#so I’ve got the layout down of the tables for each season. but I’m stuck now at the main info section where I want each season ranked by its

[earthpit]

this is so stupid but I’m going crazy over this cute spreadsheet inspiration I saw and now I can’t find it and HOW am I meant to make my episode charts look cute in these conditions

[sylvain-writes]

Cold Pizza (Raphael x Gender Neutral Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, power outage, banter, light angst and fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, Raph can cook <5k words

*

Snow falls gently upon the city outside your window, and it should be calm. You should want to listen to soft jazz or something. You should be sipping tea and enjoying the sight. But instead you're stifling a laugh at the sound of Raphael swearing behind you as he stubs his toe in the dark.

"Shit. Why the hell is that in the middle of the floor?"

"It's a coffee table, Raph. It's in front of the couch same as always." You haven't redecorated the apartment in months, but it's only Raph's second visit. You can't really blame him for not knowing the layout of the place by heart. But he's a ninja, isn't he? Shouldn't he be better at finding his way through the shadows?

The table scrapes against the hardwood floor as he drags it back into place and you snicker into the sleeve of your long-sleeve tee. The building only lost power ten minutes ago but your hands are already getting cold.

The crinkle of the last bag of potato chips gets louder as Raphael comes up behind you. "Don woulda neva let this happen."

"Really?" You huff. "Donatello wouldn't have let the blizzard get so bad that it took down the power lines?"

"Well, he woulda made sure the generator was workin', but no. That's not what I'm talkin' about." He crunched and munched in your ear.

As payback for the purposefully annoying chew, you snagged a chip out of his hand and gnashed your teeth over it hard. Crumbs fell to the ground and he snarled, shaking his head.

"You heathen. This is the last of the food! Your cupboards are bare."

"My cupboards? Ok, grandma..." You don't hide your snicker this time. "There's canned soup and, like, other stuff in the pantry, dude. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"We can't turn on the stove if there's no power, genius."

"It's a gas oven, genius."

"I don't know what difference that makes, Einstein."

"It means all I need is a lighter and I can ignite the gas, Einstein."

"Well, you don't smoke, Edison."

"Valid. But I do have a lighter. It's in a drawer somewhere."

It does take another ten minutes to actually find the lighter, in your nightstand, having been tossed there after you used it to light some candles in your room forever ago. And even after you find it, you set a pot of water to boil only to have Raphael complain that he can't find the pasta you were sure was in the pantry.

"Well, what is in there?" you ask as you light a few more candles around the kitchen.

Raphael places a jar of tomato sauce on the counter, but his tone remains unimpressed. "Flour and shit."

"That's fucking gross."

"You know what I mean." Raphael opened the cabinet door wide. "Flour, sugar, salt... I don't know. Like, a thousand different jars of seasonings you've probably never used ever."

"How do you know I've never used them?"

"Probably because they've all got their plastic seals on?"

"Right. I don't really cook that much."

Raphael gestures to the otherwise empty shelves. "I'm shocked."

"Well..." You pass the jar of tomato sauce you were going to use for the pasta you actually don't have from one hand to the other as you think. "There's gotta be something. Grab the cereal, at least."

The Honey Nut Cheerios barely have a bowl left. It's hard to ignore it when Raphael's stomach growls.

"Ok, ok. Maybe we should order take out?" But as you form the question, you notice something more than hunger and frustration in the way Raphael wraps his arms around himself. "You feeling alright?"

"Sure." Raphael shrugs, and though you have to squint in the evening's fading light, you think he looks a little paler than usual.

"Raph?"

He's the master of compartmentalizing and hiding his feelings -- until they bubble over into a fiery mess -- but he's utter crap at suppressing the shiver that runs through his arms while you're staring.

"Dude… you're sick or something."

"I'm not," Raph says, relaxing his arms from around his body to his sides, but his shoulders remain tense. His arms stay tucked tight against his sides. "I'm fine. There's nothin' to say. We're stuck here. Right?"

"Call Donnie."

"He can't… he can't come out in this weather."

"The weather?" The winds had died down. And yeah, the drifts were pretty high in some parts of the city, but it was dark enough that- "Are you too cold?"

Raphael shrugs.

You move closer to him, reaching out, and his arm under your hand feels cold to the touch. "Raph…"

He leans into your touch a second longer than he wants to, chasing the heat as you pull your hand away. You're close friends, but you don't go around holding onto each other or anything. The way he chases the warmth of your hand, the small needy sound in his throat, breaks you inside.

"It’s why we got generators at the lair. They mostly run on street power Donnie got hooked up, but… don't do so well in the cold, y'know?"

"Shit. I'm sorry." You turn on another burner and fill another pot of water. "Can you, uh, get in touch with D? I know there's a way to get the oven going but I, er, don't wanna blow up the apartment in the process."

Raph nods and you notice another shiver. He hunches in on himself as he thumbs out a text to his brother.

While he's occupied, you rush over to the living room and grab a blanket from the couch. You're not sure he wants to admit just how cold he is, so you don't wrap it around his shoulders yourself, but you place it on the counter with purpose and head into the bedroom to find a heavier sweater for yourself. And some socks. You definitely need to double up your socks. And shit, maybe you should offer Raph some socks too.

But what the hell socks do you have that'll fit him?

You grab the comforter from your bed and hug a pair of pillows to your chest. The way to the livingroom causes you to stumble and you know you're not looking the cutest you've ever looked when you crash into the couch with your load, but you manage to grunt like a buffoon when you bounce off the couch cushions and land hard on the floor.

"Graceful." Raphael says from the kitchen counter. He saunters over, wrapped up in the blanket, wearing it like a shawl and looking ever so much like a reptilian version of the big bad wolf pretending to be grandma.

"My, what big eyes you have." You kid, and you smirk, but color blooms high on Raphs cheeks and you watch him duck his head just a bit as he tries not to break your gaze.

"They um… they're the same as always , y'know?"

From there on the floor, you look up at him and wonder when he became so shy. He's been your best friend for ages. He's muscles and bravado. He's a ninja skill set and a heart of gold. He's fire and sugar and the kind of spicy that'll catch you on fire if you stay too close, but you always want to be close to him and you know one day you're going to get burned. It's why you don't touch. It's why you point to the blankets and pillows on the couch and you back away from the pile so he can get them himself.

You know if you get too close. If you let yourself linger near him, you'll stay too long. You'll get burned. What's between you simmers when you keep your distance. That's good. That's better. You don't want him to push you away, so it's better to keep some distance. He hasn't pulled you closer, so you think you're doing the right thing. If you were reading this wrong, there would have been some clue. Someone would have said something. Raph would have said something. He's not one to mince words about what he wants.

He's very much the guy who tells you what he wants when he wants it.

"Don says we can light the pilot and have the gas oven heat the room, but you're gonna have to do it because my hands are too big."

"Know what they say about a man with big hands?"

Raphael crosses his arms over his chest, unamused. "Woulda lit the damn thing myself if my hands were smaller so it don't really matter what people say about big hands. At the moment these big hands are useless."

"Geez, Raph," you scoot around him to get at the oven. "You're not useless. Chrissake."

The oven lights and you crank it up to 500°F. "We can leave the door open a crack and let it warm the room."

"Or we can make pizza."

"Sure. Yeah." You say, dripping with sarcasm. "We could totally learn how to make pizza in the dark with no electricity or ingredients."

"We don't got no ingredients." Exasperated, Raphael throws off the blanket and gestures toward the pantry. "You got spices. Sauce. Flour."

"What about cheese?" Your hands are on your hips and your toe is tapping because you just know he's going to come after your snacks.

"I saw like 7000 Polly-O string cheese things in your crisper drawer-"

"Don't touch my string cheese!" He wouldn't dare.

"We can grate it down for-"

"You monster!"

Raphael is more snarl than laugh when he crows, "You're being ridiculous! I'm making pizza. Are you in?" His gaze narrows and you think he may be serious about tossing you out of the kitchen. "Or are you just in my way?"

As it's the only warm room in the apartment, you're ready to make all the sacrifices necessary to keep your ass in the kitchen.

Raphael and his big hands leave you at a loss as he uses his thick fingers to ever so delicately arrange his phone against the tomato sauce jar. “Sit still ya lil fucker.” With each adjustment he makes, the phone slides down the counter, unwilling to stand in place so that he can read the recipe without getting his phone dirty with sticky doughy hands.

You shouldn’t just stand there watching with a grin, but you really can’t help it. It’s adorable. You really think you may be falling in love with him just watching the way he shifts the phone inch by inch. Then when he finally has the phone in place, he throws his hands up in the air, victory writ large upon his features. His smile is open and wide and it’s such a stark contrast to see him now, his body flooded with joy and warmth as opposed to when he was near frozen, that you can’t help but smile back. You’re a little thrown by just how charming that smile can be. You lock eyes and get stuck. He’s so handsome. He’s so true to himself. He’s just real and raw and he doesn’t care that this is only a tiny victory of some phone vs man vs counter slip ridiculousness. He’s excited and he lets you join him in this celebration because it’s fun and it doesn’t have to mean anything more than fun.

You shake your head as you grab the flour from the pantry and place it on the counter. “One small step for a man, one giant leap toward making a pizza. We actually need to get some ingredients in a bowl, methinks.”

Raphael takes the flour and tears the never opened bag open from the top. He’s obviously never done it before. Flour ends up everywhere and you don’t even bother to tell him that he could have easily unfolded the flour bag and made far less mess.

As you watch his flour dusted face reemerge from the plume of flour, you’re actually glad you didn’t mention it. Or else you wouldn’t have had the chance to see him look so surprised. To surprise a ninja, now that had to be some kind of feat.

Raphael’s green eyes blink at you, stark contrast green from the white floured face around them. His mask is caked in the stuff. You laugh as you reach forward. “May I?”

He hasn’t really said yes, but he’s spoken no objection either, so you slide the mask over his head and dust it off before laying it on the counter.

Seeing him without his mask is always a pleasure. One of the small pleasures you don’t mention out loud. Like standing too close, it runs the risk of being burned. Something Raphael could take away if you make too big a deal of it. So, you try not to stare, while simultaneously trying to memorize every bump and slope of his features.

“You’re a real mess,” you say, wiping Raph’s cheek with a clean hand. “How much of this flour are we gonna lose before you whip up dinner, huh?”

Raphael has been staring at you. He hasn’t even been paying attention to your words. In fact, he’s not sure you’re speaking. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion because your hands are reaching toward him for the second and third time today and that never happens. That never happens and Raph knows for sure because he pays attention to that sort of thing. He notices when you come close because he waits for it. He wishes for it. He clocks each step you take toward him and bites back a pout each time you pull away.

When your hands reach for his mask, he doesn’t know what to say, so he stays still. And you unmask him. And the world doesn’t stop turning, but it sure feels like all of the air has been sucked from the room. But you’re smiling, so he knows nothing bad has happened.

You’re smiling so the world is still spinning.

His mask is in your hands and flour is falling to the floor like weightless raindrops and he can almost make out your laughter past the sound of his own thoughts. There’s nothing Raphael loves more than his time with you. The sound of your voice. The curve of your smile. The barely visible sunburst of silver under the pigment of your iris.

He shouldn’t know about that design. He shouldn’t pay such close attention to your eyes that it would be plastered in his memory. But he has. He does. He watches you when you’re not paying attention. When you’re playing around with his brothers or working at your computer. He watches the light reflect off your eyes. He could map the lines of your irises. And that’s probably weird. He’s no artist. He knows that. He can’t do flowery words or paint a picture. But he has a mind like a steel trap. He remembers everything about you.

So, when you tease him about making dinner, he knows you’re probably thinking about your own lack of culinary experience. You’re worried about screwing things up and probably relieved that Raphael is a little clumsy himself.

Raph uses this to his advantage, to make things a little easier for you. With a kind smile, he points to the cabinets. “I need a mixing bowl and some measuring cups. Oil, salt, and sugar. And yeast. We need yeast.”

“Yeah. OK. Like I have fucking yeast up in this bitch.”

Raphael hums and turns. He’s pretty sure he saw something that looked suspiciously like yeast in the cabinet. And there, on the row with all of the other unused herbs and spices, was a jar of the stuff. “You really suck at this.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Don’t I know it.” There’s no way to argue around it.

Taking orders from Raphael isn’t a turn on or anything. You’re not getting goosebumps from his praise or hanging on his every word like it’s the air that you breathe. But he’s standing close and the way his breath is warmer than the air around you makes your blood feel like it’s thrumming through your veins a little more quickly tonight than it was just minutes ago.

Standing in front of the open oven is hot work. You don’t know much about dough, but you’ve watched enough Great British Bake Off to know this rise is going to happen fast in the hot kitchen.

“We should close the oven door,” you suggest. “Get the inside temperature right and let the dough do it’s thing before we shape it and sauce it up and stuff.”

“Wow, that’s a lotta we talk. You sure you’re up to the task? Thought you were taking more of a supervisory role, here.”

“I grated the cheese, didn’t I?”

“You made more wine than cheese, sweetheart.”

“Yes, well, it was my favorite snack.”

“It’s sacrifice will be worth it.”

The pizzas only took about ten minutes in the oven before the dough was crispy, the cheese not quite burned, and the sauce was bubbly hot. Raphael moved them onto the bare countertop to cool. “So, we keepin’ the oven on or?”

“Of course we can.” You glance at the oven and then at the pile of blankets and pillows in the living room. “Can’t we?”

“I could ask Don? Seems like the power could be out all night. Not sure we should leave the oven on indefinitely.”

“Well… we’ll figure that out after we eat, I guess.”

Eating was weird. You sat close, sharing the light of a candle to make sure you weren’t dripping sauce all over yourselves. Your elbows nudged each other as you moved and you had to stop yourself from shifting further away each time. It would look suspicious. You weren’t close because you wanted to be, because you desired to be as close to Raphael as physically possible without fear of your feelings being known… you were sitting elbow to elbow with him now because you needed to. He wasn’t going to read anything into it.

“You have sauce on your chin.”

“I what?”

“Sauce,” Raphael said, quieter than you expect from him. Perhaps he worries about shouting in your face. Things do seem louder in the dark. So then why does he sound like he’s whispering?

“Oh. Yeah. The sauce is good, Raph. You, uh, know your way around that spice rack.”

“Nah, I mean…” Raphael shakes his head good naturedly and sighs before lifting his thumb to your chin. He takes your face in his hand as he drags his thumb over your chin, wiping your skin clean with a smooth drag of his thumb.

“Raph?” You suck in a breath and you catch his gaze. He’s squinting at you as you struggle to make sense of his sudden closeness.

When he pulls away, you watch as he wipes his hand on his shorts. “You had sauce. Ya know? It was uh, just there.”

“Oh!” You wipe at the spot Raph has already cleaned, your cheeks and ears growing hot. “I… thanks.”

“Yeah, no prob.” Raphael clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. He’s still not wearing his mask, so each twitch of his eyes is out in the open. But you wonder if it’s a trick of the light, him looking embarrassed and unsure.

“The blankets and stuff. I was gonna say we should tuck under them. I don’t know about you, but that oven’s been off for a minute and I’m already feeling like-”

“The blankets are good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Raph says, swallowing hard. “The cold makes me a little tired, you know?”

You shrug. You suppose it makes sense. You feel a little tired yourself. “You could sleep. Do you mind if I share the couch with you? That’s my stuff from my room.”

“No. I mean, yeah. I mean. I don’t mind sharin’. Donatello says humans run hot?”

“Compared to you?” You know you probably shouldn’t joke about something like this when Raphael was vulnerable, but you always joke about everything. To not joke about this feels like it would make things worse, make them mean more, give the vulnerability more weight than if you treat it the same as everything else. “Yeah. I guess. We’re warm-blooded.” It feels weird to refer to humans as we and the turtles as they. You rarely think of yourself as different from them. You haven’t thought of them as other than the guys for so long. “It’s um…”

“Yeah, so, like sharing would be fine. It’s cool.”

“You wanna use my body, Raph? That what this is about? You tryin’ to steal my heat? My human fire?”

“Are you kidding?”

“About mi fuego humano?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Baby you can light my fire.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You wanna sleep with a stranger! For shame!”

“Don’t slut shame me. I never slut shame you.”

“Yeah ok, sure, dude.”

“What? I don’t.”

“Uh, you crap on every guy I’ve ever been out with.”

“No, I don’t. No I haven’t.”

Suddenly all the joking isn’t fun. Because if Raphael can’t see how hard you’ve tried to get over him. How hard you’ve tried to move past your feelings for him, feelings that he so very clearly does not reciprocate, then you really don’t want to play this game anymore.

You stand up and move to the couch. You won’t deny him your body heat if that’s what he needs, but you don’t think you can carry on this conversation. By the time he gets to the blankets, they’ll be warm, you think. Then maybe you can have a minute to yourself.

Raphael follows you to the living room in quiet contemplation. “I hate the guys you date.”

“Great. They were real winners anyway so, thanks for running them off. Never did stand a chance with them.”

“They weren’t good enough for you.”

“Pfft.” He doesn’t get it. None of them were good enough, yeah. Because every guy you’ve ever talked to, ever listened to talk about their hobbies and dreams and hopes and family, every guy who has ever taken an interest in you, you’ve compared to Raphael. And every one of them has come up short.

“You know how good you are? Like, a good person. Not like 'tries to be good' or 'does the right thing' kinda good…”

“Gee thanks, big guy. I’m blushing.”

Raphael turns to face you on the couch, his back braced against the arm rest and honest to god shoves you with his bare foot. You can’t help but notice his toes are ice cold. “What I’m saying is you’re the 'real' good. A good heart. You do the wrong shit for the right reasons kinda good. You hurt because you care, yet you still care.”

You let Raph ramble because you don’t know what you’d say if you stopped him, if you acknowledge the things that he says. You let Raph ramble and you pull his ice cold foot into your lap under the blankets. You warm it in your hands. Maybe it should be gross. He’s been walking around the apartment since early this afternoon barefoot. But it’s just feet. Just skin. Just flesh and bone and it’s all so cold between your palms.

Raphael scoots down against the armrest, just a little so that his foot is resting comfortably in your lap. He turns away from you to look at an alert on his phone, all the while still talking about how good you were when you tried to help Leo with his attempt to try every flavor of Pringles that you could find at the gas station mini mart. It was a valiant attempt and Leo didn’t want to do it alone. You both ended up with pretty bad indigestion, but it was fun and Raphael had seemed extra happy to see Leo making a friend and being a total idiot with you.

“Donatello says the power should be up and running again sometime tonight. There was an update on the website or something.”

“They give updates on this shit?”

“I guess?”

Your hands move to Raphael’s other foot as you nod. “I don’t really like the guys I date either,” you admit aloud. “It’s not that I set out ready to dump them, it’s just that they don’t interest me. I try to get to know them, I try to let them get to know me. But it goes nowhere. I don’t get that feeling, you know?”

Raphael’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t answer.

You think maybe he doesn’t know that feeling. Maybe he doesn’t feel romantic attraction the way you do. “Raph, have you ever-”

“I don’t like it.”

You nod, thinking you’ll get more out of him if you stay silent. But when he doesn’t elaborate, you realize you have to say something. “You don’t like…”

“All those guys goin’ out with ya. They don’t know ya. They don’t treat ya the way ya should be treated.”

“Really? How do they treat me?”

“Like… like… They don’t let ya let go. I see ya going off with them and you go quiet or you laugh too loud.”

“I’m too quiet. I’m too loud. Which is it, Raph?”

“You deserve somebody who lets ya have fun. You make jokes and goof off and sometimes yeah it’s cause you’re nervous but mostly it’s cause ya have funny shit goin’ on in ya head and ya wanna let me in on the joke.”

You nod. You really do think you’re the most hilarious person on the fucking planet. It’d be a shame to keep all the good stuff to yourself. Even so, you don’t share your thoughts with just anybody. Raphael is right, it’s him who you want to let in.

“If I took ya out, it’d be like tonight.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah.” You say thoughtfully, sarcastically, poking fun and rubbing at your chin not caring a whit that you just had Raphael’s feet in your hands. “Like tonight. You’d cut the power to the city so we could freeze our asses off, then set up a super romantic dinner where we eat by candlelight.”

“We’d be laughing. Teasin. I’d make you dinner and if you want fucking candles I’ll light you a fucking candle.”

“And I’d rub your feet to thank you for making me such a delicious dinner.”

“Yeah. I deserve some pampering.”

“What about me? I don’t deserve to be pampered?”

“I just made you a romantic dinner with candles and all that shit.”

“Hypothetically. Yet here I am, literally rubbing your feet.”

“So what do you want, you want a foot rub for you too? Huh? You want a little shoulder rub cause you worked so hard watching me work my ass off in the kitchen?”

You pinch his ankle surprised he can feel anything when it all feels like rock solid muscle. Instead of answering with words, you give him a wry grin and move around a bit under the blankets. You relax into his chest, lying your head over his heart and settling your body between his and the pillows. “You’re a real smartass.”

Beneath you, Raphael lies still.

“This OK?”

Raph shifts a bit, you feel his hands rise and fall. “I don’t really know what to do with my hands.”

You hum and nod your head against Raphael’s chest. You reach blindly for Raph’s arms, one by one, and wrap them over your back. “Don’t have to do anything.”

Raphael relaxes a little at the news. He ducks his head low and you think you can feel him breathe you in. He rests his cheek on the top of your head before asking, “This that body heat thing?”

You nuzzle his chest, allowing yourself to slip under his arm a bit. Better position for falling asleep. “Yeah,” you say. “Sure.”

Raphael squeezes his arms around you, but he doesn’t say anything. You have to ask or you won’t be sure. Even if it means getting burned. Even if it means you’ve put too much meaning into things and you’re going to be pushed away, you have to know.

“This is more than a body heat thing. For me.” You bury your face in his chest as you wait for his response. At least, for a few seconds longer, you can pretend his heart is beating for you.

“When I take you on a proper date, there’s gonna be tables and napkins. And maybe something fancy to drink...”

“And then-”

“This. And then, this.”

“I like this.”

“Me too.”

[freelancer-chronicles]

The first story!!

Faye hung weightless, bodiless, observing the distant tangled lights of minds awake across Bastion. Cyphers just like her listened for incoming messages, crunched numbers, and organized data into archives. Maybe they were linked to Freelancers or Sentinels in javelin suits, flying at high speeds through the cold night air. A feeling of familiarity nagged at her. She knew she’d done this before she’d gone to the Cenotaph, but couldn’t think why, nor what she’d been looking for in the darkness. As if those actions belonged to someone else.

Faye turned away from the lights and listened to the Gateway, the susurration of Shaper instruments doing their strange and unknowable work, and the distant background thrum of the Anthem of Creation behind everything. Somewhere, in the quietest part of the darkness, she knew she could find them. Impressions, like footprints in drying mud, of her own thoughts left in this space. Her own mind. Her own memories. If she just listened hard enough…

Another sound—louder, discordant, demanding—scraped across her concentration.

What? She tensed. The noise repeated, and she brought it into focus.

Someone nearby was singing an Icetide song. Loudly. And without any regard to tempo, key, or melody. Faye could, in fact, only identify the noise as an Icetide song by the repeated refrain of, “Icetide chill! Icetide chill!”

She pulled the threads of her consciousness back to her body, opened her eyes, and sighed. The world reformed itself around her, coalescing into the strider’s amplifier room, barely wide enough for two people to stand side-by-side, now with… strings of multicolored lights hung all over it, shining in the gloom and illuminating the close walls and low, rusted metal ceiling.

Faye shut down the amplifier and climbed out of the chair, which had been covered with paper snowflakes while she was connected. Because of course it had. The singing, if it could really be called that, was coming from down below her in the cargo hold.

She followed the trail of paper decorations and tuneless singing out into the galley kitchen, edged around the table—dislodging a couple of Haluk’s forgotten breakfast dishes—down a narrow flight of stairs, and found Haluk at the forge, which had been bedecked in more colored lights and paper snowflakes, working on his armor and singing at the top of his lungs. His javelin was remarkably free of Icetide décor, but the boisterous ex-Freelancer, who in all the years she’d known him had never once worn a shirt, was sporting a knitted cap adorned with the most enormous Freelancer-yellow pom pom as a concession to the cold weather.

“Hmmm-hmmm when there’s ice on the ground, scars and skorpions aren’t around, and hmmm-hmmm-hmmm-hmmm, Icetide chill! Icetide chill!”

Haluk did a little dance as he switched out his pliers for a screwdriver.

“Haluk.” Faye crossed her arms and waited. He slowly looked up from the javelin.

“Hey, you’re back! What do you think of the decorations?” He gestured proudly around the hold with the screwdriver, beaming.

“Very…” Faye hesitated while friendship and taste went to war in her head. They reached a tentative ceasefire. “Festive. Did you make all these snowflakes yourself?”

“Well, most of them. I may have gotten the rookie to help with a few.” He set down his tools and leaned against the forge to take the weight off his bad leg. “Was I making too much noise?”

Faye sighed. “It’s not so much the amount as the quality.”

“Are you trying to say my singing is less than perfect?” Haluk put on an expression of exaggerated shock.

“It might help if you learned the words. Or the melody. Or literally any other part of the song.”

“Critic.” Haluk laughed. “All right, fine. I’ll try to keep it down.” His eyes took on a far-away look and he sighed, “You know Icetide is completely different in the Mirelands, right?”

Faye did, of course. She’d heard Haluk make this speech at least half a dozen times. “Yeah, it’s this big, somber reflection on the previous year, and a lot of preparing to face the future.”

He gave a small chuckle. “Not a lot of caroling, you know? So… you got plans?”

“Well…” She paused. This was a test, and she knew it. Ever since they had silenced the Cenotaph, her mind wandered. Or reality did. Faye couldn’t always tell. She could see Haluk trying and failing to hide his concern, watching her to see if she remembered what day it was, what year, his name. She tried to recall what she had done for past holidays and felt something within her stir. “I do have the tapes for this year’s Dawnguard Icetide special. I’ve been saving them for the right moment.”

Emotions rushed across Haluk’s face, struggling for space. Amusement, horror… surprise elbowed the others out and stayed there. “How’d you get your hands on that? It hasn’t even aired in Antium yet.”

Faye beamed. She’d been waiting for months to brag about this. “My friend on the staff sent it to me. They recorded it months ago, they just hold it in reserve until the weather turns. You never know for sure when Icetide will start, after all.” She would have gone on, but Haluk was starting to fidget with his cane, a sure sign he wanted to leave. She asked, knowing the answer in advance, “Do you want to listen to it with me?”

“No thanks.” It came out almost apologetic. Almost. “I’ll be heading out soon, anyway. You can,” he hesitated slightly as everything he was about to say was a lie, but was nonetheless required to maintain the Contract of Friendly Roommates, “tell me all about it later, right?”

“Absolutely,” Faye promised, knowing she would under no circumstances attempt any such thing.

Haluk nodded, relieved that the contract was thus upheld and he’d gotten off the hook of listening to Faye’s radio shows, and headed up to the strider cockpit, leaving Faye alone in the hold. She took a deep breath, savoring the quiet. For a moment, she thought the dim cargo hold lit with strings of lights had started to come apart at the seams. Light poured in through the cracks in the world, and a pattern emerged like sound waves rippling through the planes of the room.

It only lasted a moment. The strider engine coughed, sputtered, turned over, and the hold tilted and swayed as the legs began to move. Reality returned with the rhythmic thunder of the feet hitting the ground and shuddering through the hull.

Tea. Tea would help. Faye went upstairs to the kitchen to start the kettle. Then she retrieved her magnetic tape player from her footlocker and set it up on the table. By the time her tea was ready, the strider had reached its destination. Silence settled over the cabin.

She pushed play.

Music blared, and Faye hummed along with it before the narrator’s voice crackled over the tape. “Antium’s elite lancers answer to no one—except the Emperor, Himself. Between the dark of night and the light of day, stands the Dawnguard. The season of Icetide is upon us. What will the chill winds bring for our heroes this time?”

Faye leaned forward in her seat, sipping her tea as the familiar voice of Walker, the Dawnguard leader, came on the tape. “Gather round, Freelancers. We have a mission.” Faye always pictured Walker as a grizzled javelin-armored version of her own mother. Dark skinned, dark-haired, and hewn entirely from steel. An unfamiliar treble voice joined hers. “Members of the Dawnguard, my name is Cypher Mirron."

Faye tensed. Why were they adding a new cypher? Cypher Rada had been with the series for the past five seasons. Rada was Faye’s favorite character. She braced herself for any number of bad one-off-special story twists.

“If this ends up being a dream,” Faye muttered warningly, “I’m chucking this tape directly over Tarsis Falls.”

The new cypher continued, “I have come directly from Corvus with news of most critical importance.”

Suddenly, a reverberating clang sounded through the strider. A motor in the cargo bay squealed painfully, lowering the elevator from the strider rooftop. Faye winced and stopped the tape.

She looked over the railing into the hold. Two javelins stepped off the lift into a space which, any sane person could tell, was not designed to contain even one javelin. The first was a Ranger whose armor was decorated with pink flame decals. The second was an Interceptor painted to look like it was covered in phiranix scales. They peered around the room in a nervous manner, shuffling their steel feet and trying without success to avoid bumping into each other or knocking down any of the decorations hanging perilously close to their heads. The Interceptor had already managed to get a paper snowflake stuck to their arm, elbowing the Ranger in the chest while trying to remove it with their oversized metal hands.

Haluk shouted from the top of the stairs to the cockpit. “All right, Freelancers! Let’s make this quick!”

“Haluk.” Faye managed to put into that one word the possibility that she might save her friend the trouble of climbing all the stairs by flinging him over the railing.

Haluk paused midway through the kitchen. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll get them outside so they won’t bother you.” He stomped quickly down the rest of the way to the hold.

Faye stared intently at the cabinet across from her, drumming her fingers on her teacup.

“Don’t get too cozy.” Haluk's voice boomed up from the bay. “I’m getting my suit and we’re going right back out. No sense trying to learn the layout of the track in here.”

This was followed up by a great deal of grunting as he climbed into his Colossus, with more nervous foot shuffling from the two lancers waiting for him. The thunderous clunking of Haluk’s armor stepping off the forge announced that he had at least made his Gateway connection well enough to move this time.

“Now,” Haluk’s voice came out filtered through his helmet, “when we get out there, remember, stay loose and ready for anything.” A pause. “What is it, Verder?”

Faye hazarded a glance down at them.

The already-crowded space was entirely overwhelmed by Haluk’s massive Colossus suit, which was draped in a string of lights he’d accidentally pulled down while exiting the forge. The Ranger lowered a raised hand, and an alto voice filtered out of the helmet uncertainly. “Uh… how do you stay ready for anything? That’s… a lot of things.”

Another pause. Then Haluk said, in what Faye recognized as his most diplomatic tone, “You know what? We’ll work on that. Come on, Ardsley, you go first.” He nodded toward the lift.

“Me?” The voice from the fish-scaled Interceptor was tenor and a little aggrieved. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

The lift motor engaged again, the squeal even more shrill with three javelins to move. Faye shut her eyes as though hoping she could block out the sound that way. A final clang resonated through the strider as the lift stopped.

Silence.

Faye set down her tea, which had gone cold. She took a deep breath and held it, waiting. Haluk inevitably forgot something. Or one of those Freelancers would come back to use the lavatory. Something.

After another beat of silence, she let out her held breath and pushed play.

“…To answer the Emperor’s concern—” the perpetually worried voice of Lancer Hawking was mid-sentence when Faye stopped the tape again, irritated. She’d missed something. She rewound and hit play again.

The intro music blared again. “Antium’s elite lancers answer to no one—except the Emperor, Himself. Between the dark of night and the light of day, stands the Dawnguard. The season of Icetide is upon us. What will the chill winds bring for our heroes this time?”

The new cypher character began their introduction again, “Members of the Dawnguard—"

The strider’s intercom came to life with a loud burst of static, and Faye narrowly resisted the urge to fling her teacup at it.

“Hey, Faye?” Haluk’s twice-filtered voice sounded vaguely apologetic. “Sorry about this. Could you go up to the cockpit and turn up our transmitter? Our signal keeps cutting in and out.”

Faye stopped the tape again with a sigh and rose to her feet. The stairs at the other end of the kitchen led up to the narrow cockpit. This, more than any other part of the strider, was Haluk’s room, and it appeared as though Icetide had exploded in it. Haluk had left a stack of unfinished paper snowflakes and a box of tinsel in the driver’s seat, and the control panel was now festooned with plush korox dolls and more colored lights. A knit scarf, easily four meters long, had been stuffed under the console, and Faye could not even begin to fathom what that had been for. Was he going to dress his javelin in it? She found the transmitter board and cranked the power up. Then she turned to use the intercom, which had paper korox cutouts stuck over it.

She stabbed the intercom button hard enough that she nearly bruised her finger. “Done.” Faye’s voice came out much more annoyed than she’d intended.

Another loud crackle from the intercom. “Thanks, Faye! Sorry again for the trouble.”

She cast another glance at the holiday chaos of the cockpit, gave a sigh of disgust, and descended the stairs to the kitchen.

Faye glowered at the tape player and hit rewind again. She needed more tea. And snacks. Why was she even attempting this without snacks? She put the kettle on again and waited for it to boil.

In the silence of the kitchen, patterns seemed to emerge from the faces of the cabinets and the floor, rippling along to an unheard sound. Faye squeezed her eyes shut to keep the patterns out. If she didn’t watch them, she wouldn’t hear it, right? She held her breath, hoping, as the chthonian notes of the Anthem of Creation thrummed through the strider kitchen, shivering through her feet and up her spine.

The kettle whistled loudly and clicked off. Faye opened her eyes, slowly releasing the breath she’d been holding. She rose unsteadily, poured herself a new cup of tea, and carried it with exaggerated caution back to the table. She returned to her seat as though fearing she might fall through the chair.

She pushed play.

The lift screamed in protest and Faye immediately stopped her tape again.

Haluk stomped his massive Colossus over to the forge.

Faye moved to lean on the railing, watching him struggle, red-faced, out of the suit, and a warning went off in her mind. “Trouble?” she asked, a hundred angry comments drying up unvoiced.

“Suit problems.” Haluk waved angrily at the empty Colossus which they both knew worked perfectly. “The Gateway connection comes and goes. The limbs started locking up, and then I lost the transmitter. I should find a better use for this old hunk of junk.” He picked up his cane and started up the stairs. “Like a coat rack, or a trash can.”

“It would make an excellent paperweight,” Faye agreed, honoring the terms of the Contract of Roommates, watching her friend take out his frustration with himself by stomping as much as possible on each individual stair. Helpfully, she added, “or a planter, perhaps? Fill it with ferns, it would brighten up the whole strider.”

Haluk guffawed, shaking his head. “Well, I’m going to try to keep on the radio with those kids.” He paused in the stairwell to the cockpit and looked sheepish. “Sorry… again. For all the interruptions.”

“You’d better be.”

“I’ll make it up to you!” Haluk shouted down to her from partway up the stairs. “We get back to Fort Tarsis, I’ll buy you an order of those dumplings you like.”

“Make it two.” She sat back down at the table, and restarted her tape.

“Antium’s elite lancers answer to no one—except the Emperor, Himself. Between the dark of night and the light of day, stands the Dawnguard. The season of Icetide is upon us. What will the chill winds bring for our heroes this time?”

“Gather round, Freelancers—"

Sure enough, the strider’s engines reluctantly turned over and the cabin began to sway with the thumping of the feet on the ground. With a sigh of infinite frustration, Faye stopped the tape again. She stared at the floor beside her feet, silently rehearsing the argument she was about to begin with her roommate.

Cracks opened up in the floor, with light pouring out of them. Strange, cold light in which she thought she could see shapes moving.

“Sorry, Faye.” Haluk crackling over the intercom drove away the vision. “There’s a mountain or something getting in the way of the radio signal. Trying to find a better spot.”

Relief and annoyance fought a short, brutal battle in her head. No victor was declared. Slowly, deliberately, Faye rose to her feet. She walked through the swaying cabin, climbed the stairs, and reached Haluk as he brought the strider to a halt. As he disconnected himself from the Gateway, pulling his consciousness out of the strider and back into his body, she grabbed a plush korox from the control panel and threw it as hard as she could at him. It struck him square in the chest with a wheezy squeak and bounced onto the floor.

“Faye!” Haluk looked startled, and he half-rose from the driver’s seat. “Listen, I’ll make it up to—”

She waved for him to stop. “No. Enough.” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Do you want me to coordinate… whatever this is you’re doing?”

“Nah, I don’t want to bother you.” Haluk, to his credit, looked immediately embarrassed once the words had left his mouth. “More than… I already have, I guess.”

Faye took a breath to snap at him, then let it out again. “It's no problem. I’ll fire up the amplifier.”

Maybe she couldn’t remember past holidays. She would remember this one.

Haluk sat back down, looking relieved. He leaned over the radio. “Hey, you two, can you hear me? Hang tight a second. We’ve got a cypher incoming.”

Faye walked back to the amplifier and climbed into the chair. The connection engaged and the threads of her consciousness rushed out of her body, the enclosed strider cabin, its colored lights and paper decorations dissolving into the vastness of the Gateway. In the darkness, she could see the twinkling lights of Haluk reconnecting to the strider and the two rookie Freelancers in their javelins. She reached out and touched them, drawing them into her mind, and was soon looking out at the snow falling in Bastion through two sets of eyes and the strider’s optics. She could smell the ice on the wind and feel frost forming on the skin of the strider. The world felt so close and so real.

“All right, Freelancers,” she said, “let’s get to work.”

Through the Gateway, profoundly out of tune, Haluk started humming an Icetide carol. After a moment, Faye sent him the words.

Special thanks to John Dombrow, Ryan Cormier, Cathleen Rootsaert, Jay Watamaniuk, Karin Weekes.

[odaatlover]

Author Q&A

Q: What’s your sexual orientation? 

A: I identify as gay. 

Q: Which country are you from? 

A: The United States - more specifically the southeast. 

Q: Sometimes the level of detail and realism in the fic amazes me to no end. So I was wondering if you had taken inspiration on personal experiences or some real life people to write any scenes or describe some details? 

A: Thank you! I have taken a few things from my own life – most of it being the more sexual stuff – but for the most part I’m just putting myself into the mindset of these characters and just writing as if I am them. I’m a very empathetic person, and it’s incredibly easy for me to put myself into ‘other people’s shoes’, so to speak. So because of that, I am able to write as if I am actually Nicole, or Waverly, or whoever is speaking in the moment. I do it for every single character in my story. It’s kind of fun, because it’s almost like acting! I will say that the only character I feel that’s a little different in my story than in the show is Dolls. I think in the show he’s a little more “to the point”, but in my story he’s a bit more easy going and laid back. That wasn’t a conscious decision, it just sort of happened that way. But I feel like if he wasn’t an agent that was trained to eradicate paranormal forces, he would be more laid back like that anyways, so it works out! 

Q: Last movie you watched? 

A: The Miseducation of Cameron Post, and it was VERY good. Chloë Grace Moretz’s acting in the film is incredible. It’s very realistic and eye-opening, and I definitely recommend buying/renting it and supporting the queer woman who wrote and directed it! 

Q: What do you usually use to write your fanfictions? 

A: I use Word on my laptop, and when I’m out and get a sudden burst of inspiration I’ll pull up the Notes app on my phone and start writing. The Notes app is great because it’s linked to my laptop as well, so when I get home I can just pull up the app on my computer and everything is there from my phone, so I just copy and paste it into my Word document! Technology is great. 

Q: What does a typical day look like for you? 

A: I wake up, take my wife to work, go to my job where I teach some kids how to play percussion instruments, come home to do something creative (writing, creating music, playing an instrument, etc.), pick my wife up from work, do something with her – usually either watching TV or playing a board game, go to sleep. 

Q: What’s your favorite thing to write? 

A: Most of the time, smut. Which is why there’s so much of it in my story! But I also really enjoy writing the humorous stuff as well. 

Q: Favorite WayHaught kiss? 

A: Their first one…it was a really good first kiss 😏 

Q: Do you already have in mind other fics for the future? 

A: Actually, I’m in the process of writing one right now! It’s a WayHaught high school alternate universe story in which Waverly is a cheerleader and Nicole is a basketball player who transfers to Purgatory High in the middle of sophomore year (10th grade). The story focuses on Waverly and Nicole figuring out who they are as young adults, discovering their sexuality, and exploring their bodies – as teenagers do. The goal is to make it as true as possible to being a teenager in 2019, for all of the teens out there that are stuck in high school and need something to relate to. I feel like a lot of the high school fics are a bit outdated, or don’t “go there” enough to touch on the “uncomfortable” or “taboo” topics. And you better believe that this fic will! I’m getting close to halfway through with it – about 10 chapters so far – and have been working on it for the past month. I will begin posting that when I’ve completed it, so be on the lookout! If you’re interested in helping me out with some plotline ideas for it, you can fill out this survey here… https://www.opinionstage.com/odaatlover/wayhaught-high-school-fanfiction-topics-calling-all-teens-or-anyone-interested-in-providing-ideas 

Q: What’s your favorite holiday? 

A: Pride! …does that even count as a holiday? If not, then I’ll say Christmas. 

Q: What’s your favorite kind of date night? 

A: Something where we can converse pretty easily. Maybe dinner or walking around somewhere. 

Q: Do you brainstorm chapters before you write them? 

A: Sometimes I’ll have a layout. For example, this is the exact brainstorming layout I have written out in my notes app for the next chapter… 

Chapter 55 – (title?) 

- Dolls asks Nicole for advice on a date he has planned 

- Nedley asks Nicole to go “undercover” to find out what’s going on with Chrissy in her life 

- Waverly surprises Nicole with a romantic homemade dinner. They talk about their day, Waverly asks Nicole some questions about her past. 

There’s a little sneak peek for you guys 😉 But other than that, all of the dialogue just kind of flows naturally. There have been a couple of chapters where I didn’t have a layout at all and just let the words flow out of my brain, but most of the time I have an idea of the main plots of the chapter. 

Q: Waverly or Nicole? 

A: I relate more to Nicole, but I find Waverly to be more attractive. 

Q: Do you have any siblings? 

A: I have a sister who is 3 ½ years older than I am. 

Q: What color are your eyes? 

A: Blue. And they’re very sensitive to sunlight. I spend most of my life squinting. 

Q: Do you ever get writer’s block? 

A: Yes! Quite often, actually. Which is why your survey answers in regard to “The Grind” have been so helpful! Also, those who comment on my fic with ideas of things they want to see help too. Any time I get writer’s block, I’ll either read some fics to draw inspiration from, or I’ll just start writing something that’s completely different, just to get the creative juices flowing. Often when I have writer’s block and aren’t sure where to take the story, I’ll just do a random smutty chapter for the week. Hope you all are okay with that 😉 If you haven’t filled it out yet, you can find that survey here… https://www.opinionstage.com/odaatlover/the-grind-reader-survey 

Q: Lipstick or chapstick? 

A: If you’re asking which type of lesbian I am, chapstick. If you’re asking which one I prefer on my lips…chapstick. 

Q: Favorite concert you’ve ever been to? 

A: Blue Man Group! Although, I will say that I went to Taylor Swift’s Reputation tour back in August with my wife who is obsessed with her, and although I’m not crazy about her music, I’ll admit that the girl can perform. I thought I was going to hate it, but I actually really enjoyed it. 

Q: Is there a specific place that you write? 

A: Most of the time I just write at my house - either at the table or sometimes on the couch in my living room, but occasionally I like to go to the Barnes & Noble at the mall close to us and write there. My wife and I will go together and we’ll just sit at the same table – me writing and her reading a book – while we occasionally steal glances at each other and kick each other’s feet. It’s pretty great. 

Q: What superpower would you choose and why? 

A: Shapeshifting, because I genuinely want to know what it’s like to walk through life as other people, more specifically as a man 🤔 

Q: Windows or Mac? 

A: Mac. I have nothing against Windows, but everything I use is Apple and I’m used to it. 

Q: What’s a fun fact about you? 

A: I’m deaf in my right ear and wear a hearing aid, due to having had a lot of ear infections as a kid. Bonus round: I started wearing glasses at age of 2, but stopped needing them at 16 because my eye doctor said that my glasses corrected my vision and I didn’t need to wear them anymore, so now I’m glasses-free! 🤓 (<-- not me) 

Q: Favorite lesbian YouTuber? 

A: Rose and Rosie! They’re hilarious, and honestly remind me of my wife and myself. 

Q: Describe yourself in three words. 

A: Where’s my wallet? (Always using it, always losing it…) 

Q: What was the #1 song on the radio the day you were born? 

A: *searches song* Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-a-Lot 😂 Classic. 

Q: What languages do you speak? 

A: English and some Spanish. I can understand Spanish better than I can properly speak it. My wife is fluent in both, but her first language is Spanish, so I’m exposed to it often.

Q: Are you a DomKat fan? 

A: I love them! I genuinely enjoy watching their interviews, including the ones with them as individuals (Just Dom or just Kat). I also enjoy listening to the podcasts they’ve been featured in, more specifically Tales Of The Black Badge. I don’t ship them as a couple like a lot of people think they secretly are, but I love their friendship. You can tell they genuinely enjoy each other’s company, which in turn shows through their WayHaught scenes on screen. I love both of them, but I’m a bigger fan of Dominique. She’s just so adorable! 

Q: Do you have any celebrity crushes? 

A: Dominique Provost-Chalkley 😍 But also, Emma Watson. 

Q: What is your favorite season of Wynonna Earp? 

A: I think season 2 is my favorite. I loved season 3, but I liked season 2 better. And season 1 was inevitably them trying to figure things out since they didn’t have any fans yet. 

Q: What’s your least favorite thing about Wynonna Earp? 

A: The violence. They’ve toned it down a bit, which is good, but it was a little too much in the first season, which made it kind of difficult for me to watch. I’m not a huge fan of violence 🙅🏻 

Q: Do you have any other lesbian ships that you like? 

A: Well, I’ve watched the supercuts of pretty much EVERY lesbian ship out there, but I am a big Hollstein (Laura and Carmilla) fan. Spashley (Spencer and Ashley) was the first teen lesbian ship I was exposed to, so that will obviously always hold a special place in my heart. I loved Sanvers (Alex and Maggie), but since it ended I kind of lost interest in that ship. Big Calzona (Callie and Arizona) fan, and am super sad they’re no longer on the show. And I’m currently getting hooked on Avalance (Ava and Sara) now that we’ve just finished season 3 of Legends of Tomorrow. Basically, I’m very gay… 

Q: Do you have any fanfic recommendations? 

A: “From Afar” – Avrilsky. I know it’s popular, but I really enjoyed that one. Also, “How do I wrap my heart up for Christmas” by breezered is short, but sweet. 

Someone asked for me to tell my coming out story, and I’m going to make a separate post about that one tomorrow where I’ll share my story. So if you’re the person who asked me that, don’t worry, your question was not ignored and I will answer it! 

Thank you to all who sent me questions! ❤️

[douxreviews]

Gotham - ‘Nothing's Shocking’ Review

Oswald: "Penn, I think you need some rest...and a psychiatrist!"

What a conflicting and contrasting episode this turned out to be. All I could really muster afterwards was "I think I liked it?" Forgive me though, for I realize how that doesn't sound very promising.

After my viewing of 'Nothing's Shocking', I did some additional reading online afterwards and learned that in the process of developing and filming the initial layout for Season 5, FOX gave Gotham the opportunity to air two additional episodes, allowing Gotham to reach the 100-episode milestone. But this can also be seen as a double-edged sword by some, because since Gotham already had Season 5's resolution set, some of it already well into filming too, their new material for the two episodes - pushed into the slots of 5x08 and 5x09 - couldn't display anything that would contradict or upset the narrative's flow. Enter 'Nothing's Shocking' and presumably next week's 'The Trial of Jim Gordon'. These are sure to be filler-episodes in every sense of the word, but even filler can have its redeeming points. Do they outweigh the shortcomings though?

'Nothing's Shocking's story this week is fractured a tad more than its predecessors, with one plot dedicated to Gordon and Bullock pursuing a shapeshifting cop-killer, one centered around Bruce and Alfred investigating the tunnels Joker had been digging all throughout this season, and a third revolving around Oswald and Nygma having a run-in with the presumed-dead Arthur Penn. Each one features a self-contained villain to this week's episode, and cinematography that makes you feel like someone kept leaving the tripod on an uneven stack of thesauruses. (Hasn't the slanted camera shot become an old chestnut by this point? It's about as overdone as the last word of a pop hook being "tonight".)

We should start with Bruce and Alfred's story first, if only because I have the least to say about that one. As it turns out, there are unknown perpetrators now inhabiting the tunnels Joker's troupe had burrowed, and they've begun preying on innocent civilians. Substratum tunnels and sewers, people's flesh being sought after for consumption, and an eerie snarling that is quick to catch Bruce and Alfred's attention could naturally only allow someone like me to assume this episode was giving us the debut at last of Waylon Jones/Killer Croc, and nothing else. Gotham however decided they could top that easily though and instead revealed that Villain-Of-The-Week No. 1 is just a disfigured cannibalistic average-Joe harmed by the radioactive chemicals Gordon dumped in the river last week as part of his "brilliant" solution to foiling Joker. But I did mention 'redeeming points' earlier and this subplot does have it in the form of Bruce using throwing stars or throwing knives of some sort to save Alfred's skin. It's really nothing more than just another allusion to Batman, but David Mazouz has sold me so much this season on his aesthetic that I think he looks even more menacing without the cowl.

Meanwhile, Villain-Of-The-Week No. 2 is a shapeshifter that's begun killing off retired police officers in the city, and it seems that Gordon and Bullock are their next targets. In the process of the investigation, because Gordon discovers that Bullock and the victims all used to work together in the corrupt manner we saw the GCPD operate in back in Season 1, he immediately decides Bullock can't be trusted or relied on in this investigation, and even goes as far as 'benching' him when they obtain a lead on the killer's address. Even if I were Gordon's number one fan, I would still feel that this was really out-of-character for him. Gordon and Bullock have been through how many battles for Gotham's soul now? How many times have they stuck their neck out for one another? But now because Gordon's gotten to reminiscing about the days when Falcone ruled over the GCPD for just a bit, he decides he doesn't want to have Bullock watching his back in this case? Bullock's theory too that Basil Karlo/Clayface could be the perpetrator (a theory also shared by yours truly) held just as much water as Gordon's theory that the GCPD had a hand in covering up the killer's history.

The killer in question is actually Jane Doe, the first villain since Professor Pyg last season that Gotham's actually gotten me to go online and look up. Similar to Absorbing Man from Marvel Comics, Jane Doe has the ability to mimic other's appearances and mannerisms just by touching them. It's perplexing to me that Gotham would bring in another shapeshifter, toyed with by Hugo Strange while at Arkham no less, when there's already one established in Gotham's mythos. At least she does her part here by reminding the audience that Gotham City's police have the precision of your average Death Star-stormtrooper when it comes to trying to hit a limping target. Bullock feels guilt over his hand in indirectly sending Jane to Arkham and tries to make peace with her, but is forced to gun her down when she retaliates.

The final subplot here was by far the most delightful and enjoyable for me. For context, Oswald and Nygma have begun attempting to build a submarine that can carry them out of the city. While bickering away in their workshop, they are abruptly confronted by Arthur Penn, Oswald's former handyman who was presumably shot and killed at Haven several episodes before. But Penn isn't alone - he's got with him Villain-Of-The-Week No. 3: a ventriloquist dummy named Mr. Scarface who wants to cross Oswald off and make a name for himself as the city's newest mobster. As shoehorned in and almost nonsensical Penn's revival is, I am thrilled that we've finally gotten a live-action debut of The Ventriloquist.

Of all the villains inaugurated into Batman's rouges' gallery in the last three decades, Ventriloquist and Mr. Scarface, popularized heavily by Batman: The Animated Series, have been among my favorites. The schizophrenic nature of Arnold Wesker and the ambiguous notion of whether he was controlling the dummy, or the dummy was actually sentient fit right into the maddened nature of Batman's world. And in Gotham, albeit a little stiff, it's fair to say that Penn (Andrew Sellon) has the voice practically down-pat. Nygma manipulating Penn and Scarface into sparing him and giving Oswald a chance to get the upper hand was brilliant too, though I'd say the showrunners are being a little too meta at this point with the sexual undertones concerning Oswald and Nygma. Oswald remarking that he and Nygma may be meant for each other after all before the two of them laugh it off at the episode's end can be left up to your own interpretation.

So now that Mr. Scarface has taken the stage, with the potential of easily shaping up to be the most entertaining villain Season 5 has introduced - for all of ten minutes - it brings us to what is so conflicting about this episode for me. What do Oswald and Nygma follow through with once they've turned the tables? They kill him - Penn and the dummy both. Even if Gotham's jumbled schedule of filming episodes out of order means that Scarface and Penn can't show up in future episodes, my issue is with the notion in itself of introducing lesser-known rouges to the show. By now, I believe Gotham has abandoned the prequel-shtick, and has committed to being the best full-blown Batman television series it can possibly be with only twelve episodes left. But then what's the point of bringing in future Batman rouges if their fate is just to be axed off, never to face the caped crusader, or even young Bruce Wayne for that matter? Penn and Jane bite the dust here, Magpie in last week's episode, Pyg back in Season 4...starting to see a pattern? I'm not surprised by any means by Penn's fate ('Nothing's Shocking' certainly lives up to its name in that aspect), I'm just truly flummoxed by all these hasty conclusions to Gotham's villain-of-the-week stories. Maybe it's for the better that Bruce and Alfred didn't encounter Killer Croc - it probably spared him the likely fate too of a premature death.

'Nothing's Shocking' works best as an independent, even successfully horror-esque at times segment, but as an episode surrounded by four previous seasons and the legacy of Batman in its future, it's clunky and indispensable. Even as a filler episode, the sense that Gotham City is essentially a wasteland, and ammo and rations are scarce values that was felt in this season's first three or four episodes now feels strangely absent here. I think it's fruitless at this point to continue anymore trying to make sense of Gotham's loony state considering it has the worst case of DID I've seen since Kevin Wendall Crumb graced the big screens.

Aaron Studer loves spending his time reading, writing and defending the existence of cryptids because they can’t do it themselves.

[web-of-lies]

Prologue

Carter

When I walked through the front door of my house the smell of my mother's cooking instantly filled my nose. When I went into the kitchen to see what she was making I was greeted by her warm smile.

"Hey baby girl, I was just about to call you. I made your favorite." She said, gesturing towards the steak she was preparing on the stove. I also noticed that she had prepared loaded baked potatoes and broccoli to go along with it.

"Good because I'm starving!" I exclaimed as I sat on the bar stool next to the island.

"Well the food will be ready soon. How was your day?"

"Pretty good. Me and the girls went to the mall and then we got our nails done." I said, showing off my freshly filled in nails.

"Those look good! We're gonna have to have a nail date one day."

"I'll go if you're paying." I replied jokingly.

"Did you forget I'm making your food? It can get ugly in here real quick." She teased, placing her hand on her hip.

"I'm just kidding Mom."

"You better be. So how are things with Levi?" Levi and I have been together since our sophomore year of high school. He's the first boyfriend I've ever had and my mom is really pressed about it. I've never really been into boys so she was definitely surprised when I brought him home to meet her.

"We're good. We're suppose to go out later."

"Okay, don't have too much fun. I don't want you bringing any babies home." Ever since I started dating Levi almost two years ago my mom has been worried that I would end up pregnant. I swear as soon as I told her I had a boyfriend she made an appointment with my doctor so I could get on birth control. I haven't had sex yet though because I don't want to rush it and I want my first time to be special.

"Trust me. You don't have anything to worry about." I replied truthfully as she carefully flipped the steaks over in the pan. She was about to say something when my father walked though the front door and I felt her whole mood changed. She focused her attention back on the food cooking on the stove as he made his way into the kitchen.

"Hey daddy." I said, greeting him with a hug. He sat his briefcase down on the floor and said "I guess I came home at the right time." He said, eyeing the food. "I can't stay very long though."

"Of course." I heard my mom mumble under her breath as she took the potatoes out of the oven.

"Did you say something?" He questioned. She just shook her head and started seasoning the pot of broccoli.

"How is my baby girl doing?" He asked, turning his attention back to me.

"I'm fine. How was work?"

"Stressful as always. I have to redo an entire construction plan by tomorrow because they decided to change the layout they wanted at the last minute. I'm probably gonna have to stay at the office all night."

"As always." My mom muttered again before she walked pass him to take the food into the dining room. My dad is very passionate about his job as an architect and I can tell my mom resents him for it because he either comes home late from work or he doesn't come home at all. I would like to believe that he really is working but judging but the way his relationship has been with my mom over the past few months I can't help but think that he might be cheating on her. I'm a daddy's girl so I'll always love him no matter what but I'll never look at him the same way if my suspicions are true.

After my mom set the table I went into the dining room to fix myself a plate and my parents did the same. As we ate my mom and dad eyed each other from opposite sides of the table but neither of them spoke a word. They use to be so happy and never seemed to be able to get enough of each other but now they can't stand the sight of one another. They started arguing more, which is something they rarely did before now, and they avoid each other as much as they could. Now they barely speak unless they're yelling at each other about something so our once lively family dinners are now plagued with silence. I was almost done eating when my mother dropped her head and ran her fingers through her curly hair that matched mine.

"You okay Mom?" I asked. The stressed expression she had on her face when she looked up at me caught me off guard because she is the type of person that always had herself together or at least always appeared to be. She took one last glance at my father before turning to look at me again with glossy eyes.

"Your father and I have something we want to talk to you about." I could tell she was holding back tears as my father stayed emotionless on his side of the table. My heart pounded with anticipation as I waited for one of them to say something.

"What's going on?" I looked at both of them for answers until the sound of my father sighing made me shift my attention toward him.

"Carter, I want you to know that I love you and no matter what you'll always be my baby girl." I nodded and waited for him to say more. There was an awkward silence for what seemed like days until he uttered the words "Your mother and I have decided to get a divorce."

When he said that his words echoed in my head over and over as a lump began to form in my throat. Divorce? I can't say that I'm surprised but I was hoping their issues wouldn't lead to this. My parents have been together for nineteen years so you would think since they've spent so much of their lives together they would try to make it work.

"Why?" I replied once I had processed what he just said. My dad looked over at my mother who was still looking down at her lap. "Somebody say something!"

"We just...outgrew each other." My mother said faintly, raising her head slightly to make eye contact with me. I looked at my father for confirmation but his stone-like facial expression remained intact. I started getting frustrated because I felt like there was more to this situation but no one was opening their mouth to say it.

"We're just at different places in our lives now." He added. "I love your mother but I think we're better off apart."

"So this is it? You guys are just giving up before you even try to work it out?"

"We did try-" She managed to say before I cut her off.

"Bullshit!" I yelled as I stood up, knocking my chair over in the process. "All you guys ever do is scream at each other! You can't even stand to be in the same room for more than five minutes!" I turned towards my dad and said "And you're never here!"

"Carter Lewis! Don't you ever talk to me like that again." She scolded. My father maintained his composure as he admitted "That's exactly why we're getting a divorce. We can't even have a civilized conversation without it ending in an argument. We don't even sleep in the same bed anymore. A marriage isn't suppose to be like that."

"What about me? Did you even think about how I would feel about this?" I was fighting back tears now and my dad cold expression quickly softened.

"Of course we did. You were the most important factor in our decision. We thought you would be happier if you weren't stuck in the middle of our drama. Just because me and your mother aren't going to be together anymore doesn't mean that my relationship with you is going to change. I'll come see you as much as you want me to it won't even feel like I'm not around." He said, causing me mother to send him a deathly glare.

"Wait..what do you mean come see me? You're leaving too?" I could tell he regretted letting that piece of information slip out of his mouth.

"No honey, I was going to wait to tell you this but I guess I don't have a choice now." She replied with obvious irritation in her voice. "You and I are moving out at the end of the month."

"What?! What about my friends? My school? I'm about to start my senior year! I don't want to leave!" All of this was happening so fast and I didn't know how to handle it. First I find out my parents are separating and now I have to leave my house and my friends. This is just too much.

"Calm down Carter, it's not that serious. We're not moving far but you will have to go to a new school. You'll still be able to see your friends and you'll be able to make new ones." She tried to reassure me but I didn't want to hear it.

"When were you planning on asking me about this? What if I want to stay here with Dad?"

"Last time I checked I was the parent which means I don't have to ask you to do anything."

"Don't talk to her like that Vanessa." He butted in.

"Oh but you didn't say anything when she was cussing me out." She snapped back.

"Please don't start with me."

"You started with me. I was having a conversation with my daughter and you had something to say about it."

"Because you're being insensitive. You don't care about anyone but yourself-"

"STOP IT! JUST STOP IT" I yelled, causing both of them to stop bickering with each other before I stormed off to my room and slammed the door. I took a deep breath to try to calm myself down but I just felt myself getting more upset. I felt like my whole world was falling apart around me and there was nothing I could do but sink down in the floor and release the tears I could no longer hold back.