#but also mad fine

[basshole-astard]

PSA: i keep seeing posts about staying cool in extreme heat that include advice like "gatorade is bad actually!" and "don't drink fruit juice it'll just dehydrate you!" and neither of these are true!

regarding fruit juice: there's apparently a misconception that Any Sugar At All will dehydrate you, and that's simply not true. yes, sugar will make you pee more when consumed in large amounts, but 1) the natural sugar in fruits won't do this to you 2) great news! a lot of fruit juices exist without any added sugar in them! 3) honestly even having a glass of the fruit juice with added sugar won't completely dehydrate you as long as you're also drinking water throughout the day. if its hot you deserve a cold treat of a drink!!! can't go wrong with fruit juice!!!

regarding gatorade: maybe this isn't an every day drink, but guess what: if it's 110F/40C or hotter outside, and you don't have AC, or you're moving around a lot outside of the AC, and you're sweating buckets: that's when you drink a gatorade.

gatorade exists to replenish all the electrolytes (salt) and glucose (sugar) that you sweat out. YES it is meant for athletes to drink during intensive work outs and not necessarily for people who aren't doing that kind of exercise. BUT GUESS WHAT! when you're sweating buckets because you had to walk to the bus in extreme heat, that's intensive exercise. please feel free to drink a gatorade after that! that's its intended use case!!!!

no: neither of these drinks should be a total replacement for water. but drinking a lot of water and then treating yourself to a fruit juice with lunch is a good idea!!! drinking a gatorade becuase you just had to walk for 20 minutes in the heat is a good idea!!!

Please Stop Spreading Misinformation About Drinks!!! It's fine if you drink things that aren't water!!!! Yes you should probably always be drinking water but drinking something else As Well isn't going to hurt you!!!! okay!!!! its fine!!!!!!

honestly so long as you are consistently getting Any (non-alcoholic) fluids in you, you're doing great!!!!!! okay!!!! i love you stay safe <3

[fanaticalthings]

While I do find it funny that henchmen in Gotham probably warn each other about the Red Hood because he's a bat who will actually kill you. I think it would be better if Jason was actually seen as some sort of savior or idol to like 90% of the goons scattered around Gotham. Doesn't matter who they work for, they all know Jason, former crime-lord that took over majority of Gotham's underground in one night.

---

Jason, years after the events of UTRH, now fighting crime alongside the batfam, except every goon he runs into immediately recognizes him, stops fighting, and starts begging.

the first time it happens, Jason assumes they're begging for their lives only to hear them begging for him to return to the crime lord business so they can work for him and not Gotham's current money-stingy, abusive rogues (Black Mask lol)

---

Jason showing up to patrol as backup for Dick in an overrun warehouse full of Two-Face's henchmen and as Jason's about to interfere, one of the men stops dead in their tracks and stares really hard at Jason until:

Goon: Oh my God, boss, is that you?

Jason, pulling out his guns, about to shoot:

Goon: Mr. Hood, sir???

Jason, halfway about to pull the trigger: Wait a min–Jeremy? Oh wow, it's been ages! How's the wife?

Goon (Jeremy): Oh my God it IS you, holy shit where have you BEEN? Me and the guys miss you, man!

Dick, with a knife at his throat: What is happening right now

Jason: Ahh, well, crime-lording just wasn't fitting in on the daily schedule. Tryna turn over a new leaf and all that

Goon (Jeremy): Aw, that's disappointing. We really liked working for you, right guys?

[Chorus of enthusiastic "YEAHS" from the rest of the henchmen (even the one holding Dick at knifepoint)]

Goon (Jeremy): Well, anyways, I can't beat you up knowing you're my old boss! You gave us the best health benefits! We'll just let you take the evidence and leave.

Jason: Aw, thanks guys :)

---

And that's why 95% percent of Jason's missions in Gotham end in success. Not because he's willing to kill people or because rogues are terrified of him, but because 90% of the rogues' henchmen once worked for Jason and fuckin love him lol.

[thatpunnyperson]

According to NBC here in the US, the missing titanic sub has been found. As debris. Off the bow of the Titanic wreckage.

And it looks like the sub suffered what we all suspected, and what was undoubtedly the more merciful of the two options: a catastrophic implosion from the pressure.

Also, more info has come to light about the fishing trawler with the hundreds of migrants that sank cataclysmically off the coast of Greece, indicating that the greek coast guard knew about the vessel AND how much trouble the vessel was in, and were towing it at a speed that made it capsize, at which point they unhooked the tow line and watched the trawler sink without helping the passengers to safety. Despite a bunch of other ships trying to help as well throughout the whole ordeal.

So a lot of people are dead, all because of regulations (and the lack thereof) regarding sea-faring vessels and rescue protocols. People shouldnt be allowed to make a business charging a ton of money for a ride on an uncertified, unsafe, un-seaworthy ship going deep into the ocean with no distress beacon or tether to the mothership. People also shouldnt be allowed to enact laws that criminalize the ferrying of refugees, which then force the refugees to hitch rides on fishing trawlers, and which also prevent people from helping those fishing trawlers full of refugees due to fear of legal consequences.

Hopefully BOTH of these events spark changes on an international scale in terms of what is legally allowed to be sailed, who is legally allowed to be the passengers, and what the rescue protocols are in the event of disaster for any seafaring vessel, illegal or not. It shouldnt be just the global 1% who get 24/7 search parties and remote-operated submersibles helping rescue them.

[illithiddatingsim]

put peepaw down, halsin!!!

(original post under the cut)

[lotus-pear]

never forgiving bones for fucking up this scene

[infernal-lamb]

more doodles, since I've been so busy! Sketched out Shamura finally....along with exploring the idea that Shamura's prophecies also appeared in abstract webs they've weaved along the years....I think its just Neat(tm)

also: when ur vessel keeps dying just to stare at you with unyielding saucer-like eyes filled with an indescribable bloodlust silently. just fucked up lamb things

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[mindfogs]

i can't believe the show about characters being gay and problematic won't let the characters be gay and problematic

[francy-sketches]

I think it's so funny how differently people talk about the hypothetical zombified jonsnow vs other undead characters like when people theorize about lady stoneheart it's always 'Who's gonna kill her and put her out of her misery' But with jonsnow it's like 'omg who's gonna have his incest babies >w<' could you imagine if we did that with LSH. Omg guys what if she has an enemies to lovers arc with roose and then they have a beautiful daughter together 🥺 that's #my twow theory

[yangjeongin]

when he

[unpretty]

doing my own taxes is always a little bleak because setting aside the issue of self-employment income fucking me, comparing my income for writing with my income from linking to humble bundles is. well. based on my own numbers, if humble bundle ever enshittifies their affiliate program a lot of people are going to be turbofucked.

[pigeon-butch]

PTARMIGAN

[itswhatyougive]

I saw some people be like "gweeehhhhhhh Steddie shippers built that whole ship in their minds, it's fanon only, they had no chemistry in the show, they barely had any connection at all "

And it's actually really funny, because I humor them and think, "hmm, was it all in my mind all along?" and rewatch S4.

Then I feel soooooo validated upon rewatching. It actually gets even better and more obvious every time I see it.

[buddiebitch]

WHY are BT shippers so vehemently against actually analyzing the symbolism and choices made for this show?

i mean i saw multiple people saying we were overthinking the vertigo poster. they were saying that it was weird to assume that Buck would fill the pining best friend role that Midge did in the original movie??? (haven’t seen the movie, i just read a few synopses)

i’m sorry, so you agree that he put Ryan Guzman in the main character and Devin Kelley as the love interest because they’ll fill those roles in the storyline, but we’re overthinking when we point out what role he put Oliver Stark in?

or when i bring up the possible symbolism of Tommy always calling him Evan, the only response i get from BT stans is “well he would tell him if he didn’t like it” or “i think it’s because he was introduced that way and that’s why” or even “i think he probably likes that Tommy calls him Evan” (all real responses i saw) and it’s like, yeah that’s cool, those are great headcanons for you, but that actually isn’t what i was talking about. nothing wrong with having a headcanon, but it doesn’t explain anything about the show or answer any of my questions.

i mean in s4 he corrected his PARENTS and told them his name was Buck, and in s6 it was used to emphasize the strangeness of his coma dream, how everyone was calling him Evan, the whole show him being called Evan has almost always been used to emphasize that someone doesn’t know him very well, how are y’all convinced that it’ll mean something different this time? i get that some people think it’s supposed to be growth, that he’s cool with being called his first name, but if that’s the goal it definitely isn’t reading that way to me.

like i wish i could see things through the same lens as these people so it could make sense to me, i just don’t get how you can willfully ignore SO many hints just so you can ship what you want.

no hate to the ship or the shippers obviously, i’m just baffled by the lengths they’ll go to in order to convince themselves that plot device man is endgame for Buck.

[inoreuct]

i mean- if youre willing to write the angstier version 🥺🥺

https://www.tumblr.com/inoreuct/738704605780885504/thinking-about-zoro-being-the-crews-main

more than willing 🤭 enjoy!!

everything kind of hurts when nami comes to.

she honestly can’t tell if she’s opened her eyes or not; it’s all pitch black, and her eyelids feel gummy. the lashes of her left eye are crusted together with what’s probably the same thing making her forehead stiff, so that’s most likely blood. lovely.

the back of her skull bumps against something hard and cold with damp as she cranes her neck around, trying to get her bearings, and she can bend her wrists just enough to confirm that those are chains wrapped around them above her head. it's still too dark to see but she can smell salty air, mildew and rust, hear the vague murmur of the ocean; her body feels sore and stiff all over but she can't have been hanging here long. her shoulders haven't started hurting the way she knows they can.

something moves within the shadows ahead, and nami deliberately keeps her breathing even as footsteps get closer to her. the person reaches the wall to her left and pries something away— a plank, she realises, as moonlight starts spilling through the barred window and the face of her visitor is thrown into sharp relief.

the man is pale, slim to the point of being gaunt with a greasy, grimy quality about him; she presses her teeth together as he slinks forward and clasps his hands behind his back and cocks his head.

“cat-burglar nami,” he begins, beady eyes blinking. "tell us your plans."

her eyebrows go up in a flash, lips pinching in bemusement. getting right to business, are we? "we don't have any," she laughs, and chokes when a fist sinks into her gut.

she admits that she hadn’t expected that as she sputters, coughing as her lungs burn. people usually work up to it; a little bit more forceful questioning and a couple of threats against, say, anything and everything she’s ever loved, and then she’d figure they’d start punching. this man, or whoever he represents— they’re desperate.

and he just proves her right, god, men are so predictable. "what do you mean, you don't have any?" he spits, jagged nails digging in as he grabs her chin forcefully.

nami chuckles again, weak huffs that make her chest heave. her shoulders are starting to ache. “we see someone that needs help and we help them. we don't plan anything."

another swing, straight to her solar plexus. "where's your crew?"

"you don’t… interrogate people often, do you?” she wheezes, and holds her breath as his fist draws back again. the pain bites and then blooms across her cheek, blood-hot and thrumming like an infection, and she works her tongue between tooth and soft flesh, the pocket around her lower gums as she bares a grin and turns her head.

"where is your crew."

this time, when nami's laugh flutters from her mouth, blood goes with it. "here." she takes great pleasure at the fear that singes the edges of the man's face before he tries to blank it again. it’s not very effective. "they're here."

"impossible," he sneers. "we're on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere."

it’s false fucking bravado and it fills her with a sick sense of glee as she smirks at him through sweat-sticky lashes. "impossible's what we're best at, if you haven't noticed." she has no doubt that her nakama have already tracked her down. it’s a matter of time before luffy takes the roof off this place or sanji kicks the door down with a flaming leg.

the third possibility, well— this guy better hope it’s not zoro that comes for her.

she watches as the man digs into his pocket, his breathing harsh. “fine.” the brass knuckles he slips over his fingers gleam in the low light, a pretty polished bronze, and nami’s mouth goes dry. “you don’t wanna tell me? fine.”

all she knows for a while after that is pain. hell, she’d never even been beaten this badly under arlong’s thumb, and aside from the occasional swat to the wrist her mother hadn’t hit her either. this, though— it’s slam after slam of metal into her gut with a hand pinning her shoulder to the wall. her entire body shuts down for a moment when the hard edges jab into her liver, and she chokes back a scream when she feels her ribs snap seconds after she hears them break.

the air feels too thick when he finally pulls back, damp with her own breath, her body hot all over and shivery with pain. this isn’t an interrogation— this is someone taking out their frustrations, and it’s confusing because she doesn’t even know one, who this guy is and two, what they did to warrant such a violent retribution because, and she reiterates, she has no idea who the fuck this guy is. if it turns out that he’s just a nobody who got too ballsy she is going to be relieved but so, so mad.

her entire body’s starting to feel like one big bruise. the joints of her arms burn as she tries to lift herself up, to take some weight off her shoulders, but a cold chill settles in the pit of her stomach when she sees the glint of metal. something else, as if the knuckles weren’t enough— silver this time, sharp and liquid, and she is gonna throw luffy in the godsdamned ocean for taking his own sweet fucking time because where the hell are they.

her new personal annoyance breathes a huff of a laugh as he slowly drags the knife down the front of her blouse (and thank god she’d decided to wear one today), grazing over the shiny buttons until there's a soft snck and the dull sound of the very last one clattering to the floor. "still not talking?”

…okay, that's it. time to get out of here. "fuck you," she says loudly, turning her face towards the window so her voice carries even as she keeps her eyes on the leering bastard in front of her. hello? she wants to yell, the voice in her head steeped in annoyance and fringed in just the tiniest bit of anxiety. i needed backup in here ten minutes ago? ring ring? anyone there?

she can see the looks on her crewmates’ faces. luffy would have that big sheepish grin on, one hand pressed to the top of his hat on his head as she reams him out for their tardiness before he blames it on zoro, the swordsman looking off to the side with a hand on his hilts, in a stubborn sulk.

the knife digs into her cheekbone, grimy fingers squishing her face, and nami grins as she chokes out the first name that comes to mind, under her breath and half-mouthed. "zoro."

he's here, she's sure. her crew is already here and he’ll hear her, he always does. she can feel it in her bones, in the blood that's dripping from her chin, because zoro's never let any of them down. he’s one of the first people who had understood the weight of guilt and unwanted responsibility crushed onto her shoulders, even through her betrayal, and he’d fought for her freedom without hesitation. he won't let anything happen to her. luffy wouldn't, sanji wouldn't, usopp wouldn't— they're gonna get her out of here and then she’s gonna see these bastards burned to the fucking ground.

nami’s a pretty thing, she knows. all short skirts and slender hands and freckled skin but she packs a punch, and she can take one too. she’s held out this long and she can do longer if need be.

she isn’t afraid to ask for help anymore, either— not since then, that faraway time when she’d pushed metal through the only physical evidence of her ties to the man who she’d nursed so much hatred for, hatred that she’d turned into strength.

the man pushes her face away and the tip of the knife nicks across her skin, a shallow slice down to the right side of her upper lip and then the knife is moving, a bright flash of silver, and her voice breaks when it stabs right into her shoulder.

it fucking burns. the tip wedges between the joint, slowly snapping cartilage as the man twists it with a cackle, and she seethes through her teeth. luffy had taught her that strength was asking for help. that admitting that you need someone to save you, if only in that moment, is the bravest thing anyone could do. zoro had taught her to wield it like a weapon, to withstand the strongest of the storms of her own creation—

and she grins, now, as the blade cuts through her flesh and blood drips into her mouth, eyes wild. “zoro!”

the knife drives deeper into her shoulder, white-hot. "cry all you want. they won't get here in time."

that pain is a reminder that she is alive.

her core tenses as she kicks off the wall and drives her boot into the man's gut, heel slamming into his spleen— it winds him enough that he doubles over gasping and nami smiles painfully wide, a wild, vindictive thing. "fuck. you."

“you’re gonna regret that, bitch,” he hisses, and he’s shaking, trembling as he drags himself upright and nami knows that by the gods, he’s only human and she’ll kick him again. she’ll kick him as many times as it takes. sanji would be so proud.

she huffs a laugh, mean and low and raw as she presses her cheek against her bicep and lets her head tip down. she’ll rest, just for a little while before she gets back to fighting and clawing like a bat out of hell. something flickers at the edges of her vision, warm orange bleeding into the peripheral even through her lowered lashes and a soft, whispering crackle that carries on the breeze, smelling of ash— fire. a resounding boom shakes the walls and the man’s head snaps to the window, to say something or maybe to yell—

nami doesn’t get the chance to find out before a blade cleaves him clean in two.

the vertical halves of his body stay frozen for a split second before they slide apart and crumple into a mess of pink and ivory, slick red on the rough-hewn floor. wado gleams wickedly in the moonlight as zoro flicks the gore off her blade, shining silver streaked with the same blood that drips from the swordsman’s face.

“witch,” he grits out, eyes blazing beneath his bandana as he pushes a seething breath through his teeth, and there’s clear worry in the way he uses the side of his hand to push her sweaty bangs off her face and tilt her head up. it reminds her of her mother checking her forehead for fever, and she almost laughs. “you good?”

nami’s eyes burn as she stares at him tiredly. “no. i’m not fucking good,” she deadpans. “get me down.”

sparks shower down above her head as zoro cuts through the chain stringing her up, and her stomach swoops when she drops before an arm catches her around the waist. she cries out as it hits her ribs directly and zoro swears, his sword clattering— and then nami's world tilts as she's leaned carefully against the wall and zoro's face swims into view.

"hands out."

"what took so long?" she snaps weakly, trying to catch her breath. her hair bunches against the wet, grimy stone, and now that there's nothing to worry about she almost gags.

"they weren't completely stupid. took a while to find you," zoro grits, voice tight, before his face softens. "now put your hands out."

it's a struggle to lift them but she manages, albeit with her arms lopsided. the iron shackles around her wrists and rusted and heavy, tight enough that the skin of her wrists is itching, and her arms ache something fierce as zoro slices through the short chain connecting them and then eases his blade through the scarce gap between metal and skin to pop them open one by one.

she hears a cannon boom again. franky, probably— the walls shake and all of a sudden she’s aware of the raw relief coursing through her system, so much that it hurts, like blood rushing back to a limb. she’s lightheaded with it. or perhaps that’s… something else, she ponders faintly, as a knee buckles underneath her and zoro hauls her up before she can fall.

"just hang on, witch, i've got you,” she hears him murmur, squinting at him in the orange light as she’s lifted horizontal, an arm below her back and one beneath her knees.

her own arm flops uselessly, blood soaking her sleeve and collecting in the crease of her elbow. nami reaches up to find purchase and digs her manicured nails into the swordsman’s trapezium. "zoro."

a pause in movement as he looks down. "hm?"

she pulls herself up enough (or pulls him down enough, she can’t tell) to look him in the eye and says, low and dangerous, "i can't do it myself right now, so— give them hell, but don’t kill them. make an example of them. make them a warning.” the last word is spoken quiet enough that she can barely hear it herself, and zoro’s eyes are deadly serious. “death’s a privilege i don’t want them having just yet."

she can tell that the idea doesn't sit well with him; he bristles like an angry cat and his nostrils flare, but she knows he understands when he jerks a nod at her all the same as they step through the busted door and past piles of bodies, all the way out until they’re graced by the last smears of yolk-orange sun across the sky.

somewhere, luffy laughs.

nami shifts and as far as she can see, her crew is going fucking ham. she watches usopp shoot a man point-blank in the face with something that explodes in a shower of red dust and sends him twitching to the ground. another guy goes flying as jinbei quite literally throws him, and a whole row of goons get slammed into a crumbling wall as her captain swings his arm.

“cook!” zoro roars over her head, and it’s barely a second before sanji’s cutting a path towards them, kicking enemies out of the way left, right and centre before he stops right in front of nami.

his mouth parts in a silent question even as his eyes grow stormy blue with anger, face darkening when his gaze locks with zoro’s, and neither of them need to say anything. sanji just nods, solemn, before zoro carefully hands her off and makes sure she’s settled. wado sings as he pulls her out of her scabbard, and he’s relatively out of sight with a spray of coppery red.

nami swallows, suddenly very aware of her dry throat as her temple thumps down on his shoulder, and she gets the sudden ridiculous urge to apologise for her half-dried blood dirtying his suit.

“none of that,” he hushes, and fuck, she must be more out of it than she realised if she’s speaking out loud. sanji chuckles tightly. “you're alright, my dear. we've got you now."

she cranes her neck slightly to check her immediate field of vision, counting off mentally. "where’s everyone else?"

"taking care of things." an elegant hand appears and curls around her broken ribs, making sure they don't jostle as robin walks calmly into view. her beautiful face is serene. “they hurt one of ours. nobody except our crew is walking out of this place.”

nami blinks at her, limbs leaden, eyes narrowing with an irritated sigh as she cradles her injured shoulder against her body. “somebody better get my fucking clima-tact.”

she passes out.

*

the world is a soft blur when nami wakes, like she’s seeing things through dandelion fluff. or pain meds. probably pain meds. she knows she’s in chopper’s infirmary; the smell of antiseptic is painfully sterile, and she is glad of it. she vaguely remembers being carried in, sanji’s voice pitched low, someone sponging the blood from her skin as chopper’s hooves carefully prodded her torso.

the mattress dimples under her fingers and she jerks a little at the sound of slippers pattering towards her, cutting off abruptly with a yelp and a few hissed words. luffy’s hat is lopsided, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

she slips back into unconsciousness with a smile on her face.

*

the next time she comes too, she’s still in the infirmary. she doesn’t open her eyes just yet— soft breathing fills her ears, slightly raspy, a soothing rumble like the earth itself is shifting. she knows it’s zoro. it couldn’t be anyone else.

sure enough, the swordsman is asleep next to her pallet, squished into a chair that’s slightly too small with his arms crossed and his chin dipped to his chest.

nami coughs loudly, immediately regretting it as her chest and shoulder flares with pain, and then deciding that it’s worth it when zoro nearly tumbles out of his seat.

they stare at each other for a while. nami raises an eyebrow after three seconds of zoro being wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “how long was i out?”

the swordsman recovers himself with a swallow and a hand scrubbed through his hair. “not long. it’s the second morning after.”

she hums. “who were they?”

“a bunch of idiots who got lucky. we just jumped in and beat the shit outta them like usual.”

a muscle twitches in her forehead because god, they really were just idiots with balls too big for their pants. “and where are they?”

“marooned on that island, s’far as anyone’s concerned. luffy and franky turned their ship to splinters.” the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth is a feral, satisfied thing. “ain’t no way they’re going anywhere anyway, even if they still had a boat. probably can’t even get their sorry asses off the sand. we didn’t kill them—” he says before she can get a word in edgewise, and nami closes her mouth, “but they’re closer to death than life, that’s for damn sure.”

a second’s pause, before she deems the answer satisfactory. “the others?”

“resting. or on watch.”

and it sounds to her for once like there’s nobody rootling around in the kitchens. “awfully quiet, no?”

zoro huffs a laugh, knowing what she means immediately. “the cook told luff to keep it down.”

both her brows go up at that. their captain is not one usually inclined to keep it down. “surprised he listened.”

“he does what he wants.” zoro shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “and he wants you to get better, so he listened.”

maybe it really is the simplest thing in the world. luffy is simultaneously layers upon layers and one thin sheet. he is so much and yet still so simple in the way that he cares. nami takes stock for the first time, vision widening to encompass the rest of the room. it’s early morning, early enough that the top of the sky is still dyed dark, pale blue and pink streaking the rest. her body aches all over, concentrated in her shoulder and ribs, bandages looped in layers beneath the soft, loose shirt that she’s pretty sure is sanji’s. there are dark circles smudged under zoro’s eyes and his hair is loose. her clima-tact sits on the table nearby, as does—

luffy’s hat glows in the early dawn, individual strands lighting up like spun gold. it’s old and battered and worn thin. it makes nami’s heart feel warm.

“sorry."

she blinks, turning back to zoro to find him with his head bowed, hands clenched tightly in his lap. “…hey."

"i'm sorry," he says again, taking a deep breath that shifts his massive shoulders as he sits back. "we should've gotten there sooner. they shouldn't have been able to get to you at all—"

"hey." nami pushes a palm against the mattress to sit up before the pain makes her decide against it, grimacing. "don't be stupid. you got there before anything happened."

zoro's eyes are blazing when he finally looks up. "that's bullshit. the fact that they got you at all is—” he bites off his words, chest rising with a measured inhale that she suspects doesn’t help much. “and something happened, witch. a lot happened. you're bruised half to hell. they broke your ribs. your shoulder—"

"will be fine," she stresses, rolling onto her uninjured side to face him.

“your face.”

“superficial.” nami reaches up to press her fingers over the bandage on her cheek, feeling the silhouette of stitches beneath. unbothered by the way zoro’s seething. “our doctor’s one of the best. at worse, now luffy and i match.”

“you’re missing the point,” zoro grits, fists and teeth clenched so hard they both creak. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. nothing like this. not with me around.”

she knows her physical injuries aren’t all he’s talking about. knows he’d noticed the missing button on her shirt. knows that it’s guilt that’s eating him up inside, staining his undereyes the same purple as her bruises and putting that haunted look on his face.

nami sighs. zoro's a dumbass on a good day and he's got the emotional awareness of a brick wall, but of course he has to get this of all things.

she says it sarcastically in her head, but the thought makes her want to curl up and cry. the way he’s staring at her, wide-eyed and waiting for her judgement, makes something in her ache so fondly that she sniffs before she looks down.

he looks his age, for once. not a child anymore but also barely a man. too young to have so much weight on his shoulders, but aren’t they all? the words would be easy to say. it’s not your fault. don’t beat yourself up over it.

but mercy towards himself a language in which zoro is still not yet fluent, so for now she’ll defer to a more familiar tongue. "i'm fine. promise,” she mutters, looking down like she doesn’t mean it with everything she has. like she wouldn’t say anything to make him feel just a little better. “but you keep up with this attitude and i'll add to you debt."

he sputters, weak but still incredulous. "i just saved you, you witch."

"so?" she swallows her heart as she arches a brow. "you didn't do it fast enough. what's your point?"

"you're a tyrant," he breathes, rolling his eyes and huffing a loud breath as he looks away.

nami smirks. "a tyrant who budgets for your liquor with our beri, might i remind you. now go get your cook to make me a snack."

"he's not my cook!" zoro hisses, half in shock, getting up on reflex like a startled animal to yank the door open and storm out.

nami can’t help it— she laughs as tears spill hot down her cheeks, and she swipes them away so her bandage stays dry. it feels so good to be able to banter like this again. she hears her crew now, their voices rising and falling as zoro breaks the news, the cheers going up against the still morning air; it warms her through like fire on a brisk winter’s day. the gauze wound around her torso restricts her movement, but nami eases herself back down into the pillows with a sigh and let the noise of her nakama wash over her.

it soothes the ache. they always do.

(zoro returns within ten minutes with a slice of tangerine cheesecake and a mug of rich, creamy chocolate. sanji's drawn a spiky, frowning mossball on the top with milk foam, and she giggles when she looks up and zoro's making the exact same expression.)

(later, before the sun is even properly up in the sky, her crew curls around her in the tiny room she’s temporarily calling her own. they sit on every available surface and take up every available space, in the infirmary, in her heart; luffy’s cross-legged at the foot of the bed, beaming at her with a mouth full of chocolate biscuit. robin’s hands lift her hair off the nape of her neck. franky’s knitting some sort of sweater with yarn that’s coincidentally her favourite colour, and jinbei’s voice is deep and calming as he chats quietly with brook.

zoro stands, a silent sentinel by the door, arms crossed and brow lowered, and when she catches his eye his face softens.

“you gonna stand there all day?” she asks, brow arching in expectation, and she scoots over to make space for him to squeeze in next to sanji by her hip. their lack of squabbling does not escape her notice, but she’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth— she’ll enjoy her peace and save it for another day.

and there will be another day. she’s planning on sailing with this crew for a long, long time.)

(even later, after everybody else has filed out of the room, zoro remains by her hip. his face is shadowed and unreadable.

“they should have died for what they did to you,” he says, low and soft. not tightly, no, not when she’d already told him it wasn’t what she wanted— not a protest. just a statement.

“you already bisected the one who did it first-hand,” she hums with her thumb shoved halfway through the middle of a tangerine, oil misting into the air, pith gathered beneath her nails as she pries it apart. “isn’t that enough?”

zoro doesn’t look up as he shakes his head, hands clasped in his lap, and nami feels something in her chest soften because zoro, for every good thing he is, has never been one to address how much he cares, and this— this allowance, however indirect, for her— it means a lot. it means everything.

his head snaps up with a frown as the piece of rind she throws smacks him square between the brows, staring down at the slice of fruit she offers him next like it’s something alien.

he shoves it in his mouth anyway, and she bites back a laugh.

they don’t say much more. they don’t need to.)

[newvision]

Just watched Hannibal put on Will’s jacket in Mizumono and sobbed so hard I gagged! What kills me about it is that Hannibal is so clearly heartbroken over Will’s betrayal. It must have been so difficult and terrifying for him to reveal more and more of what was underneath his carefully construed mask to Will throughout the episodes, something he hasn’t done for anyone but his victims since he lost his sister. Throughout S2b we see him warm up to the idea of a companion. He tests Will and Will passes the tests, until Hannibal smells Freddie on him and knows she’s not actually dead. He could have left, then, with Abigail and they couldn’t have proven anything, he could have had a comfortable life somewhere else, but instead he chose to give Will the benefit of the doubt, presumably against his better judgement. Will did what I imagine must have been the very worst thing anyone could have done to Hannibal. He didn’t not understand him, he pretended to understand him to serve his own agenda. He sensed Hannibal craved understanding and gave him just enough to be able to turn on him. I think that’s why Hannibal gutted Will and killed Abigail, Will is the only one with the ability to truly hurt Hannibal and he does, so Hannibal hurts him in the way only he can — and by doing so imagines he will be able to leave Will behind, start a new life, just as alone as he has always been, as the promise of companionship was a hoax — but again, he’s doing it half-heartedly. He could have watched the life drain out of Will, but he leaves instead of really killing him, so Will isn’t truly gone from him. He leaves, yes, but he takes Will’s jacket and wears it — so Will isn’t truly gone from him. And that begs the question — would he have done that for anyone before meeting Will? I do not think so and neither did Will. When Hannibal asks him “Do you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?” it seems like he wants Will to say no, but Will doesn’t, he say’s he has already altered him, that he is just as much a part of Hannibal as Hannibal is a part of him. They are both so so torn - Will, who betrays Hannibal, but says he did want the gift Hannibal gave him, Hannibal, who guts him but in a way that won’t allow him to die. Will, who wants to catch Hannibal, but seems so accusatory and hurt when he says “you were supposed to leave”. He’s a good fisherman, but begs the fish to swim away, and Hannibal swims towards him although he can see the fishing rod. Everyone talks about Will running towards his own destruction for him, but so does Hannibal. They’re crashing into each other. I cannot get over it, ever