botched landing

Why the TV show Timeless Deserves More Attention

Okay everyone listen up. This past year (meaning 2016 going into 2017), NBC seemed to have a good batch of new TV shows that have gained critical acclaim (This Is Us, I’m looking at you). But one that seemed to fly under the radar was the show Timeless. It was created by Eric Kripke, who is also known for creating the show of Supernatural which is on the CW, and Shawn Ryan.  

Now just a gist of what it’s about. It’s about a man who steals a time machine to go back into critical points of United States and early North American history to try and take out this organization called Rittenhouse, which seems to play a major role in basically every turning point of the historical timeline. The government takes over control of the industry who made the time machine and gets a trio of people to go back in time to stop the man. 

It seems that time machines and time travel seem to be an up and coming theme in media (Doctor Who reboot, Legends of Tomorrow to name two). But this one I found stood out in ways that deserve the recognition it’s due. 

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“Velcro bird” couldn’t stand that I was in the kitchen for two. whole. seconds. So he chased after me. But kinda botched his landing. 🤣 I’m probably easily amused but man, I just laughed so hard. That determined little face at the end just killed me.
#flashtheparrotlet #parrot #parrotlet #pacificparrotlet #petbird #bird #birdsofig #parrotsofig #imeasilyamused

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Anguish // Bucky Barnes

Summary: AU where Reader is an FBI Agent and best friends with Detective Nat Romanoff. Everything changes when Bucky and the reader meet each other. Soon Nat has to decide what’s more important…her happiness or her best friend.

Characters: agent!reader x detective!bucky, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers x nurse!Sharon, Wanda x Vision, Pietro Maximoff (mentioned), Nick Fury (mentioned), and Peggy Carter (mentioned)

Words: 2692

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or the characters involved. This is also an AU in which the Avengers are actually detectives.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of death, injuries, infertility by car accident, PTSD (mentioned), and ANGST with just a hint of fluff.

Author: Caitsy

A/N: to hold you over till Sunday, April 23rd when I will be finished packing for home! Requests will be OPEN ON SUNDAY

Snapchat to see what’s coming next: caitsyandash

Master List

Prompt List


Originally posted by xalisiamarvelous

Normally it should be one the happiest days to watch your best friend get married but for Natasha it was the exact opposite. You had been best friends since you were roommates during your police academy days having bonded as the daughters of former officers. When you went to different cities for jobs you had kept in contact and celebrated when Nat made detective and you worked your ass up into the FBI. She was so happy when you took your two weeks off following a botched operation landing you with a bullet to the shoulder.

During those two weeks you had met one of Nat’s co-workers and friend Bucky Barnes at a game night. It was held at Steve Rogers house in Brooklyn, he was a recently transferred detective from Bucky’s childhood, and Steve’s wife Sharon. Sharon was an ER nurse going back to school to become a Doctor. Nat had straight away invited you over not expecting to have you bond so well with everyone.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N-“

“Agent Y/L/M, dumbs.” Nat laughed poking you in the side. You giggled.

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Summary: Sasuke looks as if he has been turned to stone, his hands clenching around the kit in his hands. If she didn’t think he could turn any redder, she was mistaken. For several seconds his eyes zero in on everything below her neck. Sakura feels the warmth in her cheeks travel downward at this, and trying for confidence, she purrs, “Like what you see?” [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 12 – Prompt: “The Virgin Sees”]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be torn apart by mercenary ninja with bad fashion sense should you be found plagiarising.

Warning: Maybe slight OOC, but only because they are from a different universe. Sasuke never left Konoha.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place during Part II. Alternate Universe.

Fanon Compliance: Could conceivably take place in my Walk A Mile timeline

AN: This is unedited. Sorry, there was family stuff that got in the way of updates. Also, CEO & Assistant prompt is still being worked on. I’ll try for tomorrow.


It starts out as a run-of-the-mill information retrieval mission.

Simple, straightforward – they don’t even need the whole team. It’s just as well, Kakashi has been helping Naruto improve his change of nature techniques, and Sakura’s been hoping for some quality alone-time with Sasuke.

Between everyone’s training regimen, it’s hard to find the time to just be two fifteen-year-olds in not-quite-love-but-slowly-getting-past-like.

So when Lady Tsunade proposes the mission – retrieve some stolen documents from a group of mercenary ninja and deliver it to the intended recipients – Sakura jumps on it. It’s easy, requiring stealth and intelligence, which both she and Sasuke excel at.

Everything goes perfectly, until it turns out one of the enemy is a sensor type.

Sakura and Sasuke’s carefully planned infiltration and extraction gets turned into an all-out brawl. They get the documents, but they’ve been made, and are now being hunted through the forests.

And on top of that, a shuriken has just become deeply embedded in the fleshy part beneath Sakura’s left shoulder blade. Sasuke hangs back, ready to grab her, but she steadies herself mid-stumble.

“I’m fine,” she insists, despite the cold pain and the feel of blood soaking through her shirt.

Sasuke considers her, and she knows from the expression he is weighing their options. If the wound is deep, blood-loss will make a long-range spring impossible, but in their current situation they’re at the disadvantage.

“We need a distraction,” he says. “You or me?”

The fact that he isn’t even acknowledging her wound shows how far they’ve come over the years. He knows she can take care of herself.

She smirks. “Well, you’re pretty, but I don’t think you’re their type.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upward at this, and he nods, turning to leave.

“Five minutes,” he tells her. “Three if you don’t have a choice.”

And then he is gone. Seconds later, the enemy catches up and she is surrounded on all sides by half-a-dozen missing-nin dressed in black.

“Seriously?” she asks as the closest ones lunge at her. “Why do people like you always dress in black?” She bends into her taijutsu forms, dodging blows and more volleys of shuriken. “Wouldn’t it be smarter for mercenaries to dress in camouflage?”

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I love the Way You Love Me

Part I -  “I Like the feel of your name on my lips,”

A series of Marichat drabbles based on the song, I Love the Way You Love Me, the version covered by Boyzone.

The rain came down in torrents, raindrops spattering against the dark contours of his suit and making little rivulets on their journey back to earth. In the dark of the night this soaked stray tom cat vaulted roof tops with a particular destination in mind. His hand slipped when it came down to grasp a familiar wrought iron railing, which subsequently caused his boots to slip as well.

What would have been a spectacular landing worthy of praise given the current weather conditions, instead resulted in a desperate clamber of life and death. Adrenaline coursed through his veins in sudden waves, as he dug his claws into the ledge at the base of the iron hand railing. The mere inches of concrete his only saving grace from a lengthy and harmful drop.

Several stressful and heart-pounding minutes later he pulled himself over the rails and collapsed onto the rooftop balcony in a tired and shaking heap. He also managed to upend a flower pot in the process, but at the current moment he hardly cared.

The sound of the nearby trap door being thrown open, about tore one of his nine lives right out of his soul. His eyes whipped towards the door so fast it took a moment to gain focus.

“What the heck are you doing up here?”

It wasn’t unusual for him to drop in for a night time visit. Over the past two years he’d nurtured a slow friendship with Marinette, his shy yet spirited classmate. Not as his mild-mannered alter ego, no, she still had problems spitting a proper sentence out when around Adrien. Which is why he found it so much easier to befriend her in the guise of a mask.

She laughed when he wore the mask. She made cheeky and sassy comments, teased, shared, spoke full and proper sentences. She treated him in a way she would never treat Adrien. The mask was that perfect barrier that made their friendship easier.

And how he indulged in it. Maybe a bit too much if tonight had anything to say about the matter.


A small unintended shiver coursed down his spine in response to his name. In his mind, he tried to blame it on the rain.

He forced his hands against the roof a little too hard, and realized he twisted his wrist during his life and death scramble. He could only hope his moan of pain got lost in the torrential downpour that filled the space between him and Marinette, and all of Paris surrounding them.

“Are you hurt?” She stepped out onto the roof but stopped just under the edge of her awning, hesitant to venture out into the storm unless he was actually wounded.

“I’ll be fine, Princess.” He assured.

He managed to suppress a wince and climbed to his feet. He carefully stepped over the old wooden spool that served as a table and joined her under the awning. Marinette had to step back so her back pressed against the wall just to make room for him.

“I botched my landing upon entry.” He explained with a cheshire grin. “I’m sorry if all the noise startled you.” His bright green eyes found hers in the dark, and he pinned her with a soft stare. He was no stranger to close proximity with Ladybug, finding creative and interesting ways to invade her personal space. However, he couldn’t shake the sudden conscious awareness of how close he was to Marinette right now.

“You’d better hope my parents didn’t hear it.”

A sudden gust of wind tore at the awning and loosened one of the tethers, causing a cascade of rain to come down on the both of them. Instinctively he pressed his body against Marinette to shield her, both arms protectively going to her sides, and got her even more soaked in the process because he was still drenched from his night time excursion.

“Chat Noir!” She hissed indignantly.

“Oops~” he murmured playfully into her ear.

Before he even realized what he was doing his nose brushed against her ear, and his cold wet cheek found warmth against hers. He let out a shuddering exhale when the realization stuck him.

“Marinette… I…” He attempted to say something coherent, something to dispel the odd feelings in the air, but his mind got caught up in the feel of her name on his lips. It wasn’t often that he actually referred to her by her proper name, and his mind couldn’t seem to wrap around why he was doing it now.

It took Marinette longer than it should have to regain control of the situation. She sucked in her own shuddering breath and forced some distance between them. Her eyes refused to meet his vibrant green ones as she formulated a hasty complaint.

“You’re all wet, and you got me all wet too!”

He stepped back then, trying to salvage the situation. She took that moment to escape and dove for the trap door faster than a mouse.

His cat eyes watched her, glad that she couldn’t see the trepidation that swam in their depths. He wanted to follow her as he usually did, but the awkward moment made him stall.

“Well?” She barked in a hushed tone. “Are you going to come inside or not?”

His heart did an unmistakable back flip at her crude invitation, and he cursed himself for it.

‘Good Time’ Trailer: Robert Pattinson and the Safdie Brothers Have One Wild Palme d’Or Contender

Thanks to features like “Daddy Longlegs” and “Heaven Knows What,” the Safdie Brothers have emerged as two of the most formidable New York indie filmmakers working today. This month they’re heading to Cannes to compete for the Palme d’Or for the first time with “Good Time”, and now we finally have our first look at their contender in the trailer below.

READ MORE: Before ‘Good Time,’ the Safdie Brothers’ ‘Daddy Longlegs’ Reinvented the New York Movie

The official synopsis reads: “After a botched bank robbery lands his younger brother in prison, Constantine “Connie” Nikas (Robert Pattinson) embarks on a twisted odyssey through the city’s underworld in an increasingly desperate — and dangerous — attempt to get his brother Nick (Benny Safdie) out of jail. Over the course of one adrenalized night, Connie finds himself racing against the clock to save his brother and himself, knowing both their lives hang in the balance.”

“Good Time” looks like it will continue the Safdie tradition of visceral, gritty and utterly hypnotic indie filmmaking. It should also be another unpredictable entry in Pattinson’s growing oeuvre. The actor has become an indie favorite thanks to collaborations with David Michod, David Cronenberg, Werner Herzog and James Gray. It’s safe to say working with the Safdie Bros should give Pattinson the opportunity to show off a completely new side of himself.

“Good Time” premieres at Cannes on May 25. A24 will release the indie in theaters August 11. Watch the trailer below.

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Related stories Cannes American Pavilion 2017 Lineup: Spike Lee, Wim Wenders, Screen Talk Live and MoreBong Joon-ho Responds to Cannes Netflix Debate: ‘Physical Theaters and Digital Streaming Platforms Will Co-Exist’'Coby’ Exclusive Trailer: Cannes ACID Documentary Explores True-Life Transgender Story From Heartland

The first official teaser poster for Good Time, starring Robert Pattinson, as a small time criminal on the run. He’s featured on the poster in a blond wig (part of his disguise while trying to evade the cops that are looking for him). From the looks of the poster, we’re all in for a wild ride.

Following the mind-bending Heaven Knows What, celebrated filmmakers Josh and Benny Safdie return to the mean streets of New York City with Good Time, a hypnotic crime thriller that explores with bracing immediacy the tragic sway of family and fate.

After a botched bank robbery lands his younger brother in prison, Constantine “Connie” Nikas (Robert Pattinson) embarks on a twisted odyssey through the city’s underworld in an increasingly desperate—and dangerous—attempt to get his brother Nick (Benny Safdie) out of jail. Over the course of one adrenalized night, Connie finds himself on a mad descent into violence and mayhem as he races against the clock to save his brother and himself, knowing their lives hang in the balance.

Anchored by a career-defining performance from Robert Pattinson, Good Time is a psychotic symphony of propulsive intensity crafted by two of the most exciting young directors working today. Josh and Benny Safdie’s transcendent vision is an intoxicating portrait of desperation and destruction that will not be soon forgotten.

Directed by Josh and Benny Safdie

Starring Robert Pattinson, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Barkhad Abdi, and Benny Safdie



Tuesday, August 08, 2017

Hot Spot: Join Our Members Only Site for Location Info

Deets: After a botched bank robbery lands his younger brother in prison, Constantine embarks on a twisted odyssey through the city’s underworld in an increasingly desperate attempt to get his brother out of jail. Over the course of one night, Constantine finds himself on a mad descent into violence and mayhem as he races against the clock to save his brother and himself, knowing their lives hang in the balance.

Who You May Spot: Robert Pattinson, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Josh Safdie, Benny Safdie

Hint For The Average Socialite: This event is strictly invite only.

anonymous asked:

Elgang in skydiving??

Elsword is totally going to rock this - until he actually steps to the edge and looks down.  He didn’t realize they were that high up.  He jumps, but Elesis teases him about screaming all the way down.

Aisha takes one look and retreats back to the safety of solid ground.  You are not getting her to jump.  She will teleport down to where the Elgang lands.

Rena tests the parachute a few times, shrugs, figures it’ll be fun, and jumps.  She does end up double-jumping to check her momentum halfway down.

Raven has done parachute jumps before, but he’s not sure the parachute can hold his increased weight… He requires persuasion before he jumps.

Eve does the calculations, reasons there is no way a parachute can hold her, and doesn’t even try.

Chung realizes he’s afraid of heights after he’s jumped.  He screams all the way down too.

Ara panics, tries to run midair, gets tangled up in her own parachute, and falls screaming.  Eun takes over to deus-ex-machina her out of it.

Elesis is the only one who whole-heartedly enjoys it.  She’s cackling the entire way down, though she does sort of botch her landing - she was having so much fun that she forgot to pull the parachute.

Add wimps out.  He glides down on his Dynamo.

Lu is pissed that she can’t dive, since there’s no harness small enough to hold her.

Ciel ends up staying behind and comforting Lu, which kinda sucks, because he wanted to skydive.

Rose has had training in skydiving in the Imperial Garden.  She doesn’t like doing it, but Zero does.

Ain has to struggle not to stretch his wings and glide the entire way down.  He’s a bit of a nervous wreck afterwards, and vanishes out of intervention to recover.

Basement Life

Part 2 of 2

Also on AO3

In the breaking dawn light of the Amusement Mile, Stiles Stilinski made his way on shaking legs through the boarded up barrier that stopped visitors from getting into the closed attractions. Gotham City’s east end was a long way from the dirt and grime filled streets that Stiles was used to sticking to, but right now he needed to get away - as far away as possible.

It didn’t matter that he was away, that he had spent most of the night wandering the street, not even bothering to hide in the shadows; no one would miss him. Sure, he was active on the southern west side, busting crates of illegal guns and drugs that got shipped in through the docks, but it wasn’t his turf. He wasn’t good enough to have turf yet.

Ha. Yet, He thought as he climbed up the shaky metal steps of one of the closed rides. As if I’ll ever be good enough.

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“Good Time is really hardcore kind of Queens, New York, mentally damaged psychopath, bank robbery movie.” ~ Robert Pattinson 

With Good Time premiering at Cannes on May 25th, we’re finally getting to see some photos from the film. Robert Pattinson is starring, and we get two pics of him, one solo and one with Benny Safdie (playing his mentally-damaged brother). “Good Time” is directed by Benny and Josh Safdie (“Heaven Knows What”).

Pattinson plays a bank robber on the run who has a wild night. The cast features Oscar-nominees Jason Leigh and Barkhad Abdi, along with Buddy Duress and Taliah Webster. Many are excited by the music for the film, written by American experimental artist Oneohtrix Point Never (who has also collaborated with Pattinson’s fiancee, FKA twigs).

Good Time synopsis: After a botched bank robbery lands his younger brother in prison, Constantine Nikas (Robert Pattinson) embarks on a twisted odyssey through the city’s underworld in an increasingly desperate — and dangerous — attempt to get his brother out of jail. Over the course of one adrenalized night, Constantine finds himself on a mad descent into violence and mayhem as he races against the clock to save his brother and himself, knowing their lives hang in the balance.

“Good Time” opens in the U.S. on August 11th.

Lion Cubs (SherlockxReader)

Sherlock was laying on the couch, his hands under his chin and eyes closed. He was thinking about the case Lestrade had given him earlier when he heard your footsteps enter the room. You climbed over him, placing your knees on either side of his hips and your hands beside his head.

“Sherlock, listen to me I have a question,” you said, your face hovering above his.

“I doubt it’s of any importance,” he said not even opening his eyes.

“It is of importance! I wanted to ask if you could take me to the zoo.”

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November 1983 -

El Pibe Diez severely botches a dive, and lands on his head on Titanes en el Ring television. Unfortunately, since footage of this Argentinian promotion is so scarce and most information not in English, I could not figure out the name of his opponent.

To add to the scariness of the moment, his opponent instantly tries to pick him up after blasting head first into the floor. Afterwards, the fans would back him off, and carry Diez to the back.

I would have provided a link, but it turns out the source of this video is no longer on YouTube.


Good Time, starring Robert Pattinson

After a botched bank robbery lands his younger brother in prison, Constantine Nikas (Robert Pattinson) embarks on a twisted odyssey through the city’s underworld in an increasingly desperate – and dangerous – attempt to get his brother out of jail.

Over the course of one adrenalized night, Constantine finds himself on a mad descent into violence and mayhem as he races against the clock to save his brother and himself, knowing their lives hang in the balance.

Good Time, A film by Josh & Benny Safdie. By the directors of Uncut Gems, Heaven Knows What (Venice, Toronto, New York, SXSW), Lenny and The Kids (Sundance, Cannes)

With Robert Pattinson (The Lost City of Z, Life, Maps to the Stars, The Rover, Cosmopolis, Twilight Saga), Benny Safdie, Jennifer Jason Leigh (Twin Peaks 2017, Annihilation, The Hateful Eight), Buddy Duress and Barkhad Abdi (Blade Runner 2049, Eye In The Sky, Captain Phillips)

US release summer 2017 by A24 

Cannes 2017 - Official Selection – In Competition

anonymous asked:

Erik making pancakes

Yes, anon, YES.

I am so obsessed with Erik being a fairly good cook and taking care of stuff in the kitchen. Hell, in my last fic, I wrote an entire scene of Erik making pancakes and flipping them and thinking that every time he botched a landing it was like a metaphor for his life (Stop me… stop me…) 

Even better than just Erik in the kitchen, is how much Charles sucks at cooking. He’s just horrible. It’s not that he doesn’t try, because he does, but it’s always amazing to Erik how badly Charles can botch even the most simple of things (he burns pasta, he undercooks chicken, he gets huge pieces of shell in eggs).

Erik does his best to prevent Charles from cooking and wasting food, but Charles wants to feel like he’s contributing and making things for Erik, and it’s hard to dissuade him. Plus, practice makes perfect, right?

Which is rather cute. In fact, Erik finds it downright adorable when he walks into the kitchen and finds Charles frowning at a plate of overcooked broccoli. It’s just that Charles does so much for Erik and Erik wants to feel like he’s giving back. He’s not so great at expressing his emotions or listening to Charles vent (he likes to interrupt Charles to tell him how to fix his problems and sometimes even gets combative) and he feels like he lets Charles down a lot.

But cooking is something he can do. He can cook and take care of Charles this way, just like Erik’s mom used to cook for him. And he hopes in some way, as corny as it sounds (and he buries the thought so, so deep that not even Charles can dig it out) that when Charles eats Erik’s cooking, he can taste how much love went into making it.

Chapter 25: Daphne

Disclaimer: The Starkillers Cycle contains strong language and graphic content. It is not intended for readers under age 18.

Cooper had drugged her. Tried to wipe her memories. Stolen her photos and files. And left marks on her body ensuring that even if Daphne tried to block out what he’d done, she would remember, remember, remember with every movement, every breath, until long after the wounds faded.
There was nothing Turner could do to fix that, no matter what he might offer. She knew he meant it—that he’d do just about anything to keep her safe. It still didn’t change the facts. Or the nightmare her life had become in a matter of hours.
Daphne lowered Turner’s foot from her lap. “The wound is completely healed. Mel may hate the tech, but she used it right.”
Despite being still cuffed to the stairs, Turner’s gaze was too heavy on her. She knew he missed nothing.
“Come on, Daph,” Turner whispered, glancing up at the stairwell. “I’m unarmed. What do you think I’m gonna do if you cut me loose? I can get out of these cuffs on my own, but I haven’t. That’s got to count for something.”
Daphne smoothed her sweaty palms on her thighs. Her fingers slid over a hell of a lot of exposed skin. Her cheeks heated. She didn’t want to know what Turner thought about the dress. “No way, Turner.”
But she knew Turner was one of the good ones. Her father and his uncle had been friends, and for her whole life, they’d had these “family dinners” with the Hahns. As if that wasn’t enough to earn at least some of her affection, Turner had always gone above and beyond. When she’d realized no boy in Semp-Ac 1 would accompany her to the Midwinter Dance (she’d never forgiven her father for making her go in the first place), and when her own date—Turner’s younger brother, Harrison, a.k.a. The Destroyer, a.k.a. the most lethal mech pilot in the Axis—had bailed on her yet again, Turner had been the one to step in and escort her.
What had made it even nicer was that back then, Turner, not Harrison, had been the ace mech pilot. He had far better things to do than bring a loser seventeen year-old to a ridiculous school dance. But Turner hadn’t left her side, had coaxed her onto the dance floor, and had even given her a kiss on her cheek at the end of the night. Probably because his uncle had demanded that, too. But still… Turner had always been one of the few people who actually looked at her—and saw her. Not the tattoo. Both Hahn boys had been kind to her when they had no real reason to be.
“I want to unchain you,” she admitted. Turner’s face, normally gloriously tan, was still pale from blood loss. Even the stim-kit couldn’t fix that. Only time could. “But you’ll just complicate things.”
“Things are already complicated, Daph.”
She scooted back to the wood-paneled wall, sliding across the marble floor, the cool tile biting her ass and thighs. With the stupid fucking dress, she couldn’t cross her legs, or fold them to her chest like she so badly wanted to. Not without flashing Turner a good eyeful of her ladyparts—which her equally stupid thong did nothing to hide.
So she leaned against the wood wall, folding her legs to the side. “How’s Harrison?” she asked quietly. Chatting about family seemed easier than discussing the nightmare her life had become.
“Burning, slaughtering, destroying,” Turner said. “As usual.”
She didn’t like thinking about that—and only watched the media coverage of Destroyer’s victories out of some primal terror that if she didn’t, Harrison might die. “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“I don’t remember,” Turner said.
She debated asking why that was, though she knew things were strained between the brothers, but—I don’t remember.
She wouldn’t have remembered anything of today, perhaps longer than that, if Mel hadn’t come. Cooper had…Cooper had…
She closed her eyes, tipping her head back against the wall. But the deep breath she tried to take stayed lodged in her throat. “What am I going to do?” she asked hoarsely, not trusting herself to open her eyes. Not when panic pushed in from every angle, worse than any botched landing had ever felt.
“Uncuff me, and—”
Her eyes flew open, and Daphne bit down on her flickering anger as she stood. She’d be better off confiding in a style-bot. “I can’t. So stop asking.”
She was already stepping around him and up the stairs.
Turner twisted to demand, “Where the hell are we going, Daph? At least tell me that.”
“So you can let my father know? Or the Fed? Screw you, Turner.”
He made a wounded noise, and she rolled her eyes, not pausing her ascent. “My arms are going numb,” he tried.
“And I don’t care.” The truth was that she’d set their course for the seediest, most backwater spaceport she’d ever heard of. Somewhere quiet, gritty, and utterly off the radar. She wasn’t afraid that Turner would give the location away; she was afraid that in his constant need to do the right thing, Turner would just keep pointing out all the little fuck-ups she’d made. And when he was done, he’d get into her shitty standing at the FSTW program.
And she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that—not when she needed to get out of the dress and to scrub the scent of that vile casino, of Cooper, of goddamn Neil, off her.
Turner continued protesting below, but Daphne had already reached the top of the stairs. As she passed the kitchen attached to the grand lounge, she spotted the prisoner—Colt, he’d said—leaning on the counter, eating a banana. A real one, all the way from Blutha.
Colt’s eyes tracked her across the room. She hadn’t realized he was Striker—that he might be dangerous. But Turner trusted him, so he couldn’t be that bad. Still, Daphne kept her distance and didn’t answer his casual nod of greeting as she headed for one of the upper-level bedrooms. Men didn’t wind up on Hatha for petty theft.
She reached the secondary master bedroom, and strode into the adjoining bathroom.
Daphne turned on the shower as hot as it would go, and even though it hurt like hell, she let the water scald her. She stayed in, washing her hair twice, soaping down her body three times, even going so far as to shave her already-smooth legs with a disposable razor. The flickering pain in her neck and arm wasn’t so easy to erase.
She never should have gotten out of bed today.
Maybe she never should have entered the FSTW program.
Which, odds were, she was never going back to, anyway. Not after what she and Mel had done to Neil. What had happened in that docking bay.
Men—Cooper’s men—were dead.
Now she was on the run, and holding a Federation officer hostage with the help of two escaped convicts.
The Striker—Colt—was enormous. So jacked it was no wonder he’d survived in the jungle. He couldn’t have been much older than her—maybe three years at most, but he had a hardness that made her feel like a prissy little princess.
And he was hot.
Holy God, he was hot. Maybe not so pretty as Turner, but…
Daphne leaned her head against the cold stone tiles of the shower, letting the water beat into her back. Two hours after that fiasco with Cooper and she was already thinking about other guys?
She’d never had one, but she’d bet all her considerable inheritance at an Altheron blackjack table that these kinds of thoughts were purely and utterly of the Rebound Variety.
It made no fucking difference if she thought Colt was hot, because she’d all-too clearly heard the dismay in his “You’re a gypsy?” comment.
She wanted to go to sleep. Today needed to be over. She didn’t even know what time it was. Let Mel kill them all, let Mel dump her out the fucking airlock, she didn’t care. Let Turner spend the rest of his life chained to that bannister. Why, she bet it’d make the next holiday dinner a real fucking joy.
If she survived that long.
Daphne toweled off, and dug up some brand-new, very scandalous underwear from the bedroom armoire (the price-tags were still on it—and though she loved pretty things, she could never justify wearing underwear that cost as much as most U.F. families made in a week). She also found a soft, gray t-shirt, which she threw on before climbing into the giant bed.
Tired as she was, sleep didn’t come, and so Daphne stared at the darkened ceiling, wondering how her life had gone to shit so quickly.
And how she’d ever fix it.

“You’re sleeping?”
Daphne jerked awake, and she had no idea where she was. The room was dark and larger than her bedroom on Hatha, and the only light poured in from a wood-paneled hallway. The room seemed to purr—the thrum and grumble of engines. A tall, slender woman stood in the threshold, silhouetted against the light.
“Are you kidding me?”
Right. Mel. Stolen Subwolff Cruiser. Kidnapped Turner. Sexy Striker. Bruise on her wrist, holes in her neck and arm. Cooper, dumping and drugging and memory-wiping.
Fuck everything.
Daphne swung her legs out of bed, wincing as the cold air hit her. “I needed a nap.”
“We’re in this together, and you leave me to fly the ship and look after our esteemed guests? Are you fucking stupid?”
Daphne sighed. Yes. Yes, she was.
“Well?” Mel demanded, flicking on the bedroom lights and storming for the bed. “And where the fuck are your clothes?”
A t-shirt and lacy underwear. Not acceptable piloting attire. She’d need pants. And a bra. And a sweater of some kind, since the room was so chilly. Space was so chilly.
“What the hell is the matter with you?”
Daphne blinked. She didn’t even remember falling asleep. But she was still bone-tired.
“You know what, I don’t even want to hear it,” Mel went on. “Just go to the cockpit and keep the ship running. It’s my turn for a fucking shower.”
Daphne ran a hand through her still-wet hair. She couldn’t have been asleep for long if her hair was damp. “What’s the plan, Mel?”
“The plan, Daphne Greene, is that once we get to that space-port, we dump the detective. Then we go find my friend. He might stand a chance of sorting this shit out. For both of us.”
“What about…Colt?” The name whispered over Daphne’s tongue. Short. No-nonsense.
“What about him? He’s good to have around—at least until we find my friend.”
“And who’s your friend? That cyborg from Torant?” Who had been sexy as hell, too.
That question earned a sly smile from Mel—the first real, relaxed smile Daphne had ever seen flash on her lips. Maybe the cyborg was off-limits, then. “The cyborg’s boss, actually.”
Daphne’s brow furrowed. Mel’s friend wasn’t apart of the crime syndicate or the military, then that made him at least some kind of ally.
An ally was better than nothing and whole hell of a lot better than being dead. Or worse.
So Daphne straggled out of bed and said, “Too bad. The cyborg was hot.”
She headed for the closet and pretended not to notice Mel’s glower—or the very annoyed growl to Mel’s words: “I’ll be waiting in the cockpit. Hurry. Up. Princess.”
Daphne didn’t hurry up, and a leisurely search through the armoire yielded a sports bra, pair of tight black pants, and a short, fitted brown leather jacket—real leather, God almighty. She tugged on a pair of knee-high boots—mercifully in her size. Finally, she strode out of the bedroom and into the large lounge.
Colt, who had been sprawled on the large couch, sat up straight.
Yeah, hot was a light way of describing him. And hot mess was a light way of describing the trouble she’d be in if she ever got tangled up with a Striker.
She’d had enough of dealing with criminals for a lifetime.
Daphne ignored him and turned down the hall toward the cockpit. Mel was waiting for her, arms folded over her chest and gaze lethal. As usual.
So as usual, Daphne pretended not to notice. She slid into the gray leather captain’s chair and appraised the glass and chrome dashboard before her. This dash probably cost more than most houses. God, this was a gorgeous ship.
She flipped on the satellite-radio to whatever pop station had last been playing.
Daphne groaned as she read the title streaming across the screen—right before the bubbly, bass-and-violin-and-synth song began.
“I hate this song,” she said, stretching an arm to the array of buttons. Anything, anythingbut CPHC—aka Crown Prince Hotness Charming—and the pop-god’s Number One hit, “Let’s Do It B4 Midnite.”
She yelped as Mel slapped away her hand, faster than a striking asp. “Leave it,” Mel snarled.
Daphne twisted in her chair, looking Mel up and down. “You can’t be,” she said. Melcouldn’t be a fan of CPHC.
Mel’s face was stone-cold. “Am I supposed to prefer some other kind of music? Something with screaming vocals and violent guitars and explicit lyrics?”
Daphne blinked. “Well… No. But CPHC? Really?”
Mel angled her head, the strong line of her jaw defiant. “They played him in prison. I wrote him letters.”
“No you fucking didn’t,” Daphne breathed, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Her father’s men played CPHC for the inmates? As a form of torture, or—
The chorus came on, the male’s sugary-sweet voice crooning, “Let’s do it before midnight, make the Axis burn so bright…I want yo’ molten lava core to hyperspeed me through the night—
“Oh God,” Daphne said. “He rhymed ‘night’ with ‘night.’”
“Do not insult CPHC.”
Daphne opened her mouth, but stayed silent through the next verse—until the bridge came on: I don’t even know yo’ name, but why don’t you take off those glass shoes and jump up on meeee, jump up on meee
From a level below, Turner shouted, “PLEASE NOT THIS SONG.”
Mel’s smile turned positively feline as she punched up the volume, directing it to play even more loudly in the downstairs hall.
Daphne bit back a grin. “His arms are killing him,” she said. No need to mention just how hot it’d looked to see Turner tied up like that. Not that she was into that kinda thing, but…hell, she wasn’t a corpse. Rebound, rebound, rebound.
Mel was bobbing her head in time with the song. And maybe just because it was the first semi-pleasant conversation Daphne had experienced all day, she said, “Did you hear his new song? They just released it a few—”
“’Damn Girl, Your Shoes Turn Me On (I Miss You)’?” Mel shrugged, and turned toward the door again. “Of course I did—and if it comes up next, you’d better blast that shit so I can hear it in the shower.”
“Will do,” Daphne said, trying so hard not to laugh. It would just earn her another broken nose.
A loud beep split through the cockpit.
Then a honeyed voice said, “Tracker beams locked.
Daphne’s breath hitched, and she lurched toward alert screens. Right in the middle of the primary sensor beams was a dot—like a red, angry eye. Someone, it seemed, had found the Subwolff, and was trailing it—fast.
“What?” Mel said, eyes huge.
The bleep issued again.
Daphne looked up at Mel and turned off the radio. “Get Turner down to the mech-room.Now. There must be a back-up tracker somewhere—he’ll know how to disable it.”
For a moment, Daphne thought Mel would hit her. But instead, Mel just asked very softly: “This ship has a back-up tracker? And you didn’t fucking disable it?”
“I was too busy flying—”
“And sleeping. The fuck, Daphne? You found the first tracker, but you didn’t think to find the goddamned second!”
Daphne winced. It was totally and completely her fault for not remembering this sooner—though, thanks a lot, Turner, for conveniently not remembering, either. He had to have known there’d be a back-up somewhere on a SubWolff.
But Daphne wasn’t about to admit any of that. Not when it might get them both killed, courtesy of Mel.
“How close are they?” Mel demanded.
“Still far enough that we can change course without them noticing, but we need to get the tracker disabled, or they’ll just follow us to the spaceport.”
Mel swore, but took off at a sprint.
Her heart thundering, Daphne monitored the flashing light on the screen. Big ship—or possibly a few of them flying close together. Cruising between systems at this speed, it was hard to tell how many followed, or who was on their tail: the Fed or the Cyrissians. There was no way to know without stopping the ship.
Which Daphne had no plans to do—not until she was damn ready.
Or until the people hunting them caught up…and shot them down.

Horse diving. According to inventor William Carver, the idea of launching a panicked equine into the watery void came whilst riding off a collapsing bridge in 1881. And like all things entertainment back then, recreating tragedy on a grand scale was instantly lucrative. The show was a summer staple at Atlantic City … up until like the fucking 1970s.

That’s right – we really held on to horse diving. Partially due to how surprisingly few horses were (externally) hurt from this bizarre act, as what few anecdotal stories that exist range from hoofed panic attacks to a single horrific drowning. Meanwhile, their human counterparts had the troublesome task ofnot slamming their face into the water upon landing. And while that sounds simple enough, consider that the most famous horse-diver, Sonora Carver, went blind after a botched landing detached both of her retinas. And yet, much like this entire asshole sport, our hero continued to risk her life well after the loss of her eyes. Her commitment to stupidity in the face of overwhelming reason was the subject of a 1991 movie called Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken.

Because the bravest thing you can do in America is refuse to give up, even when that means blindly plunging 60 feet into a shallow pool for the delight of day drunks. This Yankee stubbornness wasn’t exclusive to the performers either, as one July Fourth reveler named Eunice Winkless was photographed attempting a 40-foot jump on a $100 dare.

6 Ways Fourth Of July Used To Make ‘The Purge’ Look Tame

You kinda feel sorry for Hole Diggers, all the stuff they’ve “survived”

  • The numerous botched moon landings
  • The Jaffa factory getting obliterated
  • Getting utterly swindled by Hatcorp
  • Then to top it of, Duncan nearly asphyxiates

How the hell do they manage it?

Curves and Edges

Klaine; Words: 2222; birds, silliness, hurt/comfort. A03.

Kurt toed off his shoes gratefully as he came into the loft, sighing as he slid the heavy door closed behind him. It had been a long, hot, day, and he knew that Blaine had been having an even longer week. Right now Kurt wanted nothing more than to unwind in the privacy of their home and spend some alone time with Blaine. Despite the fact that it was only the two of them in the loft these days, they still didn’t have much down time to just relax. Kurt had taken advantage of a slow night at the diner to beg off early from work, and was looking forward to surprising Blaine, who didn’t expect him for a few more hours. Given how sweaty he was, Kurt thought maybe they should start off with a cool shower, then warm each other back up in their favorite way, and then maybe, as a finale, feed each other the lemon sorbet he had picked up on the way home.

When Kurt came into the living room, he could hear music from the fire escape. Blaine was perched out there with a handful of bread crusts, crooning some mournful tune and feeding the birds. It sounded lovely, if a bit melancholy, not at all like the song he thought Blaine had been working on for class. Then again, his summer workshop professor hadn’t been particularly impressed with the last song he performed, so maybe he was trying something different.

One of the pigeons was looking at Blaine with the most adorable expression, and when Blaine stopped singing, Kurt couldn’t resist. He positioned himself close to the window, and, in his most bird-like voice, chirped out “Bravo, bravo!”

Much to his surprise, Blaine didn’t turn around to see Kurt behind him, but just stared wide-eyed at the bird. “What did you say?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the bird.

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