#psycho pass asylum

[smokingasters]

An excerpt from Psycho Pass Asylum- Restaurant De Campagne. Translated into English by me. It follows Kagari’s story about how he grew interested in cooking “natural” food. The narration is in flashback and serves as a prequel to S1.

Happy Halloween 🎃 (Dividers by @cafekitsune)

✴️ If you copy and repost this anywhere else, I expect you to credit me and link it back to my blog. Please don’t repost without credit, thanks ☺️ (reblogs are welcome!)

I have been helping out in the restaurant for more than a month...

That morning, Kagari was busy in his single room in the Enforcer's dormitory of the Public Security Bureau building. As it was exactly one month later and his salary had been paid, Kagari could not wait to set up a kitchen in his room to cook. On the cooking table were piles of various natural ingredients that Mitsuha, the owner of the restaurant had given him.

Due to the series of unfortunate incidents involving the recent contamination by foreign substances, many customers grew afraid of consuming natural ingredients and had cancelled their orders. That’s why Kagari was able to obtain these rare natural ingredients.

He opened the door of his room and pasted a sign on the door that said: "Yummier than food prepared by automatic processors".

"Alright!"

It was Kagari's day off. His day off at the PSB coincided with Campagne's day off, so he didn’t have to go to help at the restaurant either. Although he had something to do in the afternoon, he had the whole morning to himself. Kagari wanted to review the cooking skills he learned from Mitsuha last month. However, the food prepared by a latent criminal could not be served to the guests of Campagne, so his food could only be served to his colleagues, the other Enforcers.

"Yo, Kagari, what are you upto?"

The first person to pass by his room was the Enforcer Kogami Shinya. The top two buttons of Kogami's shirt were undone, his tie hung loose, and he held a cigarette between his lips and a lighter between his fingertips. After lighting the cigarette, Kogami took a puff of smoke.

"Hey Ko-chan! Do you want to eat lunch with me?"

"Hmm? Ah, although I don't care whether I eat or not... but you make it look like a spread from 'The King's Restaurant'.” Kogami Shinya, his senior, an Enforcer from Division 1 uttered with a wry smile.

Ko-chan was originally an Inspector and was a classmate of Ginoza-san when they were students, graduating as a topper from the academy. As an Inspector, he also supervised Tot-san (Masaoka) and several others. Kagari didn't know why Kogami became an Enforcer. Enforcers usually don't talk about their past and don't pry into each other’s lives.

It's only when they talked about topics related to books that Kagari could get a glimpse of Kogami's past.

"Eh, The King's Restaurant? What is that?" Kagari asked.

"A fairy tale I read as a child. The protagonist of the story is a wilful childish king. The beginning of "The King's Restaurant" is a bit like what you are doing now. The king opened a restaurant in his castle, but because his cooking was terrible he received no customers. After a long time, a rabbit appeared and ordered a salad of roses. A butterfly also ordered a frog's tears soup from him and screamed in panic. There was also a frog who ordered a fried snake. It was an absurd story. The snake put on its own clothes, lit the fire and jumped into the oil, saying "Ah, the temperature is just right", and was fried until it was completely cooked. In the end, the frog swallowed the snake whole. But the end revealed that everything was a dream.”

"Why does this story sound like a hallucination caused by drugs?"

"Doesn't it?" Kogami smirked. His usually sharp gaze and closed off expression softened as he spoke about books.

"Fairy tales and fiction not only teach morality, but also contain an absurd and unrealistic narrative. I prefer them to rigid and preachy books. My favourite story in this book is called The Greedy King—

Don't eat too much at once!

Paper thin rice crackers

Taro cakes two centimetres thick

Carrots shredded needle thin

Remember to eat everything!

"I miss the rhymes my mother wrote. When I was a child, I often asked her to recite them to me."

Hearing Ko-chan becoming nostalgic, Kagari thought to himself that Ko seemed to have been raised by a loving parent.

These were the memories of almost everyone who grew up in Japan when they were young. But Kagari didn't know what it felt like to be loved unconditionally.

Back then, he was like an untamed animal when he raged and trashed the isolation unit. The staff tried to treat him like a human, but in the end he was still too arbitrary. He was lucky that they did not execute him.

"He is still a child, there is still a possibility..."

Tch. If I had heard such words back then, I would have made their lives even more miserable.

My views have changed. I think there is still a lot of good in this society despite the Sibyl System.

It’s just that I don’t fit in. When I think about the past, I feel ashamed and hurt. I repeat and regret my mistakes. But in the end I still forget everything. People are like that.

No. If I'm in a bad mood, the food I cook will taste bad. I should think of something happy...

"Ko-chan, let's make up a rhyme just for fun." Kagari said.

"Even though you brought it up, forget it." Ko-chan's reply surprised him.

"The food described in a story is often inspired by the author's own imagination, because you can never taste that kind of food in reality. That's good. The delicious food you read about is something you can never taste. That’s rather profound, right?”

The things Kogami says can make one feel there’s a deeper implication in his words.

“Things that cannot be obtained are valuable precisely because they are unattainable.” Ko-chan murmured.

"Is that so? Then what would you like to order?" Kagari chuckled.

"Let me think...I want to have a hamburger!"

"Eh, are you sure? That doesn’t sound like a challenge."

"You don't understand, Kagari," Kogami shook his head helplessly, "A real hamburger is not a simple dish. Perfectly toasted buns, the crunch of fresh lettuce, refreshingly sweet and sour tomato slices, topped with slightly charred fragrant onions; the 100% beef hamburger grilled on the iron skillet, with salt and pepper to bring out the full flavour of the meat and ah, cheese is not bad either, rich cheddar cheese is the best. It’s utterly satisfying to wrap all into a burger, hold it with both hands and eat it in big bites".

A slightly wicked smile appeared on Kogami’s face. As Kagari listened to him, his stomach began to growl.

"Hamburgers are delicious because they have layers of flavour. So, can you make it for me?"

Tsk~ Just do it, don’t be afraid.

Kagari quickened his pace and headed for the kitchen.

Ko-chan was the only person who came to his “restaurant” that morning. Kagari started with the hamburger meat and grilled it to medium.

My interest in the novels chiefly lies in more PP world building and having more input from the OG cast clears my hue.

And since I’m always looking forward to know more about Kogami’s thoughts, this excerpt was heartwarming. We don’t get much info about Tomoyo-san, Kogami’s mom, so knowing that he recalls that specific time with her is endearing.

Kagari is also a special character for me, I don’t think I could ever get over his death in S1. I frankly felt that his death was pointless, he should have continued on.

Also Kogami’s love for hamburgers? 👀 Maybe it’s just me or does it sound suggestive?

I hope you all enjoyed this little excerpt and I wish you a Happy Halloween 🎃

[blackshadow2084]

KuniKara story from asylum yall 😭😭😭(I need full translation of the ginochan part too 😭😭😭😭)

Psycho-Pass Asylum 2: About Girl

Really short summary because I promised but don’t have enough time.

This novel took place at the end of 2113 year, between first and second seasons of the anime. First division investigated children’s murder. Yayoi went undercover and a lot of stuff happened. Main villain turned out to be Takizaki Rina. And eventually Yayoi killed her.

And different snippets:

Keep reading

[kitslittlegirl]

COMFORT

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst, hurt, whump?, confused feelings at the end, fluff with too much plot i fear

a/n: i feel like this could do with a part two??

the cold, autumn air only seemed even more biting in the stone walls of Briarcliff. the eerie whistling in the wind, the murmurs and chatters of the psychos around Kit buzzed at an uncomfortable frequency.

though, there was hardly ever comfort. even at night. he’d lay on his rock solid, creaky bed, subjected to the groaning pipes and the neighboring crazies, one of which was never not jerking off from sunrise to sunset. how’d he even stay awake so long?

there’s was no comfort until you.

you got thrown into the asylum for a classic case of “female hysteria” and playing into some harsh accusations a little too much to backpedal from it.

you were the only person he’s seen come in here that was even remotely lucid. you weren’t balled up in a corner chanting whispers, you weren’t rubbing one out violently on the common room couch. you kept to yourself, you read to pass the time. you were aware of your surroundings. and by the look on your face, disgusted and confused by them.

he had to talk to you. to anyone, really. but his neighbors weren’t great candidates and the spineless nuns shunned him for his “murders.”

he was sane when he came here, but the longer he’s been, he feels like he might really be going insane. the repetition and abuse that comes each day was enough to make even the toughest crumble slowly.

he worked up the courage to approach you about a week after you were admitted- he was nervous, shaking like a leaf. whether it was a side effect of the electro therapy or the fact he hadn’t had regular human interaction in months and forgot how to even start a conversation, he managed to make his way over to you.

he used the clearly fresh burns on your temples as an excuse to say something, sitting down across from you with a shaky exhale.

“they got you on electro therapy too?” he questioned, though the answer was obvious, it got a response out of you.

“yeah. like 90 volts” you slurred in one jumbled breath. your hands seemed to permanently tremble since the shocks. it was like permanent anxiety.

Kit straightens himself out to seem more socially inept.

“they’ll give you a headband if you ask and you can put those slimy cucumbers they give us on your temples; hide em’ with the head band. they help. i do it every time.” he rambled in a sweet effort to create a comfortability between you two.

“okay…thanks” i mumbled, with an out of it gaze just past kits face. i was there- more than everyone else here, but hardly. those volts really got to you.

“i’m y/n” you make an effort to keep the conversation rolling, figuring a friend would be nice in this hellhole.

“kit” he hums politely, a pleased little smile on his lips at your reciprocation.

time goes on in here slowly. so torturously slow, my god. kit clings to you like a dog. he doesn’t know what would happen without as his crutch, and he never wants to find out. you’re all he’s got right now.

but it’s getting to him. he can’t take it, the punishments he’s been given lately. the beatings, burns, lashing.

kit and you got caught trying to escape. not the first time, but this time was the closest you guys ever got. but he took the fall for you, and despite you insisting you were involved, not even being able to handle the thought of what they may to to him, they didn’t believe you. he wanted to take the blame for you.

he felt partially responsible for you in here. he needed to watch over you. take the blame for you.

they’ve been relentless with his “treatments,” punishment’s, giving him the nastiest chores. he can’t sleep comfortably with all the bruises on his body from the lashings, not that he was getting much sleep before hand. his lawyer is getting nowhere in proving him innocent, quite frankly, he doesn’t think the lawyer cares enough.

it’s eating him alive.

“maybe i am meant to be here. what if i just don’t remember doing it? i’m not innocent”

the words pounded in his head day after day. you could tell something was up, but he wouldn’t tell you. “it’s fine, i’m fine. are you okay?” he’d flip it on you. he didn’t want your concern. he didn’t want to feel even more exposed and vulnerable than he was already forced to.

a little after the new year came around, you’d been here a few months, kit, a little over 6 months- he snapped. it was a freezing night, movie night. neither of us knew the movie, but it was some hyper-religious bullshit. sometime in the middle, he sneaks off and you follow soon after.

it doesn’t take you long to find him by the window in the kitchen looking like he was a breath away from sobbing. he paced fervently in front of the faintly moonlit window.

“kit, what happened, what’s wrong?” your brows tied together in concern and cluelessness. you attempt to reach for his hands which were fidgeting frantically in his hair, but you quickly pulled back.

he stops pacing but seems to want to keep going; like he needs his body to keep moving to distract himself. his cheeks were a sore red from tears and pressing his hands to his face to quiet his mind.

“i can’t- i can’t do it! i can’t handle it! this place is turning me crazy! i can feel it in my head!” he utters through choked sobs he seems embarrassed off. he’s shaking violently; he looks sick.

“stop- please, don’t do that shit, you’re scaring me!” you try to pull his hands away- he lets you, but grabs them, squeezing them hard, looking at you like you have all the answers.

“i’m not gunna make it in here! they’re gunna kill me in here or i’ll rot in prison for murders i didn’t commit!” he raises his voice out of sheer angst, his lips shining with salty tears, his big, puppy eyes looking at you with a shattered soul behind them.

you look up at him and your eyes glaze over, lip twitching slightly. you wanna cry too. seeing your only person here breaking into pieces and not able to do a thing because you’re hardly held together yourself? it’s breaking you. it did break you.

a few tears fall, stinging on your cheeks.

you hug him- tightly, so, so tightly, and he hugs back. his fingers dig into your hair as he hold you to his chest, your fingers clinging to the gown against his back. his heart he pounding directly against your ear, your bodies vibrating together with sobs.

“we’re gunna be okay, i promise, we’re fine, we have to be” you hum a broken sound against his chest, sounding insistent as you tried to convince both of you that you weren’t being eaten alive by your own minds now.

you can hear a soft croak from him like he wants to speak, but decides against it. his lips press against your messy hair, tears rolling into the strands.

“i love you. we have to be okay.” your voice is hardly audible, mostly another breath in the air. but he hears you, he feels you against his heart. you can hear it race a little, providing a small comfort for a moment.

“love you too” kit whispered against your hairline, brushing his lips against your forehead as if to kiss it, but not doing so.

neither of you knew what that meant for you two. you absolutely loved each other. but god knows neither of you had the mental capacity to figure out what that love meant.

all it is for a now is a soft comfort. you kiss his chest gently, both your sobs evening out.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Victims of abuse usually tend to feel like going back to the place they were and even miss their abuser.

Would your AK!Jason go through that kind of episodes? And if the answer is yes, how would he cope with that?

(Delete if not allowed, I didn't really know how to put this idea into words D:)

He does return to Arkham Asylum in AK: Genesis #3 then proceeds to blow it up. He's able to keep his cool during this stroll through memory lane since:

Joker's dead.

He knows he's about to wipe this hellhole off the face of the earth.

This time, he's armed.

Despite his calm exterior though, his heart's racing in his chest with every step he takes inside the place where he was tortured for over a year of his life. His hands occasionally touch his holstered guns for reassurance, reminding himself that he isn't the idiot sidekick who thought he could murder the Clown with his bare hands. As he descends the unfinished concrete staircase he so often tried to reach, as he passes by the bathroom with the shower where Joker once took him, as a few of the chattering teeth toys come out to greet him (which he smashes beneath his boots), as he comes face to face with his torture chamber once again, his hands and feet are numb, his body's coated in a sheen of sweat, his breathing's shallow, his vision is narrowing; the concrete walls seem to be creeping closer and closer to him, as if they know what he's about to do, as if they want to embrace him, to entomb him there for all eternity. He inhales a deep breath as he closes his eyes and counts to ten, as he mentally runs through his grounding techniques—he's wearing armor he built himself: not an orange jumpsuit, not a pair of boxer briefs, not his flesh and bones, not a silly sidekick costume; he feels the weight of the two handcanons strapped to his thighs; he thumbs the button on his helmet: his com link's powered on this time, Wilson and his lieutenants are one click away. He opens his eyes, and walks into the room that broke him, kneeling beside the toppled wooden chair that held him so often. He takes another deep breath, and reminds himself that once he's done here, more of his demons will be slain.

Before this though, he never returned. Partly because he was living in Venezuela, but also because of his fear of finding the Clown there. Joker had made it quite clear what would happen to him if he ever managed to escape, and Jason wasn't about to serve himself up on a silver platter for the psycho to punish.

[cillians-sweetheart]

𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 ☣︎ Chapter 25

Description: Johnathan Crane x Patient Reader. An 18 year old girl suffers from a mental disorder that Dr Crane takes an interest in, but It isn't just the disorder that catches his eye. Their love becomes so strong it drives her dangerously mad... more mad then she or him could ever imagine. 

ROMANCE + HORROR + SMUT STORY

No Batman and not everything about crane that's mentioned is correct to the actual character in DC.

TW: Violence, Sexual Content, Alcohol/Drug Use, Gore, Mental Illness, Parental Issues, Smut, Murder, Extreme Kinks (dom/crane, blood, choking, hair pulling, spanking, age gap, toys, dub-con and daddy kink) and Mention of Abuse, Assault and SA.

Not all warnings shown will be used in this exact chapter! Bold warnings are some to be expected throughout the chapter below!

"Now this process is long and gross so feel free to sit out" Johnathan I entered the empty asylum. He had the box in one hand and my hand in his other.

"Okay... are there other workers here?"

"No. No one else would be able to get in without me."

"Are the patients still here?"

"Oh yes"

"Who is taking care of them?"

"They will be fine for a few days" Johnathan and I enter his office where he lays down his things. "So you wanna come with me or are you staying up here?"

"I think I'm gonna look around a bit. Then I'll meet you back down there"

"You stay on this floor and this floor only unless its coming to me, Do not open any cells or doors and don't tease the patients."

"Okay."

"Good. Now go on. Meet me one floor down from here, room 213. Okay?"

"Yes" I kisses his cheek then left and began to stroll through the long, dim halls. My heels clicked and clacked every step.

"ROOF ROOF" An old man behind a cell barked at me as I walked past. His teeth were rotted and his hair and beard were white. He continued making animal sounds at me as I walked past. All the rest of the patients ran up to the edge of their cells.

"Hey, girl" An older woman called out to me as I was about to pass her cell. I stopped and listened. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"What?"

"You heard me.. You're gonna die in here. He will shave your head and make your pretty hair into a wig!" She laughed. I immediately began to walk away from the cell.

"Hey Nurse!" A younger man yelled at me. Younger as if around my age. He had a Boston accent.

"Not a nurse" I said back continuing to walk.

"Stop walking I gotta talk to ya. It's important doll face I swear" He smirked. I stopped and turned around, but kept my distance from the cell. "May I say you look like a model, gorgeous."

"Yeah okay"

"Oh I mean it sweetheart." He looked weirdly familiar. "You open this door here, I'll show you what a real man can do" He smirked.

"Ugh gross" I began to walk away again.

"Come on baby! I wont hurt ya!" I ignored him. "Y/N!"

I stopped and slowly began to approach the cell again.

"How do you know my name.."

"Oh come on you remember me don't ya?" He held his hand up showing the small circular scar. "Stabbed me with a pencil"

I saw it now. It really was the boy from my elementary school. Just minus all the innocence.

"How did you recognize me?"

"Hard to forget ya. You crazy bitch" He smiled.

"Why the hell are you in here?" I slowly approached the cell.

"After my mom made me move schools, we moved to Boston. I got hooked up on some stuff few years back and joined this gang."

"A gang?"

"Yeah yeah you know, butchering those who don't listen eh? Hear this, a guy didn't pay me once so I gutted him and hung him from a tree. Just everyday business." He smiled proudly.

"How did you make it back here?"

"Asylums are better here than Boston. The ones there are practically rehabs. Luckily judges let me pick which one"

"Oh.."

"So what you still some psycho?"

"Funny."

"Im serious, I mean look where we are"

"Im just visiting"

"Who, me?"

"No Im just here while my husband works"

"Husband?"

"Yeah"

"He one of the nurses?"

"No, head psychiatrist"

"Your joking, tell me your joking"

"No?"

"Dr Crane?"

"Yeah?"

"Damn, I will pray for you there little lady. That man is more of a nut case than most of the people here. I don't even know how he's still running this place." He chucked to himself. "But I guess them psychos go for each other right?"

"I will stab you again"

"Oh boo hoo would ya already? It's shit in here I'd rather be dead"

I looked down at my feet. "I should probably go now, wouldn't want my doctor to be worried"

"Oh come on, we were having fun!" He yelled as I began to walk away.

I was utter shock of what I had just seen, more so who I just seen.

On my way to the floor below I didn't stop for anything and just kept walking until I found where I was supposed to be. 213. I slowly opened the door to find a lab. Surgical tools, lights and machines scattered the room. Then I saw Johnathan come out from a corner.

"How was your tour?"

"Did you know that the boy I stabbed in elementary school was here?"

"Pardon?"

"He's a patient here"

"Oh yes, right. He was admitted before I even knew you. I must've forgotten to mention it."

"Oh.. okay." I closed the lab door and walked further in. "How is it going?"

"You can't see yet"

"Then why did you want me down here?"

"Just sit over there and don't look. I wouldn't wanna spoil your wedding gift" I grinned and sat onto a chair across the room. Johnathan had his back faced to me while he picked the skin off the skull.

"Why didn't you get that Randy guy to do that for you? Doesn't seem very fun"

"It wouldn't be as special if someone else did it"

I grinned and snuggled myself into the chair. My eyes continued to stare at his head, his back and his legs. He looked perfect even from the back.

"How about a short break yeah?" Johnathan turned around pulling his bloody gloves off.

"Thought you didn't need breaks" I smirked.

"From work I don't need breaks. This I wouldn't consider work, more of a personal job" He walked over to a sink and washed his hands. He turned back again and approached me. "Stand up" He reached his arm down. I held onto his hand and stood. Johnathan immediately pulled me into a deep hug. It caught me off guard as this much of affection was rare.

Instead of questioning it I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head into his chest, closing my eyes. His hand reached up my back and gently stroked my hair. I felt his lips gently presses onto the top of my head.

"Okay back to work" He snapped back into focus,letting go of me. He became so lost into the hug he forgot who he was for a moment.

"Johnathan.."

"It'll be done soon I promise" He took a pair of latex gloves from a box.

"No listen.."

He stopped. "What?"

"You don't have to hide what you feel. Even the scariest of people feel love sometimes. It's okay to hug you know."

"Im sorry but that's just not who I am. I lost myself for a moment" The elastic band from the glove snapped against his wrist.

"Yes it is. I know you want to hug and kiss me but you feel like you can't because it'll ruin your ego."

Johnathan turned around, facing me and crossed his arms.

"But it doesn't Johnathan. You can still love me and be big and scary if you want to. I want you to love me.. because I love you"

"I do love you. I'm doing this for you"

"I know. But just know you're aloud to show that love in more ways than just saying it. No one will stop you."

"Yes I'm aware no one will stop me."

"Good." I sat back down into the chair. "You can go back to work now if you want."

But he didn't turn back around yet he still just stood there looking at the floor.

"Okay." He finally, after thinking, turned around and continued.

[lfthinkerwrites]

42, please :)

Foolish

Deidre would never say it out loud, but for her money, the boss was the smartest man she’d ever met. He’d broken out of Arkham Asylum with a magnet and shoe strings, he organized bank robberies like some people set up play dates, and the cops still hadn’t recovered all the loot they’d swiped from the art museum’s basement four years ago.

(He also had enough sense to only make overtures to her and Nina once. Most guys needed a broken bone to get the message.)

As smart as he was though, he could also be the dumbest motherfucker to have ever lived.

It wasn’t the riddles, as annoying as they could be. Every Rogue needed a gimmick, and it was still better than anything Joker would put them through.

The problem, as Granny Vance would have put it, was that he was ‘smart’ but not ‘wise’.

Ed was a smart guy, and he liked letting people know it. And he also liked letting other people know just how much smarter than them he was.

And his favorite targets were the psychotics he shared living space with in Arkham.

One of said psychos was visibly barely restraining himself from strangling Ed. It was poker night at the Iceberg Lounge and Ed was winning, much to the ire of Harvey Two-Face Dent. “You’re cheating,” he seethed as Ed took the small pile of money. “You must be!”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Oh, I must be? That’s right, I have to be cheating. It’s not that you can’t bluff to save your life, or that your tells are as obvious as those scars on your face, I must be cheating.” He scoffed. “Just how did someone with your lack of intellect pass the bar exam in the first place?”

Dent let out a growl, and Deidre’s hand went to her holster. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Nina do likewise. Across the table, Dent’s goons were lined up behind him watching the pair like hawks.

Cobblepot at the head of the table cleared his throat. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s try not to squabble. I’d rather not have to ban anyone. Again.” Dent grumbled, but settled back in his chair. Cobblepot cut the deck and passed cards around to Dent, Jones, Isley, Quinn, and finally, Ed.

The game went uneventfully for another ten minutes, until once again, Dent and Ed were the last two. Dent was glaring at Ed, who looked bored as he looked at his cards. “Well?” he asked.

Ed, smirked. “I raise the bet to $500.” Quinn let out a whistle. Even Cobblepot looked shocked. Dent simply ground his teeth. “Well, Harv?” Ed asked. “Are you going to make a move, or do you need that coin to tell you what to do?”

Dent threw the cards down on the table. “Fold!”

Ed laughed, then showed his cards. He had a pair of twos. At this, Cobblepot sputtered. “A pair of twos!?” Isley and Jones likewise looked disgusted.

“Jeez, Eddie,” Quinn whined. “You’re the meanest poker player I’ve ever seen, and I used to play cards with Joker!”

Dent’s face was red, then purple. “You son of a bitch!” He shouted, getting to his feet. “You goddamn so of a bitch!”

Deidre watched as Ed took the money and smirked. Don’t say anything Boss, she thought. Don’t make it worse.

But of course, Ed, the smartest, dumbest man she’d ever known, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Well Harv, as the kids online like to say, get good. Scrub.”

As predicted, Dent grabbed Ed by the collar and pulled him up to his feet. Cobblepot tried to restore order, but Deidre and Nina lunged forward, socking Dent on both sides of his face. Dent’s goons jumped in, and then Quinn did, for some reason, and what was a poker game turned into a ten person brawl.

Ed was smart, but he was also very, very dumb.

[starry-eyed-never-satisfied]

Hi, can you tell me everything I need to know about KISS?

I really want to get into this fandom and asking people on Tumblr is more fun that reading a wikipedia article

thx🥰

Welcome to KISSblr! This is going to be fun, and tricky, how do I compress 50 years of magic into one post.

KISS were formed in early 1973 by Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons, they found Peter Criss and Ace Frehley through ads. Through 73 they played local gigs, perfected the makeup and released album 1 in February 1974. Two albums a year for the next 4 years and nonstop touring took its toll on the poor boys, Peter and Ace fell victim to the rock star party drugs alcohol thing, Peter left in 1980, Ace in 1982. Peter was replaced by the sweet precious Eric Carr, Ace by Vinnie Vincent then Mark St John (no one talks about him btw) the finally by Bruce Kulick. I don't care what anyone says, this point was peak KISS. They took the makeup off in 1983 and kept on with making awesome music and amazing live shows, right up to the most tragic moment in KISStory, November 1991 when Eric Carr sadly passed away after a battle with cancer. The boys bravely kept going, bringing in KISS's first blonde member, Eric Singer and continued into the 90s the same way they had for their entire career, making awesome music. 1996 saw them decide to reunite with Ace and Peter, that lasted until 2002 when unfortunately KISStory repeated itself. Eric Singer came back and although I would have loved for Bruce to come back as well, they brought Tommy Thayer in to replace Ace, and he proved a worthy addition to KISStory, this was the lineup through to now.

Lineup:

Paul Staney, guitar, vocals (1973 +)

Gene Simmons, bass, vocals (1973 +)

Peter Criss, drums (1973 - 1980, 1996 - 2002)

Ace Frehley, guitar (1973 - 1982, 1996 - 2002)

Eric Carr, drums (1980 - 1991 😭)

Vinnie Vincent, guitar (1982 - 1984)

Mark St John, guitar (1984)

Bruce Kulick, guitar (1984 - 1996)

Eric Singer, drums (1992 - 1996, 2002 +)

Tommy Thayer, guitar (2002 +)

Albums

KISS (1974)

Hotter Than Hell (1974)

Dressed To Kill (1975)

Alive (1975)

Destroyer (1976)

Rock And Roll Over (1976)

Love Gun (1977)

Alive II (1977)

Double Platinum (1978)

Paul, Gene, Ace, Peter all released matching solo albums in 1978

Dynasty (1979)

Unmasked (1980) - Not the album they took the makeup off on

The Elder (1981)

Creatures Of The Night (1982)

Lick It Up (1983)

Animalize (1984)

Asylum (1985)

Crazy Nights (1987)

Smashes, Thrashes And Hits (1988)

Hot In The Shade (1989)

Revenge (1992)

Alive III (1993)

Unplugged (1995)

You Wanted The Best You Got The Best (1996)

Carnival Of Souls (1997) (this was pre-reunion, but release was delayed cause of the reunion)

Psycho Circus (1998)

KISS Symphony/Alive IV (2003)

Sonic Boom (2009)

Monster (2012)

This is as condensed as I can make it, but if you want more detail on any period or member, let me know I love talking about KISS!!!!

[harryssslytherin]

Halls of Illusions | J. Crane

Arkham stored the worst of the worst, batshit crazies and the ones who were just a menace to society. Especially the newest member of the nuthouse, Circe. Shes been in the asylum for now six months. Waiting for her release, that will never come.

Two strong guards opened the door to see the nut job on the ground, scratching with her fingers through the marks she made since she was thrown in the place. The two men scuffed as they heard her talk to herself in tongues.

“Get up, your shrink is arriving.” One of them said but Circe put up her shaky finger showing them to give her minute as she still speaks to herself. “Its your turn.” One of the men kicked her to knock it off and the other picked her up and dragged her away. She starts kicking so the other grabbed her legs and carried her.

Doctor Jonathan Crane scans through the files of his new patient that has been admitted to Arkham, and now just noticed. There was nothing, no name besides Circe, no address, no date of birth, nothing. As if she was created from thin air. He passes the screaming and begging of patients he admitted, making his way to the closed, windowless room. He watches the new patient trying to fight off the toughest and strongest guards in the hospital, screaming at them as they cuffed her to the table for Cranes safety. The boney woman hunched down, yet for being in here for six months, her hair looks too healthy and was unrealistically strong to fight back with their best stronger guards.

“All yours Dr. Crane.” The nurse smiles as the look on his face was in shocked. “Enjoy.” Crane fixed his tie and head inside to see the guards behind the woman and the woman’s hair all over her face.

“I would like to be with my patient, alone.” The two mumbled words and headed out. He noticed that one of them had blood dripping from his eye. “Im Doctor Jonathan Crane. Just call me Doctor Crane.” He sits down and waits for a response but nothing. “Circe, correct?” She hums. Okay, that’s something. “Like the god?”

“Im no man. Gods.” She snickered.

“What about last name?” He ignores her comment, he wanted to finish this meeting and just to be alone.

“What is that?” Jonathan pulls out his journal and starts to scribble down.

“Another name for you, like mine is Crane. Jonathan Crane.” Nothing. He sighs, this is going to be a pain in the ass. “Where are you from?”

“Somewhere.”

“Wheres somewhere?”

“Not from here.” Circe didn’t pick up her head, her hands cuffed to the table, in a awkward position.

“Why are you here?” He scans the file again but it wasn’t clear, meaning all it said was use of force, which is more of a police problem than his.

“Because using a sword on a man isn’t the right way to handle things.” Sword? Crane writes that he needs to see this supposed weapon next. “But your kind isn’t the best at being respectful.”

“My kind?”

“Men.” Great, Crane is in a room with a psycho who wields a sword and hates men. New one for the list. “I need to leave.”

“You and everyone who is here. Its not going to happen.” Circle finally picks up her head, hair slowly moving away from her face. Crane can see the bone structure, hate to say it but she looked like a goddess, sculpted by gods. She was almost too perfect. Not saying that she was perfect, but the way she was… no words can describe. Yes there are fairly good pretty girls out in Gotham but Circe took the lead. It was almost she wasn’t real. Like she wasn’t supposed be here.

“What can I do to change your mind, doctor?”

“How about you start from the beginning and tell me everything about yourself.” Circe scuffs.

“I will never trust a petty man.” Crane writes in his journal

HATES men

“You’re going to have to if you want to get out of this place.” Circe leans back on her chair. Her knees touching her chest as her bare feet had enough of the cold tile floor. He looks at her hands as they tapped on the metal table. Some were broken, short and some extremely long and sharp.

“I rather sacrifice my life than to say my life story to you.”

“Well I guess you stay here.”

“You have no idea what you are getting into.”

“Thats why I am here, sadly.”

“You’ll regret for keeping me here.”

“Don’t get too carried away with your thoughts on leaving. This is just the beginning Circe.” Crane snapped back as he had no patience to deal with her. Circe took this to heart. Her nose flared and her eyes widen. She snaps off the cuffs off her and Crane immediately calls for the guards, who rushed in and tackled her. Circe wickedly smiles at the doctor from the ground.

“I guess Ill see you again Doctor Crane.” She shouted as they took her back to dark holding cell.

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Dr Ellicott

Previous Chapter / Masterlist / Next Chapter

That night, we make our way back to the asylum and started to walk up to the entrance. Sam pushes open the door while Dean and I stand beside him. I was holding a video camera, Sam was holding a flashlight and Dean had an EMF meter. 

"Getting readings?" Sam asked Dean as we walked in. "Yeah, big time." Dean replied. "This place is orbing like crazy." I said as I look through the camera. "Probably multiple spirits out and about." Dean remarks.

"And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting..." Sam said, questioning.

"We gotta find ’em and burn ’em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit...is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer." Dean said and we keep walking around until Sam and I go into one room and Dean goes into another.

After a minute I jump, slightly, as I see an old woman through the video lens; white haired, one eye bloody and hanging out, moving toward us. "Dean!!" Sam and I shout then Dean runs into the room, rummaging in his bag at the same time.

"Shotgun!" Sam yells.

"Sam, (y/n), get down!" Dean shouts. Sam grabs my arm and we throw ourselves on the ground while Dean shoots the woman, who disintegrates.

The three of us look around, gasping for breath. "That was weird." I said. "Yeah. You're telling me." Dean said as he helps me up then he starts moving out of the room. "No, Dean, I mean it was weird that she didn't attack me or Sam." I said to him as we follow him.

"Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing." Dean said.

"She didn't hurt us. She didn't even try! So if she didn't wanna hurt me or (y/n) then what did she want?" Sam asked.

But before Dean could reply, we hear a noise coming from a room we were passing. Dea  immediately raises his shotgun and Sam flicks on the flashlight and shines it into the room. We approach a metal bed covered in a ragged sheet, on its side, and see the top of a blonde head behind it. The three of us share a loom before we brace ourselves.

Sam reaches out and tips the bed over. From there a girl was crouched down, facing the corner. She spins around to face us, terrified and gasping. "It's alright, we're not going to hurt you." I said to her, calmly, as she looks around at us, tears in her eyes.

 "It's okay. What's your name?" Dean asked her.

"Katherine. Kat." She replied.

"Okay. I'm Dean, this is Sam and (y/n)." Dean said to her.

"What are you doing here!?" Sam asked her. "Um. My boyfriend, Gavin." She replied, shakily. "Is he here?" I asked her. "Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just...you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and..." she stops and starts to sob a bit.

"Alright. Kat? Come on. Sam's gunna get you out of here and then we're gunna find your boyfriend." Dean said. "No! No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you." Kat said, frantically.

"It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous." I warned her. "That's why I gotta find him." She said. The boys and I look at each other and Sam shrugs at us.

"Alright, I guess we gunna split up then. Let's go." Dean said and Sam and I went one way and Kat and Dean would go another way.

****

"Gavin... Gavin?" I called out as I looked around and wave my flashlight around. It had been a few minutes since we split up to find Kat's boyfriend but I had no such luck. I started to make my way back when I heard a scream. I run as fast as I can when I see Dean trying to beat this door down.

 "What's going on?" I asked and Dean looks over his shoulder to see me. "She's inside with one of them." He shouted and as Kat screams. "Help me!!"

"Kat!" A voice yelled and I turn to see Sam and another guy, which I figure is Gavin, coming towards us. "Get me outta here!" Kat shouted just as Sam and I go up to the door. "Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down." Sam said to her.

"She's gotta what?!" Dean asked him as he looks at Sam, confused. "I have to what?!" Kat yelled. "His right, Kat!" I shouted. "(Y/n), what the hell?!" Dean said to me. "These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate. You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it." I said to Kat, ignoring Dean.

"You face it!" Kat yells. "No! It's the only way to get out of there." Sam said to her. "No!" She screams. "Look at it, come on. You can do it." I encouraged her and I heard her take some deep breathes.

****

"Kat?" Gavin calls out after a few moments of silence. "Man, I hope you two are right about this." Dean mutters to us. "Yeah, me too." Sam said and I nod in agreement. We wait outside the door in tense silence until the lock clicks and the door slowly opens.

Kat stands, unharmed, in the doorway.  "Oh, Kat." Gavin said as he goes to her while Sam goes inside to check out the room. He comes back out, shaking his head at us.

"One thirty-seven." Kat said and we turn to her. "Sorry?" Dean asked her. "It whispered in my ear. 137." She replied and the boys and I share a look and said, in unison. "Room number."

****

Later, the three of us crouch against the wall where we couldn't be heard. "Alright. So if these spirits aren't trying to hurt anyone..." Sam said, trailing off.

"Then what are they trying to do?" Dean asked. "Maybe that's what they've been trying to tell us..." I replied, shrugging. "I guess we'll find out." Dean said and I nod.

"Alright." Sam nods then we turn to Kat and Gavin.

"So, now, are you guys ready to leave this place?" I asked them. "That's an understatement." Kat remarks. "Okay." Dean said then he turns to Sam. "You get them outta here. (Y/n) and I are going to go find room 137." Dean said and Sam nods.

****

Dean and I move down a hallway and shine our flashlight on room 137. He pushes against the door, using his weight to push aside the broken furniture blocking it. The room was a mess, filing cabinets were pushed over, papers were everywhere and the walls were stained. We shine our lights around then flick through some folders lying in a cabinet.

"Hey, (y/n)!" Dean calls out and I look over at him and he points at an old poster of the human body. "Wanna go study some anatomy with me?" He asked me and I rolled my eyes. "Wow, seriously? Does that line ever work?" I asked him.

"To be honest, I wasn't for sure it would work. Did it work?" He asked me and I let out a snort of laughter. "No. Geez, I thought you were Mr Smooth or Mr Cool with the chicks?" I asked him. "I am." He stammers and I chuckle then I start to walk towards him. "Well, you might want to step up your game, Romeo." I said as I got closer to him and tapped the tip of his nose with my finger.

I winked at him with a smirk, turned around and started to search around the room. Eventually, Dean joins me as we keep searching around until I find a loose panel. "Dean." I said and he comes over to me as I pry the panel off. Behind it is a satchel full of papers.

"This is why we get paid the big bucks." Dean said and I chuckle. "Oh yeah, and have the nice mansions and the sweet bikes and cars." I said with sarcasm. "Exactly!" Dean said as I open the satchel and see a journal.

Inside the journal were many notes and hand-drawn pictures of medical instruments. Dean pulls up a couple of chairs and we start reading through the book. "Well all work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy." Dean recites as I look over the book with concern. "Yeah, no kidding." I muttered as we flicked through the book some more.

The more we read through, the more details Dr Ellicott went into about what he did to the patients here and the worse it got. It was sickening.

"You alright?" Dean asked me, concerned. I look up at him and nodded, slightly. "Yeah...it's just...do you think with Ellicott doing these experiments on his patients....that he could be doing the same thing to those kids back in seventies or to Kelly?" I asked Dean. "It's possible." Dean said just as we hear a loud noise. Both of us look around the room, quickly.

"Okay, I think we've been here long enough." I said. "Yeah, let's go." Dean said and we start to walk out of the room.

****

Later, Dean and I come around the corner and see Kat just as she pulls the trigger. Dean grabs my hand and throws ourselves back around the corner. "Damn it, damn it, don't shoot! It's us!" Dean shouts at her as we hid around the corner. "Sorry! Sorry." She said as I shake my head.

"Son of a ..." I muttered as we come round the corner and look at the marks left in the wall. Then I look down at my hand and saw that Dean was still holding my hand. I looked up at him and noticed him also looking at me, I turn my head and slowly pull my hand out of his then cleared my throat.

"What are you still doing here!? Where's Sam?" Dean asked her as Gavin comes up to us. "He went to the basement. You called him." Gavin said and we give him confused looks.

"I didn't call anybody." Dean said and I nod. "Yeah, I was with him the whole time." I said. "His cell phone rang. He said it was you." Kat said. "Basement, huh?" I said, curiously.

Dean and I look around and grabed some extra weapons. "Alright. Watch yourselves....and watch out for me or (y/n)!" Dean said to them and we make our way to the basement.

****

"Sammy?" Dean calls out. "Sam, you down here?" I shouted but we heard nothing. "Sam? Sam!" Both of us said shouted. We turn around and see Sam is standing in front of us, making Dean and I jump and raise our shotgun.

"Man, answer us when we're calling you!" Dean yelled as I let out a sigh.

"You alright?" I asked Sam.

"Yeah. I'm fine." He replied.

"You know it wasn't me who called your cell, right?" Dean said to him. "Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here." Sam said. "We think we know who. Dr. Ellicott. That's what the spirits have been trying to tell us." Dean informed him.

"You haven't seen him, have you?" I asked Sam. "No." Sam replied, shaking his head.

"How do you guys know it was him?" He asked us. "’Cause we found his log book." I said. "Apparently he was experimenting on his patients, awful stuff. Makes lobotomies look like a coupla aspirin."

"But it was the patients who rioted." Sam said, confused. "Yeah. They were rioting against Dr. Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier." Dean said.

"So we were thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal....Come on, we gotta find his bones and torch ’em." I said.

"How? The police never found his body." Sam asked. "The log book said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he'd work on his patients. So, if I was a patient I'd drag his ass down here, do a little work on it myself." Dean replied.

"I don't know, it sounds kinda..." Sam said as he trails off.

"Crazy?" Dean and I finished for him.

"Yeah." Sam said.

"Yeah. Exactly." Dean said as he opens another door, looks inside, then gestures with his head for Sam and I to follow.  "I told you two I looked everywhere. I didn't find a hidden room." Sam said as we walk into another room. "Well, that's why they call it hidden..." I said to him then we heard a wind noise. "You hear that?" I asked them.

"What?" Sam asked as Dean and look around the Crouch down and hold our hand out. "There's a door here." Dean said then we heard a gun being cocked and then Sam said. "Dean, (y/n), Step back from the door."

We rise to our feet and see Sam pointing a gun at us. I also noticed that his nose was bleeding. "Sam, put the gun down." Dean said to him. "Is that an order?" Sam asked him. "Nah, it's more of a friendly request." Dean said then Sam raises the gun to point at Dean's chest.

"’Cause I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders." He growls.

"Sam." I said, calmly, as Dean glares at Sam. "I knew it. Ellicott did something to you." Dean said.

"For once in your life, just shut your mouth." Sam yells. "What are you gonna do, Sam? Gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna kill me." Dean said then Sam shoots Dean in the chest, which blasts him backwards through the hidden door to fall on the floor.

"No. But it will hurt like hell." Sam said then I run up to him and try to grab the gun out of his hand.

"Sam!" Dean yells as Sam and I fight for the gun until he knocks me down. I groaned as Sam walks over to Dean. "We gotta burn Ellicott's bones and all this will be over, and you'll be back to normal." Dean said to Sam.

"I am normal. I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? ’Cause you're following Dad's orders like a good little solider? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?" Sam asked Dean.

"This isn't you talking, Sam." Dean said to him. "That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you." Sam spat at him.

"So what are you gunna do, huh? Are you gonna kill us?" Dean asked Sam  "You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago." Sam snarled at him.

"Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you." Dean said then holds his Smith & Wesson toward Sam.

"Come on. Take it." Dean said. "Dean..." I said, worriedly, as I look over at him and sit up. He glances at me for a moment before he looks up at Sam. "Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt." Dean said and Sam hesitates. 

"Take it!!" Dean yells and Sam takes the gun then points it at Dean's face. My heart raced as I get ready for things to go to hell. "You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!" Dean yells.

Sam pulls the trigger but nothing happens. That means the chamber is empty. He tries again, and once more nothing. I get up and run over to Sam as Dean uses a right cross to knock Sam to the ground and struggles to get up. "Man, I'm not going to give you a loaded pistol!" Dean said as Sam stares up at us. I deliver a vicious right cross to knock Sam out, almost falling but Dean catches me.

"Sorry, Sam." I said as I patted him. Then Dean and I began to look around the room. Then I hear Dean opening a door then he begins to gag. I turn around and see a mummified corpse.

"Oh, that's just gross." I said, disgusted, and Dean nods. "No kidding." He said and he pulls out the salt and starts to pour it over the body. "Soak it up." He said.

He drops the salt container and I grab a small tin of kerosene and started squirting the body. Suddenly, something knocks both of us to the ground. I groaned in pain then start to get up to see that Dr. Ellicot had grabbed Dean's face and his hands were lighting up. "Don't be afraid. I'm going to help you. I'm going to make you all better." He said to Dean.

"Dean!" I exclaimed then I reach into my bag, find a lighter, flick it on and toss it at the mummified body. Ellicot lets go of Dean as his remains start to burn. Dean crawls out of the way and I run over to him and placed my hands on his shoulder.

Both of us watch as Ellicott's ghost turns black and falls to the ground, crumbling on impact. 

Sam wakes up and we look over at him as he flexes his jaw painfully. "You're not going to try and kill us, are ya?" Dean asked as Sam raises his hand to push at his jaw. "No." He said. "Good. Because that would be awkward." I said and Dean nods.

*****

"Thanks, guys." Kat said as we stand outside of the Asylum while the sun was rising. "Yeah. Thanks." Gavin said.

"No more haunted asylums, okay?" Dean said to them. They nod then start to walk towards their car and the boys and I turn to the Impala.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam said and we turn to look at him. "I'm sorry, man. I said some awful things back there." Sam said.

"You remember all that?" I asked him. "Yeah. It's like I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it, any of it." Sam said.

"You didn't, huh?" Dean said, suspiciously. "No, of course not!" Sam exclaims.

"Do we need to talk about this?" He asked Dean. "No. I'm not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep." Dean said as we get inside of the car. "You're speaking my language." I said, tired. We get inside of the car and start to head out once again.

[smokingasters]

Happy Birthday Gino (21/11)

Since I came across some more translations of Asylum and was curious about Ginoza's viewpoint in Separation, I decided to share some snippets I found. These will be linked at the end, and are sourced from Chinese translations on Lofter.

The OP has specified not to repost so I will not translate the entire material into English, only a few paragraphs I find interesting. As usual, I don't know a lick of Chinese or Japanese. The translation was done through DeepL/Google Translate. It takes place in the year 2109 when Gino is still an Inspector. That being said…

*All due thanks to the translators who took the time to keep the Psycho-Pass fandom alive. We love you!*

The children, surprised by the sight of a live animal came over to the table and Dime like a good-natured grandfather, comically stood up on two feet. Ginoza untied the leash from the table and agreed to let Dime play with the children at the dog park. After all, Dime was a certified therapy dog, and the parents did not mind Dime as a playmate. Ginoza left his seat and stood up, gazing at Dime's frolicking from afar. Ginoza approved of the scene from the bottom of his heart.

Working in the Public Security Bureau, if for some time he forgot the matter of eliminating criminals... for most people the Sibyl System provided them with a good living environment. As of now, the Sibyl System is indeed the closest thing to a utopia. By assigning jobs according to their aptitudes any civilian can make use of their strengths and become a capable person contributing to society.

In addition, the Sibyl System helped people find the most suitable partner by judging their romantic capabilities.

The children playing with Dime were still young, and their parents were only a few years older than Ginoza. They were all arranged to meet by the Sibyl System when they were students or in the workplace. They would form a couple, marry, and start a family.

Yet, Ginoza had not found a romantic partner. Twenty-plus years, he remained single. Would he remain so for the rest of his life?

That's okay. I have gotten used to living alone for so many years.

Ginoza felt uncomfortable when he thought of spending his life with a specific person in matrimony. Due to his job as an Inspector, the risk of his Hue becoming cloudy was higher than any civilian.

Of course, I am taking proper mental care but it is difficult to predict how my life will suddenly change. If I become a latent criminal, it will be heartbreaking for my beloved partner and my close friends.

Any children born from our union will be treated disdainfully. If I become like that, I can never forgive myself.

That's why it's a preventive measure to not desire a family in the first place. As long as I can do my duty to this society, it will be enough.

The children playing happily with Dime and their families live a free and carefree life — I will be the guardian who shields those civilians. I will be like the titan Atlas in Greek mythology, supporting the sky with his own body. If there's anything else, I wish I could stop the bullying of the children of latent criminals, as I was bullied in the past. I wish they could be treated better by the Sibyl System and receive the approval in the society...

No way. That's a bad thought.

It is like criticizing or finding fault in a perfect society. Society is better now. In the past, before Sibyl, humans did not treat everyone equally. In this era, no matter how much the children of latent criminals are scorned, if they strive for excellence, they all have a fair chance to climb to the centre of the world.

Then the only thing I have to do is to protect this world with all my might. I cannot fail to reach this goal.

Source/Credit: 官方小说 PSYCHO-PASS ASYLUM 宜野座伸元 别离篇 第二章 [by Flamenco Shoujo on Lofter] Please visit the original translator and read the rest of the work over there. I shall only share brief snippets of the scenes I like at best. Thank you for reading ❤️ This is my gift to the Ginoza fans. I wanted to know more about his perspective since we normally see Gino from Kogami/Akane's eyes, it is refreshing to see how he views the world.

*Brb I’m not done crying over Gino’s intrusive thoughts, plus him and Dime playing with the children. He’d be such a good father and husband, Gino fans pls fix this poor man’s heart 😭 he’s too precious.

[uniquejellyfishqueen]

Houdini thoughts

Obviously Harry Houdini who is labeled as “an escape artist, illusionist, and stunt performer, noted for his escape acts.”

Harry Houdini was his stage name. This guys real name was Erik Weisz.

Now don’t ask me why or how but the lyric came to me and it gave me a thought i had to get out.

“White America, Little Eric looks just like this.” From White America (5/26/2002 Track 2 of the Eminem Show)

Harry Houdini escaped a straight jacket. Those are normally worn in asylums. Which have either been named something that sounds less scary to the public or their buildings are oddly destroyed and/or left creepily abandoned like they are just waiting to use these for future endeavors when shit hits the fan, so no America I will not be a fan when that happens.

The tangent is necessary for those who don’t like to read, sorry I’m descriptive.

I now know not to assume everyone has the same music taste. If you don’t know the band, you really shouldn’t wear the shirt, fuck you could honestly know one song from that artist rather than being the kid that is wearing a hair band shirt because it looked cool from forever 21 and when they were asked if they liked an artists music when it was playing she was wearing the shirt when she said no. That was bold of me. I have learned to use Spotify on demand in the store to make sure i have heard the song before i make the purchase.

Thats a big part of the problem we have as a country in itself because music originated in the Bible just like we did, so if people are gonna stand up for religion the same thing should be happening for music. Which includes its artists, instead of protecting them the industry uses them to their gain like chess pieces on a board actively protecting their Queen until they can’t fight anymore.

Anywho. For those who don’t know Hardy released a song and music video titled Psycho. Excellent all around if you haven’t streamed them, I highly suggest it! In the video Hardy is seen wearing a straight jacket. I feel that even if there is no true connection between Eminems song and Hardys video, I truly believe there is a more poetically tragic yet empowering meaning behind these two both being released this year.

All of these artists are essentially strapped into a straight jacket the day they get a record deal. People make jokes about some celebrities going missing and then reappearing a little bit differently, imagine how you would feel if you stepped out of line and the industry tightened that jacket of yours. If you dig deeper into it, these artists are resisting, they are fighting back from within. What if the straight jacket they are busting out of is a disguise? A mask? An alter ego? Are you going to be there to help them out of the jacket and help them on their mission for freedom and peace with music for everyone? Or are you gonna turn your nose up because they aren’t what they appeared to be? Do you judge a book by its cover before you read it? (Shame on you if you said yes, you’re missing so many stories that are waiting to be told.) these artists are tired of being locked away from who they truly are just to keep continuing to prove that the its the industry standards or bust. No it’s not that way at all. If you step back in time and look at the progression of music and how it has transformed of course it is gonna sound different, until you listen to the meaning behind it and realize that this is the movement that has been passed down through generations. The ones considered the greats passed the torch just like they do at the Olympics. And it’s up to these artists to continue to break the chain and further the movement along. Back to the point originally, little Eric looks just like this. Eric is one of the most commonly used names, therefore the celebrities are just little Erics and Ericas. They couldn’t use Barbie and Ken because then the world would actually be aware of what they are spending their money on. What’s the movement called you asked? The hell if i know, I just know its happening and its badass to finally be woken up and see that there are real superhero’s out there working it from the inside. It’s up to us as the fans to not pay into the drama. Can’t like we grow up and graduate but be really cool about it and just be happy? I know it really is too much to ask for us at the moment but I’m gonna table that idea because it sounds really freaking cool.

Continuing on…

Okay oddly enough after viewing Wikipedia for a better view of the straight jacket I am immediately greeted with an image of the Posey straitjacket (dire straits? Future Savannah question.) the Posey is a straight jacket that hog ties you as well. this is also a future me research question but oh my god it looks like how the little boys from the West Memphis Three were found. 5/5/1993 three 8 year old boys were reported missing in West Memphis, Arkansas. And sadly they were found in a Mindy creek near a major drain canal. The boys were naked and hogtied, and one of them was also mutilated. This case is devastating. It is also the one of two cases that got me into true crime and they both are music related. Yeah sadly enough three little boys died, and three older boys lives were ruined because they dressed a little different, had a learning disability that everyone ignored, and they liked metal music. This case was a dumpster fire and has only gotten worse, it’s with deep hope that the Arkansas PD gets their shit better together.

If Eminem and Hardy didn’t know of that connection or maybe they like true crime too, cool beans. But if i was a betting person I would say that yes yes they did know that, because they know that Jessie Misskelley Jr, Damien Echols, and Jason Baldwin were failed by the judicial system, and that they metal/rock/hair bands (this was a rough time for metal fans i am sure) were affected negatively in the media. Almost like the news headlines of a kid playing a video game and then running down the road naked with his neighbors yard goblin, then proceeding to throw the goblin into someone’s front window. And when he gets arrested and is asked why they fuck he just did that he simply explains that “the video game did it, why can’t I?” Probably because things come with disclaimers that say “don’t try this at home.” Or was that a law that was put into place to create a safety blanket of sorts?

Tupac said that we wouldn’t have peace until we have peace on the streets. Well you see the whole East West thing. Yeah that was created by the media to cause an increase in record sales therefore to make them more money and then tarnish the musicians reputations in the process. But hey big brother up there only cares about him and himself and those few that help make sure he never slips from his thrown. btw no one likes that guy in case you didn’t know. The industry and the media didn’t care about how the beef they were creating became physical. They were all wearing armor while you have these talented musicians on your front line like soldiers on a cold dark day in WW2.

Tupac was right, there wont be peace until we create the peace. The ones opposing the peace are the ones that don’t know how to continue to spread the message. Remember back in the day when you would buy a CD and then read the inner cover to read the lyrics or hang the Jonas Brother proudly on your wall? Yeah well we need to start doing that again, okay you don’t have to hang the poster but I might. Music is poetry and stories with a beat. These artists are writing you messages. Read them and tell everyone about it!

Stay weird everyone

[ficsforgaza]

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[david-talks-sw]

I'm gonna blatantly use this opportunity to share some of my other writings for those who are new to my blog. Hope you don't mind :)

"It can be both things, and not everything in [the Prequels] necessarily has to be a conscious decision on George's part."

So... yes. It can be about both things.

But on the condition that you decide to forego the author's intended narrative, which is my whole point.

Conversely:

Red Riding Hood is a story about parental neglect and animal cruelty, as the only reason the poor starving wolf gets cut open is because Red Riding Hood's mom let her travel alone in the woods, instead of accompanying her.

Batman is a psychotic rich boy who uses child soldiers to beat the mentally ill, because instead of using his money to end world hunger, he takes the Robins who sometimes were as young as 10-years-old to attack his rogues gallery, all of whom need help and get sent to an asylum for a reason.

These are (uncharitable) takes that can be argued, if you choose to ignore the fact that, no, narratively, the Bad Wolf is a villain and the Robins are sidekicks to a superhero.

But while you can say "Batman is a psycho who uses child soldiers", you can't (not genuinely, at least) say the Batman story is meant to be about a psycho who uses child soldiers. Because aside from a few exceptional tales... it's not. It's a comic about a superhero. Note the word "hero" in the term.

And in a lot of works of art, the artist will leave stuff up to interpretation, so the audience can see it and take away from it what they wish. Many times, they'll refrain from giving their own headcanon so as to not step on anyone's feet.

George Lucas... is not one of those artists. He has been very explicit on what he's going for, just listen to the director's commentaries, read his interviews and watch his talks.

So while the Prequels can certainly be about things, you can't tell me with a straight face that they're meant to be about both those things. Because they're really not.

I mean, take the first thing you argue:

Throughout the prequels, the Jedi look at Anakin with distrust and disdain. He's "too old", he's "too emotional". He cares too much about his mother.

If you look at what George Lucas said about how the Jedi first met him, he openly admits the whole "he's too old, we can't train him" bit is just a way to keep Anakin in the third act of the movie.

He also sides with the Jedi's arguments about Anakin being dangerous and says that Qui-Gon's insistence on training him is controversial.

CLEARLY, the narrative that they "mistrusted him and looked at him with disdain" doesn't fit with the narrative.

"Instead of getting this traumatized former slave actual psychiatric care, or any sort of nurturing that a child needs, he's told to just bottle everything up and ignore it."

Once again, the trauma that a former slave must feel is never even a factor in George Lucas' narrative. In 779 collected quotes, I've never seen him address Anakin's background as a slave in that context, instead referring to it as a humble beginning like in mythological tropes.

But considering how much he agrees with the Jedi principles (or rather, how much the Jedi's principles echo is own ones inspired by Buddhist philosophy) it's clear the narrative is that, well, the Jedi teachings were the "therapy" for lack of a better term.

Which takes us to your next point:

"Or rather, he's told to "let go", but he doesn't know how to do that, and no one ever tells him, so it just sits inside him, festering. And his instructors just roll their eyes and curl their lips and pass him along."

Once again, though... George agrees with the Jedi, on this.

He'll usually blame Anakin's failure to let go as the source of his problems, not the Jedi's inability to teach him properly (on the contrary, he refers to it as a "basic Jedi principle").

This idea that "non-attachment was never explained to Anakin" is pure fanon. It was explained to him. By his mother, in Episode I...

... but also we see he knows the theory of it because he's literally reciting it in Episode II...

... and even teaching Ahsoka on how to overcome it herself.

The idea that his instructors roll their eyes and pass him along is also inaccurate when taking George's narrative into account, especially when you factor in scenes like Mace and Yoda telling Obi-Wan to get off Anakin's back, for example.

Bottom line (and like you acknowledged): personal responsibility is a big factor in George's Star Wars. Just like you can lead a horse to water but you can't force it to drink, and therapy is only effective when the person in therapy wants to heal, the Jedi gave Anakin the tools to get better, but it was up to him to take that last step through the door.

You can ignore all of the above, and say that "we never saw any Jedi explain attachment to Anakin so it didn't happen," but then that's you choosing to forego the word of the author in favor of a story you relate to more because, as you've said, it happens in real life.

"And so in swoops Palpatine, all smiles and understanding. Of course Anakin gravitates toward him. Of course Anakin trusts him. Palpatine would not have been able to groom him if the Jedi had just done their fucking job in the first place."

There is no evidence from what GL said to indicate that the interjection of Palpatine in Anakin's life is the fault of the Jedi.

"The Jedi failed to notice the Sith lord in their own midst. They were arrogant and cocky. They were complacent. They were convinced of their own superiority."

Here too, I mean, it's mixing stuff that is part of George's narrative with stuff that he explained already and didn't frame as a failing on the Jedi's side.

Yes, the Prequels Jedi are indeed complacent and arrogant.

George explains in the AOTC commentary that it's what the contrast between the Jocasta Nu/Dexxter scenes shows: the Jedi think they're prepared for the incoming conflict and no, they're really not. The battlefield has shifted beneath their feet and they're still playing catch-up, instead of adjusting their tactics to the now more-political battlefield.

That said: "cocky" and "convinced of their own superiority" is an uncharitable description that doesn't match the narrative. Because the reason the Jedi can't find the Sith Lord is because the Dark Side has clouded everything.

It's impossible to find a specific black object in a dark room at night.

So there's "being unprepared because you didn't know a threat was looming", and there's "being a cocky asshole who's swinging his lightsaber in a helicopter motion and saying "come get me shit lords, I've got your dark side riiiight here!""

The narrative, through close-ups of the Jedi masters being visibly worried...

... and actively searching for the Sith Lord that trained or was trained by Darth Maul...

... shows that the Jedi are doing their best.

They're not asleep at the wheel, they're just driving through an unexpected fog.

"And when Yoda comes back in TLJ..."

Let's stop right there. TLJ takes plot points from George's Sequel ideas, as I've pointed out in this collection of quotes and this defense of TLJ Luke, but it doesn't reflect George Lucas' intended narrative.

Rian Johnson has said that he came up with it by himself.

"Accepting that emotions are a part of the humanoid experience that you can't just get rid of, and that in ignoring them you drive more people toward the Dark Side, as they find it the only place they can freely express themselves."

The Jedi don't ignore their emotions...

... nor do they ignore their Dark Side.

They have been shown confronting and accepting it multiple times, in both George's narrative and current canon.

I mean we literally see Yoda almost crying in AOTC, we see Obi-Wan get angry multiple times throughout the Prequels, we see Mace get so mad at planetary leaders for killing an innocent animal that he'll pull a lightsaber to their throat.

We literally see many Jedi be faced with a "fear" and overcome it by standing their ground and accepting it as a part of themselves.

The Jedi are about emotional regulation. "Have your emotions, but don't be ruled by them." Not emotional repression.

Again, read the data and you'll see that in George's Star Wars, the Dark Side isn't freedom to feel your emotions. It's freedom to be ruled by your selfish desires and quest for constant pleasure. The Dark Side is greed while the Good Side is compassion.

"The Jedi did fail, and that failure is a major theme of the prequels. The point is being able to learn from that failure."

The Prequels are about the Jedi's failure in the same way that The Lord of the Rings is about how Gandalf went to Mordor (which is to say, not at all).

Yes. That happens in the story. But it's not what the story is meant to be about. And at this point you might say:

"David, I don't give a fuck about what George Lucas says the Prequels are meant to be about. You're not the boss of me, the interpretation of any artwork is subjective."

And my answer is: more power to you. I agree completely.

That's completely fine. Come up with your headcanons and interpretations. If you want to strictly engage with the material but not the narrative, as Karen Traviss did, for example...

... it's fine. That's also literally what the above-quoted Star Wars authors have done.

But 1) there's a difference between saying:

"I think the Prequels are about X" and

"George said the Prequels are about X" or "the Prequels are meant to be about X"

Because the first one only concerns your view, and it holds as much weight as anyone else's (if you adhere to a "death of the author" approach).

The second is verifiable and factually disprovable, as George has been very vocal.

And 2) clearly, a lot of people do give a fuck about what George's view of the Prequels is, as they keep using him as an authority argument, be they current Star Wars creators (for instance, in the above-collected quotes by Filoni & co) or enraged fans.

So - as someone who's read the data - I'm sharing my findings and pointing out that there's a difference.

From this point on, we either all say

"well, fuck what it's meant to be about, I like the way that I (and maybe some new Star Wars media) interpret it...

or we stay consistent and keep putting George's word on a pedestal, in which case, can we please let's stop pushing the narrative that it's about the Jedi's failure? Leave my space wizard meow meows alone.

If I'm completely honest, I find myself being somewhere in-between those two options. But hey. That's my two cents.

I'd say where the dissonance really starts, when it comes to the portrayal of the Jedi in more recent Star Wars stories, is the perception of what the Prequels are about.

They're not about the Jedi.

George Lucas said over and over that they're about:

How a democracy turns into a dictatorship, we see this in the background of the films, as the Republic descends into becoming the Empire.

That first theme is then paralleled with a second theme: how a good kid becomes a bad man. We see this in the more character-driven and personal exploration of Anakin’s fall to the Dark Side.

The Prequels’ focus is on Anakin and the Republic, these films are not primarily about the fall of the Jedi. In fact, I’d argue they aren’t about the Jedi at all!

And when you look at the original backstory, you’ll notice that it also primarily focuses on:

The political subplot of the Republic’s downfall and Palpatine becoming the Emperor.

Anakin’s turn and his betrayal of the Jedi. 

So, there too… the Jedi themselves aren’t really that big a part of the Prequels’ original idea. They aren't mentioned much, beyond their trying to save the Senate and getting wiped out.

The Star Wars movies aren't about the Jedi, they're about Anakin and Luke, they're about Obi-Wan and Padmé and Han and Leia, the Rebellion vs the Empire, the fall of the Republic.

They're not about Ben and Yoda and Mace and Ki-Adi and Plo Koon and Shaak Ti and Luminara.

Just like Harry Potter isn't about Dumbledore and McGonagall. Just like the Lord of the Rings isn't about Gandalf.

On a functional level, the Jedi are:

POV characters who witness the events unfold with their hands tied, they're our anchors, whose eyes we see through to see democracy crumble into dictatorship.

Embodiments/vectors of the message George Lucas wanted to get across through these movies, which is the conflict between selfishness & selflessness, greed & compassion (Sith & Jedi).

But that's about it.

However, if you ask today’s fans and Star Wars creatives, most will say the Prequels are about the fall of the Jedi Order.

This is a take shared by a big chunk of the fandom, including various filmmakers, authors, and executives involved with Star Wars, so much so that the time period the Prequel films cover has now been redubbed by Lucasfilm as the “Fall of the Jedi era”.

Which leaves us with a question... why? Why the dissonance?

My guess? It's because the Jedi are cool. They're awesome.

And deep down, they wanted the Prequels to be about the Jedi. About the Jedi Knights at their height, errant warriors like the Knights of the Round Table.

And they didn't get that. They got a bunch of diplomats serving a political institution. And that didn't make sense, right? That's not what they expected so it's bad. And it's Star Wars. It's Lucas. It can't be bad, right? So like... what were they missing?

Oh... wait... what if... that's the point? That the Jedi were supposed to be Knight Errants and being guided by the Force instead of like - ew - space ambassadors for the Republic. Yeah now it all makes sense.

The Jedi in the Prequels aren't what we wanted them to be and that's their failure! Like, it's not just that I didn't like them because they weren't likeable to me, it's that I'm not supposed to like them because the narrative totally says so--

-- it doesn't.

The Jedi preach and practice the same Buddhist values as George Lucas, mirroring what he says in interviews almost verbatim.

The relationship between Obi-Wan and Anakin/Qui-Gon mirrors the dynamic between Lucas and Coppola.

The designs of the Jedi and their temple had to be toned down because they looked too bureaucratic and systemic.

This is Lucas we're talking about. "On the nose" is his middle name. He named the drug-peddling sleazebag "Elan Sleazebaggano." He ditched an elaborate introduction of General Grievous in exchange for just "the doors slide open, in walks Grievous and he's ugly."

If he had really been hell bent on framing the Jedi as elitist squares who lost their way and were mired in bureaucracy, he would've made them and the Jedi Temple look like the authorities in THX-1138.

They weren't likeable to some fans because, well, they weren't developed or shown as much as someone like Anakin. Because it's not about them. It's not their story. It's Anakin's. It's Luke's. It's their respective friends'. Or maybe it's an adversity to "perfect goody two-shoes" characters (which the Jedi are not). But hey, it's a movie for kids. Some 2-dimensionality is forgivable.

Bottom line, had more time been spent on the Jedi, had Lucas made the Prequels into a limited show and give them a whole subplot, had he decided to do away with the 30s serial dialog and let someone else write the dialog, maybe the reception might've been different.

But that's what we got. And guess what it's fine.

It's more than fine, it's fucking awesome.

I proudly and confidently say that I love the Prequels, with and without The Clone Wars.

I love my space monks, I love that they're diplomat wizards, I love that there's such a variety of them, I love that Mace is a no-bullshit guy who genuinely cares about his fellow Jedi and how screwed the Republic is, and Yoda is wise and kind but also a gremlin weirdo who'll embarass you in front of a classroom full of kids, and Ki-Adi has a penis for a head, is constantly calm and yet goes down like a champ even though they take him by surprise. I love that Shaak Ti can kung fu an army full of Magna Guards and still have the energy to charge at Grievous. I love that Obi-Wan is a sass machine who is also hilariously oblivious to the fact that he's just as terrible as Anakin.

They're awesome even if they're not perfect. They're awesome because they're not perfect.

But the movies are not really their story.

They're Anakin's. They're Luke's. They're the Republic's and the Rebellion's. And the fight against a space Nazi emperor/empire.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

HOLLOWED OUT

《 READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

When Jason saw that photo of Batman and his new Robin, the thin cord of hope holding him together had snapped and he had broken into a million pieces. No one was coming for him. Not one single person on the planet cared whether he lived or died, or how much he suffered, or how loud he screamed. No one except the Clown. He was Joker’s now, and he would say or do anything to get a reprieve from the torment and the pain, even if it meant letting himself be reduced to something less than human.

《RATING》 🔞 Mature 《WORDS》 15,609 《CHAPTERS》 6/6

《CHARACTERS》 Jason Todd/Robin, Joker, Original Male Character(s), Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Dick Grayson (mentioned), Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned), Catherine Todd (mentioned), Willis Todd (mentioned)

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Whump, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

《WARNINGS》 Dehumanization, Bathing/Washing, Master/Pet, Collars, Ownership, Brainwashing, Humiliation, Non-Consensual Touching, Torture, Mindfuck, Scars, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Loathing, Past Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Forced Nudity, Swearing

《SERIES》 Part 4 of My Arkhamverse, Part 4 of Ruined

《NOTES》

This fic is my pride & joy! It was the first thing I published after a 5+ year hiatus, and the longest story I've ever written by far!

This fic is also dark so be aware of the tags (especially the DD:DNE tag)

My Arkhamverse canon is a mix of game canon and Arkham Knight: Genesis canon. I pick and choose what I like best 😉

If you enjoy the read please consider kudosing, commenting, and reblogging ❤️

《 READ ON AO3 》 (excerpt below the cut)

Jason let his heavy head sag between his shoulders as he was dragged down the long hallway. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. The strain on his upper body reignited dull pain in his shoulders, pain that still lingered from the last time he was strung up like a slab of raw meat. The usual two orderlies, who Joker called “Left” and “Right” to amuse himself and confuse the hell out of everyone else, each grasped a bone-thin arm, showing no more concern for him than they would have for a sack of dirt. He didn’t have the strength to fight the men even if he wanted to, which he did not. Fighting was a punishable offense—he’d learned that long ago—and he would do anything to avoid a punishment. Yeah, the Clown still abused him whenever he felt like it, but punishment was a different experience entirely, the kind that lasted for hours and left him wishing for death. Just the thought of the word alone made him want to curl up and die.

We passed the torture chamber already, he reassured himself, trying not to let the fear take over and start pleading for mercy like the coward he was. They’re taking me somewhere else, someplace new. 

For Jason it was a torture chamber, but really it was another abandoned office in this buried wing of Arkham Asylum where Joker kept all the toys he used to make him squeal. He was almost always punished in that room: tied to a chair, dangling from a meat hook, or, especially when guests paid him a visit, left free to crawl into a corner and contemplate how helpless he was even without any restraints. 

He only punishes me when I’m bad…

He wracked his weary mind for anything he might have done to piss the Clown off lately. Not that the Clown needed to be pissed off to make him regret ever putting on that red suit. Whacking him with a crowbar was probably part of the psycho’s self-care routine. But a punishable offense? He couldn’t think of anything. Joker was usually fair when it came to punishing him. He only hurts me like that when I deserve it, and he had been on his very best behavior. At least he hoped he had. He was so exhausted it was hard to keep track of what he had or hadn’t done.

It seemed as if a lot of time had passed since his last punishment, but he had no real concept of time in this pit. Well, not since the first six months of his imprisonment, back when he thought someone might actually give a damn that he was missing. He’d tried to keep track of the days then, but after Joker showed him that photo he decided there was no point anymore.

In those early days—back when he was nothing but bad—he would fight back. He broke the wrist of one of the guest torturers, bit a guard’s ear off, even knocked a tooth out of the Clown’s stupid grin. He also tried to escape at least once a month. The guards or orderlies or the Clown himself (armed with that goddamned crowbar) would drag him back and beat him within an inch of his life. But as soon as he could stand up again he was running—or limping more likely—toward that salvation that was a concrete staircase leading up to a makeshift trap door leading out to freedom. Even then Joker made sure his ankle stayed broken, but he had way more tolerance for pain when he thought Batman was coming to beat the shit out of the Clown and his goons and take him home. Hope will do that to you.

He was a good boy now though, as docile as a whipped dog—relentless suffering for nearly a year of his life made certain of that. Joker taught him that it was easier to just submit, to obey; that life was better as a broken boy than it was as a bad boy. He no longer wished to escape. Where would he go? He had no home, no one waiting for him. At least here in this dungeon someone actually cared about him, in his sick, twisted, fucked-up sort of way. And then there was the warning of what would happen to him if he ever tried to run again. Oh God… Fear coiled like a snake around his chest, squeezing tighter and tighter as he struggled to push the memory of that terrible threat away, to push back the panic that crept in. I learned my lesson, he reminded himself as he fought for a breath. That will only happen to me if I disobey…

His mind was mercifully wrenched back to the present when the orderlies suddenly turned, pulling his limp body into an unfamiliar room and dropping him to the cold tile floor. His heart started to slow as the pain in his shoulders receded and he took in his new surroundings. The small, musty room looked like it might have been a break room or a kitchen. There was a sink, a fridge, a microwave, an empty water cooler, some cabinets—all blanketed in a thin layer of dust. In the center of the room sat a square table with four metal chairs, and beside it stood the Clown. His heart sank. Joker was grinning at him as ever, his feverish green eyes glittering with excitement for whatever sadistic cruelties he was about to dish out. The sight of the man made him want to puke.

But he couldn’t puke right now, not when Joker expected him in position. With a soft groan he slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, ignoring the protests from cracked bones and torn muscles. His bruised knees ached from crawling on the hard floor for the past weeks (months? years??). Since he’d been stripped of his armor Joker only allowed him to crawl; never walk, never stand. He kept his head bowed low while he waited for a command to obey. 

The uneasy silence was soon filled by the sound of a metal chair scraping against the tile as it was pulled from beneath the table. He shivered as all-too-familiar dread and despair settled over him. It was about to start again.

“Come. Sit,” Joker said in a lilting voice that suggested this was a friendly request, but Jason knew better.

Without hesitation he crawled over to where Joker was standing with his hands resting on the chair back. He gripped the chair and used it as leverage to pull his trembling, broken body off the floor. Gingerly, he slid into the chair, and winced as his ass and thighs—still bruised from the wooden paddle—came in contact with the hard plastic seat. My body still hasn’t recovered from my last punishment, he thought miserably. It was hard for him to believe that this same body was running around Gotham, brawling with its colorful lineup of thugs only months ago. Now he could barely stand on his own, much less run. Even the slightest of movements awakened some awful pain from a previous beating. He was only 16 yet he felt like he was 60.

16… He was only weeks away from getting his license when he fell into this shithole. Two more years and he would’ve had his high school diploma, maybe even sooner. I wanted to go to college. I was gonna try for an Ivy. A ‘fuck you’ to Willis for giving him hell for opening a book more than once in his life. I’ll never read another book. That realization was a particularly brutal gut-punch. Books were always his escape, from his shitty home life when his sperm donor was still breathing, or when he was feeling like he, a corner boy from Crime Alley, had no business living in a billionaire’s mansion. He remembered when he first arrived at that billionaire’s mansion how excited he was when he saw the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves Alfred built for him in his new bedroom, and the hundreds of books that Bruce had already filled them with. He also remembered the pack of Marlboros he had stashed behind his (Bruce’s) first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice. This hell would be more bearable with a paperback and a cigarette. He would never experience either of those things again though. He would never see his bedroom again… or Alfred… or Bruce. He bit back tears. Willis was probably laughing his ass off in hell right now. He always said I was a loser, that I’d never amount to anything. Looks like the fuckhead was right in the end.

Read the rest on AO3→

[bruiisedpetals-a]

what are you top five universes to RP within?

𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞. [..]

QUESTION 06. if i was speaking over my whole rp-ing 'life', i have found the most fun in original universes inspired by canon fandoms (ahs: asylum, psycho-pass v. walking dead, asoiaf, paranormal hunters) but if i were to break it down:

an original future timeline of game of thrones show universe

a song of ice and fire universe, canon book lore

the walking dead universe, in any capacity

high and low fantasy based universes, emphasizing high-concept and deep lore that i can draw on, and usually featuring an element of the mythical. (asoiaf, inheritance cycle, the witcher, lord of the rings, potc, spartacus etc.)

and generalised survival-horror universes, with a heavy emphasis on a supernatural or preternatural enemy in verse.

i absolutely avoid plain modern universes (the occasional au thread is okay) as i don't get any satisfaction writing them, i gravitate to mature themes and complex arcs where long-form plotting and development plays a biiiig part. and tbh that really shows in the universes i favour because the content of those universes run a similar tone; which is almost always the concept of killed or be killed.

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

Orphan: First Kill

Have you ever had a film start with promise and suddenly go bad on you? When I came back to PSYCHO II (1983) after a bathroom break, it had gone so startlingly bad I wondered if I’d wandered into the wrong screen at the multiplex. My experience with William Brent Bell’s ORPHAN: FIRST KILL (2022, Paramount+) was almost the opposite. The prequel to 2009’s ORPHAN explains how a 30-year-old Estonian psychopath with dwarfism (Isabelle Fuhrman) wound up in a U.S. orphanage, and at first it seems a retread of the earlier film. Fuhrman escapes from an Estonian insane asylum, where people inexplicably speak both English and Estonian to their compatriots. She goes through a web page on missing children and passes herself off as Esther, the long-lost daughter of a wealthy U.S. family, becomes obsessed with the missing girl’s father (Rossif Sutherland) and then has to kill to keep her secret. To disguise Fuhrman’s age (she was 25 while filming), there are so many filters on the camera, I thought there was something wrong with my new TV (oh, yes, I have a new TV). It’s not all monkey dump to that point — there’s a funny scene of Fuhrman watching a Shirley Temple movie, with Shirley professing love for her father that seems to be the woman’s role model — but the Estonian scenes are overall pretty bad. Anyway, at one point, there’s an unexpected plot turn that suddenly pushes the film in a new direction. It adds a camp element while also almost making us root for Fuhrman. Unfortunately, the muddy cinematography continues throughout, as if they’d filmed in San Francisco rather than Winnipeg. There’s also a wildly improbable shot near the climax that basically sacrifices logic to create what somebody through would be a “cool” visual. And it's hard to give unflagging support to a film that treats disability and mental illness as sources of horror. But Fuhrman is good and so is Julia Stiles as the real Esther’s mother. The film has done well enough to prompt talk of a second sequel and even a franchise. If the cinematography gets any hazier, they’ll have to produce them for radio.