. It’d taken more time than normal to wear his body down to sleep the night before, his feet pounding the conveyer belt of the treadmill for too long. Hannibal stayed awake, even as he tried to close his eyes. Whatever his thoughts, they were his own, but the feelings in regards to them were enough to keep Will in a state of a half-sleep, not quite resting but not quite awake.

           Beverly, Zeller, and Price were in the lab when he got there, and their conversation scuttled to a stop when he came in. He nodded to Jack, poised over a small cut of bark from the tree, and hesitated on the opposite side of the table. The arches of his feet ached from a lack of support, and he shifted from foot to foot, looking down at the wood then up to them expectantly.

           “It’s the symbol for the Red Dragon Mahjong tile,” Beverly said. She looked as tired as he felt.

           “Cuts are identical to the blade used to carve up both of the victims,” Zeller added. He was a young counterpart to the older, small man beside him that lifted up a finger, as if to contradict.

           “You know, I played Mahjong growing up with my grandmother,” he revealed. “That symbol also can be used as a gesture of ‘got it’ or ‘that’s the mark’ in other games.”

           “He found his vantage point long before he attacked, then,” Will said, glancing to Crawford. “That’s how he found it again.”

           “Any luck on the profiles from Lecter’s files?” Jack asked.

           “Two stand out to me, but we need to find them, first,” Will said. It’d been a hell of a job weeding through so many, but he’d done it. He pulled the files out and tossed them onto the table for everyone to see. “Tobias Budge, Baltimore resident with a one-sided soulmate now deceased by the name of Franklyn.”

           “Deceased?”

           “Franklyn was the one side of the soulmate,” Will said. His fingers twitched with the need to touch his eye, to check that the contact was straight. “Lecter said look for the eyes that match too well, and it’s common in dynamics of one-sided couples that there’s an imbalance due to that, if a relationship begins at all. He’d struggled with delusions of grandeur and intrusive thoughts leading to use of anti-psychotics under Lecter’s care.”

           “Worth a shot,” Jack said with a nod.

           “Second is Francis Dolarhyde, a soulmate that longed for a soulmate. He never admitted to why or how he was without one, but his eyes are recorded as the same color despite being listed as having a soulmate.”

           “Soulmates can have the same color of eyes,” Zeller said. He had two blue eyes, not for the reason he was defending Dolarhyde’s possession of two brown. Will looked to his lips and compressed his own tightly, shrugging.

           “It’s uncommon in the states, but not at all impossible,” he agreed. “He had a psychosomatic lisp, and Soul Stealer more than likely has a speech impediment of some sort, if his teeth spread is anything to go on. He believes he’s deformed; at least, in every aspect of his mind he is.”

           “What are you thinking?” Jack asked.

           He tapped his fingers idly on the table, looking down to the bark. “I’m thinking, ‘he doesn’t just like this sign.’”

           “It means more to him?”

           “A clever way for him to mark his place,” Zeller said with a shrug. Will ignored him.

           “I’m thinking, ‘he could have used anything, from a rock to a cloth piece to a simple gash for marking his space in which he watched the beginning of the end of Mrs. Hess’ and Mrs. Panter’s lives. He did this sign, and he did it with the same knife he cut the victims up with.’”

           “There’s more to it?” Jack pressed.

           “Maybe culturally? No, maybe…maybe socially, spiritually. Maybe he likes the sign, maybe it’s a symbol for more to him.”

           “We’ll try and track down both men for questioning, see where we get,” Jack said.

           After, when Price had pulled Zeller away to inspect the diatoms in a particular sample of water they’d found from another crime scene, Beverly got him coffee from the break room before he left, an offering.

           “I’m seeing someone,” she declared as Will relished in the taste of true awakening. He peeked at her eyes, one black and one blue, then focused on her hairline.

           “Avoiding his eyes, just in case?”

           “I was going to ask you about that, since you’re here and you’re not going to send me a bill after,” she replied with a laugh.

           “I might.”

           “His name’s Saul, and he’s great. No soulmate, no nothing.”

           “‘No soulmate, no nothing,’” he echoed.

           “It’s been about six months, and nothing’s changed. I’m not expecting it to, but…you and Molly. You’re great together, and you’re not soulmates. I know it’s not so cut-and-dry. There’s a reason there’s a science behind it, not some fate and Jesus-inspired mumbo jumbo,” she said, and there was a self-conscious twitch as she started to reach towards her discolored eye. She stopped herself, and Will wished she’d have finished the motion so that he could see what she’d have done.

           “Our experiences shape us, Beverly,” he said. “You can connect with someone without your DNA deciding to connect, too.”

           “It doesn’t make it less special.” She was trying to convince herself, not him.

           “It won’t feel like before,” he warned her. “Even if the one before wasn’t a soulmate, it wouldn’t have felt like before. Relationships are…unique. I speak easier with you than I do with Zeller.”

           “That’s because you walk into Zeller’s lab and stir the shit,” she said with a laugh.

           “I’ve known him just as long as you, and you don’t mind when I point something out that you missed.”

           “I’m smart, but I’m also smart enough to know when I’m not the smartest in the room.”

           “Bottom line,” he continued, a little flustered at the compliment, “don’t stop dating him. If you’re happy, and he’s happy, don’t hold off on the hope that one day your chemical makeup sees someone it wants to bond with –not because hope is wrong, but because you don’t need that to connect to people. Theories state that the first initial soulmate bonding occurred between people that struggled to connect on a mental level with their peers through speech and circumstances in early civilizations. It was a way to ensure that they survived.”

           Beverly stewed on his words as he sipped his coffee. There was a gentle lull in his stomach that told him that while he worked, Hannibal slept.

           “I don’t want to wake up one day and see that his eyes change, and it’s not me anymore,” she finally confessed. “I like this one, Will.”

           “It’s an active choice to be with a soulmate,” he said firmly. His eyes burned. “No matter your urges, no matter what you feel, you choose them in the aftermath, when the rush subsides. We’re advanced enough that we have that option. We’d be stupid to waste free agency on something cosmic like fate.”

           “Only you’d crap on the idea of the cosmos knowing better than us,” Beverly said with a snicker. It comforted her, though. She could rest easy knowing that if Saul left for a soulmate, it was because he was a jackass and not because God hated her.

-

           One cup of FBI coffee wasn’t enough. He found the nearest coffee place that wasn’t a Starbucks and seated himself outside, picking apart a plain bagel with cheese. He’d wanted the chonga bagel, but plain was all they had, and Molly wasn’t around to tease him for bemoaning that fact. A fair was coming to town, and the poster just across the street boasted a married couple with five people, all soulmates with one another, papers to confirm that each of their eyes held distinct pigments of the other four. He thought to laugh about it, but it wasn’t funny. People like the sister-wives shows made bank off of the idea that you could connect with so many people –why choose one when you could have all?

           He’d been consulted on a case, once, about a polyamorous relationship. The issue hadn’t been the polyamory, but the fact that one woman in the relationship didn’t realize she was part of a polyamorous relationship until she decided to move in with her soulmate and found him living with four other women, eyes mismatched beyond belief until DNA tests were complete. Autopsy later revealed that he’d been poisoned, the killing blow from a rather potent drink she’d made him.

           On the stand, she confessed that some men just couldn’t hold their arsenic.

           He waited until he finished his drink –chai tea with hazelnut, if he was being honest –then found his way to the institution, the front of his shirt damp from the rental car spewing air conditioner fluid onto his lap when he’d turned it on. He’d calmly turned the air conditioning off and drove with the windows down, instead.

           “He just woke up and had breakfast,” Barney told him, leading him to maximum. Will thought to say, ‘I know,’ but he wasn’t stupid. According to Beverly, he was sometimes the smartest man in the room.

           Too bad he didn’t feel that way sitting down across from Lecter.

           The rest of maximum was quiet, the lull after breakfast when the medicine kicked in and the inmates were quiet. Will sat down, the ease that he felt utterly distasteful in the wake of who he was looking at. Hannibal sat at the desk, book in hand, and neither one spoke. Will shifted, crossed his leg, and decided to wait him out. Unlike before, when he’d all but thrown himself against the bars, he was relieved to find that the initial connection, after over a week of torment, was beginning to fade. His body was used to the intrusion. It was recognizing the second presence within its blood as familiar, friendly -God, what a thought that was.

           Lecter waited until he’d apparently finished his chapter before he asked, “Did your father have a soulmate, Will?”

           Will chewed on his lip, considered lying. Quid pro quo. He sighed and rubbed the ache between his brows. “Yes.”

           “What happened?”

           “Questions about mom? That’s a little ham-handed, don’t you think?” he asked.

           “What was ham-handed was Dr. Chilton attempting to wheedle information from me about our discussions here. Did you know that when I first arrived, he attempted the Thematic Apperception Test on me. He was just twitching for the MF13 to show up, and I laughed outright at him.”

           “I can assume you avoided any connotations to sex,” Will replied. “I know he’d claimed you avoided prison due to a Ganser Syndrome.”

           “My entire experience here has been ham-handed, as you can easily see. My question may be such to you, but I ask it with genuine interest.”

           “She left him.” The words were clipped, curt. Three words, but they splintered on the way out, made his gum bleed. At the tone of his voice, Hannibal snapped the book shut and set it down, crossing his leg as he leaned back against his chair.

           “Was he a drinker? Did he take a hand to you too many times –to her too many times? Soulmate violence is not impossible, as you said. The newspapers they allow me to read show articles, although they’re always painted with such vibrantly purple prose.”

           “He did the best he could.”

           “Why did she leave, Will?”

           “Isn’t that the question everyone wonders?” he managed after a beat. “Quid pro quo, Dr. Lecter. Tell me about Tobias Budge.”

           “Tobias Budge,” Hannibal mused, and he looked about the room, apparently deep in thought. “He was a musician, and he made strings for the Baltimore Symphony. He came into my office one day and complained of fantasies of placing the neck of a cello down a man’s throat so that he could play him.”

           “He had a partner by the name of Franklyn with a half-connection. Franklyn’s eye turned, Tobias’ didn’t.”

           “Yes, although I knew precisely why. Franklyn was neurotic, and he connected with the aspects of Tobias that were grounding, calm and assured. There was absolutely nothing about that man that Tobias Budge’s chemical makeup desired.”

           The meaningful look Hannibal gave Will made his skin tingle. He ignored the unspoken reference to his own chemical desires and focused on watching his shoulder.

           “Franklyn’s death was suicide, Tobias told me,” Hannibal continued when Will didn’t rise to his bait. “Although I’d always wondered if that was entirely true. He went through the motions of anti-psychotics, but did he take them? Or was it merely a front to put the people around him at a false sense of ease?”

           “He struggled for a connection, according to your notes. Someone that would hear his fantasies and not shy away from him in the aftermath of his desires.”

           “He did,” Hannibal agreed. “Why do you think your mother left without taking you?”

           “…I didn’t try and question it,” Will managed. Not a lie, but a painful truth.

           “Question it now, dear Will. She’d found a soulmate, fostered a life with him and in doing so created a life. You now know the pain of separating yourself from such a person, how it burns under your skin like a curling iron left on too long and grasped firmly in an unsuspecting hand, so use your intelligence and your infinitely mirrored mind and tell me what you think.”

           It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel quite as good as a compliment should. He studied the bolts keeping the table from becoming a weapon in Lecter’s cell, and he exhaled sharply. “Soulmates aren’t the end-all. Our society especially banks on their use as the best mode of finding a partner, but because some part of you connects doesn’t mean all of you will.”

           “You resist our connection,” Hannibal practically purred. “With every other aspect of yourself.”

           “We are always growing and adapting. We’re shaped by our experiences. What connected two people in a bad situation that they endured together isn’t necessarily qualified to keep them together when they are faced with new challenges and new opportunities.

“They may have connected because they both wished to be out of a small town with small ideals, but ten years down the road they looked at one another, and while my father may have still seen the woman he first connected to, she’d endured something completely different in those ten years and couldn’t reconcile her feelings with the man in front of her. She may have felt the urge to love him, to want to be near him, but she was not in love with him.”

           Will peered over at Hannibal’s drawings, studying the architecture of a new building. The lines were romantic, the shading that of a sun shining directly over the arches. He wondered where Lecter had traveled to in order to see that. He wondered if the mother he never knew had traveled there, too.

           “How utterly unromantic of you,” Hannibal finally said, amused. “I’m sure you were quite the catch in the dating world when you talked like that. However did you meet your partner?”

           “The FBI found a symbol on a tree that was used as a vantage point to overlook Mrs. Hess’s backyard. They're going to check for such a symbol at the Panter's home as well. Will you look at it?”

           Hannibal stood and strolled to the bars. When Will went to the drop box, he tsk’d.

           “No, no, no, Dr. Graham. We are establishing trust, we are reconciling ourselves with our chemical bond; the last thing you should do is deliberately find ways to avoid me,” he chided. “You can’t be sure my eagerness to help will remain if you make it so poignantly clear you wish to avoid my touch.”

           “I do wish to avoid your touch,” Will said irritably, but he found himself walking towards Hannibal all the same. He passed the paper through the bars, and Hannibal accepted it, fingertips brushing the back of his hand gently. The feeling sent sparks along his skin, and he took a shaky step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A traitorous thought whispered that if that’s how good a mere brush of skin felt, how wonderful would it be to kiss him?

           To fuck him?

           “Thank you,” Hannibal murmured. He held the paper up and studied it, and if he saw anything of note, he gave nothing away.

           “I thought the symbol meant more to him. It’s a Mahjong tile,” Will explained.

           “Maybe he just likes Mahjong,” Hannibal said with the suggestion of a smile on his lips. It took a second for Will to realize he was teasing.

           “It’s the Red Dragon Mahjong tile,” Will added.

           That did give Lecter pause. He turned the photo this way, then that way; he strolled along his cell to lay it down on the table, smoothing it out. Will noted the forced calm, the relaxed appearance when in truth he felt Lecter’s emotions coiled deep in his belly, wound tightly and ready to spring. He had something. He knew something.

           “Do you suppose he is of Chinese descent?” Hannibal asked. Lie, a lie. Will moved closer to the bars, the hiss of a retort sharp on his lips.

           “You’ve got to be-” He blinked, and Hannibal stood just before him as well, like he sensed Will’s ability to hear his paltry attempt at redirection. His head dipped down, and Will rocked forward, the smallest of whispers separating them. He was a half second away from a bad decision.

           "Yes?" Hannibal prompted.

           “Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, eyes on Hannibal’s lips.

           “Was it a lie?”

           “You know something about the Red Dragon,” he said. His voice was low, gravelly. Hannibal leaned forward, and Will leaned back; his heart screamed to fucking kiss him already. His head kept his feet firmly in place.

           “Do I?”

           “Tell me, Hannibal.” He tilted his head slightly, much the way he’d watched Lecter do. “I’m playing your game. Give me something.”

           “Do you suppose the Red Dragon is something more than just that tile with a simple character? He could not have etched a real dragon in any short amount of time.”

           “Symbolic to a red dragon, not this one in particular,” Will whispered. That close, Lecter’s skin smelled like sweet sin and generic soap. Lecter leaned away, and Will found himself leaning in, wanting to trace his tongue over it.

           “Do you think he believes he’s killing these women, or do you think he’s changing them?” When Will’s heart panged, Lecter nodded slowly. “Yes, you think so, too. A change, not a death.”

           “They’re becoming something more,” he said. “He’s becoming something more.”

           “A Great, Red Dragon,” Hannibal uttered with hushed reverence. “One of terrible strength, of tremendous awe and power.”

           Will had what he needed; now it was time to go. He didn’t, though –couldn’t. His eyes flicked up to Hannibal’s mismatched pair, and his breath caught. In the light of maximum, their hunger was stark, grasping. His feet were frozen in place, unheeding of the fact he had something, something, and he’d been able to trick Hannibal Lecter to get it.

           It didn’t feel like he’d tricked anyone, though; it felt like he’d walked into a trap.

           “If I kiss you now, would you ask me for more?” Hannibal wondered. The timbre of his voice was low, pitched with unmasked desire. Will shuddered at the sound of it.

           Hannibal reached and grasped his chin, tilting his head up. A rush of endorphins made thought sluggish, a drugged feeling of bliss at the contact, the sensation of everything being just right. He was trapped, but as the seconds ticked on the watch at his wrist, he wondered if he could call it trapped when he was exactly where he wanted to be. They moved closer. If Hannibal tried to kiss him, he’d fucking let him.

           Rescue came from the sound of the maximum security doors opening with a sharp, commanding thud of deadbolts turning. Will leapt away from Lecter, skin burning, and he tried to compose himself, hands fumbling at the rumbled shirt that reeked of Freon. Across the way from him, Hannibal Lecter stayed pressed to the bars, his eyes tracking each movement Will made with a hunger.

           “…Run along now, Dr. Graham,” he said quietly. “Before I make you stay.”

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Testimony|Jomrie

[TRIGGER WARNING: KNIVES AND BLOOD]

The whole room felt like a bath house. Not one of those indoor locker room showers either. No, this felt hot and stuffy and full of steam, just like the ones you read about in greek mythology. The way I see it, they got rid of those things for a reason. Of course, I had never been in one, but I imagine it felt like this. Felt cramped and crowded like there weren't enough metal seats in the county to hold everyone.

There weren't. People lined the back of the walls and kept their hands behind them, almost taking most of the pressure off their feet by pushing their fingertips so close to the paneling that it would burn. I wouldn't be able to stay standing during this whole ordeal. My knees would have buckled and stopped the blood flow to my brain faster than it could be over.

I couldn't keep my eyes on one thing, or my mind for that matter. This was all a little too much for me. The Alabama heat the plagued the summer, little beads of sweat that dripped off the tip of my nose, the judge who looked uncomfortable in the robes he dawned... hell even the lawyer who I had talked to on more than one occasion sent chills down my spine.

He watched me with eyes that were almost as black as coal in this light. I trusted him though, trusted his look and the way I talked to him about what exactly I was supposed to say on the stand in order to make this trial go as smoothly as possible. He looked like an older Atticus Finch. The one from the movie, not the one printed into thousands of books every year.

I could feel sweat drip down my arms. I wasn't sure where it was coming from, but it dripped easily off of my fingertips and pressed against the wooden stand. I hadn't spoken yet, I hadn't even been sworn in. I was just being stared at. Not just by the lawyer, or by the woman in the orange jumpsuit next to him.

"Miss Hart," the judge spoke with a certain heat to his voice. It was one that made the room feel even dryer. He sounded louder now that I was next to him instead of across the room. "You are to be sworn in by a offical. You answer questions that both parties ask you to the best of your ability are we clear?"

"Yes sir," I stumbled out, giving a small nod. My shirt was pressing against my back uncomfortably. The so called official he named stepped forward, his non-slip shoes making an odd noise against the linoleum. He held up a bible, the pages browned and the spine falling apart. It was probably as old as the courthouse if not older.

"Dr. Mamrie Hart," He spoke in a softer tone than the judge. He asked me to rise to right hand, which I did compliantly, feeling the sweat move towards my elbow "Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the whole truth to this courtroom in question."

My eyes met the girl who sat slumped in her chair, not a care in the world. It wasn't my job to convict her. That was the furthest thing from my mind. My soul purpose in this case is to prove how she did it. How this blonde woman with a bit of a crazed look in her eyes was capable of murder. That was my job, and I intended to do it.

"I do."

The air that pooled in my lungs was cold. Not like that day, not like that fifteen minute moment in time that I spent in that damned courtroom. I was back in my room, away from that nightmare, away from that day.

There wasn't much light where I was, my balcony windows opened to a treeless backyard. A cold wind pushed through the doors, letting out little howls every now and then. There was a fine layer of sweat that coated my almost bare chest, my tank top nearly see through at this point. These nightmares needed to stop soon.

I could tell by how light the sky was becoming that I didn't have much time left before I had to get up. There would be no use in closing my eyes again. Not now. Every Time I did I felt like I was looking into Grace's eyes again. Into the eyes of a killer.

She was behind bars, that's not what I was worried about. Hell, I had helped put her there myself. It wasn't a hard task. The evidence built up against her faster than I would care to admit. If I hadn't seen it first hand I would have called it a set up. I would have felt the guilt of sending an innocent woman to jail- but that wasn't the case.

I shook my head clear as I started to go through my morning routine mindlessly. There was no over thinking, not now. I refused myself to go back there, even if the nightmare had felt as real as ever. I kept the water cold as I showered, kept the pot small as I brewed coffee, and my hand steady as I applied pitch eye liner. Just like normal. Everything was normal.

I was already running late to work, despite being early to wake up. My bag was over my shoulder, my eyes searching for my keys in the nearly dark hallway until I glanced up at a small and loud creak like a haunted house door. There was light spilling into the foyer from my front door. It was ajar.

My whole body immediately tensed up as I took a careful step back, praying silently that my foot wouldn't hit the one loose board that would alert someone of any type of movement that I decided to carry with me.

I felt along the granite countertop blindly, grasping onto the closet knife that I could find. One that wasn't too sharp, but was serrated against my palm. My breath seemed to catch in my throat as I stayed as quiet as possible.

The arm wrapped around my neck faster than I had a chance to react, a rough heat moving through my throat as I tried to get out a scream. I made no noise though, my one hand clawing at the arm that pressed my back into the attacker's chest while the other kept the kitchen knife at my side until I slammed back roughly, hearing a loud crunch as a scream sounded off in my ear, making it hot as air rushed passed it.

I was shaking, not bothering to look back as they released me for a split second to sprint toward the door. It was fifteen feet away, if even. Despite how much effort I had taken to slamming the sharp end of a blade into this-this person's leg they got there faster, pressing a black gloved hand against the door hard enough to leave us in almost a pitch scenario. The only light I had was gone, my chest heaving up and down as I pressed my cheek against the cold door.

My fingertips had made a bloodied streak against the white paint where I allowed my touch to wonder. It wasn't my blood, but it affected me all the same.

"That wasn't very nice." the voice spoke with conviction. It was female, female and gruff. Something I hadn't expected. It didn't sound like her though. Not like I thought it was Grace for more than a split second. She wouldn't be naive enough for me to stab her.

"How did you find me?" I said between breathes, turning around slowly. My back felt cool against the white wood. She kept her hand to the right of my head. She was about the same height as me, almost shorter. Her hair was cropped short, probably made it easier to do whatever she needed to do.

I recognized her from the courtroom, but couldn't recall a name. I didn't need to recall one. Not in the position I was in back then. She saw me studying her, but didn't give it a second thought "You're not a very hard woman to track down, Mamrie."

My mouth was dry, but I tried to swallow anyway, it had no avale. My throat was scratchy and ached from where she had so rudely tried to end me. "I figured she was behind all of this. Th-the missing jury members, the judge that wound up dead in his fucking car."

"That was a nice touch, don't you think?" She scoffed, her breath was minty against my lungs, it mixed with the heavy scent of charcoal and metallic blood. "Grace is a little bitch who took a guilty conviction as time to repent for her sins."

"Smart woman."

"A dead one for all I care." She hissed, her voice rising. I couldn't help but wonder why this girl was talking to me. Why she was standing there like I hadn't just seriously wounded her. "You know, this whole thing started off as a way to avenge my best friend but this?"

I grimaced away as I felt the cold tip of the very knife I had shoved into her leg press softly right under my chin. It beat roughly against my pulse, each time my heart decided to push against my rib cage I felt the tip of a knife close in against my artery.

"This is a lot more fun."

"Joslyn." I whispered, not acknowledging the warmth the rushed down my neck and pooled at my collarbone. That small prick of a blade was her warning. Something I took very lightly. "Grace's friend, I-"

"You got her thrown behind bars." She said, her voice a low growl, "Got her fired, got me fired. I... You ruined both of our lives with your testimony."

"You're wrong." I swallowed roughly "My testimony, it would've of changed anything." She watched me with close eyes, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "If not me, they would find another doctor. Someone else would have done the autopsy and she'd still be where she is today."

"Shut up!" She screamed, my ears ringing at the sharp noise as I let out a shaky breath "Someone else didn't make the statement, Dr.Hart. You did. You were number one on my list for awhile. It was like you had no damn remorse of sending a teenager to prison."

"Do you?" I whispered "Have remorse I mean. For her? For yourself? Joslyn, what the hell are you doing?"

She didn't say a word, her grip tightening around the edge of the knife. It didn't matter to me either way. I wasn't interested in talking her down. I had known for awhile that I'd end up dead. The nightmares were a constant reminder. I had lived in fear up until this point because I was done waiting. Done with my fatal mistake of testifying on a trial that could have called anyone else to the stand. Anyone with a medical degree could have done what I did.

"You're what? 25? You have a knife to a woman's throat and think this is the answer?"

"It's the only one I can think of."

"Then you're not thinking hard enough." I clenched my jaw, staring into her coffee eyes "You've killed more people than Grace went to jail for and she's stuck with a life in prison. She's stuck with something that you're obviously trying hard to avenge. Look.. I-I'm sorry about your job, and Grace. But I can't change that and neither can you."

"You're right." She cocked her head to the side "Killing you wouldn't change that. But I'm not really one for change, Dr.Hart."

[olivereliott]

Road Tested: Gear from Icon 1000, Shoei and Merlin

Looking good on your bike shouldn’t mean compromising safety. Join us as we check out Shoei’s new retro motocross helmet, a stylish pair of boots from Icon 1000, and gloves from Merlin.

Shoei EX-Zero Vintage motocross helmets are still hot property, with new models occasionally hitting the market. Today, we’re looking at Shoei’s entry in to the segment: the high-specced EX-Zero.

The EX-Zero is quite possibly the most modern ‘retro’ helmet on the market. Its design and styling is reminiscent of Shoei’s MX helmets in the 80s—models like the EX3 and Supra-X. So it’s a good-looking lid, with bags of attitude and smooth lines.

I love the classy little ducktail lip around the bottom of the front and back, and the six-vent design on the chin bar that’s lifted straight from its ancestors. It’s available in a few sweet color options too, with six flat colors and one graphic on offer.

Looks aside, it’s built just like Shoei’s more contemporary lids. Holding it side-by-side with my Shoei RYD, the EX-Zero has the same 5-layer composite ‘Advanced Integrated Matrix’ shell, and the same plush, removable interior. And just like the RYD, its cheek pads have tabs for quick removal (to assist first responders in removing your helmet safely if things go random).

The EX-Zero’s also very well made and neatly finished. The liner is capped off around the eye port, and along the bottom of the helmet, with strips of faux leather and faux nubuck—adding to the old school feel without compromising the practicality of the modern liner.

Everything feels premium, with no visible inconsistencies—from the paint to the wire mesh in the vents and the rubber edging, Except, of all things, the Shoei logo up top. It’s nothing more than a sticker, and on my helmet sits just skew enough to trigger my OCD.

Shoei has a reputation for helmets that fit great, and the EX-Zero lives up to it. There are no surprises in the size guide, and it feels cushy and comfortable straight out the box. There’s no official weight listed for the EX-Zero, but it’s light enough to be all-day comfy, and the liner does a solid job of keeping things breezy.

The eye port’s nice and spacious too—big enough to squeeze a in pair of the ubiquitous 100% Barstow goggles. But since this is a totally no-fuss design, there are a few caveats. That wide front opening and the chin bar vents let in enough air to keep you cool, but they’re always open. And while the EX-Zero isn’t as noisy as some other helmets in this style, it’s not exactly quiet either.

It is surprisingly aerodynamic though—even with the optional peak fitted. It’s a traditional three-snap arrangement, but it sits tight on the shell and does an excellent job of channeling air around it. Even at highway speeds I didn’t notice any rattling or head lifting.

The EX-Zero’s also packing a very stealthy feature—a drop down visor that, in theory, negates the need for goggles. It hides away inside the shell, and drops down by pulling on one of two small tabs, located on either side. (A spring-loaded mechanism with a lever on the outside of the shell would have ruined the EX-Zero’s simplistic approach.)

Both the visor and the mechanism are very well thought out. You can set it to ‘stop’ at three different heights, depending on your face’s proportions. The helmet ships with a clear visor, but I swapped mine out for a tinted one in a matter of minutes.

There is one fatal flaw with the system though—at anything over 40 mph, air starts to get around the visor. And at 50 mph, it’s pretty much useless. I found myself relying on it for quick around-town jaunts, but for longer rides a good set of goggles (and some ear plugs) are a must. If I had my way, I’d convince Shoei to ditch it altogether—which would hopefully knock the price down too.

At £359.99 (plus another £29.99 for the peak) the EX-Zero costs a fair chunk more than its direct competitor, the uber-popular Bell Moto 3. That said, I own both, and so far I’ve picked the EX-Zero every time—mainly because it’s so damn comfortable. [Buy]

Icon 1000 Varial Boot Whether it’s their gear or their outrageous custom bikes, Icon 1000 have always marched to the beat of their own drum. The new Varial boot embodies this ethos; mashing up different styles to create a boot that looks killer and keeps you protected.

The Varial is styled mostly like a casual boot, but with a few details that throw you. The sole has a strong sneaker vibe too it, and there’s a strap further up that’s not unlike those on vintage motocross boots. Icon 1000 have kept their branding extremely subtle, and loaded up on rad design elements—like the well padded and perforated tongue.

Made from full-grain leather, the Varial comes in either black or brown. I picked latter—partly because the specific leather used on the brown Varial is said to distress quicker, and I like my gear to look worn in. Be warned though: with no shifter pad built into the design, the area on top of my left boot got real messy, real quick. (I don’t mind it, but some people might.)

That leather’s also really supple, so the Varial doesn’t need to be broken in much. I picked my usual boot and sneaker size, and the sizing was spot on. It’s an easy boot to get on too—and that’s not something I can usually say about boots.

My Yeti-sized feet have high bridges, so any lace-up boot needs to be unlaced a bit before I can slip into it. Icon have very cleverly added an elasticated panel around the back of the ankle, along with a super-sturdy leather pull tab. Problem solved.

The lace system itself is a pretty straightforward affair, with metal hardware and barrel laces. That extra strap is a little fiddly to fasten down at first, but once in place it adds extra stability and holds the laces down a bit. (It’s a proper old school setup, with a small stud and three holes for basic adjustment.) There’s a ‘lace pouch’ built into the tongue too; it completely swallows loose ends, but tucking them in there’s a process.

As for protection, the Varial has reinforced material in the toe and heel, and D30 pads built into the ankles. It’s also about an inch higher than most ankle boots, making it feel just that little bit more secure. The footbed is reinforced and stiff enough for maximum stability on the bike, but with a little flex built in for when you’re off it.

At $175 it’s tough to beat the Varial’s style and protection combo. I’m pretty stoked on mine, and you can bet they’ll be in circulation for a long time. [More]

Merlin Boulder Glove British gear manufacturer Merlin are fast becoming known for making solid gear that doesn’t break the bank. Their stuff is among the best selling in our shop, so I figured I’d try out a pair of their gloves: the £79.99 Boulder.

The Boulder is an elegant cowhide glove with a very versatile style. Available in a black and brown combo with contrast stitching, it’s a short-cuff design that’ll look just as good on a cafe racer as it will a scrambler. It scores high on style; the contrasting leathers have been used well, and the stitching patterns vary in different areas of the glove.

On the practicality side, Merlin have included a Velcro closure, a pull tab to help get the glove on, and some extra material on the palm. Perforation on the palm and fingers add a measure of ventilation too. There’s not much protection up top though—just some light padding on the upper panel.

The only branding is Merlin’s phoenix logo embossed on the pull-tab, and their name printed on top. The former feels classy, but the latter looks like an afterthought, and could have been executed better. My only other gripe is minor: each glove has two tiny leather tabs with holes just inside the cuff, to attach the gloves to the packaging. They have no use once the packaging’s been ditched, and I’ll probably end up snipping them off.

Other than that—and one or two untidy seams that I only really picked up when I looked very, very closely—the Boulder appears well made. Unfortunately I haven’t ridden in mine much, but that’s on me. Merlin’s gloves run roughly a size small—and I picked my usual size instead of first consulting their size chart. (Measure your hand and go according to their chart, and you should be fine.)

Even so, I have managed to squeeze my hands into the gloves a few times. And other than the fact that they’re too tight, they have a great, pliable feel to them. Chances are I’ll pass them onto a friend, who will no doubt get many happy miles out of them. [Buy]

Location images by Devin Paisley

[bublp0pr]

pianotale + anxiety + Undyne/Chara mindset = this follow up

Undyne stares at Frisk. “Nah, teaching isn’t really my style.”

What?

Frisk’s delicate patience snaps with the words of rejection. The whole warm atmosphere between them vanishes in an instant. Frisk thought the two of them had been sharing a moment! First the unexpected new dialogue, then the emotional His Theme, all wrapped up with this perfect final scene one-liner where the hero is supposed to begin their emotional quest. And she is saying NO? They glare at Undyne with the hate of someone who has killed every soul in this pathetic place more times and in more ways than her pitiful mind could even imagine.

She must have misunderstood. “Teach me.” Frisk repeats, a sharp threat underlying their tone. They want this. And when Frisk wants something, no matter how many tries it takes, they get it.

Going through these stupid runs over and over again, being friendly, waiting for people to go through pointless motions to progress the story - they are so sick of it. The only thing that drives them to stick around in this stupid place is the music that reminds them of a time when they were better. Back when they still ‘cared’ about people and love actually meant something permanent. Finally, there is a compromise that removes all those messy interactions from getting in the way of their emotional fix. They want it so badly. No is not an option.

Undyne looks down at the kid with a frown on their face. Threats are never the right approach with her. Ever. “Make me,” she growls, responding to the challenge. Oh, now she’s asking for it… Neither one cares about bringing proper fight etiquette into this, diving straight at each other to wrestle their opponent into submission. But where Undyne sees this as play, Frisk sees this as an opportunity to tear their obstacle to shreds. Undyne grips an arm. Frisk gets a hold of her hair. Both start tugging. Frisk rips out the red string with satisfaction and moves with the now-free hand in to punch out her teeth out. Undyne in reaction to this howls in surprise and anger, then break Frisk’s left arm. Is this pain supposed to deter them?? Try having your soul literally be punctured to pieces by spears you freak! Both are making animalistic noises and literally trying to tear each others throats out. Arms, legs, knees, fingers, eyes. Everything is fair game as they clash in a flurry of movement.

“What the hell is wrong with you punk?” She roars over the sound of them pressing each other into the wall.

“I’M GOING TO FREAKIN KILL YOU! That’s what’s wrong!!!” Frisk screams. It has been a while since they did a genocide route. Perhaps too long. It seems there is a lot of pent up anger inside them that they haven’t been able to unleash properly in a while.

Undyne simply starts laughing hysterically and pulls a pair of nunchucks from the kitchen drawer. “Yeah? I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY!! NGGGGAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

— — —

“UNDYNE…?”

The voice stops both Frisk and Undyne mid-tackle.

Papyrus looks on at the scene of destruction before him. The fridge is broken. The oven is melting itself. The table is shattered into splintered shreds - one such piece Frisk is holding midair as a stake pointed at Undyne’s throat. The carpet for some reason is hanging from the ceiling. The drawer of Papyrus’ gifts had been ripped from the cupboard and bones are scattered across the tattered wood. A part of Undyne’s left gill flap is torn, from where Frisk had bitten it off. (It tasted like rubber) Undyne’s black shirt is soaked with red blood from a painful flesh wound on Frisk’s right side. Papyrus seems at a loss for words.

Undyne topples over, unable to hold Frisk above her head for much longer. She looks up. “Uhhh… Pap, I can explain.”

Frisk growls and pounces on the opportunity, throwing the wooden shard into Undyne. “DIIIEEEE!” A bone rises from the ground and calmly stops it. Frisk glares at the piece of ivory hatefully. He’s the next one to go.

“WHAT… WHAT IS GOING HERE?” Papyrus asks. He sounds slightly confused.

Undyne grunts. “Ask the kid. They’re the one who went berserk on me.” Papyrus turns his gaze to Frisk.

“HUMAN? IS THIS TRUE?” There’s a mild scold to his voice. As if he’d just caught them eating someone else’s cookie.

What do they think this is? Some silly argument! Frisk closes their eyes for a second. It has been too long since they have killed someone with actual intent. Everything these days is just a means to an end. They walk up to Papyrus. Calmly, they reach out to his arm.

“HMM? IS THERE SOMETHING YOU’D LIKE TO SAY HUMAN?”

They start pulling.

“UHH, HUMAN. I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU DO THINGS ON THE SURFACE, BUT HERE IT IS QUITE RUDE TO PULL SOMEONE’S ARM FOR NO REASON.”

In one swift movement they tug the bone swift out of the socket. Papyrus screams. Undyne yells. Frisk laughs.

In an instant, the room fills with hundreds of glowing spears. All pointing towards Frisk. “WHAT THE HELL! It’s one thing to try and kill me… but PAPYRUS!!! Forget Asgore, I’m going to tear your soul into little pieces myself!” Undyne is again standing tall. She seems a little worse for wear in her clothes torn to pieces by Frisk’s fingernails. There is a manic glare in her eye. It reminds Frisk of her Undying form. While this is happening, Papyrus is simply standing motionless, looking at the empty space his arm used to fill. His jaw has gone slack. Undyne moves to fire her spears when Papyrus interrupts.

“… ERM. HUMAN. CAN I PLEASE HAVE MY ARM BACK? YOU SEE, I NEED IT TO EFFECTIVELY CAPTURE HUMANS AND BECOME A MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD.”

Frisk looks down at the arm, that is still moving to gesture what Papyrus is saying. Interesting… Frisk takes note of this information for later runs. Undyne is confused. “Pap? That punk just TORE your ARM off!”

“YES. THANK YOU FOR POINTING THAT OUT UNDYNE. HUMAN,” he turns back to Frisk. “WHY DID YOU TEAR MY ARM OFF?” Frisk pauses. To be honest, they’re just winging it at this point. They look down at the arm. Then back at Papyrus and Undyne. A smiles creeps up their face. “So I can do this.” Wielding Papyrus’ arm like a sword, they drive the bone into Undyne’s chest.

|— — —|

Two things happen in the five seconds after this. One: Papyrus cries out Undyne’s name. Two: Undyne falls to the floor and shatters to dust. Frisk blinks. They hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Papyrus drops to the floor and starts crying. “UNDYNE! U-UNDYNE? ARE… ARE YOU OKAY?” He asks in a state of denial. Undyne’s dust shuffles for a moment as if she’s about to rise to fight once more. Then it collapses again into inanimate grey sand. This is even stranger to Frisk. Normally Undyne would never let her killer get away with her death so easily. They turn to look at their weapon again. Unless… An ascending trill fills the room. Their head rises in an instant. They know for a fact they haven’t gained any LOVE yet. They would feel it if they did.  Above Papyrus’ head, the block letters that only Frisk tends to see hovers menacingly. YOUR LOVE INCREASED

“Papyrus.” They laughed. The skeleton is still crouched over the heap of dust in the small room. Frisk leans in towards him. “You killed her.”

“NO…” He whispers to himself. “NO… UNDYNE ISN’T… UNDYNE COULDN’T… UNDYNE WOULDN’T…” 

Frisk starts giggling. “Oh, Papyrus. You killed her Papyrus! You killed Undyne! Your only friend in this world, and you killed her!” 

He starts shaking. “…NO” He says uncertainly. “I CAN’T HAVE…” Frisk rolls their eyes.

“Look, Papyrus. Don’t lie to me. If you honestly didn’t think that you were the one who killed her, then it would be me gaining that LV right now.” He looks up at Frisk and starts crying.

“I… YOU MADE ME… YOU USED MY ARM TO…”

“If you blamed me for this, there would be no reason for you to have that LV Pap. Some part of you sincerely believes you’re to blame right now. So don’t go trying to shove that on other people.”

The whole room flickers black for a moment. As if a shadow had passed through Undyne’s house. Frisk checks Papyrus’ stats. Yep. That was a LOVE gain right there. His soul hasn’t become much stronger by the action. Obviously he does’t find it easier to hurt others because of what Frisk has done. But the undeniable increase in DF makes it obvious.

Papyrus begins howling.

The noise is terrifying. Frisk doesn’t know what to make of it. Clutching tightly to his severed arm, they back away slowly and watch. The monster presses their hands against their skull and screeches the most unnatural sound Frisk has ever heard. He huddles in on himself and starts rocking. “MAKE IT STOP… MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!!!” He moans.

~then the story deviates in two ways. Way number one: frisk teams with flowey and drive pap to kill his own brother. Way two: sans intervenes as soon as papyrus starts crying. he forces frisk to do a reset but the shock of gaining LV has given pap memory across timelines. sans watches in horror as papyrus becomes another version of him. Not really sure which is more satisfying atm. Like, flowey will be more violent, sure. But the sans one has a lot more psychological damage to bring in. ESPECIALLY since it permanently ruins an entire world’s worth of timelines ~