#I’m actually just about to go torture myself and watch the newest episode

[crowcryptid]

michaelsoft and 434 when game 💤💤💤

mixersoft and tree fort tree when halo show 🤤🥳🤩

#I’m actually just about to go torture myself and watch the newest episode #check back in 5-8 years when we get the next campaign #snore mimimimi

[reids-rendering-reality]

Guys My Age

Summary: Y/N is the newest addition to the BAU team and Spencer appears to have taken a special liking towards her. The only problem is, he thinks he’s too old for her. However, that’s all about to change when they share a hotel room.

(A/N: I’m such a sucker for the hotel room trope so I combined it with two of my other favourite ideas: Spencer being older than the reader and catching her doing yoga)

Type: fluff + a sexual innuendo or two

Warnings: dirty thoughts, insecurity about age, age gap, anxiety, yoga?

Word Count: 2.1K

Spencer Reid’s POV

I pulled the handle of my satchel over my shoulder as I sighed. It was a very long day in a small rural town somewhere deep in Alabama. Everyone else had gone back to their hotel room, besides Hotch and I. There was just something about this case I couldn’t get out of my mind. The feeling of being so close to the final piece of the puzzle, as if it were on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t grip it. Yet I had to let it go for the night and get some rest. The much needed REM sleep could give me an entirely new perspective on this problem to me tomorrow. At least that’s what I hoped.

On the walk to the hotel room I was getting increasingly nervous, the more rooms I passed in the hallway. This small hotel did not have enough rooms to accommodate the whole team separately. They only had four rooms for the seven of us. JJ and Emily had immediately paired up, just like Rossi and Morgan. And Hotch being the team leader took the single room. Leaving me with our newest and youngest member, Y/N.

It’s not like I didn’t like her. That’s not what it was at all. Just, she made me a little bit nervous. She was so beautiful that sometimes I couldn’t get out any words around her. And that says a lot because I always have something to say. But as cheesy as it sounds, in some moments there is not a single fact that I can recall. 

But the elephant in the room demands to be heard. She is younger than I am. And that by a lot. By exactly ten years and three months. That appears to be a lot. I don’t really know why, but that bothers me. We are both adults, but because of social conventions at our age, I feel as though it is inappropriate. Yet if I were 60 and she were 50 or I was 80 and she was 70, no one would even blink at the gap. Yet because we are young it matters. I feel sad when I think about it because I like her a lot. And when we talk I don’t notice the age gap. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say that it wasn’t even there at all.

What surprised me as I was having these thoughts and neared the room was the fact that I actually considered asking her out. Since Maeve I have not been on a single date. And who said she would even be interested in anything beyond a casual friendship or even colleagueship with me? That’s not even considering the amount of courage it would require for me to tell her. But it’s not like that would be a fruitful endeavour.

And that was the last thought I had before I reached the door to room 179. A prime number. Prime numbers would be my lucky numbers if there were such a thing.

As I rummaged around my pockets and satchel for the key card I noticed the sound of music coming through the door.

“Gotta thank him he’s the reason

That I’ll find what I’m looking for.”

I heard a woman sing over the sound of an electric guitar. I still hadn’t found my key card.

“Guys my age don't know how to treat me

Don't know how to treat me.”

My movements stopped when my brain registered the lyrics. Guys my age…?

“Guys my age don't know how to touch me

Don't know how to love me good.”

My breath hitched and I gulped, key card in hand. Did she mean that? Could it be possible that she would be interested in someone ten years older than her? The feeling of hope was beginning to form in my brain, scenarios of what could be clouding my vision. But they were quickly pushed aside by a dark storm of self-doubt. Because most people don’t listen to lyrics as closely. The lyrics to a song don’t mean anything to them. Did they mean anything to her?

I realised I had been standing in front of the door for way too long and gathered all my confidence to go inside. But nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see. After closing the door behind me and tucking away the key card into my bag I turned around for the first time.

There she was. In the middle of the room in front of the two twin beds on a yoga mat. Her front leg was bent as she stretched her back. She was only dressed in skin tight pants and a matching bra that complimented the way her body was contorted. The soft light from the night lamp next to one of the beds made her skin glisten just noticeably as if it were glowing. I could feel my eyes widen as I my brain finally added up the pieces of what I was seeing.

“Oh, hi Spence!” she said gleefully turning her head towards mine, “I was feeling a little tense after sitting in that conference room all day. I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t even bother to attempt to talk, I could feel how dry my throat was and how my lips would not listen to any command I would’ve given it. So I just shook my head and pulled my eyes away from her as she moved her upper body towards the floor, holding herself up by her ellbows. I walked towards the beds in her general direction trying not to notice how gorgeous her ass looked now that her body was turned away from me. That I even had that thought surprised me and caused a blush to rise to my cheeks. I was thankful that she couldn’t see my face in that moment as I loosened up my tie. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, my attention drifted back to the song.

“Don't know how to love me good

So I'm never going back”

There was nothing in that moment that could keep me sane. My wildest dreams could have not come up with this scenario. It felt utterly unreal.

As the song ended I saw her change positions again from my peripheral vision.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” she said while turning the music down.

I noticed panic begin to fill my brain. She wanted to have a conversation.

“I um- it’s been kind of a long day,” I said and cleared my throat, while deciding whether or not it would be a good idea to turn around towards her.

“Have you been at the station the whole time? You must be exhausted,” she responded and continued when I didn’t answer, “I thought you could show me that show you’ve been gushing about.”

How was this real life? My brain began to lose control of my executive functions as my body turned around to face her. She was now sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of her, her hands wrapped around her feet as she looked up at me. The low-cut top she was wearing gave me a perfect sight into the curves of her-

I dared not continue that line of thought, already flustered enough as it is.

“Really? You’d be interested in watching that?” I said and blinked.

Her lips spread into a smile, twinkling her eyes, “Yeah, of course. The way you described it makes me really curious.”

“We could watch an episode or two before going to sleep, if you want.”

I just had to take this chance. Even if I could only begin to have a friendship with her, I wanted to be close to her because for some odd reason, I couldn’t bear to admire her from afar.

So not long after, I was setting up the odd hotel room tv to watch the show. It took me the entirety of her taking a shower so that I was only standing back up when she was walking out of the small bathroom in a white bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head. She smiled up at me as she walked past me, her hand brushing my arm so casually that I questioned whether it actually happened. 

I hesitated again before sitting down on the bed. Was she going to get dressed in front of me? Because no matter how much my amygdala wanted me to see that, my frontal cortex wasn’t going to allow it. I forced myself to look through my satchel in an attempt to find a distraction as I waited for her next move. But luckily, she didn’t tempt my brain too much into overdrive.

I felt as if there was a higher power not willing to spare me for the night when she came out of the bathroom a second time, now something someone might call dressed. She was in a loose light coloured satin pyjama set that showed off her legs perfectly. And as if that were not enough to torture me for the night, she joined me on my twin bed with her bag of chips.

“I hope that’s okay with you, then we can share snacks,” she said so innocently that I almost believed it. But I could still hear the song ringing in my ears and I noticed her eyes take a short glance down at my lips as she said it. I was almost convinced that I wasn’t imagining things.

What really sealed the deal was that I noticed her scoot a tiny bit closer to me every once in a while. At first I could only feel the warmth she radiated, but after about 30 minutes I felt the bare skin of her arm against mine. My breath quickened, which I was sure she had noticed.

I knew the episode off by heart. Which was to my advantage because then my brain could run in a speed that I could barely follow. I tried my hardest to calm down a little bit, which was hard when I could feel the movement of her body as a whole-hearted laugh filled her throat.

“Y/N,” I whispered with all my courage. It was so low that I almost thought she wouldn’t hear it, but she turned her head towards me her eyes following a few seconds after.

Her eyes met mine and it was like I could feel my neurons firing electrical signals throughout my entire body. And just like that, in one swift movement she had grabbed my face by the back of my head and pulled me into her lips.

That was the first time that night that my muscles began to relax as I eased into the sensation of her soft lips moving against mine. It was as though I was beginning to lose myself in the kiss, all insecurities about her feelings towards me or my inexperience gone.

When she ultimately pulled away and rested her forehead against mine, we were both panting gently. My whole body felt warm with the feeling of her breath on my skin and her hands still in my hair. I didn’t dare open my eyes, still afraid that I would wake up from this idyllical dream.

We both didn’t know what to say as we pulled away further and looked at each other. I wanted to say something, to let her know how I felt, but once again, my brain did not follow my commands.

“Did you know when you kiss someone for the first time it causes your dopamine levels to increase for a short period of time? It also makes your heart rate and the oxygen supply to your brain to raise,” I heard my voice say in something between a whisper and my normal talking voice.

“For the first time, huh?” she grinned a little at me.

I reached for her hand and gently took it in mine. I moved her palm over my shirt to the centre of my chest. I could feel my heart race through her hands and I know she could feel it too. She looked up into my eyes again with a look on her face that told me all I needed to know.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds oneshot #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid reader insert #dr spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #mgg #Matthew Gray Gubler #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid request #mgg smut #criminal minds fanfiction

[eclectic-aussie]

Random Thoughts #15

Well damn, that was a heavy episode. I kind of regret stumbling on tumblr before watching the episode because the ending was spoiled but at the same time it gave me time to brace myself for it, though my hearts still sore at the betrayal even if Bellamy thinks it’s like chipping Madi: done for the greater good.

But after seeing the promo for next week I’m also regretting not waiting until all the episodes aired so I could binge watch them BECAUSE GOD DAMN IT, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT AND I WANT TO KNOW NOW!! Which is only the second time I’ve really felt that way all season, the first after last weeks episode when Clarke came back.

I can’t help but wonder at a few possibilities that might come up; the Conductor accused Bellamy of selfish obsessive love (though honestly I’d say that’s more his girlfriend than him, but not the point) and Bellamy past insecurities and self doubt/loathing makes him blind to the good he’s done (he convinced Madi to spare the prisoners and bring them with them on the Eligius, put the Flame in Madi to try and make a peace treaty with the Eligius which became moot after Murphy accidentally on purpose put McCreary in charge just to name 2)

But what I think may come up is that while the Conductor decided Bellamy’s love is selfish, they’re going to be probing Clarke’s mind against her will (there’s a word for that, and I can’t help but think that’s going to come up later when Bellamy becomes himself again) and they’re going to realise that Clarke loves selflessly to the point where she will sacrifice her life over and over again for others she barely knows. She has taken on the pain and loss, breaking herself over and over again to protect her people. Even Roan mentioned it in season 4 when he and Bellamy were taking the Hydrozene to Raven at Becca’s lab when Bellamy scoffed at Roan for only caring about his people and Roan pointed out that Bellamy was no different and everyone was looking out for themselves (PAUSE) except maybe Clarke.

Some predictions and questions I have after this week’s episode, and seeing the promos, for the fun of it and I want to get them out:

1.Becho will break-up. It’s something I’ve said since last season, but remember a week ago when Echo was going to genocide Bardo in Bellamy’s name? Remember in the promo Echo telling Bellamy he’s ‘lost himself?’ And how Bellamy is now a member of the cult that Echo tried to massacre? You really don’t think Cadogan’s going to give the body count to Bellamy when he asks why they’re locked up? I think we’ll get a scene where Bellamy ends their relationship with Echo maybe even telling her that it took the almost genocide to realise that he had wanted so badly that who she was on the Ring was who she really was, but her actions on Bardo showed she hadn’t really changed and that she still chose to make the same mistakes as before Praimfaya but now for Spacekru instead of Azgeda. Probably ending with Raven telling Echo that it was just the brainwashing and they’ll be back together when he’s better and other things of that nature which are coddling (like how both women are treated in the show. Sorry, couldn’t resist) and unlikely. I think it will probably come after the scene where Bellamy gives Cadogan the picture of his family and he burns it to prove his detachment from personal ties. Then again he’s a sociopath so…

2.Clarke will be tortured in the M-Cap machine. Yes, we all know this will happen because of the promo, and also in the promo is the fact that Clarke is fighting it; evidenced by the black blood streaming down each side of her face as the points dig into her skull. We also know Bellamy is there watching her being tortured and as far as we know doing nothing to stop it besides probably telling her to just co-operate. I know everyone is hoping this will be where Bellamy hears the radio calls, but I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen. Now hear me out: Clarke is in that chair because Cadogan wants all info he can get about the Flame and who might have more info about it, do you really think he’s just going to stand there with his newest recruit, who he believes is the key to controlling Clarke, while her memories of her love of Bellamy possibly work to undo his indoctrination? No, I think Cadogan will use Bellamy to establish a neural link and then when he realises the threat Clarke poses to keeping Bellamy as his disciple, he’ll send him away, possibly to talk to his other friends and try to ‘reason’ with them. I also think this would be a wonderful time to have Clarke relive Echo trying to kill her ‘to avenge Bellamy’ while Raven and Shaw watch and Madi orders her down using a Heda order (not that Cadogan will know that), because it will show a previous ‘kill to avenge Bellamy’ moment that will solidify Bellamy’s belief that his break-up with Echo was the right choice, but it would also work in Cadogan’s favour of ‘selfless love over selfish love’ and the danger of personal attachments, especially if he was looking for her more recent attempt to ‘avenge Bellamy’ and just happened to stumble upon it.He’s nothing if not an opportunist.

Once he’s gone the real torture will begin while Cadogan works to get the info by any means necessary. Cadogan is a narcissistic sociopath, do you really think he’ll take any risk that Clarke will reach Bellamy? I think they’ll damn near liquify her brain and then she’ll be kept apart from her people so they don’t cause a fuss. (possibly next episode) I think then Levitt will find out how hard they pushed Clarke and when he tells Octavia and she begs him to check on her, he finds Clarke in pretty rough shape. When he tells Octavia and brings Bellamy at her request, taking him away from his tour, she then confronts Bellamy who doesn’t believe her. Then Levitt shows him the footage of Clarke being tortured which she tried to resist by remembering the radio calls as a kind of block for anything outside that purview until they push too hard and she falls unconscious. Bellamy sees her being tortured and the calls and the cracks start to deepen and the indoctrination starts to fail. I know a lot of people want Bellamy there while she’s actually tortured, but I honestly don’t think that kind of betrayal of trust and basic human rights can be forgiven (by Clarke or Bellamy forgiving himself cause he’d despise himself if that did happen) and forgotten in 4-5 episodes to the degree it will need to for them to pass the test and end up together (unless they do a ‘6 years later’ where they’re married and 5 year old sibling for Madi with another on the way, but even then). I also think he’ll stay as a ‘faithful disciple’ even as he’s pulled by both sides internally until he has more info either way and will be there when point 5 below happens.

3.Tied to above: is it safe to hook Clarke up to that thing cause like time I checked, in canon it’s only been a week since Clarke was having seizures and almost died from sharing her brain for too long with Josephine which she was warned would lead to neural degradation then death, so can she actually survive the procedure?

4.I would be so happy if they have Jordan do a ‘Monty Green stopping Bellamy, Gaia and Indra in the fighting pits’ call-back by having Jordan burst in while they’re torturing Clarke with the news that Cadogan the narcissist translated the message wrong...which didn’t end so great for Becca when she presented another option other than leaving Earth. Though honestly, I don’t think it would happen next episode, maybe the one after or at least not expanded upon too much while they’re being watched.

5. I think it’s a possibility that when they do break Clarke, the info they get will be so vague that they’ll be flummoxed by it, but Bellamy will know what it means and his final decision will be made. It will just be Madi’s drawings of Clarke as ‘Wanheda’ and the Anomaly stone, my little Nightblood in Trig, and maybe one of two little things that will mean little to the Bardoans out of context and everything to Bellamy. He’d go straight to the others, maybe grabbing Levitt on the way. The other wont trust him because it’s such an about face but Bellamy will tell them about the torture (which Octavia didn’t tell them about to keep them from getting hurt trying to protect her) reminding them that Clarke was not the last person to have the Flame, that Madi was. Raven tentatively admits that Madi had been drawing pictures from her dreams that Gaia and Clarke might be from the Flame. They need to get to Madi first (and even the dead Flame might have some info) before Cadogan gets a chance to and stop Cadogan from torturing Madi like he’s done to Clarke. It’s eventually agreed that Bellamy will distract Cadogan while Levitt and Gabriel get Clarke and the others steal enough uniforms so they can get to Sanctum with their minds intact.

6.So Levitt stopped reading Octavia’s memories during the City of Light, right? And the Conductor was spouting that the Shephard message of ‘selfless love’? Who wants to bet that Cadogan gets more than a little threatened when he starts seeing not only Clarke in the City of Light itself (Imagine them starting with being tortured by her mind controlled mother, then ‘Her friends are her weakness. Start with Bellamy Blake.’, her mother being controlled to hang herself and Clarke not giving in  and Bellamy and Murphy bursting in and Clarke becoming a temporary Nightblood  and her conversations with Jasper, Becca and ALIE, even if we only see snippets or them mentioning in as an aside to rush it along, it would be heavy hitting under the circumstances), but also the lead-up and aftermath of Praimfaya, and more specifically Clarke’s place in it? The Shephard is revered for ‘saving his people from the fire’, well Bellamy shut the door and took his people to space to save them from Praimfaya while Clarke stayed behind ON THE SURFACE OF THE PLANET in order to align the dish manually to save them. The Shephard conquered the Mountain? Bellamy and Clarke defeated the Mountain who had been kidnapping the Grounder to either use as blood bags or turning them into mindless cannibals, and tortured teenagers to death for their bone marrow even after they said they’d donate it willingly. The Shephard went on a pilgrimage for 3 months with provisions to do the aforementioned conquering of the mountain? Clarke Mother F’ing Griffin survived the 2nd Apocalypse that burnt up 96% of the Earth’s surface and not only did she survive, she managed to find the 4% or at least a large chunk on it and lived there alone with only her adoptive daughter and broken radio for company for 6 YEARS! A lot of Cadogan’s mythos and legend is his own self-aggrandizing and twisting circumstances to fit his narrative of ‘I am the one true Prophet and Saviour who will lead us into the Last War for all Mankind’, Clarke’s is from her own actions, deeds and self-sacrifice.

Because while the Bardoans may are quick to spout out the credence of “the few for the many” how many of them have actually had to back that up? And both Bellamy and Clarke have, on multiple occasions. Remember Clarke and Bellamy’s little chat with Roan before the City of Light? About how ALIE didn’t give a damn what clan you were from, she wanted to get EVERYONE? Octavia knew about it, but Clarke was there when she and Bellamy convinced Roan. And also “Are you really willing to trust that guy with your life?” “No. But you’ll be covering us the entire time, and I trust you.” Not to mention him holding her hand when she got the Flame implanted and him trusting her when she said that taking ALIE’s chip was the right choice.

Huh, the end of season 3 had a heck of Bellarke, didn’t it 😉

7.I think when Cadogan finds out that Clarke has a mind-drive in her head he’s going to be veeery interested in cutting her neck open and becoming the Shephard for all eternity. Am I wrong?

8.I’m calling it now; the final test (given by a manifestation of Becca since she’s connected to all of them and the Anomaly stone) will be between Bellamy and Clarke, Cadogan and Sheidheda. It will be straight forward and/or easy to cheat until there is trick situation where their actions, not their words, show their true beliefs and goals. Maybe showing someone they loved in the past or present (Callie and Reese, whoever Sheidheda may care for, Clarke or Bellamy being trapped and there only being time to save the other or to ‘win’)

#the 100 #Season 7 Speculation #Bellamy Blake #Clarke Griffin #Bellarke #Soulmates Worth Fighting For #Possible season 7 spoilers

[sixstepsaway]

New-ish Writeblr?

Hi everyone, I’m a relatively old tumblr-person and a relatively new writeblr and I’m looking for people to follow and be followed by, so if you guys could pass me around like a tray of hors d’oeuvres, that’d be lovely! I’ll follow any writeblrs that reblog or like. ♥

I’m Sophie. I’m queer and poly and 25 years old and I’ve legitimately been writing since I was 5 (my fingers were too stubby to reach the shift and the 2 key at the same time so I used single inverted commas for my speech marks back then) and I also do art!

My favourite thing to write is YA-style fiction (it’s not technically YA, since sometimes the characters are older and the subject matter is more adult sometimes, but it’s that kind of style) and absolutely queer fiction. When I write, my characters are actually more likely to be bisexual than anything, and I like to think that my characters can take you by surprise by who ends up with differing genders and who ends up with same genders.

I tend to avoid death in my fiction, as I find it something that writers (TV, books, movies etc) are using as a crutch these days. I much prefer to inflict psychological and physical tortures on my characters and watch them survive it. They might not get a happy ending, but most of them get to live and that’s important to me. I’d rather my readers be afraid of bad things happening to characters they love, rather than refusing to get attached because they’re going to die soon anyway. (I’m looking at you, W/alking D/ead.)

My current WIP, Runners, is a YA-style, heavily queer, and diverse play on a portal fantasy. Four young adults from Earth find themselves in a totally different world, populated by species they’ve never seen before, as well as Batas, which are the human-like population of the world. The main characters are: a girl called Sam, who struggles to acclimate herself to this different world; Mikey, who adores the new world even if it bites him up the ass a lot of the time; Law, who feels like she doesn’t fit in and has no place; and Bree, a street kid who finally feels like she has a fresh start. Together they’re enlisted by the population of Aosi to fight a war they have no reason to fight, because of a so-called prophecy none of them think makes a lick of sense, to defend a country they have no affection for. 

My secondary WIP, Farm Hands, is about a girl, Ashley, who returns to her parents’ farm to keep it from going under after their deaths and, in a desperate bid to keep the finances afloat, takes on a boarder in the form of a rich city girl celebrity who’s hiding from a stalker. She and her farmhand, Daniel, are vastly different to anything the city girl, Dakota, has ever known and vice versa, and acclimation to the situation is harder than anyone would like.

When one or both are ready to be consumed by a wider audience, I’m hoping to publish in the form of a serial, with bonus content provided through Patreon maybe. I love the idea of writing TV shows, but it’s a completely inaccessible for a variety of reasons and so here I am, writing in a serial fashion, I hope!

I also have a dream of starting a website where authors can upload their work to be provided in a serial fashion (and get paid, of course) if they want. In my head it would come with an app where you can get the newest episodes of your favourite ongoing stories delivered directly to your phone to read on the bus to school or train on the way to work or in bed at night, and you could subscribe to the ones you’re interested in. But that’s just a dream for the future. For now I’m focusing on my art and my writing.

My tumblr is partially writeblr and partially fandom. I do a lot of reblogging as well as starting to post more and more about my WIPs. 

Anyway, I’ve been following a few people here and there for a while but I thought it was about time I introduce myself properly so... Hi! 

#writeblr #writing #writers #lgbt writers

[beefybuffybucky]

The Light Behind Your Eyes (Pt.4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader - HYDRA x Reader - Avengers x Reader

Summary: Bucky and the other members of the Avengers have been searching for you for nearly two months, but to no avail. It’s not until the news breaks of an attack on Boston leads them to you, but what they find is something none of them will ever forget.

Warnings: angst - violence - a teensy bit of language

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Oh boy ya’ll, it’s a bit of a long one. After this, there will be at least one or two more parts. I apologize for the length, but once I started, I just couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t decide on a good cut-off point, so...here we are, part four! Hope ya’ll like it!

Y/N - your name

Y/H/C - your hair color

Y/E/C - your eye color

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Bucky’s P.O.V.

It’s been two months.

Two months without Y/N.

Sixty-three days have passed since I’ve seen her smile, heard her gorgeous, contagious laugh, or even pranked Sam. We would drink coffee and watch an episode of a show every morning - we were on the last episode of the newest House of Cards season before we left for the mission. Now I can barely force myself out of bed to even make coffee, let alone bring myself to finish the season without her. My biggest regret besides not being able to keep her safe from the very thing that haunts me is not telling her how much I care about her...how much I need her...how much I love her. An empty ache grows in my chest with each passing day, consuming my thoughts - nothing has been the same without her. Every night, a new nightmare of what could be happening to her tortures my mind. Even when I’m completely exhausted, I can’t trust myself falling asleep. These nightmares are just as bad as the ones that haunted me when I first came to the team and still dreamt about HYDRA. This time around, it’s the same situations, but it’s not me that they’re controlling and manipulating into their own personal weapon of destruction, it’s Y/N.

Steve’s probably the most worried about me. At least twice a week, he pops his head in my doorway with that weird “worried mom” look plastered on his face. And every time, I tell him that I’m fine, even though but we both know that I’m not. Everyone’s treating me like some lost puppy, and it’s kind of starting to piss me off. It feels like the rest of the team is spending more time worrying about me than they are trying to find Y/N.

When I couldn’t save her, my whole world came crashing down around me. I don’t remember much after the phone call with Steve, but Clint told me I was a fucking mess when they found me. Nat wouldn’t admit it to my face, but I could see it in her eyes. They tried to track the tires in the snow, but they lost it after a mile when the winds had picked up and snow started to move in, covering the tracks and forcing us to return back to the compound. The tracks were the only hope I had to bring her back home.  

Tony has been helping Steve and I search for possible locations of where they might be holding her. The rest of the team has been on other missions, but chip in their efforts whenever they can. At this point, we think HYDRA targeted her as a way to bait me. We have poured countless hours into scouring maps, GPS coordinates, possible HYDRA hideouts and movements...anything we could possibly get our hands on, just to get a possible lead on where she could be. We’ve gone to six different locations, trying to follow possible leads, but each search has turned up nothing.

So far, we’ve come up completely empty handed...I’ve never felt this helpless in my entire life. I can’t believe she slipped through my hands so easily…

A quiet knock on the door alerts me of Steve’s presence.

“Hey, Buck,” he whispers caringly, leaning against the door frame. His “mom” face is back.

“Hey,” my voice is hoarse from crying during the night. Steve pushes off the frame and saunters over to where I was sitting on the bed.

“You okay?” Does it fucking look like I’m okay?

“Could be better,” I mumble. He sits next to me, the mattress sinking under his weight. A few moments pass in a heavy silence. I can sense that he’s keeping something from me.

“We have a new lead,” Steve breaks the silence. A flick of hope ignites in my head, but a rain cloud of doubt threatens to put out the weak flame.

“What is it?” I look at Steve. He wears an expression of something I can’t really place. It’s like concern mixed with a look of slight disbelief. Maybe even heartbreak. My stomach churns at the thought of what he might say. “Is Y/N…i-is she…,” a lump in my throat cuts off my sentence.

“She’s alive, Buck. But I’m not sure if you’re ready for this...I don’t think any of us are,” a muscle in Steve’s jaw twitches. He’s nervous.

“What do you mean?” The fact that she’s alive sends a wave of excitement crashing through my body, but the way Steve held his body and the melancholy laced in his expression quickly floods out the excitement.

The sound of chatter and voices from the T.V. carries into the hall. I follow Steve into the main common room. Most of the team are either sitting on the couches or standing, talking amongst themselves. Tony and Banner were missing from the group. Natasha turns her head in our direction, breaking off from her conversation with Sam and Clint, and gravely saunters over to us, the usual pep in her walk nonexistent, her arms hugging her chest. A light shade of red runs along the bottoms of her eyes, and I knew she had been crying. She gently places her hand on my arm and her lip quivers.

“I’m so sorry, Barnes...We’re going to do everything we can to get her back,” her voice shakes. What is she talking about? 

I look over her at the large plasma T.V. that’s partially blocked by the members of the team that are standing. “BREAKING NEWS” flashes on the screen and reveals glimpses of destruction flashing across the screen. A rolling strip of text runs across the bottom of the screen, and her name - Y/N’s name - is in it. My heart stops, and the chattering in the air turns into a persistent buzzing. My feet move against my will as I shove my way past the standing bodies, stopping in front of the T.V.

Y/N’s picture is in the top right corner of the screen. The reporter’s lips are moving, but I can’t hear a single word he’s saying. Her picture switches into a video. I-It’s her…

She’s dressed head to toe in a black, form-fitting suit, carrying a large machine gun in her gloved hands. Dirt cakes one of her cheeks and thin lines of black paint stream down her face from her eyes, but instead of her brilliant Y/E/C that I can lose myself in for hours, there’s only black. Her hair has been shaved to a buzz cut, her Y/H/C hair speckled with dirt. It’s almost like they sucked every last bit of light from her, and all that remains is pure, unforgiving nothingness. They somehow managed to steal the light from behind her eyes that I never thought would leave. My stomach churns as I breathlessly watch a wave of dark, swirling energy burst from her palms, effortlessly hurling a car out of her way, landing somewhere out of the frame. The power that shot out of her looks exactly like Wanda’s. Something tugs on my sleeve and I warily turn my head in the direction of the tugging.

Wanda stands next to me, silent tears creeping down her pale cheeks. She brings a delicate hand to my face, wiping away tears I didn’t even know had been shed. My gaze returns to the screen, becoming completely and utterly captivated by the events unfolding before me.

More footage shows a small group of HYDRA agents and operatives following her lead, some shooting at targets far out of frame, others holding their guns, ready to attack at any given moment. The video switches to a higher aerial view of their procession and I stare in horror as an agent hands Y/N a new weapon. She loads it, and drops it into her other hand, taking aim at a building. It launches a black, compact object and demolishes an entire building, the explosion sending debris flying into the air and shooting in every direction. If I had actually eaten anything this morning, I’m sure it would’ve come up by now. My nightmares were coming true, and I was so entranced by the raw, grave reality of all of it that I couldn’t even move a muscle.

Another hand touches my shoulder. Through my blurry vision I can see Steve, his face scared and ashen. He’s wearing his combat suit.

“We’re flying out in ten minutes,” he tells me, his voice muffled by something I can’t see.

“What?” I blink away warm tears. “W-who’s flying out?” The heavy blanket blocking out the rest of the world begins to lift off of my shoulders. I drag my leg and face him. Moving my head, I see Natasha, Wanda, and Tony standing near the elevator, Natasha and Wanda both wearing their gear while Tony was still in a t-shirt and jeans.  

“I need you to stay here, Buck,” Steve whispers and I snap my head towards him. “I promise we’re going to bring her back.”

“No,” I choke. “I’m coming with.”

Steve rolls his head and breathes out a deep sigh from his nose, dropping his gaze to the ground.

“I know how much she means to you, Bucky,” he mutters, voice low. “But you’re not fit to do this right now,” he gestures to the screen flashing clips of unearthly destruction. “You haven’t slept in days, let alone eaten, and this mission would require you to be-”

“I can do this, Stevie,” I whisper, desperation tainting my voice. “Please, I-I need to do this. I’m the one who lost her, I need to be the one to bring her back.” I do my best to stop my eyes from spilling any more tears. I need to fucking do this.

Steve searches my eyes for a few seconds, then looks back at Tony. Tony slightly nods his head a few times and drops his gaze to his feet.

“Suit up, Barnes,” he says, bringing his head up. “We leave in five.”

The news reports all say that Y/N is in Boston. We take the fastest jet Tony has on the compound, and reach the city within an hour. Flying above it, Y/N’s path of destruction is clear as day.

Whole blocks of buildings lie in ruins, their materials and contents scattered everywhere. The only people patrolling the areas of destruction are members of the National Guard and some police forces, digging through the rubble, searching for people in need of help.

“Over there,” Wanda points out the window towards a large dome of black, flickering energy. A chill slowly trickles down my spine at the sight of it. Tony steers the jet in the direction of the energy, managing to land the jet in a large area of dirt where a parking structure and multiple buildings once stood a couple of blocks away from the dome of static energy. I would know - the area was in the news coverage earlier.  

The back of the jet opens and the team starts to file out. I grab a machine gun from the shelves of weaponry and load it, grabbing a few extra knives and another smaller handgun. As I turn to leave, I see Steve waiting for me by the exit.

“You ready?” He hands me an earpiece.

“Let’s bring her home.” We walk out of the jet and join the rest of the group.

Steve breaks off and stands in front of the team, Tony by his side.

“Alright let’s keep this brief, people,” Tony calls out over the sirens and a loud, far away rumbling sound. “Our goal is to secure Y/N and shut down whatever’s happening under that dome. Banner will be in the skies, surveying the area deploying whatever methods necessary in order to contain her in one area. If it comes down to it, the jet is equipped with five long-range darts of strong tranquilizers, ready to fire at any moment,” he pauses. “We’re going to get her, no matter what.” A few people nod. “Alright, let’s get moving.”

Up close, the swirling energy creates a strong breeze. The rumbling we heard when the jet landed was roaring like an angry ocean in my ears now. The inky haze camouflages the building the Y/N had shot at during the news coverage. The dome covered an area of about a block. We had split off into smaller groups of people. I was with Steve and Wanda. Tony, Rhodes, Clint, and Nat started to walk to the other side. Vision and Sam had taken to the skies while Banner went up in the jet.

I walk up to the dome, the intense breeze blowing strands of hair into my face. Slowly, I move my palm closer to the dome, a light tingle pricking at my fingertips. I push my palm against it, the energy making the hairs on the back of my neck stand. The energy is hard like a wall, making it impossible to pass through.

“There’s no way to pass through that thing,” I shout over the noises of popping electricity and the rumbling.

“Alright, Vision. Light it up,” Tony’s voice rings through the comms.

A blinding line of buzzing energy cuts through the dome, slicing it from the bottom up, sending black particles slashing into the air.

“Let’s go!” Steve calls out over the deafening commotion. We run through the opening, jumping over piles of rubble and debris. I watch as the wall of energy slowly falls away, disappearing into the warm air. Glass from the blown out windows of the crumbling building ahead of us crunches under my boots. A figure stands near the entrance of the building, gun in hand, arms raised. We continue to run, pounding on towards the figure, and my chest tightens in fear at the list of endless outcomes cramming into my thoughts. At this point, nothing was certain, but anything could happen.

Agents begin to rush towards us and the firing of bullets fills my ears. From above, Tony, Rhodes, Vision, and Clint work to strike down as many agents as possible.

As we close-in on the building, the number of agents drastically dwindles, the details of the figure become clear.

It’s Y/N. Her arms are pointed straight out, a handgun at the ready, her face drained of all emotion.

A shot rings through the air, zipping past my ear. With her background, if she wanted to kill me, she could’ve easily made that shot. I turn around and see Nat cradling her arm.

Natasha makes eye contact with me. “Behind you!” She hollers.

Y/N drops the handgun. It clatters to the ground, and she thrusts her palms outwards, sending a billowing cloud of thick, dark energy rushing in our direction.

“Wanda!” I call out above the roaring.

“On it!” A wall of red energy forms out of thin air right in front of us, stopping as in our tracks. The inky energy slams into the red and Wanda grunts as she pushes more power into it. The black races up the wall, dispersing into the air above us, the wind circling around the barricade. As the air clears, Y/N marches through the twirling black, a machine gun with an attached grenade launcher resting in her hands. She stops, raises the gun, aims, and pulls back on the trigger. Fire explodes over Wanda’s energy as the ground beneath our feet vibrates, and she falls to her knees, crying out in anguish over the amount of energy she’s supplying into the barricade. Y/N walks closer, this time stopping about five yards away from us. She’s so close now, it feels like I could just reach out and pull her into my arms. My heart begins to ache.

She swings the weapon up to her face, taking aim once again.

“Banner!” Steve calls out. “We could really use only of those tranquilizers right now!”

Wanda’s still on the ground, her face twisted in pain and frustration. The wall separating us from Y/N gradually begins to degrade as Wanda loses more of her strength. The thinning barricade threatens to disappear as Y/N shifts her feet, steadying her body, preparing to brace herself against the recoil of the gun.  

Time slows around me. Y/N’s finger reaches for the trigger, ready to kill. Then out of the corner of my eye, something fast strikes her shoulder, throwing off her aim, sending another grenade flying to the far left. A large dart juts out from her left shoulder and she stumbles a bit to the side, dropping her weapon as she absorbs the velocity of the impact. She bends over, her hands on her knees as she gently sways. Shaking her head, she snaps her body upwards, grabbing the needle and yanking it out of her arm. She tosses it to the side, thrusting out her left palm, but nothing happens. A look of confusion quickly flashes across her face, her black eyes widening. Her jaw clenches. With a grunt, she thrusts out her palm again, only a few wisps of energy sputtering out. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and she quickly goes to grab her gun when Tony shoots a beam of light in between her and the weapon.

“Not so fast,” he speaks through the suit. He lands a few feet in front of me, blowing up some dust from the boosters in his suit. “This ends now.” Rhodes and Vision land behind me, and Steve is crouching beside Wanda. Clint was back by Natasha, tentatively tending to her wound. Sam was standing in front of Steve, creating a barrier between the fighting and Wanda.

Y/N stands in front of us, her glare darting from one face to another. I can feel her stare linger on me, even through the never-ending darkness of her eyes.

“Bucky,” a gentle voice whispers in my mind. It sounds like...Y/N. But...how?

“Y/N?” I mutter. Her face contorts in frustration and she shakes her head again.

“No!” She screams, more to herself than us. I look up at the jet circling above us.

“Banner, hit her with another dart,” I breathe into the comms.

“But she hasn’t done anyth -”

“Do it!” I yell at him, staring at Y/N.

“Barnes, what are you -,” Tony begins to question me, then stops as he seems to understand what I’m trying to do. “Banner, the tranquilizer brings her back. Hit her again!”

Y/N snarls and sprints in our direction, yelping out in pain as another dart strikes her in the back. She tumbles to the ground, landing face down. A low groan rumbles from her as she shakily pushes herself up, kneeling on all fours. She drags her head up, breathing heavily. The pitch black that had invaded her eyes was gone, and her beautiful Y/E/C eyes squinted at me.

“B...Bucky?” Her voice was fragile and quiet.

“Y/N,” I rush towards her, brushing passed Tony, ignoring his protests, and almost reach her when out of nowhere, black crawls up the thin veins in her face, and the color of her eyes is hungrily consumed by darkness. All of a sudden, it feels like a pair of hands are strangling my neck and the air catches in my throat. I choke as the pressure strengthens and feel my body being lifted into the air. The energy swirls around me, and dark dots dart across my vision. My lungs are screaming for air, but the tension only grows. I can see Y/N a few feet ahead, standing below my dangling body.

“My name is Ангел,” her voice rings clear in my mind as a cruel, wild smirk spreads across her face. “And you’re my mission.”

The lack of oxygen makes my head pound and it feels like it’s going to explode at any second. One second I’m on the verge of passing out, and the next, my body drops to the ground like a ragdoll while Y/N cries out. Lying on my back, I hoarsely gasp for air as my throat opens up again. Turning my head, I see Y/N passed out on her back, her hand a few inches from mine. I manage to pull myself into a sitting position through the heavy dizziness invading my stability. Steve jogs over to me and extends his arm. I reach up and he clamps his hand in mine, pulling me up from the ground.

“You okay, Buck?” He questions breathlessly. I rub at my neck, kneading out the ghostly pain.

“I will be,” I groan. Looking down, Y/N still remains motionless on the ground, her limbs completely limp. Staggering over to her, I check for a pulse in her neck. It’s weak, but there. I scoop up her legs, then slide my arm under her back, easily lifting her up from the debris. I turn around and find everyone’s eyes glued to me.

“Let’s go home,” I breathe. I start walking in the direction of where the jet will land, ignoring the glares from the rest of the team.

“Banner, I need to do a scan of the building to clear -” I carefully lift my arm cradling Y/N’s leg to my ear, pulling out the piece from my ear, cutting out Tony’s voice from my conscience. I leave it behind in the dust. A wave of calmness washes over me as I carry Y/N towards the jet as it lands a few blocks away, the words she had spoken in my mind still ringing in my ears.

Ангел - angel

Part Five

Tags: @randyortontattoos @buckyisloved  @awinterloveuniverse  @dcandmarvelimagines @isaxhorror @hollycornish @superwholockian5ever @frostbyte-horan @theraputicwritings  @queendarkmuffin

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #the winter soldier

[cyndavilachase]

Aaaaa I’m sorry I haven’t been posting everyone!! Here are some doodles of my bbys Luke and Addy, I’ve updated their designs/style recently. Got tired of Addy not looking fox enough.

#art #artists on tumblr #character design #fox #dog #cartoon #doodles #sketches #cyns art #Illustration #the dork speaks #sigma #addy #luke

[lynchgirl90]

Ep. 8 Of #TwinPeaks Is David Lynch's Purest Marriage Of Television And Video Art

Adam Lehrer ,  CONTRIBUTOR

It’s hard to describe how inestimable an impact David Lynch had over me when I first saw Mulholland Drive as a 14-year-old. Something I’ve been discussing with fellow artist friends of mine is the fact that the art that changed our lives the most and still carries the most weight over our own sensibilities is the art that we were exposed to very young, maybe even too young to fully understand what it is exactly that you’re viewing. I developed a taste for disturbing aesthetics at a very young age; when I was about five or six-years-old, my cinephile father would have “movie nights with dad” when my mom would go out with her girlfriends, and he would let my brother and I watch watch Ridley Scott’s Alien, James Cameron’s Terminator, and/or Paul Verhoeven’s Robocop when I still should have been reading children’s books (and boy am I thankful for that).

That early exposure to art, whether it be John Carpenter films, or Brian DePalma films, or Bret Easton Ellis novels, or my favorite music (Wu Tang, Lou Reed, or Marilyn Manson), is still the art that I think about and gravitate back towards even after decades of being exposed to just about everything contemporary art, cinema, literature, poetry, and popular music has to offer. But watching Lynch’s Mulholland Drive for the first time feels like a monumental point of epiphany in my life. A point where I thought to myself, “Maybe I want to create stuff when I grow up.” I had no idea what Mulholland Drive’s fractured plot meant, but its images left me confounded, and fascinated. I loved the dreamy, hallucinatory Los Angeles Neo-noir stylizations of its setting. I had never felt more terrified than when I first glimpsed that monster lurking behind the Winkie’s diner.

That film made me blissfully aware that cinema and art could be a simultaneously erotic, horrific, and thrilling experience. I knew how powerful art could be,  but Mulholland Drive gave me my first taste of the sublime. Since then, I’ve been a David Lynch fanatic. I’ve watched all of his earlier films, binge watched Twin Peaks over and over (finding myself asking new questions each time), wrote college essays on Eraserhead and David Foster Wallace’s article that documented Lynch’s process on the set of Lost Highway, have searched out all his early forays into video art, have found merits in his more oft-overlooked output in advertising (his 2009 commercial for Dior is Lynch at his funniest), and have read countless analyses on the man himself and his cinematic language.

So, when you read what I’m about to say, know that I do so with much hesitance, consideration, and ponderousness: the eighth episode of Twin Peaks: The Return is the piece of filmmaking that Lynch has been building towards for his entire career. It is a singular cinematic and artistic achievement, and the purest distillation of the multitude of ideas and concepts that live and breathe in the Lynchian universe. I believe that years from now we will be looking upon this single episode as one of, if not the single most, defining artistic achievements of Lynch’s unimpeachable career. Bare with me.

Aesthetically, episode 8 would leave a powerful impression on even the most half-hazard of David Lynch converts. A hallucinatory, nightmarishly kaleidoscopic consortium of images of blood, flames, fluids, and demonic figures spews towards the viewer while Krystof Pendrecki’s tortuously atmospheric soundscapes underline the episode’s inescapable atmosphere of existential dread. Episode 8 is an hour long work of experimental video art, no doubt. But if you have been paying attention to this season of Twin Peaks and you know enough about the mythology of the show and know even more about Lynch’s artistic interests and visual touchstones, then you know that this episode was no mere act of meaningless artistic overindulgence. In fact, this was Lynch telling the origin story that set the entire series of Twin Peaks into place.

This was the origin story of BOB, the demonic force that forced Leland Palmer to rape his daughter for years and eventually murder her in Twin Peaks’ initial 1990s run. BOB, we learn in episode 8, was forged from the the United States' earliest forays into nuclear bomb testing.  BOB was already the perfect metaphor for mankind’s capacity for cruelty, depravity and evil, and becomes an even more powerful metaphor now that we know his nuclear genesis. Any Lynchian fanatic will rave to you how delicious this notion is. What David Lynch has done, and in many ways has always been trying to do, is to create a piece of pure atmospheric video art that also works as a classic piece of narrative storytelling. In this episode, Lynch has perfectly located a zone in which vague and aesthetically menacing imagery also serve as clear and precise storytelling and, like the best cinema and storytelling, illustrates a metaphor for modern human existence. While Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire, Lost Highway and Blue Velvet utilize video art aesthetics, they are also pieces of storytelling with easily identifiable stories if you look for them (well, maybe not Inland Empire). Episode 8 of the return of Twin Peaks is a mostly dialog-less piece of distorted, haunting images. It is art. But it also still tells a story. The story of a television series no less! This is all the more impressive in that television as a storytelling medium is the most reliant on expository dialog and over-crammed storyboarding.

David Lynch pays heed to the form while mainly utilizing the language of pure image. Who needs a script, and who needs dialog, when you can see that delectably menacing, fascinating and torturous world of Twin Peaks from inside the actual head of David Lynch? Episode 8 was the truest portal to the imagination of Lynch that has yet been put to screen.

I’m sure there are more casual David Lynch fans that are growing impatient with the restrained, at times glacial pace of this new season of Twin Peaks. I however have understood what he’s been doing this whole time. He hasn’t just been making a television season, he has been commenting on the current importance of television in our culture. Television has replaced cinema at the heart of cultural conversation for many reasons. Partly, this has been a result of the groundbreaking work that has been done in television over the last two decades: Twin Peaks, The Sopranos, Mad Men, The Wire, and more recently, The Leftovers have all expanded the possibilities of what people believe can be done with the form. There are also financial concerns: as major film studios continue to spend their whole wads on sure thing blockbuster action and superhero films, auteur filmmakers have had harder times getting their films properly funded. Cable and streaming television services like HBO or Amazon however have the means to give filmmakers the funds they need to realize a vision, and indie filmmakers have resultantly flocked towards the small screen.

Television’s prevalence has had connotations both positive and negative on culture. The negative, in my opinion, stems from its causing people to no longer be able to get lost in a pure, imagistic cinematic experience. Even the best shows are still mainly concerned with story and dialog, whereas cinema is about mood, atmosphere, and aesthetics. When Twin Peaks premiered in 1990, Lynch and co-creator Mark Frost (a television veteran) were very much interested in marrying the Lynchian world with the conventional tropes of television: serial drama, mystery, and even soap opera. Throughout its first season, it worked beautifully. Both Lynch aficionado cinephiles and mainstream television viewers alike were captivated, and the series was one of the year’s top-rated. But after the second season revealed Laura Palmer’s killer to be her demonic entity-inhabited father Leland far too early during its run, Lynch’s boredom with the constraints of television grew apparent. The show starts to feel like a standard nineties television show, albeit one with a quirky plot and wildly eccentric characters. Lynch mostly dropped primary showrunner duties to focus on his film Wild at Heart only to come back for Twin Peaks’ stunner of a series finale, when the show’s protagonist FBI Agent Dale Cooper travels to the mystical red velvet draped alternate universe of the Black Lodge, and eventually becomes trapped inside that Lynchian hellscape while his body is replaced with a doppelgänger inhabited by the demonic entity Killer BOB and set out into the world.

In the Black Lodge, Laura Palmer tells Cooper that she’ll see him in 25 years, and that's exactly where Twin Peaks: the Return starts off. It was apparent from the premiere episode of this new season of Twin Peaks that Lynch is benefitting from a new TV landscape in which Showtimes has awarded him full creative control over his product, and he’s directing all 16 episodes of this new season. Also, it’s quite obvious that the technological advancements over the last two decades have enabled Lynch to fulfill the fullest extent of his vision. Twin Peaks: The Return is a much purer marriage between narrative driven television melodrama and Lynch’s hallucinatory experimental video cinematic language. That first episode barely spends any time in Twin Peaks, but spends plenty of time with Cooper in The Lodge. There are some truly unforgettable images in that first episode: a demonic entity appears out of thin air in a cylindrical orb and viciously attacks a young couple having sex, a woman’s corpse is found on a hotel bed with most of her head missing, and who can forget Matthew Lilard, perhaps the newest victim to be inhabited by Killer BOB, in a jail cell accused of murder while Lynch moves the camera from cell to cell until we see the horrifying silhouette of BOB himself in high contrast red and black ghoulishly smiling? But at the same time, Lynch is able to move the plot forward in ways that should be familiar to all television viewers; through procedure, dialog, and plot device. Lynch is still working within the confines of television, but has peppered the narrative scenes with unforgettable imagery. It’s been almost as if he’s been subtly preparing us, the viewers, to not just respond to what we normally respond to in television: story, story, and story and dialog, dialog, and dialog. And to slowly reacquaint us with the thrilling experience that can be derived from watching a set of shocking, beautiful, erotic and terrifying images move along in a sequence on a screen.

And episode 8 of this new series is the pinnacle of this new body of work, and very possibly of Lynch’s career at large. The episode begins similarly enough, with evil Cooper escaping from jail only for his escape driver to attempt to murder him out in the woods. And that is when Lynch kicks it into overdrive. As evil Cooper’s body is bleeding out, a group of dirtied and horrific men called 'The Woodsmen' start picking over his body and smearing themselves in his blood, with Killer BOB himself appearing and apparently resuscitating Cooper’s lifeless body. And then, Lynch proceeds to tell BOB’s, and quite possibly Laura’s, origin stories through a 45-minute nightmarish experimental video art piece. The NY Times has called this episode “David Lynch emptying out his subconscious unabated.” That is totally accurate, and there has never been and most likely never will be an episode of television like this ever again. This episode was video art, but it was also still television, and it also served as a piece of and critique of cinematic and television languages. Allow me to explain.

Episode 8 functions in a way similar to that of the video art of Janie Geiser. Without any knowledge of the world of Twin Peaks or the themes of the Lynchian universe, one could admire this piece similarly to how they would admire the experimental video art of Janie Geiser, and in particular Episode 8 recalls Geiser’s film The Fourth Watch in which the artist superimposed horror film stills within the setting of an antique doll house. Episode 8 uses that same nightmare logic, but empowers it with the budget of a major Cable series. There are also similarities to scenes in Jonathan Glazer’s brilliant Under the Skin when the alien portrayed by Scarlet Johannson devours her male prey in a grotesque nether realm. And perhaps its greatest antecedent is Kubrick’s Big Bang sequence in 2001: A Spade Oydyssey, and in many ways Episode 8 is the hellish inverse of that epic sequence. Like the Big Bang, episode 8 tells an origin story of a world created by an explosion, but instead of a galactic explosion, Killer BOB and his world of evil were born of a nuclear explosion. Brilliantly, Lynch believes that Killer BOB was birthed by man made horrors, going back to something FBA Agent Albert Rosenfield said in the original series about BOB being a “manifestation of the evil men do.” Indeed, in Episode 8 Lynch brings us inside an atomic mushroom cloud set off during the first nuclear bomb test explosion in White Sands, New Mexico in 1945. As the camera enters the chaos and giving view to one horrid abstraction of flames and matter after another, we eventually see a humanoid creature floating in the distance. The humanoid eventually shoots tiny particles of matter out of a phallic attachment. One of those particles carries the face of none other than Killer BOB. The imagery is clear in its meaning: once humans created technology that could kill of its own planet, a new kind of evil had emerged into the world. Killer BOB is that evil imagined as a singular demonic entity.

But enough about the content, or the plot of the episode. There have already been plenty of recaps documenting its various thrilling enigmas: The Giant seemingly manifesting Laura’s spirit as a mutant bug that crawled into a young girl’s mouth via her bedroom window, or the horrific drifter walking around asking people for a light before he crushed their skulls with his bare hands and delivered a terrifying and poetic sermon over a radio airwave, or the impromptu Nine Inch Nails performance that preceded the madness. What is more important to note is the fact that there is a strong case to be made arguing that this episode was the pinnacle of all that David Lynch has ever tried to achieve. Lynch has always been a kind of pop artist. He comes from a background in abstract painting and sculpture, but he also has a deep and profound love for cinema that eventually influenced him to sit in a director’s chair. All kinds of cinema, from the kind of abstract cinematic geniuses you’d expect like Werner Herzog and Federico Fellini, to rigorously formalist filmmakers like Billy Wilder. From Eraserhead on, Lynch has tried to marry the formal conventions of cinema (plot, narrative, tension, juxtaposition, conclusion, etc..) with abstract and surrealist contemporary art. Twin Peaks was initially birthed of his interest in marrying conventional TV tropes, like soap opera and mystery, with that sense of terror art that he got famous for. But nevertheless, the constrictions of TV in the early nineties exhausted, and eventually bored, Lynch and he moved on. But now, he has been able to bend the conventions of television at will in this new season of Twin Peaks, and episode 8 was when he blew them up entirely. This hour of TV finds him drawing on all of his cinematic language and themes, from the surrealist ethos of his subconscious dream logic to origins of evil to the concept of dual identity (as this episode alludes too, Bob and Laura might be each other’s opposites, two side of one coin, if you will), while still working as a plot building episode within a contained, albeit sprawling, television narrative. There is no doubt that this episode will make the broad and at times confusing plot of the new season of Twin Peaks come into focus as it continues.

It was also the most mind-blowing cinematic experience I’ve had in years. And I watch everything. By successfully pulling off this episode, Lynch has also reminded viewers of the overwhelming potency that cinema and moving images can have that other mediums just don’t come close to. There is a lot of great stuff on TV right now, and one could even argue that something like Damon Lindelof’s The Leftovers had some jaw-dropping moments of pure cinema. But after watching Episode 8 of Twin Peaks: The Return, even the best shows feel like hour long scenes of conversation between people without much cinematic impact (on his podcast, American Psycho author and famed cinephile Bret Easton Ellis argues that television can’t do what cinema does visually because the writer is the one in charge, not the director, but that’s for another think-piece). Episode 8 is a reminder of the power of cinema, art and images. But it also still works as plot device for the over-arching narrative of the show. More than ever before, Lynch has pulled off a piece of work that indulges his wildest artistic dreams while still paying heed to the kind of formalism that television production necessitates. I don’t know about you, but when Twin Peaks: The Return returns for its second round of its 18 episode run this Saturday, I can’t wait to see what Lynch does next. We are witnessing something that will be written about by art historians as much as it will be by academics of pop culture. This is thrilling.

Link (TP)

#Twin Peaks #David Lynch #Mark Frost #Forbes

[suiciderealestate]

Where does my mental illness end and my sense of self begin? I have known something is amiss with my mind for a long time and I have called my affliction by many names. But now in its newest iteration it is shifting slowly from Major Depression to Bipolar Depression, or, maybe more inclusively, Majorly Bipolar Depression. With the exception of vitamin assistance, I have been unmedicated for a few years. The last time I took medication it was Wellbutrin, which made me more manic than I have ever been in my life. At half of the prescribed dosage, I was throwing McChicken’s at my mother’s head, hiding in bushes at 24 years old, planning my self-managed exodus from Nashville to Los Angeles, and getting my license to serve alcohol — I passed the test with flying colors. When I consulted my GP about the mania resultant of my medication, she told me I might be bipolar. I have and had bipolar friends, and though they say birds of a feather flock together, I didn’t feel my symptoms matched the bipolar symptoms exhibited by some of my companions. Their mania was unmedicated. My mania was medicated. Clearly there was a difference. But I’ve since learned that there are two different kinds of bipolar. As my bipolar friend Meredith would say: You’re either Amanda Bynes bipolar (Bipolar 1) or Catherine Zeta-Jones bipolar (Bipolar 2 - Bipolar Depression). Amanda Bynes has since publicly stated that her erratic behavior from 2012 to 2016 wasn’t the result of a mental illness but the result of substance abuse and all the problems that come with it. But, as I’ve found, once a sicko always a sicko. And so while she may currently be in an upswing in her cycle from stability to chaos, it pains me to say that her future holds all the inevitability of her past. That’s just the way it is for people like us. We can stage a return. We can find success. But in reality we only ever really learn how to shove the thought patterns that haunt us under the carpet, close the curtains and muffle out the noise. But the noise never goes away. It’s always there. Whether the buzzing of your mind be plaintive or strident, the buzzing persists and it never goes away.

Today I called my mother to go down the usual lists of complaints: nobody loves me, my hair is falling out, and my body is a prison that makes my life a kind of perpetual Chinese water torture of the soul. A pragmatic, sensible woman, my mother rarely knows what to say. She doesn’t know how to give me advice on topics pertaining to romance because of my homosexual lifestyle; she doesn’t know how to talk to me about my emotional struggles because she has never had a history with mental illness (neither has my father, who is in many ways the same as her); and she doesn’t understand me when I ask her for help. At best, she says, she can let me move back into a home in Nashville with no rent other than the constant tax of corrosive misunderstanding. The comfort of my home in Tennessee is a tomb perfectly prepared for me to waste the rest of my days away in anticipation of my approaching demise. But I know that I have been dying for some time now. Decomposition comes in varying stages, and in this particular manifestation the rot has started first with my mind and will then work its way outward. It is not an uncommon way to go, and in my extended family there is a history of dementia. Dementia took the mind of my next-door neighbor Dan, a former engineering professor at Vanderbilt University who struggled to remember his loved ones or even who he was in the last years of his life. It took the mind of my paternal grandmother in her last days and rendered her final bouts of consciousness a public fever dream on perfect display for my family to see. I only heard whispers of it, being that I was young at the time of her death, but I remember visiting her in the nursing home and then the hospital, and I remember the smell of sterility and decay that lived easily alongside one another. I remember the first time I saw a dead body, one that belonged to a man who was only ever called “Uncle Ronnie” and who I had never actually met. To meet someone only after they are basted with formaldehyde is a curious thing. When I saw his pale corpse in the open casket, a corpse whose lifeless pallor, resistant to every cosmetic effort, must have startled other attendees at the wake, I felt nothing. I learned that even dead bodies are held to a standard of perfection, and even dead bodies often fail to meet those standards.

Even today I often think of Uncle Ronnie. I still remember his face, his black hair, his delicate features. I remember that all I’ve ever known of him is death. For me, that is his legacy: that he died and that of all seven billion people upon the face of the Earth, his corpse was the first I ever witnessed. For my mother, bipolar disorder seems to be a kind of little death. She once had a good friend named Jill. Jill was bipolar. She forged checks and stole from her employers. She used to babysit me once upon a time, and when I was only four years old she would let me watch graphic movies like “Alien,” in which aliens can only give birth by planting their seed in the body of a living being. When the alien finally gestates and is ready to be born, it simply bursts from the host’s body and leaves them to die in a mess of blood and fleshy pulp. I remember watching the cartoon “Ren and Stimpy,” and it was at that point in my life that I learned the aesthetic potential of the grotesque and macabre. I forsook companionship with children my age for others who were three to five years older than me. Even they said I was “warped,” because my knowledge of sex, profanity and vulgarity was more advanced than anything they had known at my age. I was exposed to cigarettes early, alcohol early, everything just a tad earlier.  I learned most of what I knew from other children at St. Henry’s School, a place my parents had desperately tried to get me admitted to. It took a little coaxing from a family relative, but after much reluctance I was admitted. Even at a young age, I wasn’t looked upon as a genius or even as someone with average potential. My great aunt Emily had to harass a priest at St. Henry until they decided to give me the formality of an admissions test. And once I proved lackluster at that, she had to harass him some more. Little did my parents know, I would be reared in a den of charlatans. And though my mother constantly reminds me that she didn’t raise me to exhibit the behaviors I am prone to, she unwittingly unleashed me into a realm of the most expensive sin money can buy.

For much of my early exposure I have Jill to thank. But Jill has cemented in my mother’s mind a stigmatized perception of people with bipolar disorder. God forbid her son should have a variation of it, so even now she is in denial. When I told her over the phone today that I believe I have bipolar 2, she said, in desperation, “But you don’t have any of the symptoms!” The symptoms, according to the most direct Google search, are as follows: 1) mood swings, sadness, elevated mood, anger, anxiety, apathy, apprehension, euphoria, general discontent, guilt, hopelessness, loss of interest, or loss of interest or pleasure in activities; 2) irritability, risk taking behaviors, disorganized behavior, aggression, agitation, crying, excess desire for sex, hyperactivity, impulsivity, restlessness, or self-harm; 3) unwanted thoughts, delusion, lack of concentration, racing thoughts, slowness in activity, or false belief of superiority; 4) depression, manic episode, agitated depression, or paranoia; 5) difficulty falling asleep or excess sleepiness; 6) weight gain or weight loss; and 7) fatigue or rapid and frenzied speaking.

Looking at all of these symptoms, I can’t help but think that all of this is simply innate to the human condition. But at the end of the day, I can only speak to my human condition. In this lifetime, I can speak to no one else’s. And yet, to feel that there is some possibility of error in my cognitive makeup, that I am broken with little hope of drugless repair, is to know that there is a part of me that will always be lacking. Today I told my mother that in the last two months I stole merchandise worth thousands of dollars during my seasonal employment at Bloomingdales. More troubling still is that every time I stole from Bloomingdales I was in a good mood. With this condition it just goes to show that both highs and lows are dangerous. If I’m in a bad mood I might kill myself, and if I’m in a good mood I might happily commit several felonies. You really never know.

When I reported all of this information to my mother in demonstration of the fact that perhaps I do embody the erratic behavior she associates with bipolar disorder, she insisted on getting off the phone. She made me promise I would never steal again, which I obliged to with fingers crossed, and then she hung up. It’s not that I want to steal again. It’s just that I can’t make promises I know I can’t keep. For my mother, bipolar disorder is not unlike a prison sentence or a death sentence. Jill disappeared, and we never saw her again. We didn’t hear from her. We didn’t hear about her. She just vanished. Sometimes I wish I could do the same. I wish I could just disappear from everyone’s life over and over again, constantly remaking myself until I finally crash and burn. But these days, with social media and all the rest, it just isn’t that easy. We are bound to who we are, until we aren’t. I hope my family can salvage some sense of understanding until that day comes. I know it’s a lot to ask. I hardly understand myself.

[disco-vampire-thing]

Gothoughts - 3.15, How the Riddler Got His Name

SO!

I’ve decided to do a bit of a review for the newest episode of Gotham, along the lines of my comics and movie reviews.  Spoilers, unsolicited opinions, and undignified squeeing behind the cut. :)

As far as I’m concerned, Gotham’s return with “How the Riddler Got His Name” is a home run.  I know some fans were worried, looking at the earlier promos, that Oswald would be too quickly forgotten or we wouldn’t see the emotional fallout from his murder.  Instead, what we get really surpassed my expectations, with some fantastic interplay between Ed and his hallucination of Oswald, as Ed struggles both to come to terms with what Oswald really meant to him, and to take the next step into truly embodying the Riddler.

Speaking of which, I love the fact that Ed knows who he is, but is struggling to become that.  I love that, for him as it was for Oswald, the birth of the legend as we come to know him is not easy.  I think that’s one of Gotham’s real strengths.  While most supervillains do get their own origin stories in comics, I’ve found that a lot of versions then skip straight from the origin story to the villain as a fully-fledged threat, as if the decision to become a criminal meant you got a welcome basket with a pre-tailored costume and a starter pack of henchmen.  I know that it’s often done to make the villains seem more mysterious and, therefore, more threatening, but I think there are a lot more storytelling opportunities in letting us see, not only Batman’s training and struggles and failures, but those of his rogues’ gallery, too.

Something that’s interesting about Ed’s origin story in particular:  Okay, so Gotham always kind of rides this line between gritty deconstruction and comic book show, and sometimes teeters a little too far in one direction or the other. When I first heard Ed describe what he’s doing in this episode as “becoming a villain”, it made me wince.  “Villain”, in this sense, is basically a metafictional concept, and it’s not one that people would generally apply to themselves.  You know the saying, “Everyone is the hero of their own story”?  When you make yourself a villain, you’re essentially making yourself an obstacle in someone else’s story, and in real life, people don’t tend to do that.  

And Gotham is usually fairly realistic in this respect.  I’m pretty sure this is the first time anyone in this show has called themselves “a villain” unironically.  Mobsters like Carmine Falcone or Fish Mooney wouldn’t think of themselves that way – they’re powerful, ambitious businesspeople. Even someone unhinged like Jerome or Barbara would probably only say it in an ironic echo of how they think the world sees them.  I don’t think Oswald, in real life, would have said it about himself.  His path hasn’t been driven by the urge to become a villain, it’s been driven by the urge to rule Gotham. Even his becoming “the Penguin” was kind of unintentional.  He claimed that persona, but he didn’t set out to construct it.  (And hallucination!Oswald even unpicks this onscreen: he didn’t teach Ed to be a villain, he taught him to be Edward Nygma, “a man who could run the underworld and hide in plain sight”.)

But I have to say, this episode won me over in this respect.  I came to realise that out of all the rogues in Gotham, Ed is the one for whom this explicit “becoming a villain” shtick actually works.  I can see Ed deciding, “I recognise myself as a villain/recognise the villain in myself, and I will set out to embody him.”  It’s a reflection of how Ed tends to approach life and interactions with people in general:  it’s this attempt to apply high symbolism and abstract systems of rules to the real world. Which, incidentally, is also a pretty good description of how riddles work.

As for the way this episode explores Ed’s relationship with Oswald, I basically have nothing to offer but delighted shrieking. :)  I was expecting Oswald’s “ghost” to be tormenting Ed, the way Kristen’s has in the past; the fact that Ed takes such genuine pleasure in seeing him (even to the point of thanking Oswald for being there, as if he’s real) and is even taking drugs to be able to see him – a pretty big departure for someone who’s as invested as Ed is in control – came as a pleasant shock.  The moment where he finally says goodbye to Oswald, and admits how much he cares about and misses him, is genuinely heartwrenching.  And hallucination!Oswald is a delight throughout, from his eating popcorn to his exasperation with Ed selecting Jim as his archnemesis. :)  He’s wonderfully salty (as with his line about how he’s “not really a fan” of the view from the docks), but he also knows exactly where and how to slide the knife in under Ed’s defences.  Robin Lord Taylor is a tour de force in this episode – his performance as hallucination!Oswald is an exaggerated version of Oswald (because this is Ed’s mental reconstruction), but still nuanced, and he’s just fantastic to watch.  And holy shit, but that serenade makes me happy.  Ed actually hallucinates Oswald, dressed in gorgeous clothes, singing him a sexy ballad under a red spotlight.  I’m not only really pleased that the creators took it that far (making it pretty undeniable that Ed at least has some attraction towards his friend), I’m also impressed that they pulled it off. That scene could have so easily tipped over into being silly, but it’s executed with a deft hand and grounded in two really strong performances, making it erotic and eerie instead.

(Also it seems somehow cosmically unfair that anyone is as good looking as RLT, just saying.)

I’ll admit, I was underwhelmed by how the reveal of Oswald’s survival was handled. Granted, I don’t think anyone was actually going to be shocked, but I was hoping for something a bit more dramatic than him waking up in bed in an admittedly charming chintzy sweater.  What, no surge upwards out of the water of Gotham bay, mirroring the first episode?  Not even a scene of Oswald being discovered washed up on shore?  Just, oh, hey, you’re awake, isn’t it handy that gunshot wound and the accompanying near-drowning weren’t fatal?  I realise the episode packs a lot in and the creators probably didn’t want to spend too much time on the mechanics of how Oswald survived, but it still felt like a bit of a letdown. (However, pretty much the only letdown in a stellar episode, so I’m not too fussed.)

Speaking of Oswald’s survival:  Ivy was also absolutely nowhere on my list of prospective rescuers.  I assumed, as I think a lot of fans did, that the most logical person to pulls Oswald out of the harbour would be Fish.  She believes in his potential, so she might well think he could be useful to her long-term; she may also feel like she owes him for sparing her; she’s got access to Hugo Strange’s revival technology; and it would open up some pretty heady symbolism (Fish fishing – hee – Oswald out of the water after he pushed her in, the maternal imagery of her bringing him back into the world). Jim was also a possibility, as was Gabe, or the Court of Owls (who’ve shown an interest in Oswald before), or even Selina. I never would have thought of Ivy, though, and it seems somewhat out of character for a woman (a girl, really) who’s never really shown much of an altruistic streak.  (This wasn’t just a spontaneous moment of kindness, either – she’s apparently nursed him and hidden him for weeks!) However, I’ll admit that I’m intrigued.  Oswald and Ivy make an odd pair, but one with a lot of potential.  Both shunned as children for being different, both grown ruthless largely out of necessity, and both (as we’ve now learned about Ivy) with the capacity to be selfless, even self-sacrificing.  I can see them as a team.

So, that takes care of the Nygmobblepot elements (the Nygmobbleplot, if you will) – what about the rest of “How the Riddler Got His Name”?

I think one of the standout elements, for me, is the rivalry that’s shaping up between Ed and Lucius Fox.  We’ve seen them square off a few times before, providing a foundation for their evolution into archnemeses here, and I’m really glad that the show went in the direction of making Lucius Ed’s foil, rather than Gordon.  It helps break up the recurring theme of “Jim Gordon is the central figure in everyone’s life”, which made some sense in the first season, when Jim was the only honest cop in the city (and therefore naturally the most likely to be complicating the life of your average Gotham rogue), but has started feeling increasingly forced.  More than that, Lucius fits the role perfectly.  He’s a lot more willing to pursue Ed through all the labyrinthine twists of his games than Harvey or even Jim would be.  He’s as frighteningly brilliant as Ed, and (as Chris Chalk confirmed on Twitter), Lucius recognises a similarity in the way both their minds work.  (Hell, they’ve also both scientists who’ve been on the receiving end of what Lucius has called the GCPD’s “fascistic meathead culture”, so I suspect Lucius may understand all too well some of the forces that shaped Ed.)  And Lucius hasn’t given up on Ed, which I think is fascinating – especially as Ed seems shaken, at least temporarily, by Lucius’s sympathy.  I’m so looking forward to seeing how this plays out.

Their confrontation on the stairs, playing mind games for Harvey’s life, is just brilliant.  It’s a shining moment for Lucius – not just for the way he solves Ed’s puzzles, or even because he manages to best him at the riddles game by coming up with an answer Ed hadn’t thought of.  It’s the fact that Lucius actually pieces everything else together just from the few, tortured fragments that Ed lets slip.  And ohhhh, that moment where Lucius picks up that something’s wrong, that Oswald’s gone and Ed is coming unglued without him, that something happened.  So good.  

I also like how the riddles tie into the wider themes of the episode.  Ed’s answers are all solitary, in keeping with his mindset (loneliness, an individual, a reflection), whereas Lucius’s are more upbeat.  But Ed’s insistence that, “You have to come up with my answer,” mirrors what he’s been doing for the entire episode.  He knows, deep down, that he killed a part of himself when he killed Oswald, he knows he can’t really replace him, but he’s still pushing to get an answer he likes better, to get his answer.  (And of course, the answer to the third riddle being “a reflection” is fitting, as it’s normally a bit of poetic licence to say that your reflection “knows your every thought” because it mimics your expression, but for Ed, his reflection really does know – and is a manifestation of – his thoughts.  And then the “reflection” imagery becomes terrifyingly literal in the next scene when Bruce spots his clone in the mirror.  I love it.)

Incidentally, you could also call this episode “How Harvey Bullock Flirted Shamelessly with Lucius Fox for the Entire Length of an Investigation”, and it is glorious.  I’m not saying I don’t love Jim Gordon, but I’m starting to wonder if we really need him back in Gotham, at least right away.  I would watch the shit out of a show that was nothing but Lucius being a jaw-droppingly brilliant investigator and conducting Interrogation Via Weirding People Out, and Harvey, as his partner, showering him with fond looks and ten-dollar words (“Did you see how I used that word, ‘allocate’?”), fishing for compliments on his suits, and generally failing at pretending he doesn’t fancy Lucius rotten and also getting tied up occasionally because hello kink I didn’t realise I had.

I can’t wait to see where all this goes next week.

Random points:

I do have legitimate questions about why all scientists in Gotham work in big glass cages, but that’s by the by.

Robin Lord Taylor isn’t the only one showing off his acting chops here by playing with different versions of a character.  David Mazouz is amazing at getting across the subtle distinctions between Bruce, clone!Bruce, and clone!Bruce pretending to be Bruce.

You have to wonder if Harvey ever just flops down at his desk and contemplates what his life has come to, that he’s now in charge of frantically dredging the river for the guy he once arranged to have shot and dumped in the river.

Speaking of which, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Harvey (presumably) first interviewed Ed after Oswald disappeared.  Neither of them is all that keen to find him, but they’re both forced to pretend that they’re desperate to – and on top of that, they both loathe each other. That would have made for some interesting viewing.

There is no limit to my love for Ed’s fruit messenger. (Why IS he a bunch of grapes?  Who knows?  It’s brilliant.)

It’s probably a testament to how many gimmicky serial killers Gotham has that not one of the people who used to work closely with Nygma, know him as the riddle/puzzle guy, and know he’s murdered people connected him with this rash of puzzle-related murders.

It is pretty comical how much shabbier Harvey’s nicest suit is than anyone else’s suit.  It’s also a little bit heartwarming.  Remember when Harvey had a few Italian suits that had just wandered into his closet after they were confiscated during a bust?  Now, his nicest suit is clearly something he bought on his un-supplemented, honest cop’s salary, and takes good care of.  It’s this bit of meta sweetness.

This is such a weird thought, but – how did the Court duplicate Bruce’s clothes?  Do they have an entire wardrobe based on his wardrobe (how?), and when he left the house some surveillance van called in to say, “It’s the black turtleneck and the three-quarter-length black coat today”?  Or did someone run out and try and buy those clothes based on a photo, and dress clone!Bruce in them, all in about half an hour?  How do you go out shopping in a city the size of Gotham for ten minutes and manage to exactly match clothes that could have been bought a year ago?  Am I overthinking this?  (The answer is yes.)

Is it just a thing in Gotham that when you want to test someone’s loyalty and maybe kill them, you take them to a cabin in the woods?  At least Jim’s uncle isn’t trying to hold his hand romantically over the breakfast table.

#gotham #spoilers #stray thoughts #gothoughts