criminal must haves

4

Guys, this is just a news update that when Obi-wan wheedled a bunch of more credits out of the Jedi Council when he was Rako Hardeen, he didn’t just buy another ship, he bought a LUXURY 3000 SPACE YACHT. 

Not only did he buy A LUXURY SPACE YACHT, but he bought the same ship Hondo Ohnaka had.

Obi-wan. Honestly. Really. 

I mean, really. 

anonymous asked:

I really liked the line 'the dark side of the king' from your question about enforcers. would you maybe be willing to talk some more about Gavin and Ryan being terrible doing Geoff's dirty work??

The Fake’s might joke that Geoff is a pushover, too adoring of his crew-mates to really lay down the law as boss, but in reality there are few men more feared than Ramsey. Few legends with more ruthless reputations, more stories of heartless brutality; for those outside his limited family Ramsey is nothing less than an unmitigated horror.

Still, there are certain things Geoff can’t be seen to be involved in, things he must stay above, be diplomatic about. Times when an issue needs to be taken care of without the blowback, when there must be violence without inevitable retribution; ferreting out moles, persuading recalcitrant informants, dealing with a problem who belongs to a gang the FAHC are supposed to be allied with.

It’s easy enough to think that in a crew with a reputation as terrible as the FAHC there is little need for a designated ‘bad guy’. They’re all the bad guys, just ask the citizens of Los Santos, just look at the bodies in the morgue, track down the ruins of all who have thought to oppose them. There isn’t a single member with clean hands, isn’t one who didn’t choose this, who isn’t having the time of their life every singe day morality be damned. And yet there are still jobs Geoff wouldn’t push any of them into, deeds too dark to be forced onto even the most loyal. In those cases that call for abhorrent action Geoff can’t take on himself there is one pair he tends to turn to.

Few would truly be surprised to hear that Ryan is one of the two who tick this box, but that his partner in absolute depravity is Gavin would catch some unaware. There are, of course, members of the crew more suited to being paired with Ryan for all out violence, and those more apt to accompany Gavin for subtlety, but together the pair of them are unrivalled in their gruesome innovation, their unflinching dedication.  

There is being willing to do the dirty work, and then there is enjoying it. Excelling at it. Relishing in the snap of bones and panicked pleading, in the creativity of cruelty, the intricate art of fear. They are violent and terrible, all wrath and retribution like the stories of old, they are a reckoning. Unlike most others there isn’t even a moment when either of them regret. Not a single hesitation before doing whatever must be done, no matter how terrible, how brutally unforgivable. No threat is too dark, no act is too far, no reaction too extreme. In this there are no lines to cross, no moral code to offend or gods to obey. And worst of all, they enjoy it. They have fun, entertain each other, safe in the knowledge that out of sight of the rest of the crew, with none but Geoff really knowing what exactly they are up to, there is no judgement. No one who matters will think differently of them for unapologetic iniquity when they are each other’s only witness and their ruin matches up oh so well.

Gavin is delightfully petty, can whip out flippant comments and passing jokes from months or even years ago in his monologue, twist them into some pithy one liner on the fly, like a hollywood villain without any cheesy dialogue to detract from the menace. He knows just how to frame their attack, laying out exactly what infraction has brought on Ramsey’s ire and building an awful sense of suspense as he delightedly meanders around what they are going to do about it.

It’s not something that should be appealing, it’s awful really, bitterly cruel, but it makes Ryan’s sense of melodrama sing. Ryan who could have chosen any mask in the world but went directly for a blackened skull. Who drops his already deep voice two octaves when he purrs out threats and has a terrible habit of laying wait in dark corners until he spots the perfect moment to loom in sight. Ryan who’s never crumbled in the face of desperate begging, never seen grovelling as anything but undignified, who can’t help but appreciate the way it merely makes Gavin turn up his nose, roll his eyes, toss Ryan increasingly incredulous looks; Christ isn’t this one pathetic?

They share enough languages to communicate in privacy no matter the situation but even without planning they are synchronised enough to work in tandem, playing into each others proclivities, teasing chatter as much for their own genuine amusement as it is for taunting their prey. There are no hard and fast rules to their partnership- sometimes Ryan’s feeling particularly chatty and sometimes Gavin’s itching to pull out his lovely gold knives- but more often than not Gavin wheedles his way into the mind of their victim before Ryan quite literally pulls them apart. Just as Gavin strokes Ryan’s ego when he leans in and pleasantly explains all the horrific things the Vagabond has done, Ryan pander’s to Gavin’s ever vicious whim; drags things out, slows them down, get’s disgustingly creative.

There’s always been something distinctly animalistic in Gavin, the way he slinks like a predator, grins wide enough to bare his teeth, the way he can’t help toying with his food, but in this he isn’t Gavin Free, the Fake’s happy-go-lucky wrecking ball of chaos, isn’t the Golden Boy, Ramsey’s unbelievably persuasive frontman; this is another creature all together. On these jobs Gavin is no less the showman, still all insidious cunning and attention-grabbing flash, but for once he does nothing to disguise his own decay. Doesn’t inject false emotion where none exists, doesn’t manufacture empathy, won’t even pretend to give a solitary shit about anything outside his own world, his life, his people. Amusement as chilling as it is cold-blooded, crushing any hope that he might be the tempering force, that the presence of the glittering Golden Boy will reign in the Vagabond.

And Ryan, good grief Ryan. The Vagabond already has so very many tortured tales attached to his name, already inspires so much fear, but people do like to hope his reputation is inflated. Like to think the man behind the mask can’t truly be as terrible as they say, must suffer the same bouts of  guilt and mercy as anyone else. Think the Vagabond’s greatest secret is the fact that at the end of the day he is just a man. The look in their eyes when they realise they are wrong, realise that while the skull may be a mask Ryan has always been the monster, is the stuff nightmares are made of. The Vagabond isn’t soft on a good day, but in this role he is ruthless. It would, perhaps, be a relief if he were cold, detached. Would be an easier pill to swallow if he acted with his usual air of professionalism, but this? This is Ryan in his element. This is the Vagabond having fun.

It’s a tossup who’s better off; the victims who die slow and painful or the ones who get to live. The ones who spill their secrets, who suffer their punishments, and in the end are left to crawl free. Those who never really stop thinking about bloodstained teeth and razor-blade smirks, distressingly fond banter and cold flat eyes. None of them come back right, none of them return the same way they left, have suffered terror beyond words, experienced horrors they will never be capable of explaining. Most wind up leaving the city, even a passing mention of the Fake AH Crew enough to send them shaking, the possibility of another run in utterly intolerable, but those who stay only serve to further boost the duos reputation.

It’s one thing for anyone with half a brain to fear the Vagabond, it’s quite another for well-known crooks to literally flee when he appears, spike classic fear-mongering rumours with far more truthful tales of vicious depravity, go to absurd lengths to steer clear of the FAHC at any cost. In the same vein the denizens of Los Santos can only say Gavin’s name with increased reverence after  a mere wink tossed at some thug playing muscle in the background of a meeting has the man throwing up all over himself. Can only be more impressed when a slow smile and whispered comment has another back-peddling so fast the Fake’s make off with way more than they were owed.

Which, of course, suits Geoff just fine, reaping the boons of the pet horrors he keeps in his pocket for a rainy day; rare, but undeniably memorable. To see the three of them at work is a sight to behold, Ramsey strolling along flanked by his most wicked miscreants, one the darkened menace of death incarnate, the other almost alight with his own glittering hubris, not a scrap of restraint or morality between them. They are apocalypse, are inevitable disaster, the end of all things good and holy and with an unseen signal they peel off, leave their grinning king to walk alone as they melt back into the night, set free once more to hunt.

Not Enough For Dean Winchester (Part 1)

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: The reader met the Winchester brothers just 6 months ago, and her life would never be the same again. Now, Dean refuses to speak to her and won’t say why. Will they be able to make it past this and focus on the case? 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word count: 2,320

Warning: Angst, ignoring, reader not feeling like she is enough.

A/N: I’m excited to put this 2 part story up! :)


You had been with the Winchesters for what has been the best six months of your life. 

You were working at a bar. That night you were leaning up against the counter because business was slow, when they walked in.
Both tall, but one even more so. The taller one had long brown hair and the other had dirty blonde, with striking green eyes. The latter was the kinda guy that turned heads with his handsomeness.

Needless to say your life flipped in a way unimaginable after that “meeting”. It turns out that scratching you heard in your apartment wasn’t rats, but something even worse.

Imagine everything that you had ever been told was fiction, wasn’t. And most of them, weren’t those sugar-coated, magical, good-doing creatures. No, ghosts weren’t transparent blobs; ghosts were people who had a vengeance that tethered them to this world. Witches were soul-suckers, or naive satanic soccer moms and werewolves were unstoppable heart-eaters. And things you could’ve never dreamed of, were even worse.

*Present Day*

Sam found a case in a small town in Minnesota only yesterday. You remained at your current motel room for the night, though and him and Dean were packing up now.

“Bank robberies, murders, kidnappings, you name it and it’s there,” Sam had said.

“What are you thinking?” you wondered, in reference to what it might be.

“That’s not much to go on,” Dean huffed as he packed up his bags. “Could be anything.” He threw his duffle over his shoulder and sauntered out of the motel room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“What IS up with him lately?” you asked Sam. Dean had been pissy for a straight week now, and on and off for a little over a month.

“Don’t ask me,” he replied, shrugging his large shoulders as he carefully placed his laptop in his bag and rose to his feet.

“He’s worse than a teenage girl with those moods,” you remarked, rolling your eyes. You crossed the room to grab your backpack and slung it over your shoulder, having already placed your other bag with the necessities in the car already.

Sam waited in the doorway, holding it for you as you lead the way out.

“Thanks,” you said passing over the threshold to the gloomy outside. Dean already had his favorite classic rock album blaring, sitting in the driver’s seat. It was a miracle he wasn’t deaf yet. You threw your bag in the trunk and scooted into the backseat, cringing at the volume.

“How long?” you asked Sam loudly over Led Zeppelin, leaning close to his ear. Not a word had been spoken nearly an hour into the ride, and Dean had yet to turn down the music a single decibel.

“About three more hours,” he replied flatly, not wanting to break the tension. You glanced at Dean’s hands, noticing that they were both wrapped tightly around the wheel, his knuckles white.

You sighed, realizing that you could not stand this loud silence for hours.

“Dean,” you tested. He didn’t hear you. “Dean,” you said louder, tapping his shoulder. He turned his head to look at your hand, letting out a breath and turning the volume dial down enough for you to be heard.

“Yeah?” he wondered. You could feel Sam’s hot gaze on you, afraid that you may set off his brother.

But you had hope. It was the first time in a full week that Dean’s voice hadn’t been calloused and cold and cut-off.

“Are you okay?” you wondered.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean huffed in an irritated tone; it was too much to hope for that it would stay away. You winced at the way your best friend was now speaking to you, but you didn’t stop.

“You just seem so pissy lately,” you trailed off softly.

“I’m not pissed,” he challenged. You were really getting enough of this.

“That doesn’t sound like the tone of someone who’s not pissed,” you crossed.

If there was one person who could never keep their eyes on the road, it was Dean Winchester. He turned around completely, for only a brief moment, but you weren’t sure if you could handle any more than that of his terrifying glare. Your stubbornness was only fueled as he turned around without snapping back at you.

“Would this be a bad time to ask if we could make a stop?” you asked sweetly, though you were grimacing internally, knowing that once you got out, he would be forced to at least look at you.

Dean huffed in response.

“I’ll take that as an ‘okay’, thanks De,” you said, pulling yourself forward to plant a taunting chaste kiss to his cheek. You couldn’t see the reaction on his face, but you thought you saw his cheek twitch, possibly cracking a smile for the first time in a week.

Just a few minutes down the highway, he pulled into a rest area.

“Hurry up,” he said, stepping out of the car and slamming the door. You quickly followed him, jogging at his heels to catch up, though he didn’t shorten his brisk stride.

“Dean,” you called from a few steps back, earning no response. “Dean!” You pulled his shoulder as you caught up to him. He faced you reluctantly, staring you down, hard. “Why are you ignoring me?” you breathed.

He scoffed and began to turn away.

“Hey!” you shouted, grabbing his shoulder again. He may have had sheer size and power over you, but you were more headstrong and definitely done with his bullshit. “Would you quit acting like you’re on your man period? Not even a man period, you’re acting like a little boy!” He turned to you and gave you a look, as if you had done something to him. Yeah let out your anger in a shaky breath. “What did I do?” you spoke softer this time.

“Nothing,” Dean shook his head as he pulled from your grip again, and you let him. You stood there for a moment, incredulously.

What the fuck? He even admitted that you hadn’t done anything wrong, so why was he acting like this? Needles pricked the back of your eyes as tears threatened to pool in them and fall, but you refused to let them, instead jogging to the rest stop bathroom.

Once you returned to the car, you were surprised, that Dean wasn’t wolfing down the food he had gotten and hadn’t even turned the music back on. But the silence was almost worse, and it was only ever broken by Sam talking about the case, even that was almost immediately shut down.

In the town, you wasted no time relaxing. Dean took charge and decided that you would immediately head for the police station.

“FBI,” Dean stated, each of you showing your badges once you were seen by a deputy. “We’re here about the spike in crime in town and we’d like to speak with the sheriff if he’s available.” The deputy held out his hand and Dean passed over his badge. The man squinted at it, before sighing and replacing it in Dean’s hand.

“I believe he is,” the man said, eyeing you. “Excuse me.” He turned and strided to an office and knocked.

You heard a muffled response. The deputy cracked the door open and poked his head in.

“FBI agents are here sir,” he stated, before stepping back to allow a stocky, middle-aged man to pass through the doorway.

He stood there for a moment before waving you into his office. It was fairly large but only had one chair opposite his desk, so rather than arguing over who got to sit, you all stood.

“Sheriff Adams,” he introduced himself. He squinted at you. “How may I help you today?”

“We’ve been sent to investigate the recent increase in violent crimes,” Sam stated.

“Uh-huh,” Sheriff Adams trailed off. He continued to scrutinize each of you, though he took special care looking over you. “And may I ask why there are three of you?” You clenched your jaw. Shit.

“Agent Gontier is in field training,” Dean replied quickly, gesturing to you. You wanted to glare at him, but forced a smile onto your face.

“Uh-huh. Now what about the crimes?” Adams asked.

“We’d like to see the burglary tapes, any that you have. I believe there was one at the… Clearwater Bank, was it?” Sam replied.

“Yeah,” the sheriff huffed and began digging around in the desk drawers. “Ah-ha.” He produced a VHS tape and crossed the room to an old bubble television, pushing the tape into a VCR. He fast forwarded the tape to the burglary. All of you watched the TV intently as the figure moved across the screen.

As they checked their back, you realized that they were a woman and you caught a flash.

“Could you replay that?” you asked. Sheriff Adams gave you a look before complying.

You moved slightly closer as you watched again. The glowing eyes were unmistakable this time and Sam and Dean made eye contact with you, mouthing, ‘shifter’.

“Uh,” Sam trailed off. “Could we please get a copy of this? And any others you have of the recent crimes?”

“Could I see your badge again?” Sheriff Adams tested. Sam readily pulled out his FBI badge again, handing it over as the man scrutinized it. “Agent Young?” He looked up from the card.

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied.

“And you are?” he asked Dean and you.

“Agent Angus,” Dean said.

“And Agent–in training– Gontier,” you forced a smile.

He signed, handing Sam back his badge before he sifted through more drawers, handing Sam no more than half a dozen more tapes. “That’s all we’ve got. The criminals must have realized by now that they’ve been getting caught on camera.”

“Thank you,” Sam said.

“No problem. We really appreciate that the government decided to help our little town,” the Sheriff smiled sweetly for the first time since you had arrived. It was almost too sweet.

“We try to pay attention to these kinds of things,” Dean forced a smile back.

“I’m sure you do.”

“It is our job,” Sam smiled as you were escorted out.

“Shifter,” Dean said aloud as you slid into the impala.

“No kidding,” you rolled your eyes, earning yourself a glare in the rear view mirror.

“It’s late,” Dean sighed as he pulled the impala out of the lot.

“It’s only five–” Sam tried.

“We should find a motel,” Dean interrupted. Sam shook his head at the ground.

After finally arriving at one, Dean went in to go get a room while you and Sam waited.

“You should probably sleep with Dean tonight,” Sam turned in his seat to face you. You furrowed your brows at him.

“Sam,” you stared at your best friend, hard. “You know he and I haven’t been on the best terms lately.”

“I know you hate not talking to him,” he sighed. “I know you hate not sleeping with him.”

“No, I don’t,” you argued. “It makes no difference to me.”

“Y/N,” he shook his head, then meeting your gaze with intensity. “I know you lo–”

“Don’t you dare say that to me, Sam,” you fumed. “We can’t have that kind of thing.”

“It’s killing the both of you,” he insisted. “If you both weren’t so damn stubborn….”

“It’s him! He’s the one who hasn’t been speaking!” you burst.

“And you refusing to sleep with him is making it worse,” Sam reasoned. “You do realize that’s what this is about, don’t you? I try talking to him but he won’t hear it.”

“It’s not like he’s listening to me either,” you huffed.

“Well, it’ll be my idea then,” he smirked.

“I’m gonna kill you, Sam Winchester,” you grit your teeth.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean said, sauntering up to the car. “No dead bodies on this case.”

“No promises,” you mumbled.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said, earning Dean’s attention as he sat down in the car. “I’ve been the one having to put up with Y/N at night these past couple weeks, I think it’s about time you had your turn.”

“And so you want me to deal with her stealing the covers from me?” Dean questioned. You rolled your eyes, you really weren’t that bad of a blanket hog.

“Yeah,” Sam matched. “Like I’ve been for two weeks straight.”

“Fine,” Dean growled, pulling around the back of the Motel to your room. His snarling really got to you sometimes, what had you even done?

You unloaded your personal pack and weapon bags from the car into the bleak room. You were sitting on the other bed, looking at Sam, when Dean brought in the final duffel and plopped down next to Sam.

“Takeout?” you suggested.

“What else?” Dean asked rhetorically.

“What do you guys want?” you asked. Dean wanted a burger, of course, and Sam opted for a salad. “Ok, I’ll go out and get it.” You raised your open hand, and Dean tossed the keys to you, after a moments hesitation, without looking.

“Not a single scratch,” Dean called.

“Don’t you trust me?” you called back as you swung the door shut behind you.

When you returned, the room was empty, though you heard the distinct trickle of shower water from the bathroom.

“Dean?” you called, setting the food on the dresser.

“It’s Sam,” he answered. You walked towards the door, stopping just short of three feet away.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked.

“He took off,” Sam replied. You sighed knowing what that meant; it meant he was at a strip club, or a bar hitting on some busty blonde who had a much better toned body than you.

“I’m sleeping with you tonight, Sam, sorry,” you called.

“Yeah,” was all he replied. You dragged your feet to Sam’s bed and flopped down, stifling tears as silent sobs racked over your body. It was pointless and stupid really, because you couldn’t help it. This was just Dean.


And you would never be enough for Dean Winchester.

Imagine the wry contempt Moriarty, the master criminal must have felt for Holmes, living at the centre of the brutal British empire and imagining that Moriarty’s little crimes were the worst thing in the world.
—  Frankie Boyle
I’m new to this

Go to my sims 4 blog to see the rules again

Generation 1: White (Writer)

  • Max writing skill
  • Must be a Vampire (Start at any rank you want)
  • Must always write from home (Don’t join writer career)
  • Must start on a huge lot because that’s where you will be staying
  • Build a one bed, one bath, kitchen house optional: Office

Generation 2: Red (Criminal)

  • Must have the Kleptomaniac trait
  • Must steal at least twice a week
  • Can only steal at night (have the ability to go in people’s home without permission)
  • Must have 3 children
  • Max writing skill

Generation 3: Yellow (Entertainer)

  • Max comedy skill
  • Practice jokes at lounges every night (you will meet your spouse)
  • Must have goofball trait
  • Max writing skill

Generation 4: Green or Blue (Food Critic) *Choose fate*

  • Must have 6 children (three from each spouse)
  • Foodie Trait
  • Max writing skill
  • Cook every meal
  • Be spontaneous (try different foods)
  • Max cooking skill optional: max gourmet cooking skill

Generation 5: Purple (Tech Guru)

  • Max writing skill
  • Max video gaming skill
  • Max Programming skill
  • Join Tech guru career
  • Must have only two children

Generation 6: Orange (Doctor)

  • Max writing skill
  • Max doctor career

  • Must have genius trait

Generation 7:  Pink (Painter)

  • Max writing skill
  • Max painting skill
  • Sell paintings
  • Max painter career

Generation 8: Pastel Blue (Scientist)

  • Max writing skill
  • Max scientist career
  • Collect at least 5 different Elements
  • Clone yourself

Generation 9: Mint (Secret Agent)

  • Max career
  • Max writing skill
  • Live a double life
  • Don’t get caught by main spouse
  • Have children with both spouses
  • Have the heiress/heir say goodbye as this is the final generation

Use the dice roller to play with genetics 1-3 is spouse one 4-6 is spouse two
The writing skill is for keeping track of family momentos to be passed down think of it as a coven clan family history
Everyone MUST be a Vampire since it is a vampire legacy
Have any backstory you want **play off that the rest of the generations**
Randomize traits **optional**
The lot you pick must be huge since it will be in the family each generation
Anyone who is not heir or heiress must move out to start their own coven **to have room**
Parents can stay if they help since they’re elders but if it gets too cramped **if you like big families** they you can move them out

Drunken Madness

Originally posted by tragicmentality

Request - Getting drunk with Jerome .

Pairing - Jerome Valeska X Female Reader

Wordcount - 1,411

Warnings - Hostage situation, violence.

Sequel to Remember me


After watching Commissioner Essen die by Jerome’s hands, Jerome quickly got Y/N into a vehicle speeding off into the sunset, how magical this day had been. He had sent a message to Gotham City, that chaos and anarchy were set to be unleashed on Gotham City, with the help of some much-needed laughter. After all, it was contagious, soon the madness was smoother Gotham City and there wasn’t a thing that anyone couldn’t do about. Yet today Jerome had been granted an extra wish today because he had also been reunited with the one special person who he allowed his heart to melt for, Y/N. After being broken out of Arkham City, Jerome felt like he had been granted a second chance to go out and find Y/N. He had no idea where to look or where Y/N might be. Had you tried to disguise yourself so you would blend in, so no-one could find you? What were the chances of Jerome stumbling into the GCPD and finding Y/N there, looking incredibly beautiful in your police officers uniform, Jerome was definitely going to let Y/N keep that.

Tonight Jerome wasn’t interested in talking about what was the next part of the plan to terrorise Gotham. Jerome just wanted to head back to Galavan’s place, grab some food and a lot of alcohol, take you to his room so himself and Y/N  could catch up and spend some time together. He had never been alone without Y/N for such a long time. So now he was going to get back that time that everyone stole from him.  Arriving back at Galavan’s Y/N stepped out the car slowly, she had expected Jerome to take her back to some run down apartment, not something that resembled a mansion. Jerome sensed Y/N’s caution, so he linked his hand with hers, before leading her into the mansion.

“Congratulations, now everyone will fear the Maniax for what it is. Jerome, we talked about no hostages.” As Theo Galavan spoke, Jerome insisted on wrapping his arm around Y/N’s shoulder.

“She’s no hostage, in fact, Y/N is real, close friend of mine if you understand what I am trying to say. Our story is really quite tragic but I’m not going to bore you with the details. Now it’s alright I am going to return to my room with Y/N. All I ask for is some beverages of the alcoholic kind and some food- oh and some clothes for Y/N obviously she can’t walk around with us looking like one of them - that would be just ridiculous now Goodnight.” Jerome walked away with you following behind.
“Jerome.” Theo Galavan called back to him.

“Everything will be sent up to your room momentarily.” Jerome was very much pleased that Galavan had granted his request so he began skipping up towards his bedroom with Y/N following closely behind.

Keep reading

Investigation Scene with Iruma

(Warning: Rated L for Lewd)

A practice warm-up in preparations for when I’ll tackle Iruma’s FTEs. I wanted to do this scene cause there was something in particular I wanted to look into and well…. it sure left me speechless. I recommend checking @manlyronpa​‘s stream at the 1:45:00 mark exactly for the dialogue and to read along. Let me know of any grammar/wording errors, please and thank you!

Keep reading

Isabella is still alive, and is not what she appears to be

The latest episode was literally the last nail in the coffin for me, and I am now completely sure that Isabella was sent from someone to get to Ed and/or Oswald, and that her story is far from over.

I’ve always been suspicious of Isabella, whose entire character and storyline seemed far too convenient to be real - and I know I’m not alone in this. Realistically, I know that something being too convenient is not entirely unheard of in Gotham - let’s just remember the whole Elijah storyline last year - but the almost glaring plotholes and really fishy things about her have just been piling up, and unless the Gotham writers have decided to be particularly, incredibly lazy in writing this one storyline, then things just don’t add up.

Keep reading

2

The grave of Katherine Cross says Murdered by Human Wolves

What I do know about her is that she died at the age of 18. The cause of her death is unknown.

Her grave became a popular “ghost legend.” Some say her body was found shredded to pieces, that she was killed by werewolves, or that she was killed by the Ku Klux Klan.

But according to Seminole County News, she died because of a criminal operation performed by Dr. A. H. Yates. It is generally considered that the “criminal operation” must have been an abortion, due to the location and time period.

More information here

2

A/N: *DISCLAIMER* You may be thinking of this as creepy as Y/N is only 19, but the Joker can be whatever age you want him to be (although I would suggest him being in his 20’s). And before anyone says, you can go to college at any age. I’ve also used a writing prompt for this as I’ve had no requests so if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them in. I’m working on my ask box at the moment but messages are still there. All requests will be made anonymous.

Request(s):

None

Warning(s): implied smut.

Word count: 929

MASTERLIST

•••

“You know, I can walk, mom. I am nearly 19.” You say, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You hated the way she treated you like a kid still, offering to do things for you and take you places and basically just smothering you. You were a hands-on type of girl. Always had been.

She sighed, nodding gently as she looked back down at her newspaper. She turned the pages slowly, scanning every page with her narrowed eyes. “Just be careful out there, alright?There’s a lot of stuff happening right now and it’s pretty dark outside.”

Smiling at the mothering tone of her words, you thought it some kind of comfort that she cared about you. The least you could do for her is to reassure her that you were safe. Crouching down beside her slim figure sat at the kitchen table, you did just that. “There’s tonnes of people walking to school as well, all in the same direction as me. And besides, I can take care of myself. Haven’t you seen the way I fight?” You giggled, punching the air. Giving her a quick peck on the cheek, you left for college, shouting a quick bye as you walked out the door.

The feel of the cold air hitting your face as you stepped out of the house made you gasp, instantly regretting the decline of a ride from your mom. You stood your ground though, you were your own woman. It was bad enough you were still living with her. Although you didn’t want to admit it, you knew there was another underlying reason why you wanted to be on your own.

You were being stalked constantly by a man, a rather attractive man at that. It wasn’t the creepy kind of stalking, well, not to you anyway. He followed you around, using pick up lines, trying to get you to go on a date with him and in some cases, trying to get to know you. Everytime you encountered him, you just walked by while he tried his hardest and smirked, giving simple answers and remarks, essentially teasing him. Although he endured countless times of this, he told you that he wouldn’t give up on you, no matter what it took.

As you walked the way to college, you ran across your friends on the way and decided to take the journey with them. It was all smiles and laughs until one of your friends whispered to the group of you that there was someone following them. You knew exactly who it was without even having to look behind you. You chuckled, telling your friends that you would deal with it.

Turning on your heel, you were met with the familiar bright blue eyes of the Joker, his neon green hair evident in the weak sunlight. He flashed a warm smile, his metal teeth shining in all their glory. “Haven’t gave up then?”

“When I have my eye on something, I don’t give up. You should know that by now.” He claimed, coming closer and closer to you. Everyone around you who were minding their own business, had now stopped to watch the ordeal, including your friends. The majority knew of the Joker as a dangerous criminal. God, the must have thought you were mad.

You could feel his hot breath against your face, providing you with some warmth in the cold outdoors. His eyes were fixated on yours, a tempting and lustful look captured within them. He intrigued you so much. He could easily have you but you decided to play hard to get, knowing it would be more fun that way. “What makes me so special?” You breathed, your face now inches away from his.

“Oh babe,” he groaned, closing his eyes as he did. “I love every bone in your body, especially mine.”

A loud laugh erupted out of you, causing the Joker to flinch, not expecting it to backfire. He loved it when you smiled, it was infectious. You heard his slight chuckle with a little hint of embarrassment laced in it. “I’m sorry!” You laughed. “That has got to be the lamest pick-up line in existence.”

“Don’t worry, that’s just plan A.”

“So what’s plan B?” You asked, suddenly becoming all serious again. His rough voice got you hot under the collar.

“To take you hostage.”

A strong mixed smell of cologne and alcohol filled your nostrils as you slowly regained consciousness. Your eyes were heavy but you managed to open them, squinting immediately when a bright white light blurred your vision. You tried your hardest to move but soon found you were tied to a chair, your wrists and ankles restrained by strong leather belts to the arms and legs of the chair.

What the hell is going on?

“I see you’re awake. Enjoy your rest?”

The Joker. Of course. It all came flooding back now, the last thing you remembered being a damp cloth being pressed against your face. You knew he was crazy, but you didn’t think he was crazy enough to do this.

“You’re insane, do you know that?” You called out, trying to wriggle out of the chair. No such luck.

“Oh yeah.” He responded with a slight flirtatious hint to his voice. “You make me do crazy things, darlin’.”

Even though he had just kidnapped you, tied you to a chair and was now torturing you with his words, he was still a huge turn on. You knew this would only end one way.

“If you untie me, I can make it all worthwhile.”

Ellie x Adelaide || {violettehill and theredheadlibrarian}

This must have been a special case. The criminal must have done something so wrong, that they had to call Ellie in. Despite being the best at the station, she was never called in at night. It was a policy she had. So, to call her at two in the morning and expect her to come in, the one they caught must’ve been the infamous Red Head. 

Ellie got into the station and pushed a hand through her tangled dark hair. She hadn’t bothered to get ready very much. She was in a tank top and a pair of jeans that clung to her body, along with a long trench coat. “Where is she?” She asked the man at the desk. Despite her small frame, Ellie was intimidating, and the man gulped before answering.

Making her way to the fourth interrogation room, Ellie pushed a hand through her hair, a scowl on her face. If this bitch had gotten Ellie up at two am, she had better be willing to answer some questions.