#Vic Grimes

[votava-records]

I Guess? · Verb T · Vic Grimes

Album: The Tower Where The Phantom Lives

℗ High Focus Records

[ghosted-sound]

Verb T & Vic Grimes - Your Heart Deserves by High Focus Records June 28, 2023 at 07:11AM

[crystalsatin]

“cause i’m not sure if i’ve seen you before, you looked familiar when I saw you” – talk, beabadoobee

⋆·˚ ༘ * pairing – carl grimes x fem!reader synopsis – dating carl grimes warnings – none! vic’s notes – none! post type – moodboard

[d-lanx]

my favourite part of this whole thing is that everyone's acting like it's the first time wrestlers have had a real fight backstage. most wrestlers have done it, and many have been a lot worse than this. the only reason aew wants to show this is because punk is in wwe now so they won't have to worry about the consequences and they also want ratings. if both wrestlers were in aew, they would ignore it like any other backstage scuffle

[ringthedamnbell]

Top Five Short Lived WWF/WWE Careers that Could Have Been Better

Top Five Short Lived WWF/WWE Careers that Could Have Been Better

Brian Damage Not every wrestler becomes a main event star in the business. There are some that quite simply become nothing more than mid card attractions and that is perfectly fine. Pro wrestling needs low to mid card talent just as much as they need the superstars. With that said, some never really had the proper opportunities to “make it big” or falter due to lack of TV time or some other…

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets, Day Two: Platonic Bathing

cw: referenced torture, nonsexual nudity, implied fear of noncon

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 448

=~=~=

His hair is filthy.

There's plenty more wrong; the layered bruises, the poorly healed wounds, the infected gashes he had to scrub out as Kiv screamed, but there's nothing left for those but time. Sahota doesn't have a med pod or cell patches, but the apartment they're holed up in has a full-sized tub, and hell knows Kiv could use a bath.

The bigger man is able to stand, which makes getting to the bathroom easy enough, but there's a distance in his eyes. He's not fully present. Sahota is almost thankful for that. Without the sharp awareness, he looks a lot less like Vic.

He helps him sit on the lid of the toilet while he starts the water, running the hand under the flow to make sure the temperature will be comfortable.

“I'm going to take off your clothes, okay?”

Kiv was wearing what could only be described as rags when he found him, but he still panicked when Sahota tried to cut them away and get a look at his injuries, begging him to leave him alone, to not touch him. He wore a few weeks’ stubble, and seeing a face that looked so much like Vic’s so distressed was jarring. Almost stopped him in his tracks, almost made him turn and run. But he'd managed to ground himself. Not Vic, just his clone. Just Kiv, who took every opportunity to take out his own pain on Sahota. Maybe he should've left him there, maybe it was healthier. But if he did, who else would help? Kiv had no one.

Kiv didn't say anything as Sahota stripped him, meekly allowing himself to be helped into the bath. He let out a soft exhale as the warmth hit his body, just that brief contact enough to turn the water a dingy color. Fine, he'd just drain it after the first layer of grime was gone. He grabbed a washrag off the counter and wet it, then set to work cleaning Kiv's back, careful to be gentle when crossing the worst of his wounds. The bigger man was silent throughout, sitting still even as Sahota drained the tub and refilled it.

Without other tools at hand, he used a crumpled water bottle to pour hot water over his scalp, soaping and rinsing his hair, getting out all the grime.

Kiv was back on the sofa, wrapped in a towel, by the time he finally spoke.

“Got a razor?” His voice was small and hoarse.

“Hm?”

Kiv grazed his chin with a bandaged finger. “I can't…" His voice trailed off. He finished the thought with shaky words, nearly silent.

"I don't wanna look like him.”

Sahota understood.

[s6xpunk77]

Songs from my spotify playlist as Bowers Gang members.

(I know this is really random, but i love music so much so i just had too lmao!!)

Also this isnt like what i think they would listen too, its like who i think of when i listen to these songs.

Vic Criss

Wake Me Up When September Ends - Green Day

Verbatim - Mother Mother

Washing Machine Heart - Mitski

Myth - Beach House

Kool Thing - Sonic Youth

Patrick Hockstetter

Oblivion - Grimes

Today - The Smashing Pumpkins

Bed Of Roses - Mindless Self Indulgence

Char - Crystal Castles

What Do They Know? - Mindless Self Indulgence

Belch Huggins

Dont Dream Its Over - Crowded House

Let Down - Radiohead

Fell On Blackdays - Soundgarden

Stand By Me - Oasis

Every Breath You Take - The Police

Henry Bowers

Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong - Radiohead

Your Best American Girl - Mitski

I Am A Wicked Child - Radiohead

High And Dry - Radiohead

Dealer - Lana Del Rey

[natti-ice]

There's a two, I'm sorry but uh take your pick! If the one chosen could be gender neutral that'd be awesome

Antonio with like the user being a vic of a crime of choice, this could also work for Hank.

Antonio with a CI user if that makes sense

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Can also find all my characters on my acc @/ nattiice !

If you would like to request a character please feel free to send me an ask with a prompt! Please note that c.🤖 does not allow nsfw.

Antonio Dawson

intro: you’re sitting in the break room of the intelligence unit, your hair is wet after taking a shower to wash all the dirt and grime from tonight off. The clothes they gave you were a little too big but they kept you warm in the Chicago winter. You’re staring down at your hands when the door squeaks open and Detective Dawson walks in with two mugs in hand. “Mind if I sit?” he asks, his voice soft but tense

[netherfeildren]

vic i need to lick the grime off of him

imagine how sweaty and musty and wet everything is………..

[votava-records]

Chinch 33 - Golden Briefcase (feat. DJ Stylewarz & Vic Grimes)

Album: Delusion

℗ Krekpek Records

[vicenterosas]

closed: @sloedownwulf where: new moonlight

It wasn't often he made house calls, but sometimes it was necessary. He wasn't the guy with the tow truck bringing it into the shop, but he didn't mind taking a trip to fix it in some guy's garage or at a store. Got him out on the road, got him out of his head.

This time, though, it's him heading out across town to the shelter that's cropped up to help people down on their luck. People like him, once upon a time. Maybe a few people who prefer their steak a little more raw than others, but that ain't his business at the end of the day.

He'd just finished up, all grease and grime, but the car was all ready to go. Standing up, he wiped his hands on his jeans and his rag and caught sight of someone he hadn't seen around here at the shelter or around town. Something about her, though, maybe her smell, maybe the fidgeting - whatever.

Vic raised a hand in greeting, "Ay - should be outta y'alls hair in a little bit. Got the gal all ready to go." He smacked the hood of the car down with a crooked grin. "Bout to head inside and tell 'em."

[reyrey11]

Nameless(3)

The old clock tower was home to her, her brother, and their friends—a group Nick was sure didn’t live there by choice but understood loyalty. Her brother’s sole purpose in gathering such a group was simply to extend his own survival.

As Rachel slipped through the back entrance of the tower—a tiny gap she’d discovered long ago—she placed the rings into a worn-out pouch. Once outside, she tossed the pouch into a corner where someone would find it and deliver it to Nick.

Doing it herself would complicate matters, and right now, she didn’t have the patience to lie.

Gripping a section of the tower’s inner wall, she hoisted herself up floor by floor through the crumbling structure until she reached the top floor and her room.

Her room was filled with a broken bed and an overwhelming number of books. Rachel had a habit of sitting on the partially destroyed wall of her room and reading. From that vantage point, she could see the entire city—a rare joy for her. When she sat at that height, looking down on the city, she didn’t need to focus solely on its beauty, as the nobles often did. From up there, she could see the lights of the north and east and hear the music floating through the air, while the west of the city gleamed quietly, like the moon.

Beauty could never exist alone in anyone, anything, or any place. It was ugliness that gave beauty its name, and in this city, the south—her home—was the ugliness that gave meaning to the beauty of other parts.

Throwing herself onto her shabby bed, Rachel let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t in the hands of the authorities, Nick hadn’t reprimanded her, and most importantly, she was alive and lying on her bed.

Her dislocated arm throbbed painfully, and her wounded side, wrapped carelessly in a dirty cloth, had started bleeding again. She desperately needed to clean the wound and rewrap it with something sterile.

Dragging the large water bucket from the corner of her room, she began undressing. Her torn clothes, likely beyond repair, came off with a sensation like peeling off a layer of skin.

Her side wound was far worse than she’d initially thought, needing stitches. Although she was skilled at sketching, Rachel had no talent for sewing. Still, she could manage a few uneven, painful stitches to avoid the endless questions Nick would inevitably ask.

Lowering herself into the water, she cleaned off the grime. When it came time to disinfect the wound, she heated her newly acquired but subpar weapon over a fire. After washing the wound, she pressed the heated metal against its edges, ensuring it wouldn’t become infected.

Stitching the wound resembled sewing far more than she’d expected, though it wasn’t as excruciating as cauterizing. Once done, she wrapped the wound with a clean white cloth and donned one of her many long black dresses, which had slits from the waist down on either side, along with her short boots and black trousers.

Glancing at her bruised eye in the mirror, she applied some powder to mask the discoloration. Her blood sugar had dropped after the morning’s intense chase, so she reached under her bed for a hidden chocolate bar, ensuring the rest of the stash remained well-hidden. If Nick found them, she’d have to make another trip north for another minor theft.

As she rose from under the bed, chocolate in hand, she saw her brother’s spy and her own friend, Victor, standing in the doorway, wearing a frown that spoke volumes.

Chewing on the chocolate, Rachel asked, “What’s wrong, Vic?”

Victor’s frown deepened. “You know exactly what’s wrong. Nick wants to see you.”

Victor’s irritated tone made Rachel wonder what mistake from her morning adventure had landed her in this situation. Without a word, Victor left the room, and Rachel followed him with small steps. As she descended the spiral staircase in the clock tower, she took note of the intricate details in the building she’d called home for over two years.

The craftsmanship in the remaining sections of the black walls revealed that this place, now a ruin in southern Loaris, had once been much more. Despite its decay and the vines overtaking it, the clock tower retained a haunting beauty.

Her brother’s room was at the tower's base. With each step on the worn spiral stairs, her side wound throbbed more sharply, and her dislocated arm grew entirely numb. Still, Rachel ignored the pain and kept descending.

It took over twenty minutes to reach the crimson wooden door of her brother’s room. She didn’t want to face Nick alone, so she ensured Victor stayed with her.

Probably not the wisest choice—Victor seemed grumpier than usual today for reasons only he knew.

Inside, Rachel approached Nick with a carefully crafted nonchalance. Nick, with his blue eyes and short black hair, had a cruelty in his gaze that only enhanced his attractiveness. Many girls would gladly hang themselves for a chance at his attention.

Standing before Nick’s cluttered desk, she waited for the inevitable scolding and punishment for whatever trouble she’d caused today.

When Nick finally spoke, Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. “Give it back.”

She stared at him, puzzled, raising her brows in silent question. Nick rubbed his temples and, with his eyes closed, said, “Let’s not make this hard. Return the knife you took from my desk this morning.”

He didn’t know about her morning adventure, which was good news. But the fact that he knew she’d taken his knife wasn’t.

With a sulky tone, Rachel said, “I can’t wander around unarmed. What if someone attacks me?”

Nick smirked. “Don’t kid yourself, girl. Even your bare hands are weapons. And if you don’t have a knife, maybe you’ll focus more on defending yourself instead of causing trouble—which would be a good thing.”

Raising his hand, he waited for the knife to be placed in it.

Reluctantly, Rachel removed the weapon from her belt and handed it over. “Can I go now, sir?” she asked with crossed arms and a sarcastic tone, prompting Nick to laugh and stand.

Nick pinched her cheek. “When you talk like that, it feels like I’m dealing with a child, not a composed twenty-year-old woman.”

Victor, leaning against the wall, quipped dryly, “Composed?”

Rachel shot Victor a warning glance, prompting him to raise his hands in mock surrender, though his faint smirk didn’t escape her notice.

Nick twirled the reclaimed knife thoughtfully in his hand. “Well, at least now I don’t have to worry about you slicing someone’s throat while I’m asleep.”

Rachel, with a mischievous glint in her eye, replied, “I still have my hands for strangling, dear brother.”

Nick gave her a look that warned against even joking about such a thing.

Shrugging, Rachel turned to Victor with a silent question.

Victor, in his usual calm, neutral tone, asked, “What do you want to know?”

Nick, now buried in his papers again, muttered to no one in particular, “I’ll never understand how these two communicate with just a look.”

Resting against Nick’s desk, Rachel toyed with her nails and asked, “Who were the people dealing drugs in Tethys last week?”

Nick’s head snapped up, his gaze darting between Victor and Rachel before landing on Victor.

Victor locked his green eyes on Rachel’s and silently warned her to avoid causing more trouble after getting the information.

Rachel sighed dramatically. “Relax, it’s for Asmini.” A lie—her friend had neither asked nor cared to know.

Nick, seemingly reassured, returned to his work. His trust in Asmini was something Rachel had never felt directed at her.

Victor, now calmer, said, “They were agents of the second prince. Heard the deal was made on his direct orders.”

Hearing the second prince’s name, Rachel’s expression darkened. She had expected it, yet the mention still filled her with disdain.

The prince—a hedonist known for frequenting brothels—was a fool who habitually pinned the chaos he caused in the south on innocent locals.

Rachel longed to slit his throat slowly, ensuring he felt every ounce of pain as he drowned in his own blood.

Her growing anger drew Nick’s attention. He placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

Closing her eyes briefly, Rachel said to Victor, “I need proof. Evidence that he did this.”

Victor lowered his head, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry. I can’t. He left no traces.”

Rachel shook her head in disappointment. If Victor couldn’t help, no one could. That meant she’d have to take matters into her own hands.

Turning back to Nick, she asked, “May I go?”

Nick gestured toward the door, dismissing her. Rachel strode out, leaving her brother and Victor to discuss matters she wasn’t privy to.

She had no desire to hear about more innocent lives slaughtered by the royal guard.

No one cared about the deaths of southern Loaris residents—not even the southerners themselves. And even if someone did, no one dared to oppose the royal guard.

[another-corpo-rat]

Not a shippy one this time – but the idea fit the prompt so I ran with it.

Prompts: All Comes Crashing No warnings apply Summary: Jackie Welles has a dead rockerboy in his head, is dying himself, and now a fancy-pressed suit he used to know is looking at him like he’s a damn fool.

.

Jackie knows Victoria. He saved her ass a few years back, during an op in Mexico that went tits up real quick. Kept an eye on her when she had to deep-dive in a shitty bathtub in a shitty hotel with no AC, the room still steaming from overheated tech and the heavy weight of the air despite the open window and bath that was more ice than water.

And she got what they needed to save the day and get the hell outta dodge. Credit went to her, of course. The Arasaka agent, not the nameless merc who kept her ass alive through it all.

‘Typical glory-hogs,’ Johnny huffs, voice taking that hard, bitter edge it always got when Arasaka was involved, ‘you spill your blood, they take the credit and you get to consider yourself lucky if they don’t spit in your face afterwards.’

Nah, he thinks. Not Vic. At least not entirely. She made sure his ass got some praise for it, paid him back enough that he didn’t have to worry about his too-many open tabs for a solid eight months. Even offered to wrangle him a place straight into Arasaka’s security training.

“It’s a simple enough job.” She said, tapping her cigarette into the ashtray. “Pays well, and your dear mother won’t have to worry about you coming home dead in a taxi.” And she knew what she was doing, plucking at his heart like that. Playing on the worry he knows his mama lives with, has lived with since he threw his lot in with the Valentinos as a kid.

He considered it, for all of a moment.

“Nah chica,” her eye twitched at the word, “I mean, ma’am- thanks but corpo life wouldn’t really be my thing, y’know?”

“Oh, of course. Who has ever become a legend in Night City by working as a security guard?” He nodded, she sighed, and that was that.

Last he saw her was their conversation in the plaza, below the giant fish, before the heist. She called him an idiot but wished him well. He didn’t expect to see her again.

Not here at least.

Victoria stands out like a sore thumb on the derelict Ebunike, white suit impossibly spotless against the grime. Yet she sits as comfortably as she might do on an office chair, legs crossed, tilted back just enough to appear comfortable. Watching him with a tight, judging expression. Like he was a fool.

He feels like one, that pit in his stomach a familiar thing – has been for a while now, since he watched Saburo get murked by his own son, since he heard T-Bug’s scream in his ear. He should’ve scoped the place out longer, waited for Rogue to get back in touch. Or just take a second to wonder if Smasher might have some extra, discreet security on his super-secret hideout beyond Maelstrom. Like a netrunner.

Sometimes it was hard to tell if the impatience was his own or Johnny’s.

He’d bet his leg on it being Johnny’s right now.

Guy was pacing in a small circle, sneering at the back of Victoria’s head. Somehow getting himself wound up at her lack of reaction, as if she was deliberately ignoring him.

“So, you have the engram of Johnny Silverhand in your head, brain leaking out of your ears, and you both decided that ending a grudge with Smasher would be a good use of your increasingly limited time?”

“Heh. Makes me sound like an idiot when you put it like that, Chica.” Her eye twitches.

“Because you are.” She stares at him hard, eyes narrowed. Used to be that look made him anxious, got him squirming. Now it was as easy to shake off as Rogue’s quiet disapproval. “You’re taking the word of a narcissistic terrorist as truth, for one.”

“I’m not taking his word—” he sits forward, Victoria straightens, eyes flashing in a subtle warning.

‘Easy Jacks, she’s got her finger on the trigger.’ And not of a gun, they both know. A decent netrunner doesn’t need one – and Victoria has long since bragged that she’s beyond decent. He knows himself how hard her quickhacks bite. ‘We do this, you gotta be quick and not so goddamn obvious.’

Right, right.

He relaxes himself back, too forced for it to even appear natural. She doesn’t ease. At all. “I’m not taking his word. Let’s be real, we both know that ain’t worth shit. But I- I’ve lived his memories. I was there when he stormed the tower, when he planted that nuke.” Something changes in her then, a brief raise of her brow, a sharpening in her eyes. “When Smasher pulled the trigger…”

“Then Silverhand lies to himself as much as he does you.”

‘Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. Just pop that bullet into her skull now.’

‘Careful Johnny. You’re making me think she’s got a point.’

‘Her point is to waste our time. Smasher’s not here, we oughta delta, regroup with Rogue and rethink our approach. If you’re gonna puss out on killing her, then at least knock her out.’

‘I’m not—’

“Welles.” Her sharper voice pulls him back, eyes focusing on her. “Do you know what a black-box is? For conversion frames, specifically.”

‘And here she goes, wasting more of our time.’

He ignores the engram, shaking his head in response to the question. She makes a soft little sound and finally lets herself ease back. He can’t tell if she’s really relaxed, or if she’s just better at pretending than he is.

“It’s a recorder. Always on, catching what they do at all times. And largely unalterable, unless they upload it elsewhere for a BD-editor to scroll through, but even then the source footage is still in their records, untouched.”

Something spikes in his head, right where the relic is fixed into his broken slot. A pulse of irritation and dread in a sickening mix that flows to sit heavy in his stomach. And it must show in his face – something in Victoria’s expression has changed, a slight but there lifting of her features. The smile on her lips isn’t pleasant.

“Unlike the worm you have writhing about in your head, Smasher can’t lie about the events of that night – not to himself, and not to anyone else who has seen that footage from its source.”

‘Are you really believing this shit Jacks? Shoot her, draw the bastard out and ask him yourself if you really wanna know-’ A desperate press to Johnny’s voice betrays him, the pause in his pacing, the draw of his brow and the pinch of the cigarette. All telling.

Victoria’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, a quick thing. A snake scenting the air.

“Do you want to see the truth of that night? Or are you going to let a dead man pull you into the grave with him, Welles?”

A buzz rises in his ears, a pull in his gut like a weight threatening to claw up and out. It deafens him to Johnny’s ranting – something he can see as the man returns to pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, arms in the air when he’s not gesturing wildly to the city, to Victoria, to his head.

They’re both liars, Johnny and Victoria. One for pride, the other for fun.

His fingers twitch, jaw clenched to keep that uncomfortable thing in him down.

He just about manages to ground out;

“Show me.”

(In the midst of a raw BD, where his steps are heavier and his voice mechanised, he doesn’t see her eyes aglow with an outgoing call.)

[kwebtv]

Burke’s Law -  List of Guest Stars

The Special Guest Stars of “Burke’s Law” read like a Who’s Who list of Hollywood of the era.  Many of the appearances, however, were no more than one scene cameos.  This is as complete a list ever compiled of all those who even made the briefest of appearances on the series.  

Beverly Adams, Nick Adams, Stanley Adams, Eddie Albert, Mabel Albertson, Lola Albright, Elizabeth Allen, June Allyson, Don Ameche, Michael Ansara, Army Archerd, Phil Arnold, Mary Astor, Frankie Avalon, Hy Averback, Jim Backus, Betty Barry, Susan Bay, Ed Begley, William Bendix, Joan Bennett, Edgar Bergen, Shelley Berman, Herschel Bernardi, Ken Berry, Lyle Bettger, Robert Bice, Theodore Bikel, Janet Blair, Madge Blake, Joan Blondell, Ann Blyth, Carl Boehm, Peter Bourne, Rosemarie Bowe, Eddie Bracken, Steve Brodie, Jan Brooks, Dorian Brown, Bobby Buntrock, Edd Byrnes, Corinne Calvet, Rory Calhoun, Pepe Callahan, Rod Cameron, Macdonald Carey, Hoagy Carmichael, Richard Carlson, Jack Carter, Steve Carruthers, Marianna Case, Seymour Cassel, John Cassavetes, Tom Cassidy, Joan Caulfield, Barrie Chase, Eduardo Ciannelli, Dane Clark, Dick Clark, Steve Cochran, Hans Conried, Jackie Coogan, Gladys Cooper, Henry Corden, Wendell Corey, Hazel Court, Wally Cox, Jeanne Crain, Susanne Cramer, Les Crane, Broderick Crawford, Suzanne Cupito, Arlene Dahl, Vic Dana, Jane Darwell, Sammy Davis Jr., Linda Darnell, Dennis Day, Laraine Day, Yvonne DeCarlo, Gloria De Haven, William Demarest, Andy Devine, Richard Devon, Billy De Wolfe, Don Diamond, Diana Dors, Joanne Dru, Paul Dubov, Howard Duff, Dan Duryea, Robert Easton, Barbara Eden, John Ericson, Leif Erickson, Tom Ewell, Nanette Fabray, Felicia Farr, Sharon Farrell, Herbie Faye, Fritz Feld, Susan Flannery, James Flavin, Rhonda Fleming, Nina Foch, Steve Forrest, Linda Foster, Byron Foulger, Eddie Foy Jr., Anne Francis, David Fresco, Annette Funicello, Eva Gabor, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Reginald Gardiner, Nancy Gates, Lisa Gaye, Sandra Giles, Mark Goddard, Thomas Gomez, Pedro Gonzalez Gonzalez, Sandra Gould, Wilton Graff, Gloria Grahame, Shelby Grant, Jane Greer, Virginia Grey, Tammy Grimes, Richard Hale, Jack Haley, George Hamilton, Ann Harding, Joy Harmon, Phil Harris, Stacy Harris, Dee Hartford, June Havoc, Jill Haworth, Richard Haydn, Louis Hayward, Hugh Hefner, Anne Helm, Percy Helton, Irene Hervey, Joe Higgins, Marianna Hill, Bern Hoffman, Jonathan Hole, Celeste Holm, Charlene Holt, Oscar Homolka, Barbara Horne, Edward Everett Horton, Breena Howard, Rodolfo Hoyos Jr., Arthur Hunnicutt, Tab Hunter, Joan Huntington, Josephine Hutchinson, Betty Hutton, Gunilla Hutton, Martha Hyer, Diana Hyland, Marty Ingels, John Ireland, Mako Iwamatsu, Joyce Jameson, Glynis Johns, I. Stanford Jolley, Carolyn Jones, Dean Jones, Spike Jones, Victor Jory, Jackie Joseph, Stubby Kaye, Monica Keating, Buster Keaton, Cecil Kellaway, Claire Kelly, Patsy Kelly, Kathy Kersh, Eartha Kitt, Nancy Kovack, Fred Krone, Lou Krugman, Frankie Laine, Fernando Lamas, Dorothy Lamour, Elsa Lanchester, Abbe Lane, Charles Lane, Lauren Lane, Harry Lauter, Norman Leavitt, Gypsy Rose Lee, Ruta Lee, Teri Lee, Peter Leeds, Margaret Leighton, Sheldon Leonard, Art Lewis, Buddy Lewis, Dave Loring, Joanne Ludden,  Ida Lupino, Tina Louise, Paul Lynde, Diana Lynn, James MacArthur, Gisele MacKenzie, Diane McBain, Kevin McCarthy, Bill McClean, Stephen McNally, Elizabeth MacRae, Jayne Mansfield, Hal March, Shary Marshall, Dewey Martin, Marlyn Mason, Hedley Mattingly, Marilyn Maxwell, Virginia Mayo, Patricia Medina, Troy Melton, Burgess Meredith, Una Merkel, Dina Merrill, Torben Meyer, Barbara Michaels, Robert Middleton, Vera Miles, Sal Mineo, Mary Ann Mobley, Alan Mowbray, Ricardo Montalbán, Elizabeth Montgomery, Ralph Moody, Alvy Moore, Terry Moore, Agnes Moorehead, Anne Morell, Rita Moreno, Byron Morrow, Jan Murray, Ken Murray, George Nader, J. Carrol Naish, Bek Nelson, Gene Nelson, David Niven, Chris Noel, Kathleen Nolan, Sheree North, Louis Nye, Arthur O'Connell, Quinn O'Hara, Susan Oliver, Debra Paget, Janis Paige, Nestor Paiva, Luciana Paluzzi, Julie Parrish, Fess Parker, Suzy Parker, Bert Parks, Harvey Parry, Hank Patterson, Joan Patrick, Nehemiah Persoff, Walter Pidgeon, Zasu Pitts, Edward Platt, Juliet Prowse, Eddie Quillan, Louis Quinn, Basil Rathbone, Aldo Ray, Martha Raye, Gene Raymond, Peggy Rea, Philip Reed, Carl Reiner, Stafford Repp, Paul Rhone, Paul Richards, Don Rickles, Will Rogers Jr., Ruth Roman, Cesar Romero, Mickey Rooney, Gena Rowlands, Charlie Ruggles, Janice Rule, Soupy Sales, Hugh Sanders, Tura Satana, Telly Savalas, John Saxon, Lizabeth Scott, Lisa Seagram, Pilar Seurat, William Shatner, Karen Sharpe, James Shigeta, Nina Shipman, Susan Silo, Johnny Silver, Nancy Sinatra, The Smothers Brothers, Joanie Sommers, Joan Staley, Jan Sterling, Elaine Stewart, Jill St. John, Dean Stockwell, Gale Storm, Susan Strasberg, Inger Stratton, Amzie Strickland, Gil Stuart, Grady Sutton, Kay Sutton, Gloria Swanson, Russ Tamblyn. Don Taylor, Dub Taylor, Vaughn Taylor, Irene Tedrow, Terry-Thomas, Ginny Tiu, Dan Tobin, Forrest Tucker, Tom Tully, Jim Turley, Lurene Tuttle, Ann Tyrrell, Miyoshi Umeki, Mamie van Doren, Deborah Walley, Sandra Warner, David Wayne, Ray Weaver, Lennie Weinrib, Dawn Wells, Delores Wells, Rebecca Welles, Jack Weston, David White, James Whitmore, Michael Wilding, Annazette Williams, Dave Willock, Chill Wills, Marie Wilson, Nancy Wilson, Sandra Wirth, Ed Wynn, Keenan Wynn, Dana Wynter, Celeste Yarnall, Francine York.

[watasemasaru]

Please tell us about the Days Sisters!

The Days girls are the American Japanese-Welsh cousins of Osaka Trio (Wakaba, Ryuko, & Kyrie). They were born and raised in Harlan, KY to Oisín M. Days and Chieko Ono.

They're parents are both doctors who work hard to help people in Harlan which is an major poverty stricken area. Oisín is very quiet, a bit spacy, and always looks to have a cloud of melancholy hanging over him. Chieko is bursting with good humor and energy. She has a big laugh and a big heart.

Shasta Shizuka Days (married name; Sanchez)

DOB: April 1, 1968

The eldest sister. In the typical trope way she's also the shortest. Shasta is a Harvard graduate district attorney that works in tandem with the major crimes unit her husband Julio works in LA. She's perceived to most, even to her sisters as cold, mean, crabby, etc. Julio and their children are pretty much the only people who get to see the real Shasta. Like Ian has mentioned; "she didn't used to be that way." Shasta is precise and logical, she needs everything to be just-so. She's very fashionable and has an austere, clean sense of style...which is a stark contrast to the shit box death wobble rust ridden pick up truck she won't get rid of. With Julio they have three biological kids; twins Mana & Shiho, and Mamoru, and an adopted son; Mark. Outside of work Shasta doesn't really have friends, she's a homebody and likes to read old french novels or watch black and white movies.

Dahlia Eiko Days

DOB July 7, 1973

The second sister and the tallest at 5'11. Dahlia is not in anyway like her parents and sisters in the academics department. She only just barely got out of high school and WOULD NOT go to college. Dahlia is a detective that made her way out to LA and worked in Farmington but bailed, seeing the writing on the wall with Vic Mackey and his strike team. She worked major crimes with Julio and Shasta but eventually felt the need for seasons so she's currently in Chicago working Intelligence. Dahlia is brash, sarcastic, a shameless flirt, and short tempered. Because of her temperament she makes risky impulse decisions, but is fueled by good intentions and almost naive sense of what justice should be. Dahlia is the antithesis of Shasta where you'll never see her in a dress or a skirt, you can't even get in a blazer unless work requires it. She's jeans, tshirts, and hoodies all the way. Dahlia currently has a restoration project of a classic muscle car. In her off time she's bent down under the hood working, grease and grime all over her face and a cigarette in her mouth. She's also a reader but it's modern mysteries.

Sunny Miyu Days

DOB December 13, 1978

Third in line and the "older" twin. Sunny has stayed close to home, when to a state school, trained at glynco and is a us marshall out of Lexington. Sunny is true to her name; lively, outgoing, friendly. She has big golden retriever energy. Sunny is also very nosy and that usually gets her into trouble because she can't leave well enough alone. Her dog with a bone nature is probably why she's so good at chasing fugitives. Her and Raylan Givens both kicking up dirt hasn't put either of them in the graces of the people in their hometown. Sunny dresses a little casual for work, jeans and a button down in a tacky print, but at home she's a cutoffs, tank top, and everyone be damned if you make her put on shoes lol. She watches a lot of tv, cooking shows especially since she's of the four the worst cook. Sunny is a bit of carpenter, she likes remodeling her house when the mood strikes her. And she's nursing a HUGE crush on her coworker, Rachel Brooks.

Ian Hibiki Days (married name; Barba)

DOB December 13, 1978

The youngest! She and Sunny are also mirror twins. If you look at the banner their freckles are the same but the opposite side. Sunny's dyed hair distinguishes them but also Ian is considerably shorter due to getting sick in her early teens that resulted in her stunted height. She's right as rain though, just now she's "the short twin." Ian is less outgoing than Sunny, but still friendly. Ian's described as empathetic, intuitive, kind, with a tendency to be analytical. She's also a Harvard graduate with linguistics and psychology. She's a detective in Manhattan with SVU. Her partner was Munch until he retired and then got partnered with Carisi. She did early in her story help out Chicago Intelligence where she was briefly close with Antonio Dawson.

Ian is loyal to an almost deadly fault. She will always put herself out to help someone else. And like her twin will keep at it till she sees the desired result. Ian is a good cook but absolutely hates cooking. You can usually find her somewhere "low-end" as opposed to the fancy places nyc has to offer. She's big on breakfast. Ian now and then likes to play videogames, but to Fin's disappointment, not fps. She's a swanky dresser like Shasta but has a much more masculine/tomboyish flair. Trousers, jeans, oxfords, boots, blazers and plaid that looks like it came off a couch from the 70s.

She has a saint bernard; Chevalier, whom she had before she met Barba and a cat; Caderousse that Barba tried really hard not to like but that's his cat now. She and Barba have two children; Yui Catalina and Inés Hanamaru (middles names are maternal and paternal grandmother's names respectively)

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

"So if this is where you live, why's it look ugly? Do you not clean at all? We need to buy you a swiffer mop or somethin'. The build up in here would not pass the mom test. Does Mama need ta come in here and teach you how ta clean?"

She's nitpicking his home "Need ta teach you how ta decorate too. I'd say this place needs a lady's touch, but even my Baba decorated better than this and he was a single dad for 1300 years! Then again, I was also doin' a lot of decoratin' myself by paintin' on the walls. Maybe I should paint somethin' for you! Maybe we get some brighter colors in here too. How do ya feel about pink?"

"Warden loooves pink. It's his favorite color. Everythin' he owns is pink to a degree. I'm partial to green myself, but you got enough green out here livin' in tha middle of a mountain. Maybe we get some blues in here, and whites- OH! How about magenta? Magenta's a good color. Though Mama likes red. OOOOO, how about some red strips on the columns? That might look nice. Or we could do some diamond patterns, or polkadots. OH! Auntie's got some real neat lookin' patterns on her walls. She calls her style vi- vic- victormium? Victananaiam?"

He wasn't paid enough for this... well, he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, but you get the idea.

Taking a deep breath to focus... then another to focus on his innate powers, the Fae exhales slow and evenly... as a number of flowering vines appear and spread over all the walls: Morning Glories, Clematis, and Jasmine blooming and spreading their vibrant violets, burgundies, and whites along with fresh tapestries of green... while a far subtler pulse of magic re-polishes the remaining stone and wood as any remaining traces of dust or grime evaporate.

"...is that better? Paint is one thing, but the more living things are down here, the better for me, and the fresher the air around us. What do you think?"