#but the point is it sounded like that ask made OP also id's as a 'anti sjw;

[candyredterezii]

It's not satire. I've been on the site since the early days, and Tumblr's had some of the most vehement, vitriolic Anti-SJWs out there. Be careful out there folks 🫡

[lover-i-lover]

Bad case

Everything's blurry, really blurry. That's all Spencer knows as he stumbles out from the club. The unsub in toe, who called himself William Dane, hand in hand. He knew this has going to happen, it's part of his MO, Spencer knew he was going to be drugged in some way. But he's what he didn't know was he was going to be drugged with more then just a roofie. He knows he's been given more then just a roofie, some kind of cocktail of drugs.

Spencer shakily grabs his sheer black jacket. It's not his, it's from then undercover closet but whatever. Spencer almost trips going out the door, but William grabs him around the waist. Spencer tries not to vomit, laughs instead, "Thanks hon" Spencer gently reaches back and pets his shoulder. "Think I've had a bit too much" He doesn't sound like himself at all, or really feel like himself. But he's pretty sure that's the point. He can vaguely hear this William say something about taking Spencer home.

Spencer giggles and drags him out on the curb side. He knows the team is around the corner, Spencer just needs to get to that alleyway, then he can get to an ER. "hey, so..." Spencer tries to roll his eyes a little sexyliy, is that word? Spencer thinks so. "My place's that way" Spencer draws the words out, nodding towards the alley. William moves Spencer the other way, Spencer can't stop him, his legs are just following him. "I know" William's voice chances as he tightly grabs onto Spencer's waist. "I really, um, get nervous at. Um, i really need to get home"

"I'm not stupid Spencer" William reaches out and grabs the tiny mic off Spencer's shirt, tossing it on the ground. His heart almost jumps out from his chest. "T-That's no-not"

"Your name is Spencer Reid not Daniel Lous, you're 27 not 25, really thought I'd believe your little fake ID?" William grabs onto him tighter and Spencer tries to push him away, at least. But it's no use, Spencer's legs refuse to work with him. "Don't fuss now, if you're lucky, you'll leave in the morning"

Spencer knows he should scold this William, the profile says that should make him back off. But the profile also says that when he's caught, he's likely to fight til his death. That would mean he would just kill Spencer in any alley nearby. That can't happen. Spencer thinks for a second. Then deicides if he's really dying tonight, he wants to know why.

"Well, just-oh" Spencer grabs onto William as they step down to cross the street. William looks to him with curiosity.

"You, said, if I'm lucky, that means there's something I could do that would turn you off enough to let me go, what is it?"

William laughs. "How do you know I meant I'd let you leave alive and not in a bag?" Spencer stumbles and almost falls over again, but he's caught before he hits the ground. William pulls him along the street. Where's the team?

"You used the the word lucky, if I'm lucky means it would be something I'd do, and not you being nice"

"If I tell you, what do I get?"

Spencer leans into him, not because he wants to, but because he needs to in order to stay on his feet. So it's a game. He's a sexual sadist, what is the best thing for a sexual sadist? His victims were tortured for hours, and the in tapes, he made them beg for it.

"I've taken an acting class or two, If you tell me what it is, i will make it feel real for you" Spencer promises, letting one of his arms go slack against his legs, gently toying with the hem of the shorts he also got from the undercover closet, turning on the back op mic / tracking thing that he insisted on having when he was sober. He made it look like he was just showing off a bit more his thigh.

"You've seen the tapes, right?" William asks, slipping a hand down to touch Spencer's ass. Normally he'd yelp, being touched in such a place. "More then I'd like to admit" Spencer bites his inner cheeks, knowing it'll make his outer cheeks a bit red.

"But they weren't listening to you, I'll listen, I'll listen real good, I can take it" Spencer continues, sticking his butt out against his hand, hoping that he shows interest he might let him go anyway.

William smiles in a sadist manner. Spencer's struck gold. "If you begin praying, I'll throw you out the window, and while it'll be painful, it won't kill you"

"I've never prayed"

Where

the

hell

is

the

team!

"Does that mean, that you have to kill me now? Because that would be sad....I might have dated you otherwise" Spencer lies through his teeth, he has and never plans to talk like this again, he feels like a child.

Suddenly, William's pushed Spencer to a wall, there's a knife at his throat. Spencer can't keep his eyes open much longer. There's only noises and touches. Morgan's yelling for William to drop the knife, another person is yelling for Spencer's attention.

It takes Spencer way longer to id the voice then it should.

Hotch, Aaron Hotchner is yelling for him.

Spencer's cold, so cold. Who wears shorts to a night club? There's a hand on his waist, forcing him to stand against the cold brick wall. It's a painful sensation, his whole body held op by one point of contact. Spencer lightly kicks at William's leg, but he doesn't even react, only threatening to kill him if the team doesn't back away.

The hand on his waist moves away for a second and Spencer's legs give out under him. He slips down the wall before William can grab him again. There's a loud bang right in front of him. William's been shot, or at least scared enough to fall onto his back.

Spencer takes a second to rub his eyes, shivering. There's a hand on his arm, a soft voice is calling to him. Spencer blinks and looks to his right. He shivers again, his whole body shaking. Hotch lays a jacket over him "Reid?" Hotch is right beside him on the ground, gently tucking the jacket over his chest and legs. Spencer opens his mouth to speak but can't manage to say anything.

Hotch turns to Morgan who's pulling this William op from the ground. "Where are the medics? We called them 10 minutes ago!" Spencer can't hear what Morgan responses with, only leaning into Hotch for warmth. Hotch is very warm, it's so nice.

An arm slips in under his knees and Spencer's not entirely sure he's doing. Then Hotch slips an arm under Spencer's and in one, way too swift move, Spencer's been hoisted off the ground and is now resting against Hotch's chest. Spencer just about manages to throw his arms around Aaron's neck. Aaron's chest still laid over Spencer's upper body. He yawns, his whole world almost gone, only hearing the sounds of sirens as he tries to sleep.

Suddenly, he's being laid down, the jacket still there to keep him warm. He can't open his eyes, it's too much work. Something is placed over his nose and mouth, a mask, an oxygen mask. Someone's holding his hand tightly, Aaron, it's Aaron. The hands are too big and rough to be Derek's or Luke's. And yet too soft to be Rossi's. It's got to be Aaron. He knows he lays there for a few mintues. The air is warmer now, and they're moving. Shit, he's in an ambulance. Is that really.....

"Spencer?" There's a hand on his face, his cheek, gently petting it. Spencer's confused, he just wants to go home now, why can't he can go home? He blinks, attempting to open his eyes. "There you are Spencer" The lady says. She's in a medic's unifrom, she's a medic. Spencer yawns, his head rolling in a circle.

"I can see you're tired but you need to stay awake"

Spencer huffs softs, it's unfair. He's done good work, he deserves to sleep. Why can't he sleep? Oh! Right! The drugs. Because of the drugs. It's not safe to pass out after being drugged with unknown drugs.

"Spencer, Spencer stay with me okay?" Why's Aaron saying that? He tries to open his eyes, it's hard, but he opens his eyes enough to see Aaron looking worried. He squeezes his hand the most he can, which isn't much. Aaron smiles slightly, eyes still filled with worry. Spencer closes his eyes again, he's so drowsy, he just wants to sleep. Maybe it's a good time for a nap. It's okay. He can sleep, he's sure he can. "Spencer!" Aaron squeezes his hand tightly. Spencer whimpers, it hurts to have his hand squeezed so tightly. "Spencer, Spencer stay awake with me? Okay? Please?"

Spencer's head is pounding, he blinks his eyes open to see he's in a hospital room. He's alone, but the room is filled with at least 7 different vases of flowers. He's had visitors. Spencer pushes himself op. He can't quite remember everything yet, he was drugged, the unsub made him, and he went to the hospital.

Should he press the call button? No, he's fine, or maybe, his throat. He needs water. Spencer slowly turn just enough to press the call button. A nurse comes and he's given water. As she hands it to him she says. "You had a lot of people worried about you kid" Spencer smiles weakly, he's sad to have worried the team but also happy that they cared.

Aaron is the first to vist him while he's awake, with a bag of snacks. Spence smiles slightly, looking down, embarrassed as he slowly remembers just much of a scare he gave the team. "Hello Hotch" Spencer says politely, siting op straight as if he was at his desk. "Don't strain yourself for my sake Reid" Hotch says, siting down in the chair by his bed, setting the bag down on Spencer's bed, right by his legs. Spencer relaxes slightly and leans back to rest against the rough hospital sheets. "Thank you"

"You, certainly gave us a big scare" Aaron say, gently petting his shoulder. Spencer smiles sadly, he really didn't wish to scare anyone "I'm sorry, it wasn't intentionally" Spencer mutters. Aaron gently squeezes his shoulder. "Of course not Reid"

Aaron spent the next 30 mintues explaining just how they solved the case while Spencer is in the hospital. They found William's hide out, all 8 bodies, and a 9th grave freshly dug that was suspose to be for yesterday's victim, Spencer.

It all makes Spencer so tired, so tired and angry to know that no matter what, he would have died if he wasn't FBI. A few mintues later, the whole team comes crashing into the room with hugs, and more 'get well' gifts. When Spencer is released, Aaron is the one to take him home, with all 7 bouquets of flowers in the back seat of Aaron's car. Spencer still kinda out of it, if he had the energy he would have argued to have thrown the flowers out. Aaron's backseat is filled with the flowers, boxes of chocolates and fruit.

Spencer's been draped with a jacket. Aaron's big, warm, dark jacket. He's not sure why he's still so tired, his last sedative was over four hours ago. Maybe all the hugs and affection wore him out more then usual. Spencer leans his head back, struggling to keep his eyes open. "You tired Reid?" Aaron asks, buckling Spencer's seatbelt for him. Spencer would blush, but he's too tired to care. Spencer hums in agreement as Aaron tucks the jacket snug around the younger man's body.

Spencer's rudely awakened when the car abruptly halts. Spencer yelps on, instincts grabbing for the celling handle to stable himself. "Sorry, Sorry!" Aaron says, gently putting the jacket back around Spencer. Aaron shakes his head at the car in front of them. "Man just, stopped in the middle of the road without warning" Aaron gently pets Spencer's shoulder. "Go back to sleep, alright? It's still gonna be a few mintues" Spencer doesn't protest, only shuting his eyes.

Spencer is gently roused as the jacket is pulled away from his body. Aaron's gently rubbing his arm to wake him, Spencer blinks his eyes open, still so tired, his eyes so gosh damn heavy. "Spencer, I've taken the gifts inside, think you can get op or do you need some help?" Aaron asks sweetly, unbuckling Spencer's seatbelt. Does Spencer look tired? He feels tired. He can't get op, he's too tired. Spencer leans his head to the side.

Then Spencer's being carried, his boss, is carrying him inside. It's strange but nice. Spencer rests his head on his warm chest, the fabric of Aaron's shirt is soft against his cheek. Spencer's back hits the soft sheets of his own bed, it's so nice to be home again. Spencer whines as Aaron undoes his tie and vest. "Shhh, just relax" Aaron shushes. Spencer squirms as he's undressed. More out of instinct then anything else. Aaron continues to shush him the way you would a fussy child.

"Shush, Spencer, quite down now, you're tired"

Spencer lays as still as possible as Aaron redresses him in soft clothes, he doesn't bother opening his eyes. Why would he? He trusts Aaron to not mess with him. New, non-sweaty socks are slipped onto his feet. Spencer blinks his eyes open for a few seconds. Aaron's standing above him, tucking him in. "Go back to Sleep Reid, you need it"

Spencer closes his eyes, a kiss is pressed to his forehead. "Sleep tight, I'll be by in the morning" Aaron whispers. Morning? It's already night? How much as he slept in the last few days? The world gets darker, Aaron's drawn the curtains. So it's not quite so late. Spencer's body is so heavy, very heavy. Another kiss is pressed to his forehead, a hand runs over his hair lovingly.

"Goodnight Spence, I'm so happy you're alright"

[vampkomori]

hi I'm op! I noticed the tags you left and I know you can't say too much in response to this but I wanted to elucidate some of my reasoning especially since at first glance Joshua seems VERY closed off. I just think he would talk in circles around it without getting to any real point so it would be an incomprehensible but also incredibly detailed ramble. I made the post before I reached Joshua's history infodumps but if I were to add anything to it there would be a quiz afterwards. I just started day 7, but I'm hoping to finish out week 2 before going to bed tonight!

oohh hello!! :D this ask actually vanished into the nether and only reappeared after u sent the other one which is so. funny. tungle functional website 👍

ty for getting back to me as well!! i love knowing what other people think about joshua. hes my little guy. also no worries none of this should be spoilery!!

i was rly (pleasantly) surprised abt ur take on him bc i feel like many people actually do not get the same impression. for some reason. which ive never understood (also that u garnered that before his history quiz is incredible. id assumed u got that from there!! really cool :D) i think the most common interpretation for him is to say as little as possible to sound ominous and also because of the whole (says thing) (does not elaborate) (leaves) thing being a meme. which i guess kiiind of applies to him, but hes actually so talkative isnt he. he always has something to say !! i think hed be pressed to always add commentary. and then he keeps going bc lack of replying probably means lack of understanding to him so hed just keep going elaborating until ur left more confused than u were before. i love him. id let him infodump shibuya history on me for hours

good luck w the rest of the game and have fun !! :D

[aronarchy]

[image ID: a screenshot of a Tumblr interaction.

On May 3, someone posted, “[cloud emoji]: [redacted] blinkies <3 anti abuse only plz,” with six blinkies, captioned “all made at blinkie.cafe”

On June 2, critical-collective reblogged the original post. A third person reblogged this reblog, saying, “Many of those you would consider pro-abuse would consider themselves anti-abuse, and I can firmly say that even without knowing your stance. Sorry, but this is literally the same as ‘basic DNI,’ ‘DNI shitheads.’”

critical-collective reblogged from the third person, adding the tags, “#tbh i didnt even see that anti abuse thing when i first rbed #i was just captivated by the rolal blinkie #but rbing for that addition #also important to say that you cant really control who uses the things you post to public domain”

/end image ID]

I’ve been seeing this take more and more often among people I would consider friends/closely acquainted comrades, and I strongly disagree. It’s kind of worrying, actually. I’d wanted to address this earlier, and even started drafting this post weeks ago, but unfortunately stress + ADHD made me unable to actually finish writing it until now.

I remember seeing a similar sentiment around here from this following set of answers to anons. I hadn’t wanted to say anything about those answers at the time, because I was triggered and distressed, and thought it wasn’t really important enough of an issue to make a fuss about. But I think I’ll talk about it now, and I’ll also take this chance to address these in the same post, because they run on similar faulty logics.

[image ID: three asks sent to a person (not through Tumblr) about 1 month ago.

The first ask:

I see that many [[people in a certain community/demographic] think that [thing which is a form of sexual abuse] does not count as real sexual abuse,] but [they see that] others unfortunately [are] being real victims of predators and get sexually abused [(what does count as “real sexual abuse” under their framework)], so although wouldn't it be more logical to be anti-abuse than anti-[term for a set of behaviors which all constitute abuse (we believe we are correct in considering them to be abuse), though the aforementioned individuals believe that only some of them are abuse)]?

answer:

“Anti abuse” sounds like “anti bad things, pro good things” to me.

second ask:

Are you not anti bad things pro good things?

answer:

I try not to define my political positions in ways that describe my attitude more than what I actually want.

third ask:

But some people do think abuse is good, even things they themselves consider “abuse” (with that word).

answer:

Most people I’ve come across agreed with me that abuse is bad. We just defined abuse differently. And that, together with how sensationalized the concept of abuse is and how easily people get aggressive at the slightest implication that they support abuse, makes me not want to use this word as often. There are other ways to say the same thing.

Some portions have been redacted. The text in brackets was edited in by me to clarify context or make things easier to read.

/end image ID]

(I’m aware that this might make the OPs feel attacked. To clarify, I don’t intend this as an attack of some sort, just as a way to air my disagreements and frustrations and possibly provide useful information or arguments. Usually I don’t say anything at all when a friend/close acquaintance says something which I find problematic, because I don’t want to make people mad/upset at me, and feel like nobody would agree anyway. I’m not mad and don’t want any apologies; just bringing up points for consideration.)

It’s very important to me that people do not confuse what “should” be done from what “can” be done. It’s true, for example, that it’s difficult to truly have control over who reuses your designs you post to Tumblr. That doesn’t, however, make it wrong for you to wish for your creations to be reshared in respectful and ethical ways. Is it actually wrong for someone to violate a “do not use this if you are X”? I don’t know; the ethical considerations surrounding boundaries regarding non-direct interactions like these are far more ambiguous and difficult to determine. That doesn’t mean, however, that we should use doomer arguments—the logic of “you can’t enforce this, which is why you should not expect (want) people to respect this” itself can be applied to anything. Including boundaries that are much more obviously obligatory to respect. Leaving this open is dangerous. A similar set of arguments applies to DNIs in general.

And is it wrong for, say, a bigot to interact with a marginalized person who says “people bigoted against my identity DNI”? IMO, yes, but not really because I’d say “all DNIs are always inherently wrong to violate”; it’s because a bigot, with the beliefs they hold, makes those marginalized people unsafe. But the very same DNIs that are (pretty much) most unambiguously unethical to cross are also the ones which are hardest to enforce, because by definition bigots do not care about the boundaries of marginalized people. But, using this to argue against DNIs as a whole misunderstands the reason why many people say “[bigoted group] DNI.” They know that it’s not really enforceable without a block, but it sends a message: that this is what they want, and it indicates what they believe, and that they are likely hostile to bigotry. The same logic applies to abuse apologia.

This is in no way the same as things like “basic DNI criteria” or “DNI shitheads.” “Basic DNI criteria” and “shitheads” are nebulous, basically impossible to define universally, because they can’t be the same among everyone; they're by themselves vague and extremely subjective. But “abuse” is not such a term. Abuse is possible (arguably easy!) to define objectively, and one should expect people to adhere to a single definition of “abuse” (and believe that it exists). Of course most people don't agree on what constitutes “abuse”—and that is a problem, actually! Most people are abuse apologists; that’s not a good thing. Of course most people aren't the type of edgelord that’s unironically supportive of what they personally believe does constitute “abuse.” That doesn’t mean they’re not actually pro-abuse though; it means they’re wrong thinking some abuse isn’t real abuse. But the solution to that is not to cater to their abuse apologia, to coddle them and refuse to tell them the truth for the sake of some liberal ideals of “tolerance” for a “diversity of opinions.” Some opinions are not valid! Some opinions are harmful!

Bigots (in general) use the exact same tactics, rejecting labels like “racist” or “homophobe” when they’re accused of being such, because they don't believe what they’re promoting or doing “counts” as “real” bigotry or oppression. That doesn’t mean they're right about that. It also does not mean that people should stop saying “I don’t want [bigots] here” because “well what about the [un-self-aware bigots]!!” (They are un-self-aware bigots, not people who just happen to have a neutrally different and equally valid opinion on what constitutes bigotry.)

Ceding that the definition of abuse can reasonably/should be relativized is what abuse-relativizers (and abuse advocates/abusers in general) have been cheering on since forever. They believe that “abuse” is “simply a word to indicate nebulous individual feelings of perceiving Bad Things” because they support abuse and don’t view it as a serious issue specifically defined by exploitation of power/violation of autonomy which is inherently unethical, and view victims as lying, overreacting, contemptible, and unreliable witnesses to or interpreters of our own lives. They apply this view to victims/survivors all the time, dismissing our concerns as simply “subjective feelings” or Moral(tm) Judgment(tm), and cast this labeling as “demonization.”

The term abuse is “sensationalized” in most people’s minds BECAUSE of pervasive abuse culture and pro-abuse attitudes. Of course many people only believe that Actually Extremely Bad actions are “abusive”—they don’t have a good understanding of what abuse is! That is a very bad thing! It is one of the most important factors in making most abuse go undetected and most victims unsupported! (Meanwhile, the actual problem with the anon’s statement and beliefs went unaddressed, missing out on a useful opportunity, because the responder decided to focus completely on the wrong problem.)

I can’t really take this (the responses to the asks) as just some sort of personal preference indicator regarding terminology and comfort levels. It’s clearly a capitulation to abuse culture that fundamentally misunderstands the dynamics at play, and ultimately reinforces these problems.

Yes, much of abuse victim advocacy advises that (at first) you should not directly use the term “abuse” when telling someone that the abusive behaviors they’ve experienced were wrong or that their abuser is harming them. But that has never been a call to keep doing that forever, perceiving avoiding the term “abuse” (them having internalized their abuser’s abusive rhetoric) as some sort of good thing. It’s a crucial part of healing and breaking free from abuse to be able to understand that the abuse was in fact “abuse” and that abusers are abusers.

The word “abuse” is language extremely important to victims/survivors and anti-abuse activists. Abuse apologists’ fear of/aggressive opposition to being labeled abusers is a clear indicator and product of their own ignorance, entitlement, and oppressive ideologies. That makes it even more important to confront their problematic rhetoric and lack of understanding instead of defanging our ability to analyze and critique power dynamics and advocate for ourselves.

Everywhere I look I see people wanting to water down, co-opt, or constrain the language developed and used by survivors because nothing will satisfy them but, ultimately, complete silence. Everywhere people seem allergic to the term “abuse,” complaining that it is “too strong a word” and maybe you shouldn’t use it? I mean it’s kind of harsh/mean/too extreme/subjective/exaggerating/hysterical isn’t it? Just pick a different word!!! (No word ever truly satisfies.) I’m fucking tired of this bullshit and I don’t want traces of it to stick in places where I am supposed to feel safe and have my issues and my needs understood too.

(update: talked it out with the aforementioned third person; we mostly agree)

[they-bite]

hello!! I know a few times you've mentioned danny's powers are different than in the show, less superhero-y & more eldritch horror, but i can't remember if you've given a full rundown of what he can do in the epverse. I'd love to know!!

I wanted to have more visual aids, but this has sat in my drafts long enough

Thank you for asking!! You're right, I've never given a public rundown of EP!Danny's powers. For the crossover I'm working on, though, I had to give it serious thought. If you prefer a bulleted powerset to paragraphs, skip to the tl;dr.

EP!Danny is more corpsey than ghostly. His physiology is pretty much defunct, absolving him of the need to sleep, eat, etc. (Emphasis on need. He still partakes in those things for multiple reasons, not the least of which are psychological.) He can also heal from a so-far unlimited amount of injury, up to and including getting his head cut off:

(id in alt)

-- and his body doesn't have much of a "stop doing this" response, so he has some hypermobility and strength levels on par with hysterical strength.

As for the ghosty stuff, well. The line between his incarnate and discarnate selves is blurred, enabling him to walk through walls, disappear and fly, though this is easier when his incarnate self is out of the picture. This is where "going ghost" comes in-- his incarnate body is vaporized by a strong pulse of ectenic energy, leaving his discarnate self behind.

He rarely goes ghost in this 'verse, because it's rarely necessary. He's not in the ghost zone that often, he doesn't really battle ghosts-- he's more like a psychopomp, leading ghosts to the afterlife and contending with other threats to the populous, both human and ghostly. Not to mention, he doesn't really like the experience of his physical body being destroyed. The few times people do see Danny's ghost form, it's because he's astral-projecting, especially during periods where he's emotionally conflicted or absent.

Back to the line about his incarnate and discarnate selves being blurred: there's a lot of batshit, metaphysical stuff he can potentially do, though he rarely does it consciously. Danny wasn't just made by the border between life and death-- he is the border. He is both portal and key, a walking glitch in the matrix. This usually manifests pretty plainly: ESP, telekinesis & pyrokinesis, matter transfiguration (as a consequence of using ectenic lightning), teleportation & portal creation, and-- most glamorously-- manipulating ectenic lightning & electricity. It functions the same way as normal electricity, but has a particular effect on spirits and the ghost/living zone rift, enabling him to disembody or "banish" spirits from matter. (He calls it "buntot pagi" after the Filipino weapon used to ward off aswang, since it's made with a stingray tail. If you ever notice a stingray motif in future art of Danny, that's why.)

By the way, if this sounds just wildly OP-- yes, it totally is, and there's a reason for it. It boils down to "with great power comes great responsibility"-- Danny is just one facet of the supernatural ecosystem in Amity Park, which is also comprised of powerful beings like Clockwork, Nocturne, Undergrowth, etc. They're all jaded against humanity in their own way, nihilistic to the point of isolation and unwilling to use their immense power to do good. Danny could easily end up the same way, but instead of heavy-handing his powers to fix every problem he perceives and then getting dejected when it doesn't work, he uses his powers to better understand each problem he faces, so he can then resolve things with compassion and rationale. If anything, his value isn't in being less human-- it's in being exceptionally human.

TL;DR:

Defunct Physiology

Peak Human Stamina/Strength

Supernatural Vitality

Genelessness

Contortionism

Anatomical Liberation & Reattachment

Esoteric Fulminokinesis; Bio-Electrokinesis

Incorporeal Form via Astral Projecting, resulting in Invisibility, Intangibility, Flight

Possession & Mindwalking

Extrasensory Perception

Telekinesis, minor Pyrokinesis

Afterlife Border

Disembodiment & Banishment

Phantasm Manipulation

Space-Time Distortion, including but not limited to Wormhole Creation, Teleportation, Spacial Distortion & Elemental Transmutation

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 5x03-- And the court had a clerk...

Hello again! It’s nice to have this show back. This episode was a bit less of a standout than the previous two, but I’m still happy with the overall direction for this season. More under the cut (or here, because tumblr sucks). 

When Robert King tweeted the episode title, I asked him if all the titles this season were adding up to one long sentence/story, hoping he’d confirm it and give a little more information. He did! He said it’s “in the Farmer in the Dell mode” and while I think I get what he’s saying, I’m very curious to see how it plays out. Haven’t been able to track down 5x04′s title yet, but the promo is out. (As of this morning! It’s interesting they’re not putting them after the episode this year; I kind of like it.) 

Kurt’s job is up in the air given the new administration. I think this scene exists mostly just to remind us where Kurt works and the stakes.

What month is this supposed to be in? The transition seems recent but no one is wearing masks.  

Kurt spots a poster asking for help ID’ing people at the Capitol on January 6th. He thinks he recognizes someone...

And now we’re in case of the week land. This case is about a small business owner whose business went under after someone created fake news articles accusing him of pedophilia.  

I think the whole point of this (kind of long) scene is to show that this case is a pretty small deal. Low stakes, inexperienced opposing lawyer. (Not even sure why Liz would be arguing this in court, but whatever.)

Tbh I thought this was going to wind up in 9 ¾ court.

Now that we have junior level characters, we get scenes showing that there are, in fact, people at RBL who are mid-level. Liz asks an associate to work on something, he asks another associate to work on it, she delegates to other associates, and they delegate to Marissa and Carmen. This work seems terrible.  

It’s so funny to me how this is probably more realistic than most of the lawyering on the show and yet it only shows up selectively. We only see the hierarchy here to make it clear that Marissa and Carmen are at the bottom.  

David Lee interrupts and asks for Carmen. He’s very rude to her. Interestingly, she’s hesitant to leave her grunt work and follow David, even though she must know he outranks the associate who gave her the grunt work.

“Why am I supposed to know you?” David asks her as they walk through the halls. “I don’t know if you are,” Carmen responds. “Why does Benjamin Dafoe know you?” he asks. She doesn’t know who he is.  

“Who are you?” Dafoe asks when Carmen enters. She states her name, again. “Why are you important?” he asks. “I don’t think that I am,” Carmen responds.  

Then Dafoe says his top client, and it’s a name that the characters all know. I’m glad this scene is free of any “he’s the white OJ” expository lines (that’s from Sweeney’s introduction) -- it’s clear from the reactions and the discussion of police and rape that the top client is a bad guy, probably a rapist. The rapist wants Carmen to represent him.

Putting 2 and 2 together, Carmen asks if the rapist knows Rivi. He’s not, but he’s at the same prison. As soon as Carmen says she’s representing Rivi, David Lee switches gears, understanding the situation and trying to sign the new business. He’s so shameless!  

Marissa sorts ALL the papers. There are a LOT of papers. I’m swamped. Look at all this paper.

She catches the associate who assigned her the task leaving for the night just as she finishes up, and cheerfully notes she’s finished the task. Then the associate mentions this was only half of the bills. Marissa does not like that. Since her goal in wanting to be a lawyer is mostly just to give her something exciting to do and earn respect... this hierarchy thing is not going so well.

Marissa decides that after her rough day, she’s going to stop by Wackner’s court. He’s in the middle of a case about Emily in Paris fanfiction and he’s very happy to see Marissa.  

Wackner’s night court has a program—it notes the sponsor is Copy Co-op (I thought it was Copy Coop?) and the paper products were also provided by them. And “there will be regular intermissions at the discretion of Judge Wackner.” It’s very theatrical.  

Wackner takes a recess and calls Marissa to his “chambers.” He asks for her thoughts on the case. “All they want is attention and to feel like they’ve won,” Marissa notes. Wackner’s on the same wave length and compares it to the Scarecrow’s diploma at the end of The Wizard of Oz. So, he makes copyright certificates and some minor modifications to each of the fanfic books. They say “I respect you and I love you” and that’s that.

Wackner catches Marissa before she leaves and asks her to be his law clerk—part time or full time, 10% of all the legal filings and unlimited use of copy machines. She is hesitant because she “doesn’t even know what this is.”

Wackner says his court is “the future.” Marissa turns him down; notes she wants to pass the bar. “You know why all these people are here? ‘Cause the courts and the lawyers and the appeals have made justice... unattainable. Out of reach. To anyone who doesn’t have a shitload of money to wait it out. That’s why Exxon beats out Mr. Nobody. Read Kafka’s Before the Law.”  

I just read it, and you should too! It literally is a page, but tl;dr, there’s a man who wants to get to the law and instead he spends his whole life trying to win over the first of many gatekeepers on the path to the law. He never gets through the gate.  

“Justice is only just if it’s available to everyone,” Wackner says. Marissa thinks about that.

As I said last week, it’s smart that Wackner makes so much sense. Hearing him say all this, knowing that it’s true... it makes it very easy to get on board with the thought experiment. Of course there would be huge repercussions to this kind of system, but it makes so much sense it’s compelling TV!

Kurt’s showering when Diane gets home, which gives her time to stumble across the WANTED poster and notice that Kurt has drawn facial hair onto one of the pictures. “Who is this?” she asks him. “No one,” he says. “Well, you drew in a beard and a moustache on him,” Diane notes. Kurt says he was doodling, but Diane calls him out as he is the “exact opposite of a doodler.” Kurt says he thought it was someone he knew, but he’s not sure. Diane pushes him to tell the feds. Kurt reiterates he’s not sure, but it’s someone he went shooting with. “Oh my God, then it’s him,” Diane jumps to (not incorrect) conclusions. Kurt says he didn’t talk that way; he’s a veteran. “Kurt! That’s the profile!” Diane argues. Kurt isn’t convinced and he doesn’t want to be responsible for naming names. He notes he’ll be threatened with indictment for not naming names and then only lawyers will end up benefitting. Diane is not convinced.

I think this is an interesting conflict for Kurt and Diane. I understand why Kurt is hesitant to speak out before he’s sure. And I understand and agree with Diane that it’s important to identify the attackers and prevent anything like that from happening again.

I don’t mean to blame Kurt, exactly, but I feel like all of what happens next could’ve played out differently if Kurt had been just a little clearer with Diane about why he was hesitant to ID the man. Like, the threat of indictment for not naming names sounds like some typical anti-government rambling. Saying you specifically are afraid that this will turn back on you and you need to weigh your options and come up with a plan first would put Diane in a very different mode, in which they’d work together to craft the best strategy. Because this man would’ve been ID’d by someone, sooner or later, and Kurt would’ve needed to be prepared.  

Diane stares at the wanted poster at work and asks Jay to find his identity. He’s on the FBI TEN MOST WANTED? Ten!? Ok!  

Diane shares the extra information she has—the gun range and that he’s a veteran—and Jay gets to work.  

Turns out there’s no money in the case that Liz, a name partner, is working on and Marissa just spent all those hours sorting bills for. I could’ve told you there was no money in that case lol.  

Jay IDs the guy very fast. He’s faster than the feds because they didn’t know where he shot. The range had his license on file, and Jay got ahold of it.

“Well, we don’t pay you enough,” Diane says. “Oh, I know that,” Jay laughs.  

Diane says she’s going to think about calling the feds—it's definitely the same guy.

Marissa notes someone high profile (David Cord, who I presume is a thinly veiled stand-in for David Koch given the name, his role in the plot, and the fact that he is “David Cord of the Cord Brothers”) in the lobby giving a fake name and goes to tell Liz.  

David Cord is performing magic tricks for the receptionists (they don’t recognize him) when Liz and Marissa show up. “I knew your father. I hated your father,” Cord says. “Yes, well, he hated you too,” Liz says. He says he gave a fake name to see what the reception would be like since he’s kinda infamous.  

Liz introduces Marissa as one of the law clinic lawyers. Marissa knows what to say in this situation. Specifically, she knows that it is the exact right moment to name drop her father.  

“Democrats as far as the eye can see,” Cord notes. At that, Liz asks Marissa to get Julius involved.

More good expository work! (No, editor feature of Word, I do NOT want that to say “Better expository work,” that would change my meaning, go away and please stop grading my recap??? I don’t know how I brought this up but it’s telling me my score is 72%, so a C, and it’s driving me crazy. Oh, now I’m a 71%. It had me at like, 50%, because I had written “Wackner” and “Wackner” is not a word. No shit.)  

Anyway, back to the exposition. I like that we don’t get a line like, “Liz! David Cord, the Republican super donor, is here!” We just get to see Liz’s reaction, Cord’s hate of Liz’s father, and the line about democrats. Then it becomes clearer who Cord is.

Just noticed Liz is wearing an Apple Watch.

Liz stands for her meeting with Cord, likely to maintain power. Cord says January 6th changed everything to him and now he’s all about unity and loving America.  

Cord has something to say about Liz’s case, the one that’s not making any money, and he seems to know quite a lot about it. That spooks Liz.  

Then Cord offers her $12 million to continue the case for another six months (all of these months, seemingly, will play out in the couple of days the rest of this episode takes, but, whatever). He just wants them to go after the social media company that distributed the fake news... and Section 230.

Don’t know what that is? Now you do, because there is a Good Fight short! These work so much better when they’re actually needed (explaining concepts, etc.) than when they’re trying to force one into every episode (remember that Downton Abbey one? What... was that?)  

I was talking to @mimeparadox about this short and he pointed out that this short has a VERY clear POV on an issue that actually doesn’t seem to be all that straightforward. If you’re like me and only had a vague sense of what Section 230 was prior to this episode, this short is telling you what to think of it—it isn’t just explaining what it is.

I do tend to agree with the show’s POV on most things, but this is an issue I’d like to read more on. I love how Section 230 was something I hadn’t really read up on prior to this episode and now that it’s been on TGF I realize it’s something that actually, yes, I would’ve been interested in knowing about earlier. Is this because things that are on TGF are interesting to me because they’re on TGF or is it because TGF generally only discusses things that would be interesting to me? Probs a little bit of both.  

Diane asks Jay how to make an anonymous phone call and he hands her a burner phone. She calls the FBI with the rioter’s name. She doesn’t leave her name and then she dumps the phone.  

Credits! Did you catch there’s a Jordan Boatman in the credits? She plays one of the associates who passes down the grunt work to Marissa, and she’s Michael Boatman’s daughter in real life! She’s also been in one other episode, in season 3.  

I never get tired of these credits!  

The RL partners (and some associates who are on the case? I think these are the same ones who delegated the work to Marissa?) debate whether or not they should take Cord’s money. Madeline notes that he’s funded a lot of Republican campaigns; Julius notes that both Republicans and Democrats agree that Section 230 is flawed and this is an opportunity for unity.

Diane notes that the right doesn’t want to stop conspiracy theories from spreading, so is this really that bipartisan? “It would help if the boomers would stop falling for those conspiracy theories and sharing it with their friends,” an associate (I believe this is Michael Boatman’s daughter again) notes. That quiets the room and the partners all glare at her. Yeah, that was a kind of stupid thing to say. First of all, it’s just not appropriate to say to the partners, and it’s also, like, missing the point? If it’s easy for conspiracy theories to spread among boomers, maybe just expecting each member of that generation to suddenly have a millennial’s understanding of the internet is the wrong strategy? Maybe there’s some structural issue here? That maybe, just maybe, this case is actually about?  

The associate also points out that the internet is currently a place where people can speak out about sexual harassment-- “they repeal section 230, and there would be no #MeToo.”

One of the partners says he doesn’t believe that—if they regulate section 230, then newspapers can actually be competitive and there’s still free speech online.  

“We’re not going back to reading newspapers, grandpa,” some associate says. What the actual fuck, dude? Who talks like that to their boss?! It’s so condescending. He’s also wrong! “Newspapers” are not just physical things... reporting by major publications still matters and will continue to matter. Like, is he suggesting that in the future all news will just be random people tweeting things they think are true with no fact checking or curation? Sure, journalism is struggling right now—but I don’t think that’s because there’s a lack of desire for well-reported news.  

I am glad the partners call him out on saying “grandpa” and honestly I’m shocked he isn’t asked to leave the discussion after that rude remark. Unless this young looking dude is a partner too? But I don’t think he is.  

Julius notes that if they’re going to pursue this case, they need money like Cord’s. At that, Liz starts to leave the meeting. “We haven’t decided if we’re taking this Cord money yet,” Madeline protests. “Of course we are,” Liz says and leaves.  

Now that’s more like it! I’m not sure if this is necessarily the best way to handle this, but she’s a) correct, they were always going to take the money because it is $12 million and an issue of interest and b) using her authority. Should Liz be making decisions totally on her own? Maybe not. Does Liz making this decision and then leaving (with everyone accepting that she’s correct) cut through a lot of bullshit and establish Liz as the one in charge? Yup.

Diane says, “Ooh-kay” with a little bit of an eyeroll after Liz exits, but she’s still laying low. I think in a different season Diane might’ve tried to push back.  

Is it me or does Baranski get a lot of material this episode we haven’t seen before? Lots of really good reaction shots/tones in this episode I don’t really think we’ve seen from Diane before. I’m impressed there’s still new stuff after 12 years.

At some point maybe I will actually write the essay I’ve been wanting to write for ages about how TGF is still so relevant despite being in a universe that should be showing its age by now. I wish I could find the first time that I called TGW a period piece set in the present day (I know it would’ve been during season five) because I think that’s the key to TGW/TGF’s enduring success. The shows always feel timely because they try to capture the present moment (which is, of course, always changing) and don’t get stuck in any one moment in time. Further, the fact that the writers are always so tuned in to events and skilled at quickly reacting to what happens in the world makes them VERY good in a pinch, which is (I think) why they’re able to make the most of unexpected situations (Josh leaving TGW, the pandemic).  

Liz and Julius bring a suit against ChumHum to attack 230. Judge Friend is initially skeptical of their argument that 230 is unconstitutional; then she’s intrigued. I am too. This argument about the press is a very interesting one. I obviously have a lot of reading to do on 230, but my take after this episode is pretty much that social media platforms have to be held responsible in some way, but I don’t think it’s feasible or desirable for them to be responsible for every single one of billions of posts. I think there has to be some way to regulate social media giants that would allow everyday people to share things and speak out but would prevent the curated (even by an algorithm) spread of fake news and make social media giants accountable when there are very public bad actors using their platforms. What that regulation would be I have no idea. I just refuse to believe that our options are to give the social media sites full immunity or to regulate the internet so strongly that no one is able to speak freely because all the platforms are worried about lawsuits.  

Over at the VA, people are being fired. When Kurt gets into his office, Madeline Starkey (wait, are there two characters named Madeline in this episode?) is waiting for him. She’s still very quirky and scary.  

Starkey says the guy that Diane reported is now saying Kurt trained him on using assault rifles and buying ammunition in bulk. Kurt notes these were topics covered in a group setting, which Starkey knew—and what she’s really after is the names of the others in the group. (She may already know them, since she knows there were five of them.)

Kurt refuses to name names and just stares at her.  

Case stuff happens! (I liked the last two episodes a lot but it’s much faster for me to just write, “case stuff happens” for some of the scenes.)

Hey, surprise Aaron Tveit! (Not really a surprise; he is in the credits. But still yay!)  

I don’t really know why Liz and Julius are talking about newspapers specifically and not all types of fact-based journalism/press? I feel like their argument is most convincing when it’s about actual newspapers (especially local ones) but still would apply to cable news...

Marissa’s still hard at work sorting papers when the associate comes back in and informs her she can stop; they’ve changed strategies and everything she’s done is now irrelevant. She also says “I forgot to tell you” at the start of that thought, meaning that she neglected to tell Marissa this important information earlier and wasted her time. Marissa is not pleased and so she goes to Wackner’s court, where Wackner now has a deli ticket machine and is wearing super-sized novelty sunglasses. Why not!

He sees Marissa and calls a five-minute recess. In “chambers,” Marissa tells him she’d like to work for him part-time but keep her RL job.  

Wackner needs her help processing more copyright certificates. He’s priced them competitively at $20 and found that a lot of writers want these certificates, even though they have no legal value. (Neither do actual copyrights, Wackner notes. And he notes that if anyone plagiarizes, they can sue in HIS court.)  

“Marissa, I’m building something here. I want you to join me. I want your advice on cases. I want to bounce legal theories off you,” he says. “What are your legal theories?” she asks. “I don’t know. That’s why I need to bounce them,” he says.  

Marissa gives him from noon to 2 and 5-7, which seems awfully ambitious for someone working at a law firm!

“That’s how revolutions are made. Back rooms of copy shops,” he says, accepting her offer.  

Kurt is sulking in the dark when Diane arrives home. He lets her know about Starkey’s visit and she immediately goes into lawyer mode. Notably, this scene does not spend much time on how Starkey found out the rioter’s name. Curious if they’re saving that for later or if Diane and Kurt both know what Diane must have done or if Kurt think’s it’s a coincidence.  

Kurt SET UP A TOUR OF THE CAPITOL for one of the veterans in his shooting group, and that tour was ON JANUARY 6TH! I really do wish he’d told Diane that upfront.  

Maybe the long pause where Kurt refuses to tell Diane which congressperson arranged the tour even after she promises she won’t say is him letting on that he knows that Diane ID’d the guy? Or maybe it’s just Kurt.  

I do not like the dead birds in Starkey’s office, mostly because I do not like thinking about dead birds.

Starkey compares Diane and Kurt to the Conways.  

And now more case stuff happens.  

Julius gets to question a witness for the first time in two years! He’s a little shaky at first but then he does a fantastic job! Yay Julius!

When Diane arrives at the office, reception is filled with around a hundred teddy bears. “What?” she asks. “Build-a-Bears. They were sent to Marissa,” the receptionist explains. “Okay... why?” Diane asks the logical next question. The receptionist does not know.  

“This one’s a Marissa bear,” she says, showing Diane a bear wearing boots and a wig. It does not look much like Marissa and it says “Hug me.”

Diane looks confused and furious at the same time. Her look here is, like, a milder version of the death stare she gives Alicia in Outside the Bubble when she learns about Alicia and Cary’s plan to leave.  

“Why don’t we, meaning you, take all these stuffed animals and put them in the conference room,” Diane instructs the receptionist. She is NOT! HAPPY! The receptionist seemed to be having fun with the bears, but clearly the right answer was to have done something with them and... not to have put them over every surface in reception. Eeek.  

Carmen’s new client, the rapist, arrives at the firm before anyone can hide the bears. “This may not be the firm for you,” his advisor/lawyer (I’m not totally sure what this dude’s job is) warns.  

Madeline notices the rapist and glares at the receptionist. “I know. I’m putting them in the conference room,” the receptionist says, thinking Madeline is upset about the bears. She is not upset about the bears.

Diane finds Marissa, who’s working with Carmen again. She asks Carmen to give them a moment.

“Why are there hundreds of teddy bears in our reception?” Diane asks. Marissa is confused. Diane shows her the Marissa bear. Marissa looks horrified and amused. “That doesn’t even look like me,” Marissa notes, completely missing how pissed off Diane is. I don’t think we have seen Diane be this direct/no-nonsense in ages.  

“That would seem to be beside the point. What is going on, Marissa?” Diane demands. Marissa suspects this is based on some advice she offered to a client who was buying a Build-a-Bear franchise and thinks this is a thank you gift. “What client? You’re not a lawyer! Why do you have clients?” Diane says exasperatedly.  

Marissa gives her a look, and Diane immediately understands that she’s been back to Wackner’s court. “Oh my God, this is about that Copy Coop court?”

“Marissa, no. By participating in that simulacrum of a courtroom, you exposed this firm to malpractice, sanctions, and God knows what,” Diane says. If that were really true, she wouldn’t have sat there and argued. I mean, I don’t know the legality of this all, but I feel like it’s a bigger optics issue than legal issue if Diane and other lawyers are willing to even consider participating?  

“If you wish to continue your employment at this firm, you will never do anything like that again. Do you understand?” Diane says. She will not hear any arguments.  

I love that Marissa is the thing that keeps Wackner coming back. It’s a good plot for her, but structurally, it also allows the show to keep Wackner around without many contrivances. Wackner sees that Marissa would understand what he’s up to, she sees that he shares some of her frustrations with the law, and they both want to work together again. It’s not like suddenly everyone’s talking about Wackner’s court and all the cases somehow end up there or anything.

The receptionist, who is having a truly terrible day, comes into announce that Kurt and Starkey have arrived. “Don’t put them in the conference room!” Diane commands, knowing that the teddy bears will be there. It’s too late, though, because the receptionist (who previously seemed to be fine at her job if bad at recognizing public figures and understanding that partners might not find teddy bears amusing) has already put them in the conference room. I feel bad for her, and don’t think the other things were her fault, but I feel like she could’ve seen this one coming...  

I find the teddy bears HILARIOUS, mostly because the reactions to them are so funny. It’s kind of the same gag as the balloons for Lucca in season two, but I don’t really care, because I’m getting to see Diane Lockhart treat hundreds of Build-a-Bears like they are a real work problem.

Starkey jokes about the bears; Kurt is silent.  

The rioter from the poster is now accusing Kurt of coming up with the STRATEGY for January 6th, which Kurt and Diane both dismiss as bullshit.  

I could do without Starkey’s musical cues.

I can’t tell if Kurt is in trouble here or if she’s just pressing him to name names. Why wouldn’t she just have rioter guy name names if he’s so eager to blame Kurt? I guess maybe if the others were actually there, he might be less likely to name the names of his actual co-conspirators? Or, Starkey might already know the names (surely the shooting range has logs) and be using this to raise the stakes.  

No one (except maybe the partner named Daniel) is happy about the rapist in reception. “Since when are we representing people like Wolfe-Coleman?” Julius asks. Didn’t these people help both Sweeney (though I think Sweeney was in some weird police brutality case and they didn’t actually want to represent him) and Bishop? And Rivi? But they draw the line here? Sure.  

Ah, there we go, an expository line-- “he’s the next Jeffrey Epstein”. Almost made it the whole episode without one of these. I’ll forgive it since it’s so late in the episode lol.  

“Did you approve this, Liz?!” Madeline demands. Liz did not. Daniel wonders if that means Diane approved it. Liz doesn’t think so and calls Diane (who happens to be walking past) in.  

“I know, the teddy bears. I’m working on it,” Diane says when she opens the door. I think the teddy bears are a bigger issue to Diane than to anyone else.  

Diane didn’t approve representing Mr. Rapey either. She’s uncomfortable that a meeting was happening without her; Madeline notes that she is standing there specifically because they wanted to involve her.  

David Lee pops up out of nowhere with the answer: one of the new associates (not Marissa, “the real one”) pulled in Mr. Rapey. Are there only two associates now even though orientation was for a big group?  

Firth is gone, btw. David Lee is the new Mr. Firth. I have no idea why David would want to be STR Laurie’s guy for managing RL but... sure, whatever? David Lee is an effective antagonist, especially in small doses, and this allows the writers to keep him around and continue the STR Laurie plot without a key guest star. If STR Laurie is still a thing, and it seems like it is going to be a thing for a while, then having David Lee take on this role makes sense for plot. Otherwise they’re going to have to shoehorn him in to every plot somehow. At least now he has a reason to be around.  

Liz and Diane take a walk to chat. Diane is worried about having David as their boss. Liz says she has a worse worry—David Lee knew exactly when to come downstairs with information, suggesting he know what they were talking about. “Would he do something like that?” Liz asks when Diane wonders if there’s a bug. “Oh, yeah,” Diane replies. Hah, yeah. He absolutely would.  

They decide to have Jay search for bugs and Liz is frustrated with how much time they have to spend on things other than lawyering. Yup.

“What is going on with all the teddy bears in the conference room?” Liz asks as they head back to the office. “It’s a long story,” Diane sighs. I also love that the teddy bears link the various pieces of the episode together—it feels like all of these threads are happening simultaneously because of that constant.  

I don’t get RL’s approach to clients. Bishop and Rivi are ok, Wolfe-Colman is not (except that actually he is fine). Cord is okay too. Do they draw the line anywhere? I know Liz was right when she said that OF COURSE they were taking the money, but is there really nothing that differentiates that situation from this one? I feel like there should be.

Marissa goes back to see Wackner. Since someone refuses to say “I respect and I love you,” Wackner reverses his ruling. This is part of the “Bad Loser Law of last Wednesday,” so the rules of Wackner’s court are clearly a work in progress.

Marissa explains she can’t be the law clerk because of Diane. She tries to connect him with a real lawyer, still not understanding exactly what Wackner’s after. “You know just enough not to crush what I’m doing here,” Wackner explains. “A real lawyer will look for reasons why not. I need someone to look for reasons why.”  

Case stuff happens. I cannot read Cord’s handwriting. Liz and Julius lose the case because Judge Friend says what’s happening isn’t fair, but it is constitutional. (So here we have, at least in the show’s POV, a good and attentive judge who can’t make decisions that make sense because she’s bound by a document written before anyone had ever dreamed of the internet.)  

Cord is waiting for Liz in her office. He’s prepared to bankroll an appeal. Did they blow thorough that $12 million already? Impressive; it’s been like a day.  

Cord says they are definitely the firm he wants. Interesting.

Now Liz wants a meeting with Carmen, so it’s Marissa who leaves the room. This scene seems like it was meant to be a different day?  

Liz wants to talk about Mr. Rapey. Carmen is, yet again, chill about the case. “Carmen, is there anyone that you would not represent?” Liz asks. Funny, Liz, I could ask you the same. Being hesitant about it is not changing the fact that you’re representing bad people. Carmen’s just cutting the bullshit.  

“I don’t understand. Is there someone you don’t want me to represent?” I love how Carmen’s incredibly polite responses always seem very pointed. There is absolutely nothing wrong with Carmen’s reply, and yet it puts Liz in a place where she can’t dance around what she’s trying to say.  

“I’m just trying to get a sense of who you are,” Liz explains.  

Then Liz decides she’s going to help on the Craig Wolfe-Colman (Mr. Rapey) case, and they will keep talking about her career path. Liz, this does not seem like the right solution! You're worried about your associate representing bad people so you’re like, I know, what if I ALSO represented bad people? If your goal is to convince Carmen not to take clients like this, you’re kinda shooting yourself in the foot!  

“Are you worried about me?” Carmen says, again turning things on Liz. “I don’t know what I am about you,” Liz replies. Me either. Well, I know I'm intrigued, but beyond that, no clue!

All the bears have ended up in Diane’s office, where Wackner is waiting. He jokes about how his court is always seen as informal, yet this real fancy law office is covered in Build-a-Bears. Then he says he wants to hire RL—he's willing to pay. He wants consultation from Marissa (“consultation on legal issues”) and he’s prepared to spend a lot. And, if there’s one thing we know, it’s that they’re always going to take the money. So, they do.

I love that Wackner’s goal is to “perfect my little clubhouse of the law.” It’s a fun plot, and it also allows for the rules in his court to change (I’m sure we’re going to be treated to/subjected to a lot of whimsical gags around changing and ridiculous rules). It's also a good way to work through the thought experiment over the course of the season. It’s not like Wackner already has a system set up and it’s perfect—I'm sure we’re going to see his system run into issues and explore that more, too.  

Wackner monologues a bit here about why he’s running fake court, and he lets us know he’s going to monologue. Basically he thinks people no longer want to help people and are only motivated by their own self interest. He notes that no one talks about the Peace Corps anymore and asks the last time Diane heard anyone say those words. I’m sure I’ve heard a reference more recently but my mind went RIGHT to season one Cary Agos saying “Peace Corps. Belize,” as some kind of smarmy pickup line. This is likely not where my mind was supposed to go.

Wackner wants “A new Peace Corps. For America.” Diane’s sympathetic to that and agrees to take him on as a client.  

Wackner asks if he can take a bear. Diane instructs him to take two.  

Aaaand Wackner and Cord end up on the elevator together. Wackner hands Cord a bear, the elevator doors close, and the episode ends. Since last episode ended with Marissa and Carmen in the elevator together, I’m hoping this will be how every episode this season ends. I think using the Kings’ favorite liminal space to transition between episodes is kind of fun, and it fits with the ellipses at the end of every episode title.  

Speaking of... did you see today’s elevator-themed episode of Evil? It was written by the Kings. Those two have been obsessed with elevators for at least a decade.  

[char-lotteral]

Look I'm not one of those people who believe Kishimoto decided to have Hinata and Naruto end up in the middle part of Shippuden. I believe he decided in the very last arc but he wanted to sound smart so he said he decided earlier on. Otherwise, they obviously would have more scene together. In Shippuden, they have only three scenes together ; when Naruto came back, the pain attack and the neji death scene. That's it. In the original Naruto, they probably have less than ten canon scenes not including fillers.

So I'm sorry I'm one of those who wasn't convinced by The Last. They literally had a basic villain go after Hinata who was cringe btw (the villain). They gave Hinata op powers which she doesn't have in the novel 👀. Despite having op powers, they made her the damsel in distress. Very "The hero saves the princess" cliche. Again, to justify them being together. I mean Naruto can't differentiate his love for ramen and romantic love so how??? He was just being nice to Hinata just like he does to everyone. He stood up for her just like he does for everyone.

Don't get me started on the Sakura Sasuke relationship 🤣. Cringe. They never knew each other. The whole Sakura's love for Sasuke saved him doesn't make sense. They spent barely a year in their genin year before sasuke left. Sasuke tried to kill Naruto and Sakura multiple times. Then at the end of the war, Kishimoto tried to do the "oh they have such a deep understanding between each other" which comes off as cringey. He gets her pregnant then leaves for years. She's literally a single mom who's broke.

Every relationship in Naruto is so cringey and forced except shikatemari. Kishimoto should've focused on the main story and fixed his potholes and leave the ending open.

Naruto would not have been perfect but at least it would've been remembered for staying true to its vision but instead it's remembered for cringey relationships, dumbass villain (except pain and madara) and a story that lost its core which is a shame coz I used to love Naruto. I was inspired by its messages but now....

OKAY LOL WAIT I ACTUALLY HAVE THIS LONG ASS RANT PREPARED XD

BUT FIRST Ive read what you said and I lowkey agree :p

HOWEVER

I DRAW THE LINE AT TONERI SLANDER. BECAUSE WHY

TONERI?? CRINGE?? THIS SEXY MOTHERFUCKER??

LOOK AT HIS WHITE FLUFFY HAIR AND HIS CERULEAN BLUE ORBS STARING DEEPLY INTO YOUR SOUL

SAY SIKE RIGHT NOW?!#*@*#&@*

okay lol now for the juicy part click readmore and beware I shall be brutally honest so yea enjoy

I mean, Naruto in general is a mess, not just the ships if we're being realistic. Alot of plotholes, rushed endings, this and that, the w a r a r c, Kaguya, the way they rushed Boruto ehhh. Honestly, getting into Naruto is literally my biggest regret of 2020 :"DD

Im an NH shipper as you can tell by my hotmess of a blog but i fully respect your opinion and understand your point of view. I also know a bunch of nh stans who have their complaints with their development. I wish Kishi gave more attention to his female cast really, thats all I fucking ask. If he did that one single basic thing, then maybe the endgame relationships wouldnt have been an asspull and theyd be given propper screentime with their love interest, both Sakura and Hinata. The Last tbh i think the writers played it safe and stuck to the whole Naruto shounen vibe thingy, so im not surprised it was plotted that way. Typical cliché shounen movie.

But does that bother me? No! The Last was a mess, their development was shit, they definitely needed more screentime but hey at the end of the day theyre cute as fuck, we have that kiss scene, flirting scenes, a shit ton of official art, three kids, Seiki's gif :33 and a whole ass arc for their wedding all that for just a shounen anime so eh. Compensates for it i guess xD theyre not toxic, unhealthy or whatnot. Theyre wholesome, soft and vanilla as fuck and exactly what i need in my hectic life rn. No drama, just two kind souls who are adorable as heck and theyre dynamic means so much to me and I will love them until i shall leave this earth.

Anon, im not even gonna waste my time and defend their development because i think it sucked too xD but if you wanna know why i love them so so so soooo much, Id be more than willing to tell you :33

Sasuke and Sakura on the other hand eeeehhhh i can see why people like them. Sasuke's hot, he's your typical hot bad boy aad Sakura's hot and pretty too. Basic blue and pink trope. Aside from their canon interactions, fans have all the opportunity to play around with their dynamic but for me, its just sooo basic and so hetero and can easily appeal to any 16 yr old teenage girl, no wonder it has an active fanbase on twt and---- AM I MAKING ANY SENSE? AHDBAJJE LIKE ITS SO-- BASIC, your usual bad boy x pretty girl trope that you get to read in YA and coming of age novels. Not only that, but going back to canon, they have too many negative interactions for me to like them together :p The least Sakura can do is put down her own foot and yell at him for not contacting them for god knows how long. I also dont like how he always gets easily forgiven >=[[. I mean at least He's compensating as a dad good for him but ehhhh i still dont like him and Sakura together :v And im not falling for that "Sakura is the reason why Sasuke isnt lonely anymore" because thats NARUTO AHHH. Sasuke said that Multiple times. HE LIGHTS A FIRE INSIDE OF ME. HES MY SUN. MY ONE AND ONLY FRIEND. LIEK?? THATS NARUTOOO romantic or not, Naruto was the reason for his not so lonely existence anymore smh >=[[

Sasuke almost murdered her and Naruto and made their lives a living hell but hey its all good!! He's my best friend and Sakura loves him!! So set him freeee into the worldddd~~

Sasuke left his family without even simply contacting them but can easily contact Naruto through a hawk but hey thats fine! His and Sakura's feelings are connected afterall! Sasuke gave her a ring and said thank you! Who cares about leaving your family. She loves him and he loves her so yey!!! All is forgiven :D

DID I MENTION SASUKE ALMOST MUREDERED HIS OWN DAUGHTER AND HE WASNT CALLED OUT FOR THAT@*#&@??!?#,*@#,#

Sasuke gets too many life points this isnt fair >=[[ But tbh he's nerfed so bad in Boruto manga and anime power wise. Like in that time travel arc and the manga. The rinnegan kunai thing was still so funny to me even if it was Borushiki. I just idk its so funny to me lmaoo

OKAY WHAT ELSE. I dont even know any more. Im tired of complaining about Naruto and just when Ive finally gone a little bit away from Naruto, Hinata fucking pulls me in again 😩 she has me on chokehold pls send help. Watch castlevania!!! and one piece!!!! ten times better than this anime about a loud blonde boi who wants to be president. Trust me

overall, i dont fully agree but i lowkey agree i guess. I do respect your opinion tho :))

EXCEPT WHEN YOU CALLED TONERI CRINGE. HOW DARE YOU CALL THAT SEXY MF CRINGEY---

[genderfluidlucifer]

Response to being asked to give  an opinion on Connie’s calout by residentevil-4

(Tw: CSAM, rape fic, incest fic, predatory behavior, racism, ableism, kink mention, nsfw mentions. Minors should probably dni.)

“Connie and I know each other irl and went to school together for 3 years, although they now live in a different state and have cut contact with me. We went to a private therapy school in Manhattan as we're both disabled and were deemed unable to attend public school. Even though we were pretty close, Connie didn't like having photos taken of them, so I don't have any selfies of the two of us; however, these are from our sophomore and senior yearbooks which at least confirms that we were in the same year at school. People who have seen Connie's selfies should be able to confirm that that is what they look like. First and foremost, Connie is not TMA. They are intersex and the two of us have discussed intersex issues both in person and online, but they are still decidedly CAFAB.” Ok so first off, I want to address this part of the callout. To be honest...was it really necessary to literally doxx Connie ehre? Because this textbook definition of doxxing. Yes Connie’s done some shitty things but I freally don’t think that what they’ve done warrants this level of doxxing. Or...even better, any doxxing. This feels like a really unnecessary breach of privacy, revealing sensitive information on Connie’s childhood that they choose to confide in you with. I really don’t agree with this aspect of the callout as it feels very invasive and bordering on stalkerish.  Btw when I say bordering on stalkerish I’m not directly calling you a stalker Bonnie. Just so we’re clear. I am not defending Connie supposedly faking being TMA. Because faking being TMA is a very serious issue. HOWEVER since I don’t know Connie irl and to be quite frank it’s none of my business what the nature of their agab is. Were not close and I’m certainly not going to like lead Connie onto thinking we’re friends just to confirm this with them because that would be creepy. So to be honest I’m going to take this part of the callout with again of salt for now.

[ID: A cropped screenshot of a numbered list Connie posted to their blog hadrosaurs in response to an ask. 

“3. I’m TMA And that’s completely irrelevant. I’m not accusing them because of their gender I didn’t even know their gender when they said that to me saying that they said that because they fucking said that and the reaction to it was incredibly alarming. Don’t fucking say that stuff to people.]

I mean I”m not a trans woman so take this with a grain of salt if you want but...I don’t see how this is really proof of Connie being deliberately transmisogynistic? Yes Connie gives iffy retellings of mistakes they’ve made in the past. I’ve seen that on their blog before and I won’t pretend it doesn’t happen. BUT here they sound genuine enough and to be honest a growing issue I’ve seen with callouts as of late is. A person confirms they in fact did not do the thing they were called out for. And then the people who make the callout choose to see it as proof of incriminating behavior anyways. To be honest it’s a big problem and it’s also incredibly unfair to the person being called out. If you’re so determined at that point to see the person as bigoted no matter what they say then of course anything they say can be seen as proof. So I’m going to have to pass on this bit of evidence. “Connie responded: “Final note: I have spoken extensively with several trans women about using TMA to describe myself. I will not be getting into discourse about that on this blog again. All that leads to is people demanding my medical records and calling me slurs. If you wanna have a thoughtful conversation about it direct message me cause it’s not happening again here.” Again this really doesn’t seem all that self incriminating. Connie mentions here that they’ve talked to rl trans woman about whether or not they can be considered TMA. Connie really doesn’t have to disclose that personal information to people for any reason. Yes even when people are e including this ask response in a callout. And considering lots of people DO get invasive about Connie’s medical history ans general personal life over matters like this? I feel their reaction is pretty understandable here. “Connie has constantly compared “exclusionists” (or anyone, really) to TERFs, even when the people in question are not transmisogynistic, trans exclusionary radfems, or are even transmisogyny affected themselves.

“ Gonna have to disagree with this part of the callout too. Lots of ace inclus blogs, even some run by trans women , have proven that the ace exclus movement was started by swerfs/terfs. But the blog that has the most evidence for this is courteousmingler on tumblr. I suggest you check out that blog’s archiving of the history of ace exclus rhetoric before rushing to call me a transmisogynist for disagreeing with this part of the callout. I looked through all of the evidence for Connie being racist and tbh as a black ndn it all feels incredibly flimsy. It’d be one thing if Connie was using their experiences to derail and invalidate the discussions about how black people are oppressed But they weren’t doing that there at all. This part of the post feels incredibly biased. And like OP is looking for things to be mad about. Going to have to pass on this list of evidence. Also uh I seem to recall that residentevil04 got called out for some questionable behavior as well. “Both me (insepsy, hi) and ezrat have had really weird spikes in activity on our Statcounters, both on the same day. (Saturday, 4/17/21) For both of us, majority of the pages looked at by these visitors have been related to or about Connie, or have been posts that Connie would find "problematic" such as the f slur untagged or something related to "panphobia"/aphobia. I’m sorry but...none of the proof of cyberstalking holds any water. Visiting someone’s blogs and rbing posts to disagree with them is not cyberstalking. Keeping tabs on urls that an abusive person who has harassed are using so you can block them (in this case with kyoshi) and warn your mutuals is not stalking. As a victim of rl stalking it’s...really weird to call this legit stalking at all. Much less claim that you have damning proof of it being stalking when no such evidence exists in the callout. Besides after Connie and nonbinarydave called out one of kyoshi’s buddies for sending a death threat hate anon to nonbinarydave’s toddler st4lker partly admitted to doing it a few times. Then other mutuals in kyoshi’s toxic social circle clearly began joining in. Making side accounts where they tried to spin a false narrative of nonbinarydave’s daughter being one of their alters (ableist as hell.) And also trying to do it in such a way that they thought would trigger nonibnarydave’s psychosis (also ableist as hell.) If you’re going to drag Connie for their mistakes and never let them move on from those mistakes then it’s only fair to do that to people you agree with who also do toxic/bigoted things. ALso the fact that your wording here suggests that you think panphobia and aphobia aren’t real makes me doubt this claim even more. Exclus and their allies are notorious for mislabeling inclus disagreeing with them as stalking. “connie said that they would release that info at a later time and the minor began to argue with them that they had a responsibility regardless of their complicated relationship with age. in this argument connie for a time kept their age ambiguous and at one point told the minor (who confirmed in a later ask that they were severely traumatized by adults) that they obviously weren’t traumatized. connie quickly deleted this ask and any mentions of it and the next post they reblogged was about how wrong it was to try and quantify or discount others’ trauma. on my old blog i @ed them in the replies and asked if they had just done that. connie admitted to it and said it was fucked up but quickly blocked + deleted my comment. i can’t remember whether or not connie apologized to the minor, they may have? but yeah. i thought that was pretty weird.”] I do agree with some of the concern here that adults shouldn’t over expose minors in discourse. I’ve been contemplating this for awhile myself. And trying to figure out how to take better steps to avoid including minors who are triggered by discourse in discourse, especially. HOWEVER I have one little issue with this addition to the callout. If that is the case then exclus and their allies need to practice this as well. You cannot ignore the fact that the reason a lot of minors are getting involved in exclus discourse is due to adult exclus and their allies forcing minors to pick a side in the discourse. Y’all are not at all exempt from this problem. I still remember an ex mutual of mine trying to convince a minor to agree that aces can’t face corrective rape. And based on how aggressive it got with me when I tried to avoid giving an opinion on the matter, I can’t imagine that it would’ve reacted better to the minor refusing to give an opinion or to the minor outright disagreed. Refusing to put these standards on exclus and their allies is both hypocritical and quite frankly very transparent. The claims about them glorifying dark topics on AO3 through their fics also seems unfortunately legit. I mean those asks of shaming people who ask their viewers to not romanticize or glorify abusive relationships in their works is very damning. I’m very disappointed to see that Connie has taken being an inclus to the point of validating antis anti culture wholeheartedly. I can’t think of much more to add to my opinion on that part of the callout. As for the issue of Connie interacting with pro shippers in the past, I do know that this claim is legit. I’ve seen it before and so has Breeze. This was why for a brief time we decided to stop following their blogs. Because it was triggering to have pro shippers put on our dash. And sometimes we just don’t feel it’s worth it to always let people we’re platforming know they’re rbing triggering stuff. So sometimes we just quietly unfollow and choose to not interact until we’re sure they’re filtering what they do and don’t rb in some way. I definitely don’t agree with that behavior. And if they’re still doing that I”ll deplatform again. “The anon asks: “A weird question but do you know any other stimboard blogs with your follow criteria? (No radfems, racists, fandom antis, etc.) I was hoping to find more through your “similar blogs” but a lot have no anti-antis for their DNI or allow truscum/transmeds and exclus. :(“

The user responds: “I know of @turtle-pond-stims, @outofangband, and @kinaesthetics! 🍂🍄" “[ID: A cropped screenshot of an ask sent by Connie from their now-deactivated blog, butch-with-a-tortoise.

Connie says: “hey anon I have safe stim blogs. dm me if you want them. And radfems/bigots aren’t allowed to interact. For my own safety (because the community is honestly terrifying) I can’t publicly say on my blogs that I’m safe for proshippers/kinky people but I try to spread word how I can.”] [ID: Screenshot of a post by evilwriter37, which reads, “I’ve been seeing posts about fandom police leaving ao3, and it’s like: Good. We don’t want you here anyway. Go find your own fanfiction site.”

The post is tagged “#Fandom #AO3 #Antis #Purity Culture” and has 87 notes. It was posted on December 21st, 2020.

There is a reply from main-to-outofangband-andothers saying: “there are Silm antis on that site who are against Russigon (Maedhros and Fingon) not because they’re cousins but because they’re both male (coded)”] [ID: A screenshot of an anonymous (though signed off as being from outofangband) ask sent to evilwriter37, which says, “Melkor and Viggo solidarity is ‘Look there’s nothing wrong with keeping my enemy chained up in my personal chambers at all times so please just focus on the war efforts and I’ll focus on the boy* in my chambers’ -@outofbangand.

*boy used figuratively @ antis”

The user responds: “Pfft!!! Hahaha! You’re absolutely right! (And Viggo does refer to Hiccup in canon as ‘my boy’).”] I can’t really say anything to refute this. Because these are all posts of Connie outright stating that they disagree with antis. And not only sympathize with anti antis but are fully against antis. Looks like very damning evidence. Although ngl I’m not entirely against kinky blogs as a whole? Just so long as they truly stay in their lane with their kink content. And don’t force it on others in any way. Or shame people who are triggered by their kinks. It is true that being entirely against kinky blogs no matter what is dipping your toes into swerf rhetoric. Tbh I’m not going to look at the rest. This is pretty much all I need to make a decision on whether or not I”ll continue platforming Connie. Though I will try to get some more  perspective from people who I interact with as well. Because I feel better about making a more definitive decision after doing that. Also in general please don’t not try to get an opinion from me on how I feel about syscourse. A lot of the claims about Connie’s age weirdness and them using their alters as a shield feel like syscourse to me. Especially if this callout was written by one or several singlets. Singlets should never be trying to judge how legit someone’s system is ever. Even if their system friends encourage them to. You can call out a horrible person with a system without trying to insinuate that they’re lying about their alters in some way. Doing otherwise is ableist ESPECIALLY if you’re a singlet. Also in general the reason I stay out of discussions of judging how someone is handling their systems is because it’s syscourse and syscourse is triggering for my system and I. If this post was an attempt to get me to give an opinion  on the validity of Connie’s system I don’t appreciate it. And I would appreciate not being dragged into such matters again, thank you.

In general there’s like a few parts of this callout that feel legit. Which is unfortunately cluttered with obvious bias and obsessive hatred of Connie. I’m not here to stan or coddle Connie. I know they are not a perfect person. Especially since no human being in the world is perfect. But I feel the way this callout was created was very sloppy since a lot of the evidence was messy at best. And some points were very hypocritical as well as there being some no true scotsman moments from OP. In acting like exclus never do any of the thing that they tried to call out Connie for. Which is behavior that I am not a fan of. This is why people need to be more careful about callouts and like make roughdrafts and have a more unbiased person helping them if they don’t feel they can do it on their own. I’m even trying to make a resolve to do better at that myself. So it’s not like I’m unwilling to put my money where my mouth is. Anyways those are all my thoughts on this messy callout. And tbh I’m not going to get too much more heavily involved in this. Because I need to focus on more immediately serious rl stuff more often, like doing what I can to get out of the hellish landscape of a house I currently am stuck in.

[faangirl101]

Revolution pt3, spec ops guys x reader

PART 1      PART 2

Pairings: Alpha/tank x reader,Riot/reader

Warnings: pain, violence

Authors note: I was thinking about making a taglist! Write to me if you want to be on it!

The sun peeked inside the curtains, creeping across the walls like dew down a leaf a spring morning. I groaned when it finally reached my face, leaving a greenhouse warmth inside the blanket wrapped around my body. Finally well rested, more rested then id been in weeks, i sat up. With a hunched back supported against the headboard. Hesitant, i moved the white blanket off the rest of my body. I hissed for myself as i saw the clear evidence of green and blue smattered like paint across certain spots. I with care slid my fingers across it, remembering the feeling of rubber bullets drilling into my skin. i shook off the thought and let my hand travel up my thigh. There was other marks, red and shaped like a garlic clove. I smiled and tried to hold back the shiver. The nights more pleasant activities started playing over in my head. Hands against wet tile, his hands gripping my hips. Head leaned backwards, stars moving around my vision. How riot did not only give me the best orgasm in my life, but also cared for my wounds, handed me painkillers and let me sleep with a kiss on top of my forehead. The feel of lips burned on my head and i bit my lip at the thought of seeing him again. And tank.

My stomach immediately dropped at his name. His scolding was not a pleasant memory. I decided to not think about it more, not really longing for the weight of anxiety in the depth of my stomach. I threw my legs across the side of the bed, dangling my feet for a second before placing them on the ground. With some hestiance i got up, realizing that the pain had gotten better. Well not better, but easier to handle. I ignored my head begging me to go back to sleep as i started limping down the stairs. I was met with an inviting smell. Coffee.

The previous anxiety was long gone as i tried not to squeal in the happiness. I loved coffee. "Is it okay if i take a cup?", i asked as i took the final step into the kitchen.The man in front of me was not Riot. He had a pale complexion but there was a tint of something else then white. His hair was short, a brown newly woken up mess on top of his head. His figure was giant, stretching up next to the cupboard. There was only so many tall men in this house. Tank, i supposed, jumped at my voice. He looked in my directions, the earlier droopy sleepy eyes turned into green orbs of anger? He really hated me.

"Sorry", i mumbled, fiddleting nervously with the long black t-shirt riot had given me the day before "i didn't mean to startle you".

He made a motion i could really only place as rolling his eyes. "yeah take a cup, you're our guest after all", there was venom in his words, spit out against me making my heartburn. Burning in rage, i wasn't really known for my self control. "Hey", i pointed a finger at him like he had the previous day "i don't know why you hate me, i have not done anything to you". He looked shocked at my outburst before quickly collecting himself. "I don't hate you", he didn't even look at me "i just don't understand why you have to be here. The fact that you suck at protesting, is not our responsibility". His eyes turned away from me finally got to me. I grasped his wrist, hard, and pulled him so he was facing me. He looked down at our skin contact with an unplaceable emotion mirroying behind his light eyes. His skin was hot against me. For some reason he was so inhuman in my eyes i didn't expect body warmth. "I wanted to make a change!", i snapped, still not dropping his hand "okay! I felt useless just signing petitions and rolling my thumbs, i wanted to make a change". His face softened into a expression rather pleasant on his face. Now, with his full attention on me i actually had time to get a good look at him. He was handsome, freckles spread across his nose, full lips a straight line. His jaw was tensed as he watched me search him. "That's why me and Riot protest, we know what we're doing. That's why people like you stay at home", his words were hard but his voice was a different tone. Humorous. He dropped my hand and the sudden forced activity in my shoulder made me hiss in pain. He looked me up and down, eyes staying a bit longer on the bruises on my legs. He opened his full lips half way, something passing by his mouth. For a second i thought he was going to add something but instead he pursed his lips together and turned his back against me. That was the end of our short conversation i supposed. Like walking over glass i sneaked to one of the cupboards, lifting down a cup and moving back to the coffee machine.

Tank's presence in the room was intimidating me. I held my breath as if i was a kid playing hide and seek. My heart was pounding so hard that my body must think i was being chased. But i was still, in a kitchen with a mug tightly clutched to my chest. I gulped down the loud breath threatening to escape as i started pouring the coffee. I watched the coal pitch black liquid swapping up the side of the mug, mesmerized by something so simple. I tried no to shake too much when i put the can of coffee back, feeling tanks hot eyes on me. "What's your name?", the sudden question startled me to the very core. I was surprised i didn't drop the mug. "Y/n", i had my back against him. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how nervous i was. He hummed, either in a positive manner or mocking my name. It was hard to tell. "So.. you're going to go home and roll your thumbs and sign petitions now?", i got the sense that his statement was a subtle way of throwing me out. I pursed my lips, knowing deep down he was making fun of me. For not being able to protest.

Fuck him

"I'm going to protest", I sipped the coffee, enjoying the warm bitter taste on my tongue. I heard him sign "yeah, Riot guessed you would say that". I couldn't hold back the aggressive blush at the mention of Riot, glad that Tank couldn't see my face. I needed to see Riot again. I needed to touch him again. I suppressed the warmth rising in my chest with another hot gulp of the beverage in my hands.

)(

"Where's Riot?", i tried to sound nonchalant, as if my heart wasn't currently pounding violently. I could already see the protests in the distance as i pulled up the ski mask a bit so i could get a good breath. Tank was moving next to me, large as ever. I looked so ridiculously small, pathetic next to him that it made me angry. "He's on another protest, we move protests by following a schedule. We can't be seen together. Do you know what that means?", his question caught me off guard. I zipped up my thick hoodie enough to cover the last piece of visible skin. "Um", i didn't really even understand his question. "Hey", he snapped and grasped my chin to roughly turn my head to his direction. He had to lower down to talk down my face "Since Riot can't be here to babysit you, he left you to me. I'm going to actually make a change, and you sit still and quiet and don't make a sound, capish?". I lifted my head to strain against his grasp "doesn't that work towards the whole point of protesting. Stay quiet? You're not taking away my voice to fight the power i hope? Tank". I pushed his name past my lips as if it was a curse word. He stayed quiet for so long i started regretting my words, thinking of ways to save myself. He dropped his hand, wiping his helmet "watch it, baby". I knew deep down he was simply referring to the fact that he was babysitting me, but the nickname made a wave of heat creep over my body. I had to run to keep up with Tanks longs legs, ignoring the familiar feelings rising in my body. I did not have time for that.

Some time had passed. The police had put up a good defense even if the protester won over them in numbers. My number one priority? was first: protest for the rights of black lives. Second?, proving to Tank i could protest. In the beginning i had stayed pretty close to him but i had thickened the distance when i realized that his area was far too difficult for a riot beginner. Instead i had moved to the first aid hut placed in the center where new protesters was rushed by minutes. I didn't know much about rioting but knew one or another thing about taking care of wounds. So after an hour of pouring milk down tear gassed throats and stopping flowing blood from busted noses, i had forgotten all about Tank. Well, until he was limping over to the hut. One hand tightly grasped around his forearm. Despite all our previous painful words i rushed over to him.

"Shut up", he mumbled before i could even get a word out. Annoyed i pushed him down a bench with a huff. Then, with more care then he deserved, i slowly intertwined our hands in order to lift his hesitant hand from the wound. I tried to ignore the horrific sight of the left remains of a crushed glass bottle in the blood splattered wound. I didn't even notice i let our hands stay intertwined, maybe because the gloves hid his body warmth. But he noticed, his eyes stayed on our hands in his lap the entire time. Every time i pulled out a glass shart he hissed and tightened his grip on my hand. I couldn't hold back the two rapid heartbeats rising. Something about the closeness, yet the distance between me and Tank was..... interesting to say at least.

"There", i mumbled, softer then i had ever been to him. He didn't curse at me, or make an unpleasant noise. He stayed quiet as our fingers slowly fell apart. I wondered what face he was making underneath the mask. Was he angry? Upset? Happy?. In my mind, he was half smirking. But i had been wrong many many times before.

I turned my head when there was loud yelling behind us. A police officer was hovering over the medics i had worked side by side with today. "You have no right to be here", the pig spit, using his body frame to intimidate the smaller black women in front of him. His height didn't scare me, i mean i had spent the night over at two extremely large mens house. "Hey!", i didn't realize it was my own voice until i saw heads turning my directions. I could feel Tank fumbling out his hand to hold be back but i had already moved across the asphalt in long steps. "We're not protesting. We're helping people, that's not illegal. We're not blocking any roads.Sir", i knew everyone in the crowd could hear the venom behind my words. The cop looked stressed, he was sweating like a scorched pig. "Listen here, girl", he grunted "i suggest you take a step back". I fought the urge to smile, knowing it would infuriate him even more. I looked down at our shoes before lifting my head to meet his eyes, mostly for dramatic effect. "Or what?", i bit my lips hesitantly.

Well it was the last thing i had time to do before the hardback of the baton was flying down my side. I doubled over, groaning in pain. But i didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. I saw in the corner of my eye how the police lifted his baton once again. Before thinking it over i grasped the baton mid air, ignoring the burning sensation in my hand and muscle tissue. The police face fell, but my lifted. In the gods. With the force i didn't know i had, i pushed down his own hand to his face, the baton knocking him out cold. He slumped down in a pile beneath me. The hoards of people around me was yelling in harmonie, it was like gospel to my ears. Hand clapping, boots stomping. Tank was on my side in time for another pair of claps. But the tight grip on my arm was threatening. I gulped down the rising anxiety. I had just attacked a cop. Attackled a officer. Me, who cannot kill a bug. "Lets go", Tank growled and pulled me hard to his side.

[spaceysp]

is bad good at pvp? im a new fan and i ran into ur blog, you seem to know a lot about badboyhalo

hashahah im sorry “you seem to know a lot about badboyhalo” made me laugh very hard thank you im flattered you think that /gen i hope everyone sees my blog and just thinks “wow they know a LOT about badboyhalo” (tbf id talk about skeppy more if there are more asks about him i love he too)

anyway, this is.. a tough question for me, im not gonna lie. inside me, there are two wolves, one that wants to laugh at bad for being terrible at video games, and one that is constantly simping for epic mlg badboyhalo gamer moments. both are almost completely skewed from the truth so imma try to be as unbiased and factual as i can.

okay, so, the places you can see bbh pvping is mainly in four groups, imo. his old videos at mcpvp, vids with skeppy (bedwars/skywars/bets or challenges), manhunt, and the dsmp. ill be talking about his performance in each of these and then maybe form a loose conclusion. 

in my opinion, bad seemed to be really good at pvp in his old minecraft hunger game videos. it could be argued that he cut out games that he lost or didnt do very good in, and i have no way of proving or disproving that, but i think most of the fights we do see, he seems to be a really respectable player, and could win even 2 or 3v1s. in some banning hackers videos he’ll occasionally duel them, and could stand his ground in most cases. i think his pvp skill seems to shine most in these vids, hes really adapted to soup and 1.8 combat and it shows

however, most skeppy videos seem to be the exact opposite. skeppy can usually dominate him in skywars, bedwars, and most other ways they have 1v1d. bad still has the advantage in bow fights, but even those arent a 100% win ratio. (if he wants an assured win he goes with tic-tac-toe) most times bad manages to win against skeppy in bedwars is when hes given the opprotunity to grind enough, get the best gear then easily overpower skeppy, able to kill him over and over again, but hes famously weak against skeppys main strategy of rushing his bed because his defensive playstyle rarely works without proper materials. i think theres three reasons he seems to be worse at pvp in skeppy vids: 1. skeppy wins because its for his video so they throw 2. skeppys also really good 3. bads skill flies out the window around skeppy. honestly i think these all have an equal likelihood for being true so judge for yourself 

as for manhunts, to be fair, i think anyone looks bad at pvp when compared to dream. bad is definitley more of the strategic leader then someone to stay on dreams tail to fight like sapnap is. however, especialy recently, bad seems to stay alive longer than he used to, also needing to get the hang of balancing defense and offense. i think manhunt best displays bads main strategy for pvp, he doesnt rely as much on skill as he does on catching his opponent off guard mentally. it can be called a dirty tactic, sure, but it works. as the one to come up with most traps, hiding in the end, and making dream think hes mining, he does a lot for the hunters. that other post explained it best, but i agree that he’s really good, incidentally though, direct pvp seems to be his weakness from my perspective

okay and finally, the dsmp. bad doesnt get into too many fights, but many have pointed out that he was able to hold his own in a fight against techno, and was about to kill tommy before dream came in to save him (idk what kind of gear tommy had in comparison to bad though) overall, i htink he benefits from his ability to grind and gain as many op items as possible, giving him the upper hand, almost like bedwars or manhunts, but in an entirely different context. he also can have his choice of weapon everytime, and is known to enchant his weapons to the brim 

reading this back it kinda sounds like im dissing bads abilities, but in this conclusion i wanna say im not, this man got a combat disadvantage higher than dreams in a minecraft tournament, and overall i believe hes underestimated for sure. however, i also think he needs to use his environment to his advantage to be at his full potential. so yeah, take from this what you will, i still as i am writing this am at odds whether to say i think hes great or lacking, so i say form your own opinion and dont take my words at complete face value, im somehow biased in both directions 

thank you for the ask, i really appreciate it!!! i hope i didnt just confuse you and this is still comprehensible!! <3<3<3

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [11]

Masterliist

~^*^~

You sat on the steps, feeling as though you looked ridiculous. Here you were, in such a pretty dress, hands running through your hair, breaking up the curls and tears running mascara down your face. Your lips were curled upwards, into a sad and distorted smile. Goosebumps had risen on your skin. It was chilly, considering how late in the year it was. You heard the rumble of tires and looked up. The car pulled up against the pavement and the window rolled down.

“Get in, Cinderella.”

You rushed to the passenger side door, struggling to get in. You looked over at Jack who smiled sadly at you.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I’m an id-“

Your eyes snapped up to the top of the steps. There he was, glaring down at the car. Shit.

“Drive!” You demanded and Jack slammed into the accelerator. You looked back once to see Dracula rushing down the steps, but you were gone within a second.

“Jesus, [First], we are probably going to die tonight.”

“Not if I find a stake and ram it through that bastard’s heart.” You grumbled.

“[First]? You’re worrying me. What’s going on?”

“Lucy... it’s a lot to explain and you’ll definitely hate me after. Can we please just get somewhere and fast? I don’t know where we can go... we can’t go back to yours... he’ll follow us.”

“That’s ok. We can go to Zoe’s she gave me a key for emergencies anyway.”

Twenty minutes of silence passed. You tried to compose yourself, but the fact that Lucy was still alive and still disrupting your happiness was tear inducing enough. By the time you pulled up on Zoe’s drive, you were exhausted.

Jack had to help you out of the car due to the sheer weight of your dress and once inside, he immediately threw some of his clothes at you. It quickly became apparent he’d been staying here for a while, but you chose to say nothing. You couldn’t help your inner curiosity as to why, though.

When you managed to get out of the dress and into a pair of Jack’s pyjama shorts and oversized t-shirts, you plodded into the living room and sat down next to him. He took in the sight of you. He didn’t know what had happened, and he didn’t know if he was ready to know if it involved Lucy and Dracula...

He needed you to talk, though. You were very clearly upset.

“I did a really bad thing...” you confessed in a hushed whisper, “I did a really, really terrible thing... I deserve to be cursed by undeath for it...”

“[First], whatever it was, please tell me. I promise I won’t get mad at you.”

“You will. Especially because of how you feel towards Lucy.”

“Lucy is engaged. I have to just... move on.” He breathed, shifting his weight so that he was sitting to face you a little more, “tell me.”

“I... the first time Dracula came to my home... I asked him... to spare my life... in exchange for another...” you confessed.

“And it was Lucy you promised him?” The wavering in his voice broke your heart.

“I know it sounds awful... but I’m still angry at her, Jack... I thought Dracula would kill her and maybe I could move on from what happened but... it appears that he’s kept her alive and... again, he’d rather her over me...”

“This won’t make you feel any better but, it is Lucy. You should have foreseen something like this might have happened.” He told you softly.

“Like I said before, the attention was nice... it was nice to have someone who seemed to care even if they didn’t... and again, Lucy took that away from me.” You sighed.

“I’m so sorry, [First]. Maybe you should drop out of the investigation now? Someone else can take over in your stead?”

“I don’t know. He’ll need to be contained again and I don’t think he’ll like that.”

“He won’t really have the choice. Now come here.”

He pulled you into him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and brining you close. You rested your head on his shoulder. You wrapped one of your arms around his torso, getting a little more comfortable as you stared at the TV. It was late. You didn’t realise just how late until your eyes started to get heavy.

The TV faded away as you lulled off into your sleep for the night.

You awoke with a start. A thick duvet pooled around your body. It was hot. Too hot. Jack was asleep beside you. You supposed this was the only bedroom in the house. Your eyes scanned the room as you sat up and you sighed. Your head was pounding. What time even was it? You looked over at the digital clock. 3:23am.

Your throat was dry and screamed for replenishment. Swinging your legs over the bed, you made sure not to disturb Jack and began your staggering walk out of the bedroom and into the rest of the house. It was total darkness. You couldn’t really see where you were going at all and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. Slowly, clinging on to the bannister, you descended the stairs. When you reached the bottom, and you felt the cool wood below your doors you sighed in relief. You had no clue how you were going to navigate back up to the bedroom, but you would have to find a way.

To get to the kitchen, you had to work your way through the conjoined living room and dining room. It was one long room, with the living furtinture towards the front and the dining towards the back, opposite the kitchen. The entirety of the room was shrouded in darkness. It was quite a bit cooler down here. You flicked on a lamp and the terror that struck you caused you to gasp loudly. You stumbled backwards, knocking into the wall and you smacked your hands over your mouth. The patio doors were open at the back of the room, Count Dracula standing between them. His expression was dark and unreadable.

“What are you doing here?!” You hissed, not wanting to wake the sleeping man upstairs.

“Why did you leave?” He asked darkly.

“Answer mine and I’ll answer yours.” You challenged.

“I’ve come to ask you - why did you leave?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you were gone for 20 minutes?” You thought about saying something about Lucy but you decided against it.

“I had affairs to deal with.” The way he spoke was sending prickles down your spine. Not the good kind, as he sometimes did, either.

“You had affairs did you? Didn’t you think about me looking like a moron standing all on my own like that?!” You kept your voice as a hushed whisper and the anger was still easily recognisable.

“[First].” He warned, “let me in.”

“Oh no, you’re staying there.” It was your turn to command him, “you’re explicitly not allowed in to this house.” You narrowed your eyes and a deep growl resonated within him.

How could you deny him access? Was the man from before, Jack was his name, if he recalled correctly, also in this strange house? Had you grown too angry at him? After the most pleasant evening he had just delivered you?

“You’re going to regret this, [First].” He warned you lowly.

“I don’t think I am. You won’t see me again, Dracula.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m resigning my post. I don’t want to work with you anymore.”

A lump caught in his throat. He had to admit that he had grown quite fond of you. Quite fond, indeed. He enjoyed to see you. If he couldn’t see you, then what was the point in playing nice anymore?

But were you bluffing to make him feel something? Was it your intention to make him feel a little guilt for leaving you alone like that? He should have been honest, and told you he was dying to have a taste of that sweet nectar that ran through the veins. He needed it. Why didn’t he just tell you? He would have been only a few moments if that brat from London hadn’t called him. She was begging him to come back, begging him to give her another dream.

‘I want to dream of you’ she had told him in that sweet voice that resembled treacle. Too sweet, too overpowering. It stuck to the mouth and clung to the throat. It suffocated you and in the worst way. She began to tell him what she was wearing, how she had left his mark open to the world to see this evening. All the while, he had thought of you. You, in that pretty dress, looking ethereal. How he had left you alone and how he simply wanted to reunite with you.

What would he have if he didn’t have you?

“You don’t mean that.” He challenged, “you’re bluffing.”

“Why would I bluff?” You folded your arms, “I told you. I’m sick of you.”

He said nothing. Instead, he began in inspect the air, drawing in a deep breath through the nose. He snarled.

“He’s here.” He observed lowly.

“And?”

“I thought we had an agreement?”

“I thought you knew a lot about social etiquette. Seriously, there’s nothing here for you tonight. You can’t come in so don’t waste your time.”

~^*^~

The next morning came and Jack offered to take you home. With such a bulky dress, you had no other option but to accept. The drive was pretty much quiet, with the radio creating a quite background noise to the rolling hills.

‘... a body was found outside of the Bay Royal Hotel this morning... similar conditions to many others that have been found throughout Britain in the past months.... speculations... an animal... or sadistic mass murderer.... be vigilant and stay with a group of people during night hours...’

Jack looked over at you as the news report went on, however you were staring out of the window. He gulped. You both knew what the cause of death was, even if Scotland Yard didn’t. You were surprised, only a little, that Zoe hadn’t informed them of the beastly man freely roaming the streets. Then again, it would most likely cause a launch of a large investigation and anyone who had ever stepped foot into the Foundation would most likely go to prison for something or another.

You sighed. Your mood had dampened considerably and all you wanted was to go home and curl up on your sofa with that tub of vanilla icing you kept for a bad day like this.

“It was a shame,” Jack piped up awkwardly, “Dracula leaving you like that... you looked very pretty.”

“Thank you, Jack.” You turned your head to smile at him.

When you pulled up outside of your home, you spent a few moments pulling your dress out. Jack had to help you a little and you declined his offer to help you inside.

“Since when did you stop opening your curtains?” He teased.

“I must’ve closed them before I left last night.” You shrugged, “thanks for last night.” You turned to give him a soft smile. The dress was draped in your arms and you were still in his clothes.

“It was nothing,” he waved you off, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, alright?”

“Indeed you will.”

You made your way to the front door. The river was out, the tide had pulled all the water away. When you reached your door, you tugged on the handle. Open. You must’ve forgotten to lock it when you left last night.

You opened the door, forcing your way through the door. You turned, shuttling it and turned back. You screamed.

Sitting at the bottom of the steps, clad in his suit from the night before was Dracula. He was looking at you in a way that made your stomach do knots with anxiety.

“Here she is, the belle of the ball, the damsel in distress, the runaway princess.” He snarled.

“What are you doing here?” You tried to sound strong and confident, however your voice wavered.

“Not so tough now, are we?” He narrowed his eyebrows.

“Drac-“

“Ah, ah, let me talk.” He held up his finger, “you really thought you had one over me didn’t you? You naive little thing. I ought to punish you for last night alone.” His lips tugged up.

“You really don’t get it, do you? You left me alone. You embarrassed me. Not that you could ever conceive such emotions. But just answer me this, just this one thing, Dracula.”

You hid one hand behind you, clutching the door handle for a quick escape. He looked at you. Never in your life had you felt more afraid.

“Why didn’t you kill Lucy?”

“Why didn’t I kill Lucy?” He scoffed, “because she is something different. She is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. She peaks my curiosity. I wanted to savour her.” He told you coldly.

Your heart hammered in your ears.

~^*^~

Throwing your clothes into your suitcase, you ignored the tears violently soaking the materials. You were struggling to see past the tsunami, past the red storm that was brewing in your head. You heard a noise as the door opened and he grabbed your arm roughly.

“Don’t touch me!” You screamed, willing yourself to not look at him. You knew that if you did, you’d forgive him.

“[First], let’s talk-“ his voice was young and undoubtedly the catalyst for the wave of sobs that followed.

“No! No...! No...no... we can’t talk. We can’t talk this out, Daniel...” you clutched you’re heart, sinking down to your knees and clutching on to the duvet.

“Yes we can-“

“I just walked in to see you with her! In our bed! In our space! How the fuck do we fix this?! Why the fuck would you do that to me?!”

“I... she was... something different... unlike anyone I ever met before... I was curious and one thing lead to another...”

~^*^~

Your head was spinning. You needed to get out. Thinking wasn’t an option. You were staring into the eyes of a beast and never before had he looked at you with such malice. Did he feel betrayed? Had you hurt him by fleeing with Jack?

You didn’t care. You tugged on the handle, turning to rush out.

“No!” He roared and leapt out of catch you. Sunlight streamed in and like a magnet, he threw his body up into the corner, behind the door. He grabbed at the neck of your shirt, yanking you up. Your oxygen was cut off, feet inches from the floor. You gagged, feeling sick as you struggled in his grasp. The dress pooled to the ground, “shut the damn door.” He growled.

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @voidxngel @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan @misfitgirlwrites @lokiphan

[shhh-no-ones-home]

passed duff mckagan x reader

+++++++++

this was originally supposed to be super sad but now its not so yay! lol its whatever ill probably write another one that is in a bit. again its only half edited so if there are any errors, sorry.

Song: 400 lux by lorde

tag list: @cynic-spirit @satans-arse @slashscowboyboots

+++++++++

Duff leaned into me, the bottle in his hand landing in my lap as he gripped it tightly. He had been drinking most of the night like he usually did and I finally got him calmed down enough to sit still. The rest of the guys were passed out around the room and I refused to sleep until I knew they were all comfortable and safe. Duff was the only one left, still trying to get me to laugh as he poked my cheek a few times, being way too close to my face with his own.

"Come on, isn't it just a little funny."

He slurred, making an inch with his fingers. I glared over at him, brows raised.

"No duff, you need to go to bed."

I said, trying not to mother him but it coming out that way anyways. He pouted and sat back, his hands landing in his own lap now as he sat further into the couch.

"This sucks."

He said, looking at the ground. I drew my brows in confusion.

"What sucks?"

He sighed, lifting his shoulders in a half shrug.

"You don't like me anymore."

He said softly.

"What makes you think that?"

He let out a short laugh.

"I have a list actually."

He said matter-of-factly. I raised a brow in shock.

"Is that so?"

He looked over at me and nodded.

"Yeah."

I turned to look at him.

"Care to enlighten me?"

He mirrored my actions, his hair falling away from his face, the black streak at his neck showing itself.

"You don't laugh at my jokes anymore."

He said a little hurt and I snorted.

"Okay?"

He nodded once.

"Yeah, and you don't talk to me anymore when we're on the road."

I drew my brows together again, trying to think of a time when we had sat down to talk just the two of us. I was coming up empty handed though.

"And don't think I didn't notice the way you talk to me now, like I'm some sort of child."

He said scoffing, pulling a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lighting it. I sat and thought for a second. I guess I have been doing all of these things but it wasn't because I didn't like him anymore. If anything it was the opposite. He sat forward again as I stared at the couch in defeat.

"Duff..."

I started, looking up at him and reaching up to run my fingers through his hair. He dropped his head back against the couch and looked at me as I twirled a piece of his mane around my forefinger.

"I still like you, I promise, It's just..."

I paused, opening and closing my mouth before finding the right words.

"It's just, I feel like I've gone from friend to caretaker."

I sighed, closing my eyes.

"I'm tired. Keeping you all on track is like herding kittens. I feel like I don't have time to myself anymore. I don't laugh at your jokes because I don't have the energy. I don't talk to you on tour because I'm too busy making sure everyone is where they're supposed to be. And I've been treating you like a child because you've been acting like one, hell you all have."

I looked over at him and he was staring at me intently.

"I'm sorry."

Was all he said. I sent him a soft smile.

"You shouldn't be sorry. If anything I should've known what I was getting into when I joined the team."

He grabbed my hand away from his hair and kissed the palm of it, me resting it against his cheek when he let go.

"But you shouldn't have to deal with us. We are five grown men, we should know how to take care of ourselves."

He said in an almost demanding tone. I ran my thumb over his cheekbone.

"Yeah, you'd think so."

He rolled his head forward.

"No, we should, really. Starting tomorrow I'm getting all these guys asses into gear. You don't need to deal with us. We can take care of ourselves."

I rested my hand on the back of the couch.

"Okay duff."

I said half amused. He leaned forward and set the bottle on the coffee table, cigarette still burning between his lips.

"We'll make it up to you."

I readjusted in my spot so my back was against the arm rest now.

"Deal but if you wanna make a difference right now you'll go to bed."

I said, yawning. He sighed, plucking the stick from his mouth and dabbing it out in the ash tray. I watched as he stretched, his back popping.

"Okay."

He said softly, sitting back before leaning over me. My eyes went wide as he wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his head on my chest and getting comfy.

"Uh, duff?"

I asked. He hummed in response, tightening his grip on me. I sighed and relaxed into him, he was warm. A nice contrast to the basement air.

"Nevermind."

°°°°°°°°°

When I woke up all I could focus on was duffs breathing on the back of my neck. I didn't want to open my eyes yet out of fear of being met with one of the other guys scolding us. At some point during the night we had switch positions, duff now spooning me from behind but a death grip still around my torso. It was comfortable if I was being honest and he was still a welcomed warmth. I heard a soft click sound before half opening one eye. Sat in front of me was two coffee mugs and a pair of legs I didn't need to look up to know were axl's.

"Sleep good?"

He asked, finally drawing my attention. I looked at him and rubbed my eyes.

"I guess."

I said groggily.

"You two get into some things after we all fell asleep?"

He asked, raising his brows and taking a drink from his own mug. I sent him an annoyed look, trying to sit up but duff pulling me back down. I sighed out in defeat.

"No actually but when duffs drunk it's kind of hard to move him."

I said trying again but failing. Duff groaned against me. I looked back at him to see his face scrunched up.

"Sto-op."

He whined, digging his face into my back. I looked up to axl for help and he just laughed at me.

"Just making sure you didn't sleep with my bass player."

He said amused. I breathed deeply.

"As if."

He shrugged and turned to walk away.

"You might want to drink that before it gets cold."

He said making his way to the stairs and walking back up them, his feet heavy against the wood.

"Duff you gotta let go."

I said softly, running my hand over his. He made a noise low in his throat.

"But you're so comfy and warm."

He protested, gripping my shirt tightly in his hands.

"Axl brought coffee."

I wooed, trying to persuade him. I felt him shift, poking his head up to look at the coffee table. I leaned back and he looked down at me.

"Good morning gorgeous."

He said in his best flirty tone, smirking at me.

"You're not funny."

I said finally able to sit up. I stretched out as he moved behind me, also sitting up and reaching for a mug.

"I think I'm hilarious."

He said boldly, taking a sip and moaning softly. I sent him a weird look before picking the other mug up. I Inhaled the scent of it but didn't actually take a drink, just holding it in my icy hands. I heard duff yawn before he dropped his head to my shoulder.

"i dont wanna be awake."

he groaned out and i rested my head on the top of his.

"you have a headache yet?"

i asked, feeling him shake his head no against me.

"then you can nap later."

i heard him yawn again before sitting upright and grabbing the half cigarette from the ash tray. i watched as he lit it, setting his mug back down first.

"hangover naps are the best naps."

he said, exhaling smoke out his nose. i laughed a little bit.

"whatever you say duff."

he looked over at me and offered a sleepy smile.

"you still okay if i crash at your place tonight?"

i nodded.

"as always."

i said, raising my mug to him in a toast before taking a drink.

"welp, i guess i better keep my word."

he said, putting his cig out and standing. i looked up at him as he reached down and grabbed his own mug.

"wait, really?"

i asked and he laughed.

"i promised id get them into gear, so thats what im gonna do."

i smiled to myself as he made his way to the stairs.

"hey duff?"

i asked and he paused, one foot on the bottom stair and one on the ground still.

"yeah?"

i nodded slowly.

"thanks."

he raised his mug back to me like id done before.

"no, thank you."

he said before making his way slowly up the stairs. i sat back and sighed. hopefully that works.

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! Skipped forward a couple years from the last chapter, and there’s a little bit of a hinting at some of Devon’s past. This chapter takes place during season 8, when Olivia was undercover in Oregon with Porter. The first bit is a blurb between the two chapters.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: panic attacks, rape mention (and a little description, but not explicit), lesbophobia, homophobia, briefest allusion to consensual sex (blink and you miss it)

Words: 8k+ 

           Devon worked with Manhattan’s SVU department a handful of times since their first meeting. In that time, she had become closer to the detectives, especially Olivia and, by extension, Stabler. She and Stabler still butted heads every now and again, but they grew to respect each other’s methods, as Dr. Huang had predicted. As for Devon and Olivia, it was like having a sister that they never knew they wanted. As much as Liv loved her team, it was nice to have a woman to talk to about personal things, outside of the two women ADAs that SVU has had. And for Devon, though she’d never mention it to Liv or to herself, she gained a new best friend that didn’t so much “replace” Emma, but filled that spot for close female friend—though Devon made sure it never made it past that “friend” point, no matter how attractive Devon found the detective. She also knew that Olivia wasn’t interested in women, so Devon didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Plus, Devon didn’t really want to get close to someone she was working with; her heart still hurt when she attempted to dissect her feelings for Emma.

Unlike Devon’s other work acquaintances, they actually kept in touch pretty well; enough so that Devon even met Stabler’s wife and family, before they got separated. Devon was rarely called to the precinct, maybe only once every 3-4 months, so the only time they really got to chat in person was either on the job, or when they randomly got to meet for a nightcap or lunch.

           It took Devon about a year to get into the rhythm of working with SVU—mostly because she wasn’t there often enough. For example, Devon always worked to protect the victims, whether they were held hostage or being trafficked around. SVU, however, was more about helping the victims, believing in their stories and helping them prove the abuser or perpetrator of their abuse. Putting the abuser behind bars. Getting enough evidence for a jury to convict them. In Devon’s line of work, the victims were being actively victimized; she didn’t need evidence, witnesses, or statements. Which is why the biggest fight she had was a year into the partnership with SVU, with ADA Casey Novak, and about testifying in open court.

           “I’m not testifying! Stop asking!” Devon had yelled, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Novak had asked once before, while they were both watching an interrogation. This time, they were standing in the middle of Precinct 16, officers and detectives alike coming to a halt and turning to watch a federal agent and an ADA duke it out.

           “I need you, though! Don’t you want to help put Ramsey behind bars?” Novak reasoned. She was keeping her voice level before, but it was rising now.

           Devon rolled her eyes. Of course, she wanted Ramsey behind bars; he was a rapist pig. But she couldn’t testify, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to go down memory lane with someone she didn’t really know. Especially not an ADA, acquaintance or not. She suddenly wished that she hadn’t helped catch Ramsey, that she had stayed in the court-free FBI, but then squashed that thought down; they had needed her, and she was glad to have stopped him before he escalated to rapist and murderer.

           “Casey,” Devon put a hand on Novak’s shoulder, noticing the unwanted attention from the officers watching and bringing her voice down. “I can’t testify. I need you to trust me on this. You’re a great ADA, you can do it without me.” It was true; Devon had read up on Novak’s conviction rate.

           Novak gave her a long look, long enough that Devon dropped her hand back to her side. She took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to tell you is that if you do not testify, then I don’t think I’ll win this case.” She let her words sink in, then added in a near-whisper, “don’t make me subpoena you.”

           Devon felt a weird twisting in her stomach; something she had never felt before. She tried to ignore it, look intimidating. “Is that a threat, counselor? Let me tell you what will happen if you don’t back off. I was offered an undercover in Iceland. Don’t make me go there until after this trial.”

           Novak’s eyes narrowed. “You’d really flee the country on a bogus mission to avoid testifying? It’s not that bad; you just sit in a box and tell the truth.” If Novak continued talking, Devon missed it. In her mind’s eye, she pictured herself in the witness box. She looked over at the defense attorney, one from Devon’s nightmares. He was distorted, his smirk too large for his face, his eyes turning black. The courtroom was a dark red color, the gallery’s faces blank, emotionless. Devon’s heart started beating faster, tears welling then flowing down her cheeks.

           “Devon?” Novak’s voice sounded leagues away. It wasn’t until Novak placed her hand on Devon’s arm that she snapped back to Precinct 16, ripping her arm away from Novak’s grip. The tears on her face were real, as was her frantically beating heart. For a moment, she thought she was having a heart attack. Her chest was heaving, she was gasping for air, but she couldn’t fill her lungs. She glanced at Novak’s worried face, vaguely noticed the detectives moving towards them. Devon turned and sprinted out of SVU’s department, pushing stunned officers out of her way. She ran past the elevator, heading for the stairs, taking them as quickly as her legs would carry. She didn’t know what was happening to her, all she knew was she needed fresh air. She made it to the bottom step before her legs gave out. She was shaking all over, openly weeping. She pulled herself across the ground, shoving herself in the corner of the stairwell, and curled into herself, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, burying her face into her knees.

           She didn’t know how long she was there, shaking, crying, clutching her chest and trying to think about anything but the courtroom, that small witness box. When she raised her head from her knees, she found Olivia sitting on the stairs by her, looking concerned. But Liv knew better than to ask; she knew how to treat victims. It took another 10 minutes for Devon to stop crying before she told Liv what was happening—not the whole story, just her and Novak’s fight and what she was feeling now. Olivia, having been through this before both with victims and personally, explained what a panic attack was and how Casey must have said something that triggered that reaction. After making sure that Devon was alright, Liv assured her that she wouldn’t have to testify, that she should go home and relax for the day. Devon and Olivia grew closer that day, and it wasn’t long until Devon told Liv the whole story.

2 years later

Apartment of Devon Motely

Friday, July 27th 6:24am

           Devon sighed as she let the hot water run over her, washing away the sweat from her morning gym workout and jog. The shower felt amazing, and she got out feeling refreshed, ready for the day. She was in the middle of drying off when her cell phone rang, the sound coming from her room. She hurried over to it, looking at the ID quickly before answering. Captain Cragen.

           “Motely,” she answered, sifting through her closet for an outfit. Better grab something loose if she was going into SVU and whatever mess they needed her for. Mobility was a priority for her.

           “It’s Cragen. Are you free to do an undercover for me?” Cragen replied.

           Devon had just finished a stint of undercover for the Feds—only a month--so she was off for the next week or two, at least until her shrink cleared her; definitely free to help out the squad.

           “Of course. How long?” she asked.

           “Hopefully only for tonight.”

           Oof, tonight? That was short notice. Well, she didn’t have any plans tonight, anyways. At least, not any important ones, unless she counted watching the baseball game and eating a pint of ice cream as important. Just “normal” things that helped bring her back to this life, not the made-up life of who she was for a month.

           “I’ll be right there,” Devon said before hanging up. She honestly didn’t mind doing some field work for NYPD; it was nice having…easier cases. Not that they were easy cases but compared to the hell that she dealt with on a near-daily basis with the FBI, it was like a walk through the park. Except for the court stuff. Devon refused to testify, but she did offer to transport, protect, and support the victims or witnesses that did testify. And, thankfully, Novak had backed off from asking her.

           It took Devon another 10 minutes to get herself ready. She was happy with her appearance, hoping that maybe the department wouldn’t change her outfit for the undercover op. She was in a scoop neck, plain black shirt and dark jeans. She thought about a light cardigan, but decided against it; it was in the 70s outside, plenty warm enough, even for her California skin.

SVU department

Friday, July 27th 7:14am

           Devon had arrived at the precinct and sought out Cragen. The only detective she encountered in the precinct was Munch, looking annoyed at being there so early. She happily waved to him before heading to Cragen’s office. Cragen closed the door behind her and he filled her in on the details. There was an LGBT+ bar that was mostly used by lesbians and bisexual women, barely any men. But there was a group of men that would show up in the wee hours of the morning, right before closing, stalk a woman that would come out of the bar, and then beat and rape her. This happened 4 times in the past two weeks, and the DA is treating it as a hate crime against lesbians. Each victim recalled one or more of their attackers saying something along the lines of, “fucking them straight.” SVU was positive that one of the men in the bar was a part of the group and would target the women from the inside before leaving and notifying his buddies. SVU was a little short staffed, so Cragen opted to call in Devon for this.

           “We’d like for you to be targeted by this group, or at the very least, find out who they are. We’ll have Stabler undercover in the bar to help keep an eye out, plus Fin and Munch on the outside, along with a temp transfer from Brooklyn, Detective Lake. You’ll be safe,” Cragen finished.

           “I don’t doubt it,” Devon replied with a reassuring smile. She trusted the detectives to have her back. Though, she was curious as to why Liv wasn’t mentioned. Did this Lake replace her?

           Cragen looked a little uncomfortable before saying, “I hope you don’t mind playing a lesbian.”

           “Not at all. But may I ask why Olivia isn’t up for it?” Devon asked, trying to dig some information out of Cragen without asking outright.

           “Uh, Detective Benson isn’t here right now.”

           What? “She’s not here? Where is she?”

           Cragen gave her a look. “I thought that you’d know better than I. The Feds came in and took her for an undercover assignment. Other than that, they’ve told me nothing.”

           That took Devon aback; she had no idea. Not that she talked to every undercover agent or their case workers. She wondered if she knew her case worker, if she could find where Olivia was if she dug deep enough. Maybe Jenkins knew where she was. Why did the FBI even need her?

           In an effort to keep the conversation light, Devon said, “Oh, so you’ve run out of female detectives to UC for you in a lesbian-dominated bar. Enter me, the only other woman you know.”

           Cragen gave her a terse smile. “I do have another temporary replacement transferring in...whenever 1PP decides to actually send her. I would, however, like to get this mess taken care of now instead of waiting for a detective I don’t know.”

           Devon let the conversation end there. She agreed with the Captain; she’d rather be doing this instead of some new detective that no one knew, or worse, trusted. As she left the office, she thought about the mission at hand. She honestly didn’t mind playing a lesbian; she was bisexual, anyways, so it wouldn’t be hard to feign interest in random bar tenets, no matter what their gender was. She thought about her wardrobe at home; did she have a more suitable outift for this? Or should she just let the department figure that out? She had until late tonight to get ready for it, but she knew the department; they liked to have everything planned out in advanced, to have their hands in everything. Plus, she still had to talk to Huang—or whoever the profiler they had on the case was—to make sure she knew what these dirtbags were looking for. She tried not to think about how terrible these men were; it was just making her more and more angry. She disliked rapists as much as the next person, but this hit close to home; hate crimes against queer women. She was getting tired of how men were treating them.

           Coming out of Cragen’s office, she saw that Fin and Stabler had arrived at work; both were at their desks, starting in on today’s crap. Then there was the new guy; at his desk talking to Fin idly. He was attractive, his tanned skin stark against his loose white shirt. He looked over at Devon and smirked. Devon greeted the others before heading towards Detective Lake. Might as well introduce myself, she thought. He was supposed to be one of the detectives watching her back tonight, anyways.

           “Detective Lake? My name’s Devon Motely,” she greeted him, holding out her hand. He took it, giving her a hearty handshake.

           “Don’t let her play you,” Fin said, jokingly. “She’s a Fed.”

           Devon rolled her eyes, looking faux-offended. “Wow, Fin. Tell him how you really feel about me.”

Fin shrugged. “Hey, he’s here as my partner. I gotta tell him how it is.” That caught Devon by surprise; Fin’s partner and not Stabler’s?

“Why did Cragen call in the big guns? Are you here for that lesbian case?” Lake asked.

“That would be correct, yes. Can you not tell I’m gay just by looking at me?” Devon retorted. Yep, SVU’s humor was definitely rubbing off on her.

Lake’s ears turned red, but Munch came to his rescue, piping up, “ah, that would explain why you can work with all these guys without getting distracted by our rugged good looks.”

“Man, no one is thinking that about you,” Fin replied, waving his arm at Munch.

Munch huffed, glaring at Fin over his glasses. “This is why we’re not partners anymore; you can’t even back me up on this.”

As much as Devon wanted to hang around and joke with the detectives, she was there to do a job. She gave them a half-hearted wave, then went to find Dr. Huang, who Cragen did confirm was the profiler on the case. She found him upstairs, pouring over files, coffee in hand.

           “Hey George. Whatcha got for me?” Devon asked playfully, still grinning from the conversation downstairs; even up here, she could hear the guys ragging on each other. She took a seat across from him and picked up one of the files. The pictures of the woman’s injuries took the wind out of her sails.

           Huang gave her a smile and a hello before answering, “I take it Cragen called you in on the lesbian hate crime?”

           “You’d be correct.”

           He took a sip of his coffee. “How does that make you feel?” Huang knew about Devon’s sexuality, not that she kept it private. But it also wasn’t something brought up in conversation often. Actually, she didn’t know if the other detectives, outside of Olivia, knew. The joke just now was the first time it came up, and she didn’t know if they had taken her seriously or not.

           “Pissed off. Why can’t men just…leave women alone?” she asked, exasperated. “I know that it’s more than that, but god, it’s infuriating.”

           Huang nodded. He knew what she meant. “Can you keep your cool for this?”

           Devon rolled her eyes. “Of course, I can. Just, don’t hold it against me if I punch one of those men in the nose.”

           Huang smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Let’s get you up to speed.”

           They both spent the better part of the morning going over what little description there was of the men, what the victims had said, done, been wearing—all the things that could be seen as a slight against a man’s fragile ego. In each case, a man would approach the woman at the bar, though it wasn’t clear if this man was in on it or not, but it was a constant in each case. The man, described as a “frat boy but in his 30s,” would hit on the women, using pick-up lines so bad, they couldn’t even be considered pick-up lines. In all four cases, the women shut him down quickly, all of them rude to the man—a little piece of information that Devon deemed important, squirreling it away into her mind. The man would then leave, though the women didn’t notice if he went to bother someone else or left the bar altogether. Then, with times ranging between 1 and 2am, the women left. The days were different, so it wasn’t a habitual thing; they couldn’t predict when it would happen. As the woman walked down the street, heading home or to a friend’s place, they were attacked from behind. They all claimed that they were pushed into an alley and then were restrained. They claimed something would pin down their limbs and torso. Only one woman was able to tell that one such item was a baseball bat; the others claimed something cold and metallic. None of the women could tell how many men attacked them, ranging from between four to as many as eight. All of them were raped twice, and the men wore condoms. No chance at IDing them with DNA.

           By the time Huang had gone over all the details from all four rape cases, Devon needed a bath. Or a couple shots of whiskey. Or both. She felt anger, downright hatred, and a strong urge for revenge, even though she didn’t know the victims personally. That was the thing about SVU; the victim’s pain became the detective’s, or in this case, the agent’s. She fought down the feelings of loathing; they wouldn’t help her here. She needed to play it calm, collected, the way she always did in an undercover op. Thanking Huang for all the information, she headed to the department’s undercover section, allowing them to pick out her outfit and makeup. Now came her least favorite part, having them paint her face.

 Lumber Jill’s Bar

Saturday, July 28th 12:38am

           Devon was at the bar, drinking a Dirty Shirley through a straw. She had been in the bar for about an hour now, opting to get there early, just in case the pattern changed; there were a few groups of people around. Some came with friends, others had met here, whether for the first time or as a plan, Devon didn’t know. Stabler had come in after Devon had relayed that a couple of other men had showed up, though none matching the description they were looking for. Stabler had decided to sit in a dimly lit booth, going mostly unnoticed, but having a vantage point to where he could see Devon, the front door to her back.

At first, Devon wasn’t sure this was going to work; the department dressed her in a tight black tank top with a light flannel jacket, and matching tight jeans, the fabric ripped above the right knee. She looked like a man had dressed her up to play the bitchy lesbian in a bad horror film. Devon fought to change clothes, but ultimately lost the argument. At least the makeup was more subtle. It wasn’t until Devon sat down and got a couple of, frankly unsubtle looks and even some flirting that she realized they may not have entirely screwed this up.

           Devon had started her night by drinking a normal Shirley Temple—Sprite and cherry syrup—knowing that she shouldn’t drink during an operation. That is, until a beautiful brunette had bought her one with vodka in it.

           The bartender placed the drink in front of Devon, and before she could object, the bartender said, “Dirty Shirley, compliments of Lily.” She smirked and pointed out the woman sitting across the bar from Devon. The woman, Lily, smiled coyly before taking a sip of her own drink, causing Devon to forget how to breathe temporarily. Undercover or not, Lily was the most beautiful woman Devon had ever seen. And she had bought her a drink? Devon felt like a damn high schooler, sitting there slack jawed, staring at the woman. Lily snickered, snapping Devon back to reality. She awkwardly lifted the drink in a thank you before slamming it in one quick motion. She then stood up and practically ran to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, ignoring the makeup the department plastered her with—she learned then that it was waterproof.

“Everything okay?” Stabler’s voice whispered in her ear, causing her to jump. She had the earpiece in for so long, she had forgotten it was there.

“Just a quick bathroom break,” Devon said into her mic. She wasn’t used to being mic’d up; the FBI had listening devices in every kind of accessory anyone would need. Devon’s favorite was a pair of square glasses, or a flashy gold bracelet. Tonight, though, she had the NYPD’s normal wire-up-the-shirt mic, taped to the inside of her bra. She looked into the mirror, tried to work up the courage to turn down Lily. Even if she didn’t entirely want to. It had been almost a year since the last time Devon had a partner to warm her bed; actually, Devon warming someone else’s bed was more accurate. She kept her work life and her social life—sex life—separate. She even used a fake name, a shortened version of her middle name, just so that they couldn’t find her after their one-night stand, no matter who it was. It wasn’t like she hated the thought of relationships, but she was afraid that anyone she would date may be put into harm’s way. She was an FBI agent; she had enemies. She ignored the side of her that tried to remind her that she was also afraid of opening up to people, of getting close to anyone. The last time she even entertained the idea of dating someone, they were shot in the head.

Devon mentally shook herself; she couldn’t be thinking of relationships, dating, or feelings, especially when she had decided that she was going to turn down Lily. She took a deep breath then headed back to her seat at the bar. Lily was no longer there, though. After a few minutes of searching the bar area, Devon found her sitting at a booth with three other women, laughing at whatever joke was said. God, her smile lights up her face perfectly, Devon thought before shoving the thought aside. She turned away, remembering why she was there, and took her seat at the bar again, flagging the bartender.

           She did stick with drinking alcohol, though, something Devon had never done before; she never drank while working. She vaguely noticed Stabler giving her a look when she had ordered—alcoholic drinks came in different glasses than non-alcoholic. If he had any complaints about her drinking, however, he didn’t mention it. Besides, who knows? Maybe the men wouldn’t show up tonight; it was nearing 1:30am, and no sign of the suspect. Maybe Devon could spend the night with someone; she was feeling lonely, if not sexually frustrated. Damn, she shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom, she shouldn’t have opened this door in her mind. Her thoughts were interrupted, though, when Stabler’s voice came through her earpiece again.

           “Group of six guys just came in, looking like trouble,” he went quiet while he watched them—Devon avoided turning to look, relying on Stabler’s assessment—before he continued, “looks like the leader is coming to you.” Devon mentally braced herself as a man slammed an arm down on the bar next to her, standing way too close for comfort. She could smell the Axe Body Spray radiating off him.

           “Hey honey, you look sad. Want me to cheer you up?” he asked in a way that made it sound like it wasn’t a question.

           “Was that supposed to be a pick-up line?” Devon replied. Devon remembered that the women reported being rude to the man at the bar, and “rude” was Devon’s middle name.

           The man scowled, “I don’t need a line to pick up hot chicks at a bar. Women flock to me.” Devon took this time to look at the man, carefully crafted disgust on her face—not like it was too hard to fake--and glanced him up and down. He was in his early to mid-30s with shaggy blonde hair. He was wearing a red polo shirt and cargo shorts. He almost looked like if he stepped out of a frat house, but never grew out of the mindset. All he was missing was the backwards ball cap. Everything about him screamed creep-who-was-full-of-himself-and-didn’t-hear-no…and he matched the victim’s descriptions perfectly. The fact that he came in with five other men was as much of a green light as Devon needed. She could at least get him for harassment if he somehow wasn’t their perp.

           “Uh huh. Well, why don’t you try and flock elsewhere? No ‘hot chicks’”—she did air-quotes around the words—“are going to be interested in you here. You’re not our type,” Devon said, rolling her eyes as if she were stating the obvious.

           The man’s face was turning red now. “Oh yeah? Well, no one’s calling you a hot chick,” he spat.

           “Then why are you even talking to me?” She glared at him, then, putting all the venom she could muster into her voice, dismissed him, “get lost.” The man gave her one last death glare before turning and heading back to his buddies.

           “If that’s not at least one of the guys we’re looking for, I’ll eat my jacket,” Devon whispered into her mic.

           “I’d take that bet, except I’m almost 100% positive that he is our perp. We won’t know until you leave, though,” Stabler replied. “Let me go first, wait five, then come out and take a left. Walk naturally.” As if he needed to tell Devon how to do her job.

           “You alright, honey?” the bartender asked.

           Devon put on a smile. “Yeah, that guy was a dick, though. Does he come in often?”

           The bartender glared at the door, as if the man might come back, before answering, “I’ve seen him only a couple of times, now. Him and his buddies. They seem to try and start shit with someone at the bar, but leave before I can officially kick them out. I don’t know how they always seem to come in when my back is turned.” Devon nodded. If that were true, then him and his group could very well be the rapists they were looking for.

           Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stabler get up, pay for his beer, and leave. Thankfully, it was pretty busy at this point; the bartenders didn’t notice a man sitting by himself in a mostly lesbian bar, nor the fact that he left so abruptly, even though they should’ve been on high alert after the group had left earlier. Devon sipped at her drink before hailing the bartender and paying. When she stood, she was a little shocked to feel how light her head was. She didn’t think she drank that much, but oh well. She wasn’t too far gone, just a happy buzz. She made her way out, glancing around the bar once more. She saw Lily, still laughing with her group. Stamping her lust down, Devon headed out the door.

           It was a nice night, even this late…well, early. It was a balmy 60 degrees, perfect temperature to Devon. She pulled the flannel around her in what she hoped looked like a nervous manner before taking off in a brisk walk down the street she and the SVU detectives agreed upon earlier that day. It didn’t take long until she heard footsteps behind her. She kept her pace as normal as she could; being an undercover agent meant she had the skills to act natural, but being a woman meant she had the instincts to speed up, to protect herself. It was hard fighting those instincts as she heard the footsteps moving faster, jogging after her. Fuck training, she thought as she whipped around to confront her stalker. She was stunned when she saw that it wasn’t the creep from the bar, but Lily trying to catch up with her.

           “Wait,” she said a little breathlessly. Devon fought the blush that she knew crept across her face. “I didn’t get your name.”

           “Oh, uh, it’s Olivia,” Devon replied, silently cursing herself; it was the first name she thought of. How’d she forget her own fake cover name?

           Lily smiled at her, having caught her breath. “What a beautiful name.”

           God, how is her voice this pretty, too? Devon thought. She pushed away the accompanying thoughts about what that voice may sound like in a bedroom. “N-nice to meet you,” Devon stammered out, face flushing. Keep it in your pants, Motely, she thought to herself, embarrassed that just talking to this woman turned her into a blushing mess. Devon had heard of the term “disaster bisexual” before, but never attributed it to herself…until now.

           Lily laughed and Devon thought her face would explode with how hot it was getting. “Same to you…would you like to come back to my hotel room?” Lily asked. Wow, that was blunt.

           Devon’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth as she fought against herself. God yes, was her first thought. She damn near jumped out of her skin when she heard Stabler clear his throat awkwardly in her ear. Right, she was still mic’d up, and while it was only Stabler who was talking to her, she knew that all the other detectives could hear the conversation. Great.

           “Are you alright, love?” Lily asked, concerned. She put a hand on Devon’s shoulder to try and stabilize her. Devon felt electricity through the touch as she struggled controlled herself.

           “Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. I, uh, I’d love to go with you. But, uh, could we maybe raincheck until tomorrow night?” Devon asked, her voice rising an octave. Lily had only a moment where her face fell, when Devon heard more footsteps.

           Suddenly the group of six men from the bar appeared out of nowhere around the two women, Red Polo Shirt holding a bat and pointing at Devon. Well, seems like they were their perps, and that they were breaking pattern tonight; attacking two women and not blitzing them from behind. Instantly, Devon’s mind snapped back to calm, calculating, collected; her normal field agent’s instincts returning. She felt like herself again, adrenaline pumping through her veins—she felt alive.

           “You ain’t going anywhere tonight,” Red Polo Shirt announced. Devon looked around, trying to gauge the situation. They were on a sidewalk, no lights except for a couple dull streetlamps. There was a building at their backs, six men in a half circle around them. Besides Red Polo Shirt and his bat, Devon saw that only three of the other five men were armed: one also holding a baseball bat and two with what looked like metal bars. All things that could be used to hold down someone while the unarmed did whatever they wanted to the victim.

           “Get out of here, you bastard,” Devon said as clearly as she could. ‘Bastard’ was the code word that her and the SVU detectives had agreed upon before.

           “Move in,” she heard Stabler say to the rest of the team. Hopefully, they were close. But until then, it was stalling time.

           Red Polo Shirt drew Devon’s attention back to the scene when he took a couple steps closer. The other men followed suit, effectively closing the semi-circle around her and Lily. They were maybe twenty feet from the women now; close enough that the space between the men were almost non-existent. Lily got closer to Devon, and Devon shifted so that Lily was partially behind her. “You just don’t know how to not be a bitch, do you?” the man called out loudly, making his friends laugh.

           “And you don’t know how to take rejection,” Devon replied. Her whole body was tense, mind frantically trying to find a way out of here, or a way to stall further.

           Lily moved closer and whispered in Devon’s ear, “maybe we shouldn’t upset them.” Her voice was laced with fear, and Devon felt the sudden need to protect Lily, to never let fear taint that pretty voice again. No matter what happened, Devon would make sure that Lily made it out of this unharmed.

           Red Polo Shirt frowned. “See, this is what you bitches deserve. You need a good man in your life to teach you your place.” Well, if there was any doubt in Devon’s mind about this group of guys being her target, it was gone now. She backed up, and Lily followed suit until they were up against the wall. Devon’s mind flew into overdrive, trying to figure out a way out of this; if Stabler and the detectives weren’t there soon, then there was going to be a fight. Devon was confident in her fighting abilities, but even she knew that six against one was a losing battle. She was unarmed, plus the fact that she now had a civilian to protect. The two unarmed men were on either side of her and Lily, the two closest to the wall. Devon could feasibly rush one of them and shoulder her way past; that would just lead to a foot chase, with her hopefully being fast enough to outrun them until help arrived. But would Lily be able to make it out of there, too? In the heels Devon noticed she was wearing, she highly doubted she could run at all…though she had jogged to catch up with Devon in the first place. Maybe she was one of those women who learned to run in heels, in case something like this happened.

           Thankfully before Devon had a chance to find out, a cop car appeared on either side of the group, sirens and lights only going off once the group was blocked off, so as not to startle them into running. Stabler and Munch launched out of one cruiser, guns drawn, while Fin and Lake hopped out of their car.

           “Freeze, NYPD!” Stabler yelled. The two unarmed men instantly had their hands up. The two with metal bars let them fall from their hands, clattering to the ground, while they rose their hands. The other man with a bat attempted to run, only to be tackled to the ground by Lake. Red Polo Shirt cursed loudly before throwing his bat on the ground with a loud clang and raising his hands.

           “We didn’t do nothing wrong,” he called out to the detectives.

           “Yeah yeah,” Stabler replied, keeping his gun trained on him as he inched closer, pulling his cuffs from his pocket. Fin and Munch started cuffing the other men who were still standing. More cop cars arrived on the scene, officers rushing to help the detectives apprehend the suspects.

Devon walked over to Stabler, smiling, “thanks. I owe you one.”

“At least you don’t have to eat your jacket,” he replied, making Devon laugh, nerves still buzzing. Stabler gave her a grin before looking over her shoulder, subtly nodding to something behind her.

Devon suddenly remembered Lily, who hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall, still looking alarmed. Her eyes roamed over the scene before landing on Devon’s. She turned back to Stabler, taking the earpiece out and pulling the wire from under her clothes. She dumped them unceremoniously into Stabler’s hands before heading back to Lily. He gave her a subtle thumbs up before leading Red Polo Shirt to his squad car.

“Hey, you alright?” Devon asked once she was close enough.

“I—yeah. What just happened?”

Devon didn’t want to dive into the heinous details of the investigation, nor did she want to explain how she had lied about her name earlier. But she also didn’t want to lie now, either. “Long story short, I was working undercover to bust some homophobic, misogynistic assholes. And I think I just did.”

Lily looked her up and down. “So, is that why you turned me down earlier, Olivia?” Her eyes widened as if something just became clear. “Is that even your real name? Are you even attracted to women?”

Devon hated the accusatory tone in Lily’s voice, though she understood it. She also hated that she was going to lie to her once more. “My real name is Ryn,” she swallowed the nasty taste it left in her mouth--it was short for Kathryn, her real middle name—then continuing, “and yes, I am attracted to women.” Lily still looked skeptical, so Devon jokingly added, “I mean, who wouldn’t be after seeing someone as stunning as you?”

That made Lily smile. “Really? A pick-up line? Haven’t I already invited you back to my place?”

Devon’s cheeks warmed. “Ah, yes, you did. I’d also like to take back my earlier response in place of a new one.” Lily nodded, a smile dancing across her lips. “I would be delighted to go back to your place.” Especially now, with all the adrenaline still coursing through Devon’s veins.

 SVU Department

Monday, July 30th. 8:00am

Devon practically bounced into the 16th Precinct feeling lighter than she had in months. She still felt a little bad about lying to Lily, leaving early enough in the morning that Devon never even had to speak to her, Lily’s sleeping form breathing deeply in the hotel bed, clothes thrown around the room. But it was normal to Devon; form no attachments. She didn’t have the time to even think about seriously dating; work was her number one priority and hooking up when she was stressed seemed to be the easiest answer. Not only was she on-call at all hours of the day, every day, she also went on undercover cases for months at a time. How could she devote herself to someone when she couldn’t even devote time to herself? Work came first. Always.

Devon shook herself, forcing herself to remember why she was there in the first place. Stabler had texted her, letting her know that they were about to start the interrogations of the men from the bar. He had asked if she wanted him to wait for her and was elated when she said yes. I’m alright with letting these guys sweat for a little, he had written back. Devon smiled and waved at the detectives as they drank their coffee, trying to wake up. She never did understand how officers were not morning people.

“Hey Dev,” Stabler greeted as she made her way into the observation room. Devon grinned in response and looked through the glass. Red Polo Shirt was alone in the room, still in the same clothes from Saturday night. Sometimes, Stabler could be cruel, leaving a perp to stew all weekend in the cage. Not that Devon was feeling particularly bad for this piece of scum.

“He say anything interesting?” Devon asked. Even if Stabler left him and his buddies to sit all weekend, that didn’t mean that they were ignored. There were officers that worked weekends and would pay attention to anything the perps in the cage would say.

“Just a lot of cursing and complaining.” So, no confession yet? That shouldn’t be too hard to pry out of him.

“Hmph. Hopefully he’s as stupid as he looks,” she said. Just then, Fin and Lake entered the observation room, along with Captain Cragen.

He gave Devon a nod in greeting before instructing, “Fin. Stabler. You’re up.” The two detectives nodded, making their way into the interrogation room. Cragen, Lake, and Devon watched as Fin took the lead as bad cop, while Stabler took the sympathetic cop. Devon had done only a handful of interrogations in her career, which is why she enjoyed watching these guys do it. They were good; if she didn’t know Stabler any better, she’d believe his act of being a woman-hating, misogynistic bastard. Shockingly, though, Red Polo Shirt—Richard Morrisen—wasn’t confessing easily. Devon had been positive that it was going to be a slam dunk, yet Richard seemed to only be interested in screaming profanities at the detectives.

After about an hour, Cragen pulled the detectives out. They were getting nowhere, and Devon could tell that the whole squad was getting frustrated.

“Guy just won’t stop running his mouth,” Fin said as the interrogation door closed behind him. “At least he ain’t asking for a lawyer yet.”

“What now?” Devon asked. She’d never seen the detectives not get a confession before. Though, she’d only sit in on a couple interrogations; she was usually busy with another case before they finished processing whatever case she had helped them with.

“Now, we call Novak, see if we can set up a line-up,” Cragen replied.

While the detectives were setting that up—most of the time was spent getting lookalikes for six different line-ups—Devon took the time to talk with Detective Lake. Temporary assignment or not, it was always good to meet, actually meet, the people that Devon was going to be working with, even if this was only a one-time thing; something they wouldn’t know for a while.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other day,” Devon said, leaning against the man’s desk. Devon had said only one sentence to the detective, but the look on his face said enough in response.

“Nah, just caught me off guard. It’d take more than that to make me uncomfortable,” Lake replied, chuckling.

“Good, I’m glad,” Devon smiled. “Though, the thought of Munch as someone with ‘rugged good looks’ is slightly disturbing.” That made Lake laugh, his shoulders relaxing. Devon wasn’t great at making friends, but she was glad to see that she could at least make people laugh.

When he stopped laughing, she saw his body language change again; nothing big, but a clench of his teeth, his back stiffening slightly, and she knew he was nervous about asking this next question. “I mean, Munch isn’t really…your type, is he?”

Devon never understood why people were so interested in sexuality. She knew that for some people, it was an important label, a type of identity that people could spend years figuring out. But why people felt the need to ask others, especially when faced with the fact that they may not be straight, she just didn’t get. But Lake seemed to be genuinely curious; besides, Devon was a hard person to offend.

“I mean, he’s old enough to be my father. So, I’d say no, he’s not my type. I tend to look for people around my own age,” Devon said, smirking. Her use of the word “people” didn’t go unnoticed.

“Well, do you think that…I would be more your type?” He kept his cool when asking, the only signal of his nerves showing as his ears reddened.

Oh, so that’s it, Devon thought. She looked at Lake, really looked at him. He was slightly taller than her, lean but built, and very attractive. But he was also an SVU detective, someone that she may have to work with on a constant basis, which went against her one-night stand mentality.

“If you weren’t in the same line of work as I am, then yes, probably. But as it stands, I have a strict no-dating-your-coworkers rule,” Devon said, keeping her voice as light and neutral as possible. No one liked rejection.

Even so, his face fell, just slightly. “No, I get it. That makes sense.”

Before the awkwardness could continue, Novak came out of the observation room, signaling for Devon to come over. She gave Lake a small smile and wave as she went to talk to the counselor. Novak said nothing as she closed the door behind the two of them, sealing them from the rest of the squad.

“Devon, I know you’re going to hate me, but just understand that I would not ask this of you unless it was a necessity,” Novak blurted out. “I need you to testify in this case.”

“Casey--,” Devon started, but Novak cut her off.

“Listen to me. Out of the four victims, only two of them could ID any of the assailants, and even then, they only ID’d the two unarmed men as the rapists. Unless the detectives can get a full confession, then I have nothing except you tying these pigs to the assaults.”

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat. After Novak asked two years ago, causing Devon’s panic attack, Devon had been having recurring nightmares at least once a month. Always in a witness box. Always in a courtroom. Devon fought through the fog in her mind, trying to find any way out of this. Suddenly, a thought struck her.

“What if I interrogate Morrisen? He hates me, hates women; I’m sure I can get him to tell me every horrible thing he wanted to do to me,” Devon reasoned. Her brain had latched onto the idea, refusing to let it go. It was a life preserver in the ocean of darkness that was the courts.

Novak sighed heavily. “You get one chance. If you don’t get a confession, though, I’ll have to prep you for testifying.” Devon would not let that happen.

“Come in with me; SVU doesn’t  have another woman to spare,” Devon said instead of answering. Without another word, Devon led Novak to the interrogation room from earlier, Morrisen in the same seat, slumped over onto the table, clearly tired.

“Oh, so now they send the skirts in after me,” Morrisen croaked out. Then his eyes locked on Devon’s. “Wait, you’re that bitch from the bar!”

“That’s Special Agent Bitch to you,” Devon responded.

“Woah, woah, wait a minute. You mean you’re a cop? Isn’t that, uh…entrapment or something?”

Devon let out a low whistle. “Wow, that was a three-syllable word. I didn’t think your vocabulary was that enriched.”

Morrisen gave Devon a confused look. “No, it’s not entrapment. No one made you harass women at a bar,” Novak said.

Morrisen’s eyes moved over to her. “I didn’t harass nobody. Those bitches got exactly what they wanted, what they deserved,” he sneered.

Wow, this is easier than I thought it’d be, Devon thought. “Are you sure it’s what we wanted? Because I distinctly remember telling you to ‘get lost,’” she said. Let’s see if we can lead him to it.

Morrisen gave Devon the greasiest, creepiest smile that she had ever seen before replying, “your mouth said no, but your eyes were all over me.”

God, I need a nice, long shower after this, Devon thought, suppressing a shudder. “Trust me, Richard. No one wants whatever it is you think you can give them.”

Morrisen’s smile turned into a scowl as he jumped up from his seat, sending the chair toppling over behind him. Novak gave a startled jump, but Devon held her ground; she didn’t even flinch.

“You know what I gave those stuck-up sluts? I gave them just what they wanted! They needed some rough and tough lovin’ from yours truly. Once you go Dick,”—he pointed at himself—“you never go chick.”

Devon was feeling fully disgusted at this point. She looked at Novak as if to ask is that a good enough confession? Novak shook her head, and Devon looked back to this scum.

“Wow, did you think of that line all by yourself? Tell me; why did someone as…’rough and tough’ as you need a posse of five other men to help you assault those women? I mean, if that’s what they all wanted, why use a baseball bat to hold them down?”

Morrisen smirked, picked up his chair and sat down triumphantly in it. “Sometimes, I like to spread the love around, ya know what I’m saying? Those other guys may be my bros, but they don’t got game like I do. It’s kinda like doing some community service.”

Devon sat down across from him. “Oooh, so you’re the good guy in all of this, helping your bros out. How exactly do you help them?” she asked, leaning on her elbows on the table.

It took about another 30 minutes to get the whole story out of Morrisen. Once he started talking, he didn’t stop. Novak, to her credit, had taken out a small recorder, informing Morrisen that his conversation would be recorded. He didn’t seem to care; actually, he seemed to like the attention of two beautiful women listening to his assaults. By the time he had finished, and Devon and Novak left the room, they both felt sick to their stomachs.

“I think I need to bathe in hand sanitizer,” Novak mumbled.

“Can I join you?” Devon replied. She gave the counselor a small smile before asking, “so, am I off the hook?”

Novak sighed. “For now, yes. I should be able to put Morrisen and his gang behind bars for quite a while. Besides, during his confession, he also indirectly admitted to the hate crime. I doubt this will go to trial; they’ll probably all plead out.”

Devon felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. “Thank you.”

Novak gave her a long look. Devon raised an eyebrow in question, waiting for Novak to say whatever was on her chest. “Look, Devon. I…understand you have a phobia of testifying. But I want to help you through it,” Devon opened her mouth to object, but Novak continued on. “I’m not going to force you to testify, or to do anything you don’t want to. But I’d like for you to come by the courthouse one day. I think it may help you to sit in the gallery during a trial…. Or, at least come with me into a courtroom after it’s closed. No one will be there; just us.”

Devon thought about it. She was touched that Novak wanted to help her with her fear, even if it was for her own personal gain; if she could get Devon over her fear, then she’d be able to testify in later cases. But the thought of sitting in on a trial was enough to make her heartbeat faster.

“Can—can we start with the latter?” Devon asked, her voice faint. She didn’t trust herself enough to speak louder.

Novak smiled. “Of course. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Devon returned her smile despite herself.

[mackenzieparker]

ok lets do this one more time, yeah? for real this time. this is it. my name is nika (she/hers, est). i like to write and hang out cool communities like this and for the last first time, i have brought a brand new muse to y’all. below you’ll find all the details on a ms. mackenzie “mack” rae parker, plucky country gal and badass babe. please love me and her and smash that like button or send me a dm (discord ichoosenikachu#4859 )  to plot.

( tw: drunk driver, death, sexism )

B A C K S T O R Y →

meet mackenzie rae parker, born august 17, 1989 in grove, oklahoma. mack (as she’s gone by since she was a kid and it won’t be changing anytime soon) was born to two loving parents Steven and Margaret Parker, the youngest daughter of three boys: morgan, matthew, and merritt. yes, her parents did have a thing for m names--and no, it didn’t help her momma remember her name any better, like they told their kids growing up. 

Maggie and Steve loved their daughter--their whole family, really--to bits and pieces. It had been Maggie’s dream to have a little girl when the couple first got together and when they had first received the ultrasound, well, they were overjoyed. When Mackenzie came into the world, there was cause for joyous celebration and laughter. Everyone was happy the Parker’s finally had a little pink bundle of joy. 

Little Mackenzie’s personality was--well, let’s just say she had never been one to shy away from an exciting situation. Her brothers’ had taught her early on that life wouldn’t always be easy so she had to be tough enough to take it head on. In fact, they made it a point to remind her whenever they had a chance. Buts she was also their little sister, and fiercely protective of her. And while it annoyed Mack to no end, she adored her brothers endlessly. 

Mack may not have been the strongest Parker in the household, but next to her Momma she was the wittiest. Her comebacks were always sharp and as she grew up, she honed her sarcastic, dry wit in addition to her own athletic talent.

Mack loved her Momma. In fact, if she had to pick favorites her Momma would have won every time. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her father. Her father was a good man--he was a local mechanic at Grove Automotive, always greeted everyone with a smile and cared deeply for his family. But Mack and him were never as close as she was with her momma. Maggie understood her daughter’s firey nature but compassionate heart and saw the way it warred within her--especially after she’d gotten into a fight with one of her brothers. 

( tw: drunk driving & death ) When Mack was twelve, though--tragedy struck. Maggie was on her back from work after parent teacher conferences; she was the local kindergarten teacher at Grove Elementary, when a drunk drive t-boned her car and Maggie was killed on impact. thankfully (if one can say that in this situation) no one else was in the car. but suddenly the Parker family had lost its matriarch and Mack, the one person who might have been able to understand her. 

She had always grown up as a tomboy--a fact that even her momma, a woman who had been raised in South Carolina to rather traditional parents couldn’t stamp out of her. But even so, after Maggie Parker passed on, Mack became even more of one, almost shunning all that was feminine away from her, as if any reminder of her mother would be the end of her as she knew it. And, for her, it might have been. It was no secret she had been the closest to Maggie--and her death hit her the hardest. Mack got rid of all her dresses, all her skirts, anything that reminded her of her mother--save for the small box of photos and momentos she kept heavily hidden under her bed. On her worst days, she’d pull the box out and talk to the photo of her Momma--it was the only time the blonde ever outwardly expressed emotions, specifically crying. 

To distract herself from the grief, Mack threw herself into everything she could in high school--archery, debate, robotics club, anything to keep her mind off of the encroaching cloud that now lived around her heart. It was in Robotics club, though, she learned she had a real knack for using her hands. She had learned early on about cars and the like--her father’s occupation and brothers’ fascination with the thing gave her unparalleled access to a number of cars being torn apart and rebuilt from the ground up. But Mack--Mack was always more excited about what flew above their heads than right next to them. A junior in high school, she had made the choice that she wanted to be an engineer--one who would eventually design an entire new fleet of Boeing Jets for commercial use. She had only ever flown on a jet once--to see her grandparents after her momma’s passing--but it had been the only thing to give her relief from her sadness that day. It’s where her love affair with aviation began. 

Mack graduated top of her class (nerd, her brothers would always joke) and soon found herself enrolled in the University of Oklahoma’s prized engineering program (boomer sooner!). Of course, she wanted to stay close to home--one, to keep the costs down but two, leaving her family felt wrong, even six years later. And for the most part, Mack loved it. She got involved in all sorts of things--engineering clubs, intramural sports, and even, yes, a sorority. It went against all the things she hated in relation to femininity, but her mother had spoken so highly of her experiences in the organization, and Mack felt a pull to join her. To her surprise, she didn’t hate it--and it was with those women she really started to learn about feminism. 

You see, when Mack would go home, all the women in town would ask her about if she was seeing a boy. Mack had never understood why it mattered so much if she had a boyfriend or not--she was getting her degree in mechanical engineering, wasn’t that a tad bit more impressive than whatever guy she might be seeing? But soon, it occurred to her that the women in town would never understand anything other than her finding her future husband at school. The fact shocked her, considering it had never occurred to her in the slightest that she’d ever go to school to get a husband in the first place. After the shock worn down, it enraged her and made her work harder. Because now, she was getting disparaging comments from the folks back home and the men in her internships and co-ops. Women can’t build things--they’ll break a nail. Why are you in pants? Your legs would look better in a skirt. Mack had never been one to bit her tongue, and on more than one occasion was able to test out what her brothers’ had taught her growing up. No one was going to tell Mack what she could or could not do. And certainly not because of her gender. 

Mack eventually graduated college--though deeply in debt thanks to all those added fees for science labs #thanksUofOklahoma--but realized that going back home would never be realistic for her. So, she packed up her truck, Betsy, and headed west. Originally, she had meant to go to Seattle or Portland--that’s where Boeing was, that’s where her dream landed. But something about Charming, CA caught her eye--and she found herself intrigued. Plus, it sure didn’t hurt that no one seemed to care when she applied to work as a mechanic in their autoshop. Now she’s been here about 8 years and she hasn’t grown sick of it yet. She still has dreams of working for Boeing, but as she grows more comfortable in Charming, they seem to be slipping to the wayside. 

Mack’s vibe is...well, she’s a loyal friend, a good listener and kind, though not sunshine and rainbows. Growing up without her mom really changed her--she still had a compassionate heart but it’s not as obvious as it once was. She’s still sassy, sarcastic and witty, but she is friendly as well. Smart too--and a bit of a nerd, loves herself some comics and documentaries. all around, she’s genuinely a good egg, just a little...rough around the edges at times. 

H E A D C A N O N S →

Mack never, ever goes by Mackenzie. In fact, you’ll never know its her full name unless she drops her ID. The only person you’ll ever hear call her that is her father--or brothers--when something is wrong. 

Her favorite food is chicken cordon bleu. She knows it sounds fancy but literally, her favorite is the one where you buy it frozen and pop it in the oven. She is a simple gal, truly. 

Her favorite shoes are her various pairs of converse, although for work she can be seen wearing docs so she doesn’t get oil all over her shoes. 

Betsy, her truck, is very special to her--she takes extra good care of it. She’s a 1967 Chevy C10 Pickup in a robin’s egg blue color--and her pride and joy.

Even though she loves her truck no matter what, the woman has worked on enough bikes for the various motorcycle clubs around town to know that if she had even gotten enough money--she’d get herself a nice bike. Flying down the road on open asphalt? Doesn’t get better than that. 

Mack loves classic rock. Like love loves it--but also the women of the 90′s like Alanis Morisette, Liz Phair, The Cranberries--she loves a good women rock group. 

P L O T S →

friends

exes

situationships/flirtationships

fwb

slowburn

coworkers

any connections to the motorcycle gang

literally i suck at listing plots out, just hit me up and i’ll be EXCITED TO PLOT!

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas: Child of Fate (Parts 1 and 2)

Also on AO3!

TL;DR:

Chosen by the Fates for his many monumental futures, Izuku is gifted a 'quirk' at the age of 5. The ability to see and influence the strings of fate.

He will become a Hero.

But fate does not smile upon a hero any more than it smiles upon a worm.

basically, the 3 fates from norse myths are still kicking

w all the crazy shit that's gone on since the rise of quirks, fates are constantly getting harder and harder to predict or manipulate so they are kinda out of a job

so they say "fuck it, lets throw our hat in the ring" and decide to pick a "champion" of sorts

out of everyone, there is one child that sticks out a lot. he's plain-looking, but every future he's in is incredible. he's not always a good person, but he always brings about change of some sort, for reasons he believes are good ones

and they look at this child with his shining fate and think "this one"

bc the fates know what it's like to be jerked around by the universe, they ask him

"this is a deal we've done before, but we'll give more to you. trade us an eye and our powers will be yours to wield as your quirk, all we ask is that you live up to your fate"

they do the deal, the 4-year-old izuku gives up the sight of one of his eyes for the power of the fates

the quirk is registered as "all the odds" aka: he can see the odds of a certain thing happening

but that's not his quirk. he can see the strings of fate, follow them to see the different future outcomes, or pull at them, making some options more likely than others

the only person he tells the full details of his quirk to is Katsuki, bc the fates tell him he literally always tells Katsuki in the end, and it'll "save a lot of trouble", not that he knows that 

Katsuki is very excited to know he becomes a top hero, but he makes Izuku promise that he won't change his future bc he wants to make it there alone

also, the major downside of izukus quirk? he can't see his own fate

and the futures he sees are only as complete as the information he has

ie, he could witness kamino ward, but the future wouldn't show afo or mini might beyond a vague blob

anyway izuku gets teased for his lame quirk for a bit, then stops bc everyone who teases him gets weirdly bad luck

its the fates, they love their baby champion and he said no killing people

but people who are good to him get good luck, so he's got the nickname cat, for black cat and lucky cat!

anyway, episode one kinda happens normalishhh, but he doesn't ask if he can be a hero, because he's going to be a hero, he doesn't care what anyone says, he will be

but when he sees all mights strings of fact he gets a really weird look at them, because something unnatural is holding one of them above the others. so he asks "who tried to seal your fate?" bc he has no brain to mouth filter

and all might, understandably, is confused by this tiny boy asking him a very very weird question

he doesn't even get a chance to go tiny before izuku does dead pale, and whispers "shit" allmight poofs tiny, izuku looks at him, yells "I WONT SAY ANYTHING" and running jumps off the roof. all might coughs up a lung but the kid was 'lucky' and stuck the landing

basically, w the appearance of the sludge villain, the weird fate he saw for katsuki that morning suddenly made a whole lot more sense

the fates guide him to katsuki as fast as they can, he arrives there just before allmight

anyway izuku is calling out for katsuki and lays eyes on someone in the sludge, he doesnt see who it is, he doesnt see their fate. he sees that flash of a hand reaching out for help and he's already leapt over the barrier

he grabs a bit of rubble from the ground and throws it at the villain's eyes, nails him right in the fucking eye, gets katsuki half out. but the villain is baring down again and its all izuku can do to try to keep katsuki's mouth free

allmight saves them

anyway, when izuku is walking home all might pops out of fucking nowhere and gives izuku a heart attack

"I SAID I WONT TELL ANYONE PLEASE DONT HURT ME MR ALL MIGHT SIR"

"KID NO WAIT"

does the: you are so stupidly heroic, do you want to be a hero?, izuku says: i sure fucking do

“whats ur quirk”

"oh funny that its,,, its a little weird."

"oh?"

"i can,,,, see and influence the strings of fate"

"oH THATS WHY YOU SAID THAT WEIRD THING"

"wait yoU JUST THoUghT I wAs CRAZY?"

",,,,, people say weird things around me ok"

anyway all might basically says "ur crazy, your quirk is cool, take one for all."

and izuku says "OK YEAH"

all might asks a little how izuku was going to get into the hero course and he just pauses

"you know i was wondering about that but the fates told me id be fine." they both pause, staring at each other "wait,,, did they,,," "the fates totally knew huh"

anyway he eye glow when he use the fates quirk

all might sees izuku and he's like,,,, its baby nighteye

he honestly, for a hot minute, thinks nighteye might be izukus dad

bc like; green hair, gold eyes (well, eye), smart, analytic? thats nighteye baby

all might asks lowkey like "oh you don't talk much ab ur dad huh?" and izuku explains he doesn't know the guy. all might mentally tells off nighteye for having a child and ditching the mother

todoroki’s question literally is "are you all might and nighteye's illegitimate love child"

and izuku, who has no filter, blinks and responds with

"who said i was illegitimate"

anyway, back to the training

izuku who has been training to be a hero forever is pretty damn fit for a kid, but hes not one for all fit

anyway katsuki is like "izuku why are u following an old man around is he a pedo, and izuku wheezes like "NO OH MY GOD KASTUKI NO" and he explains like,,, a little of it

"like so i might have a strength quirk now too"

"izuku what the fuck why are you so op"

"im sorry katsuki im just better than you l m a o"

"COME HERE U LITTLE S H I T E"

so a brief overview of his quirk:

he gave an eye to use it so one of his eyes is just like,,, white. the whole thing is white. bc,,, its not really a quirk lmao,,,

anyway: he can view the future as much as he wants, it just takes some time, if he wants to take a quick look he doesn't need to stop paying attention, but its two slow and branching to be used like nighteye's in a fight (think like doctor strange in infinity war)

unlike nighteye, he has a third-person view of the events in question, and has,, some sounds? not many. mostly like breaking shit or oneliners he's heard before

changing the future, however, is more difficult by a long way

viewing the future has no real cost other than the fact he's not paying total attention at the time

changing the future, however, causes pain

nerve pain proportional to the change. little things, like flipping a coin heads? to make it more likely, its like a prick of the finger. to make it a 100% chance its like badly stubbing your toe. to change something big, like to move where a blow hits, feels like your arms have been plunged into burning oil. to change something massive, like, to stop something that was almost certain to happen, can cause enough pain to not only render him unconscious but can cause nerve damage leaving him with chronic pain/numbness/lack of function

the pain is normally in his arms bc its izuku and he break he arm

anyway! bc he was fitter and caught a glimpse of gran yelling at him about something called full cowl in the future + he cleaned the beach faster, he has like 2% full cowl for the entrance exam and had the quirk 2 months beforehand

katsuki avoids izuku for the day literally bc he doesn't want izuku to know if he passed before he did. which,,, is fair. he does explain this too so there isn't any random angst, izuku is just nervous

(oh also he can see the fate of someone he's looking at, he can change the fate of an event he's already seen to a different option he's already seen)

so we get the ochako bit, plus a bit of comedy bc katsuki is in a fucking beanie and sunglasses so izuku doesnt recognise him

he totally does but he doesn't say anything bc he's trying real hard

so izuku is kicking some ass in the exam and the bAMN 0 pointer like a fucking b a s t a r d hes like "what's the chances of this thing just like,,, breaking" and unfortunately they are v e r y low

so he is like "well i guess it's punchy time"

but before he gets there he sees a piece of rubble about to hit ochako. and he sees there isn't a small chance of it crushing her leg, so he changes the odds of that and gets a lovely few seconds of burning pain for his trouble

(he’s,,, pretty used to it by now so the boy has a scary pain tolerance)

bc he doesn't want to break his poor arms he jumps up the sides of the robot and tears out some wiring in the back and they start to fall

and he's like "oh shit the chance of my getting hurt is pretty high huh i should change that too" and ochako saves him with her quirk

and then he has a bit of a horrifying realisation while he's trying not to cry from pain

because

his quirk never changed the actions of other people before. ofa made it stronger

but, as he is now understanding, that hurts like a motherfucker, and his not-eye burns too and boy that's really unpleasant

this is another au where shinsou gets in on rescue points from saving katsukis ass + using him to save someone else

katsuki is a little salty but hes like "yeah tbh i really wouldn't have saved them alone, its fine" and then forces him to meet izuku bc hes still a total quirk nerd

izuku drags them + ochako out for ramen bc hes celebrating. shinsou is like "its a little early to celebrate getting in" and izuku just turns looking a lil confused "no im celebrating surviving the exam"

ok so, first day its wild

izuku's quirk is listed as "lucky punch" aka he can see odds and he's strong and no he doesn't know why stop looking at him like that

izuku and katsuki walked to school together bc they are baby and secretly nervous

izuku doesnt really look at katsuki's future all that often bc he doesn't like it, no real deal w izukus quirk he just wants to be successful by himself. so izuku, who can't look into his own future, has no idea how this day is going to go

they rock up to class, get inside and aizawa shows up, izuku has a brief heart attack, the quirk assessment starts. this time aizawa doesnt even have like a problem w izuku he's just trying to prove a point ab them being little baby heroes and sucking ass and izuku looked nice enough not to be mad about it for the rest of the year

so aizawa erases his quirk which, fair and izuku is confused and trying to use it

both of them

but

erasure didn't touch the fate quirk

so when he turns to look at aizawa he gets a face full of the USJ incident and he goes dead pale. aizawa is a touch confused but continues his whole thing, gives izuku his quirk back. he's still shaking. he throws the ball, it goes,,, less than it could have but far enough to be impressive

izuku stands next to katsuki shaking while they wait for the test to end. shinsou and uraraka are kinda distressed and all 3 of them are angry at aizawa even if they have no idea why. izuku bolts from the field right after and throws up in the bathrooms, followed by a quick panic attack. he was so freaked he was using ofa to get there so now uraraka, katsuki and shinsou are trying to find the boy

and aizawa is faintly confused

shinsou finds him first, shaking and sick in the bathroom. he grabs shinsou by the arm and says "staffroom, now." shinsou, who really doesn't know what's going on but is 100% shook, takes him there. he basically has to half carry izuku there bc he can't support himself

they get there and izuku knocks saying "i need to speak to yagi-san, now." and he sounds so scared and the whole office jumps bc why does a kid know allmights name, and all might jumps bc what happened to his boy

so he rushes out, grabs izuku and hurries him into a private office aizawa gives shinsou a look and shinsou just glares at him lmao bc its his fault izuku is like this. even though,, he's not really sure how

anyway, through sobs, izuku explains what he saw

and all might feels sick bc his boy didn't need to see all of that horrific violence, see his teachers torn to shreds and crushed to bits while the other students watch on helplessly

nezu doesn't know the extent of izukus quirk, mostly just because they didn't think ab telling him. they tell him now

aizawa is brought in to see smallmight trying to comfort his poor shaking student, who looks up and him and flinches and aizawa is like "ok guys the fuck did i do" nezu explains and then aizawa feels like a right dick to be honest, not that it was really anyone's fault

then the horrifying implications of "villains inside UA" sinks in and he's suddenly very on edge. now, izukus quirk isn't 100%. he had such a brief look at the vision he doesn't even know how likely it is. and while he offers to take a better look, its clear he really, really doesn't want to, so they all basically say

"right. so. we should probably be pretty careful tomorrow, huh?"

so when the usj attack starts, they have all might with his full 3 hours, mic, aizawa, and 13, w other heroes on standby, they hope, hope, that this wasn't very likely

but

they were wrong.

they were basically praying that the villains wouldn't make it into the usj

they've already altered the fate izuku saw by bringing allmight from the start, and present mic

but its not enough

the villains arrive and shigiraki is angry from the beginning, two unlisted teachers are waiting for them. shigiraki is childish but he's not stupid. he looks at the only child truly rattled, already protecting his friends, and he thinks he's found the cheater

they may not know the children's quirks, but present mic? 13? they know those quirks very well. mic is warped to the ruin zone, too unstable to freely use his quirk. kurogiri sends bakugo, kirishima and jirou after him

All Might is warped right to the nomu, kurogiri and shigiraki on standby for support. 13 has been taken out, aizawa is fighting through the villains to get to the nomu, to maybe offer some support to all might. he doesn't go after mic. he has to believe mic can handle himself or he'll break down where he stands.

izuku is warped to the shipwreck zone. alone. from a quick look at the future, the fates for anyone warped with him were grizly. he is confident in his choice to stop anyone from warping with him. he's ignoring the steadily climbing number of futures where he alone meets a terrible end

he's missing so much information on the villains every future he sees is hazy at best. all he knows is that if he doesn't get off this boat, aizawa gets hurt and that's not something he can abide

he busts the fuel tanks, letting the flammable liquid float across the water. he drops a match. in the chaos, he uses as much of ofa as he dares to jump to the shore. he steadfastly ignores the smell of burning meat.

he is one the opposite shoreline to canon, approaching the fight from the side, rather than the front. aizawa is hurt, battered from various villains, bleeding sluggishly from a headwound. he looks dazed

4 of shigiraki's fingers are wrapped around his neck

all might is at a standstill. if he strikes against the nomu, shigiraki will put his thumb down. he stands there and takes blow after blow, smile long gone from his face

izuku looks at the strings of Aizawa's fate. so many end here in so many ways.

he pushes his quirk into getting shigiraki away from his teacher. without direction, he's just baring against his quirk, begging it to give him a chance.

it does.

the bright flash of an explosive blonde draws the eyes of kurogiri and shigiraki. he uses the moment of distraction to launch towards his teacher, yanking him from shigiraki's hand. he loses a large chunk of skin for his trouble

all might defeats the nomu, but hes not looking good

bakugo, a limping mic, dazed aizawa, battered all might and bleeding izuku are the last stand, all praying the other students are ok.

iida did not escape

they have no backup coming.

shigiraki is fuming, but kurogiri can see the heroes are flagging. izuku is putting his all into his quirk, trying to give them all a lucky break

for the second time, it comes through

the rest of the students run towards them, joining them shoulder to shoulder. all of them are scared, some are hurt, but none of them are going to lay down and let shigiraki win. the villains escape

izuku falls

damages:

aizawa has a concussion + post-concussion syndrome. he has chronic migraines for the next year, and trouble with his long term memory for a few months

izuku is suffering from massive quirk overuse, his hands don't feel 'right' again for weeks

all might has lost only 20 minutes, but it's time he'd rather have

mic broke an ankle, but it's quickly fixed. Still, it aches from time to time

the other students had mild cuts/bruises and were left shaken

aizawa cries that night. a mix of the head injury, his hurt students, the look of fear he saw in their eyes. he holds mic and he sobs

izuku and his mother had a real relationship breakdown when she tore down his dream, even when izuku got a 'quirk' it never recovered. they don't talk. he doesn't tell her what happened. she doesn't find out.

izuku wanders the city the next day, unwilling to explain why he had no school today. he runs into mic who takes one look at this shaken student, outside and unprotected, and basically kidnaps the guy

izuku is forcibly dragged to the place mic/shinsou/aizawa share

when shinsou and aizawa find out izuku's mother basically just sent him off to school, not taking a day off work? they go full protective mode. shinsou wraps him up in the biggest blanket they own, grabs his own and forces izuku to play videogames with him on the couch. aizawa fumes in the kitchen over a cup of hot chocolate, mic fumes with him honestly

so, izukus kinda a mess, never tells his mother anything, etc, aizawa kidnapped him and he and shinsou played video games. izuku didn't go home that night, he just hopped on a train and rode it until it was time to go to UA

so when they get back everyone is just glad so see izuku alive tbh

so, sports festival! its a lot like canon

izuku doesn't use his fate quirk to change the future, but he does look at the possible futures and he sees that iida never makes it to the podium. he thinks for a second and makes a horrible realisation

the hero killer is in hosu

iida's brother is in hosu

iida’s brother is a hero

just before the event starts he finds aizawa and he's pale already

he gets out 'i need to see allmight' and aizawa gets a horrible feeling because last time this kid was worried they all almost died, so they run to find all might. seeing aizawa run around with a concerned look on his face? the stuff of nightmares at UA. everyone practically dives out of their way

izuku tells all might who swears a blue streak and pulls some strings to get extra heroes in hosu. izuku doesn't breathe a word to iida, because he just can't. not only does iida not know about the fate quirk, he can't scare him like that

bakugo knows something is wrong, but izuku won't breathe a word so he lets it lie

anyway, todoroki does his lil speech and izuku is honestly too burnt out to be intimidated, he sees his own death daily during just casual use of his quirk. boi ain't scared of much. bakugo gets pissy bc "FUCK YOU HALF AND HALF THAT'S MY RIVAL" and basically all of 1A is trying to claim izuku as their rival, either out of admiration or the desire to annoy bakugo

so izuku has to give the speech. which he's not happy ab because p e o p l e

and also because well,,, he's got no one at home to watch him

his speech basically goes along the lines of "we are here to fight fate. the odds are against us but we will win no matter what. not because it's easy, but because we have to. no matter what course we are in, we are all at this school fighting for a better future, for ourselves, our loved ones and the world. it doesn't matter if the odds aren't in your favour - the chance of any of us being here to see this moment is so small it may as well be impossible. its nothing to beat those odds again."

and everyone is like "owo how inspirational" but like anyone who knows him sees,,, layers

aizawa sees the bitterness about the USJ

all might sees izuku reducing his fight to be a hero as a quirk of fate, reducing his own involvement to 'it could have happened to anyone' when thats not true, because he is special

katsuki sees the bitterness that even though he had a good quirk, people tried to grind him into dust because he couldn't talk about it.

if inko was watching, she'd see how badly she betrayed her son

[luckyspike]

Eleventh Hour Admission - A Good Omens fanfiction

Hey guys remember when I talked about writing a hospital AU

i did it but no one is a doctor they’re all nurses

title refers to literally getting an admission during the eleventh hour of your shift, possibly a fate worse than death

CW: hospitals, medical procedures, automobile accidents, the joint commission

this will never be continued (probably) or posted to AO3, so enjoy it

--

Ari Fell liked it his job. That wasn’t sarcasm. He really, truly liked his job: he liked helping other people, he liked watching the sickest of the sick get well again and, when he couldn’t do that, he liked being there for them, trying to help them peacefully and painlessly move on. He liked meeting the families of his patients, he liked getting to know his patients when they could talk, and he liked that every day was a new day, something different and unknown and rife with opportunity to learn something new, or to help someone.

He liked his job, but he didn’t like 6am admissions.

Which, he had a feeling, was precisely why his ASCOM phone was going off at 5:55am. The caller ID informed him that it was Gabriel, the charge for tonight. He winced and the other nurse working the east pod with him tonight, Tracy, nodded sympathetically. He picked up the phone, and answered the call.

“Ari!” Yes. Yes, that was Gabriel. By the sound of it, he was in the cafeteria, likely having coffee with the other charges during their morning “bed meeting”. Ari had long since suspected that “bed meeting” was an excuse to get coffee and kvetch for the last hour of their shift, but he’d never really had the opportunity to find out, after he’d refused the offered charge position last year. 

“Gabe.” He stared gloomily at the empty room before him. It had been empty all night, after he’d packed the last patient off to IMC to make room for a possible admit. He had known it was too good to be true, known with a sort of icy certainty that a quiet night would never last, and soon enough there would be some kind of admit rolling up. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be an hour before shift change but, well … 

Maybe it would be an intubated pneumonia. Sedated, even. That would be nice.

“Got an ED trainwreck coming up. You heard them call that level 1 trauma, yeah?”

His heart dropped into his stomach, which dropped all the way to his Danskos. “Yes.”

“MVA, lady was flying and ran off the road into the orchard. Hit like three of the apple trees, Bee told me. Anyway, she’s a hot mess. I told them they could call report and bring her up any time.”

“I’ll need to stock the room -” 

Gabriel ignored him. “I’d love to help get her settled but we’re gonna be in bed meeting until 6:30 and then I have to do the board for day shift, but I’m sure you and Tracy’ll have it in hand. Holler if you need anything!” The line went dead.

“What do you need?” Tracy asked, already half out of the pod, aimed toward the supply room. The supply room, Ari knew, where the housekeeper usually hung around this time of the morning, surreptitiously drinking instant-brew coffee behind the Pyxis. 

Ari sighed. “A whole set-up. I don’t have report yet, but it’s a trauma. Probably need suction and the whole nine yards.” The ASCOM chirped again. “That’ll be report.”

“I’ll get some culture bottles and extra red tops as well.” He nodded to her as she vanished around the corner, and picked up the phone. “Ari Fell, ICU 4 East.”

“Ari!” He might have groaned. “It’s AJ!”

“Great. You’re calling report, I assume?”

“Well, yeah, but also I was just thinking I’m off for two days after this, and I don’t have any plans after my shift, was thinking about kegs and eggs at the place across the street. Care to join?”

“Somehow,” Ari said with rather more chill to his tone than usual, “I think I’ll be getting off my shift late.”

AJ laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’m bringing up the hot mess express.”

“Oh, boy.” He half-sighed, half-groaned. “I’m ready.”

“Right, patient’s still a Jane Doe but ID in her purse said Eve Smith, 22 years old, just waiting on family to confirm. Chaplain called her parents but no answer yet. Anyway, adult female, unrestrained driver in car-versus-tree MVA, GCS of 3 at the scene, flown here, went into SVT on the way but we’ve got her on amio now at 0.5mg/hr, pan-scan showed a left-sided pneumo -”

He rattled on, Ari jotting down notes as AJ moved through the systems. At least there was that: report from AJ was, usually, good, although he did like to linger on the gory details a little longer than necessary sometimes. If he was going to get a 6am admit, at least he’d have a good report to hand off to the next shift when he inevitably presented them with this hot disaster.

Tracy was back from the supply room, a suspicious damp spot on her scrub top. The navy blue shade hid the color of the spot, but if Ari had to guess, it would be the color of Svanka instant coffee. “Enough?” she asked, holding up two bags of supplies and a handful of lab tubes. He cupped a hand over the phone.

“Two straight poles and an IV pole,” he whispered. “And an EVD hookup for the monitor.”

“Gotcha.”

“Anyway,” AJ was saying, “she’s got a Foley, so you don’t have to worry about that, and, ah … Hm. Multiple lacerations and abrasions spread out all over, but no pressure wounds or anything otherwise. Right. Anything else you need?”

“Ah …” He looked at the report sheet, the notes about infusions and lines and testing left un-done, and shrugged. “You’re coming up with her, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t crump on the way up. I’ll probably be bagging her when we get there.”

He grimaced. “Wonderful. I’ll have RT ready. Otherwise, uh … no, I think I should be alright. Whenever you’re ready, we’ve got the room stocked.”

“Okay.” A little distantly, as if he’d moved away from the receiver somewhat, he heard AJ call, “Hey, you ready Erica? Time to move!” And then, back into the phone. “See you in ten.”

Ari ended the call, placed a quick SOS to respiratory for a vent delivery, and tossed the ASCOM onto the desk. One last chance to check his other patient - a post-op heart cath they’d sent for access site observation overnight before planned discharge in the morning - and then he headed into the empty room, fussing around with the lines and waiting. The vent was there, already pre-programmed with the settings, blue screen glowing in the dark room as it waited. Tracy returned with the required equipment, and rolled a pole across the room, around the end of the bed, toward Ari.

“Disaster?”

“Complete train wreck.”

She patted his shoulder. “My two are primped and propped and ready for seven. I can help all you like, dear.” She was always nice like that, calling him ‘dear’. He supposed it made sense, given that Tracy was old enough to be his mother, but he had noticed she never used the term for anybody else. He’d never asked her about it, though, mostly because he was sort of afraid that if he pointed it out, she would stop. 

“I think we just wait, now.”

“Fresh meat coming?” The gruff voice of the custodian drew their attention to the doorway. “I’m off duty at 6:30, so if you think I’ll be coming in here to clean up whatever mess you and those hideous interns make -”

“I’m sure your relief will have it well in-hand, Mr. S.” Tracy fluttered her eyelashes, and leaned across the bedside table, the front of her V-neck scrub top gaping open just enough to draw the housekeeper’s eyes. “You know, I was thinking of getting breakfast and coffee at The Pantry across the street after shift … been craving their waffles.” It was a statement, but it hung open like a question. Mr. S blushed a little.

“I … I’m a little hungry myself. Could go for a nice thick pat of scrapple.” He cleared his throat. At the far corner of the ICU, Ari heard the elevator - the direct-from-the-ED elevator - ding open, and the distant sound of alarms suffused through the early-morning bustle of the unit. 

“Think they might have two seats at the breakfast bar?”

“Maybe.” He smiled a little, and then remembered himself and glowered. “If an educated woman’ll deign to eat with me, that is.”

“Mm, I think I might be able to bring myself to slum it this morning.” She waved a hand. “Here she comes, move over, there’s a love.”

And come she did, in a wail of alarms and machines and, Ari was both relieved and exasperated to see, AJ, who had, as long as Ari had known him, struggled with the concept of ‘reserved’. “Heyo, told you so!” AJ was, as promised, bagging the patient, his arm snaked between various lines and tubes, the critically-ill human attached to them almost so covered as to be invisible. “Ari.”

Ari looked at the lines, horrified, and then to AJ. “What happened?”

“Huh? Oh. She came back from radiology like this. Didn’t have time to untangle everything.”

“Nothing’s even labeled!” He waved his hands at the mess. “You’ve got fluids and pressors and is that blood? What’s going where?”

“Ah. All in the subclavian, I’d imagine.” The redhead added, with scathing sarcasm, “Pretty sure I didn’t hook anything up to the EVD. Got a slide board?”

Tracy had, and she and Ari tucked it under the unconscious young woman as AJ and Erica rolled her to the side. “Hang on, let me check her back while she’s there.” There were abrasions, and lacerations, too many to count or list as part of a specific area, and then, between her shoulder blades, was an apple blossom. He plucked it off. “Really, you couldn’t clean that off?”

“Had bigger fish to fry. You done?” AJ raised an eyebrow at him, visible of the rims of his dark-tinted glasses, and Ari nodded. AJ and Erica let the woman down. “On three -” She was light enough, and with four of them they had her slid into the ICU bed in one smooth motion, still piled with a tangled mess of lines and tubes. 

“You really had to bring this mess up,” Ari griped, trying to decide where to start first. His eyes widened. “You left the EVD lying under her pillow!”

“It’s clamped!” AJ replied with an exasperated groan, gratefully flicking on the vent and plugging it into the ET tube.

Erica rolled her eyes. “You done here? I’ve got to get back to the department.”

“Be right behind you,” AJ said, waving the other nurse off. “I’m gonna help whiny here get organized.” He pulled the EVD from under the pillow, carefully threading the buritrol back through the other lines until the tubing lay neatly over the rest of the tangled mess. Carefully, he hung it on the straight pole, leveled it, and opened the clamp. Pink-tinged spinal fluid started to drip out. “Come on, hand me the cable, I’ll even hook it up for you.”

“How charitable,” Ari grumbled, tossing the cable behind the headboard and bouncing it off AJ’s shoulder. “Bastard.”

“Now, boys,” Tracy admonished from the foot of the bed, where she was busying herself with untangling the Foley and the SCDs*. “Let’s not argue.”

[* Are SCDs really that important in a fragile immediately post-trauma patient, you may ask. To which the answer is: only if the Joint Commission is there.]

“Oh, we’re just having a good time.” AJ was tracing the IV tubing containing the fluids down through the sheets. “Alright, so this is going to the peripheral, just untangle this -”

“You know,” Ari said, as he fiddled with the monitor and the arterial line, trying to check for level in spite of the level being, as always, conspicuously absent. “I’m sure you have patients back down in the department. You don’t have to help. I was just giving you a hard time.” He ended up seizing a length of blood pressure cuff tubing and eyeballing the line between the transducer and the phlebostatic axis.

“Well, what if I want to?” He snorted. “My only other patient down there is a kid with a head lac, and he’s on ice until the LET kicks in and we can do staples anyway. Which will be, fortunately, after shift change. He looks like a screamer.” He smirked at Ari, and passed the IV pump with all of the various central line tubing across the bed to him. “Never let it be said I’m not occasionally nice.”

“You’re not.” 

“Hey.”

At the foot of the bed, Tracy shook her head, tapping in the vital signs as she did. “Did anyone page the fellow to let them know she’s arrived?”

“Not yet,” they replied, in unison. And then exchanged a look, very briefly, before Ari looked away to busy himself with setting the monitor alarm parameters and AJ became absorbed in scribbling labels for the IV tubing. 

“I’ll do it, then.”

It was quiet for a minute while they worked, but after a time, Ari realized the white sheet atop the woman was clear, the lines were meticulously untangled and laid properly, with messily-written but legible labels. It would have done the Joint Commission proud. 

“Think she still needed cultures,” AJ muttered, grabbing the bottles off of the counter. “Where do you keep the tourniquets up here?”

“Here.” He set to checking orders, with the black-clad invader from the ED pulled the first set of cultures on the first stick. Ari frowned, impressed. “Nice one.”

“Eh, you get good at ‘em when you have to get a line in anything.”

“Seriously,” Ari said, more quietly now, noting that for the most part, all of the ED orders had been cleaned up, taken care of, and signed off before the patient had arrived, “you can go. Really, I’m grateful, but I can handle it and you don’t have to -”

“I know. But this is really selfish for me.” He tore the tip of the index finger off the fresh pair of gloves he’d donned, the better to palpate a vein in the opposite arm, where the splint would allow. “Don’t wanna eat breakfast alone.”

Ari stared at him for a minute. Blinked. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” AJ replied, tone flippant. “I think it counts as alcoholism if you drink alone too much. Have to keep up the facade of being a normal, healthy, functional adult.” He winked at Ari over the rim of his glasses. “You know how it goes, choir-boy.”

“I -” he glanced into the hallway, where Tracy and Mr. S were chatting. Mr. S had clocked out - was it past 6:30 already? And Tracy had her ASCOM in hand, although by the looks of it she hadn’t yet called. If she waited much longer, the fellow wouldn’t arrive with new orders until after shift change. He could have laughed. What an angel. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You want to get a pitcher?”

Aj laughed, although he was watching intently as the second bottle filled. “You know, I have two days off coming up - what the hell? Let’s do it.”