#rose has this taped up in the squad three office :)

[juuheizou]

i would looove to hear some of ur quinx squad headcanons, specifically moments of platonic intimacy between them bc i'm a sucker for that🥺 just in general too with haise & shirazu included but also if u have some cute headcanons about how urie & saiko would get tooru to open up a bit and accept help and their love at the end of :re when he's pretty much at his lowest... i feel like ishida did NOT give us enough closure at all so this is on my mind 24/7 :')

(bonus question: if you have any cute/funny hcs about juuzou hanging out with the quinxes i'd absolutely love to hear about it)

Okay, I actually enjoy them enough to remember some things about them, so let's go! Buckle up, friend. I put this one under the cut just because it's so long haha

i would looove to hear some of ur quinx squad headcanons, specifically moments of platonic intimacy between them bc i'm a sucker for that?

Starting with the easiest, Urie tends to keep to himself and avoid showing vulnerability, I think after losing Shirazu, who at least in his inner world, he was the least distant to, he is more open about it but still mostly shows he cares from a distance, doing some chore no one at the Chateau wanted to do or arranging a team outing that he has to begrudgingly participate in himself with enough cajoling from Saiko and the new Quinx. Sadly, he did not grow into that side of himself much before the Rose Extermination, and Shirazu was the only og Quinx who saw the early hints of it before that point in the manga. Even then, their most intimate moments still amounted to bro time with a beer, even if they meant much more to Urie than he let on.

Haise, as Haise, was always trying to get the whole squad together. We see this with his lil Christmas party, but I don't think that's the only time he's been Mr. Host who wants everyone close and getting along. Smaller things like group outings, team-building exercises, dinners at the table, movie nights... he cares and feels for his underlings as much as Shirazu with the ability to follow through on his big ideas. Shirazu and Urie might have been off doing their thing too much to be receptive of it most of the time, but to the more receptive of the bunch, Saiko and Mutsuki, he has a paternal, big brother sort of affection for them. I can see him earning the nickname 'Maman' from Saiko by comforting them when they're scared or sad (Saiko might come to him, but he would have to catch Mutsuki and not take 'don't worry about me' for an answer I think), making soup he can't even taste when they're sick, stuff like that.

Shirazu wants to be the warm, gregarious leader who is well-liked by his squad. He loves to hype his friends up (I mean, dude mechanically carried Saiko from her bed to the field office in canon) and would pour a full milkshake on his head get a smile out of them when they're sad. He shows a lot of affection with his words, and readily cheers on and motivates all three Quinx, though Urie might roll his eyes and Saiko might sleep right through it. If he gets it through his admittedly thick skull that his big, brash pep talks and jokes aren't right for a situation, like if one of his squad-mates needs a hug more than a push, he learns (largely from his brief leadership role, I think) how to show his soft side. A change of scenery often gets him out of a funk, so another way he shows his teammates they're special is taking them to his special places on his bike. He also seems like he would give great hugs.

As for Saiko, I think one of her love languages is recommendations. Video games, movies, shows, snack foods... she shows that she understands her teammates scarily well when she feels motivated to by suggesting something that “made her think of them.” Though it can be used for laughs like in that one omake where she drew buff Urie and taped it up, she might also draw pictures for her teammates as a nice thing to do too. I think she would get clingy once she's really close to someone, liking to hug, cuddle, and of course, nap together as a display of intimacy, platonic or otherwise. Sharing her snacks is also a big, big deal to her, but she will share if she really likes someone.

We know Mutsuki often acts as a mediator and confidante to his teammates in canon. He's a great listener and will give them all the advice or emotional support they need, always a reliable shoulder to cry on. He tries his hardest to look after them and make their lives easier behind the scenes to show he cares, doing someone's chores if they're having a rough week, making their favorite comfort food and either letting them enjoy it in their space or sharing it with them when they're sad-- whichever speaks to them the most, or just telling them all the things he admires about them when they doubt themselves. He's always down to offer his help with anything his team undertakes. And he pays attention to all those above things about everyone else so he can tailor the kindest, most supportive thing he knows to say to them.

just in general too with haise & shirazu included but also if u have some cute headcanons about how urie & saiko would get tooru to open up a bit and accept help and their love at the end of :re when he's pretty much at his lowest...

Ehh this is probably one of my 'no one is going to want to hear it cause it comes off as depressing' headcanons, but while I realize there are panels of *dialogue* saying otherwise later in the series and for all I know there's some flashback in a chapter I didn't read that totally refutes me, I never picked up on the remaining gen 1 trifecta being super close (friendly, nice, yes for the most part, but not *super* close) after the Rose Extermination and figured they just naturally drifted apart. But considering how most of :re was thrown together I can totally see the possibility that Ishida just didn't tie up his loose ends yet again as well. It just didn't occur to me at the time.

Mutsuki might have tried to keep their original group together if Shirazu was still alive and Haise was still the Haise who was so kind to him, but neither of those things were the case. Him and Saiko I can see making grand plans and promises not to drift, maybe even still hanging out or stalking each other's social media from time to time, but personally I did not see a 'help each other at our lowest' relationship there, even if there might have been some talking/yelling about having one. And I know it's a 50/50 chance this opinion gets me murdered, but he and Urie would have had to have a relationship at all for them to even drift apart.

But idk maybe that all changed in a part of the manga I straight up didn't read. I'm probably the least qualified creator of stuff in what remains of this fandom to talk about ANYTHING toward the end of :re lmao

(bonus question: if you have any cute/funny hcs about juuzou hanging out with the quinxes i'd absolutely love to hear about it)

Maybe it's not so much of a thing anymore but istg at one point I saw more fanon interaction between him and SAIKO than him and Mutsuki, and it made me as livid as someone can be at fun fandom content of a make-believe series. But that's because it was collectively erased from some percentage of people's minds that my two favorites in the whole series had a whole arc together, not because I don't see why him and Saiko would get along.

They both have an artsy side, they both have a playful streak, and both value their freedom to do things on their terms at their pace, so they might hang out from time to time when their paths cross and even turn Haise or Mutsuki into a third wheel if they get to doing/talking about something they both like. I can even see Suzuya possibly resembling the idealized fun quirky video game characters she lives vicariously through, so she might see how he is when he's visiting the Chateau or they're at the same field office and think 'omg hes literally me' and want to be his friend.

Knowing all that, I can definitely see them hitting it off playing a game together at a gathering hosted by Haise or something like that. However, Suzuya kind of has to come into Saiko's world for them to be friendly. As long as it's a game, drawing, talking over snacks, things go pretty well. But she stays out of the way and flies below the radar while Suzuya commands a space, so once Suzuya is way in his element or Saiko is simply running out of social battery, it would be easy for Suzuya to steamroll her in a conversation or render her the passenger prisoner in a shared activity, and with Saiko being on the non-confrontational side, I see a lot of potential for resentment and “how could he say that/do that? I don't like him anymore.”

He's also sincere to the point of insensitivity and I wouldn't put it past him to (accidentally) poke at something that makes her insecure, even if he wasn't exactly being mean, and again, she would just kinda quietly add that to her mental tally of reasons Suzuya Juuzou makes her uncomfortable. But he's also fun to play with and two people who she likes like him, so they get along as long as they stay in her comfort zone.

An underrated interaction as far as Suzuya and the Quinx he isn't shown hanging out with in the manga already, is Suzuya and Shirazu. Personality-wise, they're so similar; Shirazu almost strikes me as basically being Suzuya but sensitive and agreeable. I think if Shirazu survived the series, they would have been buddies, but I don't think they would start out that way. While Saiko might have wanted to like Suzuya more than she ultimately does, Shirazu wanted to not like Suzuya but they end up being each other's favorite third wheels, maybe more if Shirazu didn't die in the very next arc.

Their first interaction without Haise or Mutsuki as a buffer was when Suzuya started mentoring Mutsuki. As any good friend would do when their friend is spending time (read: head over heels) with some creepy guy who might kill cats in his spare time, Shirazu would reach out to Suzuya one day to 'hang out' with the intent of confronting him and basically making sure he treats Mutsuki right through sheer intimidation. However, Suzuya is 1) not scared of him, and 2) actually kind of cool-- but he's weird and can't have good intentions with Mucchan! Focus, Ginshi!

But really, they match each other's energy pretty well, like some of the same things, and this 'confrontation' quickly devolves to commiserating about how great Mutsuki is, Shirazu crying over cute animal photos on Suzuya's phone, them taking Shirazu's motorcycle out for food/drinks (on Suzuya, but that's fine, he was hungry) and getting into shenanigans at the place they went to that Suzuya gets them out of while Shirazu panics. I think it would be cute if one day they hung out again to paint flames on Shirazu's motorcycle together. DAMMIT NOW I WANT TO WRITE WHOLE STORIES ABOUT SHIT THEY GET INTO TOGETHER.

Urie, I can see being cordial with him and even making the occasional gesture of wanting to be liked by him because of his rank and authority. He's a man who knows what he has to do to fulfill his ambitions. Sometimes that means being ruthless, but sometimes that means playing nice with a prodigy investigator while internally screaming through the entirety of every interaction because Suzuya was practically engineered to annoy him as a person.

Urie is a loner and Suzuya loves to peek in on what other people are doing if it seems interesting. Suzuya is sincere and imo unable to wear a mask while Urie, whether he realizes he feels this way or not, has to be serious and taciturn with an iron grip on everyone's perception of him to get what he wants in life and that just makes him all the more critical and irritated by every weird thing Suzuya does in his presence. Suzuya is also perceptive and his big blank stare just looks like it's taking apart anything it lands on and figuring it out, which is probably what private, reserved Urie, who always has a whole separate dialogue going on in his head that he hides from everyone, dislikes the most about him.

And to salt Urie's wounds, he bottles up all these opinions while Suzuya still can't even remember Urie's name most of the time. Like, are these shallow appeasement gestures even doing anything? And there is truth to these thoughts of his-- Suzuya thinks he's just no fun to be around and is indeed oblivious to his very subtle effort at being a little nicer to him than he is to his equals. For this reason, though, I think it would be hilarious to make Urie stand in for Mutsuki on some outing or another because Mutsuki had something come up and Urie saw a chance to curry favor with the Special Class Suzuya and it's a bad time for everyone.

[fourthwallhateclub]

Help me

Description: Emma is with Phoenix when she is kidnapped, can Bravo set aside their emotions in time to save her, or will they be too late...

A/N: I wrote some things like this over on Ao3 under “FourthWallHateClub”, this will eventually have a second part but with my ADHD I don’t know when that will happen 🙃 please feel free to send feedback on the fix, I know it’s shit but I live for shit so 🤭

@rebelreblogs

Emma's POV

Darkness... Floating... Silence... My eyes fluttered open and started to adjust to the light... where was I? The door slammed open,

"You're awake!" Was that... was that an Afghan accent? Then it all came back to hit me like a freight train...

48 hours before hand

"Sup Dalton." I said.

"Shut it Hayes." He said pissed off.

I turned to Mac with a questioning look, "Who pissed in his coffee?"

Mac smirked, "Don't take it personally, he's not pissed with you, he's pissed with Maddie. He was on his way to a football game with one of our old delta buddies when he got the call."

"It's..." I glanced at my watch, "1300 hours?"

"We we're gonna have a few beers!" Dalton groaned.

'More than a few.' I mouthed to Mac, he just coughed to stifle his laugh.

Matty walked in, tapping the glass creating a privacy screen, and clicked a button bringing an image up on screen. "Amir-Botzwat-Asharu."

"10 of clubs..." I breathed out in disbelief.

"International arms dealer, drug trafficker-"

"and grade-A prick." Jack stated matter-of-factly.

Mac snorted, "You can say that again."

"The guys been evading Phoenix since it was OPS, us personally for years, why are we concerned about him now?" I wondered.

"What's this got to do with us, CIA took over the case, why now?" Jack asked.

"If you’d let me talk, you’d know,” Matty said sarcastically, “He recently kidnapped and murdered an American. Phoenix have had him on our radar for a while now as you’re aware but the higher ups refused to green light the op to take him out, saying CIA had it handled. That all went to hell when their undercover agent was exposed, they shot him and put a bounty on everybody CIA affiliated."She said.

"We're on their SOS list Matty, we outrank some shitty little 'bounty' list." I said.

"Regardless, you, Dalton and MacGyver leave for the Middle East at 1600 this afternoon so you arrive at night, get your affairs in order because the big men upstairs say you don't leave till the jobs is done. You'll be properly briefed on the plane, but there are more pressing issues, you guys have up to date parachute qualifications right?"

"I don't like where this is going..." Jack mused.

"Me either..." Mac agreed.

"As much as I hate agreeing with you two shmucks, me three..." I said.

"Well whether you like it or not your jumping from that plane, there's no where for it to land where you'll keep your cover. Unless you want to walk 13 miles to where you'll be staying?" She challenged.

"WE'LL JUMP!!" We said in unison.

She smirked, "That's what I thought."

"Okay... where exactly are we going in the Middle East, and where are we staying?" I asked.

"You are going to Afghanistan."

"Fucking Trashcanistan?!? You've got to be kidding." Jack screeched.

Ah Dalton and his hatred for that place... he would get along with Uncle Sonny, man has a fear of bloody everything...

"SHIT!!" I yelled.

All heads snapped to me, "What's wrong Hayes?"

"Um... where exactly would we be staying?" I asked biting my lip.

"Navy base in J-"

I laughed nervously, "Would that be in J-Bad by any chance?"

"Yes, why?" Matty asked.

"We have a little problem..." I mumbled.

"And what would that be..." She mused, raising an eyebrow.

"My uh- my family was spun-up there a few weeks ago." I said.

"What do you mean Em?" Mac asked.

"I mean my family, is Bravo team. They are currently in the Middle East, and are stationed in J-Bad for the foreseeable future. What do we do?"

"I'm assuming that they were not among the people you told about your job?" Matty asked.

"No ma'am. Mac, Dalton, Bozer and Riley are the only ones who know..." I answered.

"You arrive at night anyway, you cover your tracks and stay as hidden as possible, don't talk to anyone and stay away from the sailors. Nobody is to know what you're doing there or who you are... to them you three are Black Rose, Hunter, and Eagle." Matty said.

"Yes ma'am."

"Well... get out of here."

We didn't need to be told twice, we were running out the door and to the squad room.

"What the fuck do I do?!?" I yelled as we entered the room.

"Want a hug?" Mac asked opening his arms. I nodded and walked into him tucking myself into his figure, "You'll be ok."

Jack's POV

"Wait! Is your dad the Jason Hayes, like Bravo 1, the legend?!?" I screeched.

"Uh- yeah.." Emma said pushing away from Mac and scratching her head.

"That explains a lot..."

"What do you mean?" She was confused.

"I mean, having worked with your father, I see where you get it from."

She laughed, "You are so old."

I gasped, "You mean we are so old. Mac and I worked together in the Army."

“No. You? You're old enough to be my dad. Mac? Is old enough to be my big brother." She laughed.

"Yeah, and we'll protect you like it too." I said hugging her shoulder.

"You won't have to do anything if my family spots me. I'll be on the first plane out of there and back home, complete with a tracker and navy seal protection detail. They'll never let me out of their fucking sight." She grumbled.

"You'll be ok. Let's get ready to rak out." I said.

"You're right."

I walked into my office and grabbed my rucksack and duffel. I met them back in the main room.

"List it Hayes."

She groaned, "Why???"

I smirked, "We're acting like the older brother and dad we are."

She rolled her eyes but spoke anyway, "I made sure my camping gear, fatigues and survival gear was in my bergan, along with Guns, ammo, knife and spare phones," we looked at her weirdly, "What? I'm sick of Mac breaking my shit. Dalton and I spend way to much fucking time at the Genius Bar creating new and inventive covers to explain what Mac does as is."

Mac raised his hands, "You got me."

She smirked, "I know I do, anyway, I grabbed my go-bag, passport and fake ID's."

"What's in your go-bag." I quizzed.

"Toiletries, Clothes, Cash, Raincoat, Matches, Lighter, Laptop, Flashlight, MRE's, water purification tablets, rope, duct tape, whistle, batteries, knife, and First aid kit. Why do we keep doing this?"

"Good, and we do it because we care." Mac said kissing her head.

“Ugh! Let's go." We headed out to Mac's truck and dumped our stuff in the back. She hopped in the back and we drove to Mac's place.

"Bozer!" Mac called.

"Sup guys." He said bro hugging Mac.

"We're heading out, I need you to take care of some stuff for us." Mac asked.

"Yeah ok, let me grab some paper." He said.

We walked into the kitchen and told him what we needed, Mac didn't need to worry because he lived with Bozer, so Em went first, "My rent is due first of the month, it auto pays but I need you to check on the seventh if I have mail just in case it didn't go through. I need mail collected on the 7th, 14th 21st, and 28th. Plants need to be watered but that can be done when you grab my mail, if anything happens there is a contact sheet folded in the draw of my desk, it'll tell you who to call, in what order. You good with that?"

"All good Em." He said with a smile.

"Thanks Boz."

"Your welcome, Jack anything you need." He questioned.

"I live next to Emma so same as her just no plants to water, if you could check on my place when you water Emma's plants that would be great, and there is a contact list in the box on top of the CD rack."

"Cool, I got it."

“Thanks Boz." Mac said walking back into the room with his bag.

"It's all cool man." He said.

We walked to the door before he called out, "Be safe, I want you back in one piece."

"We'll try Boz."

~Time skip brought to you by Sonny’s Bam-Bam~

We'd been briefed and where currently in our hammocks grabbing what sleep we could before we hit the ground running.

"Drop zone is up in 35."

"Let's go kids." I commanded with a laugh.

We packed up our hammocks and pulled on our jump suits. I strapped my duffel to the bottom of my bergan and grabbed my chute. Strapping my Bergan to my back I pulled the parachute over the top. I walked over to the ramp and waited for Mac and Em to join me.

"2 minutes to the drop zone"

"Ready ladies." I yelled over.

"We're coming." Mac laughed.

We attached to the central line and clipped in, we watched as the light turned on and the ramp lowered,

"5...4...3...2...1..."

The light turned green and we jumped. My drill instructors voice went through my head. Breathing Dalton... in for 2... hold for 4... out for 3... parachute in 3, 2, 1. Pull the cord. Release the parachute. Move your body vertical. Feet pointed down. Legs slightly apart. Hit the deck in 3...2...1. Land crouched. Bend knees and run forward 20 yards. Unclip and pull.

Emma and Mac landed next to me and we packed up our chutes.

"Base is roughly 1 click 228 degrees north east." I said.

"Comms up?" Mac asked.

"Yeah they are." Matty answered.

"Good." I said. "Let's go."

We moved our bergans to our fronts and held our duffel bags. We broke out into a jog eager to get out of the heat. Arriving at the 'base' we were met with our assigned CIA handler.

"Agent Jayden Riggs." He said offering his hand.

I shook it, "I'm Eagle, this is Hunter and she's Black Rose."

"Real names?" He asked.

"That's need to know." Emma answered.

“What do you mean, I'm your handler?"

"Look Riggs, we don't like spooks ok. We work alone, off our own intel. It's important our identities remain a secret." She answered shortly, that's my Hayes.

"Alright then, let's get you set up in cabins, Black Rose, you'll be separated from the men." He said as he started walking away.

"What?" I said.

"Gender sensitivity. Men and women are separated." He said like it was obvious.

"Yeah no, she stays with us. We don't care about gender sensitivity." Mac said before I could, reel in the big brother before you get yourself in trouble Mac.

"It's protoco-"

I cut him off, "Screw protocol, Black Rose stays with us."

"Of course." He relented.

He led us to a cabin as a humvee pulled up, out climbed 6 men and a dog, all in fatigues, before I could see anything else Emma pushed us into the cabin and slammed the door shut behind us as we collapsed onto the floor.

"What was that??"

"That! Was my family." She helped us up.

Jason's POV

We were on night patrol in a neighbouring town to J-bad, we'd been out for 6 hours and it was 0300. I decided it was time to head back.

"Let's move out."

We walked back to the humvee and climbed in. We'd been driving for about 15 minutes when we saw three figures drop from the sky.

"What the hell is that?" Sonny asked.

"I'll find out." I said keying my comms, "Havoc base this is Bravo 1, we've got three parachute jumpers coming towards base."

"Copy that Bravo 1, I'll find out." Blackburn answered, a few minutes later he keyed his coms again, "Stand down, their friendlies."

"What do you mean their 'friendlies'?"

"I'll find out."

I rolled my eyes, cryptic much. We watched as they landed about 5 clicks ahead of us and packed their chutes away, then started running towards base.

"We're not far out now. We'll talk when we get in." I said.

We got to the base gate and rolled through, getting out I saw three figures standing outside a cabin glance at us before one pushed the others into the cabin and slammed the door. Weird. After we dumped our gear in the shed. We walked into the team room where Eric and Mandy were waiting.

"Who were they?" I asked.

"Apparently they work for some government agency, they're following a lead on a case." Mandy said.

"Which agency?" Brock asked.

"I don't know guys. I don't know..." Eric said.

"Why did they jump Eric? Why not just land on the airstrip?" I quizzed.

"Apparently they're meant to be discreet. Nobody was supposed to know they're here." Mandy said.

"Well they did a crap job of that." Ray said.

"Actually Ray, you guys weren't meant to be out tonight, had base been on routine nobody would have seen them come in." Eric spoke.

"Well that's creepy." Clay said.

"What do we know about these guys Mandy?" I asked.

"Two guys, one girl actually." She stated hint of amusement in her tone.

"A girl?!?" Sonny yelled.

"What? Don't think women can do the same jobs as men? Or are you just worried she's going to outshine you." Lisa interrogated.

"No but if she gets snatched we'll be the ones collecting her." He grumbled.

"So? If she's snatched it's going to be for bad intel, and unfair conditions. Not because she's a woman." Lisa challenged.

"Enough! What do we know about them?" I yelled.

"Their handler couldn't tell me much, mainly because he didn't know a great deal. However, their code names are Black-Rose, Hunter and Eagle. Their handler doesn't know their real names and I suspect that's by design." Mandy spoke.

"Ok. First off those why do those code names ring a bell, Second what do we know about the organisation they work for?" Clay asked.

"Honestly? Nothing. None of my bosses know who or what they are and the further up I went the more I was told to stop digging." Mandy said.

"So what do we do?" Trent asked.

"We stay away. We don't talk to them, not only for your safety but for theirs too. You see them walking you say nothing, although I suspect given all the trouble they went to so they weren't seen while getting here, we won't be seeing an awful lot of them." Eric mused.

"Alright then." I said clapping my hands, "We need to sleep." I turned to Eric, "I trust if you find anymore information that could be of use you'll speak to us?"

"Of course." Eric said nodding curtly before walking out of the room.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘The Adventure of Philip Anderson’ Chapter 1: She Said What!?

Summary: Philip Anderson was bored until the chaotic aftermath of Sherrinford gives him an inside look into the hearts of Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper. Now, if only he can help bring them together...

I've absolutely no idea where I'm going with this, except I intend it to be fun as hell lol!

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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               Philip Anderson was bored. Nothing of particular excitement had been happening in his life. Whilst he was pouring himself another cup of coffee at the station, a woman stormed in, shouting at Lestrade for some reason or other. Anderson took no interest in it, taking a large sip of coffee, only to spit it out in surprise as he realised the angry woman was, in fact, Molly Hooper. Not one time in all the years he had known her had he ever seen her in a rage. This was exciting.

               “It’s against protocol, Molls!” Greg argued. “We cannot take civilians into a risky situation; his sister has psychosis for cryin’ out loud!”

               “I don’t care! I am not just going to sit here and do nothing! I have been through emotional hell tonight with Sherlock, and I’ll be damned if I allow you to force me to sit this out!” Molly’s face was red; her now frizzy hair was in a high ponytail, cascading just past her shoulders.

               Greg looked at her sympathetically. “Look, I’m sorry, I just can’t.” He looked over at Philip. “Anderson, you’re with me.”

               Molly laughed in disbelief. “No,” she shook her head. “Why does he get to go? There aren’t any dead bodies…are there?”

               “I was informed that there were casualties at Sherrinford,” Greg explained. He noticed the fear in her eyes. “Look, Molls, I’m sure that Sherlock is okay, but we really need to get going.”

               Her head perked up. “We?” With a nod from Lestrade, Molly followed after them, knowing full well she would have found a way there before he gave in. After all, she did have Anthea’s personal number.

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               A rescue squad had been sent ahead of them to Musgrave Hall whilst Anderson, Molly, and Greg headed to Sherrinford. This decision did not sit well with Molly, but after finding out that Sherlock was alive, the relief was plain on her face. She figured she could wait just a bit longer to see him. If Anderson didn’t know any better, and he really did know better, he’d say that Sherlock and Molly had been in a deeply loving relationship underneath everyone’s noses. As much as he’d like that to be the truth, he knew they had been dancing around each other for years.

               Sherrinford came into view, and as soon as they landed, they were rushing toward the entrance. Greg’s job was to search for Mycroft whilst Anderson and Molly found and examined the bodies. The first bodies they came across were the governor and his wife, both shot, but one appeared to be self-inflicted.

               Anderson noticed a video tape titled ‘Emotional Context,’ and beneath it, Molly’s name was written. “Molly,” he called out to her. “I think you better come see this.”

               She looked down at the tape, her brows furrowing. Curiosity getting the better of her, Molly shoved the tape back in and watched as Sherlock went from room to room. She and Anderson gasped audibly when they watched the governor take his own life, both knowing why Sherlock’s sister—Eurus—had shot the governor’s wife. The next room was a matter of accusation. The three Garridebs had all been dropped into the deep water, inevitably left to drown.

               “What in the hell are you two doing?” Greg asked. “That’s evidence.”

               “It is property of the British government,” Mycroft spoke up, a shock blanket around his shoulders. “I do not want this tape getting out, but I believe Miss Hooper deserves to see this.”

               As the footage continued, the coffin puzzle intrigued them all until Molly realised it had been meant for her. A lump rose within her throat as she relived the phone call from earlier, her hand covering her mouth.

               “I…I love you,” Sherlock had clumsily spoken. Then, a look of clarity came over him so brief that you could have easily missed it. “I love you.” The second was more an admission to one’s self than to the one you love. Silent tears slid down Molly’s face.

               Anderson’s jaw dropped. “Holy—“

               “Hell,” Greg looked on in surprise, running a hand through his silver hair.

Nobody said a word as they witnessed Sherlock’s breakdown whilst he smashed the coffin to bits in such anguish. Anderson could tell that it physically hurt Molly to watch as she clutched her chest where her heart resided.

“I can’t watch anymore,” Molly sobbed, “I can’t.” Despite her protests, she continued to view the footage with the others. The moment she saw Sherlock aim the gun at himself, Molly felt she was going to be sick. She ran right out of the room, only stopping until she was outside in the fresh air.  

Anderson followed after her, concerned about her emotional state. When he made it outside, he found her down by the water with her knees pulled in toward her chest. “Molly?”

“I knew something was wrong after that phone call.” Molly sniffled wiping her tears with her delicate fingers. “I just—I never would have imagined that he went through such…” she faltered to find a word.

“Torture?” Anderson suggested, sitting down beside her.

Molly considered the word, and then shook her head. “Vivisection. What happened to him tonight…it was vile. And to make matters worse, I forced him to say the words that I so desperately didn’t want to say myself.”

“He sounded like he meant it,” Anderson remarked, hoping it would make light of the situation.

“Does it matter if he did or not?” Molly laughed softly. “I twisted the knife that his sister buried in his heart. Even if he did mean it and wasn’t opposed to a relationship, do you really think I made a good case for myself? I’ve hurt him so much since he returned to London.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “So much.”

“Anderson, Molls, we’re heading to Musgrave,” Lestrade informed them, exiting the building with Mycroft.  They climbed into the helicopter, everyone ready to meet up with the others—everyone except for Molly. She was beginning to think that coming along was a mistake. After all, she doubted that Sherlock would even want to see her after tonight.

.

.

It was all a blur of chaos when they arrived on the scene. Musgrave Hall was once a grand home, but it was now a simple reminder of the trauma Sherlock Holmes had faced tonight. They had been informed that John Watson was rescued from a well that had been steadily filling with water, intending to drown him. Sherlock’s estranged sister was being led out of the house by two officers set to take her back to Sherrinford. And then there was the detective himself, visibly shaken from the events that took place here.

Lestrade was talking with Sherlock all whilst Molly hid behind Anderson, peering around at Sherlock every now and then. Because she hadn’t been paying attention where she was going as she followed Anderson around, it struck her they were within hearing distance of Sherlock after they had heard him tell Greg thanks. He had even gotten his name right, which shocked everyone.

“You okay?” John asked his friend.

“I said I’d bring her home. I can’t, can I?” Sherlock’s voice was quiet, soft.

“Well,” John began, “you gave her what she was looking for: context.”

Sherlock looked at John. “Is that good?”

“It’s not good, it’s not bad. It’s…” John searched for the right words. “It is what it is.”

Anderson looked around at Molly. “Stop hiding and go to him,” he encouraged her.

“I probably shouldn’t,” she tried to reason. “He doesn’t want to see me.” Molly attempted to leave Sherlock’s vicinity, getting out from behind Anderson and trying to reach Greg, but she was stopped before she could get that far.

“Molly.” Sherlock Holmes breathed out her name in relief.

With hesitance, Molly turned around to face him, her eyes locked on his. He looked as if he were haunted, plagued with resurfacing memories. “Sherlock.” It was the simplest of acknowledgements. There was no getting out of this now, she realised as he approached her in just a few strides.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised to even see her at all.

“I knew something was wrong,” she replied simply. “You’d never say those words unless someone’s life was on the line, and now I know that life was mine.”

Anderson couldn’t help but eavesdrop. He wanted it all to work out so badly.

Sherlock ran a hand through his disheveled curls. “Molly, I meant every word.”

She hadn’t a clue what possessed her to say what came out of her mouth next. “Well, I didn’t.” Sherlock’s face fell. Molly’s heart shattered. Why did she just say that?? Anderson was wondering the same thing. He waited to see if Molly would tell Sherlock the truth, but instead she walked away, her face twisted in pain.

Anderson muttered to himself. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

[the-desolated-quill]

The Woman Who Fell To Earth - Doctor Who blog (Change, my dear. And it seems not a moment too soon)

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Never before have I gone into a Doctor Who episode with such a mixture of excitement and dread as I did with The Woman Who Fell To Earth. On the one hand we’ve finally got a female Doctor, something most Whovians have been waiting decades for, but on the other hand she’s being written by Chris Chibnall, a writer who (and let’s be generous here) has never exactly managed to win me over in the past. His past Doctor Who episodes were often derivative, stupid and poorly written and while yes he did create Broadchurch (a show that people assure me is good, but I still have little to no interest in watching), he was also the showrunner of the god awful spinoff Torchwood, which was essentially Doctor Who’s Suicide Squad. 

So yeah, the thought of him sitting in the driver’s seat and at such a crucial moment in Doctor Who’s long history didn’t exactly get me hyped for the new series and if I’m honest, come Sunday 7th October, I was bracing myself for the worst.

Then the most pleasant of surprises. The Woman Who Fell To Earth turned out to be really, really good. I’m actually gobsmacked by how much I enjoyed this episode. I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be praising a Chibnall episode, but here we are.

I think one of the reasons why I enjoyed this episode so much is because it feels like all the aspects that annoyed me about RTD and Moffat’s respective eras have been sheared away. There’s no convoluted plots. No dangling arcs. No forced whimsy. No smart arse dialogue or pretentious speeches. In fact this had a lot more in common with a classic series story in terms of its pacing and scale. It’s not some global threat where everyone is dashing about like headless chickens on speed. The threat is contained to one town in Northern England where only a handful of people are in danger. Even the music has mercifully been restrained. While I do have a fondness for Murray Gold’s work on Doctor Who, his music often had a tendency to go too overboard, bombarding the senses and drowning the audience in slush. New composer Segun Akinola offers a much more subtle and moving score. It enhances the action and certain emotional moments without bashing you over the head and, crucially, Akinola knows when to shut up and let the actors carry the scene.

I must say it’s such a relief to see some humanity injected back into Doctor Who again. After years of convoluted, timey wimey Moffat nonsense, Chibnall has had the good sense to bring everything back to basics. It’s not about the aliens, the special effects, the exotic locations or the overly pretentious plots that require a fucking flow chart in order to make sense of them. It’s all about the characters. And what wonderful characters they are. Ensemble casts rarely work on Doctor Who, but I have to say I really like this cast. Out of all the new companions, Ryan is probably my favourite. Tosin Cole gives a really good performance and I really like how he’s written. In particular I like how the episode portrays his dyspraxia. The way New Who has handled things like disability and mental health in the past has left a lot to be desired, but here Chibnall gets it just right. He never makes a big thing out of it and the episode never comes across as patronising or condescending. It’s treated like any other character trait, which is exactly how it should be.

Mandip Gill is also good as Yasmin Khan, a police officer who feels like she’s not getting the most out of her life or career. She reminds me slightly of Rose Tyler, but unlike Rose, Yasmin is more proactive. She doesn’t sit around waiting for something to happen. She pursues new opportunities when they come up and gets frustrated when someone puts a wall in front of her. It’ll be interesting to see how she’ll adapt to time travel over the course of the series.

And then there’s Graham, played by Bradley Walsh. To all my non-British readers, let me give you a quick education on the wonders that is Mr. Walsh. He’s one of our most versatile performers. He’s been a footballer, a comedian, an actor and a gameshow host. He’s an incredibly funny man as well as a great dramatic performer. Having seen him in Law & Order UK, I knew he’d be perfect and he didn’t disappoint. There’s a weariness to him that’s incredibly charming and likeable, but then he’s able to go from comedic to emotional at the drop of a hat. The eulogy he gives at Grace’s funeral was incredibly powerful and moving, as are the moments where he tries to bond with Ryan, who’s clearly sceptical of any kind of father figure in his life due to how unreliable his dad is. Both Graham and Ryan are the ones to keep a close eye on I think. Ryan in particular will be carrying a lot of baggage as the series progresses. His determination to ride a bike shows not only the pain he feels toward losing his Nan, but also the guilt. If he hadn’t lost his temper, chucked his bike down a cliff and then pressed the weird glowing shapes, none of this would have happened. He clearly feels he’s responsible for her death and I’m looking forward to seeing not only how he grows and moves on from that, but also how Graham will step up and help him, being the grandfather Ryan needs if not necessarily the one he wants.

It’s the characterisation that is The Woman Who Fell To Earth’s greatest strength. Not just the from the main cast, but the supporting characters too. Little moments like the old man telling his granddaughter he loves her before getting killed by the Stenza or the crane operator listening to self motivation tapes is what gives this episode more depth and soul. And then of course there’s Grace, played wonderfully by Sharon D. Clarke. I’m hard pressed to think of a single character from the Moffat era that I gave anything resembling a shit about, which is why it’s so remarkable that I’m able to care this much about Grace despite the short time we get to know her. She’s caring, supportive and energetic. She feels like the perfect companion for the Doctor and I would have loved to have seen her in the TARDIS with everyone else, which is what makes her death so heartbreaking. She’s not some random redshirt getting axed because the script requires more tension. She’s a three dimensional character we really like coming to a tragic end.

Okay. Okay. Let’s get to the main topic of conversation. How’s the new Doctor? Have the ‘feminazis’ ruined it? Is she swapping makeup tips with the Cybermen? Is she struggling to parallel park the TARDIS? Did she accidentally kill a whole species because it was her time of the month? (these are all things I’ve seriously heard butthurt fanboys say since Jodie Whittaker was cast and I think we can all agree it’s beyond pathetic). Well, quelle surprise, turns out the Doctor’s sex change didn’t jumpstart the SJW apocalypse after all. Who’d have thought women could be Doctors too? What a novel concept.

The minute she fell into the train, I was sold. Whereas Peter Capaldi took three whole series to finally come into his own (not that Capaldi is necessarily to blame for that. Blame the monkey at the fucking typewriter for that one), with Jodie Whittaker it’s instantaneous. She is the Doctor.

It helps that Chibnall largely dispenses with all the usual post-regeneration bullshit. With the fainting and gurning kept to a minimum, we can get on with actually learning about this new Doctor and I love what I’m seeing so far. She’s quick-witted, compassionate and quirky, but not to the point where it becomes annoying like Matt Smith’s often did (in my opinion. Tastes differ, obviously. I personally found Eleven to be unbearable at times). After the Twelfth Doctor, with his borderline misanthropy and his inability to even so much as blow his nose without a companion to hold his hand, Thirteen comes like a breath of fresh air. 

One thing I especially like about her is her complete lack of arrogance and boring machismo that previous New Who Doctors were sometimes guilty of. Rather than having her boast about how clever she is, like Ten or Eleven would have, she just shows us by building a new sonic screwdriver out of spoons. And she never tries to lord her moral superiority over others. Quite the opposite in fact. This is a Doctor who clearly values teamwork and can recognise strength in others. There are flashes of darkness too, like when she manipulates the Stenza into killing himself with his own DNA bombs, but she’s not driven by some inherent belief that she is right and they are wrong. She’s driven by the fact that she has gotten to know these people and doesn’t want anything to happen to them. Thirteen is quite possibly one of the most down to earth Doctors I’ve ever seen and I’m extremely excited to see more.

As I said, The Woman Who Fell To Earth is largely about its characters, which is just as well because the plot is... I wouldn’t say it’s bad, but it’s definitely the least interesting thing about the episode. I liked the look of the Stenza, with the teeth embedded in his face, and the gathering coil. I liked that it was a small scale threat and largely self contained, and I liked the way the plot slowly unfolds over the course of the story. However it is a bit derivative. The Stenza is pretty much a PG-13 version of the Predator and he is a bit one note. That being said, it doesn’t detract from the enjoyment factor of the episode. By keeping the plot simple for the most part, it allows Chibnall to fully explore the characters, who are clearly supposed to be the main focus.

In short, I’m pleased to say that I really liked Chris Chibnall’s first offering as showrunner (never thought I’d ever type this). The Woman Who Fell To Earth is without a doubt one of the most confident starts to a new Doctor I’ve ever seen and I’m very much anticipating where the series goes from here. For the first time, in a long time, I’m excited for the next Doctor Who adventure :D

(Oh, btw, all those idiots who were saying that Doctor Who’s ratings have been falling and that a female Doctor would kill the show off, so far this series the ratings have been at its highest since the show came back in 2005. Guess the reason why the ratings were low during the Moffat era wasn’t because of the World Cup, warm weather, streaming television or SJW propoganda. It was because Steven Moffat is a really shit writer. Go figure)

[yilingbee]

Any good malec fic you’ve read recently?

lately tbh not so much hah, the last fic i read was roses are red, so is your face by Gallixie other than that haven’t really read any in a while, but i will give you some of my recent bookmarks and hopefully you’ll find something nice:

The Gift of Choice by tinylilremus Neither Alec nor Magnus is particularly thrilled at the discovery of their soul marks. Alec because he knows that the design of it means that his soulmate is a Downworlder, something practically unheard of in Shadowhunter society. For Magnus, the idea of being permanently attached to a joyless demon-killer is hardly a thrill. Given that they can choose if they accept their soulmate or not, the decision seems like a no-brainer.But when Alec finally meets the beautiful, other-worldly Magnus and Magnus meets the gorgeous, self-sacrificing Alec, it becomes clear that the decision might not be as easy as they thought it would be.

Up in the Sky by KetzWhen General Imogen of the Shadowhunter Forces is found dead, the country of Alicante is shocked. As he campaigns to come back to the office, Former President Valentine Morgenstern points out the Seelies as responsible for her assassination, calling for a war in response.Senator Magnus Bane knows war means death to the hundreds of Downworlders who live in the country. He needs to stop Valentine from winning the election, by any means necessary.However, the Downworlders votes won’t be enough. Magnus needs the Nephilim to vote for him as well. If only he can convince one of the national heroes of the Light Squad to back him up, Magnus just might have a chance to make history and become the first Downworlder President of Alicante.

The Well in the Garden by Lemur710“You okay?” Alec asked. His hand sought out Magnus’s, chilled fingers stroking his.“I am.”“You don’t seem okay. Sitting out here in the dark by this well that nobody uses anymore…” Alec peered down its depths once more. “…that’s definitely haunted.”“Aren’t we all?” Magnus joked.

Kit by lemonoclefoxAlec is a dog walker, and starts a habit of passing notes with a particular dog’s absent owner every day. Fluff ensues.

Title of their Sex Tape by LecritSimon Lewis is a great detective. Sure, his methods are somewhat unorthodox and well, maybe his reports are slightly neglected and sloppy because he may or may not have a complete disregard for the general concept of organization, but his arrest record is the best in the precinct and it has been so for three years in a row, thank you very much.The fact that a new captain is coming to the precinct doesn’t mean he’s going to change the way things have been going for as long as he has been working at the 9-9.The fact that Captain Lightwood is a cold, austere, rule-following soldier-robot just might. The man is a monster, a heartless, barking, insensitive (hot) beast and — and what do you mean he’s married?Or the one where Shadowhunters meets B99.

Yellow-Eyed Demon by thenorthfaceAlec is absolutely certain he hasn’t moved. He’s still seated at his desk, catching his breath; still has the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes. Despite knowing that, being fully aware of his body’s position the way he’s been trained to do his entire life, somehow he opens his eyes to find himself lying down in a dark room.There’s a man in his arms. With every exhale, Alec’s breath ruffles someone else’s hair.

then two of my all time faves that are still wips:

Fall Without Wings by notcrypticbutcoyAlec has been told the same stories all his life. He’s been taught the same lines, over and over again. Downworlders are reckless, impulsive, demonic. They’re not to be trusted.And Magnus Bane is the epitome of everything evil about Downworlders.At least, that’s what people keep telling him. Alec’s not quite so sure anymore.Or: In which the Nephilim have wings, are taught to loathe Downworlders, and Alec is presented with a conundrum when Magnus Bane saves his life.

In the Sin Bin by otppurefuckingmagicAs the goalie for the New York City Blazing Angels, Alec Lightwood thinks he’s finally found the team he can go all the way to the championship cup with. Then his agent and financial advisor are arrested for stealing their clients’ money, and Alec is forced to take on a side job doing endorsement deals, plus find a way to trust his new agent–Magnus Bane.Alec hates Magnus the first time he sets eyes on him.Magnus hates Alec more.But they’re going to have to find some way to work together if Alec is going to make it to the championship.

[princevolker2788]

Mercy76 Week 2 – Day 6: Freestyle

@xavirne

@mercy76week

Little backstory, this is a sort of Honor Harrington/my sci-fi series crossover universe, where Overwatch is a force for good in the known galaxy, most of the characters are the same, save for a few additions and playing with the timeline of the canon.

Overall i’d like to explore this as an AU in the future.

            Commander Morrison leaned over the guard railing, eyes scanning the 3D plot of the battlefield ahead. Little blue triangles represented his forces, whereas the red triangles symbolized the enemy: the terrorist group known as Talon. The only problem was that after the loss of Gérard’s ship-of-the-wall, Overwatch’s forces were severely out classed and outnumbered with the new AI controlled ships, along with the squadron led by this mysterious Widowmaker. Add to this a concerned government breathing down their neck and you had a recipe for disaster.

            If they didn’t win a decisive victory here, the fate of the earth, and Overwatch was in jeopardy. He sighed and turned to his second in command, Ana Amari.

            “How’s Oxton’s squadron?”

            “Primed and ready sir, just awaiting your order.”

            He nodded and looked to the plot once again. Lena’s mission was to punch a hole through the enemy’s left flank, drawing attention away from the right and leaving an opening for Fareeha’s destroyer.

            It was a sound plan, under normal circumstances, but the men were uneasy, moral was low.

            “It’ll be fine Jack, my daughter wont let us down.” She whispered.

            “I’m not concerned about that. Its those damned Omnic units.” He whispered back.

            She nodded, turning her remaining eye to the plot, scanning left to right. After a moment or two she looked forward, to the screen that displayed the ‘verse before them.

            “We can do it Jack.”

            He smirked.

            “Captain Amari, you have the con.”

            “Aye Commander.” 

            He strode through the crisp grey halls of the ship, heels clicking in time with his heartbeat. Jack always got the jitters before a fight, kept him sharp. But I the hours before, it was always a pain to deal with. Taking a left more out of habit than anything else, he found his way to the medical bay.

            The ship’s doctor Angela Ziegler was attending to their newest edition, Hana Song, piloting the MEKA starfighter. The girl, because that’s what she was compared to everyone else, was undergoing last minute medical checks. Last mission she’d entered atmo at mach six, nearly tore the ship apart, and her.

            “Alright, as long as you don’t do anything too fancy you’ll be fine.” Said Angela.

            “Awesome.” The girl deadpanned.

            Hana snatched her coat and rushed out the door to the hangers.

            “Youth…” mused the doctor.

            Jack couldn’t help but frown. It shouldn’t be her having to fight, should be him and all the old guard doing this. But now their children were in the war, the war they should have finished.

            A gentle hand reached out to caress his cheek, pulling him out of his regrets.

            “Hey, you ok?”

            He captured her hand in his, locking steel blue with cobalt blue eyes.

            “This is it.”

            Angela’s gaze softened.

            “It is. And we’ll win.”

            He sighed, dropping her hand and turning to the door.

            “Everyone keeps saying that. But I don’t think they realize the severity of the situation.”

            The doctor blocked the exit with her body, a glare fixed to her slender features.

            “We do Jack, believe me we do.”

            He wished he could believe her, but from what he could tell, the situation was damn near hopeless. Lena was a great pilot, but not even she can outmaneuver computer controlled plasma bolts. If these Omnic forces were half as good as they feared, this’d be over in seconds.

            “When was the last time you saw something this bad?” he asked.

            “Never.”

            At least she’s being honest…

            “But we’ve come out of far more desperate situations before.”

            “When the playing field was level. If we cant get to the human controlled ships we’re done.”

            Angela shook her head, gripping a tuft of bangs that always hung in front of her eyes.

            “We cant lose hope Jack, its all we have. With the recent crop of deserters morale is at an all time low, especially considering Gabriel was the instigator.”

            Jack bit back a curse at the mere mention of the man. His third in command, best close range fighter he’d ever seen, gone in a flash, taking two ships of the wall with him.

            “I haven’t lost hope. I’m just looking at the facts.”

            “Well I say fuck the facts.”

            Her words startled him, as did the fierce look in her eye. She leaned forward and captured her lips with his, pushing him against the wall. The kiss deepened as she entangled her free hand in his hair while he brought her in by the waist. His lungs felt as if they were aflame, forcing him to come up for breath.

            The two gazed at one another, understanding plain as day between them. There would be no room for mistakes, or doubt. They had to win. Before he could leave she gripped his wrist and placed it over her stomach. His eyes widened as a coy smile crept across her lips.

            “Come back to me.”

            “I will.”

            ***

            The hanger bay was abuzz, each man and woman rushing to their assigned task. Some of the officers offered a salute, others a nod as their strike commander strode to his personal transport craft.

            He set one foot on the ramp then turned to the assembled troops, who stood at rigid attention at the base.

            “Today, we face an enemy that has up till now known our every move. They’ve been able to match us blow for blow, man to man. But not today. Do you know why?”

            No one answered, each troop, pilot, and crewmember’s gaze glued to him.

            “Because we have the Tracer herself, returned from the dead: Lena Oxton, your ace, the tip of the spear!”

            A cheer rose up from her personal squad, chanting her callsign over and over:

            “TRA-CER! TRA-CER! TRA-CER!”

The young brit’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline, the familiar grin making its way across her lips. She jumped up from her cross-legged position on top of her fighter with a giggle, striking a pose.

            “Ain’t no one can best me in the black luvs, you can be sure of that. Especially with Miss. Prodigy over here.” She said, gesturing to Hana.

            They younger pilot smirked as she rose to a louder round of applause, crossing her arms and blowing a bubble with her chewing gum.

            “Just leave it to us old man. We’ll get you there.”

            A chorus of nervous chuckles echoed through the hanger bay, as the eyes turned to him again. He chuckled as well, drawing himself to his full height to look Lena and Hana in the eye.

            “Then do it you brats. Suit up, and bring down the hammer.”

            A final cheer rose through the hanger, declaring that earth’s champions would not go into the dark without a fight, that they would fight to the last, or until their enemy was dust.

            With this, he ushered his marines into the assault craft, locking eyes with Lena and Hana and offering a nod.

            “Alright Ana, were in, countdown to launch is a go.”

            “Acknowledged, troop transports ready to launch in five minutes.”

            Jack took a breath, flexed his fingers, and started the engine, feeling the craft lift from the deck with a familiar hum.

            “Tracer Squadron, you are cleared for launch, godspeed.”

            “[Roger, keep the kettle on for us luvs].”

            Jack watched as the pilot’s arrowhead shaped craft struck out from the hanger in a flash, her compatriots in tow.

            Hana followed suit, her MEKA team forming at the flanks of Tracer’s formation. His craft would be next in ten…

            He looked to the old fashioned photo taped to his dashboard of him and Angela last time they were planetside. Their relationship was one of the worst kept ‘secrets’ in the fleet. But the news of a child would beach her for a good long while after this.

            Five…

            He smirked, she’d hate that, but in the end he wouldn’t mind a bit of shore leave…

            Four…

            Jack activated his shields.

            Three…

            Said a silent prayer.

            Two…

            Gave a thumbs up to the flight officer on deck.

            One…

            And gunned it.

[totallysharkycomplete]

Wolverine x reader part two

 You awoke the next morning to an unusual silence. No alarm clock, no loud explosions thanks to Tony, or no polite awakening from Jarvis. You looked around your room focusing on where you were. The sunlight was bleeding in through the curtains and the birds chirped happily from the trees outside your third floor window.              Stretching, you stood up out of bed, and noticed you reflection in the mirror on the wall. Not only was your hair a mess but you were still in the clothes you wore yesterday. A long sleeve hoodie (that read ‘Stark Industries’ on the front) in your favorite color, which you more often than not balled into your fist at the end to cover your hands, making the sleeves a little long than the tips of your fingers. You had also been wearing denim shorts with black leggings underneath. Your boots you'd actually been able to slip off before you passed out, and they were on the floor.              Deciding it would make a bad impression if you went downstairs in your clothes from yesterday you started digging through your bags for a new outfit. When you had collected all your clothes for the new outfit you started to get dressed. It wasn’t much unlike your last one. A t-shirt that read ‘Tony Stark Defense Squad’ (which your brother hated), with a long sleeve shirt under it which was also longer than your fingertips, and a simple pair of jeans.              You were just about to slip on your shoes to go find the kitchen when you heard loud footsteps coming from the stairs down the hall, followed by shouting. You left your shoes by your bed and teleported over to the door. When you opened it you saw Scott at one end of the hallway chasing what looked to be a cloud of smoke.              “Get back here, Kurt!” He yelled running down the hallway after the smoke. “Give it back!” A second later the puff of smoke appeared in front of you followed by a blue person. Your eyes widened in surprise and you were speechless.              The blue boy turned around to tease Scott, but stopped when he saw you standing in your doorway. His eyes lit up. “Hello zere! I hafent seen you here before!” He was so focused on talking to you Scott had managed to catch up with him, and rip a piece of paper out his blue four fingered hand.              “Do NOT do that again, Kurt.” Scott said as he very violently pointed down at the blue boy. Scott looked over at you. “Good morning, (y/n), did you sleep well?” He asked, but before you could answer the blue boy cut in.              “Hey, how come you know her und I don’t?” The crossed his arms.              Scott sighed loudly. “Really, Kurt? She just got here yesterday that’s why you don’t know her. Don't act so jealous. This is (y/n).” He said turning to you. “And (y/n) this is Kurt, or NightCrawler. He can teleport too.”              “It is very nice to meet you!” he said in his thick German accent which you thought was adorable. He offered you his hand to shake it.              “It’s, um, nice to meet you too.” You said with a bright smile, but you acted like he hadn’t offered you his hand, and balled the end of your shirt up in your fists.              He noticed and with drew his hand feeling somewhat hurt. “Uh, sorry I have, fur allergies.” You lied and smiled sweetly.              “What are you guys doing up here?” A voice called from down the hall. The three of you turned to see Jean walking towards you. “Most of the breakfast is gone already, you better hurry if you want any.”              “Last vne dere is a rotten egg.” Kurt laughed then disappeared into a puff of smoke.              “Morning, (y/n).” Jean said when she noticed you by Scott.              “Good morning, Jean.” You said cheerfully. “I was actually about to go find the kitchen, I’m pretty hungry.” Your stomach took that as a cue to growl loudly. You’re face turned bright red.              Jean and Scott laughed. “Well then let’s go, and after breakfast we’ll give you a tour of the whole school.”              “Sounds great,” you said embarrassed. “Just let me get my shoes on.” You walked over to where your shoes had been left on the floor by the bed and slipped them on quickly and ran out the door, and the three of you began walking to the kitchen.              “So how come you just didn’t teleport to go get your shoes?” Scott inquired as you began to walk down the stairs.                You thought about it for a second. “Well, the first reason is because that’s really lazy, they were like five feet away from me.” Your first reason made Jean and Scott laugh. “The second reason is because I’m really used to not being able to use my power. I’ve lived my brother all my life and he’s had no problem with it, but anytime someone was around I had to be careful, I never knew how people would react. Plus we always had security cameras all around the house, so I couldn’t risk someone seeing me on tape.”              “Well just know you are always welcome to use your powers here as you please,” Jean said with a caring smile. You smiled back.              After eating a quick breakfast Scott and Jean began the tour of the school. The mansion was even bigger than you thought.  You would for sure have fun exploring and getting lost. Half way through you tour you passed by Kurt who was talking with some boys.              “See? She is just as beautiful as i said she vas!” He whispered a little too loudly to the other boys he was with. Your cheeks turned rose pink but tried to pretend you didn’t hear what the young boy had just said.              “The professor would like to talk to you after this,” Jean announced when you were just about finished with the tour.              You looked confused. “Did he say that earlier?” You asked wondering as to why she hadn't mentioned it until now.              Jean tapped the side of her head. “He told me just now, telepathy is like free texting.”              You laughed as you followed her and Scott down many flights as stairs that led down under the school. ‘These must be the ones we talked about last night,’ you thought to yourself.              When you reached the bottom of the stairs,Jean stopped and pointed to her left. “That’s where Cerebro is. It’s the professors way of finding and helping other mutants. It actually helped us find you.” You smiled at her. Then she pointed down the hall to her right. “Down that way is the Danger Room. Logan helps the kids learn how to control their powers and self defense in there.”              “And what about in there?” You asked pointing forward to a large door.              “Thats where we keep the jet?” Scott said with a cool smile.              “Oh,” you said rather unimpressed.              “What a jets not cool?” Scott jokingly asked.              “My brother has like three jets,” you smiled apologetically. “Just thought it’d be some cool mutant thing like the other two things.”                “Trust me,” Scott said, “It’s way cooler than any jet your brother has, just wait till you see it in action.”              After that they led you to the Professors office where he was waiting for you. Jean and Scott said they had something to do, so you walked in and closed the door behind you.              “Hello there (y/n),” The professor said smiling up from his desk. “Please come in, have a seat.”              You nervously walked over from the door and had a seat in the chair in front of his desk, balling the ends of your sleeves into your fists again. He noticed your nervous movements, and comforted you. “It’s alright, I’d just like to talk to you about your powers.”              “That’s kinda why I’m nervous.” You stated honestly. “My mutation hasn’t always been easy to live with.”              The professor nodded. “Teleporting is something you can easily learn to control, or you already may have.” He said with a smile. “But your gift of psychometry is something much more intimate and personal that you’ll have to work very hard at.”                “I wouldn’t exactly call it a gift,” you sarcastically laughed. “And how’d you know about my second power.”              The professor smiled sweetly at you, and folded his hand on the table. “As much as your brother may have acted nervous for you to come here he was also very excited. I had received many phone calls, and emails from your brother about taking care of you, and what would happen if anything happened to you.” He laughed as your jaw dropped.              “My brother threatened you?” You exclaimed.              Xavier only laughed. “You have a very caring brother to say the least.” His smile left his face for a moment. “You were probably wondering why earlier I ask Jean to tell you to come see me, instead of just telepathically asking you myself, is that right.”                “Yes,” you paused. “Why didn’t you.”              “I was unsure the extent of your powers. As you know when your skin meets someone else's you gain all their memory and knowledge. I was unsure if the same would happen if your brain waves were to meet with others. So I made sure neither Jean or I communicated through telepathy with you.” The professor thought for a moment. “Do you mind me asking about the first time it happened, (y/n)?”              You sighed and thought back to the day in your pre teen years. “I was helping my brother with a project in his lab. All I did was hand him a tool he asked for, but, um, my finger touched his and my mind was sent into a fit of memories flashing through my brain that weren’t mine, but very familiar in some ways.” You leaned over resting your elbows on your knees and chin in your hands. “Tony thought i was having a seizure.” You slightly laughed. “My eyes rolled into the back of my head and i started to float, then I disappeared. Poor Tony was freaking out so bad he had no idea where I’d gone until I woke up on the roof and yelled for him.”              The professor nodded again. “Where there any other time that's happened.              “Two more times, but i’ve been good about covering my skin so it doesn't happen.” You smiled shyly.              “Have you ever thought about gloves? Of course it’s just a temporary solution until you fully learn how to control your gift.” Xavier pulled out a lovely pair of black riding gloves.              You looked at them excitedly and pulled them on. They looked just like the pair Tony used to wear when he rode his motorcycle. “Thank you Professor.” You smiled hopefully. “Do you really think I’ll be able to control them one day? And not have to worry about my skin?” You asked in you quiet voice, but still holding your smile.              “With time and practice anything is possible. Thank you for your time, (y/n). We’ll be having a training session tomorrow in the Danger Room if you’d like to join us.” He said as he escorted you to the door.              “I think I might take you up on the offer.” You smiled gratefully.              You were about to leave when you looked back at the professor. “Will you tell the others of my second power?”              “If you wish for me not to then I won’t.” He said and you began to walk away. “But (y/n), keeping secrets will never help you here. Everyone here is family, don’t forget that.” You nodded and he closed the door. Leaving you to admire your new, (even thought they looked used), gloves.

[emblem-333]

Kyrie Irving Isn't Wrong

The media is a powerful tool, the innocent can look guilty and the evil look pure of heart. LeBron has learned how to play this game well. The only holdovers from the era of James being criticized for everything short of breathing funny are Stephen A. Smith and Skip Bayless. Two loons who play eccentric characters more than real sports writers. It's easy to dismiss them as fools who know a limited sum of basketball. We went from the greatest basketball player of the last twenty-years being criticized too much, to it being almost blasphemous to even utter a negative word about him. "Kyrie Irving is insane for not wanting to play with LeBron." I'm sure he has his reasons. "Kyrie Irving is selfish." Well, yeah, have you seen him play? He doesn't play point guard, which is why LeBron took up those duties in the middle of 2015, relegating the young guard to only score and to keep scoring. Irving's had it made these last three years to play next to someone like LeBron that not only inflates his record, or stats, but for also the perception changing from being a one-dimensional player that doesn't make your teammates better to the greatest second banana in the NBA. Irving has shown the ability to make miraculous passes, he just doesn't want to play like that all the time. In his role, LeBron was able to unlock Irving's ability and hide his weaknesses. Irving can come off as indifferent at times. His defense is mostly atrocious. He had a sneaky bad postseason until Game 4 against Boston in the East-Finals. But in that contest, when the Celtics appeared to have all but figured out James, got him in foul trouble early, it was Irving who rose to the occasion against one of the best on-ball defenders in the NBA and almost single-handily ending the Celtics season. When Irving gets hot, and he does quite often, he is an unstoppable freight train both when going to the basket and in his ISO game. Irving believes he's outgrown LeBron and wants to get "his own team", forget he picked Minnesota and San Antonio (two squads he would not be the number one option on) as two of the four franchise he wanted to be moved to. No, really, forget it. I can say confidently he didn't pick Miami, Minnesota or San Antonio for any other reason besides to emphasize his dissatisfaction with the front office of the Cleveland Cavaliers - as well as LeBron. Irving doesn't have a no-trade clause like Carmelo, there's absolutely no clout on his side to pick his team. The drama goes way beyond firing David Griffin. We have martyred a general manager for merely being good with gigantic egos when that only take you so far. This isn't the first time Irving expressed interest in leaving, even after winning the championship he gave the idea serious consideration. (Forget why he had New York on that short list too. Possible he also just wanted to go home.) A lack of a functional, stable infrastructure is what pushed Irving over the edge. I do not know if he will be in a different uniform before October 17th, but regardless, he is right in wanting out of Cleveland. Why should he let LeBron dominant his career with whether he's going to leave after the next season? After all the rumors, 1 plus 1 deals that always had James keeping one foot out the door - forced the team to make shortsighted decisions, disregarding flexibility, placating LeBron's friends, Andy Varejao, Richard Jefferson, Chris Anderson, Mike Miller, James Jones. Irving has finally had enough. Yes, James has inarguably done wonders for the once floundering first overall pick, he's also been the one having to shoulder most of the blame if the team came up short. It's never James' fault for a loss. It's always somebody else's, it's usually Irving's. Isn't it clear, no matter if he's gone or not, that Irving is just sick and tired of James holding this franchise by the throat since his return? He's had it with Dan Gilbert's disinterest in continuity, stability, and knows even if James leaves and Cavaliers are his team by default, Irving isn't left with much of a team with anywhere to go but horrifically down. That should speak more volumes than the beef James and Irving seem to be having. Cleveland, a franchise that just a year ago won a title, thanks in large part to the heroics of Kyrie Irving, cannot even have the competenence to keep their star player out of trade rumors they started. You cannot fault Irving for being fed up with the constant dysfunction, or being James' go-to scapegoat. Cleveland fans do have a legitimate gripe with Kyrie, and it isn't he's endangering another trip to the NBA Finals: he should have informed new GM Koby Altman of his unwillingness to return prior to the start of free agency, the draft and if we lived in a perfect world he'd tell the team right after he season ended. He didn't and now the Cavaliers are left with little options other than trying to patch this thing up with spit and duct tape until next summer. Even that they couldn't do. Cleveland still tried to deal Kyrie after the news broke of Irving demanding a trade. So this is where we now are. Believe it or not, Irving holds the cards. He can sink this pivotal Cavaliers season, or he can make it. The problem with this Cavaliers roster isn't Kyrie Irving, and the defending champion Warriors certainly don't enjoy facing him. Why should Irving wait for LeBron to ditch him next summer and leave him on an island with Kevin Love, and the buffoonery of Dan Gilbert. you can follow me @Sailboatstudios on Twitter.

[sustainhealthmagazine]

NFL To Salute Four 100-year-old Veterans at Super Bowl LIV

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By SPORT EDITOR FOR SUSTAIN HEALTH 

PUBLISHED: 04:22, 01 February 2020 | UPDATED: 05:28, 01 February 2020

NFL Commissioner ROGER GOODELL announced that the NFL will salute four 100-year-old World War II Veterans at Super Bowl LIV on Sunday, Feb. 2 at Hard Rock Stadium.

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The four veterans will participate in the official on-field Coin Toss ceremony before the Chiefs-49ers game. Colonel CHARLES E. MCGEE (Ret.), will flip the coin, surrounded by Staff Sergeant ODÓN SANCHEZ CARDENAS (Ret.), Lieutenant Colonel SAMUEL LOMBARDO and Corporal SIDNEY WALTON.

FOX will televise the coin toss live.

"As we culminate the NFL's 100th season, we're extremely proud to honor four World War II veterans celebrating 100 years of life," said NFL Commissioner ROGER GOODELL. "These four men deserve our gratitude for their tremendous contributions to the United States of America and we're thrilled to recognize their service on the country's largest stage."

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The NFL and U.S. military have more than 42 years of shared history at the Super Bowl. From flyovers, to special presentations of the Color Guard, to military performances during pregame festivities, the NFL's unwavering support of veterans, active duty service members and their families is deeply embedded as a Super Bowl tradition. Super Bowl LIV will also feature a Joint Aerial flight demonstration represented by the men and women of the United States Navy and United States Marine Corps.

This year also marks the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II. The four veterans participating in the coin toss are members of the "Greatest Generation" and were among the 16 million Americans whose sacrifice, valor, dedication, and determination 75 years ago preserved our freedom and saved our nation and the world. The NFL worked alongside the Friends of the National World War II Memorial organization who helped to identify these veterans.

"More than 1,000 NFL personnel served in the military during World War II," said HOLLY ROTONDI of Friends of the National World War II Memorial. "By honoring these four veterans at the championship game, the league is preserving the national memory of the Greatest Generation and World War II."

Below are more details about the four World War II veterans participating in this year's coin toss:

ODÓN S. CARDENAS: (U.S. Army, World War II) Cardenas was born on July 30, 1919 in Devine, Texas and spent most of his youth as a sugar beet farmer in Shakopee, Minnesota. He had four brothers who also served in the U.S. Military. In Mar. 1941, Cardenas started his service with the U.S. Army as a Private First Class at Fort Snelling, Minnesota. He was an excellent marksman and earned the Rifle Expert and Carbine Expert ratings. He was later promoted to Sergeant and Squad Leader and was re-assigned to the 172nd Battalion, Company C at Camp Roberts, California as part of the Infantry Replacement Training Centers.  He was deployed in 1944 to the European Theater of Operations of World War II and landed in France and moved into Belgium, then Germany, fighting in the Ardennes, Rhineland and Central Europe battles as part of the Third Army in France and Germany under the command of General George Patton. While on the front lines in German territory, Sergeant Cardenas and his unit were attacked by German opposition and several of his squad members were killed by a panzerfauste recoilless antitank round fired during close quarters combat.  After losing consciousness and being left for dead, Sergeant Cardenas and a few others regained consciousness, then attempted to escape at night in brutal winter conditions but were captured on March 14, 1945. was held at POW camps Stalag 12A near Dusseldorf, Germany, then moved to POW camp 9B near Limburg An Der Lahn, Hessen, Germany. After approximately two weeks, they were liberated by fellow U.S. service members, who were overwhelming German forces. Staff Sergeant Cardenas returned to the U.S. on April 28th, 1945. For his service, he was awarded an American Defense Medal, Good Conduct Medal, and a European African Middle Eastern Service Medal and three Bronze Stars. Staff Sergeant Cardenas received an honorable discharge in October 1945 as part of the general demobilization orders after the conclusion of World War II. He returned to civilian life as millions of others did and became a full-time barber and auto mechanic. He settled in San Antonio, Texas and raised a large family. Four of his five sons, also served in the U.S. Army and Air Force and participated in the Vietnam War, Gulf War, and supporting combat operations forces around the world.

SAMUEL LOMBARDO: (U.S. Army World War II, Korea, and Vietnam) Lombardo was born on July 12, 1919, in Caraffa, Calabria, Italy. He arrived in the United States with his mother and two sisters on Oct. 3, 1929 to join his father in Altoona, Pennsylvania. Lombardo enlisted on Nov. 11, 1939 with the 110th Infantry Regiment, 28th Division, Pennsylvania National Guard as a Private and was then commissioned as an officer on July 14, 1942 at Fort Benning, Georgia. He then went on to serve with the 99th Infantry Division as Rifle Platoon Leader and Company Executive Officer during the Battle of the Bulge, Remagen Bridgehead, Ruhr Pocket, and Central European Campaigns. Under combat conditions, Lombardo and his men made an American flag, with whatever materials could be secured like pillowcases, curtains, and even a German surrender flag. It took the men approximately two-and-a-half months to complete the flag, which was finished by the time the men reached the Danube River. The 99th Division's "Old Glory" was the first American flag to cross the Remagen Bridge during the war and it is now on display at the National Infantry Museum at Fort Benning. Lombardo also received a Silver Star and Bronze Star with valor for his heroic actions during WWII.

CHARLES MCGEE: (U.S. Army Air Forces/U.S. Air Force, World War II, Korea, and Vietnam) McGee was born on Dec. 7, 1919 in Cleveland, Ohio. He enlisted in in the U.S. Army on Oct. 26, 1942 and became a part of the Tuskegee Airmen having earned his pilot's wings graduating from Class 43-F on June 30, 1943.  By Feb. 1944, McGee was stationed in Italy with the 302nd Fighter Squadron of the 332d Fighter Group. McGee flew the Bell P-39Q Airacobra, Republic P-47D Thunderbolt and North American P-51 Mustang fighter aircraft. His flew tactical missions attacking enemy airfields and rail yards and strategic missions escorting Consolidated B-24 Liberator and Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress bombers over Germany, Austria and the Balkans. On Aug. 23, 1944, while escorting B-17s over Czechoslovakia, McGee engaged a formation of Luftwaffe fighters and downed a Focke-Wulf Fw 190. Later that year he flew support for the successful top-secret rescue missions of over 1,000 POWs from the Popesti Aerodrome in Bucharest, Romania. Promoted to Captain, McGee had flown a total of 136 combat missions, and returned to the United States on Dec. 1, 1944. He became a North American B-25 Mitchell bomber instructor for the 477th Bombardment Group (Medium), another unit of the Tuskegee Airmen. He remained at Tuskegee Army Air Field until 1946, when the base was closed. Congress recently passed legislation authorizing McGee's honorary promotion to Brigadier General.

SIDNEY WALTON: (U.S. Army, World War II) Walton was born in New York City on Feb. 11, 1919. He enlisted in the Army in 1941 with the express purpose of "fighting Hitler" nine months before America entered WWII. He trained at Fort Dix in New Jersey; Fort Jackson in South Carolina; Camp Siebert in Alabama; Toccoa/Tallulah Falls in Georgia; and Camp Reynolds in Pennsylvania. Walton went on to fight in the CBI theater (China, Burma, India), 34th Infantry, 8th Division, and rose to the rank of Corporal. After the war ended, he returned to the U.S., got married, and raised a family in San Diego where he worked for the government as a chemical engineer. Walton always regretted not meeting some of the last Civil War veterans when he had a chance. To make up for that one regret, he wants to give everyone an opportunity to meet a WWII vet before they too disappear.  So, with his son Paul, he has embarked on a national "No Regrets Tour," visiting every state to raise awareness of the diminishing number of WWII veterans and the sacrifices they made and making himself available to millions of patriotic Americans. He is now more than halfway through his tour. In each of the 26 states he has visited, he was honored by the governor in the state capital. President Trump hosted Walton and his family in the Oval Office. He was also extremely proud to be onstage last year at the 75th Anniversary of Normandy. Sidney's website www.KeepSidneyGoing.com tells the full story of his extraordinary mission through pictures and videos.

Several other military members will be honored throughout Super Bowl week festivities. The NFL hosted Salute to Service Military Appreciation Day at Super Bowl Experience Presented by Lowe's on Wednesday, Jan. 29. The NFL and USAA announced that Los Angeles Chargers Legend DONNIE EDWARDS is the winner of the 2019 Salute to Service Award presented by USAA at NFL Honors, a two-hour primetime awards special to air nationally on Feb. 1, the eve of Super Bowl LIV, at 8 PM (ET and PT) on FOX. NFL Honors will be taped earlier that evening at the Adrienne Arsht Center in Miami. Created in 2011, the Salute to Service Award acknowledges the members of the NFL for their exemplary commitment to honoring and supporting the military community and their families. 

The NFL has a longstanding history of supporting our Nation's service members. Each year, the NFL and its 32 teams come together to honor and support members of the military as part of the NFL's Salute to Service. The league's year-round military appreciation efforts culminate in November with NFL Salute to Service games and other special events honoring veterans, active duty service members and their families.

The NFL works with its core military nonprofit partners to show gratitude for all those who have served our country. The NFL, along with its partners, is proud to support the Bob Woodruff Foundation, Pat Tillman Foundation, TAPS, USO and Wounded Warrior Project, to fund programs and provide resources that positively impact veterans and active duty military members and their families. Since 2011, more than $34 million has been raised through Salute to Service to support the league's military nonprofit partners.

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[supportforindieauthors]

The Rose Slayer by Stephen Bentley

Six murders. Two detectives. More than four million LA residents. “That’s a hell of a lot of suspects,” Bill Pawson said. His partner, Sean Wells shrugged.

Pawson and Wells, Detectives First Class of LAPD Robbery Homicide Squad, had been working this homicide case for the past three years. It was cases rather than a case. It was clear to them, their Captain, the Chief of Detectives, the media, and the public there was a serial killer at large in Los Angeles. What wasn’t clear was the identity of the killer. The cops had no clue as to who it was or why.

The modus operandi told them it was the work of one person: all middle-aged female victims; all single or divorced, lived alone, only had a cat or cats as a pet, no dogs, and no kids.

All the vics’ homes’ rear windows jimmied, night-time entry believed to be between three to four in the early hours; cause of death identical in all cases: a .22 slug in the brain fired at not more than two-feet away, using a pillow to muffle the sound. A rose left on or next to the vics’ bodies. A single red rose the first time. Two roses on the second vic. Yeah, you got it – six roses on the sixth victim. The media called the perp, ‘The Rose Slayer.’

The crime scenes yielded no clues. No prints, no fibres, no DNA. No witnesses. Nothing. Nada. Before you ask: no, have you any idea how many florists there are in and around LA? Not to mention rose growers.

Casts were taken of the jimmie marks on the window frames and preserved in the evidence store. They were as useful as an Eskimo’s refrigerator. Without the bar used to force entry there was nothing for the CSI lab to compare.

Sure, there were the slugs recovered during the autopsies. They were all from the same weapon but where was that gun? Detective work is easy once you have the perp’s identity, search his place, find the bar and gun. He can lawyer up as much as he wants. The DA will have a field day in court. Juries love CSI.

“Hey Sean!” Pawson shouted, “wanna beer or three before we knock it off for the weekend?” The robbery homicide squad room was full of detectives’ noisy banter about the Lakers. Wells called back over the hubbub, “Yeah, sure thing. Just give me two minutes, will ya?”

Pawson impatient and sighing, pulled his Glock .45 and holster from a desk drawer, secured them to his waist belt and threw his jacket over one shoulder ready to leave. Moving his shield clipped to his shirt breast pocket, to his belt, he muttered under his breath. His partner had taken a new incoming call.

Wells listened while holding his free hand ramrod in the air. Pawson recognized that was a signal to wait. Over the next thirty seconds, they both realized the weekend was cancelled.

“Wait up,” Pawson heard Wells say as he listened to one side of the conversation.

“.22, okay, yeah could be.”

“Point blank in the head. Pillow?”

“Yeah sounds like our perp. Waddya mean, different?”

“Okay, be there ASAP. Depends on the freeway traffic.”

Wells grabbed his gun, holstered it, and threw on his jacket.

“What’s with the ‘different’?” Pawson said.

“He wouldn’t say. Just said, ‘you can see for yourself.’”

***

An Echo Park side street was the location of the single-storey home of Mary O’ Connell, a divorced woman aged forty-five years. The crime scene tape in place when Detectives Pawson and Wells rang the front door bell. A twenty-two-year uniformed veteran, Jim Cowie, opened the door. “Holy Moly, what brings Laurel and Hardy out here? Not seen you two for years.”

“Knock it off, Jim.” Pawson said.

“Please yourself,” Cowie snapped, “but let me tell ya this - when I saw the bouquet of 7 roses, I knew exactly who had murdered Mrs. O'Connell."

“What! Who?” Wells said and immediately regretted it.

“The Rose Slayer, is who.” Cowie guffawed.

“Go fuck yourself,” Wells said.

“Charming.”

Ignoring the uniform cop, the detectives walked through to the bedroom. They had witnessed a similar crime scene on six previous occasions. The ME spoke, “Thought it’d be you two. You got a seventh vic now but there’s a difference.”

Mike Nakamura, the ME, pointed at the corpse on the bed, “Looks like a .22 entry wound here. No exit as usual. I’ll dig it out for comparison later. And, there’s the pillow used to muffle the noise.”

Pawson moved over to the other side of the bed taking in her face and front of her body. “Holy crap!” Pawson said, “she has no fingers.”

“That’s what’s different. I was about to tell you,” Nakamura said, “if you look at her mouth, the perp cut them off and stuffed them down her throat.”

“Sick fuck!” Wells said.

“Time of death, detectives, was about three this morning. Three a.m.”

The phone on the bedside table rang. Wells picked up on the second ring. “Hello. Who’s this?”

“Uh huh. Uh huh. I see. Okay. Thanks,” he said before hanging up.

“Her boss. He called it in when she didn’t show for work this morning. Cowie caught the despatch and found the back window forced.” Wells said. He added, “the thing is, her boss asked us to check if her laptop is on the kitchen table.”

“What for?” Pawson asked.

“He says there’s a load of commercially sensitive info on it.”  

“Cowie!” Pawson yelled. “Go check the kitchen. Find me a laptop and bring it here. Put some gloves on though, won’tcha?”

There was no laptop in the kitchen or anywhere else. It had gone.

***

Captain Charlie Hills called a case conference for first thing Monday morning at the Robbery Homicide Squad’s downtown HQ office.

“Any of these other vics have laptops missing?” Hills said.

“No way of knowing. We can’t trace family or friends for any of them. Co-workers either said ‘yes, they had one, but, no, they hadn’t got a clue if it was missing or sorry, don’t know.’” Pawson said.

Hills said, “I’m sure this is the key to cracking this case wide open. Think. Let’s assume they all had something in common. Something that would be revealed in emails or on a website, even Facebook.”

“We don’t have the smartphones, laptops or any devices of these vics.” Wells said.

“No, but we have their details. Let’s get on to the service providers – the internet and telephone companies, and email providers. Check with them. I’ll get the DA on to it now. We’ll need subpoenas.”

***

Captain Hills pulled some strings in arranging for twenty academy recruits to scour through voluminous records provided under subpoena. It took them five days working fifteen hours every day to make the breakthrough.

He wrote down the essential piece of information, before summoning Pawson and Wells to his office.

“Here it is,” he said as he waved a sheet of paper in the air, “GreatReads.com!”

Pawson and Wells looked at each other, baffled. “So?” They said in unison.

“So, you go get a warrant right now. We got the “Rose Slayer.”

***

The front door of the apartment crashed inwards. Detectives Pawson and Wells shouted in unison, “Police! Robbery Homicide LAPD!” Fanning out, Glocks drawn, they both entered the first room off the small hall. The door was open.

A man, about thirty-five years’ old, swivelled on an office chair to face them. His hands left the computer keyboard as he raised them in surrender. “Don’t shoot,” Tommy Queen said.

“Where’s the piece?” Wells said.

“There. In the second drawer,” Queen said pointing at his desk drawer.

As Wells gave him his Miranda rights, Pawson pointed at the computer screen and asked, “What’s that?”

“My latest novel.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yes.”

“On Greatreads?” Wells asked.

“No that’s just a place for authors and readers to hang. Readers leave reviews there.”

“Readers like Mary O’ Connell?”

“Yup.”

“So, tell me, Tommy. Why did you kill her?” Pawson said.

“I’m sure you’ll find out anyways. She trashed one of my books. Gave it a one-star review.”

“Why chop off her fingers?” Wells said.

“She refused to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For writing such lies about my book.”

“Are you saying all the others apologized before you shot them dead?”

“I am. They died happy, detective. Believe me. I saw them smile after I asked them to say sorry.”

“Sonofabitch,” Wells said.

“Enough, Sean, enough. Tommy Queen. I’m arresting you for the first-degree homicide of Mary O’Connell and six other of your victims. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I do. I am a good writer and now I’ll be famous. They were all liars, I hope you know that.”

As Wells snapped the handcuffs on Queen’s wrists, he noticed a single red rose in a vase on the writer’s desk. “Who’s that for?”

“Number thirty. There were way more than seven bad reviews. Detectives, you need to check my frequent flyer points.”

©2019 Stephen Bentley All Rights Reserved

[nationallampoon]

Goodbye to the Cancer Moonshot

“Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses.”

~ Zack de la Rocha, “Killing in the Name”

  Meanwhile, in Donald Trump’s White House…

  “You have the target?”

“Have the target. Pussy hat. Sign with black background, rainbow-colored letters. Distance?”

“Two hundred twenty-one yards.”

“Wind?”

“Seven miles per hour, from the west.”

Two clicks are made to adjust the scope on the McMillan TAC-338 sniper rifle. “Got it.”

“Take the shot.”

The protester, wearing a pink “pussy hat” and holding a homemade sign that reads “SUPER-CALLOUS-FRAGILE-RACIST-SEXIST-NAZI-POTUS,” never heard the crack of the round being fired. She was dead on Constitution Avenue, the bullet entered her back and exited through her heart, before anyone around her knew the shot was even fired.

“Got her. She’s down. Mark it in the log.”

“One more and we hit the quota. Check the action in Lafayette Park, there could a good target there and we can call it a day.”

The two sniper towers on the South Lawn, one above the Rose Garden, the other above the tennis courts, have only been operational for five days, but already the amount of protesters picketing the White House has dropped by eighty percent.

As a dozen fellow protesters scream in horror, frantically dialing 911 on their smartphones, a team of Trump private security personnel emerges onto the scene. The four man squad grabs the dead protester and flops the corpse into a gold-plated wheelbarrow. One of the men pushes the golden wheelbarrow up a ramp into the back of a Carmor Navigator armored transport vehicle. The back door closes, the Navigator drops three tear gas containers onto the street, and the White House cleanup crew screeches away from the legal-for-the-White-House-crime-scene with a cloud of burnt tire smoke left behind mixing with the tear gas.

In the Oval Office, the First Family has been summoned to get ready for the photo op coinciding with a big announcement. A Secret Service agent is stationed outside the Oval. When Don Jr. and Eric walk past, the agent says into the microphone just inside his sleeve, “Tell Bird’s Nest that Sonny and Fredo are coming in.”

Three minutes later, Melania and Barron come down the hallway. Again, into the microphone in his sleeve, the Secret Service agent says, “Trophy and Joffrey are entering the Oval.”

Two minutes after that, Ivanka appears and passes the Secret Service agent. “Myrrha is entering.”

President Trump surveys the large group assembled. There’s photographers from the Associated Press, Reuters, and InfoWars in the room. A small television crew is setting up Klieg lights. Trump says, “Okay, is this everybody? Is Tanya coming?”

There’s confusion until Reince Preibus snaps his fingers in realization and asks “Do you mean Tiffany, Mr. President?”

“Right, that’s it. Tiffany. Great girl. Is she coming?”

“Tiffany is in Barbados, daddy,” Ivanka says.

Trump says loudly to anyone listening in the room, “You know, Tiffany, she’s a great girl, like I said, great girl, tremendous, but she just doesn’t have the tits to compete with Ivanka.”

An awkward and uncomfortable silence settles into the Oval Office.

“Okay,” Trump says, “should we do this? Let’s sign this fucker.”

The bill getting Trump’s cartoonish Sharpie signature this morning is the Trump Hair Restoration Act of 2017. All of the funding that was earmarked for Joe Biden’s Cancer Moonshot program is being reallocated to solve the “global crisis of male pattern baldness and the total bummer of thinning, formally-beautiful and powerful hair.”

Same as the Cancer Moonshot, the budget is not being disclosed for the Trump Hair Restoration Act, but it’s believed the number is roughly $755 million. About the same amount previously going to Biden’s lifetime achievement legislation. Hidden in the bill, with complicated language and subterfuge, was funding for extravagant gifts for the Trump children. For Don Jr., Eric, and Ivanka, three 24-carat gold coffins for their daily naps. At $53,000 bucks a pop, it is going to be a luxurious way to rest and recharge for the rest of the day. For Barron, his own private indoor waterpark on the North Lawn. And for Tiffany, a $125 dollar gift card to zappos.com.

The golden nap coffins are custom-made to act as a hyperbaric chamber to prolong youthfulness and longevity. Also included, built into the taffeta lining, are state of the art speakers to listen to lullabies as the Trump children have a kip. Ivanka likes to listen to the Kronos Quartet album Black Angels. While Don Jr. and Eric are partial to the vinyl recording of Jim Jones preaching and narrating the Jonestown mass suicide of nine hundred people.

Another minor clause of the Hair Restoration Act is that “codeword classified” status is given to the details of how Trump’s weird, sweeping, folding hairdo is cut and styled. This guarantees prevention of a leak to the “very dishonest media” about how elaborate Trump’s hair process is. At the time of this writing, I — your intrepid White House correspondent — was unable to confirm rumors that a repurposed cotton candy machine is involved in the first stage of shaping the President’s hair.

After the photo op signing Trump Hair Restoration Act of 2017 into law, White House senior staff is planning on the President making a statement from behind the Resolute desk to be carried live on all major television networks, all the news channels, and CMT. Press Secretary Sean Spicer uses duct tape to affix a new plaque on the President’s historic desk. The sign reads “The Trump White House, brought to you by PornHub and Aqua Net!” Trump was pleased to secure “such great and classy sponsorship.”

But before Trump can give the statement, Steve Bannon needs to finish writing it. “Is Steve here?” Trump asks. “Where is he? Is the statement ready?”

Steve Bannon sees and hears Trump ask the question on one of the huge flatscreen monitors in his basement office. Security cameras and listening devices are in every nook and cranny of the White House that Bannon monitors like a pit boss at the Caesar’s Palace. A control panel with various buttons, touch pads, and joysticks is manipulated with the precision of Eric Clapton playing a Stratocaster.

The Senior Advisor, who has been orchestrating every move of Trump’s White House down to the smallest minutia, is in the middle of his morning rituals as he prepares for the day ahead.

Each morning at 7:45, Bannon arrives at the White House. He lumbers past the West Wing offices of his coworkers, and descends a flight of stairs to the dank basement. Since Bannon moved into that office, White House janitorial staff has been hanging dozens of pine tree air fresheners along the hallway in an effort to mask the harsh, acrid smell of sulfur that has settled in. Once in his office, Bannon begins his daily routine. First the coffee machine is flipped on, then a fresh bottle of Rebel Yell bourbon is twisted open. Both the full pot of coffee and the entire bottle of Rebel Yell will be consumed before noon. The beverages are often mixed together.

From a box the size of a microwave oven, Bannon takes out a seven inch tall wooden crucifix that was made in China. That whole box is full of the crosses. Bannon dips the cross in his tumbler of Rebel Yell, stands it on a his desk, and lights the cross on fire with a vintage swastika-emblazoned Zippo. Blue flames dance off the crucifix as the bourbon burns off. Bannon takes a sip of coffee, a gulp of Rebel Yell, and inhales the vapors coming off the burning cross, exhaling the smoke like a Marlboro red.

On the ceiling of Bannon’s basement office, stalactites have begun forming, hanging like grey icicles, dirty water leaking from the White House plumbing dripping off the points, adding to the dampness of the room. The family of Mexican long-nosed bats that had moved in shortly after Inauguration Day continue to occupy the Northeast corner. The bats offer occasional biting commentary, heckling Bannon about how much Rebel Yell he has poured down his gullet. They like to offer roast-style jokes about Nazi officers of World War II. Hitler’s one testicle and micropenis are favorite topics.

Having finished the draft of the President’s remarks, Bannon gives them to one of the bats, who flaps his way through the White House to deliver them to the Oval Office.

Back in the Oval, Reince Preibus takes the rolled final draft of the Trump Hair Restoration Act announcement speech from the bat’s fanged mouth. Preibus says, “Steve sent up the final remarks. He says Alex Jones insisted on some language being added.”

“Great, let’s hear it, what did Alex add?” the President asks.

“The globalists seek to continue covertly sneaking in and implementing Aleister Crowley-inspired occult Satanism into our schools and government. We won’t allow it. We will not allow a police state. We will not allow George Soros, the demonic Bilderberg thugs, and the New World Order scum to continue the reprogramming of a patriotic republic. The wicked globalists poison our water with fluoride, they poison the vaccines, they poison the food, to turn us into mindless slugs to control us. This is revolution! This is 1776 all over again! We know what you’re doing, and we’re coming for you!”

“Tremendous language. That guy gets it. And so true. So true. Put it in the prompter.”

President Trump sits down at the Resolute desk. The red light on the television camera illuminates. “My fellow Americans, good evening from the Oval Office, brought to you by our new sponsors PornHub and Aqua Net hair spray. Tonight we are announcing very, very exciting new legislation, the Trump Hair Restoration Act. We all know cancer was never going to be cured, stupid to try it, but male pattern baldness is a battle we can win if we start to fight now. That is why we are canceling the weak and soft Joe Biden’s Cancer Moonshot program and putting that money towards finally curing baldness forever.”

In her West Wing office, Kellyanne Conway watches Trump’s entire fifteen minute announcement. The lights are all turned off. And she sobs as she eats an entire can of strawberry cake frosting, scooping it with her fingers.

Illustration by Mikey B. Martinez

Read Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

Goodbye to the Cancer Moonshot was originally published on National Lampoon | The Humor Magazine Est 1970