pretty-time-now

The Arrangement (Part 12)

Originally posted by supernaturalfreewill

Summary (story spoilers): someone delivers some unexpected and unpleasant news, sending you running. Sam and Benny confront Dean, and the three of them go looking for you.

Pairing: AU!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,500

Warnings (again, spoilers): lots of language, angst, cheating, feelings of betrayal and worthlessness

A/N: Thank you guys for all your patience! My show this weekend went really well! I came in 3rd out of 17 and qualified for Nationals in early May! Hope you enjoy this installment, though I think I’ll have a few upset messages…

Want to catch up? Check out the series masterlist!

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Gravity Falls Journal tutorial!

When I posted my journal replica online this weekend, I never expected it would get so many positive reactions! I’m really flattered, thank you all so much! 

Now of course I promised a tutorial, so here goes. I hope I will be able to explain things well enough with the pictures I’ve taken. If you still have questions regarding the journal, feel free to ask. 

For the people who haven’t seen the pictures yet, this is the journal I will try to talk you through making:

I’m putting the rest under a read more, because this post is pretty long.

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Boyfriend Series; Mingyu

- everyone’s always saying how lucky you are for having such a cool and handsome boyfriend
- but you’re like uhhh “cool” and “kim mingyu” shouldn’t be in the same sentence LOL
- for your first date, mingyu takes you to the seoul lantern festival
- and it’s honestly such a beautiful experience
- he takes you out for street food near sunset, and after that, you both walk around the festival area, waiting for it to start
- the second it gets dark, one lantern lights up, then another and another
- before you know it, there are hundreds of beautiful lanterns floating in the water and they’re so vibrant and colorful in contrast to the dark night sky
- seeing just how amazed you look, mingyu takes out his phone and asks a nearby person to take a picture of you two in front of the lanterns
- the person agrees to it and counts “one, two, three…!”
- on three, mingyu cups your face, turns you in his direction, and kisses you right on the lips
- and under the stars, under a sky illuminated by lanterns of all colors, is where you both share your first kiss
- you’re not even going to lie, he was pretty cool that time, but now that you know him so well…… yeah he’s not cool at all
- mingyu likes to tease you a lot
- he likes to place things up high just to make fun of you
- but then while he’s laughing, he hits his head against an open cupboard and you have to hold ice against his forehead like good job mingyu
- the type to act manly while you’re both watching scary movies when he knows he won’t be able to sleep that night
- he loves lying his head on your lap
- you used to do that until he sneezed in your face and you were like honestly. wtf.
- “(name), are you still mad?? it was an accident!!” “don’t talk to me”
- when you catch him coughing in his hand or sneezing into it, right before he touches you, you slap his hand away and take like three steps back
- “mingyu, i am NOT coming near you until you wash your hands i swEAR”
- you both have matching SOCKS and it’s actually so cute???
- you have like five pairs and you both wear a pair when meeting up without telling each other, hoping that you’d both wear the same one coincidentally
- it took like seven tries but still
- his lock screen is a stolen shot of you petting a puppy and he’s going to keep it that way forever because it has the two things he loves the most in one picture
- good luck with his lame jokes
- he likes to say as a joke “aren’t you lucky to have kim mingyu, seventeen’s visual, as your boyfriend?” and once you said “what? isn’t junhui the visual?” and he was so OFFENDED
- he even went up to junhui and said “how dare you” and junhui was like “…did i do something wrong?”
- for someone who could cook and eats a lot, you’d think mingyu’s favorite food is one of his own homemade meals or at least something from a really popular restaurant but no
- he loves your cooking the most
- the type to crack jokes in the middle of something really romantic and just completely ruining the moment
- like you’re both about to kiss, but then he’d make a pun or just a lame joke in general and you’re like “ok no that’s it, you ruined it i’m leaving”
- he gives you piggyback rides all the time
- it’s not like he offers, you randomly jump onto his back and he laughs and just walks around while your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck
- he has to cover his red face whenever you wear his clothes because they’re so big on you and he thinks you look too cute in them
- bumps into everything, drops everything, trips over everything, makes a mess, forgets to bring things, he’s a tall mess LOL
- he loves holding hands with you and you guys always are whenever you go out
- the story behind this is that once, you were both walking through this crowd of people and guess what you lost him in the crowd
- you were like are you kidding me???? thanks to his height, you were able to spot him but geez mingyu you can’t just walk off like that when something catches your eye
- so holding hands is mostly just so that you both won’t get separated LMAO
- (unknown to you, it was all part of mingyu’s plan, he just wanted an excuse to hold it all the time NICE)
- mingyu loves forehead kisses, he actually melts after receiving one but his cheeks also turn bright pink when asking for another one
- he loves kisses on the lips because he likes seeing you go on your tippy-toes to reach his
- kisses are slow and breathy, and he always has his hands on your waist, or his fingers are tracing circles on your arms or the small of your back
- he likes giving you back hugs and swaying from side to side while you hold onto his arms
- always does something so unnecessary to show you that he still and will always love you after a fight
- “TO PROVE MY LOVE TO YOU, I WILL EAT THIS PING PONG BALL” “please don’t”
- these stupid antics never fail to make you laugh and that’s exactly what mingyu was hoping for
- he never wants to frown, he never wants you to cry, he never wants you to feel pain
- this is inevitable of course, but at least around him, he wants you to smile because he’s so happy when he’s with you
- and he only hopes you feel the same way
- “can you reach that for me please?”
- mingyu takes the item down for you, and you reward him with a kiss on the cheek after he gives it to you
- “thanks mingyu, i love you!!”
- “(laughs) i love you too, shortie”

I Found - Leonard McCoy

Summary: Len is scared to lose any more people. based on the song i found by amber run

Prompt: bones imagine based on the song I Found by Amber Run? - @uhura-ny

Warnings: language, lil angsty

A/N: lil less than 2k words. one of my favorite people requested this piece. i was so happy when i finished writing it that i sent her 8 messages screaming about it. it’s a good piece, not exactly what was wanted, but i’m pretty satisfied with it! i obv had to add some jim to hold myself over. ENJOY and tell me what you think! 


A novice in the art of ignoring those on his mind, Leonard found it difficult to keep his mouth shut and in his most neutral scowl— especially when you were the one in question.

His palms were growing tired of his fingernails just as his teeth grew tired of being constantly gritted and he thought maybe his eyebrows would be stuck in a permanent furrow while his jaw would never come unclenched. He couldn’t stop, though.

He couldn’t just not dig his nails into his skin with enough force to draw blood— it kept him from reaching for you. It was compulsory that his teeth remained gritted with such strength— there was no chance any words meant for you could leave his lips that way. He absolutely needed to furrow his eyebrows, knit and screwed together— it prevented his eyes from softening for you.  And he knew there was no way he could ever unclench his aching jaw— it made sure to keep intact the slipping tension he so desperately needed to keep from sinking into you.

He didn’t dare forget about you, either. While he did his best to choke back the feelings that awoke for you just by the smell of your shampoo or the sound of your voice, he couldn’t afford to forget those feelings ever existed. They were a warning for him— a cautionary tale that laid before him the outcome of ever feeling that way again, the outcome of ever falling so hard again.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. He’d actually tried so hard. He kept himself locked in the medbay, tied to his desk, drowned in a bottle of cheap bourbon. But that made it all worse— quitting you cold turkey just wasn’t an option.

He then resorted to limiting his exposure to you. Just lunch every afternoon! Sometimes dinner, usually breakfast. A little pop-in to see how you were fairing in the bowels of the Enterprise as Scotty’s favorite engineer beside himself. But that was it. No more than that.

He was rethinking things as he sat before you now, though. With the way your finger-mussed hair brushed against your cheekbones and your eyes sat widened in amusement, he needed to rethink things.

“— so they keep injuring themselves! Out of spite!” you said loudly as you laughed, waving your hand around so your water came dangerously close to sloshing over the rim of your glass. “Can you imagine having such little regard for your superior officer that you’re willing to risk knocking your teeth out?”

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anonymous asked:

I am such a slut for phone sex before they've ever had sex... there's something so fucking hot about them being so hot and bothered but can't have each other yet.. the desperation (this is a prompt)

Post almost immediately Amor Fati rushed/unedited uncharacteristic amount of communication, NC-17

***

“I cannot, with good conscience,” Scully starts, skipping her customary phone greeting. “–Kiss a man who’s recently had brain surgery.”

“It’s probably bad form,” he replies, and while the pain meds dry out his mouth and turn his limbs into spaghetti, this druggy feeling is a new thing entirely. A relief that warms his bones, a hesitance that cramps his fingers around the receiver. “Hippocrates would never approve.”

“But you are aware that was my intention,” she says, ignoring his joke. The voices are fading now, and only those who think quite loudly bleed in to mingle with his own fuzzy thoughts. Never would he have thought he’d miss his inner voice. It comes to him in large and small doses, moreso when the headaches begin.

But Scully’s thoughts are clearer still, for she’s the loudest thinker of them all. He licks his lips to simulate the feel of her fingers pressed to them.

She wanted to kiss him.

“The assumption crossed my mind,” he admits, shifting his legs underneath the Navajo blanket. “I was feeling pretty amorous myself. It was a good moment.”

She speaks it under her breath, a good moment, disbelieving in a way that lets him know that was the wrong thing to say. But it’s hardly fair of her to expect him to be surprised. He’s been tuned into her station for a pretty chunk of time now, and it just so happens to be his favorite. Sorry, Scully. “To tell you the truth Mulder, I’m nervous. Very much so. And I didn’t want to be in the room with you when I said these things because of your… condition. But I’ve come to realize that time is an enemy.” Diana, Hosteen, more bodies that they’ve embalmed. “If you’re too out of it, however, we can return to it later.”

“Go on,” he says, not certain that’s the right answer. If she called thirty minutes earlier, so soon after she’d clicked out of his signal, he’d be foaming at the mouth. He feels woozy and unsure.

“Mulder, you trust me.”

“Scully, you might not be able to read my mind but you have ears.” The idea that she might not get, or hadn’t felt the gravity in his words, that they hadn’t weighed her down with his gratitude, his need – he doesn’t know how long he can keep doing this, putting it all out there only for it to be ignored or worse, second-guessed. “I just told you, in the doorway –”

“I’m saying that I know that you trust me.” Okay. It’s good to hear her say that. He nods to himself and closes his eyes as she continues. “I know… that you hold an affection for me, that you value my friendship, just as I do yours. I know that you rely on me, as I rely on you. But Mulder…” let the silence push her forward, let it bring her to him. “Do you want me?”

He winces, feels slightly like a schoolboy being caught with something racy, not yet with his pants down but maybe with his hand on the zipper, and drags himself away from the corner of the couch to sit properly, with his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in the palm not holding the phone.

“I feel like it should be obvious.” Especially, especially when you wear that black bra under that button up you forget is just this side of mercifully sheer. Your God loves and hates me on those days. He feels like it should be obvious, and she should feel ashamed for making him admit something so painfully obvious.

“It really, really isn’t,” she says testily, her voice tight as his stomach, and the guilt is mild but there. Of course she doesn’t know. She denies what’s in front of her every single day of her life. He started this, so it’s time to stop leaving her hanging. Scully doesn’t share his sexual hangups. She doesn’t joke, or even look at him the way he catches himself looking at her, but – on cases, sometimes, after they’ve retreated to their separate rooms for showers and psychological reinforcements, he has noticed, hasn’t he, how much easier her laughter came, the sleepy glint in her amused eyes, how she would lie back on the bed in her own definition of exposing herself, fully dressed, stretched out and too casual and too fond of him as he ran his field notes by her for her nonapproval. In those moments he wanted nothing more than to crawl in beside her and prove to her that he could do it better. He knows her better.

Well, he guesses he’s getting his chance, along with the warning that he’s running out of them. He goes with the truth.

“There isn’t a single thing you could offer me that I wouldn’t take, Scully.” In a voice like jagged stone, made deep with sincerity and his intrinsic neediness, “Of course I want you. That’s just… written there, like genetic code. If you were to sequence my DNA I’m sure you’d find it.”

A beat of nothing. Not even background noise. He finds his confession neither freeing nor embarrassing. It just is.

Then she responds, “I think we can do this without me whipping out the microscope.” And she says out loud her thoughts he’s been gorging on since he was aware she had them. “I want you too.”

It does not feel revelatory like he expected it would, but there is a curiosity, stronger in his mind than his groin, and a unique feeling of rightness whereas the subject often leaves him anxious. That is what feels so freeing.

“I – where are you, Scully?” He asks, straightening up and then leaning his head on the wall. “You went back to the office, right?”

“OPR pulled me in for some more questioning, but I’m packing up to go home,” she says lightly. Mulder backtracks. He hadn’t meant to change the subject.

“I wanted you to kiss me. I was pissed that you didn’t, actually. I wore my good cologne.” He lowers his voice playfully, pushing vowels past a thick and nervous tongue. “You left me hanging,” and he huffs out a laugh, “and you didn’t even let me wear my hat.”

“I always pictured it as spontaneous,” she remarks a tad wistfully, and he thinks of her and how quickly she draws out her weapon. Then her tone changes. “Mulder, what are you wearing?”

A full out laugh, now, barked like a happy dog. “Nothing but my heart on my sleeve, here, and a sense that someone’s about to come here and shoot me.” Like he’s gone mad and needs to be put down, for good this time. He’s trying to ride the absurdity of this phone call the way he rides all absurdities – with style and panache and his customary roguish charm. He is having difficulty.

“C’mon–” you are purring, Dana Katherine Scully, “I know you know how to do this. What do you normally say?”

“You took my lines,” he pouts, dragging his hand down his chest. The idea that Scully isn’t joking hits him in the gut and he nearly drops the phone. “Wait. Scully. Are you actually trying to…”

“I’ve built this expectation, I think, that once we’ve come to our senses we’d work on some of the more… structural issues of our partnership.” Oh. “I expected it might take days.” Oh.

“Oh,” Mulder says. “I guess I picked the wrong week to go under the scalpel, then.”

“Don’t make a habit of it, is all I’m asking.” She pauses. What is she doing? He imagines her sitting primly in his office chair. That’s not right. When she sits in his chair she tends to sprawl, like he does. She’s sprawled out and trying not to smile. He is smiling, edgy, with a touch of gorilla fear, but also happy, relieved, waiting. “There’s this dream I keep having. I’ll let you interpret it.” Her voice curls around the edges. She is smiling, but it’s the breathlessness he focuses on. “It’s daylight, and I’m walking through a field. There is a gentle breeze, and I can almost feel the grass tickling my ankles. But then I trip. I’m falling.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Interpretation of Dreams 101. You’re nervous.” With his own stupid grin pressed to the phone and the heel of his hand making acquaintance with the waistband of his jeans, he asks, “Do I make you nervous?”

“You make me ache,” she says seriously. Okay then. He forgoes his teasing, plucks expertly at the buttons of his fly. They are doing this then, because Scully does not kiss her invalid suitors, but finished them off instead. “I’m falling, expecting to hit the soft ground. But Mulder,” shyly, “You’re there.”

“Underneath you?” He asks, almost bashful, hand stopped on his zipper.

“Yeah.” And then she sounds embarrassed, like she’s revealed too much. “Not exactly the most titillating story, I guess. I chose the wrong one.”

“It’s perfect.” He means it. Scully hasn’t said the words but he’s pretty sure that was “I love you.” Jesus Christ. He is hard, and he wants to laugh at himself; he should have known that’s the kind of crazy shit that gets him off these days, the idea that the object of his affection affects for him in light, with flowers, with hope and fluff and a cringing, girlish romance he’d never, ever expect from her. God, he’s hard and he’s a little high, and Scully wants to fuck him in the sunshine. He tugs off his pants and boxers and chooses to put her out of her misery.

“I have my own dreams,” he tells her, taking his cock into his shaking hand and lifting his legs up, so that he’s lying down. “Want to hear about them?”

“Oh God, please,” she says self-deprecatingly, like she’s already beat her head against the wall. He takes pleasure in this. No woman has ever considered him a person to be embarrassed in front of. No woman has ever thought of him that much.

“We’re on a case, and we’ve just gotten back to the motel. We promise to reconvene for dinner but we uh, gotta shower first.” Her sharp intake of breath lets him know she knows very well where this is going. He lets his head loll back onto the armrest and pumps himself once, twice, licks his lips before just rushing into it. “I always notice, Scully. Your whole – your whole body changes. You get flushed, and–” he gasps, she gasps, they are great partners. “You’re looser, like you’ve melted. Your voice gets lower.”

“Yes?” She almost growls, evidence for his assertion. Oh, he loves her. She always finds a way to validate him.

Yes. In my dream, though, I don’t let you tease me.” He chuckles, lift his hips up to push through his tightened fist. Watching himself helps him focus. The tip of his reddened cock points towards him, and he stares as it disappears and reappears. “That’s what you’re doing, right? Teasing me?”

“Me? Never,” the innocent tone she affects gets ruined by the drawn out whimper. She’s in the office, he suddenly remembers. He didn’t think he could feel more desperate to get back to work.

“I don’t say anything. You don’t say anything. You’re wearing those silk pajamas you like so much. I look at you, and you know you’ve been caught. But before you say anything I’m slipping off your pants and your underwear, whatever I noticed the last time I saw your own suitcase, and Scully…”

“Yeah?” She asks brokenly, high pitched and desperate. Most definitely she is doing what he is doing, and he flits back and forth between what she must look like cupping her breasts in the office with her skirt pulled up around her waist, and the Scully in his fantasy. A new model sharing prime time with the old one, the images do not compete; he wants both, fiercely and to the point of mental exhaustion, and only now does he feel like he’s got a chance of ever recuperating.

“You’re so wet,” he grunts, snapping his eyes shut and picturing it in his own private, well attended theater. “I see it before I feel it, the evidence of what you get up to when I leave you alone. You’re swollen – when I drag my fingers through it, they come back slick. When I look up at your face to ask my question, you’re smiling.”

“Your question?” She pleads, and for his benefit: “I'm… right now. Slick and so very…” Scully in the office, her panties tugged to the side and her oft-abused lower lip between her teeth. Scully in his dream world, giggly and heavy-lidded.

“Are you wet for me?” An answer to her inquiry, and his own pressing question. He doesn’t really need the confirmation; he can hear it over the phone when he strains, the sounds of her filling herself in all the ways he’s so far failed to. But when she says yes,, when she curses to God and begs him to touch her, he comes to the line and straddles it, precariously, reeling top-heavy with ego and lust. “I couldn’t – you… so hot, you knew that I knew, oh fuck, Scully…”

“I never finished,” she hisses. He can feel the warm wet air through the phone, it caresses his ears and neck and shit, shit, shit, are you close, yesyesyes, me too, “I-never-finished wanted you to–”

“You wanted me to make you come?” He chokes out, a guttural cry tripping him up as he swells in his hand and the image asserts itself vividly. Scully pressing herself to the shower wall, hand moving rapidly between her legs as she trembles and jerks and prepares herself for him. I would do it better, he’d thought every time, not knowing she hadn’t done it at all, that she was waiting, that her slightly spread legs and her pretty blushing face were an invitation for him to make her complete.

“I wanted you,” she says simply, and it starts in his back, a burn that hurts as much as it pleases, travels through unused limbs and fingers and imprints something nameless in tender, oversensitive brain matter. Scully is her mind and her strength and her loyalty and her slick, hot cunt, and she fucking wants him, so he comes for her as an acknowledgment of that fact, paints his thighs and belly with his promise and his need for her. All the while he listens as she falls apart for him, as she finally gets the release she’s been after all these years. It’s a knockout performance. She’s pitchy and earnest and sweet like he’s never heard from her, and he’ll never forget it – never, not even when she does it again.

She regains her wits before he does, naturally. “I should have kissed you,” she says. The certainty blows him away.

“I’ll do it.” He promises. “I’ll figure it out.”

Watch on just-4-thought.tumblr.com

Hey friends,

A few days ago, I posted that I was going to start being more open online about my illness. Today, someone sent me an article from npr that - when I read - I broke down and just started crying. One if the lead researchers at Stanford has an adult son who is affected by this illness, which is fueling his passion for answers They believe they are making headway (details in the article at the end), but the answers may be more than a decade away.

The article comes on the tails of this documentary Unrest (trailer above) and the momentum Jen Brea (the director and star of the documentary) is driving for this illness. She is an absolute bad ass by the way.

I’ve been in contact with Jen, and she seems excited to speak to me. I hope to have some resources directly from her to share with you all soon.

My best friend (who also happens to be someone I lived with for 4 years) sent me this video a day or two ago. It made him cry because he finally feels like there is hope and like I am not alone anymore. That’s how big of a deal this all is.

I’m having a pretty tough time right now physically. I’ve mentioned to some of you that it’s getting pretty bad, and I plan to make a more robust post with details about my experiences and resources (especially those that Jen gives me), but I wanted to share this video and the article because I am so excited. I feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. I am actually going to try to get into this program at standford where they are doing this testing. I understand there is a very long waiting list, but a decade is probably longer. And I’ve already lost a lot of my 20s to this. I might sound whiny, but I am so ready for this part of my life to be over. And I’m willing to do a lot to try to make it happen.

You can help. By watching this trailer and then the documentary, you add to the “awareness numbers.” The more awareness, the more pressure for funding (as we are seeing this year) and funding=research=help.
BONUS: help=less 💩 emojis from me.

Here’s the article:
http://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2017/07/31/540565526/scientists-edge-closer-to-elusive-lab-test-for-chronic-fatigue-syndrome#mainContent

anonymous asked:

Whether it's in a romantic way or a platonic way, the YOI staff clearly love Otabek and Yuri together. They're paired together pretty much all the time now, the manga was all about them, we got WTTM, lots of cute art/merch with them together, Kubo doodled them together on her battery pack, ect... It's obvious the staff like them together, and I honestly can't see them suddenly wanting to pair Otabek up with somebody else and, in a way, leave Yuri on his own again.

Exactly

Casual Part 1/3 (Chibs x reader)

Originally posted by samcro-redwoodoriginals

Summary: Chibs and the reader have a casual relationship that is abruptly ended when he decides that it’s not safe for the reader to be with him.

A/N: This is going to have 3 parts! It’s my first Chibs fic so yea, I hope it doesn’t suck :D

Word count: 2,100

(Y/N) = your name

Warnings: mentions of sex, kissing, breaking up

(Masterlist) - (Part 2) - (Part 3)

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ooooh to celebrate cr coming towards a close, i’d love to see people write about/draw how they picture vm looking at the start of the show vs now as we’re ending

ie keyleth with long hair and her green outfit in the beginning and shorter hair and more autumn-y colors now; percy being cleanshaved with shorter hair in the beginning and now a lot more scruffy, although not unpleasantly so; even simple stuff like pike wearing her hair in a braided bun at first and then switching over to funbuns pretty much full time now

Hi!

So I’ve been a simblr for a pretty short time now, and I’m looking for people to follow, so if you could reblog this, it would be greatly appreciated!

My simblr is going to consist of mostly gameplay series (and maybe lookbooks are coming soon?!) and I already have a custom content finds blog as my second blog. 

Thanks!  ♡ ♡ ♡

The Doctor

Joker x Reader
Masterlist

{A/N} Hey there guys, I know it’s been such a long time, but I suddenly felt re-inspired last night and started writing! Your requests are all in my drafts still, and I promise I’ll get to them. I’ve just been facing some pretty crazy times right now. I hope you enjoy!
xo Harley

Warnings: None, maybe super light violence but that’s about it!

The doors swing open as you enter the ward that contains the infamous duo, Joker and Harley Quinn. Papers are being pushed at you, orderly are giving you updates, and you stop just before the doors of your office.

“Thank you, but today I think I may try a different approach,” you say, soft spoken and meek as always.

Every staff member in the wing knows you’re the sweetest psychiatrist there is, leading no one to understand just how you’ve been managing a position like this at Arkham Asylum. Sure, you preach kindness and compassion being a key component to making a break through in any patient, but the rest of the staff believes quite otherwise when facing Gotham’s most heartless psychopaths.

The crowd leaves you to yourself as you step past the doors into your office, gathering a small leather notebook and a black pen. You’re heading to your first session of the day, and quite possibly your favorite.

Your heels clack on the tile of the poorly lit and now empty hallway, faint screams and whispering fills the air. Being used to this now, you don’t bat an eye.

“Don’t do it, Doctor {Y/L/N}.”

This particular voice causes you to stop. Heart suddenly beating quicker, you blink a few times before taking a few steps back- now standing in front of a cell most would never dare to linger around.

“Excuse me..?” You ask, your curious {E/C} eyes scanning behind the bars and into the darkness of the room in front of you.

A small snicker comes from the cell before pale, slender hands press against the glass and slide towards the bars on the doors tiny window.

“He’s not gonna love you.”

You’re not sure why you’ve even begun to entertain this conversation. But something about it made you stay.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about..”

The blondes eyes shown clearer than normal as they caught the dim light. The alley cat grin on her washed out lips grew wider. Orderly had explained to you already, that Harley had been cooperating more than usual lately- taking her meds, eating, answering questions better than before, but still no real answers. A thought flitters across your mind as you bring your notebook down to your side.

“How are you today, Harleen?”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. Smile still plastered on her features.

“You think it’s gonna be all fun and games. That, you’re gonna go in there and help him out. Escape, even,” she pouts, then smiles again. “I need you to do something for me,” she says, mocking his gravelly tone. “And you’ll do it. ‘Cause you’d do anythin’ for Mistah J..”

You tense up, suddenly on guard and defensive. A lump slides down your throat as you try to swallow.

“Have you taken your medicine today? You’re being absurd, Doctor Quinzel. Well, more so than usual.”

Harley’s eyes stay locked on yours.

“I was in your position once too, {Y/N}.”

“It’s Doctor {Y/L/N}, Harleen. And I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re going on about.”

“You’re new,” she giggles.

In fact, you know exactly what she’s talking about. And you’re afraid her new found willingness of cooperation and taking of medicine has cleared her thoughts enough to see what’s going on. Almost afraid now, you clutch your notebook to your chest and shake your head. What could this bode for you? In love with the infamous Queen of Gotham’s king?

“I’ll be back to speak with you at around four-thirty for our session, Harleen.”

You begin to walk towards Jokers cell again, attempting to shake off what just happened.

“Tell my puddin’ I’ll be waitin’ for him..” you hear her whispering faintly, the sudden emotion in her voice sounding as though she were about to cry.

The last thing you wanted to do was have a clown mob hit on your head the size of Mount Everest. But you can’t help how you feel. He’d turned on that faucet the day you met, allowing it to trickle slowly, slowly until he turned it on further and further. This had been a long time coming. Harley Quinn was not going to change that for you.

Besides, she’s locked up and controlled, what’s the worst that could happen?

A smile brightens your face as you see his room. It too is damask and dark, but you know he brightens it up with his own smile. Your keys jingle as the rain beats on the window, (a request you put in just for him, thinking the light of day and possible sound of rain or wind could serve as some therapy) and you hear him groan softly as he stretches his legs behind the glass.

“Doctor {Y/L/N}!” He exclaims sleepily. “I was waiting for you.”

“I see that, Mister J,” you say with a light grin, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. “Have a nice nap?”

“It was.. alright. It could’ve been better, with a nicer bed… Say, maybe even someone to share it with.”

A blush fills your cheeks as his cool eyes meet yours.

“Now, now,” your tone is soft with him. He brings out the compassionate side in you that no other patient has before.

You sit down, the straight jacket he dons looks extra uncomfortable today. You bite your lip briefly and sit down in the chair opposite his couch, (another gift) wondering if taking it off might be a good thing.

That would depend on his progress today, you think.

“Harley misses you,” you blurt out, quickly noticing your statement almost sounded harsh. You try to reel it back. “She’s doing so well. Taking her medicine, she’s even eating without force.”

You know you aren’t supposed to be discussing other patients, especially not Harley to Joker. It could be your job on the line. But you feel as though you have to gauge just what’s going to take place here today. And well, if all goes well, maybe you won’t need your job after all.

“Enough about her,” he says, leaning slightly towards you. “I knew she’d go back to normal, eventually. It’s just how she is.. can’t trust anyone,” he mumbles before pausing. “It’s you, Doctor, that I want to discuss today.”

You turn your face slightly, still meeting his gaze. His stare seems to pull every part of your soul from the depths of body.

“M-me?”

“Yes, you. You’ve shown me such kindness since I’ve been here this time, doctor. You oughta know that it’s been.. playin’ on my soft heart..”

“It has?” You ask breathless, leaning in now. Your {E/C} eyes are doe-like, and you hardly know what you’re doing.

“Can I trust you, {Y/N}?” He asks, his grin endearing in your eyes.

“Yes, of course you can. You can always trust me. Always.”

Hearing your first name spill from his lips like honey into a jar breaks your composure. You’re leaned in closer, attention on him and only him, and you’d put a bullet between your own eyes if it meant he’d trust you.

“Would you be a doll, and.. take me outta this thing? It’s so.. so.. uncomfortable!”

“Yes,” you nod, carefully reaching over and undoing the belts on the jacket. You haven’t noticed your breathing is heavier, but he has. A smirk places itself on his lips as he watches your face. Even he thinks you’re gorgeous, but he’d never let you in on that.

“Ah…” he breathes as you place the jacket on the back of your own chair. Stretching his arms behind his head, he leans back again. Desperately, you want to be close to him. But you know you’ve got a job to do, still.

The notebook pages crinkle between your fingers as you turn them to an empty page. The pen glides across the paper, leaving a black ink trail of dots and lines before speaking to him.

You clear your throat gently. “So, how’s the windowed room working?” You manage a sweet smile again, coming back to your inhibitions.

“Great. The suns warmth, the rains beauty. It all reminds me of you, Doctor.”

The glass in your mind shatters all over again, and you pause momentarily before setting the notebook and pen down on the table beside you. Placing your hands in your lap, you look into his eyes with a longing.

“Let me help you, Mister J..”

He pulls back, the grin still on his face said nothing, but he seemed to almost know this was coming.

“Help me?” His voice bellows. “Just how would you plan to do that?”

You look around, the hallway was clear but you knew anyone could see or be there at any given moment with cameras and panic buttons everywhere.

“I.. I don’t know, yet. But I can. If you could just hang on.. a few extra days..”

The wheels in your head are turning as you try to think of a way to get him out sooner. You just can’t bear to see him in that jacket again.

Honey, if you give me a little more credit, I could bust outta here myself..”

Honey.

“How? They’ll see you, J.. And God knows what they’ll do to you then..”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.”

Pretty.

“I.. Can I come with you?”

You can tell the laugh that escapes from him did just that, escape. He tries to quiet himself before laying a hand on your cheek. The warmth was not something you expected, and you press your face against his palm softly.

He moves inches from your face. Fear, intrigue, lust and admiration all wash over you at once. Your obsession with him has gotten out of hand, and you realize this once he stands up before you, ready to leave.

You stand and turn to face him.

“I wouldn’t want a delicate little thing like you getting hurt out there, Doctor,” he coos, reaching under the table for a gun and ammunition that had been hiding there all along. You had no idea, but in the moment, this didn’t bother you, either.

You follow him out of the room, pain on your features. “I can deal with more than you may think,” you say quietly, trying to convince him as you both make your way down the empty hall. He loads the gun, the clanking echoing off the walls as he becomes careless to the noise. The emptiness while a patient is escaping is almost eerie as you think about the lack of security around.

“Puddin’!” You hear an excited squeal coming from the cell that had stopped you before. A wave of worry flows over you, and you think you’ll have no chance if he lets her out, too. You stop and lean against the wall as he steps in front of Harley’s door.

“Baby, I thought I’d never see ya,” you hear him say, his tone even more sultry than it had been with you, causing hurt to course through your veins.

They hold an exchange as you suddenly feel your cheeks growing hot. You touch your cheek now, looking at your hand in the dark. Tears. This mornings mascara melting down your face. Suddenly a loud bang clanks against the bars that frightens you, and you peek over at them.

“No! You’re not leaving me again!” She yells at him.

“I gotta new one of you, Harls. You’re becoming too… compliant, too… soft. This one though.. she’ll do whatever I want. Just for me,” he growls.

You straighten up as he walks over and grabs your arm, lugging you back in front of her door and wrapping an arm around you.

“Meet Doctor {Y/L/N}!” He laughs, pretending as though they’ve never met.

“What’s up with you and psychiatrists?” She grumbles, pouting.

“What can I say, the most sane specimens of the human race just, get me..”

Suddenly, her toned arms slide through the bars, grabbing hold of you and pulling you back against them, causing strands of your hair to fall from your styling that day.

You feel something cold and sharp pressed against your throat, and start to feel like maybe this wasn’t such a great idea as you can’t escape her grip.

“I’ll cut her throat, J,” she says in haste. “Then what’re ya gonna do?”

“Hmm.. find myself a new psych.” He looks at her through bold eyes, laughing.

“I told you this wasn’t gonna work, lady. I meant it,” she roars into your ear.

Has she even been taking her meds at all? How did she get that knife? Better yet, a new psychiatrist? You vowed in your own mind never to disobey him, if you made it out of here alive.

A wave of people began to flood in, shouting orders and commands to control the situation. One by one, he gunned them down with a smile and a laugh. Patients began to scream, and distracted, Harley loosened her grip. You break free and look at her through the glass. 

Emotion written all over her face, she stares back at you. She smiles, leaning in to lick the glass slowly before screaming and throwing her fist into it where your face should be from her view.

He begins to walk away and the better side of your sanity kicks in, almost causing you to feel sorry for her as you follow him again. A twinge of light allows you to catch a glimpse of a tear on her tattooed cheek before you go.

“Where to now, Mister J?” You ask, your breathing labored from trying to catch up.

A loud, cackle fills the halls, bouncing in and out of the cells you pass, and he cocks the now reloaded gun.

“The bat cave, darling.”

Trails in the Sky - Programming Blog

Hey, everyone! It’s been quite a while since I last posted here. This is Sara, XSEED’s PC localization programmer! I’ve been buried shoulder-deep in my work on Zwei: The Ilvard Insurrection recently, but I’m here today to talk to you about something for the Trails in the Sky games. What? Those games have been out a pretty long time now? I know! I just can’t seem to stop supporting them! Send help.

Jokes aside, here’s the deal. With the recent release of Trails of Cold Steel on PC with help from the awesome Durante, I’ve been hit by some strokes of inspiration of my own. Have you read his guest blogs? Go read his guest blogs! I’ll wait.

Okay. With that out of the way, I’ve got two things to discuss here that I’ve been working on for the Trails in the Sky games, and the cool thing is that you can try both of these things out right now on Steam!

Keep reading

Walls Paper Thin

So I wrote this in February (February!) and figured I might as well post it since I don’t think I’ll ever finish it. This is by far not the first time this trope has been done with Tony, and definitely not the best (it’s pretty terrible to be honest, it’s mostly a vent piece) but I hope y’all like it anyway. 

Tony Stark was many things. Obnoxious was what came to the forefront of the Avengers’ mind when asked, though Steve continued with asshole and Thor continued with warrior.

It was easy to put Tony Stark in a box, obnoxious simply being the first. Selfish (despite being probably the biggest philanthropist after his mother, which everyone except Pepper, Coulson, and Rhodey seemed to routinely overlook), genius (probably the easiest to see, as he wore it on his ten thousand dollar Gucci sleeve with a self-satisfied smirk, and he liked it that way), uncaring (and with his flippant attitude and rude-ass remarks, who wouldn’t think that he didn’t care for anyone except Pepper, Rhodey, and his very well loved ‘bots?), self absorbed (his appearance was important, he knew it and Pepper knew it and both took pride in it, but of course to others it would seem like petty pride), but most of all annoying. It was easy to put Tony Stark in a box, there wasn’t much else to him, and he liked it that way. People saw what he wanted them to see, and the rest didn’t matter because frankly, the public shouldn’t know about those sides, and if the Avengers didn’t want to see those sides either (he desperately hoped they would; loneliness, despite himself, crept up on him when Pepper and Rhodey were away and JARVIS was the only one to talk to), then that was fine, because he preferred it that way. It was safer, and easier for him. Maybe he was emotionally stunted.

However, Tony Stark was also not a lot of things. He was not emotional, he was not kind, he was not helpful, he did not have feelings. Except, he was a little bit of all of those things, some more than others.

It took a long time for the other Avengers to trust Tony, longer for some than others, but it took much, much longer for them to figure out that he actually did feel things and struggle behind all those paper mache walls he had built up that somehow no one saw through but Pepper and Rhodey.

Bruce trusted him first, and his reasoning of course was why not trust Tony when clearly Tony trusted him a lot, and Tony deserved his trust because of that, and he had far proved himself in the Battle of Manhattan to be trustworthy; but it was Clint who saw him first.

Clint, who was closer to Tony than anyone on the team at first except his Science Bro Banner, didn’t keep Tony at arm’s distance. In fact, he would even say he liked Tony, though he wouldn’t admit it to Natasha or Steve, both of whom had seemed to take a disliking to the man. He enjoyed screwing around with him, talking about battle strategies or new arrow ideas or listening to Tony ramble animatedly when Pepper wasn’t there about some new project, not wanting feedback but just excited at the idea of it, or just sharing stupid stories (and Tony had many of those, and Clint felt deep seated laughter that brought a grin on his face whenever he saw the look on Tony’s that meant he was about to get started up about something stupid). True, Clint knew Tony was incredibly formidable in battle, a genius, and a goddamn asshole to boot, but Clint liked all of those things and it made Tony who he was as they bantered back and forth in sarcastic retort until Natasha threatened to castrate one or both of them – but those things didn’t make him trust the man.

Still, it seemed Tony liked Clint as well, because as Clint saw more of Tony he began to have JARVIS calling upon him into Tony’s workshop – as far as he knew, only Banner had been there before, for long stretches of time when he wanted to get out of his lab, or for conversations to bounce ideas and theories off of Tony. Tony trusted very little with his toys, and Clint was surprised, and impressed that he had earned the trust of the man who clearly trusted no one.

While Bruce and Tony talked animatedly about science, and it was true that Tony was very excited about things like that, it was different. The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist obviously was excited about science; it came with the ‘genius’ part. It was different from having emotion.

But the walls crumpled, leaving small holes to see through, in Tony’s precious lab. Clint could see it in the way that he adoringly stroked Dum-E as he introduced it to Clint, and how the ‘bot cooed adoringly back while it waved its arm at the marksman. He could see it in the way Tony would get deep into his work, forgetting that Clint was there, and hum and sing along to the loud music JARVIS blared to please his creator, and the way Dum-E and U and Butterfingers would click and coo and whir right along with him whenever he did. He could see it in the way Tony’s eyes lit up whenever Clint asked to see what he was working on, or told him how impressive the new weapons he had created were, or asked him to help reinforce his bow and quiver. He could see it in how whenever Tony went to check on Bruce in his lab and found him unconscious, strewn across the table (as Tony himself was so ought to do), he carried him over to the small bed in the corner (which graced each of the labs and workshops, as Tony was even more a workaholic than Banner and ended up spending days without seeing anyone but his ‘bots) and tucked him in gently, humming and brushing his hair until he settled again before turning and securing the lab so it was safe and going back the way he’d come. (It seemed Banner assumed that it was Steve doing this, and not Tony, which was more likely and Clint would’ve believed it if he hadn’t been in the air ducts exploring and seen it with his own two eyes.)

Clint saw it first. It took much, much longer for the rest to see it.

Tony had a perpetual habit of being a nuisance, it was one of his boxes, and around the Avengers he played it very well. He enjoyed seeing Barton and Bruce’s eyes sparkle with amusement at his shenanigans, and Thor questioning what he had said or what he was doing, even if he hated when Steve or Natasha turned their very cold eyes on him and he thought, for sure this time, he would certainly die. It didn’t make him stop, though true it fueled nightmares, but nobody expected him to stop, least of all himself. This was who he was, and he liked who he was despite it, and if the others didn’t like him he wasn’t going to change himself just for that. Pepper would smack him if he did.

But one night, after a particularly hard battle the day before, he must’ve went too far.

He had only ventured to the kitchen for coffee that he so desperately wanted to keep his own nightmares at bay, and found himself a hollow-looking Steve Rogers, clutching a cup of coffee himself which, if the pot was anything to judge by, was now frightfully cold.

And he didn’t really know what it was he said out of turn, what was different in what he did or what had set Rogers off, but now he was being dragged from the kitchen in a grip he was so deathly sure would break his arm, and dammit he was scared.

“Spangles, what the fuck man! Let me go, jeez, I’m sorry!”

“You’re not,” Steve snarled, and it registered faintly to him that he was acting exactly the same as all those bullies he hated so much, but dammit, Tony was a bigger bully, and sometimes it took a downpour to put out a fire. “You don’t have the capacity to feel something like sorry.”

“Steve, man, let me go.” Tony was getting really scared now, and it was all he could do to keep his cool demeanor, keep his tone the same as ever, like they were simply joking around. But the super soldier tightened his grip and Tony had to keep from crying out, and he was pretty sure any time now he would wet his goddamn pants because outside of the suit there was no way to protect himself from someone like Rogers. “JARVIS! Em-” But he was cut off by a strong grip over his mouth, panicking him, making him (fruitlessly) lash out at the person who was supposed to be his teammate and friend.

Sir, I will-

“Mute, JARVIS.” And for all that he didn’t know about technology, Steve knew one thing – JARVIS couldn’t do anything while muted, because Tony only ever muted him when something was dangerous and he wanted to handle it himself.

So he found a suitable door, opened it to a guest room, found the closet, shoved Tony in, and locked it, and then locked the room door for good measure. And it was only later that guilt would make Steve nauseous and he would realize he had gone too far, but even a super soldier who had been chosen for his virtue could become angry and morally dubious when going on 36 hours no sleep, the worst nightmare of his life (which was saying something), and the stupid, mocking face of Tony Stark.

Now, hearing muffled banging and some shouting, he returned to bed, and slept with blissful grayness until waking up in the morning for breakfast. And truth be told, he didn’t even remember what he had done – he believed it was a shameful (very shameful) dream, because there was no way he would do that to one of his team. Furthermore, there was no way Tony Stark would’ve been scared (because it was true, as Steve had walked away from the door Tony had just been begging the man to let him out, and he was scared, and JARVIS couldn’t help him and the ‘bots didn’t know and Pepper was gone and Rhodey was on a mission and – oh God – the others wouldn’t care). There was no way it was real; just another nightmare.

Breakfast was very quiet without Tony, almost peacefully so, and Clint actually wondered where he was, because for all the man worked food was the one thing the man seemed to worship religiously – he never missed a meal and was always snacking on something. But, after glancing at Bruce, he saw the doctor seemed unconcerned about his friend and Barton shrugged to himself, supposing that maybe Tony was distracted or passed out again.

It was just after breakfast was finished that the call came from Fury about the monster in downtown.

It was just after the battle that Natasha was fuming, screaming about how irresponsible Tony was and Clint was wondering just where the genius had gone to, because it wasn’t like him to miss a battle. Clint knew better than the others how determined Tony was in a fight (and he was perhaps more determined than Cap – certainly he had less regard for is safety). And it was also just after battle that Clint glanced at their captain, expecting him to be almost red in anger, only to find him pure white, blinking.

That probably wasn’t a good sign.

“Cap, I’m sure he’s probably sick or something and couldn’t contact us. We’ll go check on him when we get back, okay, and if he was flaking then you can blow your top.” And Nat rounded on him, pointing a shaking finger and no doubt going to accuse him of taking Stark’s side, when Steve spoke up in a voice that bespoke nausea.

“No… I know where he is.”

“Where?” Bruce asked curiously as he emerged from the quinjet, wrapped in a blanket and looking worse for wear – the Hulk always took a lot out of him. “Certainly not someplace more important that this. He was here yesterday, didn’t say he had a business trip.” Steve swallowed, looking sick and guilty.

“I locked him in a closet.”

Clint blinked, and had to admit that sometimes Tony was asking for that, but Natasha gasped, her anger now shock and very much redirected.

“You did what?” Her whisper was deadly. “Cap, did they even give you Stark’s file?”

Clint didn’t know what was happening, but he knew it was bad (though if it involved Tony it was always bad), and he was, surprisingly, in the quinjet before Natasha was, firing it up as Steve and Bruce joined them.

It took them three minutes to get back to the Tower.

It took them two minutes of screaming at JARVIS for Steve to remember what he had done and unmute him.

It took JARVIS thirty seconds for all the alarms in the building to be blaring, Fury to be on call with a very upset A.I., and for him to angrily (could a computer be angry?) declare that emergency services were on their way and he demanded the Avengers leave the Tower at once and never touch ‘sir’ again, on fear of death.

It took Bruce another five minutes to try and calm JARVIS down, and beg the A.I. to let him and Clint see Tony, because they were worried about him (and really, they all were, because if Natasha was serious about something concerning Tony Stark then it was really serious).

It took two more minutes for JARVIS to relent, leading them to a locked room in which was an equally locked closet, with soft sobbing coming from inside and the soothing voice of JARVIS trying to bring Tony back to reality. And Clint knew that was what he was doing, from the way he was repeating the weather, the date, where they were, the condition of Tony’s various projects, how close help was – grounding the engineer. And Bruce knew then what was wrong, and it was so wrong, because Tony didn’t, simply didn’t… feel. Sure, to some extent, but not like this.

Clearly he was wrong, since as soon as the door opened Tony was screaming and attacking them violently, and he wailed for JARVIS and Pepper as Clint and Bruce tried to restrain him while JARVIS assured he was there, sir, he was right there, it was the 4th of the month and the weather outside was slightly cloudy and 72 degrees and they were at the heart of Manhattan, and please, sir, stop fighting, you’re going to hurt yourself.

It was also that day when they found out while Tony was a very hard man to trust, it was even harder to earn the trust of him.

The dislocated shoulder was a problem, and the PTSD was an even bigger problem, but the biggest problem was the fact that he would let no one except his beloved ‘bots (who JARVIS had, in the best interest of his creator, released from the lab and sent to calm him) touch him. In fact, if anyone except the ‘bots or Coulson came within ten feet of him, he started screaming and went into another panic attack, and then it was the bots cooing and blinking and whirring and extending their mechanical arms all over again, trying to calm their broken father, trying to soothe him. And then it was the ‘bots and Coulson finally soothing the great Tony Stark, the Iron Man, into an uneasy and clearly nightmare filled sleep, and the beloved creations turning on the Avengers. Natasha swore that if camera lenses could look furious, the ‘bots’ eyes would’ve been flaming.

Captain Rogers,” JARVIS said coolly, though his voice was quiet in attempts to keep his creator from waking, “I must demand that you and the rest of the Avengers leave this tower at once. You have intruded upon sir’s home and betrayed our trust, and in his best interest, as I am authorized to protect him, I ask that you clear from our home before I must force you.

“JARVIS,” Steve coughed out, his eyes bloodshot and his skin pale. “JARVIS, I didn’t know he would react like that. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

With all due respect, Captain Rogers, what exactly did you mean when you locked sir in a closet within his own house, out of reach of help, for nearly thirteen hours?” If JARVIS’s voice could get any colder, or the whirring and clicking from Dum-E, U, and Butterfingers any louder, the anger in the room would be palpable. Anger from several A.I.’s that clearly cared for their creator as much as he cared for them.

Steve didn’t have a response to that, and neither did the others. It was also that day that the team learned the only harder thing to do than earn the trust of Tony Stark was earn back the trust of his ‘sons’.

It was Fury who broke the stalemate, storming in and growling “What the hell happened?!” And it was JARVIS who coldly answered.

Director Fury, I must demand you keep your voice lowered in order to keep sir from waking. I believe that is an inevitability no one would like at this point in time. Since you already know of sir’s past, I will tell you the basics of what has happened. Captain Rogers was up last night, I believe from a nightmare, and sir walked in to get coffee in order to keep awake. I believe he was afraid of nightmares himself. Sir, being who he is, engaged in conversation with Captain Rogers-” Fury snorted, knowing the implications of what JARVIS meant, “-and Captain Rogers took offense, locking sir within a closet and preventing me from being able to help. Sir was locked within the closet for precisely twelve hours and thirty-nine minutes, during which he alternatively had flashbacks or tried to break down the door. Exactly twenty-three minutes ago, Captain Rogers and the others returned from a mission, unmuted me, and allowed me to obtain help for sir. I believe I do not have to clarify the implications of what has happened, but if you necessitate it, I shall do so.” Fury, rage now showing on his face, glanced at the Avengers.

“JARVIS, clarify for us.”

“Certainly, Director Fury. I do believe being forced into the darkened closet reminded sir of his confinement in a cave in Afghanistan, during which he was tortured and forced to create the Iron Man suit to escape. As a result his PTSD, which he told me only a few weeks ago he thought he finally had a handle on, sent him into a very terrifying situation. He had a total of seven moments of clarity, during which he demanded I let him out, and those seven moments lasted a collective total of thirty-three minutes of the time he was in the closet. I believe it was around hour five when he dislocated his shoulder attempting to run the door down. Is that enough clarity, Director Fury?”