#for whom are you seeing new casualties?

[buttercuparry]

When does the Nakba that started 76 years ago stop?

[artbyblastweave]

Let’s get some abandoned effortposts on disco Elysium in the list. Liked what analysis on it you had, would be great to see more, or fail to see as the case may be

Here’s one of the last insights on Disco Elysium I care to put to paper for a good long while; I really enjoy the nested futility and self-defeat of the central murder mystery, the way it structured to constantly raise the question of how anyone could possibly benefit from what you’re doing.

I mean off the bat the murder victim is a fascist stormtrooper, so there’s that. I personally maintain that it’s still good in a general sense to investigate murders regardless of the moral standing of the victim, but to get real, it’s a very convenient time for me to embrace universalist rhetoric given how little support the neighborhood receives with problems that don’t involve someone well connected. And then, over the course of the game, you can kill all four people left on the planet to whom the initial victim actually mattered on a personal level. Three in clear-cut self-defense, the fourth as an optional casualty to the same mindless, trusting proceduralism that’s admittedly and unfortunately intertwined with my “ no murder left unsolved” stance.

And then! You finally run down the murderer, and from a public safety perspective it turns out that if you’d just gone home after the mercenary tribunal, nothing would have changed; Dros is on his last legs, the odds he’s gonna kill anyone else are very very low.

The last redoubt is the ideological angle- there could be a narrative here about how you’re crushing the last vestige of the revolution, how the killing and the subsequent investigation was the last theatre of the old war- but I think the narrative resists even this attempt to read meaning into it. From an ideological perspective Dros committed the killing off the clock. It was spite, not praxis- informed in the moment by his misanthropy, his neuroses about women, and his obsession with Klaasje more than it was about striking a blow for communism. He killed Lely while Lely was doing probably the least objectionable thing he ever did. Obviously Dros’s neuroses and living situation were downstream of ideology, of material circumstances, in the way everything else is- but to try and elevate the killing by making it about that feels disingenuous.

And this is great, because Disco Elysium isn’t really about the murder mystery in the same way that Fallout: New Vegas isn’t really about finding the guy who shot you in the head-it’s an injection point, it’s a thread you pull for guidance, but the real meat is all the other stuff and people you encounter while poking around. The killing isn’t unimportant, per se, but the mystery surrounding it kinda is! Given the repeated anti-climax, it’s definitely *less* important than the harm you can cause to people in order to push the investigation forward, or the good you can do for the community by going off-script and helping people out with random bullshit. It’s neat!

[spacius]

living in the past - dr. spencer reid: 1

Who? dr spencer reid x original female character

Where Daisy's biggest secret is revealed, not only for BAU but for the whole world.

Warnings: avengers, marvel, peter parker, far from home, snap. It takes place in 2034, Spencer is 30 years old and oc is 28. 5-year snap influence so chronologically oc is born in 2001 and Spencer in 2004 but he wasn't snapped.

“I know you’re going to say the same thing for the 38th time, Morgan,” Spencer whispered as if revealing a state secret, “but it’s not just me being paranoid. I swear, there’s something suspicious about her.”

They were ready, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive so they could head to the crime scene.

“Pretty boy, whether she’s plotting some evil plan to end the world or not, I have no idea—and honestly, I’d rather not know.” Derek grinned, trying to hold back a laugh as Spencer rolled his eyes. “But you might want to tone it down. She’s gonna start thinking you’ve got a crush on her.”

Derek was enjoying this far more than he’d ever admit. While Spencer rolled his eyes so hard they nearly completed a full circle, Penelope burst into the room, her energy frantic.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, have you seen what’s in the news? You have to see it—my God, I’m going to combust, any second now!” Penelope spoke so fast that even Derek, with all his experience, could barely keep up. Spencer, for his part, blinked, trying to process the onslaught of words.

“Garcia, slow down, we can’t—”

“Spencer Walter Reid, for the love of all things cute and fluffy, open your phone and check the news now!” she demanded, practically vibrating with urgency. She looked seconds away from strangling the youngest member of the team if he didn’t move faster. “It’s breaking news, and trust me, this will back up one of your theories!”

That was all Spencer needed. He quickly pulled out his phone, while Derek raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

A news broadcast lit up Spencer’s screen. The anchor’s voice was grave: “We come to you now with shocking revelations about 2023 attack in London. An anonymous source has provided us with this footage, reportedly from moments before Quentin Beck, aka Mysterio, died twelve years ago. A warning: Some viewers may find this footage disturbing.”

The screen cut to an altered video of the Tower Bridge battle. Spencer and Derek exchanged a glance, both raising an eyebrow before turning back to the screen. Just as they were about to speak, a man’s voice—Quentin Beck’s—filled the room.

“I managed to send the Elemental back through the dimensional rift,” Beck’s voice declared. “But I don’t think I’m going to make it off this bridge alive. Spider-Woman attacked me! She has an army of weaponized drones—Stark technology! She’s claiming she’ll be the new Iron Man, and no one else!”

A robotic voice followed, colder than the woman’s: “Are you sure you want to initiate the drone attack? There will be significant casualties.”

“Do it. Execute them all,” the feminine human voice, trembling like she was on the edge of collapsing.

The footage wasn’t as graphic as what Derek, Spencer, and Penelope were used to seeing, but it was disturbing in its implications. The video cut to J. Jonah Jameson, the notorious anchor.

“There you have it, folks: conclusive proof that Spider-Woman was responsible for the brutal murder of Mysterio, an inter-dimensional warrior who gave his life to protect our world. He will no doubt go down as the greatest hero of our time. But that’s not all—here’s the real blockbuster. Brace yourselves.”

The bullpen seemed to freeze, no one daring to breathe.

“Spider-Woman’s real identity is… Spider-Woman’s name is Gwendolyn Stacy Parker! Gwen Parker!”

On the screen, an image of Daisy appeared—Daisy, whom Spencer had been trying to convince Derek was hiding something. But this wasn’t right. The photo, though younger, was eerily similar. Too similar.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Spencer murmured, brows furrowing. “Her name is Daisy Hawke. There’s no way she’s Gwen Parker. We would know if she had any connection to a superhero.”

“Well, that’s what I thought,” Penelope said after calming down. “But then I started digging for something that could explain this madness, and suddenly, the pieces began to fit together.”

“And here we go—Reid-splaining has officially contaminated her,” Morgan quipped.

“In 2006, New York broke the record for missing children. But here’s the strangest part: 182 children went missing in a single day. Almost all of them were found together later, but there were very few details. So, I started digging deeper into the history of Dais—Gwen—whatever she calls herself now. There’s a gap in her life between 2006 and 2010. If you think about it, she’s never really talked about her childhood. So, I kept digging. And then, I dug some more. And there it was—among the 182 children kidnapped that day: Gwendolyn Stacy Parker. I believe that’s where the beginning of the false end of her life started.” She paused to catch her breath.

“None of the victims ever spoke about what happened. Since they were just kids, this whole thing could snowball into something huge.” Penelope decided to stop there; she didn’t like imagining what might have happened to someone she cared about so much.

“I’m sorry, Derek. I’m sorry, Garcia, but I have to say this once and for all—I told you so, and I’ve never enjoyed saying it more.”

“Pretty boy’s not going to let me live this down anytime soon, baby,” Derek muttered with a grin. “But hey, does Hotch, JJ, David, Emily, and you know, Daisy, know about this?”

“No idea. With Daisy being late, she certainly knows something. She’s probably in deep trouble with the life she left behind, and if the rest of the team doesn’t know, they’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“I don’t see why you’re so worried about it, Garcia.”

“You’re only saying that because you and Einstein never got along. I just—can’t imagine the pain of going through all the bad things you left behind when you were 18.”

“This about Hawke?” Hotch emerged from the shadows, his voice calm and composed. “Either way, be discreet. She’s one of our best agents, and it would be a shame to lose her. So act like she’s not a superhero.”

At that moment, the trio had confirmation that everyone knew, and they knew Daisy knew they knew, but no one would talk about it for a long time.

About 20 minutes had passed, and the team was already on the jet—everyone except Daisy, of course. Hotch had mentioned earlier that she had “encountered some personal issues and wasn’t cleared for this case.”

Out of everyone on board, Rossi was the most unsettled. He shifted in his seat, clearly itching to talk. If he didn’t get this out, it seemed like he might burst. “Hey, Emily,” he leaned over and nudged her arm subtly, “did you hear… about Daisy?” His curiosity was so obvious that it almost made her smirk.

“Dave, keep it cool,” Prentiss muttered, barely moving her lips. “I want to talk about it later, too.” Oh, Lord, Daisy's ear definitely would be hot.

Aqui está o texto adaptado para o estilo e os personagens de Criminal Minds:

“The case was solved in two weeks, and the BAU team quickly returned to Quantico. Most of them were too exhausted to think about the incident involving Daisy, but Spencer Reid didn’t fit into that majority. Being the genius he is, the details lingered in his mind throughout the case, often making it difficult for him to concentrate on his work.

Could it really be the same person? The face was undeniably similar — if not identical. The only difference was the hair color; Gwen had red hair while Daisy had brown. She must have spent a lot on hair dye.

Spencer preferred to believe they were different people. He didn’t like to admit it to himself, but at that moment, he wanted to be wrong. He hoped that all the times he had sensed something off about Daisy, that she was hiding something, were just his imagination. With his genius IQ, he would surely notice if she were, of all things, a superhero, right? Oh, when he saw her the next day, they would need to have a serious conversation.

Reviews and advice are welcomeaised voices and accusations in years.

Author's note: thank you to everyone who is reading this, this is the first time I write something like this and English is not my first language, but I had this idea stuck in my head for weeks <3 I'm sorry for the mistakes

Author's note: thank you to everyone who is reading this, this is the first time I write something like this and English is not my first language, but I had this idea stuck in my head for weeks <3 I'm sorry for the mistakes

criticism and advice are welcome

[hikarry]

Hi, yes, it's Spencer again with his "what's ifs" and silly scenarios. Are you comfortable? Fantastic. Now lend me your ear for a sec *cracks knuckles*

In an universe where Adam followed the plan and Aziraphale and Crowley were equally as incompetent at stopping the Apocalypse, the Holy War would happen, obviously

Aziraphale would be given the leadership of a platoon and Crowley would be given a weapon he hasn't used in 6000 years and wished he never would have to again

They fight, because it's kill or be killed, ever without knowing if the other is still alive or not, afraid and yet keeping an eye out for the other for no other reason than their desire to see each other at least once more

It's like reliving the same trauma all over again, but this time you know your best friend is across enemy lines and you don't know if you will be the one to kill him or not

The Earth is destroyed. The humans die as collateral damage and the planet becomes nothing but a wasteland

Whoever wins is irrelevant. Both sides have a high number of casualties and the survivers of the losing side are taken as war prisoners

Maybe if Hell wins, the remaining angels will be turned into slaves for Satan and other high ranking demons. If Heaven wins, the demons would be locked up for all eternity in the fire pits that used to be Hell, watched by angels

Crowley and Aziraphale survive, regardless of the scenario, but they have no idea the other did. At the end of the war, free or not, they mourn each other, that is, until they find each other again

Maybe Aziraphale became one of Dagon's slaves and, when Crowley figures out, he does everything in his power to make sure he is safe (or as safe as one can be in this situation) and bends over backwards to try and take him away from under Dagon's power

Aziraphale, in the version where Heaven wins, is one of the angels guarding the pits (flaming sword, remember?) and he SEES Crowley. He starts to pay more attention to that specific pit where Crowley is imprisoned with other demons and tries to come up with a plan to get him out of there

The point is: they succeed

Eventually they are reunited and it's strange. They probably haven't seen each other in many years, both have their own scars and new traumas. Their 6000 years on Earth together feel like another life entirely, but here they are. At first they look at each other from a few feet apart. They analyze each other's faces like it's the first time they are seeing each other.

Aziraphale feels tears running down his face and Crowley gives a step forward, reaching out with his hand, regretting it almost as soon as he lifts it. But before he can put it down again, he is gifted with a sudden armful of angel, being hugged in an embrace thight enough that if he was human some of his ribs would have shattered for sure. He stays still for a second or two, but eventually gets his arms around Aziraphale, hugging him just as tight.

"Angel." It comes out as a whisper against Aziraphale's hair, his voice rasp as he fights his own emotions. Like he thought he would never get to say that again.

"You're alive." Aziraphale whispers back, hidding his face on Crowley's neck, whom doesnt resist and runs one of his hands through the blond curls.

"So are you."

They look at each other for a moment, self conscious of their positions, and both take a step back away from each other.

"...What do we do now?"

Crowley offers him a sad smile.

"The Earth is long gone." He offers Aziraphale his hand. "But Alpha Centauri is still out there somewhere. No one would find us." Aziraphale looks between his hand and his face. "What do you say, angel? Just the two of us. No more angels, no more demons, no more wars. Just us."

Aziraphale looks him in the eye for a moment or two, before opening a small smile and reaching out to his hand.

"Just us."

*closes curtains*

Oof okay *sits next to you* ya know I keep meaning to write short lil stuff to amuse myself and my what ifs but Crowley and Aziraphale kinda get a life of their own and the writing gets out of my hand. But, hey, thank you for your ear, I will probably need it again at some point but you can keep it for now

[libbee]

Understanding Scorpios/8th House

note: combination of all placements make up your personality, not just one planet or sign. when you read this post, try to envision the word into your mind, imagination, symbols of it.

There are no beautiful surface without a terrible depth - Friedrich Nietzsche.

Possession by the unconscious.

Periodically gets consumed by the psychological unconscious content, loses touch with reality.

Returns to reality, bringing up psychological content from the depths of the unconscious. Look what I brought from the ocean when I went fishing.

Intuitive eyes. 4 pairs of eyes; two biological, two spiritual. Spiritual (intuitive) eyes help see beneath the surface into the energy realm. Biological eyes see the physical world; Intuitive eyes see the imaginary inner world. The reflection of the outer world in the inner life.

When comes back to reality, there is desire to transform, shed previous skin, become as individuated as possible, find the core of being. Who I am exactly underneath all this skin?

But self destruction and reconstruction do not happen as fast, may take days or weeks or months. Irritated, highly sensitive to energy changes in people, sees himself/herself in others and hates it. Leave me alone, I am shedding my skin.

caption: everything that exists outside also exists inside the mind

Spends more time in the internal world, perception of the world, imagination world, the world that exists within. Interacts with the external world as the native will interact with the internal world.

Emotional States Of:

Chaos | Calamity | Collapse | Tragedy | Disaster | Catastrophe | Shaken | Possession | Upheaval | Emergency | Adversity | Mishappening | Misfortune | Crash | Distress | Ruin | Casualty | Mess | Accident |Violence

Unconscious | Fall down | Breakdown | Falling apart | Falling unconscious | Blackout | Getting lost in the unknown

Trauma | Turmoil | Confusion | Toxic | Harmful | Unhealthy | Fatal

Sudden | Shocking | Unpredictable | Unexpected | Unforeseen | Without warning | Without notice | Abrupt | Quick | Hurried | Surprise | Revelation | Eye opener | Thunderbolt | Whammy | Unfortunate

Powerful | Forced | Controlling | Dominant | Causes fear | Formidable | Control | Power and ability to make somebody/something do what you want | Psyche forces you to transform | Helplessness | No other choice but to transform | Dangerous | Emergency | Combination of circumstances or the resulting state that calls for immediate action

Life threatening | Deadly | Mortal | Emergency | This is important, nothing else but this, this is urgent and important.

Isolation | How do I tell others what psyche looks like, what is going on within me, whom do I tell what is going on within me? | Hidden | Secrecy | Private | Feels difficulty in expression | Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible - Carl Jung | Even if others find out what can they do? Only you can help yourself

Repetitive Nature:

Cycles | Again and again and again | Rhythm | Pattern | Series | Does not end or stop

You feel like you are in a state of emergency and tragedy although from the outside you appear calm. External conditions are stable and ordinary but emotional response is that of tragedy, emergency, alertness, chaos and pain.

Clock | 12 AM to 12 AM | Round and round and round

Transformation:

Sheds skin | New clothing | New skin

Chemical Reaction | A chemical reaction is a process that leads to the chemical transformation of one set of chemical substances to another | a A + b B → c C + d D | Breaking up of reactant bonds and formation of new bonds

Metamorphosis | Metamorphosis means a complete change of character, appearance, or condition | Caterpillar to Butterfly

The law of conservation of energy states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed - only converted from one form of energy to another | Eg, Mechanical energy to electrical energy

Self destruction and self construction | Self decay and self development | Self degradation and self improvement

Evolution | Evolution is a process of gradual change that takes place over many generations, during which species of animals, plants, or insects slowly change some of their physical characteristics

Accident | Accident is an undesirable or unfortunate happening that occurs unintentionally and usually results in harm, injury, damage, or loss (in the conscious world)

Surgery | Surgery is the treatment of injuries or diseases in people or animals by cutting open the body and removing or repairing the damaged part (in the psychological, spiritual, emotional, physical, material life)

Flood | Flood is a temporary rise of the water level (unconscious psychic content) resulting in its spilling over and out of its natural or artificial confines onto land that is normally dry (conscious life)

Germination | Sprouting of a seed after period of dormancy

caption: transformation of soul

IMMATURE NATIVE: Externalizes, tries to control others, manipulative, power seeking, emotionally reactive.

MATURE NATIVE: Internalizes, deliberately controls inner processes, intentionally manipulates own thoughts, emotionally calm and composed.

HEALING:

To become healthy again | Repairing of damage | rehabilitation | recovery | rehab | recuperation | mending | revival | comeback | to become sound or healthy again | remedial | If the wound is smaller it will be healed quickly, but if the wound is deeper it will take longer to heal

Spring is one of the four temperate seasons, succeeding winter and preceding summer | Spring is known for life. It's the season of rebirth, joy and love.

Psychoanalysis | Therapy | Surgery | Treatment |

Stages of healing of wound: Hemostasis > Inflammation > Proliferation > Maturation | Wound no longer hurts | Painfree | Peace and harmony

Forgiveness | Higher consciousness | Identification and acceptance | Integration | Remission | Survivor | Healer

"When the student is ready the teacher will appear. When the student is truly ready... the teacher will disappear" - Tao Te Ching

SACRIFICE:

Giving up something that is important or valuable to you in order to get or do something that seems more important | short term loss in return for a greater gain | Invest your money into stock market for future gains | Transaction, you give something and you get something back | Offering something or someone close to you to the Great source

Everything everywhere is a sacrifice | Relationship is a sacrifice of time, emotions, thoughts, feelings, | Shopping is the sacrifice of time, money, savings | Every sacrifice brings with it a finished product

Sacrifice of knowledge | Spreading awareness | Teaching others | Helping others | Tuition classes | Goodbye and come back again!

To conclude, everything around you in the physical world and everything within you in the spiritual world has characteristic of death and rebirth. The duration of transformation will vary in each native. The nature of transformation will look different to the biological eyes. But in the intuitive eyes, the hidden psychological and spiritual transformation is sensed, recognized, acknowledged and identified.

If you would like to tip me this is my PayPal account.

[mercurygray]

HI'd love to know more about Cord and her friend Laura!

So maybe for the nosebleedclub June prompts, #19 formative & #20 theatrics?

Ema, I am so sorry - this prompt is from June, so I hope it lives up to expectations. In addition to more Laura, you also get a special bonus - Portia, who I don't think has actually appeared in a fic yet!

It was agreed that old stories were the best ones. Especially when those old stories were new to the people now hearing them - and Laura Simpson, it had to be said, had some absolute corkers. "And then she says - serious as anything - "I'm so sorry, officer, I didn't see there was a sign!" "I really didn't see the sign," Cord supplied, while everyone else laughed along with Laura. "What else was I supposed to say?" "Of course she didn't see the sign, she was going nearly ninety. Anyway, she's the only one of us who could have gotten away with it," Portia drawled, grinning over her cocktail glass and companionably stroking Cord's cheek. She was currently draped over Everett Blakely's arm enjoying her Bijou, a drink that she'd had to narrate to the bartender after having spent the better part of the evening dancing wildly with everyone who'd have a go. (Cord was half-afraid she'd get behind the bar herself, but Portia, it seemed, was not in that sort of a hurry this evening.) "She's got a face that men believe."

"I do not," Cord replied in a huff, but it was apparent she would not be heard. "You do so," Portia shot back, fondness in every word. "If it had been any of us driving he wouldn't have even stopped to ask. You have a certain …air de l'ingenue." "I'll try to take that as a compliment," Cord shot back, knowing perfectly well what the French implied. Portia, for her part, only grinned, and went back to her chartreuse and vermouth with relish. "So what other …formative theatrics can you share regarding our esteemed flight officer, Miss DeNemours?" Blakely asked, clearly with an eye out for the main chance where teasing was concerned. But Portia was an old hand at this, and she'd been managing men like Blakely since she'd been old enough to walk. "Oh, I'm afraid if you want another story you'll need to bribe me for it first, Lieutenant. I require another dance, and a very brisk one." No one needed to tell him twice - Ev trotted over to have a word with the bandleader and after a fair bit of paper-flipping they started up again in brassy double-time, John Brady wailing away on his trumpet like he was being paid for it. It had been one hell of an afternoon. The day's mission had gone as well as it could have, only one fort damaged, with casualties within acceptable bounds, and then the replacement planes had arrived from Framlingham, accompanied, today, by old friends - Laura Simpson, who was known to Thorpe Abbotts, and Portia DeNemours, who was not, but who had started her acquaintance with the base by dropping down from her plane with her hat cocked just so and her jacket as rakish as can be and shouting, in her cut glass Mid-Atlantic accent, "Where's Cordelia Callaway? She owes me a whiskey and an explanation." The whiskey was easy, the explanation less so - Cord was fetched from the tower to the officers club for hugs and kisses and threats of violence if Portia did not immediately meet everyone Laura had told her about, up to and including this Egan fellow, whom she was told (cruel thought) her old friend was now dating. So now they were in the officer's club, the band going on full blast and the party very much in full swing. Portia had gotten her whiskey and her meeting with Bucky (and a dance, too, because Portia never did things by halves) and had moved on to meeting everyone else she'd heard about from Laura, and share stories from their misspent youth as pilots in the air races.

"You're being awfully quiet this evening, Major Egan," Cord said, making her way to the chairs at the side of the room. Bucky was, for once in his life, only watching the festivities instead of being smack dab in the middle of them. He moved his hand and let her sit down on his lap, the better to both talk to him and continue to watch the dancing.

"I thought you liked me quiet," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and looking up at her with fondness in his eyes.

"Not when it feels like you're up to something," she said, accusing. "You're suspiciously quiet."

Bucky gave a brief smile, obviously caught. "I was just thinking about what it might have been like if I'd met you then - the Cord that they know. The one flooring fast cars to ninety. Might have taken me a little less time to get a date." "A hotshot military pilot from Kearney and a powderpuff winner with a speed record?" He shrugged. "Well, I hadn't joined the army in thirty nine, so I wasn't a hotshot pilot just yet." Bucky in civies was hard to summon. "I'm having a hard time picturing that." He scoffed. "I'll bet you saw dozens of me. Tall city kid in a rumpled suit who'd spent his whole life dreaming of something different and saved all month to go to the air races, asking you to sign his program and wishing he could ask you more."

She could see that boy he was describing easily enough, all smiles and shirtsleeves and a battered hat, but that boy wasn't ever holding out a program and a pen. "No one asked us to sign programs. That was for the boys. They always just asked us for …more." Bucky's face turned stormy, but he said nothing. Cord suddenly felt the closeness of his body and swallowed nervously. "Everyone thinks a girl with a fast plane is …fast with everything. That's why we all got close - Laura and Portia and the others. We were competitors but no one else had our backs. You learn who you can trust pretty quickly like that. So they…they did get a different Cordelia." John's hands tightened around her waist, her leg, heavy and warm through the fabric of her uniform trousers. "And anyway, you wouldn't have looked twice at me," she added, looking at the dancers out on the floor and trying to lighten the mood. "Portia would have pulled you to dance just like she did today and you wouldn't have thought about anyone else."

"Portia's not really my type," he assured her, and then leaned in close, ready with a secret. "And I don't think I'm hers, either, unless I'm reading her glances at Tatty wrong." Cord felt herself tense, the familiar protective urge rising in her throat. Portia was always the fearless one, the ringleader of the whole circus of young women and they were all fine until they were not fine, and someone saw something they shouldn't. Escape was easy for her - the gossip never seemed to stick to her gossamer wings and even when it did there was always that mansion along the Brandywine for her to retreat to until someone found a juicier bone to flaunt. Cord always felt more earthbound next to Portia - she'd forgotten that until tonight, watching her dance effortlessly with half of the squadron and laugh and drink with the other half. "She complimented me on my good taste, when we were dancing," he shared, pulling her just the tiniest bit closer.

"Did she?"

Bucky nodded. "Flat out told me she didn't trust fliers, too. She warmed a little, when I said you'd hated me first." He paused. "They're good friends, Cord. You're lucky to have them."

There was something…wistful, in the way he said it, a kind of longing, and she wondered for a moment what for. In the middle of everything but somehow also alone. Friendly with everyone - but really only friends with Buck. Buck, whom he'd met in flight school. What had he been like before that - that tall city kid dreaming of flight in a city that only built ships? She leaned over and lightly kissed his head. "If we keep this up, they'll be your friends, too."

[longwuzhere]

Some cool Easter eggs I caught watching My Adventures with Superman that I want to show to people so they can be in on it with comic book readers: For the first episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the second episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the third episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the fourth episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the sixth episode's Easter eggs it's here

For the seventh episode's Easter eggs it's here and here

For the eighth episode's Easter eggs post it's here

For the ninth episode's Easter eggs post it's here

For the tenth episode's Easter eggs post it's here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

SPOILERS if you haven't seen this week's episode obviously

We start off the episode with this shot of Superman with the drawn on glasses. A good homage to what Lois did in the 1980 Superman II movie...

where she not only drew the glasses but also a full suit and hat on a picture of Superman.

Next we see Jimmy waking up and seeing someone debunking his conspiracy theories on Sub-Diego.

Sub Diego was an actual place in the DC universe before the New 52 reboot. In Aquaman #15 and #16 (2003) , shown here (W: Will Pfeifer, P: Patrick Gleason, I: Christian Alamy, C: Nathan Eyring, L: Jared K. Fletcher for issue 15, Nick Napolitano for issue 16). The underwater city is actually San Diego, but is buried underwater thanks to a tidal wave and makes its first appearance in Aquaman #15 (2003). There was a lot of casualties from this.

When we get to our title its "You Will Believe A Man Can Lie" a reference to the tagline for the 1978 Superman movie.

As seen here on the poster, it says "You'll believe a man can fly".

Next we see our villain, well one of the villains, for the episode, Heatwave.

In the comics Heatwave makes his first appearance in Flash 140 (1963) (cover art by Carmine Infantino, Murphy Anderson, and Ira Schnapp). Heatwave aka Mick Rory is a Flash rogue usually acting as a rival to Captain Cold aka Leonard Snart. In MAwS, their Heatwave shares the same last name and powers, but MAwS Heatwave is gender flipped. You might have seen Heatwave in the CW DC comics shows where he is played by Dominic Purcell in The Flash and Legends of Tomorrow.

Lois, later in the episode, name drops Heatwave's name. Gotta be honest when Heatwave showed up I was like is that Rampage? Cuz the MAwS design looks vaguely like Rampage.

If she does show up in MAwS, I'll talk more about her in another post, but for now, Rampage aka Karen Lou "Kitty" Faulkner, makes her first appearance in Superman #7 (1987) (full page here: W&P: John Byrne, I: Karl Kesel, C: Tom Ziuko, L: John Costanza).

Steve drags Jimmy to film his debunking Flamebird videos and references Starro who I talked about here.

Lois, later runs around with the Daily Planet police scanner trying to catch Superman and the dispatcher reports that a robbery is in progress at McGuinness Luxe Garage.

This is a nice reference to Ed McGuinness who was the artist for Superman, Action Comics, and Superman/Batman in the early 2000s. If you've seen Superman/Batman: Public Enemies, then you'll know the movie takes inspiration from his character designs in the first arc of the Superman/Batman comic series. The Superman/Batman #1 (2003) cover here is done by Ed McGuinness, Dexter Vines, and Dave Stewart. I like Ed McGuinness's pencils, very stylized.

Heatwave name drops Livewire and the Gazzo mod family. Both of whom I've talked about here and here respectively

Heatwave has been running away from Deathstroke here who has been taking our her crew. Notice that Slade Wilson doesn't have the half black half orange helmet yet that almost every Deathstroke depiction always has.

He, Amanda Waller, and the General who I totally think is General Sam Lane, Lois's dad, are fans of DBZ cuz of the scouters they're wearing.

Later in the scene we see the General again he's totally General Sam Lane. I'll talk more about him when we get a double confirmation through a name drop/reveal in a later post calling Amanda Waller, Mandy. What a fucking bold thing to say to Waller! Like damn! power move right there!

Superman and Deathstroke are fighting under a highway and we see the traffic is heading to Bludhaven!

Very good reference to my favorite character in all of pop culture, Dick Grayson aka Nightwing. Nightwing makes Bludhaven his city to protect. The city makes its first appearance in Nightwing #1 (1996) (the panel here - W: Chuck Dixon, P: Scott McDaniel, I: Karl Story, C: Roberta Tewes, L: John Costanza). Fun Bludhaven fact, its crime rate is WORST than Gotham! Also HIGHLY recommend reading the new Nightwing run cuz its fucking amazing! Won a few Eisner Awards (think the Oscars but for comic books) recently and I am not just saying that because I am a Dick Grayson fan.

Near the end of the episode, we see Lois willing to jump off a building to prove that Clark is Superman. A lot of discourse was happening online over this, but I do want to say this is pretty on brand for her to do.

In Superman II, Lois does something similar and Clark saves her. its just in MAwS, Clark flies to save her thus ruining the secret identity, while in Superman II, Clark does save her but he is still able to get away with it thanks to him playing it more subtly.

Don't know why people we're in such a fucking fit over something that Lois has done before.

In the after credits scene, Jimmy, who planned a sasquatch finding adventure with Lois and Clark, but they were dealing with their shit and Jimmy was by himself, decides to do the finding on his own and meets a giant gorilla. In the first episode Jimmy mentions an intelligent gorilla in France and my guess is this is Monsieur Mallah. You can read more about him here. If you made it this far down, I appreciate you taking the time to check this post out and if you want to see my other MAwS Easter Eggs posts - Episode 1 is here

Episode 2 is here

Episode 3 is here

Episode 4 is here

Episode 6 is here

Episode 7 is here and here

Episode 8 is here

Episode 9 is here

Episode 10 is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[fanfic-obsessed]

It's in the eyes

This one focuses on a character I generally don’t, Pong Krell. 

Now this is going off the premise that Pong Krell was not always an unmitigated bastard. It also goes off the premise that to Krell, beings that he does not at least share one recognizable trait with are not quite real. It is not particularly noticeable because he is generally only around Jedi/Force Users (with whom he can identify because of the Force), other Besalisk (with whom he identifies because of species), or beings that Krell could identify with in some way. 

This is, in part, why he so easily dismissed the sentience in the clones. He does not see anything he identifies with in them.  Look, he has always been a little low on Empathy, as in the ability to understand beings that are entirely different from himself, but he was trying, OK.  So for the first few months of the war it goes as you would expect, Krell starting to darken over time as he spends Clone lives far too easily. 

Then he gets a new batch of shiny’s, and in them is a trooper that is visibly too young. Like Krell is bad at near human ages, but this was visibly a child (physically about 8 years old) in armor. Krell is not far gone enough to not care about a child being there. He orders the child to remove his helmet only to be confronted by Jango Fett’s young face with Besalisk Eyes (set too wide for human face, a heavier brow ridge that mimics the shapes of a Besalisk’s forehead, yellow iris), he is confronted by Jango Fett’s young face with Pong Krell’s eyes. 

He gets the story in fits and spurts. The Clone, called CT-9659 (still too young to choose his own name), had a mutation caused by Jango Fett's varied gene pool (going off the personal headcanon that the Mandalorian tendency to interbreed with anything even remotely compatible  had left Jango with interesting DNA and that he might have appeared near human, he really wasn’t even remotely) that caused his facial features. The mutations had only started to develop in the last 6 months (1 year of development), and his batch mates had made a near herculean effort to hide the changes, so they could keep him from being decommissioned. Which culminated in them hacking some paperwork to get the clone assigned to a battalion with a Jedi (They had been trying to get him assigned to the 212th, since Obi Wan Kenobi had already developed a reputation, the clones knew that if they got CT-9659 to General Kenobi, he would be safe).

Krell…Krell is still a good Jedi, still months away from the darkness that would eat him. Because of that he is able to push his outrage to the side at the thought that the Kaminoans would dare kill someone over being Besalisk-like. Over being non human (Which isn’t quite what they were doing, but close enough that the point is moot). 

Plans are made that after this battle he and his troops would escort the child back to The Temple, where Krell would register his displeasure at the culling of non-human troopers and see about getting it stopped (Krell is not yet far gone enough to convince himself that any Jedi are aware of what is going on). 

As Krell and the officers begin to plan for the upcoming battle, Krell notices the projected casualty rate of the plan (somewhere around 65%, neither the highest nor the lowest that he had seen) and begins to feel uncomfortable. His mind goes back to the Besalisk eyed clone being distracted in the barracks, time and again.  If one clone had Besalisk genetics, then they all did. Now instead of each life being a number in a spreadsheet, each had the potential to be one of Krell’s people.

To the astonishment of the clones, Krell adjusts the plan, dropping the projected loss to under 20% (In the entire GAR the average projected loss, depending on mission parameters, tends to be about 15%. However this figure is drastically lowered by Obi Wan Kenobi, who rejects-then re does- any plan for his mission where the projected loss is above 10%. He is an outlier and without him the average sits at about 22%). And Krell is an above average tactician, who is very good at planning that will accomplish his goals. Before this point minimizing the loss of Clones was not one of his priorities. Because they were numbers to him, not living beings. But now they were living beings, and as a Jedi he did prioritize lessening the loss of life. 

They completed their mission, it took only a few hours longer than the plan that would see a 65% casualty rate. Krell almost bodily throws one of the nat born officers for a crude joke about the clones (a joke Krell himself would have made and thought hilarious not even a day before).

Upon returning to Coruscant and by sheer happenstance the entire high council is on the planet when Krell escorts CT-9659 into the chamber to see them. As Krell gently (he is actually very capable of being kind and gentle, with beings he sees as sentient) coaxed the boy’s story from him. There is something satisfying to Krell about the way every member of the High Council blanches at the child's words. At his fear of being murdered, if in other terms.

This is decidedly before Shaak Ti was assigned to Kamino. This is also early enough into the war that the High Council is not so bogged down with the larger picture of the war, that individual lives have not become blurred details (This is not a slight against the Jedi, I very much am a ‘respect the Jedi’ kind of writer, but the reality is they have been drafted into a war, and drafted at a high enough level that the High Generals have the illusion that they hold some choice, and thus culpability, for the lives lost. It is either let individual lives become blurred details to a certain extent or suffer a psychotic break). 

It is decided, relatively quickly, that Shaak Ti would go to Kamino, bringing with her members of EduCorps and a few knights up for a teaching rotation, where she would take up the education of the Clones (at first).  Knowing that the Kaminoans would become defensive at the implication that their process or product was in anyway deficient, instead would imply that the training the clones received was the problem (training had been the sole purview of Jango Fett and the trainers) and it was only the grace of the Kaminoans superior process that allowed the clones to be as successful as they were. 

The decommissions would stop immediately (barring the truly non viable-thought it was less than half a percent, there were still clones that had mutations that would result in missing vital organs or lives that would be excruciating and measured in hours), with the argument that every clone had part to play in the war (it galled the Jedi to need to make that argument, but, while the ends do not always justify the means, the Jedi will use most means at their disposal to save lives). For instance the boy with the Besalisk eyes would be able to see in different spectrums than the standard, which could be valuable for specialized mission. 

CT-9659 would be returning to Kamino with Shaak Ti (to the visible disappointment, but understanding of Pong Krell-A war zone was not safe for a child and while the creche may have been a viable short term solution, his double aging means that they do not have the facilities to care for him properly). In order to protect him while the changes were being made, Shaak would be insisting that he is her personal assistant. Pong says goodbye to the boy, but also insists  that they exchange contact information, and request CT-9659 to make regular reports as to his progress. 

I am not sure if it changes anything in the real long term (Vader, Order 66, or the Empire) but I know it would change things in the medium term (Krell does not fall so no Umbara). 

[deliciouskeys]

@cozycornerkinktober ‘s prompt #29: Sex doll

Cloth Mother (Homelander, pre-canon, lab days)

Warnings: Um. Underage person discovers masturbation. No sexual abuse, but general Vought abuse of human rights warning. Agalmatophilia. I was going to finally skip a day of Kinktober, and then I didn’t, cause, OCD. But probably skipping tomorrow. AO3 link

After John kills his second tutor in a very similar fashion to the one two years prior, something had to be done.

“We’re training him and teaching him all manner of things, except how to touch people without hurting them apparently. We need to fix it before it gets any worse. Vought wants him to give firm handshakes, not take senators' hands off. We need formal training put in place here.” Vogelbaum looks around at his staff, expecting suggestions from the more enterprising members of his team.

The medical team all look askance, apparently only dreading where the unlucky volunteers would be recruited from to run this training.

Vogelbaum rolls his eyes. “No, we’re not going to have any more casualties in that room. It’s not good for anybody,” he adds. “John’s been traumatized every time, not to mention it’s a huge headache for the company.”

He looks at the CCTV and sees John still sitting on his bed, hugging his legs and rocking ever so slightly. It’s these kinds of repetitious behaviors that worry Vogelbaum. The child starts to engage in them when stressed, but it’s maladaptive, and more importantly, it won’t look good if it persists into adulthood. The executive team will scrap the entire project if they can’t obscure the fact that John’s been raised in an unorthodox environment. Of course, Vogelbaum sometimes wonders what scrapping would mean in this case. John is already twelve, and a formidable force, who stays in the room out of obedience. He could probably break his way out with his fists if he was motivated to. How do you scrap a project that is a human being whom there is no known way to kill? He watches John on the cam screen, faintly hears the child mumbling something to himself, another bad habit in the making, but Vogelbaum smiles. He just needs to tweak all of this, nip it in the bud. He needs John to please everyone on the board, and be allowed out to be free once he’s of age. He’s not his son, but it still feels like someone he’s been raising. Probably with more attention than his own children at home, if he’s honest. He’s personally invested in this one, and they’re not going to just scrap him, dammit.

~~~

“Good morning John, you awake?” Dr. Weiss asks over the intercom. Vogelbaum watches the cam as John turns over under his bedcovers and shakes his head, listening to the laughter over the intercom and smiling at having a joke succeed with the adults. He sits up abruptly when he hears that they have something new to show him. Maybe the monotony is getting to him, but he’s always very excited at the prospect of anything new being introduced to his room.

He watches as the orderlies wheel in an unassuming looking female mannequin, mostly a torso, sporting neither a head nor any legs below the knees, just a uniform beige color, made of what appears to be stiff foam, with approximately as much give as human skin and flesh. Must have picked it up cheap at some local mall, Vogelbaum sighs with disdain. But perhaps the less human resemblance the better, for the time being.

“Is that a statue of a lady?” John asks hesitantly, tilting his head.

“Not exactly. She’s the Hug-Trainer,” Dr. Weiss announces in a voice Vogelbaum finds a little too patronizing—John is twelve, not six. “I rigged her up so if you squeeze her gently, she won’t make a sound, but if you’re rough and squeeze too hard…” Dr. Weiss lets out a straining sound as he demonstrates, and the mannequin emits an annoying high pitched alarm. John claps his hands to his ears, even though Vogelbaum is fairly certain that despite his exquisite hearing ability, his cilia should be more resistant to any damage from deafening noise than anyone else’s.

“I have to train to hug her correctly?” John verifies.

“Yes, we expect you to be an expert hugger in no time,” Dr. Weiss continues to use the same grating voice, like he’s hosting a kid’s TV show. Vogelbaum’s hand pulls down his face in impatience, but John seems to be impressed at least, eyes wide.

John doesn’t bother to change out of his pajamas and goes straight to the mannequin standing in the middle of his room. It’s perched on a metal pole on wheels, and there are wires that run out of the torso and plug into the wall. Not a very elegant design, but Vogelbaum won’t complain when they’ve MacGyvered the thing to order in less than 24 hours.

John looks up at it, and he seems a little intimidated. The way it’s set up, John’s head is about at chest height for the hugging dummy. He reaches for it tentatively and hugs the foam body gently, not triggering any alarms. But Vogelbaum knows neither of the tutors were killed instantly. John tends to start out unsure, slow, cautious, and then at some point forgets himself and starts to get overcome by emotion and that’s when the trouble starts. It’s not that different from his earlier years when he couldn’t control his eye lasers adequately, especially if he’d become upset or even mildly irritated.

The alarm goes off, and John startles backwards, releasing his arms immediately. They must have rigged it pretty sensitively. That didn’t look like he was getting particularly rough with the dummy.

“It’s okay. This is for practicing! It’s okay to make mistakes,” Dr. Weiss reassures him.

No it’s not, Vogelbaum grits his teeth. Not when you’re a superhuman capable of such destruction.

~~~

They left the hugging dummy to stay in the room and Vogelbaum sees John practicing quite a lot in his downtime. He masters it quickly, just as Vogelbaum knew he would. Now they just have to wait for muscle memory to cement itself so anyone he embraces will be safe. But something disturbing started to happen at some point over the past week. Vogelbaum ends up reviewing tapes until he pinpoints when it started. They put John under particular strain one day in the other larger testing room, and the session ended with him feeling like he’d failed to hit targets with accuracy while moving through the air. Failure to achieve something was already stressful enough in this boy’s mind and they shouldn’t have pushed him further, but some impatient genius decided to test yet another neurotoxin on him at the end of the session. John’s body handled it, but Vogelbaum can see on the footage that he was fatigued, and on the verge of tears. Vogelbaum follows by watching the footage in John’s sleeping room, and sees him lie face down on the bed, shoulders shaking, probably crying although no sound is picked up by the mics. Then John gets up and walks over to the mannequin, wrapping his arms around it gently, not triggering the alarm, petting his hand against its back, and mumbles something the room’s microphones don’t quite catch either. And that’s when he starts to squeeze harder until he hears the alarm and stops. Then does it again. And again. He squeezes just enough to elicit just a short chirp from the alarm. John ends up doing that for about half an hour, and Vogelbaum is once again worried if confinement indoors and alone is going to manifest as these bizarre coping behaviors and fixations.

So that’s how it started. But John seems to have made a much more elaborate game of it every day since. And there’s added behaviors. He makes little noises to go along with the mannequin’s plaintive sounding chirps. He rubs his face into the mannequin’s chest. They’re stylized breasts, relatively small and nondescript lumps in the foam, but Vogelbaum still thinks this isn’t appropriate. And sometimes he walks around the room, dragging the mannequin around with him, talking to it.

“This is where I live. I don’t get so many visitors here. That’s my bed. And that’s my desk. And here’s the toilet, and here’s the door where people can come in, or they can give me stuff through the slot without coming in.”

It’s mundane, boring banter, but Vogelbaum wonders if he’s missing interactions with other children for proper development.

He starts to eat all his meals standing next to the mannequin, phantom offering it spoonfuls of whatever they served him that day before having it himself. Vogelbaum resolves to have the thing removed from the room by the end of the week.

~~~

There’s a panicked voice over the intercom at 10pm, after lights out. “Dr. Vogelbaum! Please advise on how to handle this situation with the subject!”

Vogelbaum hasn’t gone home yet. He lifts his head from his notes to look at the nightvision cam in his office. He gets up woodenly and walks down to the labs floor.

“Dr. Vogel-”

“Who taught him this? Who showed this to him?”

Everyone is silent.

“No one? Not even as a joke? Maybe some movie?”

A nightshift orderly whose name Vogelbaum doesn’t remember has the gall to say “He might have figured it out on his own?”

Vogelbaum puts up a hand to shush everyone. “I’ll handle this.” And he flicks the button for the intercom into John’s room to say “John I’m coming in” just before opening the door and flicking on the light with the switch outside the room.

John is sprawled in bed, the mannequin, metal stand and all, is tilted on its side, laid out on the bed next to him, facing him. He’s got one leg wrapped around the truncated thighs, and he’s humping the foam torso quite vigorously, triggering the alarm briefly with each thrust of his hips, and shaking the entire bed. Vogelbaum was hoping John would stop his motions as soon as he’s in the room, but John just looks over at him, not even guilty.

“John, stop that at once!” Vogelbaum says sternly. John blinks at him with a dazed, downright stupid facial expression. His cheeks are red but he’s not blushing. It’s effort. He’s panting. Vogelbaum just thanks the stars that at least his pajamas are still on.

John does obey and instantly comes to a halt, but now slowly grinds his crotch against the mannequin. “It’s heavy,” he laments.

“What’s heavy,” Vogelbaum asks with some irritation.

John touches himself through his pants. “It’s swollen and heavy, and it gets like that when I’m with her.”

“You mean this hug training mannequin?” Vogelbaum sits down on the bed, deciding that not overreacting to this behavior is key, but finding his tone wavering. “That’s not a person. Don’t call it a she.”

John looks sad and shifts uncomfortably. “When I’m near it I want to touch her- touch it all the time.”

Vogelbaum shakes his head. “That’s not appropriate.”

John’s eyes are glistening, and he squirms his legs. “What’s wrong with my…” he hesitates, knowing it’s a word Vogelbaum hasn’t used much if at all. “My thingy.”

“Just say penis.”

“Yes, that. What’s wrong with it? It’s so swollen and all I want to do is to rub it against her. I mean, it.”

Vogelbaum stands up and takes the mannequin to stand upright again, noting John’s bereft gaze following it, and then covers John up with the sheet and bedspread. “When that happens, you ignore it and it will go away. The more you touch it, the more you’ll want to touch it. And it’s very rude in public.”

“What about private?” John asks, but his voice is smaller and smaller, as he senses from Vogelbaum’s withering gaze that this is not a favorite topic of conversation.

“Don’t do it in private either. It’s not good for you. All the staff watching out for you, they were worried tonight.”

John’s eyes get rounder and Vogelbaum regrets escalating the stakes. “Is it dangerous? Can I… kill someone like that or something?”

“Yes,” Vogelbaum says tersely, very eager to end the conversation. “Yes you certainly can, if you’re not careful.”

John looks stunned and starts rubbing his legs against each other until he remembers himself and stops. But when he sees Vogelbaum unplug and wheel out the mannequin he falls into despair.

“Wait, please don’t take her! I promise I won’t put her in bed with me ever again!”

“You don’t need this anymore, you’ve learned everything this was supposed to teach you,” Vogelbaum says dismissively over his shoulder as he wheels it out the door and shuts it behind him.

And then some, he thinks as he watches John on the monitors, curled up in a fetal position and weeping quietly. He’s under the covers, but there’s definitely some kind of motion his hand is doing near his crotch. This child just doesn’t listen sometimes.

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday to the bubbly bonnie Ashley Jensen born in Annan on August 11th 1969.

Raised single handedly by her mother Margaret, Ashley knew from an early age she wanted to be an actress. She grew up glued to British sitcoms, especially Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em with Michael Crawford as Frank Spencer. And after her mum saved up for her to attend the National Youth Theatre in London, the 16-year-old returned home determined to pursue a career on the stage.

Ashley went on to study drama at Queen Margaret University in Edinburgh before fulfilling her dream by landing roles treading the boards in London. From theatre she moved into TV, ealy roles included wee parts in City Lights and Rab C Nesbit , and a 1991 film called Tickets for the Zoo, which was set in my hometown Edinburgh, she the started racking up credits in popular dramas such as The Bill, Casualty, Clocking Off and EastEnders. Other Scottsih roles were in Taggart and Rebus.

It was her part as Ricky Gervais’ hapless sidekick in the popular Extras that was to be Ashley’s breakthrough role, though. As well as making her a household name in Britain it also gave her the opportunity to appear alongside Hollywood heavyweights such as Kate Winslet, Samuel L Jackson and Orlando Bloom, all of whom made guest appearances. The part also brought official recognition when she was named both best actress and best newcomer at the 2005 British Comedy awards - accolades which she celebrated in typical low-key fashion with a cod sandwich from a roadside chip van.

Ashley saw fame in the US follow playing the straight-talking Christina in the sitcom Ugly Betty, leading her to relocate to LA and renting a house in the Hollywood Hills. While the role was originally meant to be American, the casting agents fell in love with her Scottish accent and it stayed.

Ashley may be a star in the US now but her feet are firmly on the ground I found this quote from her “Even now I think I might never work again. I’m still a bit like that. I probably always will be, “This from one of her best friends who has a chippy in Annan speaks volumes "She has her head screwed on and won’t be changed by the star treatment.” Recalling a visit to her LA home soon after Ashley relocated, he says: “We were holding hands and jumping up and down. She was shouting, 'Can you believe it? What am I doing here?’.” Ashley’s acting career has seen in her in many shows, my faves include, Catastrophe with fellow Scot Mark Bonnar, Trust Me, with Jodie Whittaker, which was set in Edinburgh, and again with Ricky Gervais in Afterlife, as well as the comedy drama Agatha Raisin, where she plays the title role, a cotswolds-based PR guru turned amateur sleuth.

Tragedy struck for Ashley in 2017 when she discovered her husband, Terence Beesley body at the wheel of his car in the garage at their Somerset home. The couple, who met in 1999 while they were both involved in a London theatre production of King Lear, were married for ten years. A verdict of suicide was later ruled on at the coroners court.

As well as her work as an actress Ashley has narrated a couple of shows recently, Inside The Balmoral: Scotland's Finest Hotel, about the hotel that takes pride of place at number I Princes Street and The Airport: Back in the Skies about London Heathrow.

Ashley was last on our screens in the fantastic two part drama Mayflies, I am looking forward to seeing how she is in the new series of Shetland, taking over as the lead role after Dougie Henshall left.

[elenwen-and-ondolemar]

OrienStricken: Elenwen: I assume that it is safe to say that the familial structure back in your homeland is probably noticeably different from those of us from Skyrim. My question is in which ways do you see the biggest difference in how a typical family from Skyrim operates compared to your beautiful Isles?

Ondolemar: what was it that you did prior to becoming a Justiciar, and was the path to becoming one difficult? In what ways? Also, what is your opinion on the Foresworn and their heavily combative presence in the Reach?

 Elenwen: Yes. Family is of the greatest importance among us. Our connection to the Divines is as the children of great ancestors. As above, so below. I am not intimately familiar with the structure of Nord families, but I can outline a few differences.

Most obviously, our longer lifespans ensure that there will be more generations of the family alive at the same time. Children learn from their revered elders of a few centuries back. The presence of these elders teaches our youth a patience, humility, and self-control that does seem to be lacking among the young Nords. Men believe that they can surpass their parents and reach the height of their powers by the time they've turned twenty. An Altmer youth has no such silly illusions, and thus rarely defies the direction of his or her elders.

It is also noticeable to outsiders that we often have fewer children on average than most human societies. There are a number of fantastic theories and wild slanders explaining why. The simple truth is that we have only the number of children whom we can maintain with the care they deserve. With our long life spans, and having long since conquered the spectre of infant mortality, this translates to a cultural ideal of no more than three children in a family. Three is a number with great significance in our culture, but I will not bore you with numerology.

One drawback of the Third Dominion's wise decision to close its borders to the outside world, however, has been that Greater Tamriel's viewpoint of Alinor has remained much as it was at the end of the Third Era. After the Great Anguish, and under the wise insistence of the Thalmor, family size in Alinor was much increased for a time.

Ondolemar: And has again, since the War . . . I probably shouldn't have said that.

Elenwen: The Dominion did not suffer an exorbitant number of casualties in the War.

Ondolemar: So you want to know how I became a Justiciar? A superiorly bred mer such as myself was of course trained since childhood to take up this position. My father was a Justiciar before me, and I have always striven to honour the legacy he left me.

The official training of Justiciars begins in specialized academies within the Dominion. Our course of training is taxing and diverse, and I am not at liberty to disclose our full methods, but a Justiciar should only leave the Academy when he or she is well trained in combat - both physical and magical -, magical theory and practice, law, theology, and a cultural expertise that will - one hopes - match their future assignments.

In practice, however, one ends up where one is needed by the Dominion. Plenty of current Justiciars got their start in the First War against the Empire, when their expertise might be needed anywhere, and while I served in the Justiciars before the War, I had that same experience in Cyrodiil of taking up one responsibility in the morning, and having a completely new problem to solve by evening. One learns to combine discipline with a certain amount of flexibility.

After that experience, my duties in Markarth are consistent, dull, and unexceptional.

The Forsworn are perhaps the exception to that, but even then, their attacks mostly take place outside the city. The Aldmeri Dominion does not meddle in the internal politics of the Empire, so the Forsworn's struggles with the Reach are outside my purvey, unless they threaten Dominion representatives.

From a historical point of view, the Forsworn are yet another creation of the Septim Empire's harsh treatment of its provinces, and there is some poetic irony in watching the situation unfold.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Not in Kansas Anymore

Josh Lyman x Reader

Words: 2054

Summary: A suggestion the reader makes to the President leads to an operation with severe casualties. Her best friend, whom she’s covertly began dating, tries to talk her down from making some very rash decisions. 

Notes: This was actually inspired by a plot with Mandy in season one. I thought it would be an interesting concept to work with. Also, I’m lazy so I’m just going to give her Mandy’s job title of media director. 

More imagines HERE

-

You told him to wait. You told him that the best option for all concerned would be to wait to act. The house was surrounded. They had to surrender. They had to. A bunch of nutjobs from your home state that didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. You’d seen them before. You thought they’d spout their nonsense, make a big show about their land and their rights, and come out with their hands up.  

But you underestimated the power of fear and ignorance. And now seven people- seven federal agents- were dead. More were wounded. 

All because you told the president to wait. Because, surely, they would surrender and all would live happily ever after. Everyone would read about the peaceful arrests in the morning papers and the president’s handling would be praised. 

And now seven people were dead. 

“Hey Billie,” you called with a weak voice. The usually bubbly member of your team, and close friend, peaked her head through your doorway. “Can you get me the names of the agents, please? I want to be prepared for when they hit the news.”

She gave you a solemn look, knowing what you were really doing, and nodded. “Sure thing.” She started to step out but stopped. “Oh, I was supposed to let you know that Josh Lyman has been asking about you.” 

You nodded absentmindedly, still staring into the dark corner of your shrouded office. “Tell him I’m swamped with this thing. I’ll talk to him later.” You twisted open your blinds and looked outside. It was raining. 

Billie’s frown deepened, but she made no argument. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “And Y/N-”

“The names, thanks Billie,” you interrupted. 

The door clicked shut behind her. You snapped your blinds closed. 

-

It wasn’t a bad call. Either way they went, the press would eat up every possible mistake, every outcome. They would spin it in whatever way they wanted. 

“How’s it looking?” Donna asked. She was more timid than usual, given the grim circumstances. 

Josh shrugged. “I’m glad I’m not Toby or CJ.” 

“Or Y/N,” she added sadly. 

“This isn’t her fault,” he said. “She knows that.” 

“Still…” Donna shook her head. “I can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now.” 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Hey, could you call her office and see if she’s still here?”

She glanced at him. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to ask.” 

Donna went back to her desk and Josh returned to his office. He already knew the answer, of course. He could picture you now, sitting in the dark, keeping everything to yourself and worrying your staff. He knew better than anyone how hard you would be taking this. Hell, he was the one that had to tell you what happened and his heart broke when the guilt and grief flooded your eyes. 

He shouldn’t have let you run off to deal with it alone. He should have stayed with you. 

Josh looked over the files piled up on his desk and blew out a low, long breath. He’d just opened one when Donna came back in. 

“Donna, I really don’t have time-”

“Leo wants to talk to you.” 

Josh motioned to the mountain of paperwork around him. “Right now?” 

She nodded. “He said it’s important.” Her frown deepened. “I think it might be about Y/N.” 

He sat up straighter. “What makes you say that?”

“I called her assistant like you asked, and apparently she just left without telling anybody.” 

“What?” His voice resonated throughout the room. He was up and hurrying down the hall before she could say anything else, calling back to her. “Call Y/N’s apartment. Hopefully, she went home.” 

Josh stopped by your office and sure enough, your desk sat empty and in the dark, the only light being the streetlights through the slitted blinds. He hung his head. 

Why did he leave you alone? 

“I thought I’d find you here.” Leo stood at the other end of the hall with a grim expression painting his features. He joined Josh at your door and looked inside. “Do you know where she went?” He asked. 

Josh shook his head. “I told Donna to call her apartment but…” He blew out a breath. “She’s taking this really hard, Leo.”

“Wouldn’t you?” The older man sighed. Leo held out an envelope. “We need to find her.” 

“What-” Josh gulped. “What is that?” 

Leo’s eyes met his and gave him the answer. “Y/N’s letter of resignation.” 

Josh stared at the paper in his hands. He knew you’d take the news hard, but he didn’t think you’d go this far. 

“You can’t be serious,” he gasped. 

“As a heart attack.” Leo shook his head. “Listen, I think you should go talk to her. Hopefully, she’ll listen to you?”

Josh scoffed. “What makes you think that?” 

“Because you are closer to her than anybody else.” He gave him a knowing look. Josh opened his mouth, but Leo stopped him. “Everybody knows, Josh,” he chuckled, despite the dark tone of the conversation. “Including the president.” He put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Hell, I’ve known since the moment you saw her.” 

Josh didn’t know what to say. Sure, he wasn’t exactly known for his subtly, but you’d always been adamant about keeping your relationship a secret. Convincing yourselves to admit your feelings had been hard enough, for fear of ruining your friendship. Telling your coworkers seemed like it’d just cause a whole other wave of issues. 

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Leo said, as if reading his mind. “Just go and find her.” Josh tried to hand him the envelope, but he wouldn’t take it. “Bring her back, Josh. We can’t afford to lose her.” 

There was so much more unsaid that Josh understood. This wasn’t just about the importance of your job. Everyone here cared about you and didn’t want to see what would happen if you let this consume you. 

Josh nodded. If you were hiding from the world, there was one place you would go to forget about everything. He tucked the envelope into his coat pocket. “I think I have an idea of where she went.” 

-

Your coat did little to defend your arms against the biting breeze of January, but you didn’t really notice. Across the water, the moon’s perfect reflection glared at you from the still pool. The towering monument in the distance was little more than an ominous silhouette in the light-polluted sky. 

You pulled your legs closer to your chest. The hard steps beneath you provided little comfort, not that you thought you thought you deserved it. Still, the space helped to clear your mind enough to let yourself cry. The numbness you forced when writing your letter was gone now. All that was left was the digging claws of guilt and the shadow of disappointment. In the system. In the people you thought would make the right choice. Most of all, disappointment in yourself. 

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, huh?”  

Josh stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets and eyes locked on yours. 

You laughed humorlessly and wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. “Please don’t try and be cute right now.” You lowered your voice and muttered to yourself. “Dorothy didn’t kill anyone.” 

“Sorry,” he nodded. He stays there, just looking up at you with big, caring eyes that you can’t bare to look at so you turn away.

 “How did you know I’d be here, anyway?” 

Josh shrugged. “Because this is where you always go.” He began climbing the steps and continued. “You came here when we won the election. You came here when President Bartlet hired you on as media director. And you came here after the first night we…” He trailed off, giving you a slight smirk. “You come here to think when you don’t know where to start.” 

“You make me sound so predictable,” you said. He sat down beside you and, while you felt the instinctive pull to put your head on his shoulder, you kept your distance.

“Yeah, well.” He took something out of his pocket. “I can’t say I saw this coming.” 

He handed you the envelope you’d left on Leo’s desk. 

“How did you…” 

“You didn’t really think he was going to accept that, did you?” 

“Josh-”

“Y/N, you can’t blame yourself for this,” he said firmly. 

“How can I not?” You fired back. “I told the president to wait. I told him not to give the order because I thought those sonsofbitches were cowards that would come out with their tails between their legs.”

“Those men were cowards.”

“Tell that to the seven people they killed!” 

Josh fell silent and more tears streamed down your cheeks. You covered your mouth with your hand to try and quiet the sobs, but Josh brought it away, holding your hand in his. 

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “You said what you thought would work and, at the time, it was the best option. The president agreed with you because he trusts you.” Josh squeezed your hand gently, getting you to look up at him. “He made the call, but even he didn’t pull the trigger. The only people responsible for those deaths are the ones that killed them.” 

You closed your eyes to hide your tears. Josh put a finger under your chin, not letting you hide again. 

“Hey,” he said. You reopened your eyes to find his filled with only worry and love. “It’s not your fault.” 

You let a cry escape your lips and fell forward into his embrace. Josh locked his arms around you, pulling your shaking form as close as he could to remind you he was there. And he wasn’t going anywhere. 

For a long time, he just let you cry. He didn’t say anything or try and get you to leave. Josh sat with you and kept his arms around you until you pulled away. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, swiping at the stray tears still falling. 

Josh brushed them away with his thumb. “Does this mean you aren’t quitting?” 

You groaned, twisting in his arms to face the Washington Monument once more. It loomed there, holding all of your anxieties in its shadow. 

“I never thought it would be like this,” you admitted softly. 

Josh nodded, hand rubbing up and down your arm to keep you warm. “It isn’t exactly flowers and rainbows, huh?” 

“But I thought we’d be making a difference,” you said. “I thought that’s why we’re here.” 

“We…” He took a deep breath. “We do what we can.” Josh kissed the side of your head. “It’s all we can do. It’s all we have.” 

You stayed like that for a few more moments, intertwining your fingers with his and listening to his heartbeat. But eventually, whether from the cold or from the situation awaiting you, you forced yourself to stand. 

“Alright,” you said. “I guess I should go tell Leo I’d like to keep my job, if he’ll still have me.” 

“Of course, he will,” Josh smiled. A look of realization and a grimace passed over his face. “Oh, one other thing I should probably mention… Leo knows.” 

Your eyes went wide. “He what?” You exclaimed. “I can’t believe you told him!”

“I didn’t!” He swore. “He just knew.”

Your finger pointed accusingly at his chest. “This is because of all of those stupid puppy-dog eyes you’ve given me.”

“I thought you liked my puppy-dog eyes!” 

You scowled and he tugged on your hand, kissing your lips gently. When he pulled away, you were smiling. 

“Come on,” he said. “The Emerald City awaits.” 

After taking you back to your apartment so you could freshen up, you walked back into the west wing together and straight to Leo’s office. He tore up your letter and, much to your dismay, ushered you into the Oval Office where President Bartlet waited to discuss the matter with you. You couldn’t remember the last time you were that nervous, but he was more than gracious and told you he’d be a fool if he let you go. 

All the while, Josh stayed with you, holding your hand as you went back to your office together to face whatever came next. 

[splashspeck]

Clan Kingdoms AU

Yet another little drabble, not my best work but it's midnight and this scene has been living rent free in my head since @troutfur helped me decide on this arranged marriage, so, here's the drabble that I may one day turn into a proper one-shot. Post-Bloodclan Battle.

The aftermath of the battle with Bloodclan was well and truly disastrous. Casualties were being counted and prepared for transportation for burial, injured cats had been corralled into Fourtrees so that the combined force of the Healers of all clans could tend to them, traitors and Bloodclanners were still being tracked on the territories and driven off by some of the few warriors and apprentices still able to function off of the Battle Energy. In a strange way Tigerstar had completed his goal of bringing the Clans together, if only for a short time. 

Tawnypelt shook herself off, careful to be mindful of the sticky herbs smeared through her own wounds, as she moved away from the space that the medics had commanded. Runningnose had shooed her away as soon as he was done patching her up, insisting she get some rest rather than stay and help. Littlecloud had managed to stand his ground and was in the process of patching up a heavily battered Tallpoppy while Cinderpelt and Mudfur monitored the most seriously wounded warriors and apprentices. Barkface was practically surrounded by a gaggle of apprentices whom he had managed to pin in place with a simple threat and was treating carefully one-by-one. 

Padding away from the makeshift healer’s den Tawnypelt dodged a running Fernpaw and Ashpaw, the two apprentices' mouths full to the brim with herbs they’d obviously been sent to fetch for the Healers. Further from the bustling gathering of injured was a more focused gathering of the less-injured warriors surrounding the leaders. Tallstar had a group of Windclan warriors, among whom she recognized Onewhisker, Mudclaw, and Morningflower, as well as some of the faster warriors from the other three clans, and they were separating into groups to do a thorough check of the territories and ensure no remaining threats would be of concern. The lanky tom was visibly scolding a contrite looking Onewhisker, and she overheard something about not this being a scouting patrol, not a battle patrol. Firestar and Mistystar had some of the deputies and senior warriors gathered to discuss the reclamation of the Riverclan camp and removal of the Bonehill. 

Amidst that group she saw he had a small gathering of the remaining and less-injured Shadowclanners. As she padded her way towards them, she heard him delegating to the group. 

“Cedarheart, Rowanclaw, I know you two are new warriors, and we need some of that energy. I want you two to get a bit of rest before nightfall, you’ll be the force of night watch over the Fourtrees. The other clans aren’t as used to night patrols as we are, and they’ll need your eyes.” The two toms looked at each other, then back to Blackfoot with a pair of determined nods. “When the time comes you’ll both be in charge of the night watch.” Tawnypelt couldn’t resist the small smile that came from the proud way Blackfoot was watching the two toms. “Everyone else is on duty to help Riverclan. We helped Tigerstar cause this mess, and we’re not going back to camp until they’re back on their paws.” The senior warriors nodded, though Tawnypelt saw an eye roll from Oakfur. But her attention was soon on the broad white tom that looked her way. “You’re all dismissed, rest when you need to, but I’ll have no slacking. When I’m not there, Russtfur and Oakfur are in charge when I’m not there. I’ll check in with the Healers, then join you.” Oakfur seemed to perk up a bit, smiling a little at the way Deerfoot jostled him with a shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come check on you sooner.” Tawnypelt looked up at Blackfoot in surprise, seeing him eye the poultice-sticky fur over her wounds, and nudged her nose against his cheek. 

“You have a whole clan to worry about, not just me. Runningnose had me on my paws soon enough.” She mewed, sitting at his side stiffly, leaning into his shoulder. “He won’t let me on patrols yet, though.” She groused, earning a chuff of amusement as Blackfoot started cautiously grooming the fur behind her ears. The gesture was gentle, and Tawnypelt felt the tension in her neck and shoulders start to release as she leaned further into his side, matching his soothing purr with a comforting one of her own. “He wouldn’t let me stay and help the Healers either, said I’d get in the way more than help. Badgerbreath.” She smirked up at the older tom and earned a purring huff for her sass. 

“He ordered you to rest so you came over here hoping I’d put you to work and risk the wrath of Runningnose. As much as I’d love an extra set of paws, I’m not willing to lose more fur today. I’m already pretty sure I’m going to have bald spots from those mange-ridden fleabags.” Tawnypelt frowned at the reminder of the brief glimpses she’d had of Blackfoot in the midst of the battle. “Besides, you’re hurt, and barely able to walk comfortably, let alone work on tearing down the Bonehill. You should rest.” 

“So should you, you’re practically pink.” She countered, sitting back carefully to eye the bloodstained fur on his flanks. Blackfoot stiffened, and she saw his foreleg twitch as he resisted the urge to attempt grooming more of the mess from his fur. 

“I’m also older and much more experienced than you.”

“Sorry, I’ll correct myself, you should go nap in the elder’s den, old tom.”

The two stared one another down a moment, until Blackfoot sighed and gave her a tired smile.

“I forget you’re as stubborn as your mother and fiercer than your sire. I’ll rest when I can, but… we are leaderless on the heels of a tragedy, the clan needed guidance. Raggedstar won’t come back to life, so… a twice failed deputy it is.” He stared down at his own paws, a wry smile on his muzzle, and Tawnypelt frowned. The older tom hadn’t shared much about being deputy for Brokenstar, and seemed to hold more regrets than he’d be willing to admit to her. But…

“I wouldn’t say the tom that risked his own life to let me have as much of a childhood as he could provide is a failure.” She meowed softly, tilting her head down to meet his eyes. “You learned Thunderclan traditions to make sure I felt welcome, kept our den safe and always put my needs above your own. That’s not even including how you tried to do the same for Rowanclaw and Cedarheart.”

“You all deserved a chance to be apprentices, not small warriors.”

“Blackfoot, we did what we had to to survive.” 

“If the bare minimum kindness to you and your denmates could wipe away my sins, Tawnypelt, I’d be ashamed of Starclan’s judgement.” He meowed solemnly, but smiled sadly nonetheless. “Come, enough mourning, let’s find you something to do with that determination.” Before Tawnypelt could even try to argue he stood, stiff in his own movements, and helped her to her paws, letting Tawnypelt lean on him as they limped their way towards Firestar and Mistyfoot. Graystripe and Sandstorm were still there, as was Mosspelt, and the tortoiseshell queen scowled at Blackfoot silently. Her tail swatted Mistyfoot’s flank, drawing her attention, and in turn the attention of the Thunderclanners. Tawnypelt saw the brief flash of guilt and then anger in Firestar’s expression before he tempered himself to a more neutral smile. The senior warriors were just as battered as she and Blackfoot were, though Firestar had a newly acquired scar already, his pelt was littered with smaller gouges from Scourge’s reinforced claws, Sandstorm’s ear was torn, and a cobweb was stuck to her shoulder with some sticky poultice Cinderpelt had put together. Graystripe had several claw marks on his face and flanks, though it was easier to hide amidst his bulkier fur, the poultice stiffened fur stuck out at odd angles. Mistyfoot had a new clawmark down her muzzle, and seemed to be favoring a foreleg, while Mosspelt was practically littered with clawmarks and had a pair of nasty looking bite wounds on her scruff and throat, whoever she’d fought had gone for the kill, and judging by the bloodstained white patches on her forelegs and face, she’d made sure they’d regretted that. 

“Blackfoot, Tawnypaw, how can we help you?”

“Tawnypelt, now.” Blackfoot meowed, smiling warmly at her. “I’d say she and the other apprentices more than earned their names today.” He looked at Firestar and that neutral smile turned a bit warmer. 

“Agreed, Brambleflower is spending his vigil watching over Cinderpelt and the Healers. Ashfur and Ferncloud as well.”

“I’m sure you and Dawnpelt can bond more with a shared name, Tawnypelt. Congratulations.” Mistyfoot purred, the grey molly only looking at Tawnypelt. “Come to announce the new warriors?”

“No, actually I was wondering if either of you had a task I can do without moving much?” Tawnypelt mewed, feeling the tension between the new RIverclan leader and Blackfoot. “Runningnose won’t clear me for patrol but… I can’t rest yet.” The two other leaders shared a sad look before nodding.

“I think most cats will have trouble resting in the nights to come.” Mistyfoot meowed, turning to look towards the shaded section of Fourtrees where Dawnpelt and some older warriors and elders were preparing the dead. Warriors, Apprentices and foes alike. “We still have plenty of daylight, so most of Riverclan is preparing to move to the Drylands camp while we bring the Riverside camp back to its former state.” Mosspelt’s narrowed eyes zeroed in on Blackfoot from her spot between Mistyfoot and Graystripe. “You did a little training with the Healers, correct? Do you feel you could at least separate out herbs, the start of sorting them for Mudfur?” Tawnypelt perked up herself then, nodding eagerly and feeling Blackfoot purr at her side. “If you follow the trail from Fourtrees into our territory, you’ll reach a branch in the paths at a large stone, go up the hill and follow that trail, you’ll find the Drylands camp. I’ll send a runner to the cats cleaning out the Riverside medicine den that you’ll sort herbs for them.”

“Thank you Mistyfoot.” Tawnypelt meowed, hoping the older molly truly felt her gratitude, and was surprised at the warm way the blue-eyed molly smiled at her. Tawnypelt rose to her paws with some effort, favoring one of her hind legs a little for the sizable gash Bone’s claws had managed to tear into her flank, and started making her way carefully. 

Only to pause, just out of sight, when she heard hissing.

“Naming your kit-mate a warrior to make yourself seem less disgusting, Blackheart.” It was Mosspelt’s voice, but with more venom than an adder. “I’m surprised you didn’t flee with the other traitors, again.”

“Mosspelt-”

“Don’t you try to hush me, Graystripe, this foxheart-”

“Deserves your anger.” Blackfoot cut her off, tone defeated, and Tawnypelt turned back, crouching in the underbrush as the warriors and leaders argued, Blackfoot’s head was low, and he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, not a position Tawnypelt ever expected to see the tom take willingly. “I did terrible things to your clan and your kin in the name of following orders, there is no changing that. But please, if nothing else, believe I did not want this union.” The others looked among themselves, but Mosspelt pressed on. The queen had always had a softness to her that Tawnypelt had found comforting when she stayed in the Riverclan camp. A round face and fluffy fur that reminded her of nestling close to Goldenflower or Graystripe when either cat had watched over the two litters. Now, however, the tortoiseshell molly’s tail was lashing with outrage, ears pinned and head low like she was ready to sink her teeth into Blackfoot’s throat at a single wrong move.

“Why should I believe you?” She snarled, stalking closer, and Blackfoot looked up. He met her eyes, then looked to the Thunderclanners.

“The day Tigerstar ordered I take her as a mate, I gifted her bittersweet and bluebell, and when he ordered she join my nest, I lined it with Baby’s Breath.” Sandstorm stiffened, and Graystripe took in a hissing breath, the two sharing a look of shock. While Mosspelt might not understand the significance of the gestures, the forest dwellers would. The same way Tawnypelt herself had. She could still remember the sheer relief she’d felt when she slipped into the deputy’s den and smelled baby’s breath, seeing the little flowers littered throughout the moss and reeds that made up their nest. She could still vividly remember the cautious way Blackfoot had look at her, the worry and concern that had permeated his scent now that they were away from prying eyes. 

“... ordered?” Firestar broke the tense silence, and for a moment Tawnypelt remembered that as warm and fatherly as Firestar had become to Brambleflower, he was still the leader of Thunderclan, and spoke with the authority of an entire clan. Those green eyes, even if he was younger than most leaders, held a wisdom beyond his years, and Blackfoot met them head on.

“He insisted that the line of Shadowstar be preserved, and his line along with it.” Blackfoot admitted, looking askance. “He wouldn’t hear any protest… from anyone. She was already scratched when I was called to the den. We were named mates under the Stars the next night.” Mosspelt snarled again then.

“Hosting a celebration of the event-”

“What would you have me do, Mosspelt?!” Blackfoot finally snapped, rising to his paws but not looming over the smaller cat, instead backing up, ears pinned and expression defeated. “Refuse, get myself killed, and have someone worse take my place? Do you know who he’d name as deputy if I’d outlived my usefulness? Clawface. If she hadn’t been mated to me Tawnypelt would have been given to one of those Cityborn Killers, just like Featherpaw.” Mosspelt froze then, as to Mistyfoot, and Tawnypelt realized then as all eyes turned.

No one had told Graystripe just how his kits had vanished.

[cithaerons]

i don't usually go for the "why is the media paying attention to X and not Y" because usually it's down to idiots not reading the news and engaging in performative & callous whataboutism. with the paris attacks in 2015, which got this treatment, (1) over a hundred people died, (2) a lot of people in the "west" and especially the francophonie (myself included) have personal connections to paris including friends & family who live there and were potentially in danger, (3) the kidnapping of nigerian schoolgirls which allegedly happened "at the same time" occurred over a year earlier (by the way, they still have not been found!) and the people sharing the link clearly hadn't clicked and read it and were clearly only sharing it as a callous display of performative whataboutism.

same with the war in ukraine - this is a literal war in which there have already been close to 400,000 casualties. and if you were unaware of the extent of russian imperialism elsewhere in the world thus far i can only conclude that you have not been reading the news very closely for the past few decades, and perhaps it's time to change that.

the submarine involved 5 rich people who were almost certainly already gone for good, none of whom had any personal connections to any of us. and it has occupied the headlines almost exclusively since sunday and has monopolized popular discourse and occupied a tremendous amount of resources for no apparent reason whatsoever that I can see.

the sinking of the migrant ship in the mediterranean wasn't just "another migrant ship disaster" (although that in itself should merit attention!) - it is looking to be perhaps the second worst peacetime shipwrecks to have occurred in the mediterranean in history. and one of the deadliest shipwrecks anywhere, ever. and only occurred because greek authorities completely ignored it. 

what it "has to do" with the submarine is the fact that we have had headline news about the submarine shoved down our throat for days on end. and a shipwreck of historic proportions that occurred just a few days earlier, with hundreds unaccounted for and perhaps 700+ dead, got barely a line.

this isn’t "whataboutism" - this is pointing out a truly egregious disparity in priorities in every sense of the word.

[niffala]

Forgive Me (Pt. 2)

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, jealousy, some fluff

A/N: This is a sequel to Dirty Secret. Reader insert version found here. 18+ only due to smut. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 1 Series Masterlist       Main Masterlist

Chapter 2

[2 years later]

Nick Fury strode into the conference room, his signature leather coat flapping behind him. An opposing figure in his own right, his presence today reminded Steve of a raven. Bad news surely followed.

The former SHIELD director stood at the head of the table, his eye sweeping around at those present before pulling up a hologram of a large domed building. “There is a hostage situation at the Novosibirsk Opera and Ballet Theatre, one hundred and fifty-seven hostages being held at the secondary stage. Mainly local and foreign dignitaries and their respective families. The cameras have been taken out, but thermal imaging shows what appears to be forty-two armed radicals.” A sweep of his hand had the image zoom in on a single blazing red figure. “One of whom is pyrokineticly enhanced.”

Another wave and the hologram refocused on the entrance. “So far the casualties have been security personnel and the initial law enforcement response team, now reduced to a pile of char. It has been twenty-four hours and counting. I don't give a shit about their demands, shut it down. Preferably with minimal collateral damage. These situations can get very ugly, very quickly. Russian security forces are preparing to storm the building in a few hours. We're talking heavy casualties. This is what I'm counting on you to prevent. I can’t emphasize enough the shitstorm that will take place if this situation goes sideways. The world is watching, this needs to be handled with the utmost care. Get the hostages out swiftly and quietly. Assistance is on their way.

“Tony?”

“Stealth is not in Mr. Stark’s vocabulary. We're trying to avoid any collateral damage, this includes the building. Being a highly sensitive situation, I called in a favor with OISHA on the west coast. Luckily two of their agents were close by.” He turned his glare to Steve, “I asked for the best in extraction and rescue. I believe you are all familiar.”

Steve’s heartbeat spiked, Furry was talking about Marison. She was coming back.

“Her ETA is eight minutes. She's been fully briefed on the mission. You will head out together the moment her jet lands.”

---------------

Arrival time: four minutes, thirty-nine seconds. My stomach began doing summersaults the closer we got to the one place I never thought I’d return to. Beside me, my partner rolled his neck and shoulders, relaxed and unbothered by our destination. We’ve been a team for the last year, and good friends just as long. However, the dating part was a recent development.

Ben looked away from the controls, noticing I was rubbing my once brightly colored bracelet, a nervous habit I couldn’t break. He knew the circumstances of my separation from the Avengers. He took my hand and placed an exaggerated kiss on it, “You can do this.”

I’m not too sure about that. The mission, definitively in the bag. And I was looking forward to seeing everyone again, missing them all so damn much. They were the best part of my life… even ‘him.’ For too long I blamed myself for what happened, that I wasn’t good enough. But the truth was that what we had couldn’t last. Not the way it was, not in the dark. It was bound to break, I just wish it hadn’t broken me too.

Smiling back at Ben, I felt guilty. It'd be lying to say I didn't still think about ‘him’ constantly. See him in places he wasn't, like on my Paris trip. Things would be fine and then suddenly his memory would flood the moment. Creeping up in my mind like an all consuming fog. I hated it. He still held a big part of me. It seemed no matter what I did, I couldn't push him out of my heart, even after letting someone else in.

The first few weeks after my departure were the toughest. Everything felt raw, like an exposed nerve. I would always be grateful to Bucky for keeping me steady, helping me breathe. As impossible as it seemed at the time, things got better. I worked on myself, did my best to squash insecurities and lingering doubts. My shattered soul slowly pieced itself back together. Learning to sleep alone was its own hardship, but Bucky was there for that too.

I spent the first few weeks in nearby hotels until I felt ready to move on. Then I started traveling the globe, seeing the sights, having a few casual flings along the way. Started low-key super heroing again, helping those that I could. But I was lonely. My Avengers experience changed me. I couldn't live the solitary life I had before. I craved companionship, a purpose, a place to hang my hat.

Luckily, Fury was awaiting my call. He pointed me in a few directions, and gave me glowing recommendations. So I started a new job with the Operational Surveillance and Intelligence Agency. I had new teammates, a new home, and a new boyfriend. Ben was wonderful, charming and patient. We had similar senses of humor and just clicked. You think I'd learn to never date a coworker again. Once bitten, twice shy, and at times, I still felt covered in marks. His perfect teeth leaving wounds you couldn’t see.

“What's the number one rule?”

“If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.” I gave him my biggest shit eating grin.

Ben laughed before slipping back into his mask of seriousness. “If you get overwhelmed, talk to me.” Satisfied with my nod, he asked what my code name used to be.

Cringing, I grumbled out, “Luminescent.”

“Wow,” he snorted, “that is a terrible name.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Should have went with firefly.” I saw his eyes sparkle with amusement, mouth twisting into a devilish grin. “Keep looking at me like that, I'm going to bite your face.”

Ben leaned over and playfully bit at me. Laughing, he placed a kiss on my lips, “Aww, my little lightning bug.”

“Hardy, har har.” I returned his kiss, telling him I loved him. He says it back without hesitation.

The navigation system alerted us that we had arrived. As the jet landed, Ben asked if I wanted to walk out hand in hand, or if I wanted a head start. I told him I should face them myself, but for his cute butt to not be too far behind. He rubbed my back for encouragement. Okay, game face on.

-

Steve’s heart hammered so hard in his chest, he was surprised it wasn't visible. The world stopped as Marison exited the aircraft. She was breathtaking. Steve unabashedly stared, too afraid if he closed his eyes for a moment, she’d disappear, like in so many of his dreams. She came back. She came home.

Bucky was the first to greet her, running over and embracing her tightly. Steve could hear them mention the changes to the others' hair. 

Sam was next, bumping Bucky out of the way to wrap his arms around Marison. “Hey, Lumi, things haven't been the same without you.”

“I wish it was under better circumstances.”

She hugged a few more before she stood in front of Steve. His breathing became erratic when her eyes met his. As if his asthma returned and he was struggling to take in air. Neither moved.

Sam noticed the tension, “Oh come on, you can’t still be mad she quit.” He pulled them closer together, insisting on a hug.” I think our dear captain missed our useful teleporter. I’ve been having to lug his heavy butt around because we have yet to find anyone to replace you.”

“No, we certainly haven’t.” Steve put his arms around her, noticing Madison's body stiffen, but she was allowing it. He closed his eyes, confident in touch. He hasn't felt alive since she left, but she was real, she was here, she came back to him. Everything was going to be okay. He whispered in her ear, “I was so scared I'd never see you again.” 

Marison shoved him off and quickly moved away. His eyes snapped open, feeling the sharp sting of her rejection. He could kick himself. What, did he expect her to jump into his arms and tell him how much she missed him, still loved him, was just as miserable these last years as he was? Yes, his head mocked, yes you did. There was still hope, he knew she still...  

Suddenly, a man walked up behind Marison, enfolding her in his arms, clearly a familiar action. His slicked back hair was dark and wavy. A salt and pepper beard, dark brown eyes, and a nose that's been broken a few times only adding character to his handsome face. “I was getting jealous of the love fest Had to get some of that for myself, Sweetheart.”

She turned her head and to Steve’s horror, they kissed. She introduces the man as Ben, her partner and boyfriend. Steve felt his chest constrict, a vice gripping his heart. No, please no, he silently begged. He was always too late.

Maybe it wasn’t serious, he still had a chance. Maybe it was a ruse. He just needed to tell her how he feels and she'll be his again. She had to still love him. She had to. He won't give up. His fists clenched at his sides. “Wheels up in two. Let's move,” he barked.

Ben had not been authorized for this mission, for that Steve was relieved. He listens as the man tells Marison to be careful and that he loves her. When she said it back, Steve wanted to rip his ears off.

Chapter 3 (coming soon)

A/N: For so many reasons, this poor fic got pushed to the back burner for two darn years. A random dream a few nights ago gave me the inspiration to continue it.

[scienceoftheidiot]

@his-alpha-vixen I hope you too don't mind me replying this way!

So I am going to go the opposite route to what I usually do with my WIPs here, which is try to keep the mystery and all. I'm going to give a detailed answer, for two reasons :

I have two very big WIPs I want to finish before I start writing this for real, even if I can't help plotting it, I don't want to dive into the characters and this setting while I'm still handling two other hard to write stuff. So it could take time, and sharing about it keeps me in the momentum to write it one day.

I don't mind spoilers myself. If you tell me where the story is headed and what is going to happen I still want to read the story, because what I want to know is HOW we get there, I want to live it and feel with the characters. So just giving out the structure of it doesn't bother me that much.

I'll keep it under a read more though in case some people aren't like me and want to avoid seeing plot points (and that makes the post appear shorter lol).

Roy and Riza stop piloting after a mistake of their own causes the destruction of their jaeger, injuries to themselves and above all the death of thousands of innocents in the outskirts of the city they were supposed to protect.

They are tasked to protect one big city, but they take too much time to kill the very big and too powerful kaiju before it reaches it, and it is entirely their conscious fault for plotting and hesitating, and they eventually have to kill him right there to save the bigger part of the city, crushing and burning thousands in the process.

Their boss (Bradley!) and the overall public don't give a shit because the places destroyed were slums.

Riza gets severe burns on her back, Roy on his hands while trying to save her (he starts wearing gloves at all times starting then). Roy and Riza alike feel tremendous guilt for the killing of thousands of innocents, but are shunned whenever they want to talk about it, because "they did their job".

Once they are (physically 🙃) healed, they try to go back to piloting, but during their first training session with a new jaeger the drift goes wrong. Both are anxious about messing up again and killing people and seeing the other being hurt, and they get stuck into a feedback loop, putting their whole crew and more in danger. Roy is the one who manages to pull out and bring Riza back, but they are then forbidden by Bradley to pilot together again, for safety reasons. Riza decides to become the mechanic for Roy and his new copilot - Havoc, whom Roy is drift compatible with, even if the connexion is nothing like what he had with Riza.

Flash forward a few years, a new pilot team appears: two young genius brothers who have been noticed for building their own jaeger with scavenged spare parts. The older has lost an arm and a leg (I take it that in a world with the technology to build giant robots connected to the nervous system of their pilots, there is a good equivalent to automail) and the younger never takes out his full pilot suit. They are great at fighting and friendly with most.

What the Elrics won't tell is that they were casualties of Roy and Riza's mistake. They were injured while trying to save their mom from the destruction.

*

One last point that has nothing to do with the story - and thanks already if you read until here, hope you liked these ideas :

Like everyone, I am wary of people stealing my ideas if I share them like that, but come on. This is fanfic. I can't whine about it. And while all the plot is there, I know my forte isn't plotting AT ALL, this is pretty easy to come up with if you're familiar with both source material. It's just a synthesis of both. My thing, what I'm good at - at least I think I am lol - is characters feelings and dialogues. Angst, for example. Which you don't have here lol. So eh feel free to just do the same thing, if it strikes your imagination, two authors with the same guidelines will never come up with the same stuff. The more the merrier.