Wheezing (if I don’t I may strangle someone instead). Got into a debate with an anti Jedi person about the Jedi code. Managed to get it across to them the code doesn’t fucking promote Jedi to become emotionless.
They then decided to take a different angle where they claim the code is wrong because it could be misinterpreted and that many council members misinterpreted to mean you have to be emotionless. I proceed to ask them to name me a council member.
Guess who they named guys? Guess which council member they named as someone who thinks the code means you can’t show emotions and abide by that interpretation?
Ok but does anyone else remember when Angel Eyes is passing through the run-down Confederate camp trying to get info about Bill Carson, and he surveys all the pain destruction, shakes his head and just looks so disappointed and (dare I say) almost sad? It just makes me wonder. Why does the sight of war seem to shake this stone-cold man, an angel of death in his own right? Why do we never see this reaction again? At Batterville, he seems completely unfazed by his and Wallace's torture of the Confederate prisoners. ??? Angel Eyes, you unhinged bastard. Do you really have a soul? We need answers!
I've been having Danny call the Spirit of Gotham "Lady G" in my fic. I was writing chapter 4 of my DCxDP story and a Lady Gaga song came on when I was writing a scene with Lady Gotham...
Is this a sign that Lady Gotham is Lady Gaga?!?! I mean Lady Gotham is a lesbian and Lady Gaga is playing Harley Quinn.............. they are the same person now. No one can convince me otherwise.
Remus’s eyes watched as a sea of crimson and gold disappeared in a blur through the door of the locker room, his index and ring finger latched onto the strap of his helmet, skin around his thumb bleeding from the time he spent picking it while listening to Coach Potter’s motivational speech. The whistle, and the cheers, and the testosterone, left Remus’s ears ringing and heart pounding. He could vaguely hear the sound of a PA system in the distance, getting ready to announce the start of the game.
The rally girls.
The roar of the crowd.
A warm hand thumped him on his shoulder, Coach Potter coming to stand in front of him, brow low on his face, whistle and lanyard hanging around his neck.
“Are you ready for this, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know what to do—” Do I? “And if you don’t you read the coverage and you run, got it?”
“Yes, sir.” Remus nodded, swallowing down the excess of saliva built in the back of his throat and trying to remember how to breathe. Maybe after this week James would be back. Maybe it was just a quick fix and he’d be back on his feet and Remus could go back to warming the bench where he belonged. He could fake it for another game.
“Now let me ask you something,” Coach Potter shifted on his feet and put his hands on his hips, “when you threw that ball last week—that game winning pass to Cresswell down the field—did you have your eyes closed?”
“…Y-yes, yes, sir. I had no idea what was going to happen.”
Remus watched Coach Potter inhale through his nose slowly and exhale before nodding shortly. Resolved. Miracles could happen more than once. Maybe.
“Well...alright then. Hail Mary, full of grace…” Coach muttered, clapping Remus on the shoulder once more. “Suit up, they’ll be calling you soon.”