#i do really appreciate martha deciding to leave ten on her own though. first of all. qpp down. second of all

[aq2003]

series 3 is so frustrating because there is like a shining core of pure diamond underneath the problems . like conceptually it rocks so incredibly hard. but the problems

[shkspr]

hi. on your post where you may or may not have ended on 'moffat is either your angel or your devil' did you have maybe an elaboration on that somewhere that i could possibly hear about. i'm very much a capaldi era stan and i've never tried to defend the matt smith era even though it had delightful moments sometimes so i wonder where that puts me. i'd love to hear your perspective on moffat as a person with your political perspective. -nicole

hi ok sorry i took so long to respond to this but i dont think you know how LOADED this question is for me but i am so happy to elaborate on that for you. first a few grains of salt to flavor your understanding of the whole situation: a. im unfairly biased against moffat bc im a davies stan and a tennant stan; b. i still very much enjoy and appreciate moffat era who for many reasons; and c. i hate moffat on a personal level far more than i could ever hate his work.

the thing is that its all always gonna be a bit mixed up bc i have to say a bunch of seemingly contradictory things in a row. for instance, a few moffat episodes are some of my absolute favorites of the rtd era, AND the show went way downhill when moffat took over, AND the really good episodes he wrote during the rtd era contained the seeds of his destruction.

like i made that post about the empty child/the doctor dances and it holds true for blink and thats about it bc the girl in the fireplace and silence in the library/forest of the dead are good but not nearly on the same level, and despite the fact that i like them at least nominally, they are also great examples of everything i hate about moffat and how he approached dw as a whole.

basically. doctor who is about people. there are many things about moffats tenure as showrunner that i think are a step up from rtd era who! actual gay people, for one! but i think that can likely be attributed mostly to an evolving Society as opposed to something inherent to him and his work, seeing as rtd is literally gay, and the existence of queer characters in moffats work doesnt mean the existence of good queer characters (ill give him bill but thats it!)

i have a few Primary Grievances with moffat and how he ran dw. all of them are things that got better with capaldi, but didnt go away. they are as follows:

moffat projects his own god complex onto the doctor

rtd era who had a doctor with a god complex. you cant ever be the doctor and not have a god complex. the problem with moffats era specifically is that the god complex was constant and unrepentant and was seen as a fundamental personality trait of the doctor rather than a demon he has to fight. he has the Momence where you feel bad for him, the Momence where he shows his humility or whatever and youre reminded that he doesnt want to be the lonely god, but those are just. moments. in a story where the doctor thinks hes the main character. rtd era doctor was aware that he wasnt the main character. he had to be an authority sometimes and he had to be the loner and he had to be sad about it, but he ultimately understood that he was expendable in a narrative sense.

this is how you get lines like “were the thin fat gay married anglican marines, why would we need names as well?” from the same show that gave you the gut punch moment at the end of midnight when they realize that nobody asked the hostess for her name. and on the one hand, thats a small sticking point, but on the other hand, its just one small example of the simple disregard that moffat has for humanity.

incidentally, this is a huge part of why sherlock sucked so bad: moffats main characters are special bc theyre so much bigger and better than all the normal people, and thats his downfall as a showrunner. he thinks that his audience wants fucking sheldon cooper when what they want is people.

like, ok. think of how many fantastic rtd era eps are based in the scenario “what if the doctor wasnt there? what if he was just out of commission for a bit?” and how those eps are the heart of the show!! bc theyre about people being people!! the thing is that all of the rtd era companions would have died for the doctor but he understood and the story understood that it wasnt about him.

this is like. nine sending rose home to save her life and sacrifice his own vs clara literally metaphysically entwining her existence w the doctor. ten also sending rose with her family to save her life vs river being raised from infancy to be obsessed w the doctor and then falling in love w him. martha leaving bc she values herself enough to make that decision vs amy being treated like a piece of meat.

and this is simultaneously a great callback to when i said that moffats episodes during the rtd era sometimes had the same problems as his show running (bc girl in the fireplace reeks of this), and a great segue into the next grievance.

moffat hates women

he hates women so fucking much. g-d, does steven moffat ever hate women. holy shit, he hates women. especially normal human women who prioritize their normal human lives on an equal or higher level than the doctor. moffat hated rose bc she wasnt special by his standards. the empty child/the doctor dances is the nicest he ever treated her, and she really didnt do much in those eps beyond a fuck ton of flirting.

girl in the fireplace is another shining example of this. youve got rose (who once again has another man to keep her busy, bc moffat doesnt think shes good enough for the doctor) sidelined for no reason only to be saved by the doctor at the last second or whatever. and then youve got reinette, who is pretty and powerful and special!

its just. moffat thinks that the doctor is as shallow and selfish as he is. thats why he thinks the doctor would stay in one place with reinette and not with rose. bc moffat is shallow and sees himself in the doctor and doesnt think he should have to settle for someone boring and normal.

not to mention rose met the doctor as an adult and chose to stay with him whereas reinette is. hm. introduced to the doctor as a child and grows up obsessed with him.

does that sound familiar? it should! bc it is also true of amy and river. and all of them are treated as viable romantic pairings. bc the only women who deserve the doctor are the ones whose entire existence revolves around him. which includes clara as well.

genuinely i think that at least on some level, not even necessarily consciously, that bill was a lesbian in part bc capaldi was too old to appeal to mainstream shippers. like twelve/clara is still a thing but not as universally appealing as eleven/clara but i am just spitballing. but i think they weighed the pros and cons of appealing to the woke crowd over the het shippers and found that gay companion was more profitable. anyway the point is to segue into the next point, which is that moffat hates permanent consequences.

moffat hates permanent consequences

steven moffat does not know how to kill a character. honestly it feels like hes doing it on purpose after a certain point, like he knows he has this habit and hes trying to riff on it to meme his own shit, but it doesnt work. it isnt funny and it isnt harmless, its bad writing.

the end of the doctor dances is so poignant and so meaningful and so fucking good bc its just this once! everybody lives, just this once! and then he does p much the same thing in forest of the dead - this one i could forgive, bc i do think that preserving those peoples consciousnesses did something for the doctor as a character, it wasnt completely meaningless. but everything after that kinda was.

rory died so many times its like. get a hobby lol. amy died at least once iirc but it was all a dream or something. clara died and was erased from the doctors memory. river was in prison and also died. bill? died. all of them sugarcoated or undone or ignored by the narrative to the point of having effectively no impact on the story. the point of a major character death is that its supposed to have a point. and you could argue that a piece of art could be making a point with a pointless death, ie. to put perspective on it and remind you that bad shit just happens, but with moffat the underlying message is always “i can do whatever i want, nothing is permanent or has lasting impact ever.”

basically, with moffat, tragedy exists to be undone. and this was a really brilliant, really wonderful thing in the doctor dances specifically bc it was the doctor clearly having seen his fair share of tragedy that couldnt be helped, now looking on his One Win with pride and delight bc he doesnt get wins like this! and then moffat proceeded to give him the same win over and over and over and over. nobody is ever dead. nobody is ever unable to be saved. and if they are, really truly dead and/or gone, then thats okay bc moffat has decided that [insert mitigating factor here]*

*the mitigating factor is usually some sort of computerized database of souls.

i can hear the moffat stans falling over themselves to remind me that amy and rory definitely died, and they did - after a long and happy life together, they died of old age. i dont consider that a character death any more than any other character choosing to permanently leave the tardis.

and its not just character deaths either, its like, everything. the destruction of gallifrey? never mind lol! character development? scrapped! the same episode four times? lets give it a fifth try and hope nobody notices. bc he doesnt know how to not make the doctor either an omnipotent savior or a self-pitying failure.

it is in nature of doctor who, i believe, for the doctor to win most of the time. like, it wouldnt be a very good show if he didnt win most of the time. but it also wouldnt be a very good show if he won all of the time. my point is that moffats doctor wins too often, and when he doesnt win, it feels empty and hollow rather than genuinely humbling, and you know hes not gonna grow from it pretty much at all.

so like. again, i like all of doctor who i enjoy all of it very much. i just think that steven moffat is a bad show runner and a decent writer at times. and it is frustrating. and im not here to convince or convert anyone im just living my truth. thank you for listening.

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (2/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Thank you guys for reading the first part of this! I cannot say enough how much I appreciate all of you and how glad I am little things like this bring you guys joy! Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over these words. ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: One | Two 

-/-

“Emma, the couple at table two wants to talk to you, and the woman at table seven has a complaint about the quiche. Something about there being eggs in them.”

Emma groans and closes her laptop to look at Ashley, one of the new waitresses she hired this summer. She’s good, courteous, and she’s always here on time. Emma is going to hate to lose her for a few weeks when she has her baby, but come hell or high water, the girl is getting maternity leave even if Emma can’t manage more than three weeks without the owner getting involved and likely trying to fire all of them. She deserves months more than that, but Emma can’t change the system.

It’s a shit system, especially for moms.

“They don’t want eggs…in their quiche? Are you serious?”

“She’s vegan and claims she’s been misled.”

Emma rolls her eyes and stands from her chair. She pulls her jean shorts down, the frayed edges covering just a little more thigh, and unties the bottom of her button-down. She probably needs to start dressing up more for this job, but she can’t be bothered. She managed to wear her Blue Dog Tavern polo last week, so that seems like enough effort. “We have symbols on the menu to indicate dietary restrictions, but this isn’t really a restaurant for dietary restrictions beyond one or two items. I’ll deal with it. Thanks, Ashley.”

It’s Sunday morning, which is their second busiest time after Friday and Saturday nights, and the Blue Dog is packed. It’s all hands on deck this morning, but Emma was hoping to get some scheduling and produce ordering done in her office during it. But this is a restaurant, so of course there’s never any time for a breather when she needs it the most. She’ll finish all that later, she guesses, because she has a feeling neither of these conversations are going to be a short one.

And she’s right about that. The woman hating on the quiche pitches a fit and demands her money back before threatening to sue the place and, quite frankly, threatening to cut off Emma’s legs, and Emma has to resolve that without losing her cool when all she wants to do is punch jerks like that straight across the jaw. Then the couple at table two asks her to run through every item on the menu and whether or not everything is organically sourced.

They serve fried mac and cheese balls at ten in the morning and have kitschy, slightly tacky artwork nailed onto the darkly stained wood. If you eat outside on the patio, you get a nice view of people taking off a little more than they should while sunbathing on the surrounding beaches and docked boats. There’s also the occasional ferry that drives by and blows a loud horn that tourists seem to get a kick out of. Do they really think everything is organically sourced?

God, sometimes she really hates tourists.

This is a nice place, though. It’s not somewhere you go for fine dining, but their brunch is divine, it’s got a good atmosphere, and the new bartenders she’s hired this summer make better drinks than you can get at any reasonably priced bar in a ten-mile radius. She likes this little part of the island, and even though she hates tourists, they do fund her entire life. So maybe she hates them a little less than usual when the paychecks roll in.

Today is not a day where the paycheck is rolling in.

Emma notices some of the tables are a little slow, so she picks up the slack, getting drinks and refills and checking on meals. It keeps her on her feet for most of the morning and through the lunch rush, but when it’s over, she collapses on a stool at the end of the bar.

“Chip, can you get me a coffee?” she asks without looking up. “I don’t care what milk or creamer you put in it as long as you don’t bring it to me black. Though, I think I need the caffeine so badly that I’d drink it. I don’t know why I agreed to work the late dinner shift at The Oaks last night. I’m exhausted.”

When she doesn’t get a response, she looks up for Chip. He’s nowhere to be seen, and when she checks her phone schedule, she realizes it’s his break time. Of course it is.

“Lass, I don’t believe the barkeep is here anymore.”

“Yeah, it’s his break, but I can help you. What’s your poison?”

“The coffee you’re having.”

Emma nods and turns to look at the man talking to her, and if she wasn’t so tired, she would have recognized the voice a hell of a lot faster than she did. A lot of different accents pass through this place, but he’s the first British one in awhile. Also the first one to show up in her backyard. Or the Fishers’ backyard, technically, but she’s been renting it for long enough for it to feel like her own even if she’s changed very little of the furniture and decorations outside her bedroom.

Killian. She thinks that was his name. Honestly, she’s surprised she remembers anything because she was in such a rush to get to work that she didn’t have time to deal with all the people at her house. But he was unexpected and attractive – she’s not blind to attractive men no matter what Ruby and Mary Margaret think – and he threw her off for a minute. He looked familiar, but she has no idea why. There’s no way she would have met him before.

But she also doesn’t care. She’s got a gut feeling that she needs to watch out for him, that there’s something that’s not right, and him being at her job is proving that to her. What are the odds that he’d wander in a few days after meeting her when she’s pretty sure he’s never been here before?

Then again, maybe that’s why he’s familiar. It’s June. A lot of people come through here, and she’s not going to remember all their faces. Sometimes she does, though, in the back of her mind where vague, slightly blurry memories reside.

“Sure thing,” Emma sighs, standing from the stool. “Do you have a server?”

“Aye. Heather, I believe, but…”

“But she’s on her phone.” Emma shakes her head. “My boss’s niece. Not much I can do about it, but I’ll get you your coffee, a water, and take your order right away.”

He nods, going back to his own phone, and Emma takes that as her cue to get behind the bar and start making some coffee. She doesn’t usually work this machine, so it takes her a minute to get it right all while she feels Killian staring at her.

“Do you need any suggestions on the menu?” Emma asks as the coffee percolates.

“How are the salads?”

“I prefer things with more calories, but they’re good. Our vegetables are fresh, and I personally enjoy the strawberry poppyseed with chicken, but I know not everyone loves fruit in salads.” He hums behind her as his mug fills, and she grabs some milk from the fridge under the sink, turning to show him. “Milk okay?”

“It’s perfect, Swan.” She raises her brows, which he mirrors, until he cocks his head forward and his lips form an obnoxious little smirk. “On the nametag, love.”

“Now, what did I say about being your love?”

“That you’re not.”

“Exactly.” She finishes making his coffee and hands it over. He’s a customer, she reminds herself. She’s got to try to be a little bit nicer than she wants to be. “So, the salad? If you’re looking more toward the healthy options with protein, the grilled chicken breast on its own is fantastic. You get two sides, which you can find at the bottom of the menu.”

He nods and looks at the menu for half a second before looking up. “The salad would be great. Thank you.”

He picks up his mug, pointing it toward her, and Emma takes it as a dismissal so she can put his order in, and hopefully she can get Heather to do her damn job and serve him for the rest of the meal. She doesn’t like that he knows where she lives and works, and even though she doesn’t think Ariel and Eric spend time with shady people, something about him gives her weird vibes.

His face just looks so damn familiar, and usually she’s really good remembering faces. Huh.

And Emma is usually right about these things. He’s likely nothing more than a rich man looking for a break from life by renting out a large house on the island. He’ll spend a week or two, maybe a month depending on his work situation, here, sleep with as many women as he can, and then he’ll go, never thinking of Martha’s Vineyard again. And she’s pretty sure Ariel does something having to do with high-powered people over in London, so he fits the profile. God, she must have seen him before with Ariel or something. That has to be it.

But for now, he’s a customer, and since Heather seems to be completely checked out, Emma guesses she’s going to have to deal with him. After this morning, he won’t be the worst person she has to deal with all day, and since she’s working at The Oaks tonight, she imagines being treated like shit then will outshine all of this.

Why the hell did she decide to pick up so many shifts at The Oaks? It’s a stuffy country club where tips reflecting the price of the meal aren’t even guaranteed, but it’s extra money with a flexible schedule. She’s doing okay on the money front right now, though, and if she were sane, she’d take some time off and relax, maybe enjoy the beach or any of the hundreds of good restaurants around here.

She is obviously not sane.

-/-

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles as she strips out of her jean shorts, kicking them to the ground before unbuttoning her shirt. “I’m so tired of people.”

“I’m people,” Ruby says. “Nice bra, by the way. The girls look great.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she does glance down at her boobs and hike them up a bit. They do look great today. “Shut up.” Emma picks up the black dress she has to wear at the country club and slips it over her shoulders. “You know I’m not tired of you.”

“That’s because you’ve barely seen me.”

“Busy. I’m busy. I work way too much. Speaking of that, why the hell aren’t you at work?”

Ruby stands from her couch and grabs her name tag from the end table. “I’m in between shifts. Granny’s in charge downstairs. I have a five-second commute to work, unlike you. Why are you changing here again?”

“Don’t want to run into any of the people at my house.” Emma smooths her dress and turns to Ruby’s mirror to reapply lipstick and put on some mascara. She’s got to wash her hair tomorrow. It’s hanging by on a thread today, if that thread is a little greasy and has a hell of a lot of dry shampoo in it. “But don’t worry, tomorrow, I will be out of your hair as they will soon be out of mine.”

“You know I’m always fine with you being in my business. Mary Margaret and David are coming here for dinner tonight. Any chance you can slip away?”

Emma finishes another coat of mascara. “Can’t. Working until past closing and then heading straight home to sleep in my house of strangers.”

Ruby laughs, carefree as always, and for a moment, the jealousy stings. Ruby has plenty of her own shit going on, but she always handles it with such ease. She’s the most carefree person Emma has ever met, and Emma can’t imagine living like that without way too much alcohol in her system.

“I told you that you could stay with me this week. Have I ever said it’s batshit crazy that they come to visit and are okay with you still staying there? Because that is batshit crazy.”

Emma shrugs and pulls back to take in her appearance. This is as good as it’s going to get. She doesn’t think she’ll be using her looks to get her any tips tonight, which is a crying shame since that’s half the reason she took this job in the first place. She knows exactly how to charm some of the older men into giving her more money by flirting a little, and she’s not ashamed that she has to give away her dignity to do it. She had to hire a dinner-shift manager at the Blue Dog because she was doing the work of two people with the pay of one. Now she’s doing the work of five people with the pay and of one and half people, so obviously she’s winning at life.

“I’m never there, and they seem like good people. I think they’re just glad I actually maintain the place and am slowly but surely getting through some of the renovations.” Emma looks at her hair again and ties it up in a ponytail with the elastic from her wrist. “Any way you can make me a grilled cheese to go?”

“Only if you agree to go to a bar with all of us sometime in the next month.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever you want.”

God, she hopes Ruby doesn’t remember this conversation. The last thing she wants to do right now is go out with her friends and then end up sitting alone as they all make out with their partners and leave without telling Emma goodbye.

Actually, the last thing she wants to do is go to work again today, but here she goes.

-/-

Emma quietly turns the key in her front door. She saw that the kitchen light was still on from the street, and while the Fishers likely just forgot to turn it off, she doesn’t want to run the risk of seeing them tonight. It’s their last night here, so she only has to make it through one or two more awkward conversations before she has the house to herself. It’ll be just her and the creaky floors. She can collapse on the couch in her dress instead of having to walk all the way up the stairs and make it to her bedroom like a responsible adult.

In another world, Emma would like to own a house like this. It’s charming. That’s the best way to describe it. It’s two floors, three bedrooms, has bay windows and built-in bookshelves, and the cabinets in the kitchen are a light green. She likes that it’s not cookie cutter white all the way around like some of the nicer houses around here. It has character, and though there are a few things she’d change beyond the needed repairs she does for the Fishers, it’s got good bones. Plus, the location is fantastic, and the backyard is spacious. It allows Emma to spend time in the sun without being stuck on a crowded beach or near a busy dock.

But this is not another world, and Emma could never afford a house this close to the coastline. She’s got no idea why she still lives here. Well, that’s not true, she knows exactly why she still lives here, and it’d be possible for her to pick up and move inland toward Boston. She just…she can’t. She’s been here for ten years after leaving her last foster home in Brockton, and it’s been a comfortable reprieve. She’s got her friends and her job(s), and even though she’s got years of hospitality experience, there’s no guarantee someone like her with a GED can get a job this well-paying and accommodating somewhere else. Plus, her housing is almost free, and she really can’t pass that up.

It all comes back to the house, which she’s dreading going into now no matter how much she wants to collapse onto her bed.

(Or the couch. She really misses the couch. It’s the best for napping.)

Emma steps inside, avoiding the places that make the floor groan, but it’s impossible to dodge them all. She tenses, then hurries across the living room toward the stairs, only turning to the opening to the kitchen at the last minute.

“Holy fuck,” Emma gasps, dropping her purse. It hits the ground in a gentle thud, her keys spilling out and clacking along the floor.

“Didn’t mean to scare you there, Swan.”

Emma’s breath hitches as she realizes who it is sitting at her kitchen table.

Killian…whatever his last name is. She’s got no clue and doesn’t care to ask. What she does want to know is why he’s sitting here alone at two in the morning like a fucking serial killer.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He takes a sip of his drink, coffee she thinks from the smell, and leans back in the chair, the front legs tipping up with him. “Getting sober so I can drive home. Had two drinks with dinner, and it appears I’ve become a bit of a lightweight.”

“Don’t drink much then? I thought all you Brits liked going to the pub.”

He laughs, smile bright against the black of his stubble despite her poor attempt at his accent. “We do, but not so much me anymore. Trying to cut back.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She leans down to pick up her bag, grabbing her keys and tossing them back in. “I also get that we have Uber here. You might want to try that the next time you have a little too much to drink. You look like a murderer sitting in my kitchen like this.”

“It was two glasses of rum, nothing excessive. Wishing Ariel and Eric well before they leave in the morning.” He leans forward, the chair landing on all four legs, and downs the rest of his mug. “I don’t make a habit of drinking too much.”

“I don’t care what you do in your personal time. Just don’t make a mess in my house…or your friends’ house, I guess. And sleep on the couch if you want. There are blankets in the basket.”

She doesn’t know why she’s offering him the couch. She should be making him leave. Her heart is still leaping out of her chest from him scaring her, and even though this has been her home for years, she technically can’t ask him to leave. In reality, Ariel has probably offered him the couch already.

What a long day.

She wants it to be over.

“That’s surprisingly kind of you.”

Emma’s step falters, and while she was turning away from the man, she decides to turn back and narrow her eyes. What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I guess I’m full of surprises for men who don’t know me.”

“Just who are you then, Swan?” he asks, standing from the chair and putting his mug in the sink, turning the faucet on while never losing eye contact.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Perhaps I would.”

A shiver runs down Emma’s spine, but she ignores it and walks up the stairs. This is a weird week, one she doesn’t want to repeat, and the last thing she needs is to spend too much time with a man who thinks he can charm his way into anything with a few smooth words and a smile. She’s been around enough men like that in her lifetime, but it doesn’t matter with him. Tomorrow, he’ll be gone with Eric and Ariel, and she’ll be back to being able to walk around her house without pants whenever she wants.

Tomorrow, this weird as hell week will be over, and she’ll be back to normal…mostly.

-/-

-/-

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[singledarkshade]

A Mother's Advice

Summary: Rip lands in New York and makes a new friend. Crossover with Castle. Part Three of Rip Hunter – Unstuck in Time and Space. Sequel to Unstuck In Time And Place & Under The Sea Author’s Note: This is the first time I have ever written anything for Castle, so I'm not sure how well I did with them. Hope you enjoy.                                 ********************************************* Rip blinked in the daylight as he opened his eyes after his latest exit from wherever he went during his time/universe jumps.

“Gideon?” he called.

“I’m here, Captain,” she assured, appearing at his side, “Are you alright?”

He shrugged, “Well, I’m conscious and no one is pointing a gun at my head, so this is one of my better landings. Any idea where we are?”

Gideon smiled at him, “From the buildings and vehicles I can see I would say late 20th Century, possibly early 21st Century,” she reported before adding, “I see a so called ‘smart-phone’ so it would be 21st Century. By our history of course.”

“Of course,” he chuckled.

Rip pulled himself to a stand, relieved he was relatively clean and started towards the traffic.

“It appears that we are in New York,” Gideon noted, as they left the alley.

Aware how talking to himself would be perceived, as only he could see Gideon, he simply nodded.

Walking through the streets Rip hoped he would sense the shard in some way otherwise he was going to be stuck here. He grimaced at how warm it was, so slipped off his coat and jacket as he walked realising from the way the people around him were dressed it was the middle of summer.

A woman’s cry from behind him made Rip turn, across the road he saw a mature red-haired woman fighting with a man who was trying to steal her handbag. Without thought Rip ran, tackling the man to the ground. Rolling to his feet he glanced to his side seeing the woman holding onto her bag, anger covering her face. Rip heard her shouting to someone, he assumed a policeman but didn’t get a chance to focus on it as the thief charged at him.

Rip dodged, wincing when the man managed to catch him across his arm with the knife he pulled from his jacket. Rip kicked, hitting the other man at the back of his knee before he punched him knocking the other man to the ground. Two police officers arrived just as the thief hit the ground, Rip stepped back wrapping his hand around his cut arm.

“My dear boy,” the woman who he had helped cried, “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, Ma’am,” Rip said softly.

She gave him a disapproving look, “So that isn’t blood staining your shirt?”

Rip winced, he couldn’t stick around otherwise the fact he had absolutely no documents would be discovered.

“Officer Jenkins,” the woman turned, “Do you have any questions for my friend here?”

The man shook his head, “No Ms Rodgers, we saw what happened. Everything he did was to help you and then in self-defence.”

“Then I am going to take him to get his arm fixed,” she said, “And get him some lunch. If you could let my son know I’m fine since I’m sure you will tell him what happened.”

The man chuckled, “Detective Beckett would have my hide if I didn’t.”

She laughed before resting her hand on Rip’s arm and guiding him forward.

  After introducing herself as Martha Rodgers she swept him into the building. In all honesty Rip wasn’t sure why he’d let this woman bring him to this, very nice, apartment. But she had the kind of personality that was very like his own mother and it was automatic imperative that he do as she ordered.

 “Now I suppose I should ask your name,” she said, “So I know who I’m thanking.”

“Rip Hunter,” he introduced himself.

Martha took a hold of his arm to clean it and she gave him a piercing look, “And is that what your mother called you?”

He winced slightly and not from the antiseptic she was using on his arm, “Michael,” he said softly.

“Well, Michael that was an extremely brave, if completely stupid thing to do,” Martha told him as she bandaged his arm, “But I am grateful for your help. Now, lunch.”

“You really don’t have to feed me, Ma’am,” Rip said.

“Martha,” she reminded him.

Rip gave her a quick smile, “Martha,” he continued, “I should leave you in peace.”

“Michael,” she patted his cheek, “Sit down and relax while I make you lunch.”

Realising that she was not going to take no for an answer, Rip nodding in concession, “Thank you, Martha. I appreciate your hospitality.”

With a smile she bustled him over to what looked like an office of some kind telling him to make himself comfortable and leaving him.

  Gideon studied the framed book covers sitting around the room her Captain was waiting in. She was enjoying watching Miss Martha Rogers manoeuvre Rip in the same way only Mary Xavier could.

“Interesting,” Rip murmured as he read one of the covers, “It appears our host is acquainted with a mystery novelist.”

She smiled at him, glancing through to where the woman in question was making lunch. Turning back to her Captain, Gideon watched him move around the room reading each cover. She could see a sadness cover his face which confused her.

“Something wrong, Captain?” she asked concerned.

Letting out a long sigh, Rip shrugged, “Just thinking how much I miss Mother. Since we destroyed the Vanishing Point, I’ll never be able to see her again.”

“You should never say never, Captain,” Gideon reminded him.

He gave her a quick smile turning when Martha swept into the room once more.

“These are very interesting,” Rip said, “I’m assuming you know the author?”

Martha gave a proud smile, “That would be my son, Richard. Don’t ever tell him I said so, because he would be insufferable, but I am so proud of how well he’s done for himself.”

Rip chuckled softly, “I’ve never read any of his books unfortunately, I’ve never really had time to read for pleasure.”

“That sounds like you need to stop and start taking time for do so, kiddo,” Martha told him, “We have several copies of Richard’s books here,” she told him, “I know he won’t mind you taking one of them. Oh, back in a minute.”

Gideon watched Rip look at the books on the bookshelf.

“Do you know if we have Richard Castle in our Universe?” Rip asked.

“Not that I am aware of, Captain,” Gideon told him.

Rip sighed, “We have about ten minutes, I’ll be able to read at least one of the books.”

Gideon nodded, “True but then you do not wish to start a series of books you will not be able to finish.”

“Another upside of jumping universes,” Rip grimaced, before he looked over to the woman making him lunch, “I am meeting some interesting people though.”

                                  *********************************************

  Martha watched her guest wander around Richard’s office studying the book jackets. She could see he was talking to himself which some people might be concerned about, but one thing Martha was good at was reading people. Her new friend was an odd duck, she could see the sadness in his eyes and the fact he was a lost soul searching for a place.

Martha had a soft spot for lost souls, she always had. Whenever she worked, she gravitated to the young actors who needed some guidance or just a friend to bolster their confidence.

The timer going off brought her out of her thoughts, Martha quickly fixed them some lunch.

“Michael,” she called, “Come and get something to eat.”

He turned and the ghost of a smile touched his lips as he came to the table, taking his seat.

“They are just leftovers but from one of the best restaurants in town,” Martha told him, “You protected me, I wouldn’t try to poison you after that.”

“And I appreciate that,” Michael replied, showing a wisp of a sense of humour.

They started to eat, and Martha decide to try to find out more about her guest.

“So, Michael,” she said, “What do you do?”

He hesitated, “I suppose the best way you could describe it is I was in law enforcement.”

“Was?”

Michael grimaced, “Currently I’m unemployed.”

Martha stared at him thoughtfully, “Now, that felt like you were trying to persuade yourself of something.”

He stared at her worriedly.

“I’m an actress,” she laughed, “Reading people is something I do. So, kiddo, once more with feeling?”

  Rip was surprised by how astute Martha was, that she could read him so well. The only people in his life who’d been able to so in this way had been his mother and Druce.

“What would you say,” Rip started seeing Gideon frown worriedly, “If I told you I used to travel through time, protecting the timeline from people who tried to change it and, due to a small incident with a Time Demon, I am currently bouncing through different dimensions trying to get home.”

Martha stared at him finally answering, “You either have an incredible imagination, you’re delusional or…” she hesitated, “You’re an even more interesting person than I thought.”

“I’m trying to get home,” Rip continued, “To someone I care a great deal for. In fact, she’s the only one I have left in my life.”

“Captain,” Gideon said softly with affection.

Martha reached out and squeezed his hand, “Well I hope you manage to get back to her.”

“It may take some time, but I will,” Rip told her, glancing at Gideon again with a small smile.

They finished their lunch, chatting generally. Rip found himself quite taken by Martha, she was funny and warm with stories that he found fascinating. She was so different from his mother in some ways but so like her in others.

He finished his lunch, including a large slice of strawberry cheesecake and was about to insist on cleaning up when the door to the apartment opened.

“Mother,” the man Rip had seen on the dust jackets appeared, worry covering his face as a brunette woman followed him, “We heard you were mugged. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Richard,” Martha waved away their concern, “I was helped by my new friend, Rip.”

“Rip?” the woman asked turning to look at him.

Feeling like he was suddenly under a microscope, Rip pulled on all his training not to squirm under the gaze.

“Katherine,” Martha said breezily, “Mr Hunter is not a criminal, in fact he saved me from a mugger. So, I invited him for lunch.”

“Mother…” Richard frowned at her.

“Now, Richard I’m sure you two have something else to do with your time,” Martha waved him away.

Before either of them could reply a phone began to ring. The woman, Katherine, pulled out her phone, “Beckett?”

She frowned confused hitting the speaker button, “Say that again?”

“There’s some kind of glowing bit of glass,” a man’s voice came over the speaker, “I know you and Castle like the weird ones, Beckett. And it’s a few blocks from Castle’s apartment at Ernie’s Cake Shop.”

Rip forced himself not to react hearing the time core shard was close by.

“We’ll be there in a few, Espo,” Katherine replied, hanging up she turned to Martha questioningly.

Martha rolled her eyes, “I am having a very enjoyable lunch with my new friend. Both of you go away.”

Rip waited, staying silent as Richard moved to his mother and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“We won’t be long, mother,” he stated, “And my phone is on,”

His host’s son stared at Rip hard before he left.

“He’s a little overprotective of me,” Martha chuckled once the door closed.

Rip chuckled softly before standing, “Martha, you have been so gracious, and it has been wonderful to meet you but I’m afraid I need to go.”

She nodded, “Whatever they’re investigating is something connected to you.”

“Yes,” Rip said slowly, amazed by how intuitive this woman was, “Thank you so much.”

Martha gave him a knowing smile, “And you, my dear Michael. I can see how much you miss being called by that name.”

“I don’t miss the name,” Rip told her, “Only person who called me it.”

Martha nodded in understanding, taking his face in her hands she pulled him down and pressed a soft motherly kiss on his forehead, “I want you to remember one thing, Michael, I know she loves and misses you as much as you miss her. Never forget that.”

Rip smiled at her unable to speak for the moment.

“Now,” Martha said, “To get to Ernie’s…”

  Rip moved slowly along the street, he could see the police surrounding the shard. Thankfully they hadn’t covered it yet, but they had set up a perimeter surrounding the shard.

“What are you thinking, Captain?” Gideon asked from his side.

“Fire escape,” he said softly, his eyes continuing to track the movement of the police. He spotted Katherine and Richard talking to two men Rip assumed were Detectives.

“It is quite a long drop,” Gideon frowned, “You could be injured and, if you miss then you would not be able to reach the shard.”

Rip rolled his eyes at her, “Nice to know you have such faith in me, Gideon.”

“I am merely concerned for you,” Gideon replied sweetly, “However I can calculate the angles, height and how far you need to jump if you desire.”

Shaking his head Rip walked slowly to find a way up to the fire escape above the shard, he knew moving too fast would attract attention.

One thing Rip knew how to do was move discreetly through the world, a ghost leaving no footprint. He wondered briefly if there was anything that reminded people he’d existed back in his own universe before shaking the thought away.

“Rip,” Gideon’s voice made him turn to find her motioning him to an alleyway, “I believe what we are looking for is here.”

It took him barely three minutes to get into position, glancing down at the police he caught a flash of red hair and saw Martha standing with her son.

She looked up and gave him a nod the moment she saw him. Rip smiled at her and waved goodbye before he jumped.

Voices surrounded him as he flew through the air. The moment he hit the ground, his hand touched the shard and the light surrounded him once more.

[pennywaltzy]

Living In A City Of Death (COMPLETE)

Okay. So this was a WHolock fic I wrote in 2012 and was asked to continue but just...never had inspiration for. Now that I have another Sherlock Zombie AU under my belt and my investment in both shows has grown, I decided I’d finish this once and for all. I hope you all enjoy!

Living In A City Of Death - London belonged to the dead now. Will Amy’s good friend come save them, or is all hope lost for the current residents of 221B Baker Street? And what happens next?

READ CHAPTER 1 | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME?

London belonged to the dead. It was Halloween now, a day that normally would have been spent with children going from door to door asking for candy, but now involved those left in the city trying to fend for their very lives.

The current occupants of 221B Baker Street had been in the place for a week. It wasn’t just Sherlock, John and Mrs. Hudson there. There were three others, a married couple named Rory and Amy Williams and an enigmatic woman named River Song. John had met them on his last run for supplies. They’d had supplies of their own, and weapons as well, and that was the only reason he’d let them come with him. Sherlock hadn’t liked the decision, but Mrs. Hudson had pleaded their case so they’d been allowed to stay.

Rory and River had guns and other weaponry which Sherlock and John did not. They had some weaponry that didn’t even appear to be of this era, some futuristic things that River assured him would work better than traditional guns and ammunition. They’d had their first chance to see how it worked when three of the zombies approached the home. Rory went to the second floor, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger. A laser blast went out, one two three, and took each of them out. Only then did Sherlock accept them there.

Well, rather, he accepted Rory and River. Amy could shoot the gun too, and did, but there were arguments between the three of them in heated whispers of a mysterious Doctor who would come save them. Apparently, Rory and River had given up on him coming and Amy still held out hope. Those arguments grated on everyone’s nerves, and today, a week after they were all holed up together, it came to a head.

“He’s not coming,” Rory said quietly, his voice just slightly above a whisper. “It’s been over a week. If he hasn’t shown up by now he’s never coming, or else we’ll be dead before he gets here.”

“He has to, Rory. We’re his friends. He wouldn’t just leave us to this fate.” She wasn’t looking at her husband, instead training her eyes outside to look at the door. “You have to have faith.”

“You know I don’t have faith,” he replied. Then he dropped his voice lower, but Sherlock could still hear him. “You know when we were at the hotel all I saw were exits. If I’d had faith in anything, I would have had a room. That thing would have come after me.”

“But you believe in him,” she said.

“Not anymore,” he said.

“He’ll come. I know it.” Rory sighed and went back to River. Sherlock watched. The relationship between the three of them was strange. It was more familial than anything else, as though Amy and Rory were the parental units and River was their child. It couldn’t possibly be that way, but that was how they acted nonetheless.

After Rory had left, Sherlock went to Amy. “Your friend isn’t coming. You might as well face it. Humanity is lost.”

“He’s coming,” she replied. “And what would you know? You don’t even know him.”

“Your friend is apparently very special. He has ways of traveling that are unusual, and he has a penchant for fixing problems. If he really considered this a fixable problem he’d have arrived by now. He’s turned his back on you.”

He felt the slap before he’d registered that she’d done it. He blinked once, then looked at her. She was glaring at him, and he stared back. “He’ll come.”

“He won’t. Holding onto this fantasy will cause everyone harm.” He turned his back and went back to where he’d been sitting. He had chosen to sit by the other window and keep a lookout on the street, so he was looking when it happened. A small horde of the zombies came from the street on his left. “Do you see them?” he asked Amy.

“I see them,” she said with a nod, getting the laser gun. He also had a more futuristic weapon, one that sent out pulses of energy which seemed to blast the zombies to bits. They both took aim and began to fire. Just when they got done with the first group a second appeared. “There’s so many,” she replied.

“Just make sure you get them all,” he said. They both kept firing, even as Rory, River, and John joined them. Suddenly they heard a sound on the roof, and both Amy and Sherlock paused in their shooting for a moment. “What is that?” he asked.

“It’s my friend,” Amy said with a grin.

“It could be more of them,” John said. “We’ve locked the windows on the side as well as the roof access.”

“Take this and check the roof,” Sherlock said, handing John a smaller energy weapon.

“I’ll go with you,” River said, pulling out her own personal weapon. John nodded and the two left. Amy and Sherlock went back to shooting the zombies as they got in their line of sight, and Rory paced. Finally, ten minutes later not two but three people came back from the roof: River, John and a man Sherlock didn’t recognize. But Amy and Rory did, as Amy went away from the window and hugged him tightly. “It’s her friend,” River said to Sherlock as he watched.

“I am terribly terribly sorry,” he replied. “I had to go get Martha and Mickey and Sarah Jane and Jo and as many of my old companions as I could, as well as their families and in a few cases close friends who’d managed to hang on. Not all of them survived, but most did. They’re in the TARDIS, and I’m going to take them someplace safe while I fix this.”

“Why wait so long for us?” Rory asked. “There’s been an outbreak for two weeks.”

“I knew if anyone could survive it would be the both of you, and if history books had changed because of this River would have found you eventually,” the Doctor replied. He looked over at John and Sherlock. “I have room, for the both of you.”

“Somewhere safe?” John asked. The Doctor nodded. “We have a third person to bring, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Bring her as well,” the Doctor said. “Anyone who helped keep my friends safe is more than welcome.”

“Excellent,” John said. “Perhaps you should explain it all to Sherlock while I go fetch her.”

“Very well,” the Doctor said. He turned to Sherlock. “I’m an alien, from the planet Gallifrey. I travel through space and time. I’ve known Amy and Rory for a long time, and they’ll vouch for me. My TARDIS is on the roof.”

Sherlock’s mind was reeling. He didn’t want to believe the man, but Amy and Rory seemed to not blink an eye, and whatever it was John had seen, he’d probably believed the same story. And if this man could take them to safety… “I’m not sure if I believe you, but I’ll go with you,” he replied as John came into the room with Mrs. Hudson.

“Excellent! Gather your things. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to bring the weapons, though I do rather detest guns. How did you get them, anyway?”

“River,” Rory and Amy chorused.

Their friend turned to River, who gave him a beatific smile. “I had to make sure my family was safe. When the history books started changing and I realized they were living in the epicenter I brought them weaponry. I would have taken them somewhere safe but my vortex manipulator stopped working and I haven’t been able to fix it.”

“But guns?” he asked, his face pained.

“How else are you supposed to take care of zombies from a distance?” she said, patting his cheek. “All right, I suppose we get going. I bet that horde of zombies outside the door has continued to grow.”

“Very well. Up to the roof!” the Doctor said. The seven of them went up into the attic, then up to the roof. Sherlock was surprised to see a blue police phone booth on the roof, and when the Doctor got towards it he snapped his fingers and the door opened. He stepped inside and Amy, Rory and River followed. John, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson lingered outside for a moment before John straightened his shoulders and walked in. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock followed.

It was much larger inside than the outside suggested. Sherlock looked around, surprised. And then the Doctor came up to him and he turned his attention to the console. There were other people there that he didn’t recognize, and neither did the Williams family or River. The Doctor began making introductions as he fiddled with the controls. Martha Smith-Jones, Mickey Smith, Jo Grant, Sarah Jane Smith…the children and teenagers he didn’t remember because there were so many. The Doctor told Amy to start showing them to rooms so they could get comfortable, and while John and Mrs. Hudson went with her Sherlock stayed. Soon it was just him and the Doctor. “Don’t you want to get comfortable?” the Doctor asked him after a moment.

“I want to help fix the problem,” he said.

The Doctor grinned at him. “The great Sherlock Holmes, always looking for a mystery to solve. All right, you can help solve the problem. I definitely appreciate the help. Very well, let’s go to the study and begin sorting things out and figure out just where it all went haywire, and if there’s anything we can do to fix things.”

Sherlock nodded. “Very well.”

“Let’s get started then,” he replied. “To the study!” And with that, the Doctor left the console room with Sherlock close behind. Sherlock hoped that they could find a solution and actually fix things, or else all of humanity would be lost.

CHAPTER 2

[enemyofperfect]

favorite female & nb characters!

All right, last week @maculategiraffe​ tagged me for this delightful meme, and now I’m finally getting around to it!  I’m going to follow her excellent example in not merely listing but also rhapsodizing somewhat about each of my faves.

Rules:  Name your top ten favorite female or nonbinary characters from different fandoms.  Tag ten people.

I think Joss Carter held first place on my list for a similar meme a while back, but I can’t help it, I still love her.  She didn’t bend.  Her entire life story was of repeatedly colliding with unjust and broken systems, from the US Army to her own marriage, and refusing to accept their failings.  Of course, since this was Person of Interest, her workarounds weren’t always legal, but Taraji P Henson always made me believe that it was in service of some higher standard, some blazing better world that was yet to be.  She always snarked with the best of them, too.

Kate Reed of the short-lived USA series Fairly Legal was just as tenacious but far less organized, a female counterpart to countless male protagonists who break every rule and social norm, but with a disarming smile, so of course they end up winning in the end.  She starts the series out grieving, half-divorced, and having just launched on a major career shift, but she's as undaunted by her own pain as she is by any other obstacle, determined to slip past or scrabble over top it in order to find the happy ending she knows is almost within reach, and that’s what makes her unforgettable, for me.

Ann Leckie’s Imperial Radch trilogy is populated almost entirely by nonbinary characters, most of whom are human, but as much as I love Breq’s stoic relentless Breqness, for this meme I’m going to list Mercy of Kalr, the spaceship who saw Breq and wanted her for a captain -- even though no one asks ships their opinions about these things -- and combines all of the virtues of ships (polite, restrained, tactically passive-aggressive) and, ultimately, of citizens as well.  My favorite cinnamon roll ever to fly through space, by far.

Annalise Keating of How to Get Away with Murder is a terrible person, and I love her desperately.  She’s manipulative, compassionate, vulnerable, implacable.  She juggles a dozen disasters at any given time and keeps more of them up in the air than anyone else ever could.  She gets to ignore repeated warnings and give voice to her outrage and, despite being a black woman in America, still win.  She is the center about which the show revolves and without which it could not possibly exist.  And it doesn’t hurt any that she’s also proof that Viola Davis deserves every damn award.

Eleanor Shellstrop is an asshole, plain and simple.  She might or might not be the first to admit it, but if she wasn’t, she would defiantly agree just to make sure the first person realized that noticing that pretty obvious fact didn’t give them any kind of hold over her.  She’s selfish.  The only reason she even tries to change is to avoid punishment.  But she does change.  I love her because she loves herself, and because Kristen Bell is kind of a genius, and because of the genuinely beautiful things The Good Place says through her progress.  She’s fantastic.

Do I even need to speak in praise of Joan Watson?  She, along with a refreshingly empathetic iteration of Sherlock Holmes, is what makes Elementary Elementary.  I love that she’s both principled and pragmatic, that she’s compassionate and dispassionate at once.  I love how many times she’s reinvented herself, and how driven she is, no matter what she does, to do it well.  I admit I’m a little confused about why the show has decided to give her an adoption storyline, but at the same time, I love every single thing about it so far.  I love that the life she lives is exactly her own.

Faris Nallaneen is the protagonist of Caroline Stevermer’s novel A College of Magics, and she breaks my heart.  Heir to a small Ruritanian polity and sent by her wicked uncle to the titular college, she is sardonic, iron-willed, passionately devoted to her people -- and living in a world that is so much bigger and more terrible than she is, and which she will fight with everything she has in her to save what is hers to defend.  Looking only at its outline, her story could have easily been silly or slight.  It is neither of those things, and she’s strong enough to bear it -- even though, at the same time, she is so young.

Sulla Pinsky of O Human Star is even younger, and as a humanoid robot in a world whose human population is still adjusting to the existence of artificial intelligence, she’s got her own share of struggles.  Making friends after a life lived in secret, for example.  Or deciding which secrets to keep for fear of being rejected, and which to share so that she can be loved as who she really is.  She’s by turns enthusiastic and shy, skittish and utterly brave.  She has that wisdom of youth that sees what is wrong in the world and meets it with unflagging hope.  I love her so much.

Kel Cheris of Yoon Ha Lee’s Machineries of Empire series... what do I even say about Cheris?  Absurdly brave, but that’s Kel for you.  Absolutely brilliant at math, but it’s not like the story gives concrete examples, or like I could have appreciated them if it had.  She’s kind to robot servitors.  She’s kind to the ghost that takes up residence in her mind.  I could say that she does her best in a world of terrible cruelties, and that’s true, but I also feel like that’s missing the point in some strange way; hers isn’t really the kind of story you can tie up in an inspirational bow.  But I love that she is kind.

And then there’s Murderbot, of The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells, who is probably the most relatable of any of these characters.  I’ve only read the first novella so far, but Murderbot leaves a hell of an impression:  part bot, part organic, and 100% socially anxious media fan.  Why do these humans keep wanting to talk?  Why does plot keep getting in the way of binge watching the best drama of all time, Sanctuary Moon?  Murderbot is intensely awkward, chronically cranky, occasionally heroic, and really doesn’t want you to take that last as an excuse to try and interact.  I could not ask for more in a protagonist.

I’m going to skip the tagging step because I’ve worn myself out with how much I love all of these amazing fictional people, but please, if you’d like to play, consider yourself tagged!  I love hearing about people’s faves!

[englishchinesetranslations]

Former US President Barack Obama is now in severe legal jeopardy, because the Russiagate investigation has turned 180 degrees; and he, instead of the current President, Donald Trump, is in its cross-hairs.

The biggest crime that a US President can commit is to try to defeat American democracy (the Constitutional functioning of the US Government) itself, either by working with foreign powers to take it over, or else by working internally within America to sabotage democracy for his or her own personal reasons. Either way, it’s treason (crime that is intended to, and does, endanger the continued functioning of the Constitution itself*), and Mr. Obama is now being actively investigated, as possibly having done this. The Russiagate investigation, which had formerly focused against the current US President, has reversed direction and now targets the prior President. Although he, of course, cannot be removed from office (since he is no longer in office), he is liable under criminal laws, the same as any other American would be, if he committed any crime while he was in office.

A December 17th order by the FISA (Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act) Court severely condemned the performance by the FBI under Obama, for having obtained, on 19 October 2016 (even prior to the US Presidential election), from that Court, under false pretenses, an authorization for the FBI to commence investigating Donald Trump’s Presidential campaign, as being possibly in collusion with Russia’s Government. The Court’s ruling said:

In order to appreciate the seriousness of that misconduct and its implications, it is useful to understand certain procedural and substantive requirements that apply to the government’s conduct of electronic surveillance for foreign intelligence purposes. Title I of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA ), codified as amended at 50 USC. 1801-1813, governs such electronic surveillance. It requires the government to apply for and receive an order from the FISC approving a proposed electronic surveillance. When deciding whether to grant such an application, a FISC judge must determine among other things, whether it provides probable cause to believe that the proposed surveillance target is a “foreign power” or an agent a foreign power. …

The government has a heightened duty of candor to the FISC in ex parte proceedings, that is, ones in which the government does not face an adverse party, such as proceedings on electronic surveillance applications. The FISC expects the government to comply with its heightened duty of candor in ex parte proceedings at all times. Candor is fundamental to this Court’s effective operation. …

On December 9, 2019, the government filed, with the FISC, public and classified versions of the OIG Report. … It documents troubling instances in which FBI personnel provided information to NSD[National Security Division of the Department of Justice] which was unsupported or contradicted by information in their possession. It also describes several instances in which FBI personnel withheld from NSD information in their possession which was detrimental to their case for believing that Mr. [Carter] Page was acting as an agent of a foreign power. …

On December 18th, Martha McCallum, of Fox News, interviewed US Attorney General Bill Barr, and asked him (at 7:00 in the video) how high up in the FBI the blame for this (possible treason) goes:

MACCALLUM: Were you surprised that he [Obama’s FBI Director James Comey] seemed to give himself such a distance from the entire operation?

“JAMES COMEY: As the director sitting on top of an organization of 38,000 people you can’t run an investigation that’s seven layers below you. You have to leave it to the career professionals to do.”

MACCALLUM: Do you believe that?

BARR: No, I think that the — one of the problems with what happened was precisely that they pulled the investigation up to the executive floors, and it was run and bird dogged by a very small group of very high level officials. And the idea that this was seven layers below him is simply not true.

The current (Trump) A.G. there called the former (Obama) FBI Director a liar on that.

If Comey gets heat for this possibly lie-based FBI investigation of the US Presidential nominee from the opposite Party of the sitting US President (Comey’s own boss, Obama), then protecting himself could become Comey’s top motivation; and, in that condition, protecting his former boss might become only a secondary concern for him.

Moreover, as was first publicly reported by Nick Falco in a tweet on 5 June 2018 (which tweet was removed by Twitter but fortunately not before someone had copied it to a web archive), the FBI had been investigating the Trump campaign starting no later than 7 October 2015. An outside private contractor, Stefan Halper, was hired in Britain for this, perhaps in order to get around laws prohibiting the US Government from doing it. (This was ‘foreign intelligence’ work, after all. But was it really? That’s now being investigated.) The Office of Net Assessment (ONA) “through the Pentagon’s Washington Headquarters Services, awarded him contracts from 2012 to 2016 to write four studies encompassing relations among the US, Russia, China and India”. Though Halper actually did no such studies for the Pentagon, he instead functioned as a paid FBI informant (and it’s not yet clear whether that money came from the Pentagon, which spends trillions of dollars that are off-the-books and untraceable), and at some point Trump’s campaign became a target of Halper’s investigation. This investigation was nominally to examine “The Russia-China Relationship: The impact on US Security interests.” Allegedly, George Papadopoulos said that “Halper insinuated to him that Russia was helping the Trump campaign”, and Papadopoulos was shocked at Halper’s saying this. Probably because so much money at the Pentagon is untraceable, some of the crucial documentation on this investigation might never be found. For example, the Defense Department’s Inspector General’s 2 July 2019 report to the US Senate said “ONA personnel could not provide us any evidence that Professor Halper visited any of these locations, established an advisory group, or met with any of the specific people listed in the statement of work.” It seems that the Pentagon-contracted work was a cover-story, like pizza parlors have been for some Mafia operations. But, anyway, this is how America’s ‘democracy’ actually functions. And, of course, America’s Deep State works not only through governmental agencies but also through underworld organizations. That’s just reality, not at all speculative. It’s been this way for decades, at least since the time of Truman’s Presidency (as is documented at that link).

Furthermore, inasmuch as this operation certainly involved Obama’s CIA Director John Brennan and others, and not only top officials at the FBI, there is no chance that Comey would have been the only high official who was involved in it. And if Comey was involved, then he would have been acting in his own interest, and not only in his boss’s — and here’s why: Comey would be expected to have been highly motivated to oppose Mr. Trump, because Trump publicly questioned whether NATO (the main international selling-arm for America’s ‘defense’-contractors) should continue to exist, and also because Comey’s entire career had been in the service of America’s Military-Industrial Complex, which is the reason why Comey’s main lifetime income has been the tens of millions of dollars he has received via the revolving door between his serving the federal Government and his serving firms such as Lockheed Martin. For these people, restoring, and intensifying, and keeping up, the Cold War, is a very profitable business. It’s called by some “the Military-Industrial Complex,” and by others “the Deep State,” but by any name it is simply agents of the billionaires who own and control US-based international corporations, such as General Dynamics and Chevron. As a governmental official, making decisions that are in the long-term interests of those investors is the likeliest way to become wealthy.

Consequently, Comey would have been benefitting himself, and other high officials of the Obama Administration, by sabotaging Trump’s campaign, and by weakening Trump’s Presidency in the event that he would become elected. Plus, of course, Comey would have been benefitting Obama himself. Not only was Trump constantly condemning Obama, but Obama had appointed to lead the Democratic National Committee during the 2016 Presidential primaries, Debbie Wasserman Schultz, who as early as 20 February 2007 had endorsed Hillary Clinton for President in the Democratic Party primaries, so that Shultz was one of the earliest supporters of Clinton against even Obama himself. In other words, Obama had appointed Shultz in order to increase the odds that Clinton — not Sanders— would become the nominee in 2016 to continue on and protect his own Presidential legacy. Furthermore, on 28 July 2016, Schultz became forced to resign from her leadership of the DNC after WikiLeaks released emails indicating that Schultz and other members of the DNC staff had exercised bias against Bernie Sanders and in favor of Hillary Clinton during the 2016 Democratic primaries — which favoritism had been the reason why Obama had appointed Shultz to that post to begin with. She was just doing her job for the person who had chosen her to lead the DNC. Likewise for Comey. In other words: Comey was Obama’s pick to protect Clinton, and to oppose Trump (who had attacked both Clinton and Obama).

Nowadays, Obama is telling the Party’s billionaires that Elizabeth Warren would be good for them, but not that Sanders would — he never liked Sanders. He wants Warren to get the voters who otherwise would go for Sanders, and he wants the Party’s billionaires to help her achieve this (be the Party’s allegedly ‘progressive’ option), so that Sanders won’t be able to become a ballot option in the general election to be held on 3 November 2020. He is telling them whom not to help win the Party’s nomination. In fact, on November 26th, Huffington Post headlined “Obama Said He Would Speak Up To Stop Bernie Sanders Nomination: Report” and indicated that though he won’t actually say this in public (but only to the Party’s billionaires), Obama is determined to do all he can to prevent Sanders from becoming the nominee. In 2016, his choice was Hillary Clinton; but, today, it’s anyone other than Sanders; and, so, in a sense, it remains what it was four years ago — anyone but Sanders.

Comey’s virtually exclusive concern, at the present stage, would be to protect himself, so that he won’t be imprisoned. This means that he might testify against Obama. At this stage, he’s free of any personal obligation to Obama — Comey is now on his own, up against Trump, who clearly is his enemy. Some type of back-room plea-bargain is therefore virtually inevitable — and not only with Comey, but with other top Obama-appointees, ultimately. Obama is thus clearly in the cross-hairs, from now on. Congressional Democrats have opted to gun against Trump (by impeaching him); and, so, Trump now will be gunning against Obama — and against the entire Democratic Party (unless Sanders becomes its nominee, in which case, Sanders will already have defeated that Democratic Party, and its adherents will then have to choose between him versus Trump; and, so, too, will independent voters).

But, regardless of what happens, Obama now is in the cross-hairs. That’s not just political cross-hairs (such as an impeachment process); it is, above all, legal cross-hairs (an actual criminal investigation). Whereas Trump is up against a doomed effort by the Democratic Party to replace him by Vice President Mike Pence, Obama will be up against virtually inevitable criminal charges, by the incumbent Trump Administration. Obama played hardball against Trump, with “Russiagate,” and then with “Ukrainegate”; Trump will now play hardball against Obama, with whatever his Administration and the Republican Party manage to muster against Obama; and the stakes this time will be considerably bigger than just whether to replace Trump by Pence.

Whatever the outcome will be, it will be historic, and unprecedented. (If Sanders becomes the nominee, it will be even more so; and, if he then wins on November 3rd, it will be a second American Revolution; but, this time, a peaceful one — if that’s even possible, in today’s hyper-partisan, deeply split, USA.)

There is no way that the outcome from this will be status-quo. Either it will be greatly increased further schism in the United States, or it will be a fundamental political realignment, more comparable to 1860 than to anything since. The US already has a higher percentage of its people in prison than does any other nation on this planet. Americans who choose a ‘status-quo’ option will produce less stability, more violence, not more stability and a more peaceful nation in a less war-ravaged world. The 2020 election-outcome for the United States will be a turning-point; there is no way that it will produce reform. Americans who vote for reform will be only increasing the likelihood of hell-on-Earth. Reform is no longer an available option, given America’s realities. A far bigger leap than that will be required in order for this country to avoid falling into an utter abyss, which could be led by either Party, because both Parties have brought the nation to its present precipice, the dark and lightless chasm that it now faces, and which must now become leapt, in order to avoid a free-fall into oblivion.

The problem in America isn’t either Obama or Trump; it’s neither merely the Democratic Party, nor merely the Republican Party; it is instead both; it is the Deep State. That’s the reality; and the process that got us here started on 26 July 1945 and secretly continued on the American side even after the Soviet Union ended and Russia promptly ended its side of the Cold War. The US regime’s ceaseless thrust, since 26 July 1945, to rule the entire world, will climax either in a Third World War, or in a US revolution to overthrow and remove the Deep State and end its dictatorship-grip over America. Both Parties have been controlled by that Deep State, and the final stage or climax of this grip is now drawing near. America thus has been having a string of the worst Presidents — and worst Congresses — in US history. This is today’s reality. Unfortunately, a lot of American voters think that this extremely destabilizing reality, this longstanding trend toward war, is okay, and ought to be continued, not ended now and replaced by a new direction for this country — the path toward world peace, which FDR had accurately envisioned but which was aborted on 26 July 1945. No matter how many Americans might vote for mere reform, they are wrong. Sometimes, only a minority are right. Being correct is not a majority or minority matter; it is a true or false matter. A misinformed public can willingly participate in its own — or even the world’s — destruction. That could happen. Democracy is a prerequisite to peace, but it can’t exist if the public are being systematically misinformed. Lies and democracy don’t mix together any more effectively than do oil and water.

NOTE

* The given official US definition of “treason” (see top of page 3 there) is “Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason.” Any US official has sworn to uphold and defend, never to subvert, the Constitution of the United States, and this is defining the US, itself, as being the continued functioning of the US Constitution. Treason is thus the supremely illegal act under US law, the act that violates any US official’s oath of office. (When treason is perpetrated by someone who is not a US official, it is still a severe crime, but less severe than it is for any US official.) The phrase “levies war against them” means war against the functioning of the Constitution that is their supreme law. “Or” means alternatively, and “adheres to their enemies” means is a follower of any person or other entity that seeks to impose a different constitution. “Enemies” is not defined — it need not be a foreign opponent; it may be a domestic opponent of the US Constitution. Thus, an American can be an enemy of the United States of America. In fact, the official definition explicitly refers ONLY to an entity “owing allegiance to the United States.” (Obviously, that especially refers to any US official.) This is how a “traitor” is understood, in US law. Obviously, the worst traitor would be one who committed the treasonous act(s) while a US official.