#never drawn the actual murder drones cast at all

[brahmenbones]

chat is this anything

[zerm2v0hg]

'Murder Drones' Finale - First-Second Thoughts and Impressions

So, the finale of Murder Drones came out three days ago, and I have some thoughts, opinions and reactions to it. (Some spoilers below if you haven't seen it yet.)

On the first viewing, I thought there was a bit too much humour and it felt a bit too forced in the early part of the episode, not so much in the later part.

Helluva dramatic entrance on V's part. On one hand, I'm rejoicing that V's alive, plus I do think that more than what we'd gotten by Episode 6 can still be done with her character (whether that's in a canon second season or solely in fanfic continuations). On the other hand, it does have the "undermines the impact of the death scene that they're not really dead" effect on Episode 6's ending.

I can imagine that quite a few people will be annoyed that J ultimately got the Jerk with a Heart of Jerk treatment and knowingly sold out to the Solver, but on the second viewing, seeing how she was obviously hurt by V's rejection and was icing it down when she said she never needed her or N, plus the reveal that J survived in the end credits, I think there's still enough room for a second season or fan continuations to do more with her character after Solver!Cyn's death. That having been said, I do feel a bit annoyed that the revelation of J's true loyalties got pushed this far back.

Now, one major problem I had with V and J's battle is that it was too fast-paced, and the dialogue too condensed and difficult to make out, to the point where it wasn't until I turned on the subtitles during my second viewing that I made out the reveal of J and V's deal with the Absolute Solver here.

Similarly, I was constantly confused on my first viewing by the red-eyed Sentinel going after Lizzie, Thad and Khan, as it made me question my initial assumption that the Sentinel had sided with V due to its malfunction and probably saved her from the other Sentinels at Episode 6's end. I think this and the above dialogue issues are areas where the episode's compressed runtime made the narrative viewing suffer. :P

I was really, really fearing for the heroes' lives several times throughout this episode. :)

I enjoyed Solver!Cyn being a quirky and expressive but absolute nightmare, and their final dance-off with Uzi, N and V.

I quite liked how Solver!Cyn made full use of the Mind Screw "which parts of that were real" element of the Solver's hologram trickery to make the title fight bewildering, keeping us constantly on our toes, unsure whether or not what we're seeing is actually Uzi being drawn into a vulnerable position by more illusions. And then there's Solver!Cyn's Shapeshifter Guilt Trip.

In most media where a shapeshifting/illusion-casting villain pulls a Shapeshifter Guilt Trip on the hero, Fourth Wall Myopia stops it from affecting the audience as much, and when the trope is done poorly, it even makes the hero look like an idiot for falling for it. But when Solver!Cyn turned into N mid-stab; with all the Mind Screw that the Solver's holograms perform, I was honestly questioning if Solver!Cyn really had used a hologram of theirself to "which parts of that were real"-trick Uzi into stabbing the real N. :O

Man, I was surprised by just how SATISFYING I found it when Uzi melted Solver!Cyn's core, considering how goofy that eldritch digi-Satan is. :)

I'm a bit frustrated by the questions that have been left unanswered as of the finale, like why the Absolute Solver is doing what they're doing with turning planets' cores into black holes, and the other planets besides Earth that it apparently destroyed before being spread to Copper 9 by the lab experiments. And... apparently, Copper 9 is suddenly back together in one piece at the episode's end, even though Solver!Cyn shattered it like an egg when she put a black hole in the core... ,:-S

I'm also not sure about the reveal of V's motivations with her deal with the Solver - to me, it doesn't seem to fit with V's interactions when she thought Solver!Uzi was the Solver back in Episode 4. (Granted, it's not the only thing that feels convoluted in the series, with all the post-pilot retcons concerning JCJenson/the Absolute Solver and also V's post-pilot characterisation change, but still.)

Now, that shot on Khan when he pulls his Big Damn Hero move:

Did anyone else, the first several times they saw this, instead of seeing a remote in Khan's hand, think they were seeing him using the Solver abilities, with the signature hand-gesture and with a monochrome [null] singularity in hand instead? It took me a while to realise that was the door remote from the pilot in his hand, with the black part standing out while the rest was accidentally camouflaged, and stop having these questions rattling around in my head: "Khan has Solver abilities too now?! What’s that about?? Do all worker drones have some kind of Solver abilities and that’s why the Solver wants to wipe them out?! Did Nori somehow transfer a fragment of her own Solver to Khan when they were together and they made Uzi?! Why didn't they explain this at the episode's end??!!"

"No-one traumatises these weirdly-hot robots but ME!" Uzi x N may have become canon (and TBH, I don't care for it, especially with the way canon has done it, and I felt it could've been completely left out of the episode without anything changing). But was Uzi's comment there hinting that GLITCH are seriously considering making N x Uzi x V canon in future? :3

I quite liked the series-bookend in the final pre-credits scene. :) Heh, Uzi's "and also now I can do THIS" moment showing off the inhuman powers and monstrous transformation she's gained when lampshading her narrative journey was so relatable. :3

Man, Doll's memorial in the end credits was humorous! :D (And I don't blame Uzi, N and V for not looking impressed with the whole thing after the stuff Doll did, not least to them, and when Doll had seemingly much more agency over her actions than N or Episode 4's Solver!Uzi did to boot. XD)

I think the finale could've done without that post-credits scene, especially while the chances of a second season are up in the air, or it could've at least recontextualised it to make it clear whether or not Cyn/the Solver/whatever's left of them inside Uzi is still evil at this point.

One last peeve I have is that Uzi overcoming the Solver's possession through the power of love "coodies"-mortification and a bitch-slap was one thing, but her suddenly being able to turn the tables and possess Solver!Cyn in the finale when she's barely had half an hour to recover from the climax of Episode 7 feels like it came out of nowhere with no foreshadowing. Though that one moment didn't seem to contribute to the plot except to establish why the Solver doesn't just body-jack Uzi again during the finale, so I'm willing to let this one go a bit.

[thatmomwitchfriend]

Hiiii <<<3 I just saw your slumber party post and thought of requesting something

Reader being a huge horror fan and wanting to do a Scream movie marathon (her favourite franchise) for date night but the guy being scared yet wanna look like they aren't.

"You've fought of *insert major threat* and you're scared of this?" (She asks but in a funny way, not at all demeaning)

"Ay! Serial killers are a lot more common than you think okay!"

Kinda the type of scene I had in mind and maybe the guy snuggling up to reader and her playing with his hair 👀👀

I couldn't choose between the moon knight system and Santiago García so was hoping you wouldn't mind writing this 💖

Sorry if this request is kinda long this is literally my first time requesting anything and overthinking got me here 😅😅🥲

I love this, having just done a good solid Scream marathon myself. I'm gonna go ahead and pick Santiago, here. I can't help myself 🤤

Also, please don't worry about long requests, I LOVE detail like this babe 🥰

I feel like once he's comfy, he's the type to enjoy a good snuggle with hair plays. Just seems like the kind of guy that fronts big and tough for his buddies and then is all sweet and romantic at home.

Also, he is ABSOLUTELY the type to be more scared of something based on an actual true crime case than a paranormal flic and I love that you chose him as one of your options for this franchise!

By the time you got home from work, the streetlights were already on and the house was lit up from the inside. You and Santiago had talked about a movie marathon, since you didn't have to work tomorrow. Neither of you were really sure what franchise to pop on, but you had convinced him that it was horror.

Little to your knowledge, Santiago was perfectly fine with horror. Under certain circumstances. The man was utterly skeeved out by true crime. People in the real world were the scariest thing to him. He was fine with creatures and the paranormal, though; fuck, he hoped you wanted to watch some spooky bruja shit. He busied himself in the kitchen, prepping a drink bar, baskets of chips, bowls of candy, the air pop machine, and even a coffee and cocoa bar. The living room was set up for an overnight with all the blankets and pillows making the room look like a conversation pit. He had drawn the curtains and put up softly glowing fairy lights that cast a spooky glow from behind the tv and curtains. Candles were lit and smelled like your favorite time of year. This man was a keeper.

"Babe, I'm home!" you called into the house, making your way down the hall towards the kitchen. There, you leaned against the door frame, smiling as you watched this ex special-ops agent prep snacks for a movie night at home. Santiago was the equivalent of taking a military dog and taking him home after his tour of duty. This man was domesticated, and he liked it (thought he would never admit it). "Hey, Mami, how was work?" You shrugged, snagging a chip from the first bowl he walked away from.

"Well, Sarah was -" you droned on, spilling all the shit from your day. He was listening, nodding and inserting little sounds of approval or disgust when the moment called for it. "Did you decide what you want to watch?" he asked. A devious smile spread across your face, and he did NOT like it. A chill went ups his spine as he followed you into the living room and over to the DVD rack. You ran your finger down the spines of all your favorite movies, you only collected DVD copies of your top favorites, and stopped at Scream. His nose scrunched and he groaned softly behind you, and not because of your leggings you presumed.

"What's wrong with Scream?" you asked, straightening up and reaching to get it set in the player. "You know it's an actual murder case from not all that long ago, right?" he asked, a single eyebrow arching in slight disdain. "Oh, come on. You mean to tell me that the man who brought down Gabriel Martin Lorea with three shots just for 'insurance' is scared of a movie based on a true crime event?" you scoffed, putting air quotes around his favorite excuse for shooting more than once.

His eyes rolled, "Si, Mami, but real people are still out there doing that shit." he sighed, sitting into the comfortable nest he had built for the two of you. You followed, putting the remote on the side table and settling in. "But there are people whose jobs it is to make sure they're not like they used to be." you tried to reason, patting your empty lap. He pursed his lips, laying his head over into your lap. He would watch your movies with you, but he wasn't about to admit that he was actually scared. "people still kill people." he grumbled. In return you shushed him softly, fingers twisting through his hair as the opening credits started on the screen.

As the movies played on, and the night continued around you both in your beautiful little home, safe and sound, he was still right. Serial killers were still a lot more common than people thought.

[writersindigestion]

teased | edward nygma x reader

“was it even regret, anymore?”

reader gender: female

words: 4362

warnings: trauma, substance abuse, paranoia, PTSD, minor violence, minor blood, Edward is still Mean and Green

notes: hey there again, everyone. once more - for your ease of reading, i’ve split this chapter into another two parts… because it was almost at 10,000 words. :////’ sorry i suck so much. but i’m nearing the end… i think. expect another part within the next week or so.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE | PART SIX also available on: AO3

For [Y/N], personally, the following weeks were filled with inactivity. She continued on her previous schedule as she’d been doing since her friend was killed, only making sure to at least sometimes talk with the people outside of her apartment. There were some good films that she saw in theatre, though she spent the whole time snogging her girlfriend, and had only assumed that the movies were “good”. There were some sports games she cheered on, some museums she visited, some books she rented - but nothing felt normal. The manic woman was beginning to realize that she’d likely never feel that way again.

More beers, more wine, more snakes at her spine, and the crucifix ever-taunting her from across the street.

For Gotham, however, the weeks were bigger than they’d been in recent history. They saw the escape of the Arkham monsters (Nygma not included, thank the Lord), they saw the rise of Fish Mooney’s escapees (undead or otherwise), and, most importantly, the catapulting of Oswald Cobblepot to the mayoral throne.

[Y/N] had long since chosen to remain oblivious to the goings-on in her hometown, having spent an exorbitant amount of time with the news droning on in her empty headspace - politics, theft, murder, mass homicide, life-threatening magicians and several attempts at axing Jim Gordon and Bruce Wayne. Then there was Theo Galavan - even for a criminal, she didn’t like him. Had she not been too afraid to leave the house, she wouldn’t have voted for him. Not that it mattered, since no one else had been alive to challenge him.

Little did she know, her ignorance would be her downfall.

“Babe, you’ve got a letter!” Chryssie called from across the apartment, sauntering into sight with silky, pink pajamas floating around her form.

[Y/N] leaned backwards to peer over the cushy loveseat she sat on, her form having been curled up over a popular sci-fi novel. She dogeared the corner of the page and set the book down on the coffee table, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Really? Who’s it from? Not many people have gotten the memo about my new address.”

The envelope was heavy - clearly a fancy type of cardstock. She glanced over the off-white surface, her eyes catching the tiny, decorative speckles that blended into the background like an impressionist painting. The return address read ‘City Hall’.

“Ugh, government letters,” [Y/N] growled, making her girlfriend turn towards her.

The larger woman tutted, then chuckled, reaching for a pot to boil pasta in. “You probably have jury duty. Aren’t you special, babe?”

Her groans of disdain intensified, but she sliced delicately into the package, pulling out the paper that rested inside. Cramped fingers unfolded the letter, and she cleared her throat dramatically,

“Dear valued citizen,

You have been invited to a celebration of Mayor Cobblepot’s victory in the recent elections. We have hand-selected a number of individuals based on their contributions to Gotham City. The mayor’s home welcomes you to join us this following Sunday, provided this message reaches you safely. It would be an honor to have you.

No reply is needed, and plus-ones are accepted.

Warmly,

Oswald Cobblepot & Team”.

The pair couldn’t help but laugh at the card, practically bent in half with hysteria.

Chrysanthemum broke through her giggles first, “No offense, [Y/N], but what have you ever done to help this city?”

The seated woman spoke between wheezes, “Well, I was a member of the safety patrol in Junior High - clearly worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize.”

“You sure kept those hallways safe.”

“Hey! That was an important job! Think of all the collisions I stopped.”

“God forbid those clumsy preteens gently bump into each other.”

[Y/N] grew facetiously irate, “I prevented FATALITIES - I wore a BADGE! And a NEON VEST!”

Chrysanthemum paused for a moment before commenting, “Seriously, though, you probably got an invite for your work at the GCPD.”

Her partner rolled her eyes, tossing the letter onto the coffee table. “Oh yeah - my ‘work’ - delivering mochas.”

“Hey, now… We are only half as strong as our errand boys!” Chryssie exclaimed, stirring a spoon around in the pot of noodles that she’d nearly forgotten. “So what dress should I wear?”

The other woman sputtered, “W-What? I don’t want to go to this ‘party’! What if they make me wear a button? It probably wouldn’t even match my outfit. Not to mention…” She hesitated, grabbing the envelope again, pointing to the included address, “This guy isn’t celebrating in City Hall - he is partying in his house, which I’m positive is filled with breakables!”

“They need a safety patroller to stop guests from running into their precious valuables.”

“A neon vest really won’t match with anything I own…”

And so the couple decided to attend the celebration - well, one did, and the other begrudgingly followed.

The mayor’s mansion was indeed grand, and filled with fragile objects. [Y/N] kept her arms locked close to her body, and her body away from the walls - it would be just her luck to accidentally break something.

Both women wore black dresses (“In case either of us needs to don that sacred vest.”), their skirts coming to rest just above the knee, with the rest of the bodice fitted to their personal shapes and tastes. [Y/N]’s outfit, while beautiful, was slightly more conservative than her partner’s. She wondered, anxiously, if it made her appear insecure.

Of course, nobody would think anything of it, but her paranoia was potent, personal, and positively irrational.

She kept a stiff arm locked into the larger woman’s, content to let herself be dragged around, as if Chryssie was the one invited in the first place. Bodies swam gracefully between each other, every person grinning like they were actually excited to be there - [Y/N] didn’t believe it.

After awhile of being at the party, she felt comfortable enough to unwind from her girlfriend and mingle with the unfamiliar faces.

Where were the people she knew? If other precinct employees weren’t there - why was the former secretary - who left without warning and refused to answer any and all calls about her absence - invited?

The neurosis settled in full-force this time, and her shaking hand found its way back to the crook of her lover’s right elbow. Between mingling, she whispered these misgivings frantically in Chrysanthemum’s ear, but only got scoffs in return.

Frustrated, she kept her further concerns bottled up, and neglected to speak to most of the people they were now passing by.

Eventually, the feedback of a microphone drew the party-goers’ attention to the front of the room. [Y/N]’s anxiety was somewhat soothed at the hush that fell over the crowd, her senses no longer being assaulted by unrelenting stimuli. A deep breath in, and back out - she was going to get through this.

A man limped up to the mic stand following an over-exuberant introduction from a colleague. He was rather short, for the typical grown male, and had the haircut of someone far too deep into their grunge phase. His grin was proud, bordering on arrogant, but she’d already seen him an innumerable amount of times. Hard to forget the face of a known criminal and gangster when he had shown up so frequently at her place of employment.

Oswald greeted his guests, offering a sincere welcome, “Thank you all for coming - it means the world to me that I have your support…”

[Y/N] tuned out his babbling, staring politely in his direction so as to feign alertness. Absentmindedly, she noted him talking about his mother, his campaign team, and those who voted for him. She swirled the champagne around in her glass, gaze now drawn to the bubbly drink as opposed to the new mayor. Yeah, yeah - when is the buffet open? I’m starving.

“… And most of all, I want to thank my chief of staff, Edward Nygma, for believing in me, especially when it felt like no one else would. Without his faith - none of this would have been possible.”

But she didn’t hear anything past the moment when the mayor mentioned his name. Suddenly petrified, [Y/N] bent to the floor, staying on her feet as she pretended to search for an earring. Chrysanthemum had already realized the issue, crouching next to her as well. Applause erupted around them, and the larger woman grasped her friend’s hand tightly, pulling her away from the noise, their escape hidden under the cover of the crowd.

[Y/N] broke into a near-run as soon as they were out of the room. Chryssie almost had to jog to keep up with her partner, not wanting to risk the two of them being separated. Especially when she knew what was coming.

With the other woman unaware, Chrysanthemum held her breath, waiting on the edge of her seat as they finally reached the exit.

“Isn’t it a little early to be fleeing the scene? We haven’t even served dinner yet.”

[Y/N] didn’t bother turning around, she immediately placed her hand on the doorknob, twisting it with purpose. And it moved - she wasn’t locked out at all, but her girlfriend’s hand on hers rooted her inside the building. Panicked, she cast an alarmed look at Chryssie, seriously debating whether or not she wanted to physically attack her partner, but the look in the other woman’s eyes stopped her from acting.

She could see the devil in her peripherals, but she’d already made up her mind that if she didn’t look directly at him, maybe he’d cease to exist. Instead, her gaze bore deeply into her friend’s, finding grief, finding guilt, finding fear where she thought she’d find malice. Immediate remorse flooded through her - there was no way Chrysanthemum was doing this on purpose. She was no traitor.

What the fuck did he do to her?

Swallowing thickly, [Y/N] questioned her lover, “Can you tell me what’s going on? Did he hurt you?”

Chryssie’s face screwed up - silent, tense tears leaking down her cheeks. She tugged the smaller woman closer, grasping now with both hands. Her voice was quieter than feathers fluttering to the floor, “He didn’t hurt me… He said he didn’t care about me.” The couple’s eyes locked together. “But that if I cooperated, he wouldn’t hurt you.”

[Y/N]’s stomach dropped, and her palms twitched with an ugly anticipation. “You shouldn’t have worried about me. You should’ve taken care of yourself. I would never live it down if something happened to you. Maybe we could’ve gotten away.”

“You know we wouldn’t get away. We wouldn’t make it outside of the city before he found us.”

“We could have tried, Chrysanthemum! We could have tried! He’s not omnipotent-”

“He might as well be - what if we-”

Edward Nygma interjected himself back into the conversation, now standing only inches away from the couple. He fiddled with his cufflinks, giving a calculating, close-lipped smile to the both of them before he spoke, “If you two are done bickering, I have some things to attend to.” His large hand pressed against Chryssie’s shoulder, easily creating distance between the lovers. She looked confused, afraid - he enjoyed it. Always a pleasure to present dilemma to the simple-minded.

[Y/N] made a grab for her friend’s hands again, but was cut off from her side - a criminally tall man instead taking her outstretched arms. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. All she saw was the green of his suit tie, and even that seemed to dissolve under the weight of her renewed trauma and overall dissociation.

“Wait, wait - what the hell are you doing?” Chrysanthemum called, trailing after the murderer as he pulled her girlfriend into a separate room, “You said you wouldn’t hurt her. Are you a liar and a crook?”

For just a moment, she had his attention, and he turned to her with a flourish, hands still tugging the stumbling [Y/N] along. Edward’s smile was dazzling as he quipped, “Naturally.”

Chryssie was removed from the mayor’s grounds shortly afterward, not being given the chance to get a word in edgewise. She caught her best friend’s gaze before a closed door blocked her from sight. Never before had she seen someone more shell-shocked in her lifetime, and she never would again. After hours of waiting outside the mansion gates, she hailed a taxi, choosing to return home after the guards threatened to call the cops on her.

[Y/N] could only wish that she were being arrested. The hard, unforgiving seat of a police car would have been a welcome comfort against the capture of Nygma.

“I honestly hadn’t expected you to run away so quickly after that day. Smart of you, though - I was a little busy with some things anyways,” Ed started, releasing one of her wrists in favor of sending a short text message. He held up a finger for a moment, as if telling her to quell her thoughts until he was finished typing.

She didn’t have any thoughts. She didn’t have any senses. Everything seemed just a little too far away from where she was standing. All she saw, all she could concentrate on was red - and it was probably her own blood, as opposed to his, that was painted across her psyche.

Long fingers folded the phone closed, placing it in his left pocket with an uncanny amount of grace. He ran a thumb along the inside of [Y/N]’s arm, humming idly.

They came to a stalemate, neither bringing forth any conversation for the sake of letting the other suffer. Unfortunately, for the smaller of the two, Edward had all the power in the situation, and he intended to get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted.

She let out a yelp, trying to pull her wrist out of his grasp as a dull thumbnail started digging angry, red circles into her skin. Her failed attempt at release only served to make his scratching all the more painful, his nail dragging down the length of her forearm as she closed her free hand around his, grabbing his middle finger and yanking it backwards until it nearly touched his carpals.

Ed let her go, his finger on the brink of breaking, and took a surprised step backwards at her sudden display of violence. He looked her up and down - this was not the same woman he left in the precinct basement, crying over her dead friend and chained to some leaky pipes. She had vanished to a far corner of the closed room, soothing the angry marks on her arm like a feral cat, licking its wounds.

[Y/N]’s lips curled back over her teeth, and she snarled as she spoke to him, “You should have died in Arkham, you evil, conniving bastard.” Her breaths came in heavy pants, scraping past her teeth so sharply that the nerves behind her enamel started to ache. “You deserve to suffer for the rest of your life, and then you should be brought back from the dead so you can suffer all over again.”

Something dark - darker than usual - passed through his scrutinizing, brown eyes. She saw the tightness in his jaw, the flexing in his neck. For a second, her fear and rage-induced bravery wavered, but she swallowed, a flagrant attempt at steeling herself against Edward.

But he didn’t advance on her, allowing the frightened woman her space, if only to help push her guard down. He kept himself in check, positive that the end would justify the means.

“I’ll allow you that one. I’m sure that you aren’t happy to see me,” He deflected, settling the topic back on [Y/N], “So how are you? It’s been quite a long time since we last met.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took another step backwards, hands reaching out behind her for any unseen obstacles. “I think you know how I’ve been, Nygma.”

Ed clicked his tongue at her indignance, flashing a smile that hardly reached his cold, dead eyes. “Now, how are we going to understand one another if you won’t communicate with me. We didn’t keep in touch - how would I know what’s been going on in your life?”

“Because you’re smart. You know you’re smart. I know you’re smart,” She snapped, “What good does it do to tell someone what they already know?”

Another smile - this time twice as unfeeling, as unforgiving. “Humor me.”

It didn’t sound like an invitation. Everything Edward said sounded like an ultimatum. She didn’t know what she’d be sacrificing if she refused to play his games. What were the rules? How did she participate if she didn’t know what the penalties and rewards were? Her head hurt.

“I’ve been terrible,” [Y/N] started, words clipped and enunciated, but she thought better of her decision to enlighten him, “I haven’t been sleeping well. There is a draft in my bedroom.”

She watched him nod, his face feigning grief, feigning sympathy. He’d gotten his hair cut since going to prison - the shaved sides and voluminous top made his cheekbones all-the-more severe, his features all-the-more sharp. Ed had seemingly shed his geeky exterior in favor of a more threatening, business-like persona. It was sensible, she supposed, being that he was the mayor’s chief of staff - but it was much easier to have courage against a mathlete than a mobster. The woman found herself missing the days when she got to be the bully. If she’d known how events would pan out, perhaps she would’ve been meaner to him.

Begrudgingly, she wondered if being nice would’ve helped at all. It was likely that any kindness shown towards him would’ve resulted in a different, more co-dependent type of fixation.

He’s a murderer, a terrorist, a liar, a cheat, a thief, a hypocrite, a traitor, an abuser - there is no need to feel sorry for him, not even in retrospect.

He hummed, drawing the attention of his verbal opponent. “How tragic,” Edward mocked, his feet beginning to creep in her direction, “Sleep is very important to the human body, Miss [L/N]. Perhaps you need better insulation in your home? I could get you some help with that.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you. My girlfriend and I simply wear a few more layers,” [Y/N] vibrated, leaning away from him, but not wanting to box herself in a corner again.

He stopped in his forward assault about two feet in front of her. “Ah - yes, your girlfriend. You know you’re lucky, right?”

She refused to feed into his taunting, angry with herself for even mentioning Chryssie. “Yes. Very lucky. She’s terrific.”

“Chrysanthemum - a lovely name for a lovely person,” Ed drawled, caring little whether or not this woman played into his words, “She looked at her most lovely when she was begging for your life.”

He’d barely gotten his taunt through before [Y/N] launched herself at him, catching the lanky man around the waist and toppling the both of them. She reacted far quicker than he did, taking his shock as an opportunity force her palm into the underside of his nose. The man beneath her let out a cry of pain, and god did she relish that sound. It was even better the second time, when she closed both of her fists and smashed them down across the middle of his face.

He was reeling from the affliction, but thought rapidly, using her lack of grip to throw the woman off of him. This was not going as he had planned. Edward had to regain control of the situation before she ruined his plot any further. The towering male clambered back to his feet, hand pressed against his visage to soothe the aching.

[Y/N] had found footing long before he had, and used the discrepancy to put distance between them once more. “Did that hurt, you fucking moron?“ She growled, spit flying from her lips, cheeks flushed a deep shade of maroon, “I’ve seen middle-schoolers with more guts than you.”

His eyes narrowed, and he let go of his nose in a fit of egotism that he couldn’t quite catch - not that he’d ever been good at that. He sniffed, reaching for his pocket handkerchief, “Impressive, Miss [L/N], I must say that I’ve been caught quite off guard. Are you legally prepared to deal with me when I press charges against you?” Nimble fingers folded the kerchief long-ways, and he dabbed lightly at the blood that dripped from his nostrils. “I imagine your wallet isn't very well-lined from selling coffee.”

She didn’t flinch at his threats. “Go ahead - sue me. Send me to prison. I dare you,” [Y/N] barked, her hands still balled into tight, angry fists, “The only place I can think of that would keep me safer from you is death.”

“Death is not a place - it is a state of being.” Ed was then quiet for a moment, his head already leaps and bounds ahead of the woman. She was brave, yes, but she was still an idiot. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He quipped, his rhetoric short as he started circling around to his opponent’s side.

She mirrored him, stalking in the opposite direction to avoid letting him get too close. Her palms were beginning to sweat. Maybe she’d managed to land a good punch, but she would never be able to match him in an intellectual battle. He underestimated her - she knew that - and it was probably the only advantage she had against him.

His long legs stopped in their assault, and he changed directions, heading towards the door that they’d only just entered through. With a twist of the knob, it was open, and he stepped to the side, gesturing for her to exit.

[Y/N] squinted at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Edward didn’t hesitate to answer. “You’re free to go.”

Her mind shut down entirely, her fists uncurled, her face unscrewed. “I’m free to go?”

Momentarily, his indifferent expression darkened. “Don’t make me repeat myself - I didn’t stutter.”

“Just what are you playing at? What am I going to find if I go out there?” Contrary to his offer of escape, she moved further away from Ed, his sudden complacence painfully suspicious.

“I’m not playing at anything. You want to leave, and I’m offering you a chance to leave.”

“That’s a load of bullshit - we both know it. What reason do I have to trust you?”

He smiled, his face lacking warmth almost entirely. In fact, the man’s personality seemed encapsulated in sub-zero temperatures. “I’m not asking for your trust, Miss [L/N], it’s something I simply don’t require…” Brown eyes settled idly on their prey, an unfriendly sort-of mirth lacing their irises. “What I’m asking is for an unwelcome woman to leave the mayor’s home.”

She bristled, but didn’t bother to test his patience any longer. Though reluctant, her unsteady legs drew past the hateful, worthless man, and she heard him follow her out of the room.

He watched her as she stiffly made her way down the front steps, [Y/N]’s entire body alight with anxiety. She paused for a moment, taking a glance backwards at him, and Edward tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss.”

Her steps quickened after his goodbye, and she had to hold back tears until she was off the property.

Chrysanthemum didn’t let go of her for a second that night, and in the following couple of weeks, she watched her companion deteriorate faster than she had after Kristen’s death.

[Y/N] quit her job. She canceled her gym membership. She gave away and donated practically all of her belongings, no matter their worth, not matter their sentimentality. She stopped speaking with friends. She stopped speaking with neighbors. She stopped leaving the apartment. She stopped communicating with her girlfriend. She stopped smiling. It hardly seemed like she breathed anymore, and she definitely didn’t sleep.

When slumber took even a moment to grace her eyelids, all she saw was Edward Nygma. It was a nightmare that she could neither wake from, nor rest from.

The familiar shape of a beer bottle found its way back into her limp grip, her body conforming into the chair that she’d spent so many long days rotting in. Tired eyes found their way back to the Catholics wandering in and out of the cathedral. And the will to live lost its way back to her heart.

She was exhausted in her lethargy. All she did was think - of ways to escape, of ways to beat him, of ways to recover, of ways to get help. There was an outright guarantee that if she even attempted to contact the police, it could mean death for the woman she loved - [Y/N] didn’t have to ask Nygma to figure that out. He meant to see her again. No one could offer sanctuary from a man that seemed to have buried his grubby hands in every niche of Gotham City. So quickly he’d managed it, too.

A happy family walked out of the doors to the church, smiles on their faces and their heads in the clouds. Inwardly, she asked herself if even God himself could save her from Ed’s disgusting, bruising clutches.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

Her tongue darted out to run across chapped lips, and she set the beer bottle on the side table, rising slowly from her seat. Bare feet brought her to meet the broad face of the packed, homey-looking bookshelf. Her fingers skimmed the bindings, looking for something particular. After several moments of searching, she felt it - a worn, faux-leather covering, a little handle sticking out for ease of transport. She pulled the book from its space in the collection, warming her palm over the canvas as she brought it back to her seat, opening the aged pages with care.

Her eyes did not comprehend anything they were reading, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts. This was her chance. Maybe she could get away with this - ’God-willing’.

-

What. The. Fuck? Ed. You’re a prick. And… You look like a string bean. >://’ Anyways - let me know if you enjoyed this part! I’ve been working real hard on this story! Once again - I am taking requests, and would probably cry if you left me some. Also - still interested in a beta reader to help me check for continuity and grammar, ect… Love y’all. - writersindigestion

[clubofinfo]

Expert: There is no political grey area. There is only feigned pragmatism. Wet noodle-ism. The grey, the political middle in the American constituency, or what is considered moderate positions, has long been equivocating endorsers of the status quo. In today’s world these are corporate democrats, the Hillary voters who are still buying her shtick, the Republicans who are debating going to the left because Trump is a step too far even though he represents exactly what Republicans have been endorsing for years, and lastly the people still sincerely standing for the national anthem but aware America might just have some problems. This is moderately preferable to coming to rest on the first idea one is fed in life and then traipsing around forever proselytizing it. Those in the contemporary middle have taken the time to moderately see past the pitfalls of mind control exploit number one, organized religion, but have fallen prey to level two – government. However, the situation isn’t that this middle is filled with villainy as they are mostly a decent lot, but they are rooted in a bubble; a myopia in which they often make a conscious choice to not gaze too far outside of because they prefer the entrapments of culture and hence are fodder for subsequent buzzing distractions. They have been fed a diet based in capitalist value systems and primarily see only the pop culture images flickering in Plato’s cave. The modern cave has upgrades and no longer casts shadows from the cave entrance, but projects images of perpetual avoidance streamed in full HD. The cave programming manager has a locked in schedule for its viewers – a consumption, shame, judgment, punishment, and egotism marathon scheduled from here till the apocalypse. The political wishy-washies have but a semblance of an open mind. They will tend to vacillate between two arbitrary but familiar and entrenched points of view, their conclusions reached are gutless “agree to disagree” platitudes, while applying no real reason or supporting warrants to why their middle ground delusions are worthwhile in the scope of humane treatment of people. We all fall into this space at some point in our lives.  Some see past the instilled cultural boundaries early, others fall into established social systems and indoctrination from corporate culture where they remain committed to a series of lifelong rationalizations thereafter in an effort to never have to face the latent values they have accepted. The Overton Window rules the mind of the political middle. The Overton Window describes the range of ideas people are willing to accept. It’s the range of their middle ground. And through this window is where terrible ideas sneak in.  People fall into a mode of ostensible reasonability often with little care of the ethics actually endorsed. They will choose the middle of what they perceive as the outlying ideas of acceptance. If a scientist claims we cannot safely remove any more fossil fuels from mother earth due to the ever increasing possibility of abrupt climate change occurring – and on the other “side” a climate denier states there is no such thing as anthropogenic global warming – then the moderate will likely come to rest on the point of view that “Well, climate change may be occurring but it’s not as bad as the scientists make it out to be.” The weak willed middle ground recedes to philosophical pablum believing “the truth must lie somewhere in the middle”, which has no rational argument other than blindly obeying a trite turn of phrase, because other people say it, then it must be true. This is the exact type of idealism that has infected the democratic party’s constituency. Intellectual gutlessness closely followed by lazy thinking. Politicians play the middle when they want to hit that pragmatic note, but what’s going on behind the scenes is the same political chicanery and venality the moderates think only happens on the extreme sides of ideologies. One can never be sure what a feckless moderate endorses at any particular time.  It’s one thing to be aware one is choosing the lesser of two evils due to being trapped in a sea of bad choices, but it’s another to not acknowledge that improvement is possible and ignore it’s the system that is at the root of the problem. They believe when their chosen team is in charge that all the choices have been considered thoroughly and weighed equally in open debate and the options given to us are the totality of the range of the best options available. This, of course, is a fabrication. There is no real debate going on.  There is only talk of how to spin ideas to the populace so that government, banks, and the corporatocracy can continue looting, killing, and exploiting. The grey – they talk peace, but usually believe some war is necessary since that’s the middle position of the Overton Window these days. But they are generally aghast at the grotesqueries war produces. I’d contend anyone too disgusted to look at the tragedy of war, and while also capable of endorsing a system that promotes institutional violence, is of weak character. You have to be willing to look at some dead babies being pulled out of rubble if you’re going to be okay with drone strikes. The horrors we champion in nationalistic fits of pride are killing innocents in droves.  We are launching attacks and delivering misery in the middle east to the faceless nameless hordes which resemble a slow moving genocide over the last several decades. Yet, in the hazy shade of grey the status quo positions remain salient because the middle just drifted off into another digital alternate reality, too lazy to care about what their tax dollars are supporting. Perhaps the middle is a result of a genetic darwinian thing. Too far out to the sides of the herd and you get chomped on by predators. Better odds of survival if you stay in the middle of the herd. But the herd is blind and is running towards that often noted cliff. In the middle position, disliking American ideals is too edgy for moderate minds. They still condone this American construct and its mass incarceration system, the wars, the faux democracy, predatory capitalism, climate obliteration, a 6th mass extinction event.  It’s all on the table just so long as their position seems to be within what is socially acceptable. The desperate need for social validation trumps all ethical considerations. Like all parts of politics what is pragmatic has been manufactured. The word compromise and “reaching across the aisle” appeals to a sense of coming together under a bullshit guise of reasonability. However, the lines of compromise are drawn by whoever is lobbying the hardest and willing to grease the right palms. Those in the grey are usually well meaning, but typically in the thralls of the utopian center fed to them by the institutions and exponentially increasing amounts of Orwellian speak. They don’t understand how many euphemisms have been encoded into our speech that are nothing but bullshit. They don’t know the extent to which people can lie. They don’t know the ostensible veracity and aplomb in which our “leaders” can state something they consciously know is a falsehood but they sell it on CNN anyways. These are the believers of the narratives of mainstream media and government speak. They are the embodiment of the trite aphorism why can’t we all just get along? Well, because the established powers that be are assholes, Rodney. They’re real dicks, they are, a whole lot of them, and you can’t keep forgiving someone punching you in the face without first stopping them from doing it again. There is no grey area when it comes to endorsing a murderous system. Need it be even said that most people would agree that starting wars for no reason other than empire building via violent acquisition of resources and then charging the people for it is a ridiculous notion? A more ethically objective Overton Window would contend unloading misery on others militarily, economically, or any kind of meddling is immoral, and to be reasonable is to endorse cooperative economies in symbiosis with nature sans destruction. It is our own Overton Windows of acceptance to which we must invest conscious awareness. What have we accepted as our middle? Is that fair to others? And does it result in greater happiness, healing, and the least amount of suffering? It’s through this window of objective reasonability that light may finally douse the grey. http://clubof.info/