#was a travesty i had to correct immediately

[treblrebl]

Cam - The Unsung

Booth should add Cam's name to his list of saints. That woman has one HELL of a thankless job as the administrator of the Medico-Legal lab. The irony of her position is that the better she does her job, the less it looks like her position is needed. And being the calm, steady one in a team full of highly individualistic, radical personalities means that her own specialized intelligence often gets ignored. When you have 'works-on-a different-plane-of-thought' Brennan, affable-yet-utterly-mad scientist Hodgins, and queen-of-lateral-thinking Angela on your team, your astute leadership skills and pathological expertise are not given their due importance.

Which is a bloody travesty. The Medico-Legal lab's job is not only to determine the truth, but also to make certain that the analysis can be utilized and presented successfully in court. Before Cam, the team was essentially a group of genius scientists working on individual remains on an as-is basis. Booth was correct in Season 2 when he told Brennan that Cam's objective is to ensure a successful prosecution. And in order to safeguard the findings of the team from being thrown out on a legal technicality, she is bound by the rules of the Justice Dept, the FBI and the Jeffersonian board. It sucks that time and again her team chastise her for doing so.

I mean the poor woman was treated like a traitor by her team for not lying to the authorities when Brennan was framed by Pelant. I mean, sure Angela, Cam should just lie about the evidence implicating Brennan. It's not like evidence in murder cases has a long chain of custody, and any fudging would be soon discovered. It's not as though Cam wouldn't immediately nuke her career and possibly her freedom by actively sabotaging a Federal murder inquiry.

And look - I love Hodgins but I'm surprised how fans of the show either ignore or simply brush over the times he blatantly uses his financial privilege without considering the ramifications to other people. I mean seriously, do we really think he would be so free to full off half his shenanigans if he wasn't the last scion of the Cantilever group, and thus enjoyed donor privilege? He regularly swipes items from other departments and exhibits, often without approval. He brews alcohol in Jeffersonian owned instruments and sets off minor explosions. His intentions are never ever malicious, and he is genuinely an adult version of the boy who loved to take everything apart to see how things worked. But let's face it - ANY other person would have faced severe consequences for these actions. Remember the Founder's Day party? It would have been Cam's job to take the heat for the decimated Mexican succulents and unauthorized drinking in the workplace. I wonder just how much she's shielded her team from - and whether she's ever been acknowledged.

Gods even in the episode where Wendell comes back after his chemo and lets Cam know that he takes medical marijuana to deal with the pain - did she have ANY recourse but to let him go? She stuck her neck out for Finn but Caroline bulldozed her, and with justifiable reason. She was stuck between the same rock and hard place with Wendell. And wow, the way Angela and Hodgins immediately painted her as a moustache twirling villain laughing at Wendell's pain infuriated me. They should realize how hypocritical their stance is - after all when Brennan left for Maluku and Booth for Afghanistan they had a proper cause and mission. Hodgins and Angela left simply because they could, and because they didn't want to put in the effort of breaking in a new team, however temporarily. Cam was left in the dust.

So here's to Camille Saroyan - woman of infinite patience, empathy and the ability to handle rambunctious adults. May she one day get the recognition she deserves.

[repurpose-yourself]

Santa's Objectified Helpers 2 (3/7)

"You're quite the anarchist, I must say," Chris remarked, "Burned buildings. Threatened lawmakers. General destruction by any means to thwart government work. The list goes on and on."

Wade struggled against restraints keeping him firmly in place against a wooden chair, "So what?! Just because I was born an American doesn't mean I identify with their oppressive regime!"

Chris stood up from his desk and walked around to the front of it, standing a few feet away from Wade, "We're all entitled to our opinions. And from what I can see, in the U.S., you're welcome to broadcast them to anyone."

"Why the hell am I here?! Are you the police?" Wade interrupted, still yanking at the tight festive restraints.

"I'm not the police. But in your case, I might as well be. It's impressive how you managed to avoid serious jail time. Your threats and actions are not light, nor something tolerated well," Chris said.

"When they stop forcing free people to live lives they never agreed to, then I will stop my work. Until then, people will burn," Wade confidently retorted.

"Sure," Chris responded, shrugging at the statement, "Defiant until the last breath, I suppose. Regardless, I think a change of pace is necessary to correct your attitude towards harming others. And I have the perfect solution."

Wade started yelling profanities at Santa before darkness set in...

***

"This is a monumental occasion and one the American people will take pride in," a man announced before a crowd of people, "Support from all sides brought us here today and I thank my colleagues for their contributions."

From a low angle, Wade suddenly saw people standing all around him. Many were in suits while others, like the press, were slightly dressed down. Many eyes were on him, or at least that's what he felt. Unable to move and communicate, a sense of terror set in, especially after assessing the situation.

'A fucking law signing?! These fuckers need to die!' Wade yelled internally, a fierce hatred brewing inside.

"This is common sense law and will hold criminals accountable, especially those who threaten our democracy and this great country," the man said to applause, "Please, let's not hesitate a second longer. My friends, we shall sign this into law."

Weathered fingers approached Wade and immediately grasped the vulnerable individual. More profanity rattled around inside Wade's mind as he was lifted up and manipulated with ease. The man's thumb reached towards the top of Wade's existence and pressed a button, which was followed by a click.

'Get your fingers off of me!' Wade screamed inside.

The man's hand approached the newly drafted law and forced Wade into the high quality paper. The former human was drug all over, with fingers articulating minute movements and drawing the lawmaker's signature. Wade didn't understand how it was possible but he had become a pen, the very tool needed to increase the plight of the American people, at least how he saw it.

'No!' the living pen wailed internally, 'I will not be part of this travesty!'

One after another, Wade was handed around and defiled by way of signing provisions into law. Everything the former human worked for didn't matter at this moment, as control was fleeting, as well as humanity.

Another round of applause confirmed Wade's ever growing nightmare. The living pen was dropped into a wooden box next to the newly signed law and promptly sealed away under a heavy lid. In darkness, Wade listened to lawmakers congratulate each other before taking questions from the press.

"There are ways to fight for your cause that doesn't require violence and harm," a voice suddenly said, "In this capacity, you can no longer hurt people. And it is only you who can be blamed for this situation."

'I'm sorry! I won't do it again! Just release me from this hell!' Wade pleaded internally, hoping the voice would listen.

But just as quickly as it started, Chris' voice disappeared...

[muzzleroars]

Hello!

Enoch asker again!

With Enoch haveing brought the council the idea of tearing the light out of angels, could you imagine what it would be like for him to see Michaels failed fall?

I feel he'd be incredibly disappointed, not in the fact Micheal even did it but in the fact Micheal screwed it up so badly.

Enoch considering it a "Mockery of my art form"

How would Micheal react to meeting Enoch and Enoch's disappointment of Michaels failed fall?

ooouughhhhh this really gets me thinking about another dimension michael has with his current state, because i think you're right in how enoch would view his failure and, by extension, all the other angels imbued with this power. while the archangels enjoy high status and a specialized role in the choirs, there is still a hierarchy to be observed, and i find it likely that, in this case, michael would be seen just as a cherub who stepped far out of line. while michael attempts to insist this is god's gift to him, to survive his would-be fall, these other angels would believe the opposite - what he is now is just punishment for disrespecting this ritual and going above his station. he was arrogant enough to think he could complete such a delicate process on his own, an angel that does how have the finesse or the education to do so, and now he bears his shame for it. most of heaven, of course, doesn't know about michael's illness let alone how it came to be, but it would make sense any angels left in heaven that can excise the divine light do because...who else can the archangels approach for help? it's likely raphael's idea, when he admits he doesn't understand michael's condition, but convincing him to go takes a considerable amount of time. no, it's unlikely michael would be fully condemned as gabriel was - the council's slaughter is still weighing on everyone's mind and michael is privileged as the prince of heaven - but he knows, with a deep ache in his chest, that he will face angels with no pity for what he's done to himself.

michael would eventually relent, however, knowing that he must seek answers however he can to have any hope of saving his body and also knowing that what enoch would say, however harsh to him, may be what he needs to hear. because michael knows he's done wrong, he knows he foolishly played with fire and has suffered for it, and he deserves more than the guaranteed sympathy of his brothers (in michael's mind, punishment is never enough if it's not accompanied by admonishment). so he would go, making his case to explain why he did something so desperate and so out of character (he's always been a strict adherent of their hierarchy and enforced it down to its letter) - he left them to find god and only did this after all his other avenues had been exhausted. this was the last thing he could do. it's an emotional appeal, but i doubt it matters, as enoch would argue it clearly wasn't the last thing he could do...as he couldn't do it. if michael failed in finding god, the correct course of action would be to return to his post in heaven and carry out his responsibilities as the rest of them have. instead, he cleaved to his role as the hero and committed terrible blasphemy in the process.

it's a charge michael can't abide as god's most loyal servant, and i think he would become immediately volatile, reactive, indignant. he was the only one that went in search of god, he was the only one willing to sacrifice everything to bring him back, yet enoch will not give way to michael's notions of loyalty and nobility. this was a travesty, it shows all over his decaying body. he has made himself a zombie, and he is to blame for it entirely. god did not save him, he has simply condemned himself to life in death because of how he tore apart his own light, leaving it to limp on without the capacity to sustain his physical form. how base, how bizarre, for an angel to have real physicality, the body left behind when michael ripped up the very fire it was once made of. he did not handle god's work with care, he brutalized the primal source given to him, the one he shared with his brothers, and left behind a rapidly rotting body that never should have been. how is that not blasphemy? and michael has no answer, frozen for the first time in the unrelenting reality that he has sinned. of course, he knew he did....that was always the point, to sin....but he had cloaked himself so much in his own narrative of salvation of his body he is unprepared to view it for what it truly is. unprepared too, to have it seen so plainly by someone else. in this, i think he would retreat into repentance. he would ask what he can do, how can he make up for what he's done? he swears to take to his work, to devote his time in heaven to prayer, to penance, to understanding his offense. he would leave with a heavy sense of shame, and silently slips into several days of seclusion for introspection, the contemplation of his body and the sin it now bears. he would likely come out much worse for it

[wildishmazz]

Well this got rambly

Starmania is intriguing. It has so many random elements that feel like vestigia from rewrites, and this feeling is never stronger than when listening to the 1990 Tycoon album after getting familiar with Starmania(Edition Rouge, anyhow, the 1989 version).

It's perfectly possible that Tim Rice didn't know what happened in the show and made it up as he went along, and no-one dared to correct him when he seemingly reassigned songs by including the wrong character details or hints of backstory in them, but it’s far more interesting to go from the assumption that he was writing according to a planned major rewrite that never actually materialised.

The most obvious indication of this is Nobody Chooses, because while it's understandable that Rice might confuse the fading movie star for the tv presenter or maybe even the antiestablishment terrorist mastermind, I don't see that anyone could reasonably completely rewrite a song to change it from an angry young man telling his tragic backstory to an omniscient narrator's(accurate) commentary on the doomed romantic relationships in the story by accident. Additionally, recycling Banlieue Nord as Nobody Chooses would mean that it couldn't go in the same place in the plot.

This would then explain why A Little Damage Done has a more persuasive tone to it than Quand On Arrive En Ville, adding the sentiment of "embrace the cause, we know you know we're right", and overall sounding like a direct response to the questions Cristal was asking immediately prior to Banlieue Nord, if it were moved to Banlieue Nord's position from its place near the beginning. It would excise from there reasonably cleanly - the libretto would simply go directly from Roger Roger's news bulletin about the Black Stars straight into Marie-Jeanne talking about them in the bar, and introducing them in person. The trouble would then be that they wouldn't be introduced with a bang.

So maybe they could have half of Il Se Passe Quelque Chose À Monopolis(which even scans better as "Something's Going On In Monopolis", though it doesn't actually exist on the English album), and crossfade the song into the news report, giving them time to get to the next scene.

And Tim Rice's lyrics to Le Monde Est Stone, The World Is Stone, sound like they should be in Cristal's mouth, or maybe Stella Spotlight's - it sounds less like the words of the world-weary robot barmaid who yearned to see the sun and had a hopeless crush on a gay man than the revelations of one of the sheltered, privileged women who only recently came face to face with the harsh reality of the lives of the 99%. Which then suggests that maybe Cristal wasn't going to die.

But then, Only The Very Best requires that she was. And making the last line "Oh, it's getting cold"(and including "I was immortal, til today") strongly implies that Johnny was going to die too, which he didn't at the end of SOS d'un Terrien de Détresse. And doesn't "only the very best, reasonable request" sound more like something that would come out of Zero Janvier(unholy amalgamation of Donald Trump and Elon Musk)'s mouth than street brawler Johnny Rockfort's? At the very least, you could reassign the song to the titular Tycoon and it wouldn't sound wrong.

Le Reve de Stella Spotlight is absent from Tycoon, no Dream of Stella Spotlight is recorded, so does that perhaps suggest that it was going to be cut and Stella go straight into Stone instead?

And thinking of Stella Spotlight(Eva Peron by way of Norma Desmond), Rice references her apparently famous persona "Babydoll" in two songs, You Get What You Deserve and Farewell to a Sex Symbol, allowing the inference that she was going to sing both. Why would Sadia, revolutionary mastermind, be referencing "Babydoll, teenage queen" in her introductory number, and bragging about all the different roles she can play? Seems more like the defiant declaration of an aging movie star insisting that she’s not past it to me, rather than a version of Travesti, Sadia's original "I'm trans and fuck you if you've got a problem with that" manifesto.

And then in the show generally there are the scifi dystopia elements established early on - the world is homogenised, no-one gets to see the sky any more, everyone has a number on their back(is that what the black stars on their jackets are obscuring?) - that just sort of get mentioned once then dropped. And the implication is there at the start that though the official line is that there is no crime in Monopolis except that perpetrated by the Black Stars, that official line is a smokescreen - the Black Stars may throw a few bricks through windows, and release press statements taking responsibility for any disruption, but they’re largely innocent of the crimes they’re accused of. We see them blamed for a breakdown of the ventilation system in a commuter tunnel. I mean, come on - that sounds much more like an official body shirking responsibility for an accident caused by poor maintenance by blaming those pesky ne'er-do-wells who cause havoc for absolutely no reason at all they just like chaos and certainly aren't political activists trying to draw attention to the fact that Monopolis is not "this bloody perfect town", actually, it's a "damned metropolis", a harshly stratified society with those at the bottom living in squalid tunnels where they never get to see the sky and those at the top dancing in a penthouse nightclub called "Naziland". But these things mostly get mentioned once and then never really come back.

I wish I was a better fanfic writer, there's so much here to work with.

[dustinslovehandles]

One of my pet peeves with AEW is how often Matt and Nick win the tag titles. Like they are part owners (I’m assuming that’s real and not just storyline). They don’t need the constant push. For me, it comes across as egotistical to constantly put themselves as the champs.

It’s just a foul tasting as Dwayne Johnson buying himself a seat on WWE’s board of directors and then immediately inserting himself into WrestleMania and disrupting the plans they had in place already.

I would love for other tag teams to get their chance to shine. Such as Chuck and Trent. I am amazed that they have yet to hold tag team gold. That is a travesty.

I'll be honest, I have very limited idea how the behind the scenes things work at AEW or WWE.

I'm pretty sure that the EVP titles were just given to the four wrestlers that originally set up All In though, right? Like, they are real job titles, but I don't think they really have any impact on anything (though maybe I am wrong and if so, somebody please feel free to correct me!). I know they don't get to decide who wins what, though.

I would love to see other tag teams get to shine though, for sure. I think the tag team division could be managed better. And it is crazy that Chuck and Trent have never had titles together. One of the best teams to never win the big one.

[minarcana]

@herosluminis asked:

Moenbryda dramatically drapes herself over Urianger's lap, a hand to her forehead as if she had swooned. "I fear that...without your attention...I may not make it for much longer, Urianger..."

She splays over his legs, as entitled to his space as a cat would be (she is correct, however. Moenbryda is in fact entitled to his space). Immediately Urianger's hands go to brush the strands of hair back that fell into her face as she swooned. "What villain could have left thee in such a shape." A travesty!

But the plot thickens! 'Twas him who was the villain all along. Unconscionable! Urianger leans down to place a kiss on Moenbryda's forehead. "That I should ever have left thee in such dire straits, I am ashamed of myself. Fear not, I shall make it right."

[sydmarch]

Hi my name is Walter Patrick O’Brien and I have short curly black hair (that’s how I got my name) and dark brown eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Cabe Gallo (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Richard Elia but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a government contractor but my teeth are straight and white. I have the fourth highest IQ ever recorded. I’m also a genius, and I lead a team of geniuses called Scorpion in LA where I’m in our first year (I’m 32). I’m a genius (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly business casual. I love the internet and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a light blue button down shirt, a black tie, and black slacks. I was walking outside the garage. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of normals stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

[mashep23]

Spilled Coffee

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Steve Rogers x Reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You're having an off day and all you really want is some coffee.

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: cursing (𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗒-𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽), it's really just pure fluff though

𝗔/𝗡: This is my first drabble/fic ever and I really can't thank @river-soul enough for helping me out by being my beta/cheerleader. Couldn't have done it without you - you da real MVP! 🥰❤️ And @buckyownsmylife is a peach for being my first "audience." I'm so grateful for your support 😁❤️

Disclaimer: image not mine

You were having a rough day.

You silenced your alarm instead of snoozing it. The water heater went out so you had to take a cold shower. You completely forgot to get more coffee grounds, so no morning cup of joe at home. If you wanted any coffee today, you were going to have to go get some.

You almost didn't leave your apartment - it was your first day off after four twelve-hour shifts, and if 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 went wrong, you vowed to stay in. But you made it out of the building unscathed, so onward you went. Besides, you really wanted some coffee and breakfast before potentially caving in and abandoning productivity for the rest of the day.

You stopped at one of your favorite food trucks a couple blocks from home. The warm, savory scent of breakfast burritos tempted you from a block away. Chuck, the owner, just grinned when he saw you and made your usual, winking as you paid for the fare before he bade you a good day. The carry-out wrapper was almost too warm in your hand as you entered the cafe around the corner from the food truck. After picking up your coffee order, you took a seat at one of the small tables right outside the cafe.

You were browsing your phone, only a couple sips and bites into your meal when your table was suddenly knocked over. You looked down in shock and dismay at the remains of your burrito littering the ground and the coffee steadily spilling from a crack in the side of the plastic lidded cup. You looked up to determine the cause of this travesty to find a flustered man in a suit regaining his footing. He straightened his clothing and spoke into his phone tersely before he stalked away from you and the mess he made without so much as a backwards glance.

You jumped up, irate and indignant, and called after him.

"Hey! You asshat, you owe me another Loaded Chuck's Burrito with Pico! Not to mention my coffee, you dick! HEY! Son of bitch...unbelievable! He's really just fucking walking away…" the last two lines were muttered irritably under your breath before you huffed and went back into the cafe for another coffee.

Luckily, the barista had seen what had happened through the window and gifted you a replacement drink, resolutely refusing payment or tips. It made you shake your head and grin in amusement. Thanking her, you decided to go back outside to correct the overturned table and pitch the remains of your meal.

You glared at the side-lying table before standing it back up and throwing away the mess that was left behind on the pavement. You sat back down and sighed heavily, debating on replacing your breakfast when you heard a man's voice from your right.

"Excuse me, hi…" 

Looking over, you saw a tall man with a shy smile approach slowly. Quick take, jeans and a plain tee, sneakers. A drink and small bag in one hand, rubbing the back of his neck with the other, he looked at you hopefully from under the bill of his ball cap. His smile was disarming and you returned the small smile with a tilt of your head.

"Hi…?" You respond, polite but questioningly.

He stood up a little straighter and took another small step toward you, reaching into the bag on his wrist to hold up a small wrapped package in his hand. You dropped your gaze to the white parchment paper wrapped parcel and your eyes widened in surprise as he explained. 

"I heard the commotion and that the guy ruined your meal...so I bought you another." 

You looked back up at his face, lips parted in shock. You were not only pleasantly surprised at the sweet gesture from this stranger, but it was especially welcomed on a day like this one. You're slightly overwhelmed and you didn’t immediately respond so he stammered on. 

"I - uh, I didn't mean to just assume or anything but that was a real jerk move and, I mean, that would be enough to ruin anyone's day. And I thought, you know, that maybe it would be nice to help make your day better…?" He trailed off, pulling both lips in, like a physical barrier to stop himself from continuing to talk. 

You blinked up at him - adorable and obviously nervous - and you couldn’t help but bite your lip to hide your grin when he rambled just a little bit. You stood and offered your hand - which he shook somewhat jerkily, like he was caught off-guard by the gesture - and smiled broadly at him. 

"Hi. Um, thank you so much. Er, would you like to sit with me?" You asked, motioning to an empty chair across from you. You bit your lip, wondering if he would actually join you.

He blushed as he nodded, a slight dip of his head, before sliding smoothly into the chair as you sat back down across from him. He shyly offered you the burrito again, and you noticed that he flushed more deeply when your fingertips lightly brushed. Interesting. And 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 cute. The day had started to improve dramatically...

He sat his drink down and pulled a second food parcel from his bag. You both unwrapped your meals, his matching parchment paper package indicated he also got something from Chuck's food truck. You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath as you opened yours, seeing the exact order you had yelled out. You peeked up to find him watching you. 

"Did I get it right? I'm pretty sure I heard you clearly," he said, only slightly cheeky, a half-smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. You grinned in good humor, appreciating the ice breaker. 

"It's perfect, thank you again." You paused, took a breath, and continued. "I appreciate the kind gesture, really, it's very sweet, but I'm happy to pay you back. I'd hate for you to pay for the mess someone else made." 

He was already shaking his head halfway through your offer but waited until you were finished to reply.

"Please, no. I wanted to. But I admit, I was hoping to ask you..." he cleared his throat, swallowing before his lips spread into a heartstopping smile. "My name's Steve. What's your name?"

[arrowflier]

What if Debbie made them have a Halloween party with costumes. What would they all be?

In retrospect, they should have known it was a bad idea to go along with Debbie’s plan.

“Come on guys,” she had begged them. “Franny wants to do a family costume, and it won’t work if it’s just the two of us!”

“No way,” Mickey said, but Ian was already speaking over him.

“Sure, whatever,” Ian agreed, and Mickey smacked him on the arm.

“What?” Ian asked innocently. “It’s for Franny.”

Mickey relented almost immediately, even if he did keep scowling.

“Fucking fine, then,” he grumbled. “But only cause it’s for little red.”

“Thank you Mickey!” Debbie said, trying to hug him, but he hid behind Ian’s larger frame.

“Didn’t mean you,” he muttered into Ian’s back, gripping Ian’s shoulders and spinning him bodily to keep a barrier between himself and Debbie.

“You would have done it for her, too, Mick,” Ian laughed, and Mickey whacked the back of his head as Debbie beamed.

“Keep your thoughts to your self, asshole,” Mickey ordered, then sighed as both redheads snickered at him.

---

Now, standing in the living room of the Gallagher house and looking at the costumes Debbie had laid out for them, Mickey wished he wasn’t such a sucker for red haired Gallaghers. Because right there in front of him was the gaudiest outfit he had ever seen.

It was a deep blue, at least, but the color was the only thing Mickey could get behind. The rest of it was a complete travesty, with three-dimensional silver piping, shiny buttons, and leggings—fucking leggings—meant to be tucked into the silver boots currently laying on the floor.

“No,” he stated immediately. “Nuh-uh, not wearing that.”

“Mickey, it’s just for one night,” Ian tried to reason with him.

That was all well and good for him. Ian was the lucky one—his costume was mostly grey and black, with cool patterning and thin plastic bits meant to make it look like armor. It even had a helmet, and, best of all, a plastic sword.

“Why do you get to be the knight?” Mickey complained. “I could beat your ass any day, man.”

Ian just raised his eyebrows.

“Will you shut up and get dressed already?” Debbie demanded, wandering into the room with Franny. She was holding up an outfit similar in taste to Mickey’s, but pink and glittery and child-sized.

“Franny won’t wear her princess dress unless you guys do it with her, come on," Debbie pressed, and Mickey scowled at her.

“Should’ve known you were up to something,” Mickey groused. “No way the kid picked this shit out.”

Debbie sighed.

“Will you please just wear the damn costume?” she asked. “It’s too late to find another one, Lip and Tami will be here any minute.”

Ian took one look at Mickey’s sour face, and decided to try a more diplomatic approach.

“Don’t you want your me to be your prince?” Ian asked, kneeling down next to Franny and tugging on a lock of her red hair. “We could match, how about that?”

Franny pulled back, stomping her foot.

“No!” she insisted. “I can’t marry you silly, it has to be Uncle Mickey!”

“You can’t marry Uncle Mickey either…” Ian tried to reason, but one look from his niece stopped the words in his throat and he coughed.

“Yeah, okay, sound logic,” he agreed instead. “Sorry Mick, guess you gotta be royalty tonight.”

Mickey wants to argue some more. Franny never even liked this shit, why should he have to play along? If she was gonna be a princess, her mom could have at least let her be Xena or somethin'. Now that was royalty he could get behind.

But Debbie was glaring at him, and Ian and Franny were both watching him with their damned big eyes, blue and green and faintly wet.

"Whatever," he finally said, and grabbed the offending outfit from off the sofa. "But if I get a single comment about this tonight, we're leavin', got that?"

"Sure Mickey," Ian and Debbie both agreed, and he frowned harder.

Liars, the both of them.

---

An hour later, Mickey was crammed into the corner of a booth at the Alibi, nursing his third beer of the night. If one more person had anything to say about his costume--Tommy had called him a fucking pillow prince, that fucker--he was gonna take Ian's fake sword and stab them with it.

"Doin' okay over here?" Ian asked as he sat down beside him. Mickey just grunted in response, and took another sip.

"It's not that bad," Ian tried to say, but Mickey's glare cut him off short.

"At least you're not the jester?" he tried again, nodding his head toward Carl, whose multicolored, belled hat could be heard across the room.

"Fuck off," Mickey told him, flipping him off with the hand not holding his beer. "Never thought I'd be wishing I was with your asshole brother instead of you."

"What, Carl?" Ian asked, confused, but Mickey shuddered.

"Fuck no," he asserted. "The one with the badass family costume, you moron."

Ian looked around, still unsure, then spotted Lip and Tami a few tables over. Lip had on homemade Mandalorian regalia, complete with a helmet that Mickey had earlier said was a brilliant choice for hiding his ugly-ass face. Tami was dressed as a blonde Cara Dune, the fake tat on her arm on prominent display as she held Fred in his little Grogu costume.

"What," Ian asked with a smile, "you wanted to dress up like a woman?"

Mickey snorted. "A fucking badass woman," he corrected, "but no. I coulda been Boba Fett or something, man. Instead of this...," he paused to wave down at himself, almost spilling his beer in the process.

"This gay-ass thing," he finished, and Ian smirked and scooted closer.

"But you are gay," he pointed out, forcing an arm around Mickey's shoulders and ignoring the responding eye-roll.

“And besides,” Ian murmured in his ear, “your gay ass looks amazing in those tights.”

Mickey flushed.

"Yeah, well," he muttered back. "Better stay close, Mr. knight in plastic armor." He leaned closer to Ian, letting his husband tighten his hold.

"Nobody better look at my fine ass but you."

[okletsgoalltheway]

RFK Jr.'s speech at the Defeat the Mandates rally on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial last Sunday was a fierce and riveting invective against the Dark Powers that his family has faced for generations. He has shown himself in these past two years to be every inch an heir to the legacy of his father, uncle and grandfather.

https://rumble.com/vtcbiy-rfk-jr.-scathing-speech-before-the-lincoln-memorial.html

As President John F. Kennedy faced down his great enemy, the CIA, who ultimately defeated him in life, but his honor and his power remain intact. What stands in rags and tatters, in which all too many Americans are still dressed, is the Warren Commission's shabby fiction, which includes then future Senator Arlen Specter's "magic bullet" that supposedly made seven wounds in two men, and then still-Texas news anchor Dan Rather describing the Zapruder film while describing it showing exactly the opposite of what it did show, which is that Kennedy's head went "back and to the left", as Kevin Costner repeated over and over in Oliver Stone's movie "JFK", puppet Rather saying, repeatedly, "his head could be seen to move violently forward" (see a clip of that travesty in the comments).

Bobby's dad, Robert Francis Kennedy, Sr., was removed from the scene immediately upon winning the California Democratic primary, essentially guaranteeing him a path to the White House, because if he entered that office he would be able to lay his hands on all the information that would prove that his brother was murdered by the CIA. Jack had fired Allen Dulles as director thereof, Dulles who with his brother John Foster Dulles amounted to the two greatest traitors in American history, was put in charge of the Warren commission (although nominally under Chief Justice Earl Warren), essentially investigating himself and finding himself not guilty.

Bobby has not been shy about naming the man who actually killed his father — it was not Sirhan Sirhan, but Thane Eugene Cesar, a CIA asset and security guard at Lockheed Martin, the greatest weapons manufacturer in the world, who was hired as a security guard at the Ambassador Hotel where Bobby Sr. died ONLY AFTER his speech was scheduled to take place there. He was standing behind the senator, whereas Sirhan Sirhan was in front and on the other side of a steam table a good 6 feet from the senator. None of his bullets struck RFK. The coroner of Los Angeles County, the largest County in the United States, whose name is Thomas Noguchi, declared in the death certificate that the senator died from a bullet in the right mastoid promontory of the skull, that is, directly behind the right ear, with a contact shot such that the muzzle of the gun was touching his skin when it was fired and powder burns were present on his skin around the entry wound.

Of course, the official story has never been corrected.

As Churchill's historical personhood was magnified by the scope of his enemy, German Chancellor Adolf Hitler, so Jack's mighty shadow is glorified if not deified by his great enemy and that of his whole family: the CIA, and the military in which he served with great distinction during World War II, but whom he defied in preparing the pullout from Vietnam, for which cause he was murdered. (Don't touch the war machine — that's the apple of their eye!)

During the Cuban Missile Crisis, when the world came the closest ever to nuclear annihilation, Bobby as his Attorney General created a path of negotiation with Russian First Secretary Khrushchev, himself a reformer, who was politically assassinated himself, that is, confined to perpetual house arrest. These were negotiations that defused the crisis. But let me quote from Chairman Khrushchev’s memoir, quoting Ambassador Dobrynin:

"Robert Kennedy looked exhausted. One could see from his eyes that he had not slept for days. He himself said that he had not been home for six days and nights. 'The President is in a grave situation,' Robert Kennedy said, 'and does not know how to get out of it. We are under very severe stress. In fact we are under pressure from our military to use force against Cuba. Probably at this very moment the President is sitting down to write a message to Chairman Khrushchev. We want to ask you, Mr. Dobrynin, to pass President Kennedy's message to Chairman Khrushchev through unofficial channels. President Kennedy implores Chairman Khrushchev to accept his offer and to take into consideration the peculiarities of the American system. Even though the President himself is very much against starting a war over Cuba, an irreversible chain of events could occur against his will. That is why the President is appealing directly to Chairman Khrushchev for his help in liquidating this conflict. If the situation continues much longer, the President is not sure that the military will not overthrow him and seize power. The American army could get out of control."

(I strongly urge the reader to follow this link and read the whole page by Jim Hirschberg of the National Security Archive — link in the comments)

Listen to Bobby Junior’s muscular denunciation of the current incarnation of that Dark Force that means us NO GOOD AT ALL, and see if you don’t agree with me that he’s every inch the heir of his uncle, grandfather and father.

[loserchildhotpants]

Another destiel prompt from Twitter; say they’re dancing together, still trying to hide their feelings for each other, and because of that, avoiding eye-contract, the best the can, to ensure that the other character doesn’t notice how attracted they are to them (from this prompt list)

“Did you just turn her down?” Dean asks incredulously; Sam is busy sipping champagne next to him, but his eyebrows convey that he would also like clarification on whatever social interaction it is that Cas just had.

They’re all dressed to the nines, stuck at a posh wedding service until they solve this rogue Cupid case; it’s a low-risk case, but a case is a case, and they’ve got it well in hand.

Dean’s not been this dressed up since Bela stuffed him in a monkey suit, and he’d wager the same applies to Sam, but this is certainly the first either of them have ever seen Cas in anything other than his cubicle-life uniform.

Cas’ suit is sharp, pressed, striking, and he’s wearing a cerulean blue tie that has everyone meeting eyes with him coming up short. Predictably, he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, so he mostly apologizes awkwardly for those he seems to startle and thanks the handsy old ladies that liken him to long dead husbands.

With two flutes of bubbly meant for Dean and himself, Cas crossed the great hall, seemed to be stopped by a gorgeous young woman with dark hair, in a low-cut dress and a very promising smirk, but whatever exchange happened left her dejected.

“She asked me to dance,” Castiel tells Dean, passing him his flute, “I regretfully informed her that I don’t know how.”

“You can’t manage a simple little box-step for that hot piece? She was practically drooling, lookin’ at you!”

“We’re on a case,” he says, as though it’s a valid excuse.

“Nuh-unh,” Dean answers, shaking his head and putting his drink down on a nearby table, “That’s - that was a travesty, what I just witnessed. Babes are fuckin’ wasted on you, Cas.”

“She’s a fully grown woman, Dean,” Castiel corrects him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he brings his glass to his lips, “Besides, I’d only be wasting her time. I cannot dance, and I’d not be amenable to having relations with her, so it’s better I -”

“Not amenable?” Dean chokes out disbelievingly, “Who the fuck are you holdin’ out for?! Angelina Jolie?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“It’s a shame you don’t know how to dance, though,” Sam interjects, seeing by the vein throbbing in his forehead that Dean is about to start shouting about beautiful women and Cas’ ineptitudes, “I could teach you, if you want.”

Castiel slants his mouth at Sam, and Sam smiles gently back at him, “I know it doesn’t sound like fun, but, honestly? It’s a good skill to have, and worst case scenario is that you brighten someone’s evening.”

Appealing to his kind nature is the right call; Cas can’t argue that point, so he puts his champagne down and walks up to Sam.

“Very well. Where do we begin?”

“Oh - we’ll probably wanna go somewhere more private, so we can move a little more freely.”

At Sam’s behest, Dean and Cas follow him across the great hall, out onto a spacious balcony, out of the way of most everyone. Double glass doors lead out to it, and flowers line stone railing; no moon is visible from where they are in the mansion, but the sky is bright with stars, and that’s light enough.

While Sam does a fine job of teaching Castiel, and Castiel is a very quick study, they struggle with their height difference while Dean tells them about their height difference, unhelpfully and repeatedly.

Eventually, Sam turns to Dean, and says, “you should step in, man.”

“What? I’m not short,” Dean pouts grumpily.

“No, but you’re at least shorter than me - it’ll make leading a little easier for him.”

Rolling his eyes as though he’s actually put out, Dean peels himself from the French window he’d been leaning on, and takes Sam’s place.

Even and paced, Castiel and Dean take a few turns around the balcony, and Sam is impressed, informing Castiel that it took him a full week of practice to stop tripping over his own feet.

“To be fair, you were still growing into them at the time” Dean jokes.

In a rare moment of familial levity between them, Sam laughs, and Dean smiles at him - all of that makes Cas smile too, and then Sam’s phone rings.

“Oh - it’s Natalie,” Sam lets them know, “She wants eyes on the dance floor for a minute - I’ll take care of it - Cas, you’re doing great, don’t stop practicing!”

To both Dean and Cas’ surprise and humor, Sam appears genuinely bereft to leave the lesson. They both seem inclined to respect Sam’s wishes, though, so they take another turn.

“You gotta stop glancing down,” Dean commands.

Flashing his eyes back up at Dean, Cas mutters, “it’s reflexive. I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s fine, man. You’ve got it,” Dean assures him, “Now that you know how to, you gonna ask that girl to dance?”

“Perhaps,” Cas tries to shrug, determinedly keeping his eyes up, “I feel certain she has moved on in her pursuits, but if I pass her again, I will offer a dance.”

“You know how?”

“Now, yes.”

“No, I mean do you know how to ask a girl to dance?”

“Is there a particular ritual involved?”

Exhaling a laugh, Dean brings them to a stop, and explains, “okay - I’m gonna show you how it’s done, alright? Then I’ll lead.”

“Understood,” Cas tells him with serious conviction, studious and militant.

Dean steps back and away, and they wait for the band’s dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight to end before proceeding.

As The Book of Love begins, the live orchestra swells from inside the hall, Dean bows just a little at the waist, with his right arm crossing his chest, but his head up, and he inquires politely, “Castiel, may I have this dance?”

Tilting his head curiously, Castiel needlessly replies, “yes, Dean, of course.”

Smiling his most winning smile, Dean straightens up, offers his hand, and nods approvingly when Castiel all but glides into step with him.

He keeps the tempo slow, but incorporates making circles, turning them ‘round and ‘round the stone and marble balcony, up and down it’s length; Cas follows him easily, trusting Dean’s direction, and always operating on a similar wavelength - Dean thinks that maybe they dance together well because they fight together well.

“This is nice, Dean,” Castiel remarks softly.

A dusting of rosiness rises up in Dean’s face; he pulls Cas a little closer to better obscure his face from scrutiny, clears his throat and makes some noncommittal noise that could be agreement or indifference.

“You’re the one who taught Sam to waltz,” Castiel surmises conversationally.

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

“How is it that you came to learn it?”

“Eh, you’d be surprised what you learn on the job,” Dean replies easily, pulling away enough to spin Cas, and then move close in again.

“... you just spun me.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Dean jokes, smirking proudly down at Cas; “Don’t worry, when you get to be a seasoned pro like me, you can snazzy up your waltz too. Maybe next you can learn to salsa or tango.”

In a moment of silence between them, Dean follows Cas’ eyes to their clasped hands; Dean’s not sure what Cas is seeing, but whatever it is, it’s making Dean nervous.

“See now what that lovely lady wanted? Feel bad yet?” Dean prompts.

Castiel’s electric eyes refocus on him, startling him with their intensity just as they had the wedding guests that were strangers to Cas, “I do understand now. However, perhaps it’s the soldier in me, but I find I much prefer following than leading.”

“Ah, that’s just ‘cause I’m a great lead,” Dean teases playfully.

“Yes, you are,” Castiel reinforces, eyes flickering between Dean’s, “You do know I would follow your lead anywhere, don’t you?”

“Christ, Cas,” Dean swears, trying to politely move his too-warm face out of view.

“Really, Dean,” Castiel adds, squeezing Dean’s hand where they’re clasped; when that doesn’t work immediately, he takes advantage of a circling turn to near their faces - their noses almost bump, and Dean has no choice but to look into Castiel’s eyes, “I want you to know. You do know, don’t you?”

Swallowing roughly, feeling possibly feverish, Dean down, then away, “... you gotta stop saying shit like that, Cas.”

“Why?” he wonders, “It’s only the truth.”

Clearing his throat again - a nervous tic he didn’t realize he had until right then - he mumbles back, “yeah, well… I talk big, but I’m flyin’ blind, so maybe don’t follow me everywhere.”

“I’m a soldier, Dean. A Commander, actually. When I delivered you to the convent where Sam and Ruby were against the wishes of Heaven, I chose you. I pledged my allegiance to an Earthly King over an absent God, and I knew what I was doing when I did,” their steps slow down as Dean takes that in, “All I knew was that… I had faith in you.”

At that, Dean stops moving altogether, his hand slides down from Cas’ shoulder blade to the cinch of his waist, and he allows their joined hands to wilt a bit lower, but he doesn’t let go.

It seems then that Cas is the one having trouble keeping Dean’s gaze.

He looks to some faraway place over Dean’s shoulder, and rasps, “I still do. So, yes, Dean. I will follow you everywhere you lead, for however long you allow me to. I don’t mind flying blind if I’m flying with you.”

“Cas…”

With difficulty, Castiel looks back into Dean’s eyes, and Dean feels his heart thud in his ears. He wonders to himself if Cas can hear it, or feel it, but all Cas does is stare intently back at him, maybe waiting for Dean to confirm or deny something.

“Guys!”

Dean practically jumps away from Cas, frightened as if he’s been caught doing something untoward, but Cas is unbothered.

“I think I found our guy,” Sam announces, none the wiser, “And I think he brought a friend.”

“Yeah,” Dean affirms gruffly, “Got it.”

Sam turns back around first, through the glass doors, back into the busy hall, and Dean starts after him, a hand already twitching toward his holster, sparing Cas a look from over his shoulder.

The Angel is standing there alone, unmistakably ethereal with a backdrop of twinkling stars and lazy fireflies illuminating him; he’s examining his hand as though Dean may have left a mark or a message on him somehow.

“You comin’, Swayze?”

Cas’ eyes snap to attention again, and his forehead wrinkles, “... I don’t understand that reference,” but he follows after Dean anyway.

He doesn’t seem to notice how Dean clenches and unclenches his corresponding hand, but Dean wouldn’t be able to explain it if he did.

[lexsssu]

You’ll Never See It Coming!!! I (Leviathan [Shall We Date: Obey Me!] X Reader)

“I’m not after treasure tonight. No, it’s your heart I’m going to steal.”

.

.

.

“Heh, just kidding. Did you like my impression?”

You don’t even think anymore when you grab the collar of the bluenette’s outfit and pull him down into a clumsy kiss.

Too long had you waited for a moment to profess your heartfelt feelings.

Too frequent had this oblivious fool refused your affections in fear that you’d merely been jesting.

Too stupid were you to give up on this idiot despite all the times he made your heart ache in his efforts to deny the sincerity of your love.

He thought he was funny by teasing you like this?

Dangling what you’d always wanted from him on a string as if he was playing with a docile little kitten?

Leviathan would not get away with this travesty.

Phantom thieves were known for escaping under the cover of darkness, slipping through the hands of their enemies with skill and precision, but the last thing Levi would be doing tonight is escaping your grasp.

With his guard down as you moved your lips against his, you loosen your grip on his clothes only to allow yourself to wrap your arms around his neck instead. Goosebumps dot your arms when the smooth and cool texture of the few scales on his neck rub against your skin.

His lips are surprisingly soft and pliant against your own as you press yourself closer and closer, silently asking the Avatar of Envy to push back, to reciprocate, to tell you that he now understands and wants you as much as you want him even without the use of words.

•·················•·················•

Leviathan was never good with verbal communication.

A lot of times he’d say one thing but would mean the total opposite of what he’d said.

Talking to real-life people was so difficult when you could never guarantee what they’ll say or do next unlike fictional characters. What they like today might not be the same tomorrow nor could you predict their reactions to certain things because so many factors affected their decisions.

That was one of the reasons he’d retreated in the fictional worlds of video games and anime. He didn’t have to worry about stupid things like keeping up appearances or being careful with words because he just had to choose the correct or best possible answer and he’d be awarded.

He’d lived for millennia and had played all manner of different games and had seen almost every line in the book and given the situation he was currently in with you, he couldn’t help but utter one such beloved line just to see your reaction to it.

The demon wasn’t so full of himself like Mammon or Asmodeus that he believed you’d immediately turn into a flustered tizzy, but he did think that you’d break out into laughter at the cheesy overused lines.

At worst you might just call him out for such an unbearably cheesy line.

Levi was sure that he’d tripped and fallen into one of his games that somehow had a heroine that looked exactly like you or that he was even dreaming all of this up at this point.

But when your soft arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him even closer and leaving almost no room between your bodies just as there was no room between his lips and yours…

Leviathan could swear that he saw the gates of heaven open once more for him.

•·················•·················•

When he didn’t initially push you away, whether it was acceptance or shock, you took your actions further in the fear that this may be the first and last time you’ll be able to do this. Yet you couldn’t deny the exhilaration and elation that coursed through your veins as you practically devoured the demon’s lips as if they were a rare delicacy you’d only just discovered.

The taste of his lips was addicting, his natural scent maddening and only further pulling you down into a pit of depravity.

The moment Levi opened his mouth in a surprised moan when you nipped at his bottom lip, your tongue immediately slipped in and met his in an even sloppier and messier kiss. You eagerly intertwined his tongue with yours, coaxing the shy appendage to engage in an erotic dance that further fanned the flames of arousal and heat coursing through your body.

Levi’s taste…

You clench your thighs to try and abate the scorching heat and collecting moisture in between your legs as you try to commit to memory the taste of the bluenette and the feeling of his mouth on yours.

One of your arms unwind from his neck only for your hand to delve into his blue tresses, pushing the back of his head towards you in an effort to minimize the almost non-existent space in between your faces. Now that you finally got to sample the forbidden fruit, something you believed you’d never be able to have…

You’d partake of it again and again, day in and day out without rest if you could and never get tired.

Warm breaths mingled and turned into one, moans & whimpers were swallowed by ravenous mouths that refused to give the other respite. Everytime the male would pull away to breathe you’d immediately pull him back and steal his breath away.

Your lips were swollen from the continuous kisses and nips when you pulled away, a glossy sheen of saliva coating them. “Didn’t see that coming...did you, Mr. Phantom Thief?”

The saucy smile and the state of your lips didn’t help the demon whose face was as vibrant as Beel’s hair, mouth slightly agape as he tried to process the last few minutes of this supposed ‘heist.’

Despite having pulled away from the kiss, you never once released the Avatar of Envy from your grasp. As such, you could feel EVERY inch of him just as he could feel EVERY inch of you.

“But don’t think this is over. I intend to steal your heart…” You blow a warm puff of air into the shell of his ear, noting with great relish at the shiver it coaxed out of your bashful demon.

“...and ALL of you as well”

•·················•·················•

Levi was fucked.

Both literally and figuratively.

(Part 2) NSFW

[macandriley]

MacGyver - 5x14

First of all, I'd just like to say that this is one of the few episodes this season that I've genuinely been in love with. To the point where—though I'm sure there are flaws to find—I don't even care enough to go looking for them.

Teresa Huang is a phenomenal writer. That fact alone is enough to keep me fighting for another season. It's honestly a travesty she's only had the time to write two scripts because her understanding of these characters and the world they live in is top-notch.

Now I'm gonna discuss parts of this episode I loved. So fair warning: spoilers ahead.

So, um...I'm obsessed with Bozer's dad.

I always figured if we ever met him, I'd like him. I just wasn't prepared to love him as much as I do.

Not only did this man take in a child that wasn't his, but he gave him coping mechanisms to deal with his trauma. And when he realized that those mechanisms had become more of a crutch than a tool, he immediately sought to correct it.

Which brought us perhaps the first direct mention of Mac's unhealthy behavior.

That scene was perfect, in my opinion. It wasn't judgment. It wasn't disappointment. It was a father looking out for his son. Simple. Loving. Entirely from a good, well-intentioned place.

And I loved that. I absolutely adore the way they've given Mac more people looking out for him.

The Brink

What's not to love? Riley giving a little love to young, impressionable people who would otherwise fall through the cracks is just beautiful.

Full circle kind of moment.

She's a fictional character and, oddly, I'm proud of her. Because she was given a chance all those years ago, she now gets to give other girls better opportunities. She's using the tools and talent she's been afforded to make the world a better place.

Not just overseas. Not just on a global scale. But also at home, in her own community.

This brings me to

Important Messages

From the Flint water crisis to crooked police officers, this episode tackled some topics that this show had previously ignored under Lenkov. And I'm thrilled to see it.

More than that, I'm thrilled to see it intertwined with the lives of these characters instead of being made to seem like a separate issue entirely.

Lauretta Bozer actively working to make her city a better place—encouraging her son to do the same—was so important. She recognized a lack of leadership in her community and became a leader.

And at risk of sounding repetitive: I absolutely loved that.

Now I'll get to the part you all knew I'd want to discuss eventually.

MacRiley Fire Pit Scene

So obviously, scenes used in promo are sometimes hit or miss. I think we all remember the great 5x03 debacle.

Luckily, it was a great scene. And there are a few things about it that I really enjoyed.

Riley having the literal key to Mac's front door.

The first time I heard her say that it passed right by me. I didn't stop to think twice about it.

Now, I view it as something a little more meaningful. An allegory, if you will.

Mac is not the one who doesn't want to explore things. Riley is. So her having the metaphorical key to his door—just like having one for his house—gives her the freedom to decide for herself to come inside.

Not overly significant in terms of plot, since we already knew that. But I think it's cute regardless.

Riley reassuring Mac

We've heard it before. "I'm not leaving you." "You're never alone." And now, "You'll never lose me."

There's something so powerful about the way Riley doesn't stop affirming her intentions to him. Because Mac has been abandoned and left behind so many times that it's almost impossible for him to imagine anyone being around as long as Riley has.

Nobody other than her ever takes the time to make him feel like a priority. And I'm so glad he has that in somebody. That he trusts her enough to turn to her, and that she loves him enough to never intentionally do anything to break his faith.

Mac holding Riley's hand

There really isn't a lot to say about this other than:

It takes an incredible amount of vulnerability for him to actively seek physical comfort from another human being. And yet, when he's hurting or afraid, he always reaches out to her. Not Bozer or Desi.

Riley.

She's become his safest space.

In Conclusion

I just really love 5x14.

[deadpresidents]

Although my dearly departed Sacramento Monarchs (2005 World Champions, in case you forgot) have now been in defunct sports team heaven for about as long as the team existed in the first place, it's a travesty that ESPN didn't include Ticha Penicheiro as one of the 25 Greatest WNBA players of all-time. I demand an investigation. Correcting this injustice immediately should really be President Biden's main focus as Commander-in-Chief.

I am happy to see that ESPN included Yolanda Griffith in the Top 25 (although she should absolutely be in the Top 10). If they had snubbed Ticha AND Yo, I would not have been responsible for any actions I might have taken in protest.

(If you think I'm just joking about my love for Sacramento's former WNBA team you should know that I still have my replica 2005 WNBA Championship ring sitting on my desk.)

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 129

Despite the last couple weeks of work being profoundly exhausting (think 60 hours, easily), I am proud that I’ve been able to keep writing and stay ahead! I literally could not have done that without @baelpenrose, @charlylimph-blog, @the-raven-fae, and @anotherusrname. Y’all are my real-world rocks when everything gets crazy.

***Shameless Plug: @the-raven-fae has the first episode of the podcast up now! you can find it here!! ***

The other thing that has been keeping me going is each and every one of you who has found this story and binged it from start to finish as a speed-run. I can’t even name all of you at this point, but I want you all to know that I see it, and it makes me smile so hard my face hurts.

Now, who is ready for some Charly shenanigans?

A few days later, I had just enough time to sweep dinner off the table in my quarters before Charly unceremoniously dropped a long something in the midst of us with a dull thud.  Immediately, a rusty red cloud rose up and set us all into a fit of tears and coughing.

Out in the hallway, I was eventually able to convince my lungs to at least try to breathe long enough to wheeze out, “Geezus, Charly, what the hell was that?”

“Soooo….” Uh oh. “ItmayneedsomecalibrationthecloudwasntsupposedtobethatbigandIdidntmeanforittogooffbut - “

I shook my head and typed a quick message on my datapad. “Please breathe because right now I don’t think the rest of us can and I would love to know why.”

She stopped rushing out what I think were words long enough to read the message and try again. “Chili powder arrows. I think I need to recalibrate them, though, because it shouldn’t have gone off at less than one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, and there’s no way I set it down that hard.”

“Why?” I rasped, still swallowing as hard as I could and mentally begging Noah to bring us some water or a medical transport.

“Defensive measures,” she insisted. “Scent navigation is really common in the Galactic community, and so is sensitivity to capsaicin, so…”

“Makes sense,” Conor managed to get out as he tried to gasp for air. “Even Noah.”

“Bit much.” I pinched my fingers as closely as I could without touching - which was more difficult than expected considering that I was shaking.

Maverick was the first to get up off the floor of the corridor, just as the medical transport arrived.  He and Charly helped us on before distributing bottles of water to rinse our mouths and eyes. “It was… a good idea…” he panted once we were all seated. “Just… bit overkill…”

“The range of the cloud is only supposed to be five feet,” she insisted fretfully. “And I swear the pressure sensor is supposed to be calibrated to only go off if it’s fired from a bow or swung really, really hard.”

“Who...want...swing?”  I was honestly starting to get dizzy fighting my airways to breathe.

Once we arrived at a medbay, Charly helped a couple of Miys’ bodies get us out of the transport and lying down in berths. In a glitch-like transition, suddenly I could breathe easily and she was joined by Arthur and Coffey in sitting with us.

“Wait… when did… I’m so confused,” I admitted, my voice only slightly strained.

“Lethe field, apparently,” Arthur shrugged. “You didn’t want to be awake for that.”

Conor sat up and rubbed his sternum. “I remember chili pepper arrows - Charly, love, that was brilliant except the, you know, going off bit - and getting off the transport.”

“Respiratory lavage,” Charly winced. “You know, war crime if done incorrectly?”

I shuddered and nodded. “Yep. Didn’t want to be awake for that, thanks.  Glad I can’t remember, don’t ever want to, would rather remember the pepper bomb you set off. At point blank range?”

She snuggled further down in Coffey’s lap as he gently rubbed her scalp with his fingertips.  Arthur spoke in her defense, instead. “She’s sending the schematics to Zach and Derek to find out what went wrong.  Tactically, they were a brilliant idea - she’s right about the large amount of species who would react even worse than you did if hit with one.”

“I only inhale spices figuratively.  I would prefer not to do it literally - like, ever again.”

Maverick sat up and gave Charly a curious look. “You said they can be swung… Unless I saw something wrong, the arrow was only two feet long.  Who would want to swing something like that?”

Coffey and Arthur both held up gas masks and wiggled them. “Between my arm reach and the length of one of those, I could do it, no problem.”

“We aren’t all so fortunate,” Arthur intoned drily. “Plus, that doesn’t mean someone closer isn’t getting hit.”

Conor raised his hand politely before pointing out a potential flaw. “What if they have gas masks?”

“Noah has a topical reaction,” I answered, my mind racing. “And I assume we have other measures in the works?”

“Multiple types of sonic weaponry are being tested,” Coffey intoned with a nod. “Sub- and ultrasonics, infrasound, and just loud music.”

Still in full Devil’s Advocate mode, Conor persisted. “And if they are covered, head to toe, and none of that works?”

A deafening silence filled the medbay. The prospect of being forcibly boarded had only been a known issue for a week, and apparently this prospect hadn’t been covered yet in the defensive planning.

Finally, it was Maverick who spoke up. Had anyone else been talking, we couldn’t have heard him, but in the quiet his whisper echoed like a gunshot. “The interior hull is organic, not magnetic.”

“Mav, we know that. It doesn’t help us.” Conor’s voice was confused.

Arthur, however, looked like he had just seen a travesty occur in front him, unable to stop it. “You’re talking about blowing the airlocks.”

I scrambled to sit up, clawing at the blanket that covered my legs. “What!? Maverick, he’s wrong, right? You aren’t talking about that, right?”

“It makes logical sense,” Charly added, still laying her head against Coffey’s chest. “If someone boards the Ark by force, and they have enough gear that no amount of defense we mount even bothers them, they would be wearing enough gear to survive being blown into space.”

“And they can’t magnetize to the hull,” Maverick confirmed. “Maybe the outside, but not inside.”

“What about Noah?” I demanded. “They are a non-combatant.”

“Noah evolved in vacuum,” Charly pointed out.

“You’re talking a war strategy!” I nearly shouted. “What about Arthur? Coffey? Or Ivan? Are you seriously going to tell me they won’t be the first people charging to defend the Ark?” I pointed at the previously brandished gas masks with a damning glare.

“We are talking about a last-ditch defense to save as many people on this ship as possible,” she whispered.  “I don’t make the decisions, I just make the tools they are going to use. You know, you know I don’t want us to use any of this. And I plan to booby-trap everything within an inch of all our lives to keep us from having to use as much of it as possible.  Hence, arrows. As many kinds as I can make up.”

I started taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. At my heart of hearts, I knew she was sincere - Charly was almost as much of a pacifist as I was, at the end of the day. Even Arthur wasn’t necessarily a warmonger, just… uninhibited in what he defined as ‘the best defense is a good offense’.

Frustrated, I swung my legs over the side of the berth. “I need to go home. I want dinner, and a nap.  Probably a drink.”

Charly reached out and pushed my legs back on to the bed. “You’re under observation for another hour. Dry-drowning risk.”

I groaned and gave her a pleading look. “I’m hungry, and this isn’t my bed.  It’s honestly half the reason I’m in such a bad mood. You and Arthur probably make absolute perfect sense to less-sleepy, fed Sophia, but right now, not so much.”

“Your limey assistant is bringing a change of clothes, your sister, and some food,” Arthur smirked. “So you get to stay right there,  not die, and get some sleep.”

“But Mac…”

“Is at Derek and Sam’s, but very nice try,” he confessed.

“I wanna go home,” I grumbled sullenly.

Maverick nodded, and gulped down some water Charly handed him. “Did someone turn on the scrubbers in there yet?”

Conor and I turned wide eyes to him. The thought apparently never occurred to either of us. “Charly love,” Conor started hesitantly. “How much bigger was the cloud than you thought?”

“I’m not sure,” she confessed, sheepish. “It was pretty big.”

Rubbing my face briskly, I suppressed the urge to sob. “My blankets… the furniture… our clothes…”

“Else is working on it.”

I glanced at Coffey, confused. “Else is? They eat iron.”

Noah’s voice broke in from the ceiling. “Correction. When still a bacterium, Else fed on iron. However, as they have evolved, their needs have expanded to include a more diverse diet.”

“Are you telling me that there are faceless baby chickens flooding our quarters, eating the chili powder?”

“They do show a preference for foods more toxic to the general Galaxy.  We estimate that this is due to their origin within human beings, who share the same marked trait.”

“At least someone is appreciating my hard work,” Charly grumbled.

I strained to suppress a smile. “I’ll make you whatever you want for dinner, for a week, to make up for being ungrateful?”

“Maybe just tell Alistair it was an accident?  He gets upset when you almost die.”

“Both?”

“Both. Both is good.”

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[estaticheart]

Potter, Turned Rouge Part 1

Summary: For some reason you had never got on with Harry’s ideals, you’d much rather be like your house mates- Slytherins. But when the real test for you comes up, can you handle the pressure?

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A/N: I’m so excited to start this! It’s my first series on this account and i honestly can’t wait! Also feel free to join my taglist!

Reader: Female, Slytherin, Harry’s Twin Sister

It was a travesty to say the least. Harry and Y/n Potter had finally become the age to begin their soon to be famous journey at Hogwarts. They’d walked in side by side, discreetly attempting to clasp their hands together under their black cloaks. Unfortunately, having to let go when Harry was called up to the odd looking hat, that had been yelling out names.

Your smile couldn’t help but spread as Harry had been placed in Gryffindor, the house he had wished for so much on the train to Hogwarts. After his new friend Ron, had told him how it was the only good house in his opinion. He grinned back at you as he passed you, patting your shoulder as he often did as the slightly older twin.

Moments later, your name had been called out by the lady with the hat, walking hesitantly up to the hat. It had sat on your head for not as long as the others, possibly 10 seconds at most. It’s decision was prompt, and also shocking- Slytherin. You had taken your seat as fast as you could, settling next to a somewhat familiar blonde boy. But your eyes where focused on your brother, sitting with Ron and Hermoine. And suddenly you knew it was the end of you both as you knew it.

-

It’d been 5 years now and things have changed much more than you had thought Hogwarts ever would go. You had early on took the liberty of not hanging out with the gryffindors to often, due to the threat of your housemates and your general safety. However that decision quickly led you to becoming an outcast throughout the school in your first and second year, except from a few people running after your name and fame.

Somehow, merlin gave you a second chance in your third year a sudden friendship blooming between you and Draco Malfoy. He wasn’t the first choice of friendship for you, and you weren’t his either but you made it work. It was quite a shock for the castle when they found out, the pair was everything but normal. A Malfoy and a Potter never really was expected especially when Harrry hated Draco, at him too.

“I think we really thrive of the unexpected, Draco. Wouldn’t you agree?” You teased softly, walking with him towards your potions class. You guys often found yourselves walking to classes and etc. together, even if he was on the other side of the castle. “I think we thrive of the fact your brother and his mudblood friends hate me, but love you. Forbidden fruit?” Draco provoked with a fond look towards you.

As soon as he said the words he knew you would be furious at one word in particular, mudblood. You despised the word- which was funny as a Slytherin- and you often went out of your way to correct Draco on his foul words. “Stop it Draco. I understand how you feel about them but don’t say it. I mean it.” You reprimanded him for what felt like the millionth time in the recent weeks since the return to Hogwarts. The once somewhat sweet boy you had known had seemed to disappear even more than you had known.

He didn’t even respond, far too entranced by your face. Draco often spent time obsessed by your beauty, physically and emotionally, being the most heavenly person to grace him. By the time he had stopped letting you consume his mind, you had reached potions. And you had pulled him by the hand behind you, luckily you couldn’t see the pink tint that had spread over his face.

-

“Line up.” Snape ordered, immediately causing a line of students to form in front of you and Draco, then before you knew it you were at the back of the line. “What are we lining up for Draco?” You inquired casually, turning your body around to now face him. Though he shrugged as an answer, before pointing with his chin towards the front of the queue. “I think it’s for Amortentia.” He guessed, shrugging his shoulders once more.

Though before you had knew it you were at the front of the queue, everyone else now at their desks, apart from Draco and you. You were rather anxious to smell your amortentia since Draco had told you. But nether the less, you moved your nose over the potion sniffing at it. The smell was familiar as you could gather, as you knew. A mix of a dark aftershave; vanilla and almond and most predominantly apple. You glanced around at the rest of the class who waited impatiently for your answer, and you reported exactly what you had smelt.

When you had reached back to your seat, a desk you shared at the back of the class with Draco Malfoy. He had began to announce his smell to the class, “Lake water, Coconut and um- home” You flinched at the words, you were almost certain that your perfume was Coconut and Lake Water. But surely, there wasn’t that many perfumes to choose from so it could be anybody’s in reality. He turned himself back to his seat, your knees touching ever so slightly.

“We have to find out who they are. Cant have my best friend being a loner.” You joked, trying to push down the feeling of hurt and embarrassment taht was fizziling in you. The look of hurt flashed across his face unbeknownst to you, he covered it up with a minimal fake smile. “Same goes for you Potter.”