#and i know my writing isn't bad

[gingrrfrog]

having horrible impostor syndrome and feeling like everything i write is awful 🤠👍 

[laufire]

jason's lazarus pit was golden jason's lazarus pit was golden jasonslazaruspitwasgolden jason's lazarus pit was golden JASON'S LAZARUS PIT WAS GOLDEN

AND PIT MADNESS IS *NOTHING*

[pa-pa-plasma]

hey i feel like we're really sleeping on that time Danny possessed Vlad & framed him for assaulting a minor

Editing with the clip because people don't believe me. Episode is 41: Eye for an Eye.

[extra-somethin-somethin]

If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)

[wikiangela]

seven sentence sunday

tagged by @diazsdimples 💖

I'm still jumping between wips so here's another snippet of the cheating fic, this time a bit of Buck and Taylor arguing - I can't explain how much fun I'm having with this fic, this is so not my usual thing but it's just so fun haha

prev snippet

___

“Can we do this tomorrow?” he asks, bringing his hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose. He’s getting a headache.

“No, we’re doing this now. Tell me what’s up.” she says, pulling at the covers when he tries to cover himself and turn away again. 

“Jesus, Taylor, let it go. I’m fine. And it’s none of your business.” he snaps, pulling at the duvet a little harder.

“Fine.” he hears rustling, then the bed shifting. She got up. The light on her nightstand is still on. “I thought since we’re together, and live together, we’re pretty serious, and now you’re weird around me, and you don’t even touch me, so I thought it was my business, but clearly I was wrong.” she talks as she walks up to his- their closet and starts getting dressed. Now Buck looks at her, leaning up on his elbows.

“What are you doing?” he asks with a sigh, watching as she takes off her nightshirt and starts putting on jeans. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business.” she replies, her tone feeling like a slap in the face. Buck deserves the real thing, actually.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @sunshinediaz @giddyupbuck @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @exhuastedpigeon @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @tizniz @daffi-990

[johaerys-writes]

Watching House MD as an adult after not having watched it in like 15 years is such a trippy experience because the sexual tension between House and Wilson is crraaaaazyyyyyy

[recitedemise]

𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿. This lengthy headcanon will refer to canon dialogue from mostly Gale, sometimes others. Reader's discretion is very much advised. There will be in depth explorations into grooming, emotional abuse, heavy manipulation, and suicide.

First, let it be said that Gale, a mortal man, will always be the powerless one in his dynamic with Mystra. Of course, nearing forty years of age, he remains entirely responsible for his own actions, his own foul blunders and every hurt he'll cause, but it's important to remember who formed much of who he is: his goddess, his deity, and egregiously, his lover.

Mystra is power. Mystra is possibility. She knows what sway she holds over her Ioyal, vulnerable, and entirely mortal followers. In all ways that matter, they are but lambs she can steer and herd as she sees fit. She knows they can't deny her, and knows they'll never want to. Gale's sheer servitude and complete devotion; to the very quick of his bones, she lapped them up.

Gale: I was just... practising an incantation. Player Character: No, there's more to it than that. I know devotion when I see it. Gale: What can I say? She's—she's Mystra. I can't describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence... Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation. Player Character: I didn't realize the depth of your devotion. Gale: Magic is... my life. I've been touched with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it.

Gale, orb in his chest, doomed to be eaten by the very thing he loves the most, still speaks so reverently of the goddess, of his lover that has left him to die. He conjures images of her memory—and she is all the while forgetting about his.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rasheman. While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth, I thought it born of caution after some catastrophe of wizardly men-folk of old. Now, I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

Tales of Mystra's treachery spreads far, leaving those familiar waters surrounding Gale's tower in Waterdeep. They whisper her name, afraid to utter it one time too many, suspecting, perhaps, that she'll show in their mirror like some Faerûnian Bloody Mary.

Talent rouses Mystra. She can see who uses the gift of the Weave and feel them, sampling whatever delight sings their veins as they pull from her domain. Not unlike a spider, she'll follows every tremor that strikes her as just a sliver more profound; and Gale, a prodigy, plucked the Weave's web to so garner her focus. And like some black widow scurrying, she surged down that ripple to prey on a boy. There, Gale, so impressionable, was just a mite older than twelve whole summers. He sat so stunned, beholding Mystra as she lured him into the cradle of her Astral domain. Bathed in her magic, pleasantly coddled within that glittering cosmos, Gale felt blessed in a way he'll struggle always to recount, no word, no language, fit to describe it. He felt chosen. He felt seen. And potently, to a child, he felt loved. Now, imagine a child experiencing something like that. Imagine what they'd think, how brilliant they must be when stood beside the rest. She told him he was gifted, made his heart swell not unlike a child's appetite for praise. She knew what she was doing by offering these morsels, by preying on a child's most delicate mind, and Gale, child prodigy, was already so awash in the idea that his value was in magic. Unfortunately, Gale, susceptible, had no way of squirming out of his goddess' grasp.

Reality: She's laid down the seeds to creep into his heart. When he's just old enough—seventeen's sufficient, she thinks—she stakes her claim and makes him hers.

Gale: My virtuosic talent once caught the eye of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, who named me her chosen and her lover.

Gale is stunned when she takes him to bed the first time. (Is this really happening?) Mystra claims his mouth in a kiss, taking everything she knows he offers so willingly. Mystra, of course, is not so stunned.

Dream Visitor: An elder brain... one of the cruelest and most powerful creatures in existence, enslaved by mere mortals. Gale, tasked with Mystra's missive to sacrifice himself: This is it... I must do as Mystra commands.

Gale has worryingly low self-esteem beyond his magic. As already explored, his entire worth as a man hinged on and was built entirely off his talent as a wizard. He fought tooth and nail for any crumb of affection Mystra would offer his way, something she only gave him at all seeing his gift as a child. He wants her forgiveness. He desires it genuinely. He believes so firmly that he has wronged his goddess, buying into the idea that sacrificing himself will right his wrong. She holds such dominion over him, making him reduce his confidence in himself into a mere, trifling pittance; after all, she wasn't just his lover, but the patron deity he prays to. And regardless, Gale is a people pleaser, his initial acceptance of her missive coming as no surprise.

After all, Gale, at times, goes to incredible lengths to appease his audience. This habit, compulsion, impulse, whatever you want to call it, is a quality that was relentlessly exacerbated in his relationship with his immortal paramour. He wanted to content her, felt all he did was never enough, for as a matter of principle, he was oceans, leagues, and entire galaxies beneath her. Gale figures: well, how can a short-lived dalliance satisfy a god? He had to make her happy. Indeed, he'd done everything she'd ask. He'd bedded her how she liked, kissed her how she wanted, and of course, even said those words she'd said tasted best. She was his lover, a lover that never tended to his own needs and pleasures, and he fooled himself into thinking that's enough. He won't bend backwards for everyone, mind you, but if you're of the ones he would, he would stop at nothing to make you happy. After all, people pleasing is a way to keep oneself safe, a trauma response to sidestep discomfort, and though it achieves only a direly tentative peace, when that is all you've been fed, you will pursue it.

Gale did not want to lose Mystra; he couldn't bare the sting of it. And so, when Elminster visited him, Mystra's call for his death offered oh so callously, Gale, heartbroken, felt that part of him kick up. He couldn't endure the guilt, was so hungry for a chance to let his weighty heart breathe, even if it meant dying in the process.

At least this way, he'll finally do something right. At least this way, Mystra will forgive him, and all his friends will survive.

Gale: After I was afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my self-inflicted tragedy. I'd given up on myself.

As a byproduct of people pleasing, Gale, too, is all too quick to accept all guilt. He self-deprecates, gaslights himself to a venomous degree, and twists his reality in so cruel a way as to make him the villain Mystra'd led him to believe. He self-flagellates himself, the first one in the world who will throw Gale of Waterdeep a mental punishment. Mystra's a goddess, after all, seen as utterly faultless, and twined so tightly with a being so mighty in esteem, Gale slipped into the role of the guilty often. When tied with anyone with grandeur like this, so immeasurable in their own self worth, it's important to keep in mind this: you are nothing but a prop in which to fulfill their ego. Gale was not Mystra's, not by a long shot. Rather, Gale was a tool, simply her mortal extension.

And he took every blow meant for her... a common and terrible habit for many people in imbalanced, ego-fueled relationships.

Gale's life beyond her wasn't something that interested her. She took most of Gale's devotion, manipulated his life to be her sole mantle of attention, for Mystra is not a goddess that shares very happily.

Indeed, long before his self-imposed isolation, this jealous deity did well at keeping him isolated.

Player Character: Picture kissing him. With tenderness. Then, with passion. Gale: I... I didn't think— Narrator: You perceive quick-fire embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.

And so, cheated out of love, so reduced in his value as a man and lover both, suffice to say, Gale's slow to believe he can ever be loved. That's what happens when you're with someone so cold, consistent only in their infinite lack of respect. Gale looks at fondness, and he feels—confounded, to be sure. He thinks, is this truly mine to have? He doesn't know what to do, is nearly forty in game, and despite having lived decades devoted to one relationship, he feels, at the same time, entirely out of depth. To be frank, he greets it with embarrassment, like he's been caught red handed with something not his at all. He's like a child caught rummaging with his hand in a cookie jar, all this isn't mine to enjoy, not mine to indulge in, but he thinks, startled, but god, do I want. He wars with disbelief, uncertainty, and need, and in so many ways feeling utterly starved, with just a glimmer of affection, he falls fast into love.

Scenario: (And if properly romanced, it changes his world.)

Gale: In her (Mystra's) likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death. I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling... No god could ever compare.

He says it with sincerity. There is such wonder, such love, and such awe in his eyes. He makes the act of kissing him feel like you've just reached into the trenches to but pluck him soundly from his ruin and despair. You think, Gale Dekarios, how unloved have you been all this time?

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command… none have loved me so purely before.

The answer is: entirely.

For so long, Gale thought love was simply being chosen. He knew nothing of being favored for the quality of his character, to be cherished and accepted even in those ways he fumbles and lacks. Again, his needs were seldom met, often treated with utter indifference by Mystra herself, and to meet someone so eager to treasure him, dote on him in a way his heart, his body is somberly new to, raptures his spirit and captures his soul. He's seen for who he is. He's... loved, desired for his silly quips, his easy smiles, and his growing affections. He bares himself to them, and in turn, they cradle his heart like something entirely precious. Gale thinks this has to be dream. He says, at times, you are more than I deserve.

Scenario: (But sometimes, he hopes too strongly and loves too greatly. As it always does, then, like he's once more wanted too much, he watches something beautiful slip right through his fingers. Of course, Gale Dekarios. Of course it does.)

Player Character: I didn't know you felt so strongly, Gale. Gale: Perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach... but I was only myself, and sometimes that isn't enough.

They don't love him anymore. It breaks his heart. He hurts so much, so profoundly and deeply, and he doesn't realize that he breaks their heart in turn.

Unable to ever voice his feelings with Mystra in any way that amounted to much, Gale's a tendency to wallow, expressions coming off as potentially 'guilt-tripping' and even, on occasion, passive aggressive. Firstly: Gale NEVER means to manipulate emotions, and he's no intention of twisting anyone's arm, either. Fact is, Gale, never taken seriously when he'd bared his vulnerabilities to the Mother of the Weave, can end up saying just a little too much. He feels very deeply, and for most his life, seldom had an outlet for these weeping sentiments. He sometimes lets slip raw words and oftentimes heart-wrenching expressions; all the same, it's not so pitiful as to shepherd an outcome, but rather, is a gesture taken by a man so desperate to be heard. It may feel like scheming, but the truth is far, far greyer: feeling as though he's no right to share the depth of his heart, Gale simply lets it geyser out in a way he can't cork up. In ways he doesn't realize, he's adapted to this ache, passively reacting so his feelings can at least be seen and recognized—no matter how pitifully unwhole. With someone who values so little his thoughts... well, when he slips into these moods, one can hardly feign shock.

Situation: (And if no one shows him trust and tenderness, any true care in his character or worth, Gale gets swallowed up by how wronged he was.

He thinks: Let me be a god. Let no one hurt like me anymore.)

Gale: They only want us to serve them, pray to them...and ultimately, to die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to? I could make that happen.

Gale is not above anger, and as stated, he is not above pettiness; however, more than that, he is not above righting himself whatever wound he was struck. Gale, if not offered much by ways of affection, understanding, is made to believe that one idea that's lived growing in his mind: Gale Dekarios is far from sufficient; he has to be more. He has to be better. Gale, in such an unkind ending for himself, sips too desperately—and perhaps greedily, too, but desperately serves as a far better word—at that idea that he needs power. And so, wresting the Crown of Karsus for himself, he spites Mystra in his own way, becoming a god he feels is leagues better than she will ever be. Damn her thoroughly. Damn her ego, her power, and her endless indifference. He will serve the people, protect them, and in ways Mystra never could, better the world.

Situation: But as a god, he loses all sense of his kindness. Humanity. All who loved him leave him, and even Tara spurns the image he's become. With power, he's gained the respect he thought he always wanted... but in turn, he lost in even greater measure all the love he's known.

Endnote: But healing, knowing to forgive himself and knowing he's deserving of care simply for being Gale Dekarios will remain, always, the best path for him.

[puppetmaster13u]

Oh boi even more of One au in like 3 hours lol

I like to think that like how in @phoenixcatch7's Doll au there's gas versions of like cures and such in the batfam's gas masks since they don't need to breath when possessing the puppets right? I like to think there's an organic version of that with the meat puppet bodies, at least with Bruce, where the plates on his neck opens up into vents of sorts, pictured here with a few spikes removed for visibility reasons.

This gas could be some cures for like Joker venom & Fear gas and such, or it could also be sedatives, paralytics, could even vary between each member. (For example in the Cryptidverse Steph has Anesthetics on her claws, Jason has reflective powder that mimics embers/sparks, Cass has paralytics, etc). Honestly I am just brainstorming so this could definitely change lmao

I do like to think they start developing their own venom though, gotta' have those fangs & tusks for some reason lol

[uncanny-tranny]

For TST

I just finished listening to Elliot Page's book and I have to say it was an interesting piece of literature. I highly highly recommend it.

I have never read a book that is so closely aligned with myself as a trans man and my upbringing. I never thought I would read book that defines what it means to be a trans man in the public eye. I do not want to be as famous as him but I would like to make a change to the world as he has.

I am comfortable in who I am and who I love and how I choose to express my gender. Things really can and often do get better with time. And I hope that any person that sees this knows that they are not trapped in the shoes that society has put them in and they can actively choose a different pair.

I would love to read Pageboy soon; these memoirs and other art and literature are our history, part of our lifeblood as a community, and it's vital that we read each other's lives and understand that we truly are here in this world💛

It's great to read such a glowing review from you, and I'm so happy that his words lit your soul like it has

[dayurno]

what do u make of the scene after rikos death when renee calls jean and there's screaming and glass breaking in the background. poor kevin cant grieve in peace

i dont think it was necessarily the foxes or even related to kevin at all! i imagine the news spread and raven fans revolted or something like that..... although i will say i expected kevin to be so much more visibly depressed re: grieving riko i was surprised at how light-hearted he is! like in conversation with jeremy and when he tells jean andreil are speaking german and stuff... there's obviously a thread of tension to pick apart there but wow. he really is going to therapy. i knew betsy wasn't lying when she told jean she's kevin's therapist because kevin was able to speak about his hand to jeremy in an almost laughing way......... he's truly come a long way :')

[doki-doki-imagines]

TW: Pet play, probable OCD for Michael

Sort of a continuation of this post. It can be read as a stand-alone.

“Y-You’re the best kitten” You pant, mind fogged by bliss.

Michael moans in your sex, if he could the kitty ears (a while ago standing perfectly onto that cute, messed up head) would have moved along, standing straight like his tail that is now following the movements of his hip grinding into the air.

“Michael, keep going-“ an awful loud moan comes out, only spurring Michael to go faster, to plug his tongue even deeper, tasting the essence covering your warm walls.

You can hear him rustling with his boxers, pulling them off probably, the wet sound unmistakable. You look under you and see the pink engorged tip of his cock, precum already spilling out; you bet it would taste delicious.

Too bad you can’t think about it more because Michael intensifies his ministrations, the vibrations of his broken moans send a delicious shiver up your spine and you can’t do anything but arch your back and grind into his face. He keeps switching between sucking your clit and slipping his tongue in, drinking your essence like the finest beverage, never stopping, if nothing he gets more aroused by your breathy moans, by the thighs you are trying to keep open with every ounce of self-control you have, but that inevitably close around his head, their plushness making his blood flow even faster to his groin.

How much you would like to caress his head “keep going kitty” you would say, spurring him on, maybe if you pull the leash he would listen to you…

Then you look at each other, blue irises almost covered by his blown pupils, Michael stops and you whine; why all of sudden all this intimacy?

That’s when Michael surprises you, he touches you. The same Micheal that couldn’t go two minutes without washing his hands after caressing you, the same Michael that gagged every time he just thought to put a finger in you, that same Michael is touching, or better seizing your thighs.

A new wave of pleasure runs through your skin, because fuck, you never saw Michael so desperate and even bigger fuck, he never touched you this way.

You feel his hands running towards your hips, man-handling you into what you assumed it is an angle he prefers, and as fast they go to your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples hard and fast, uncoordinated in his movements like he wanted to do everything he missed in all this time.

“S-slow down kitty, your owner is delicate you know?” A half-hearted laugh comes out and you finally, finally pet his head.

Meanwhile, Michael looks at you like an angry kitten, furrowed eyebrows-

“Ouch! Nasty kitty!” The strong pinch on your nipple was anything but pleasant, you could even feel a cheshire grin on his face; the impulse to choke him between your thighs was strong, but you have the doubt he might enjoy it so you let the idea go.

This little breather doesn’t last long, Michael pulls you towards him (like there was some space between you two at this point) his mouth leaving your sex, cold hair hitting your core making you whine once again.

“Let me finger you, master”

…

How could Michael say that with such a serious face!? You felt like combusting, you don’t know if embarrassment or horniness, because let’s admit it, your big boy Michael acting like your pet made your brain rot since you started all of this.

“Yes, please Michael”

“Not Michael”

“Damn you, nasty kitty, get to work and get your owner off! Better?” Your arm covering your face, no way you’ll let him see-

Too late, he already pulled it away, looking at you with a predatory grin.

“Yes, way better”

Who could have guessed that the guy that was so disgusted by touching you would have turned like this thanks to a pair of fluffy ears and a tail; damn it if only you found out about this sooner.

Michael doesn’t waste a second plunging his slender fingers in and out your sopping hole, the intrusion comfortable thanks to his previous ministrations and God, Michael is making you see fucking stars.

Broken moans flow from your mouth, broken by the intrusion of Michael’s tongue, devouring every single sound you make, nullifying them with his own.

You try in the crazy frenzy of the situation to help him out, you reach out, but he pushes your hand away, too far, his eyes tell you.

A sigh escape, but you can’t complain much with his finger bringing you to such ecstasy.

Orgasm soon takes you both, your lips still slotted together, hard breaths coming out from your noses. You reach for a tissue; after such an intense session this is the minimum you can do, already scared of Michael running to the bathroom scratching his hand clean 'til blood comes out.

He gladly accepts it, kissing your cheek as a sign of gratitude.

You know that later you’ll have to talk about this, for now, you just cuddle in each other arms, unusual soft kisses exchanged.

[hamartia-grander]

Starting to slowly realise I'm really not doing well mentally and it's. concerning. I feel like I should take a break from tumblr bc it takes some of what little energy I have but it's also my source of joy with friends so idk what to do, like I'd miss y'all more than I'd feel good about being away. But if you notice me talking less/not responding in days it's bc I just cannot. I leave your message notifs up so I don't forget tho <3

[csidepooltide]

Trick is finally up on artfight! :) I'm always so surprised at the improvement each year, I'm glad I get to see it in real time!

I always like to compare between years, thought I'd include that here!

[airanke]

The urge to draw Dante and Touya making out but the urge to not draw it because I feel so bad for Touya 🤣🤣🤣

(Wow I'm so sorry I rambled aggressively in my tags WTF)

[appalachianapologies]

uhhhhh drabble without context :)

“Mac?” Frown deepening, Riley takes a few steps forward. “Hey. Are you… okay?” It’s a monumentally stupid thing to ask given that Riley doesn’t even think she’s okay, but Mac’s supposed to be the seasoned agent here. Plus, as much as she hates to think about it, Riley’s pretty sure that Mac’s seen worse when he was in the Army disarming bombs, or whatever it was that he did out there.

When she puts her hand on his shoulder, all she gets is a shudder. “Mac, I think you’re in shock.”

This time, he swallows. “I’m okay.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Home.”

“Where’s home?”

This time, Mac moves with sudden movements, nearly smacking Riley in the face with the speed at which he turns. “Where’s Jack?”

“Mac, where’s home for you?”

“Here. Where’s Jack?”

She just barely stops herself from sighing. Moving until she’s in front of Mac’s face again, Riley desperately looks for some sign of concussion or something to explain his behavior. “Tell me where you are.”

“California.”

Truth be told, Riley was hoping for a more specific answer, but at this point she’ll take it as a win.

“I need to get Jack-”

“He’s okay.”

Mac shakes his head, taking a step away from Riley. “I need to- they’ll never let me go out if the sun sets, I-”

“Hey, hey! You don’t need to rescue him. He’s fine.” Against her better judgement, Riley reaches for his arm, hoping that the action will ground him and not cause her to end up with a bloody nose. “Mac, look at me. Jack’s at the Phoenix right now. I mean, he’s a little busted up, but he’s also not the only one.”

This time, it’s Mac’s turn to frown. “Are you hurt?”

Riley tightens her grip a little. “No. Mac, you were- you know what, why don’t we go get Jack?”

Belatedly, Mac nods.

When they brought her onto DXS, Riley really wasn’t expecting the guy who could hack everything other than computers, the guy who couldn’t possibly be older than her but still seemed to have all the confidence in the world, to look like this. And for the first time in her adult life, Riley would be willing to admit, out loud, that she wishes Jack Dalton were here.

[oozeandgoo-art]

had an odd dream that i was reading a comic book. sketched a couple of the pages i could remember.