#truly going nuts and bolts

[coridallasmultipass]

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[mariacallous]

Not long after the November election, new members of Congress gather for a couple of weeks of orientation. Consistent with that tradition, Sarah McBride, a Delaware Democrat, made the short trip from Wilmington to D.C. to meet with her fellow first-termers. At a hotel in the capital, she learned about the lottery for office space, how to assemble a staff, and the intricacies of the legislative process. As the first transgender member of Congress in history, she also experienced an orientation in naked aggression. Within days of her arrival, Nancy Mace, a Republican from South Carolina, introduced a resolution that would restrict access to all “single-sex facilities” on Capitol Hill to those of the “corresponding biological sex.” In other words, Mace sought a bathroom bill—and made clear that she “absolutely” intended it as a reaction to McBride.

“I’m not going to stand for a man, you know, someone with a penis, in the women’s locker room,” Mace, who had claimed to be “pro-transgender rights” as recently as last year, said of her new proposal. She also added an odd, pseudo-feminist twist: “It’s offensive that a man in a skirt thinks that he’s my equal.” Mace found support among Republicans, including Speaker Mike Johnson and Marjorie Taylor Greene, who, according to Politico, told colleagues that she would fight McBride were the two of them ever to meet in a women’s bathroom on the Hill.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was among those who leapt to McBride’s defense, calling the bill “disgusting.” McBride, for her part, refused to take the bait, saying that she would “follow the rules as outlined by Speaker Johnson, even if I disagree with them.”

McBride was born in Wilmington; her father was a lawyer and her mother a high-school guidance counselor. At American University, she was active in Democratic politics and worked on Beau Biden’s campaign for Delaware attorney general. In her senior year, she served as student-body president, and ended her term by publishing a moving coming-out article for the Eagle, the A.U. paper, called “The Real Me.”

McBride had been hesitant to acknowledge her trans identity, she explained, because that might prevent her from pursuing a career in politics. “I wrestled with the idea that my dream and my identity seemed mutually exclusive; I had to pick,” she wrote. In the end, she realized that she would have to embrace both: “My life was passing me by, and I was done wasting it as someone I wasn’t.”

In 2020, McBride was elected to the Delaware State Senate. And this November she was elected to the United States House. At the start of our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, she seemed determined to keep her cool, despite the insult she had just suffered. “I think in many ways I got a fuller orientation this week, where I actually got to see not just the nuts and bolts of Congress,” she said drily, “but also some of the performance of Congress, too.”

Well, let’s talk about that. Nancy Mace, one of your colleagues now, immediately came forward and decided that this would be a good time, a perfect time, to introduce a bathroom bill, all directed at you. How did you take this piece of what can only be called aggression?

I always knew that there would be some members of the Republican caucus who would seek to use my service representing the greatest state in the Union in Congress as an opportunity for them to distract from the fact that they have absolutely no real policy solutions for the issues that actually plague this country. And, in some cases, to grab headlines themselves. I was not surprised that there was an effort to politicize an issue that no one truly cares about—what bathroom I use. I did think that it might wait until January. It happened a little earlier than I anticipated. I was still getting lost in the tunnels of the Capitol when we got the news that this was coming.

What was your first reaction to it?

“Here we go.” Throughout the campaign, I really focussed my campaign on my record in the Delaware General Assembly: of passing paid leave, expanding access to health care, and the kitchen-table issues that I know keep voters across Delaware up at night that I will be working on in Congress, like lowering the cost of housing, health care, and child care. But, as I got questions about the added responsibilities that sometimes come with being a first, the first thing I would always say is that I know that the only way I can do right by any community I’m a part of is to quite simply be the best member of Congress for Delaware that I can be, to be an effective member working on all of the issues that matter.

When I was watching this play out on television, reading about it, in the past week or two, I looked up how the first Black member of Congress was received, Hiram Revels. This is in the nineteenth century. He was treated with a great deal more respect than you were. I understand your desire to be poised about this, and straightforward, and to move the issues to the issues you ran on. But I wonder what your emotional reaction was to what you could only have taken as an enormous gesture of deep disrespect.

Look, I’m human, and it never feels good to be used as an opportunity to get headlines. It never feels good to have people talk about deeply personal things. I think I knew what I was signing up for, though; I know what the Republican Party in this country, in Congress, has become.

Which is what?

A party that is more interested in performance art and being professional provocateurs than being serious legislators and a serious governing party. I think they have come to the conclusion that they are able to get enough votes if they occasionally throw red meat to folks, because that red meat might satiate what is an authentic crisis of hope that I think people across this country face right now.

I think we have to be crystal clear in calling them out on what they are doing, and pull the curtain back to really dull the effect that these manufactured culture wars have on the American voter. Some people do receive this red meat, and it resonates with them—it makes them feel better, but it doesn’t actually address the real pain in their lives. And I think we should be calling that out and obviously modelling an approach to governing that genuinely solves the real problems that people are facing that create a level of insecurity and fear that allows for culture wars to satiate at least something instantaneously.

But I truly believe that if we solve problems, if we are serious, people respond. I’ve seen that in Delaware as we have passed paid leave, raised the minimum wage. Voters here in Delaware are sort of bucking this national trend. We’ve expanded our majorities both in 2022 and 2024 in the Delaware General Assembly, I believe, as a byproduct of a record of results that voters are responding to, and a message focussed on kitchen-table issues and economic issues. And it’s allowed us to not only expand our majorities but to break through the culture wars that the Republican Party has pursued. Because we’re in Delaware, in the Philadelphia media market—we are getting those anti-trans Trump ads pumped into our state like we were in Pennsylvania. And yet, despite that, running on a message of paid leave, higher minimum wage, union protections, a trans candidate not only won here in Delaware but actually outperformed every major Democrat running for major office in Delaware statewide.

And yet the notorious ads that ended with “Kamala Harris is for they/them, President Trump is for you”—ads that were oriented around anti-trans sentiment—not only did they occur, they worked. Certainly, they worked in the interpretation of not only the Republicans but the press at large. They ran them over and over again and poured millions of dollars into them.

So, first off, I think there are two things. One, this country is still entering into a conversation about trans people. This country still is at a Trans 101 spot. And one of the things I think Democrats have to be more mindful of is that leaders should always be out in front of public opinion, but, in order to foster change in public opinion, we’ve got to be within arm’s distance of the public so that we can pull them along with us. If we get too out ahead of it, we lose our grip and we’re unable to pull the public with us.

Is that what’s responsible for your calm in talking about this? I remember very well that Barack Obama, when he was running for State Senate in Illinois, got a questionnaire, and one of the questions was “Are you for gay marriage?” He didn’t say yes. Now, everything I know about Barack Obama tells me that, at that time, a clear “no” was not his real sentiment, but that he didn’t want to get too far out ahead, for political reasons. He clearly changed later on. Is that part of your calculus in the way you talk about this? Because Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez answered Nancy Mace in much more vitriolic terms.

I think there is a space for diversity of messengers and a diversity of message. I would never presume what was in Barack Obama’s heart and mind on the issue of marriage equality. Many people authentically evolved. What we do know is that, as the movement for marriage equality moved forward, the most effective messengers for marriage were not same-sex couples, were not parents of same-sex couples or kids of same-sex couples. The most effective messengers for marriage equality were those who evolved. And they were effective because they gave a permission structure to people who had not yet gotten there that it was O.K. to be uncomfortable, it was O.K. to be on the other side of the issue. You weren’t a bad person; you weren’t wrong.

My motto has always been: I’ll extend grace so long as people demonstrate growth. But that is a two-way street. And I think that we are shooting ourselves in the foot, as people who believe in progress, when we create no incentive for people to grow, because they perceive that they will be permanently guilty for having been wrong. We create no space for them to grow by extending no grace for them to actually walk there. I think one of the reasons why we see people pushed into their respective corners is because you say something that’s deemed problematic, and you are immediately hounded by one side and immediately embraced by the other side. Human nature is to—when faced with that degree of extreme binary reactions—go to the people who are validating you instantaneously. We unintentionally actually push people further and further into their own corners and into their negative opinion by responding with a degree of condemnation and vitriol that creates no incentive and space for them to grow.

But I actually want to say something on those ads, because you did say the key sentence in that ad. It wasn’t the surgery point, it wasn’t the undocumented-immigrant point, it wasn’t the trans point, it was the concept in that line that Kamala Harris, according to the ad, was for a small group of people, and Donald Trump was there for “you.” The lesson of this moment, of this last week, is that we should be flipping that script. Because that’s the authentic thing—Kamala Harris was for everyone. And Democrats are for everyone. And every single time Republicans focus in on a small vulnerable group of people, not only are they trying to distract from the fact that they have no real solutions—not only are they trying to employ the politics of misdirection, to move your attention away from the fact that in that same moment they’re trying to pick the pocket of American workers, undermine union protections, and fleece seniors by privatizing Medicare through the back door—but every bit of time and energy that is diverted to attack trans people, that diverts the attention of the federal government away toward attacking trans people, is time and energy that is not being spent on you. It’s time and attention that’s not being spent on raising your wages or improving your benefits or lowering the cost of living. These attacks have costs. Republicans are focussed on attacking a small group of people, and we are here to actually address the issues that you care about.

You’ve now had a week with your new colleagues, and I wonder what kind of support, or the opposite, you felt in your orientation sessions after Nancy Mace made the statement she did.

I have been overwhelmed and heartened by the love and the support of my Democratic colleagues. It was stunning. I got to Washington, and I’m at orientation. I’m grateful that I had a week before all of this started, because I had a week to just marvel at the fact that I was there. I had a week to marvel at the fact that I am serving in a body that Abraham Lincoln served in. One of the first nights we were there, we gathered in Statuary Hall, which is the Old Hall of the House, which is where Abraham Lincoln served. And then, after we gathered there, we walked onto the floor of the United States House of Representatives, where they moved in 1857, just before the Civil War broke out. And we sat in the chairs and I thought, This is the space where the Thirteenth Amendment and the Fourteenth Amendment were passed. This is the space where women got the right to vote. This is the space, these are the chairs. This is the job of the people who voted to pass the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act. And you feel this awesome responsibility, not just to deliver on the tangible policies for the constituents you serve in that moment, but you also feel that deep responsibility as you realize that you are one of a little more than five hundred people who have the responsibility to be stewards of a democracy—of the longest ongoing democracy in the world. That is an awe-inspiring responsibility.

I’m really grateful that I had that opportunity. But what was made that much more meaningful was that in that second week, as all of this noise happened—as I continued to be focussed on the actual work that I was there to do—the love and the support that came in from my Democratic colleagues really reinforced what I had already been hearing, which is that that caucus is a family.

And what about the Republican side? Did you get any support from there?

Yes. Look, there was a lot unsaid, but there was kindness and clear intentionality to say, “Welcome to Congress. It’s wonderful to serve with you.” That was quite a contrast to some of the other behavior we saw that week.

People actually coming up to you from the Republican side and embracing you in one way or another?

Yes. Staff and members.

The Speaker of the House, Mike Johnson, released a statement that said all single-sex facilities are for people of that “biological” sex. You responded to this on X, formerly Twitter (it’s interesting that you’re still on Twitter!), by calling this a distraction and saying that you’ll follow the rules as outlined by Johnson. But what do you say to people in the trans community who think you didn’t go far enough?

I understand that, at a moment where you are scared, you want to see someone fight. I understand that when you are a first, there are a lot of people who never dreamed that something like this would be possible, who are living on that journey with you. And so they feel very deeply the experience of discrimination. They feel very viscerally the experience of disrespect. I think what I would say is, This was not done to bar me from restrooms. This was done to invite me to take the bait and to fight. I am maintaining my power by turning the other cheek and doing what I promised Delawareans I would do, which is to focus on the job in front of me. Yes, when that calls for me to defend my L.G.B.T.Q. constituents, I will do that; when it calls on me to defend workers in my state, I will do that; when it calls on me to defend retirees in my state, I will do that. But I should not be the issue.

You must have anticipated, if not this, then something like it. And of course you are a first, a historical first. Do you face a lot of threats?

I think one of the problems in our politics right now is the level of toxicity has resulted in far too many people seeking to solve political disputes not at the ballot box but through violence. I am certainly not alone in Congress in having to think through that. I think it’s very early. There have been moments throughout my life where I have had to be cognizant. I’ve never had a job where I have not received death threats. Literally, I have never had a job—even when I was in my first, junior-level position.

How do you handle them?

Well, fortunately, we’ve got great law enforcement here in Delaware that I have worked with over the course of this campaign and throughout my time in the State Senate. Look, one of the things that I grappled with when I decided to run for this position is the risk that comes with being a first at this level. Even though I didn’t run to be a first, there’s obviously risk that comes with it. And there was a moment where I almost didn’t do it. Because of the fear.

Tell me about that. Was it a specific incident or just a generalized fear?

There were some rumors about what some far-right-wing groups might try to do, should I run.

When did this come up?

This was before I announced. There was a lot of speculation about me running.

So what within you allowed you to make the leap and declare yourself a candidate for Congress?

A couple of things. First off, I think that we delude ourselves into thinking that people don’t take these types of steps without fear. People aren’t fearless. Bravery only comes into play when you face those fears, when you pursue something despite the fears. I really do believe that we are at an inflection point where we need a politics of grace in this country if we are going to have any chance at not only restoring our capacity to have a national dialogue, which is fundamentally necessary in a democracy, but actually making government work better. I genuinely felt like I had something to contribute in that respect. I think I know how to get things done. I know how to legislate.

But you’re going to have to embody grace—and there’s every sign that you already do—but with a President who says, publicly, something like this: “Your kid goes to school and a few days later comes home with an operation.” That’s the President of the United States, come January 20th. How do you combat that, and all that’s behind it, and embody grace?

I think a couple of things, and I think this extends beyond Donald Trump. So I’m going to step back a little bit. I think Democrats struggle with extending one of our basic principles—which is that no one is their worst act, no one is their worst belief—to people on the other side of the political divide. I’m not talking about Donald Trump right now. I’m talking about Republicans. The question here is not how do I demonstrate grace in the face of Donald Trump; it’s how do I demonstrate grace in a world where people that I work with—where even people that I represent—hold positions and beliefs about who I am that are personally hurtful, potentially.

I think all of us need to do a better job of seeing the humanity of people on the other side of the aisle. Because I think what happens in this country right now is: The left says to the right, “What do you know about pain, white straight man? My pain is real, as an L.G.B.T.Q. person.” And the right says to the left, “What do you know about pain, college-educated, cosmopolitan élite? My pain is real, in a post-industrial community ravaged by the opioid crisis.” And I know that, when I am upset, the worst thing that someone can say to me, even if it is said with the best of intentions, is “It’s not as bad as you think.” Any therapist will tell you that the first step to healing is to have your pain seen and validated. And I think all of us have to do a better job of recognizing that people don’t have to be right in our mind for what they’re facing to be wrong. And people don’t have to be right in our minds for us to try to right that wrong. That comes down to sort of a core recognition that every single person is more than just one thing about them. And every single person is more than even beliefs that might personally hurt many other people. And the other thing I’ll say on that is to a similar point: early on in my career, I went viral for something.

Do you remember what it was?

Ironically enough, I was an advocate. It was a selfie in a bathroom in North Carolina that I was technically barred from being in.

I see.

The vitriol that came back to me as a twentysomething-year-old was so dehumanizing and so cruel and so mean. It was the closest in my life that I have ever been to suicide becoming a rational thought. I wasn’t suicidal, but it was the first moment where I just went, I want to end this miserable experience.

What was coming at you?

I mean just the level of online bullying and harassment. It was amazing to me that people—person after person—telling me to kill myself could actually hurt me. But it was an onslaught. And, again, I was twenty-five. I was new to all this, and I thought, Maybe I don’t have skin thick enough for this. I sort of went on a journey to understand the psychology of trolling and bullying. I think it was a “This American Life” podcast by a writer who talks a lot about her own weight and grapples with her own body image in a really public and vulnerable way, talking about the experience that she had writing about that hurt and getting outreach from one of her worst bullies and trolls online—someone who had created a Twitter account as her deceased father to troll her from—who opened up to her about what was motivating him. And, listening to that conversation, it really helped me internalize a truth that has allowed me to find balance and grace in the face of hatred or cruelty. And that was: Everyone deals with an insecurity. Everyone deals with something that society has told them that they should be ashamed of or that they should hide. And the thing about me is that I have taken that insecurity, that thing that society has said you should be ashamed of and you should keep quiet—and I’ve not only accepted it but I walk forward from a place of pride in it. Bullies see that. They see that individual agency and conquering my own fears and insecurities, and they’re jealous of that. That has allowed me to find compassion for folks who respond to me in sometimes the way that they do, to recognize that I hope, too, they can find the power to overcome whatever pain is plaguing them.

And so much so that when Nancy Mace made the comments that she did, and put forward the bill that she did—are you able to see it in those terms and not receive the attacks with the same despair that you did when you were in your twenties?

Yes. Yes.

That’s an enormous transformation.

I won’t say that it doesn’t hurt, but, yes, I am not distracted in the same way that I was.

“Distracted” is a small word for it. I mean, what you felt in your twenties must’ve been a lot worse than “distracted,” no?

Yeah. I am able to contextualize it and not feel the pain as much. Again, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt, but I am able to work through it.

How? That’s a very hard thing. Is it therapy? Is it maturation? Is it living in your skin ten years longer? What is it?

I think the last two: I think it’s maturation, and I think it’s just finding a confidence in myself that allows me not to internalize. I really do seek to find compassion for the people who are acting out, who say the things that they do, because that does help me. That does help me to try to see and understand where a person is coming from, even if the action itself explicitly or implicitly is not well-intentioned, even if it’s being done for cynical purposes—to try to understand that there’s still a person behind that and maybe there’s something in their life that has pushed them to engage in the way that they’re engaging.

In a certain number of weeks, you’re not only going to have to hear about Nancy Mace, you’re going to have to work with her. And you talk a lot about “working across the aisle,” which is a phrase that we hear from politicians all the time. This takes on new levels of meaning—“working across the aisle with Nancy Mace.” Can you do it?

Well, I look forward to working with colleagues on the Republican side of the aisle who are serious about the work that they’re doing. Who have disagreements with me, perhaps profound disagreements with me, but who are serious about getting things done.

For the first time in our conversation, I sense you’re reluctant to answer the question directly. With all respect.

I will work with anyone who’s willing to work with me. And I don’t know this individual member of Congress—I had barely heard of her before this. I will never say that anyone is beyond redemption.

I want to zoom out a bit now and talk about your own unique path to politics and congress. Your late husband, Andrew Cray, was an L.G.B.T.Q.+ health advocate and attorney. What kind of work did he focus on, and what of his legacy can be seen in your own political career and direction?

Andy was the kindest, smartest, and—this is very important for me in a partner—the goofiest person that I had ever met. Just a really good and decent person.

How did you meet?

We bumped into each other at a White House Pride reception during the fourth year of the Obama Administration, 2012. After that, he reached back out to me on social media, on Facebook, and he said that he thought we’d get along “swimmingly.” I thought, Who the hell in their twenties says the word “swimmingly”? But clearly someone I want to spend some time with. So we went out on a date, and I fell in love pretty quickly.

Was he already sick?

No. He was an attorney, as you mentioned, working on health policy, and he was actually working on the implementation of the Affordable Care Act. He was a brilliant mind, but also—and I think this goes back to our conversation about grace—he was so principled. I remember we had a debate once where he won me over—where we had a debate about whether it was appropriate to out anti-L.G.B.T.Q. politicians who were in the closet themselves. I was of the mind that their hypocrisy called on us to out them. And he was of the mind that the principle that we are fighting for—that everyone should be able to live their life fully and freely, be able to live their sexual orientation and gender identity, the way they see fit and the way they need to—if that is not an unbreakable first principle, then what is? And principles only matter when you have seemingly altruistic reasons to violate them. He was someone of just immense grace, principled grace.

He got sick about a year into our relationship. He developed a sore on his tongue and went in thinking it was just a benign growth. He had a little minor surgery to remove the benign growth, which was aborted in the middle of the procedure as they realized perhaps that it was something more. About a week later, he was diagnosed with oral cancer. It was a shock to both of us. I mean, we were both young invincibles, something that he had written about as he worked on the A.C.A., right? We never would’ve imagined that cancer would enter our lives in our mid-twenties, but we knew from the very start how lucky we were. He knew in particular, given his work, how lucky he was to have health insurance. And we were both very lucky to have flexibility with our jobs that allowed Andy to get care: a twelve-hour surgery that left him having to relearn how to talk, how to eat, how to breathe. I was lucky to be there by his side to care for him, to suction his tracheostomy tube, to tend to his wounds, to hold his hand through the absolute fear.

And then eventually, when his cancer turned out to be terminal, to be there by his side, to marry him, and to walk him to his passing, which happened a couple of days after we were fortunate enough to get married in our building. My brother, who’s a radiation oncologist, said to me, “I’ve seen a lot of people pass away from cancer. And one thing you should try to take stock of over the weeks ahead, as Andy’s health deteriorates, is that you are going to bear witness to acts of amazing grace that will fill your life.” And truly that grace and those miracles were everywhere. I think it has fundamentally shifted my perspective on the world and my ability to see that grace, to see beauty and tragedy, and to recognize that hope, as an emotion, only makes sense in the face of hardship.

In other words, you’re thinking about him all the time through this?

Yes. Yes.

And what does that do for you?

It makes me feel less alone in navigating this. It makes me feel more confident in what I’m doing and how I’m trying to go about this. There’s certainly things that I wish I could talk to him about and get his perspective on, but I try to take the lessons from our couple of years together and try to draw those lessons into action in this moment.

We began our conversation with you talking about how moved you were to be in the halls of Congress for the first time as a soon-to-be member, and seeing and sensing all that had happened in progressive terms, in liberatory terms, over time and in previous centuries. My guess is that this is not going to characterize the next two years for you in Congress. The Democratic Party, in large measure, will be fighting a rear-guard action against all kinds of initiatives by a Trump Presidency in a Republican Congress. How do you anticipate the coming next two years? What kind of role will the Democrats and you play? What will be your day-to-day life, do you think?

Well, there’s no question that we’ve got our work cut out for us. There’s no question that we’re going to have to push back on a lot of damaging and dangerous policies.

But, look, I think the biggest challenge for us is not that we understand that there’s a fight. And we will do the work. The challenge is going to be to summon the hope necessary to see that fight through. I think that one of the challenges that we have in this country right now, particularly for Democrats, is that, really since the nineteen-sixties, it has felt like if we simply work for it, if we vote for it, if we volunteer, if we share our stories, if we lift our voices, that we can then inevitably bend the arc of the moral universe toward justice. And we felt that, I think particularly, in 2008 and when we elected Barack Obama, and then A.C.A. passed, and marriage equality became a law of the land. It just felt like there was this sort of unfolding sense of great progress.

It feels different right now. It doesn’t feel like, if we simply work for it and fight for it, that change will come, that things will work out. We can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. But the other thing that I thought about, as I sat in that chair on the floor of the House, was about not only the elected officials that served there but all of the advocates and activists and citizens who lived through those different chapters in our country’s history. We have to recognize that that sense of inevitability with hard work that we felt twenty years ago, thirty years ago—that’s the exception in our country’s history. Every single previous generation of Americans has been called to conquer odds much greater than the ones that we’re facing right now. And they had every reason to believe that change would not come. They could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. Enslaved people in the eighteen-fifties had no reason to believe that an Emancipation Proclamation was on the horizon. Unemployed workers during the early days of the Great Depression had never heard of a New Deal. Patrons at the Stonewall Inn never knew of a country where they could live openly and authentically as themselves. And yet they persevered. They summoned their hope, they found that light, and ultimately they changed the world.

The narrative you describe is very, how do I put it—Obamian? It reminds me of Obama’s speech in Selma, the last one he gave there as President, about a kind of parade of American heroic advance. And when I talk to a lot of younger people in my office, in my life, in my family, they don’t all share the sense of determined hope that you do. There’s a good deal of depression—if not giving up, then a kind of sense that these are going to be very dark times to come. And with all the emergencies surrounding us, at home and abroad, and environmentally, it’s very hard to muster hope. As a politician, as a member of Congress, what do you tell them?

You cannot tell me that the reasons for hopelessness now are greater than the reasons for hopelessness of an enslaved person. You cannot tell me that the reasons for hopelessness now are greater than the insecurity and the fear of workers in the midst of the Great Depression, and a country that very easily could have fallen into totalitarianism and fascism, as many liberal democracies around the world were falling into that, in the early thirties.

Hope is not always an organic emotion. Sometimes we have to consciously find it and consciously summon it. And, yes, there are big challenges right now. Maybe those challenges are insurmountable. Maybe we will be, because of social media, incapable of restoring our capacity to have a national dialogue. Maybe because of the culture that we live in right now, we will no longer be able to have conversations across disagreement. Maybe because of unchecked wealth and corporate power, we won’t be able to conquer climate change. The list goes on. Maybe. But we would be the first generation of Americans to give up on this country, and we would be the first generation of Americans who were unable to find the path forward. And I just don’t believe that we are. And I certainly believe that we don’t have to be.

[thecaffeinatedwitch]

The Science Behind the Law of Assumption: Is It Backed by Psychology?

The Law of Assumption sounds almost magical, doesn’t it? Think it, assume it’s yours, and poof—your desires come to life. But let’s bring it down to earth for a moment: is there any real science behind this idea? Spoiler alert: yes, there is. While it’s not wrapped in cosmic glitter, psychology offers some solid evidence for how changing your assumptions can genuinely transform your reality.

So, let’s dive into the psychological nuts and bolts behind the Law of Assumption—and maybe crack a smile along the way.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT): A Fancy Way of Saying “Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life”

CBT is a superstar in the psychology world. At its core, it’s based on the idea that your thoughts shape your feelings and actions. Sound familiar? It’s essentially the Law of Assumption in a lab coat.

Here’s how it works:

Negative Thought Loop: You think, “I’ll never be good at this,” which makes you feel anxious and unmotivated. Naturally, you avoid the task, and voilà—you prove your own assumption right.

Positive Thought Shift: In CBT, you challenge that belief: “What if I can do this?” That little mental shift changes your actions and eventually your results.

The Law of Assumption takes this principle a step further by saying, “Don’t just question your limiting beliefs—replace them entirely with assumptions of success.”

Example: Instead of “What if I could be confident?” assume, “I am confident.” Yes, it might feel awkward at first, but just like a new pair of shoes, it’ll feel natural the more you wear it.

The Placebo Effect: Proof That Belief Changes Reality

Doctors have known for ages that the placebo effect is real—and honestly, kind of mind-blowing. If you believe a sugar pill is medicine, your body can actually heal as if you’ve taken the real thing.

Think about that for a second. Your belief literally changes your body’s chemistry. Now apply that same concept to your life: if you assume success, love, or abundance is already yours, your brain and body start working in ways that align with that belief.

The Science-y Bit: Your brain releases neurotransmitters and hormones based on your thoughts. Assume positivity, and your brain produces feel-good chemicals like dopamine. That positivity influences your actions, which influences your outcomes. Boom—belief becomes reality.

Example: Assume you’re a charismatic speaker. Your confidence increases, and you speak with ease. People respond positively, reinforcing your assumption. Suddenly, you are that charismatic speaker.

Neuroplasticity: Your Brain, the Ultimate Shape-Shifter

Neuroplasticity is your brain’s ability to rewire itself based on repeated thoughts and experiences. It’s like Play-Doh—but, you know, way more sophisticated.

When you consistently affirm a new assumption, like “I am successful,” your brain builds neural pathways to support that belief. The more you repeat it, the stronger those pathways become, until it’s your brain’s default setting.

Think of it like this:

Repeating “I am successful” is like carving a trail in the woods.

At first, it’s slow-going, and you have to hack through some underbrush (a.k.a. your old limiting beliefs).

But the more you walk that path, the clearer and easier it gets. Eventually, it’s the brain equivalent of a six-lane highway.

Changing Beliefs = Changing Behavior = Changing Reality

Here’s where the science and the Law of Assumption truly align. When you change your internal beliefs, you naturally start to act differently. Those actions create new opportunities, relationships, and results in your life.

Example: If you assume, “I am deserving of love,” you’re more likely to set boundaries, seek healthy relationships, and radiate confidence. These behaviors attract the kind of love you’ve been looking for, and—voilà—you’ve manifested it.

But What About the Doubters?

Now, I hear you: “This sounds a bit too good to be true.” Fair enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight, and you can’t just sprinkle affirmations on your problems like fairy dust. The magic lies in consistency and persistence.

Think of it like working out: you don’t hit the gym once and wake up with six-pack abs. (If only, right?) You repeat the process until the results show. The same goes for your mindset.

So, The Law of Assumption isn’t just fluffy self-help jargon—it’s rooted in solid psychological principles like CBT, the placebo effect, and neuroplasticity. Sure, it might feel a little weird to assume you’re a millionaire when your bank account says otherwise. But science backs you up: your thoughts shape your reality, and with practice, your brain will believe what you tell it.

So, go ahead. Assume you’re living your best life. And if anyone raises an eyebrow, just smile and say, “It’s science.”

[ariseur]

congrats on 500 followers! for your event could i request putting together ikea furniture with pre-nibelheim sephiroth please? seph doing mundane tasks is such a cute concept to me 😭

thank you!

“. . are you sure it’s supposed to be put together like that?”

you huff, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you look back at sephiroth from behind you. you wouldn’t have minded some company from him any other time, but seeing the way his lips curled into a smile as he watched you struggle with the stupid nuts and bolts that wouldn’t fit in their proper locations, the hot sensation of frustration couldn’t help but prick at your ears.

“i’m trying,” you turn back to your project — maybe one that was failing a little bit but nonetheless still a project you wouldn’t give up on.

the size of sephiroth’s shadow grew as he made his way to crouch down next to you, the scent of bergamot and a fresh, woodsy cologne hitting you in the face as you look over to him. watching as he cocked his head, slit pupils darting along the set as he held a curious finger to his lips.

“would you care for me to assist you?” whether it was the close proximity or the way his voice lowered when he assessed the small instructional pamphlet that came with the furniture ( maybe it was a mixture of both ), but you couldn’t help but gaze at him.

truly a rare sight you had been gifted with. sephiroth no longer armor clad with the discomfort of his battles clinging onto him, instead you’re met with a white t-shirt perhaps a size too small as it hugs the firmness of his body. or.. perhaps you’ve just forgotten how strong he really is. it’s a nice change of pace, getting small notes of your body wash when he finally whips his head around to look at you.

he laughs, “let me rephrase,” the way his eyes crinkle with the soft chuckle you unintentionally evoke out of him is satisfying, you’d really like to hear it more often. “do you need me to assist you?” he alters the previous question. the way his eyes follow yours when you try to subtly avert his gaze is intense. he finds it cute, though — he remains still as he awaits your answer.

“i mean. . .” you trail off. you look back at the instructions and back at the screwdriver that lies limp in your palm, the redness of your hand still evident from how hard you were gripping the tool making you wince before you’re met with the cool hands of your beloved wrapping his around yours. his fingers curl around the tool before he uses his other hand to close your hand on his.

you look back up at him. he smiles once more. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

and you must admit, sitting on top of the couch while your boyfriend works at building this unnecessarily difficult desk chair you had been begging to go look at while he still had a day off, wasn’t so bad. you truly were spoiled by him, he thinks, but then again — he wouldn’t have it any other way.

your lips twitch upwards at the small sight of his pink tongue slipping through the corner of his lips in concentration, only darting out to moisten them a bit before they purse back into an assiduous pout.

“it’s not polite to stare, you know,” he mutters. you don’t falter, merely resting your head on your palm.

“i can’t admire the beautiful man before me?”

he lets a huff of amusement escape through his nose, maybe a combination between a scoff at how often you had managed to slip it in the conversation. he shakes his head at you fondly. “i suppose you could,” he mumbles.

you smiled as you tuck a silver strand behind his own ear, watching as he picks up another tool and gives you a half-smile from the corner of his peripheral. yeah, you thought, truly a rare sight you had been gifted with.

𐙚 join my taglist!! ; @snoopicle @ch3rryfiles

𐙚 dottie’s 500 follower event — 🍡 action prompt activity!

𐙚 regular requests are open — august second, 2024 [ 9:19 pm ]

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Curiosity (Series Debut)

Juliette Nichols x Fem! Reader

Summary: The monotonous doldrum of IT tasks brings the daughter of Mayor Holland into the path of the determined Sheriff Nichols. Against the better preparations of the overprotective Bernard Holland, Juliette inadvertently tangles (Reader) right into her mess of lies, cover-ups and the biggest killer of the Silo- Curiosity.

Warnings: None.

A/N: This Juliette series was originally called "Nuts, Bolts and Awkward Silences", but I'm a self-conscious creator riddled with fantastic ideas. Hence, a new and improved beginning to my Juliette series!

Word Count: 4.7k

Comments and reblogs are appreciatied!

“We do not know why we are here. We do not know who built the Silo. We do not know why everything outside the Silo is as it is. We do not know... when it will be safe to go outside. We only know that day is not this day.” - Cleaning Address, Mayor Jahns (deceased). File Serial No. 153.76.98, Records Department. 

To say the Silo smelled like a lump of old pipes was incomplete. The upper levels, the Mids and Up Top, smelled of people. Of life, of fresh bread, laundered linen and occasionally corn, if you caught a breeze from one of the farms. It was only when you got Down Deep that the smell worsened.

Rusting pipes leaked with brackish water, and depending where you walked, there would be piles of metal shavings or maybe a few loose screws from the engineers doing their own maintenance. It was a climate one had to adapt to, a sort of behavior that was as interwoven as the exposed pipes and wire clusters that peeked out behind crumbling concrete. Few could put up with the Down Deep’s inhospitable nature; it was a thing to be endured until the Down Deep became as natural to you as the smell of stale air, oil and body odor.

The Sheriff’s office felt too pristine to Juliette. Living in close quarters with engineers too busy, (or too disinclined) to bathe regularly had given her a certain standard. Walking into that office she smelled paper. Old, but dry, sterile paper. Her clothes were threadbare and filled with slightly off-colored patches where she’d darned holes shut. The residents of the Mids looked put together, crisp in their attires. At least to her eyes. Even the porters had a certain uniformity to them, quite unlike her ragamuffin band of mechanics she’d called her family.

Juliette knew she didn’t belong here. She stuck out like a stray hair; ever present and subconsciously noticeable. It made sense that her closest companion was the hardened, conflict-savvy Deputy Marnes. They made quite a pair, strutting up and down the levels. She with her freshly starched uniform that felt all too coarse, and he with his bandaged nose and gruff demeanor. They would have made a fine pair. Neither truly wanted the power they held, they wanted the truth. But that was the unwritten rule of the Silo. Look for truth, and truth finds you. Ten steps later, so did death.

Deputy Marnes death had put Juliette into a frenzy, and with that, the drive to find George Wilkin’s file grew until it felt like life or death. She missed the smell of old pipes and the occasional unwashed man. She missed the smell of her unwashed man. 

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

Mayor Bernard Holland had little interior ties to the Silo. Work colleagues, employees and the occasional childhood playmate. If Bernard could fit all of his relationships into one single box, it would be labeled ‘working acquaintance’. But earlier in his life, before he had ascended the ladder higher into the goings on of the interior Maintenance department, he had decided to take a shot at having a family; a wife, and a cozy, little apartment central to the Mids. Every morning Bernard would get up and take his small briefcase to work in the IT department, and his wife, Amelie, walked with her lesson plans to go teach kindergarten.

Somewhere in the mess of young, ambitious travailing, Amelie had brought up the lottery. Bernard, being an older man in his early forties, put little faith in the possibility of having children. In his ever analytical, sagacious mind, Bernard computed the odds of having a child at his age, given only a one year window for Amelie to conceive one, at near zero. But life wasn’t little boxes that could be sorted, assessed and compartmentalized into near-zero possibilities. 

Ten months after reproductive clearance had been granted, Amelie skipped a period. And then another. A younger, fuller haired Doctor Nichols confirmed the life-destabilizing news. Bernard and Amelie Holland were expecting a baby girl. Twenty some odd years later, that baby girl sat in the IT department day after day, typing out the same files in the same pattern Bernard had completed when he was her age. You had his brain for the computer, the ability to examine flawed programming and dissect it within a day or two. Sometimes three, if a previous worker had gone hopelessly astray. 

Bernard Holland had made a mistake, having a child. Sure, you were astute, eager to please and unnaturally adept at the skills he himself had spent years toiling away to gain, but you were his. And with possession came the possibility of loss. Every day that Bernard wasn’t in that IT department was another day he felt that creeping paranoia, that low buzzing of anxiety in the back of his skull. You were a good child, an obedient, Pact-abiding adult. However, you’d inherited more than just his measured customs; you’d inherited Amelie’s curiosity. Amelie, who’d hidden her inner wonder for the first ten years of their pairing. Amelie who’d been found with a red class relic, only for it to disappear back into the Silo. Amelie, loyal wife, doting mother, and veteran teacher who’d been sent down into the mines at the hand of one rebellious human condition.

Curiosity was a killer. And that curiosity that you carried could destroy more than just your life, it could destroy what little bit of faith Bernard had in the limited autonomy of the Silo. Therefore, when Mayor Holland assured Juliette that he did not wish to be mayor long term, he hadn’t lied. Having that kind of responsibility on his shoulders meant that he no longer had the luxury of keeping his daughter safe from herself. Having that luxury meant that the little curiosity Bernard had whittled away day by day began to blossom anew. Like a child left without adequate stimulation, you began to question unrelentingly. 

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

The IT department was a stale, colorless room filled with the bustle of various employees working side by side on equally monitored computers. The day started when you punched your time card in, and it ended when you punched out. The act of punching a time card in and out was old. Your Dad mentioned doing it when he first started, and how his elders at that time had always done it that way too. Each yellow card was good for a month. If you lost it, you lost your wages. No one lost their timecard, no one was stupid enough to misplace such a valuable object. Except Lukas.

“Sorry, I literally haven’t seen it.” you shrugged, going in to punch your time card.

Once the machine had stamped the yellow slip, you put it in your empty card, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. You’d come in at the perfect time to get a cup of coffee before you slipped down in the records department for an agonizingly boring shift, and Lukas was wasting what precious time you had to do so.

“Nowhere? Is it on your desk perhaps? I looked behind the copiers and I can’t find it-”

Lukas was frazzled, face drawn out into a deep frown as he anxiously slicked his dark hair back.

“Listen, I know you’re worried, just grab a spare time card and punch in today. That way when it does turn up you’ll have proof of when you were in and out while it was gone.” you tiredly instructed, pouring yourself a steaming mug of bean juice.

For eight-forty-five in the morning you were on a roll, as far as advice went.

“Okay, yeah. That’s actually a good idea.”

Lukas walked back to the time card machine, writing his name and employee number down before punching the time card for the date and time. You didn’t stay to watch more than that, waving to your favorite coworker before you made the descent deeper into the office. 

Well lit computer desks were replaced by rows and rows of files, the bookcases old and battered from wear. One of them had cracked, mixing up all the files. Maintenance had been quick about fixing it, but now it meant all the files that fell had to be re-organized on the new metal shelf. The lightbulb above your head buzzed in an irritatingly persistent tone, making the work just that much more tedious. All of the files were shoved off to the side in the walkway between shelves. It was a tripping hazard, and an overt demonstration of how dichotomous Maintenance’s help could be.

Taking sips of your coffee here and there, you started sorting the files in piles, ensuring each file inside the record matched the labeling outside of it. Every so often you’d glance overhead at the large clock illuminated by a flickering bulb. You swore the motor was slow, after all you’d been at this for what felt like three hours, and it was hardly past ten. Taking a deep breath in, you reached for your coffee, holding it up to take a sip. Empty. Hardly a whiff of coffee remained, just the overpowering smell of mothballs, old paper and dust. If you had any allergies like Meryl, one of your coworkers, you’d be sneezing left and right.

Time passed, and you were just about done with the third shelf of files. Clean manilla envelopes sat side by side, each correctly labeled and displayed. It was good work, and accessible in the future. The work was monotonous, but it all faded into a distant hum as you worked in silence. The clock winked down at you, twelve-thirty blinking down like a beacon of hope. Break time.

The relief you felt walking out of the records room and into the well ventilated IT office was immediate. Lukas was still at his desk, typing away rapidly. His productivity was up. Not quite as high as yours, but higher. Meryl smiled at you as she walked by.

“Ready for lunch?”

“Are you kidding?” you chuckled. “Founders, that job is the worst.”

Meryl gave a sympathetic pout, grabbing her purse and walking towards the exit with you. 

“I appreciate you taking up the torch on that one, my allergies won’t let me in that room for even fifteen minutes without hacking.” she lamented.

The two of you traded gossip and office news as you walked down to the cafeteria, catching up on whatever little bits of life the two of you hadn’t shared since your last shift. It was an uneventful lunch break, just like you wanted. The walk up to IT was filled with satisfied sighs.

“Almost there.” Meryl remarked.

“Almost.” you echoed.

Your solace was a fresh cup of coffee and a brief chat with Lukas, (who had found his time card), but that was all you dared delay. Walking back into the records department, you found that your quiet, uneventful day was abruptly shattered. Towards the back of the records department you could make out a stooped figure, carelessly rifling through the shelf you had just organized.

“Hey, what are you doing?” you gasped, quickly walking over to the individual ruining three hours of meticulous work.

“Looking for a file.” the woman huffed, pulling out another file and dropping it on the floor.

There were patient people in the Silo. People who could withstand far worse inconveniences than this. But a dubious individual rifling through restricted and sometimes confidential material without regard for proper protocols or clearance boiled your blood.

“Where’s your clearance?” you demanded, setting your mug off to the side.

“Clearance?”

The woman rose to her full height, hands on her hips. You’d originally clocked her as a deputy gone rogue, but you knew your deputies. No, this had to be the new Sheriff. Nichols, Juliette Nichols. What a pain in the ass she was, that’s what Sandy had said. And somehow she was exactly what you had pictured, and then again, not quite at all. She was shorter than you would’ve guessed, only five-foot-five or so. Her hair was short, this made sense, and it was dyed by chemicals. Experimentation mechanics got away with, you supposed. Not what you would’ve pictured, especially in a tiny bun that emphasized the deep hollows of her cheekbones and brow, but it worked. But her eyes. Those made sense. Piercing, distrusting and a bit resentful. It fit everything you would’ve assumed from her character given how much Sandy complained when she came down to grab a file.

You were gawking, you realized. Clearing your throat once, you answered her question.

“Every individual looking for a record from the record’s department needs to fill out a request slip and send it in so that IT can track down the record and deliver it to the requester.” you spoke out in a long, run-on rush. “It’s a way of ensuring files don’t go missing.” 

“Okay, well I did that, and they said they couldn’t find the file. I printed out a map of the records department, and it’s supposed to be on this shelf in this bookcase, see?” the Sheriff aggressively gestured to a guide of the bookcases.

You heard the clock audibly tick as you took a deep breath in. Getting upset with the Sheriff of the Silo wasn’t a proper first impression. It was a horrible first impression, actually. True, she couldn’t get you into any legal trouble without probable cause, but you could piss her off. Pissing off a Sheriff, albeit a temporary one, not such a good idea.

“Which file are you looking for?” you managed, voice artificially measured.

“George Wilkins, a report on his death.”

Another deep breath. The Sheriff was frustrated, and you were too. It was clear she’d been digging through this shelf for a while, probably during most of your lunch break. Her uniform was crumpled, sleeves pulled up her arms and a few hairs loose around her face. There had never been a mechanic who’d been nominated before, at least not before going through IT or the Sheriff’s department as a deputy. That’s where your fascination came from, truly.

Again with the gawking! You shook your head, trying to dispel your brain fog. It had been a long day of sorting files in a dim, stuffy room. 

“Listen, this shelf collapsed a few days ago, and Maintenance just replaced it. I’ve spent the last three hours of my shift meticulously organizing it, so my guess is that whoever was on shift didn’t bother finding the file until the shelf was reorganized.”

Sheriff Nichols reached up, smoothing a hand over her skull. She took a deep breath in, nostrils flaring in belligerent frustration. But if she couldn’t find it in the thirty minutes she’d been digging, someone who was meticulously organizing the shelf probably would.

“Right, so if you find it you’ll let me know?”

“Yup.” you answered, folding your hands together to restrain the impulse to shove her out of the way.

“Thanks.”

Sheriff Nichols moved, too fluidly, with too much assurance in her surroundings. It must have been imbued by years spent in closed spaces, but she miscalculated. Your coffee mug went flying off of the shelf it had been balanced on, drenching you and the various files on the floor in lukewarm coffee.

“Fuck, sorry.” Sheriff Nichols swore.

She reached around, grabbing a rag left from dusting, vainly and forcefully trying to dab at the liquid all over your blouse.

“Stop, stop, it’s fine.” you gritted your teeth, dropping to your knees and doing your best to salvage the files that had been damaged.

Your face felt hot, and you looked down on instinct. You were flushed. Both from the further inconvenience of several files being damaged by this insufferably meddlesome Sheriff, but her hands… They’d been so clumsy and rough as they’d patted down your front with a dusty, dirty cloth. The tension was unbearable, and one of you had to break it.

Heavy footsteps echoed as the Sheriff made a quick escape, leaving you to deal with the mess she had caused.

“Bitch.” you cussed, doing your best to salvage the situation.

Even worse, her shuffling of files had stirred up the dust again, and this time it was bad enough that you sneezed. For the next five hours of your shift, you sat damp, sneezing and pissed, doing your best to finish sorting through the files she’d fucked up. The clock hit six and what little difference you’d made wasn’t enough to be satisfactory. You’d be working overtime tonight.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

Walking into the cafeteria at just past nine was depressing, there was nobody there. Even Lukas was absent, presumably opting to head home and help care for his Mom instead of his weird hobby spent staring at the screen. He watched the little white dots. You didn’t pay attention to it most of the time, you thought it was foolish, but exhaustion made you wonder. That was before your stomach complained.

The kitchen staff managed to scrape together a meal, an uncharacteristically generous thing to do. Probably because you looked a mess in your ruined blouse and dust covered hair. Dinner was a cinnamon roll leftover from breakfast and half of a turkey wrap, but it was something. You ate quietly, observing the display with that same wonder. They were odd looking, those white dots. Footsteps echoed out from the hallway as people came and went. You never looked up, too caught in your quiet vigil of the display screen. It took a subtle wrap on the table to get you to look up. 

“Hey.” Sheriff Nichols sighed, resting her hip against the table.

She looked tired. More hair was out of her ponytail than in it and her uniform was unbuttoned. It might’ve been a conscious decision, but it made her look more haggard than she would’ve appeared otherwise.

“Hi.” you replied, biting into the cold cinnamon roll.

The icing stuck to your teeth in a grotesque film.

“Sorry about the coffee again.” she gestured to your stained blouse. “Umm… Did you find the file?”

“File?” you frowned, unsure.

“Yeah, the George Wilkins one.”

Your palm came up to your forehead in a quick, masochistic slap. You’d totally forgotten to look for that file, all that had been on your mind was finishing the job and getting out. And dinner. Food had been on your mind for a while.

“... I can go look for it tomorrow.” you sighed.

Sheriff Nichols crossed her arms, toeing at the ground for a moment.

“You’re too tired to go back?” she asked, tone neither hopeful, nor presumptuous.

It was almost ten, and you were both exhausted, but something told you that the Sheriff would keep showing up to bother you until she had her answer. Considering how adept she was at inconveniencing you, the sooner you got rid of her, the better.

“If I do this for you will you promise to never set foot into the record’s department again?” you asked, eyeing her with a stern glare.

“Sure, yeah. I’ll fill out the request thingie… Yeah.” Sheriff Nichols nodded, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Words weren’t her strong suit, especially when her stomach was churning with hunger. Taking a deep breath in, you stood, leaving the half-eaten cinnamon roll on your plate.

“... Gonna eat that?” she asked, hopeful.

“No, it’s yours, I guess.”

Sheriff Nichols snagged it, following you up to the IT department. She held the door open once you unlocked the building, which was helpful, you supposed. Upon entering the office, you noticed how the Sheriff seemed to inspect everything, scoping it out with curious interest. She’d inhaled the cinnamon roll. You didn’t remember seeing her swallow.

“Records are this way.” you gestured, not in the mood to enable her gawking.

Sheriff Nichols followed you into the dusty library of records, standing off to the side as you carefully looked for the file she wanted. You skimmed the shelf twice over, rubbing your eyes in confusion.

“Yeah, it’s not here, let me check the record’s catalog.”

Turning on your heel, you walked over the dingy concrete floor of the room, turning on an ancient looking monitor. Humming along to yourself, you quietly searched the system for the record Sheriff Nichols was after. It popped up as returned to the library by the former Sheriff. He’d logged it himself. And you assumed he had done it correctly, but somewhere in between the return of the file and the cracking of the bookcase, it was more than probable that it had been misplaced.

“I don’t have an answer for you, I’m sorry. The shelf cracked, and it’s possible maintenance damaged the file. I’ll fill out a missing records report, and if it turns up I’ll notify you.”

It was the only response you could muster. The blank look Sheriff Nichols gave you felt undeserved, especially considering she’d snagged your cinnamon roll.

“Sheriff, I’m sorry it’s not where it should be, but we know it’s missing and we can look for it now.”

She walked over and behind the desk, brushing against you as she examined the screen for herself. She’d seen you examine the files, she herself had been examining a few. You weren’t lying, and the screen didn’t lie either.

“Well. Thanks.” she mumbled, scooting out from behind the desk.

As you watched her go, you found the exhaustion and irritation of the day was slowly becoming overshadowed by a larger, far less negative cognition. Why did the Sheriff want that file? What was it about this George Wilkins that had her so worked up? And why did you care?

Three levels up into your apartment and you were still asking yourself that question. One twist of your key and you were inside. A weight left your shoulders as you slipped inside, and you shut your eyes in relief. The door was solid beneath your back, and the smell of soup drifted out. Hunched over a stack of papers sat the white haired, uniformed form of Mayor Holland, as calm and measured as he’d always been. 

“Ah. You’re home.” Bernard, your father sighed, looking up from the recliner. 

Blue eyes landed on you, and he huffed out a laugh as he took in your frazzled form. Coffee-stained, dusty and the image of worked to the bone, he couldn’t help comparing his younger self to you. How many late nights had he worked, surviving on watery coffee and cafeteria cuisine? There was a story behind this, and he was anxious to hear it.

“Did you spill coffee on yourself, what happened?” he smirked, taking off his glasses to see you better.

His teeth were straight and white, devoid of any crookedness or discoloration. It was the product of bi-yearly dentist visits since he was a child. His hair was combed neatly, and he carried the countenance of a man too stuck in his ways to ever bother relaxing. It was exactly what you needed to see after such a stupidly tiring day.

“Sheriff Nichols came in during lunch and rifled through the records I’d been reorganizing. The shelf collapsed in aisle H, you know?” you began, walking into the living room. “I agreed to help her find the record she was after, off the books like an idiot, and the thanks I got was coffee on myself and several pristinely maintained files.” you irritatedly reported, walking into the kitchen. 

“You made soup?” you eyed the pot, stomach growling hopefully.

If you’d been watching Bernard in that moment, you would’ve seen how his eyes clouded over in concern. His jaw twitched, eyes working in small patterns over the wallpaper as he worded his next statement with as much care as possible. You were too busy ladling yourself a bowl of the most delicious looking soup to notice his change in demeanor. 

“You said she was rifling through files? She didn’t have clearance, did she?” Bernard asked, keeping his tone casual.

The last thing he wanted was to drag you into this. Or more accurately, ignite your curiosity.

“Yup. Not a single request. I didn’t end up finding the file she wanted, so I’m not going to get into hot water…” you paused.

As soon as you processed what you said, it became clear just how close you had been to fucking up, admitting it to your former supervisor of all people.

“I shouldn’t have let her get away with that without reporting it. I can go back and fill out a violations slip right now, I wasn’t thinking, the files were all wet-”

Two firm hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing twice. This wasn’t something you needed to run yourself ragged over, and Bernard knew that. 

“This wasn’t your fault. You were trying to be helpful because she’s the Sheriff, and causing problems with the Sheriff is arguably worse than forgetting a standard protocol of IT.” he said calmly. 

He let you process his words, guiding you to sit down at the table while he ladled himself a bowl of soup as well. One look at his side profile, and you noticed how relaxed his face was.. 

“She was in the records department without clearance only once?”

Again he gave you time to process, his tone even and controlled. 

“Twice. I grabbed food from the cafeteria right after my shift and she came up to ask if I’d found it. I hadn’t looked for the file at that point, so I went back and looked.” you reported, 

Your tone matched his in evenness. Hysterics and anxiety wouldn’t buy you any points, but a simple relation of the circumstances would.

“Did she touch any files when she was in there with you?” Bernard asked, walking over and sitting quietly across from you.

“No, that time I was the only one looking at the files.” 

Bernard didn’t visibly show his relief, but he felt it. The tension in his chest dissipated, and he found himself able to quietly eat.

“You did the right thing. Tomorrow morning go into the office and write the report. Detail exactly which rows you found her rummaging through and include the second, supervised visit.” Bernard quietly instructed.

The room went quiet, the pair of you eating your meal without further comment. Only when the bottom of both of your bowls was empty did he finally bring up his most significant instruction.

“A final note.” Bernard stated, tone almost emotionless. “As a rule, try to avoid Juliette Nichols as much as possible.” 

The way he said it, the firm command interwoven between the sentence disturbed you. You’d heard him use this tone few times during your life, and each had been a direct command to enforce your safety. But the threat Sheriff Nichols could pose to you simply didn’t compute. Your eyes flickered, and Bernard caught that spark of damnable curiosity.

“Do I ask why?”

“No. No you do not.” 

Bernard met your eyes, blue irises hard and demanding. It was a simple matter of knowing something you didn’t, something you couldn’t know. Your only course of action from here was to obey, and so you would. The chair screeched as you stood, quietly reaching for his empty bowl. The dishes were a welcome distraction from the sudden severity he had imposed upon you, thus you retreated to it. Bernard returned to his files, busying himself with the concerns of Silo management. Neither of you spoke, not until you went to leave the room.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight.”

The soft click of the bathroom door shut you out from the force that was Bernard Holland. The conversation had rattled you, for reasons you couldn’t quite name. As much as you tried to place it, whittle down the particular mannerisms he’d used during the conversation that had spooked you so, you couldn’t. Perhaps it had been the suddenness of it, the way he’d gone from relaxed to impenetrably stern over a bowl of soup. The more you tried to dwell on it, the less you could figure it out. The semantics were abandoned, along with your coffee stained blouse. 

Hot water blasted down from the shower head, soaking the tense muscles of your neck and shoulders until they went completely lax. Then, and only then, did you dare ask that treacherous question that itched provocatively over your tongue. A whisper, killed by the sound of water hitting the shower floor.

“Why can’t I talk to Juliette?”

Tag list: @bjoerkumlaut, @lovelyy-moonlight, @coffee-is-my-oxygen, @appparadox407, @ilovehotactresses @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange

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[bullet-prooflove]

Dirt: Daniel LaRusso x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @kiwiwatermelonsuger @sadgenderfluidmaniac @junghwansy2k 

Summer School Series:

Part One: Summer School - Daniel's excited to meet Anthony's new art teacher.

Your evening class is just letting out when Daniel drops by your studio. Your students are an array of ages between thirty and sixty, all chattering amongst themselves as they file out of the workshop.

“Oh hey.” You say when you see him lingering in the doorway. “Take a look around while I clean myself up.”

You’re wearing an apron covered in iron filings, your hair tied back in a ponytail. There’s a dark smear streaked across your cheek and somehow it’s just the sexiest damn thing. It isn’t until now that he realises how attractive he finds a woman who works with her hands, one that isn’t afraid to get a little dirty.

When you disappear into the backroom to washup, he finds himself touring the studio reviewing the projects your students are undertaking. He’s amazed by the creativity in the work, the complexity and the simplicity. He sees owls, and rainbows, figures on skateboards made with cogs and wrenches, nuts and bolts.

He pauses when he comes to the workbench at the head of the studio. There’s a large piece spread out across it, something much bigger than anything else in here. It’s made of wrought iron with intricate silver, gold and copper leaves soldered to the branches.

“It’s the tree of life.” You tell him as you come to stand alongside him, using a cloth to dry your hands. “It’s one of my most popular designs.”

“It’s beautiful.” He tells you, his fingertips trailing over the indentations in the metal, each one hand crafted. A blush creeps up across your cheeks and Daniel finds it endearing. You aren’t used to being appreciated, he can tell.

“When I first started the studio my ex told me this whole thing was a silly little girl’s dream.” You tell him as you gesture to the airy space around you. “He said I’d go under within a year.”

“How long has it been?” Daniel asks as he leans back against the desk.

“Three years.” You tell him as you hang the cloth up on a peg to dry.

“You are making that man eat his words.” Daniel says with a fierce sense of pride because truly you’ve accomplished something remarkable. “All of this, it’s amazing.”

“Thank you.” You say softly, your face lighting up. It’s at that moment Daniel realises you still have that smear of dirt on your cheek. He reaches out to wipe it as your eyes flicker up to meet his and in that moment he’s lost. The edges of your mouth turn up into a smile and he leans in close. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, it’s something dark, something sensual. Indian rose, he thinks with apricots, there’s an undertone of amber. It awakens something in Daniel, something he’s not felt in a long time.  

The door bangs open and the two of you break apart as one of your students hurries inside, apologising profusely for forgetting her bag.

“So what do you think?” You ask him after retrieving the item and bidding her goodnight. “Is it a good fit for Anthony?”

“Yea.” Daniel says as he looks around the room, a smile crossing his handsome features. “Yea I think it is.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ninjamelissajulien]

I'm gonna rant about Zane for a moment so bear with me

Zane's Motif is Humanity and Betrayal.

From his first conversations with the group, to his chapter book, to Night of the Nindroids, to Tournament of Elements, to SOG/Hunted/MOTO, to the Ice Emperor, to Crystalized, and now Dragons Rising- there is a repetition of Zane not being human. 'He's not like us'. 'He's weird... no, he's weird weird.'

Going into the Pilot Era (Season 0 through S1E6 The Snake King), Zane was always different in how he spoke, acted, and almost existed. Part of this is the brilliant voice acting by Brent Miller- he/Zane speaks very eloquently, a bit monotone but still full of emotion. "Yes. It was a joke. Ha, ha." "The Golden Weapons have left this realm and are now in the Underworld. The end is drawing near." Zane is blunt in how he speaks, yet internally he's in pain. He doesn't know where he comes from, where his family is, or who is family is. One of my favorite lines is from the early chapter books, Kai: Ninja of Fire. "I envy you." "No, I envy the fact that you know they're gone." Zane, at this point, is orphaned with no memory of his family. Kai decides to drop everything to help Zane find his old village and look for any sign of his past (fun fact: Zane and Kai are drugged in his book, I'm dead serious). Although, they do not find anything to help Zane and his past, it allows the pair to bond and grow closer.

In Zane's own chapter book, he is tempted by Garmadon for information about his past. If he gives up the Golden Weapons (and betrays his friends), Garmadon would tell him about his family and their whereabouts. This is the first of numerous instances of someone in power tempted Zane with something he desires, but to achieve it he would have to betray his friends. Zane is tempted. He misses the idea of what his family could be, the false idea of where he came from. Zane, of course, doesn't fall for it, but it's a lingering wonder of is Garmadon telling the truth? Did he really know who Zane's family was? Were they still alive, looking for him?

My favorite graphic novel, (other than the first volume, The Challenge of Samukai), is Night of the Nindroids. This book, taking place between the Art of the Silent Fist and Blackout, focuses on Zane and his feeling of isolation. Yes, he's a ninja, but he's a nindroid. Is he truly on the right team, or should he be with his own kind? In NITN, Zane is separated from the team and brought to the Overlord (Garmadon calls him a "toaster with attitude").

"What are you afraid of? Or can a collection of nuts and bolts even feel fear? No, you can't. Not fear, not hate, not even love, just imitations of those feelings. You are a robot. But I have the power to make you more! Defeat the other ninja for me, and I will transfer your mind into one of their bodies! I will make you human!" the Overlord to Zane.

On a side note: Night of the Nindroids is an incredibly fucked up concept. Zane would get to choose who's body he would take over, inevitably killing the original person. He chooses Kai, meaning (if) he went through with it, he would be living in Kai's body while Kai himself is dead. :)

Back to the point. Zane is tempted with the idea of becoming human. Of feeling emotions, of being able to get hurt, of "feeling the sun on your skin", of being normal. And, he does agree to work with the Overlord (as mentioned previously, choosing Kai's body to inhabit). He, single-handedly, takes down Cole, Jay, and Kai. Zane, though, doesn't want Lloyd anywhere near the events so he sends him away to bond with Sensei Garmadon, but he also sends Nya on a mission. He knows that Nya is intelligent and needs her out of the way for everything to succeed. Even the cover itself shows Zane's separation from the team; while Kai/Jay/Cole are caught, Zane is in front with his internal systems being revealed. He's even in his damaged appearance, showing the mechanics under his false skin. I won't spoil it, because it is a fantastic graphic novel, but it shows that Zane by himself is incredibly strong and powerful.

Tournament of Elements is the death of Human!Zane and the introduction of Titanium!Zane. In his previous appearance, he was able to pass as a human, unless he was drastically injured, but now, in his titanium form, it's even more obvious that he's different. He has PTSD and panic attacks from his encounter with Death. Zane, at this point in time, is the only one who's died and come back, further separating him from being human. But, I feel like, this could aid in his desire for humanity. He knows how precious life is, he knows how easily things can go from bad to impossible. His whole reasoning for living is "to protect those who cannot protect themselves"- from an outside perspective, it's a way for him to be a hero. But, on a deeper level, its almost a suicidal way of seeing things. He was built to face the danger so others wouldn't. Now, that's just my perspective on that.

The Oni Trilogy brings in Zane's cloaking. A way for him to be human again, while still being himself. He's able to switch between blending into the crowd in plain sight versus being himself. Though this does not change how he acts, it allows him a cover especially for when he needs to be hidden (Snake Jaguar).

Now. The Ice Emperor. Arguably the opposition to Zane himself. The Ice Emperor is what could've happened if someone found pre-pilot Zane and used him for their own selfish desires. Both start out as someone with no memories, no compass, just a lost child. Zane, pre-pilot, finds the village he later lives in and allows himself to be aided. Here, he is given things to do and ways to help others before being given the chance, by Wu, to find and better himself. The Ice Emperor is turned into a weapon. He's not allowed to think for himself, every decision is made and manipulated by Vex. The dialogue between IE and Vex is repetitious. The Ice Emperor is stripped of his humanity, betraying himself in the process. His powers are used to cause pain and suffering, killing Krag's family, freezing the Formlings, and causing a realm-wide ice age.

Even how the Ice Emperor sits on his throne shows how captive he is to Vex. Every time that IE moves from the throne, he has to shatter the layer of ice that forms over his arms/body. He's constantly asleep/powered down, possibly due to the amount of energy the Staff is demanding (especially for holding it for so many decades).

Crystalized is the closest Zane gets to voluntarily losing his humanity. the Ice Emperor was forcefully stripped from him, but Crystalized has him choose to lock his emotions away. He doesn't know how to deal with the grief of losing Nya. Even being with Pixal and Cole can't get him out of his depressive funk. It takes an outside perspective of allowing emotions out for him to see that its okay to be emotional, that being emotional is being human.

[cozzzynook]

Thinking of Bumblebee at the base with his teammates and Sentinel Prime is wrecking havoc on everyones last nerves.

He’s dedicated a numerous amount of time to complaining and talking down to the autobot team on Earth. He criticizes Bulkheads art and intelligence, mouths off to Ratchet whenever he wasn’t in the medbay, insulted Prowls love of nature and Jazz’s interest in human music and continued to call Sari a walking organic infection even with the knowledge she was half cybertronian.

Optimus was already used to Sentinels arrogant personality and the only time he was ever truly riled up by Sentinel was during battle when he tried to play leader and endanger everyone with his lack of experience and skill.

But Sentinel had managed to get under Prime’s skin by upsetting his team and family and so the Prime was making his way over to Sentinel who was standing by the Communications area. He was heading to tell Sentinel he needed to keep his comments to himself or Prime was going to force him to leave.

That all had a pin put in when the sound of a door sliding shut and lighter pede steps catching the attention of every bot and half bot in the room.

Bee had finally come from his berth room, optics hazy and servos rubbing his arms Bumblebee paid no mind to Sentinel as he went to grab the large blanket Bulkhead was sitting on. Bulkhead was quick to hand his little buddy, making room for him on the couch along with Prowl who moved to sit on the arm of the couch. Sari sat on Bulkheads kneepad as she patted the spot with a smile and Ratchet poked his head out to keep an eye on Bee.

Optimus was too distracted with making sure Bumblebee was functioning alright to even think of Sentinel.

That was a big mistake.

Just as Bumblebee had the blanket in his servos about to wrap it around his shoulders, a decline to the his invitation to join them on the couch at the tip of his glossa, Sentinel spoke.

“Woah there Bumbler, looks like you need to lay off the oil and energon.”

The room had gone deathly silent as Sentinel’s vox filled the room with an endless seeming echo.

No bot nor half bot moved as the team seemed to freeze with looks of horror and worry on their faceplates. Jazz noticed the atmosphere immediately as he looked over towards a still and blank faced Bumblebee and an overly confident smirking Sentinel. The bot didn’t seem to notice how everybot in the room was waiting for a reaction out of Bee that seemed far too edge for his tastes. He was about to try reeling in the aft headed bot only for Bumblebee to look up towards Sentinel and ask in an uncharacteristic vox.

“What?”

Even Jazz flinched when he heard Bumblebee and he grit his teeth in worry just as the others did when Sentinel laughed, completely unaware of the situation at servo and how tension filled the air as the sleepy bot began to wake fully in a way that seemed non too pleasant.

Optimus snapped a servo over Sentinels mouth and wrapped an arm around his neck pulling him back only to be elbowed on the side of his chassis. With a grunt Optimus let go looking up with a glare to see that Sentinel sealed his fate.

“Optimus what is wrong with you!? Your processor glitched or something?! Don’t put your filthy hands on me!”

He turned back to the scout servos on his hips and optics drifting down to gaze at Bumblebee’s frame.

“Man, you been eating bolts and nuts? Too much metal is bad for you ya know? I mean sure it has rounded out your aft and thighs nicely but it’s definitely made your hips spread and your tank bloated.”

The others couldn’t believe what they were hearing nor could they predict the next words from Sentinels mouth as he stood in front of Bumblebee who stood there quietly with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I mean even your chest plates have grown and up close your tanks a bit bigger and rounder. You really gotta hit the training and stop slacking off on those video games and metals. You’ve definitely gained weight Bumbler and its not all the attractive kind.”

It was Ratchet who stood mouth open with his head out of the medbay that put the pieces together as to why their smallest bot was always so tired and eating metals and consuming more energon. Truthfully he should’ve seen the signs since he’s treated them before but he hasn’t seen one in over millions of stellar cycles and Bumblebee’s application states otherwise, he didn’t know to suspect that diagnosis but now that he’s realized it all makes sense.

He understands why Bumblebee lied on his application and if he has anything to say about it he’ll make sure Bumblebee won’t be forced to have his records changed to his actual status. Who knows what else the young bot was hiding.

Before any bot could get a word or even another thought across their stunned processors a loud slap echoed the room and as everyone even Sentinel stood spark shocked at Bumblebee’s servo print on Sentinel’s faceplates, the yellow bot jumped up wrapping his stabilizers around Sentinel’s neck and lunged down making the bot crack his helm open on the ground and his body painfully smash against the floor.

Thighs tightening as he made the arrogant bot gasp for air before shifting himself and smashing a pede onto Sentinels massive jaw breaking it off leaving the orange piece to hang by a few wires.

Sounds of gasps intaking every bots vents and Sari’s lungs with bulging sockets at both the impressive and terrifying display, Bumblebee stood from the ground servo on his tank and another picking up the cloth as trails of coolant ran down his optics.

“You’re such an ass Sentinel! Why don’t you do us all a favor and offline!”

“Bumblebee!”

“Don’t Prime.”

“But Ratchet-”

Bumblebee stomped off wrapping the blanket around himself and leaving the base as coolant poured from his optics.

“Don’t, I should’ve realized it earlier but I didn’t. Let him cool off, he needs it.”

“Ratchet? Whats going on?”

“What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room nor will it be put on Bumblebee’s record got it?”

As the others looked around one another, slowly nodding, still in shock from Bumblebee’s uncharacteristic outburst and Sentinel who was lying on the floor leaking energon from his jaw as he groaned in pain. They nodded looking to Ratchet for an explanation.

“Bumblebee isn’t sick with something thats fatal,” he said to the relief of everyone, “he’s not sick at all in fact.”

That conclusion had everyone confused seeing as Jazz came to Earth to help the autobots since Bumblebee was put on medical leave due to not being able to perform in the field or transform without becoming ill and violently so.

“Bumblebee lied on his application, he isn’t a normal mech. He’s a carrying mech. Bumblebee is a carrier and I know without a sliver of a doubt that he’s carrying right now.”

There was a deafening silence surrounding the base before a chorus of, “he’s what?!” broke the remaining glass on the factory. Ratchet could feel his audios lose sound and as he was trying to get his processor straight and his optics online instead of seeing white, he feared for their lives. ‘Bumblebee is gonna offline these flatlined processor mechs if they get too close, especially since I’m quite sure none of them are the sire..’

Suddenly a small sliver of a smile broke out on Ratchets faceplates, ‘But I think I know who it is and that means we won’t have to deal with Sentinel anymore..at least not online.’

‘Aahh dreams really do come true,’ Ratchet mused as he watched the others rush out to try and find Bumblebee.

Far, from the city of Detroit deep in the woods, sat Blitzwing with his servos resting against his hummel who had dried coolant on his face plates. He was wrapped snug in the blanket he’d brought along with him, held comfortably against his large frame as he rubbed along the back of his helm before moving to kiss one of his sensitive horns.

“Vhat happened?”

“Stupid fragger Sentinel..”

“Vhat did he do now?”

“…you’ll think its stupid..”

That made Blitzwing open his optics and look down at his hummel. “Vhat did you say?”

“I said you’ll think it’s stupid!”

With an intake he pushed the frustration away, choosing instead to say, “I promise I von’t hummel, I never do.”

It struck him as odd how Bee suddenly became insecure in sharing his opinion when his bug was never like that. That coupled with the newly found tiredness his hummel suddenly was experiencing and his lack of being out in the field Blitzwing was worried about him.

“..he called me fat..”

That certainly wasn’t something Blitzwing had been expecting. He almost switched to Random before pushing the other back.

“Jou are not fat hummel, jou are jour regular size.”

“..”

The silence wasn’t helping Blitzwing any and when he leaned his head down further to look his hummel in the optics he grew worried.

“Hummel?”

“I have put on weight you just can’t see it because I’m wearing the blanket, but its not fat!”

Blitzwing grew curious at what his hummel could possibly mean by that and he felt he should tread carefully with how sensitive his hummel was taking the unappreciated insult from that aft headed overgrown chin.

“Vhat else did he say thats bothering jou hummel?”

It seems that was the simple push he needed to get his hummel to open up about what was bothering him.

“That arrogant bitch said I should lay off the metals! Who is that cunt to tell me to lay off the metals!?”

Blitzwing stared in shock as his audios tuned into what Bumblebee was saying, his sparkmate had never sounded so upset and angry. He rarely even used those two human curse words.

“That bastard had the audacity to look me up and down Blitzy! Even told me to lay off the metals! My metals! Who does he think he is?!”

Blitzwing could do nothing but blink his optics as his hummel trembled with anger and grit his denta as electricity from his servos scorched the blanket.

“He even said I should watch my oil and energon intake since it was going to my aft and thighs! He was checking me out Blitz! Even said it was going to my chest plates!”

Bumblebee let out a frustrated yelp as he stood on his pedes and began to pace, he was blind to Blitzwing switching to hothead whose red visor glowed so brightly with unbridled rage his frame was starting to let off steam as his canons ignited.

“I vill rip his spark from ze dirty chamber zat houses it! I vill rip zem vith my teeth and spit zem on his offline mangled frame!”

As hothead heated the area with his rage he warmed Bee to an uncomfortable degree making him drape the blanket low around his frame until his venting slowed and his frame cooled to that familiar chill and his optics were closing as he shivered.

The rapid temperature change was not welcome and he found his tanks churning uncomfortably. “Hey blitzy..can you uh c’mere..I’m uh feelin a lil..”

His tanks and frame seemed content to torture him with shaking servos that reached out in Blitzwings direction. He’d never been so thankful of hot servos gently wrapping around his middle and thigh plates as he had been now.

“Thanx…tanks upset again,” he shivered murmuring, “cold,” into the crook of Blitzwings neck cables. He was met with Hothead heating his frame slightly and a deep vent to keep his internals cool. The optics behind the red visor looked down at his hummel in worry. It wasn’t normal for his hummel to be so tired and cold like this, sure he was often cold and even more so touch starved like himself, but he was never cold enough to need a blanket and his warm frame.

With a wandering optic monocal and the sound of a whir Icy looked down at his hummel’s frame and found his chassis jerking slightly. He hated to admit it but it seemed Sentinel was right in his observations on his Hummel. That only made the triple changer want to rip the arrogant aft limb from limb as he ingested his internals and cables but he refrained from his processor going any further lest he switch back to hothead.

Blitzwing took time to gather the data before him. His hummel’s frame was a little heavier. His aft felt more rounded and his thigh platings were thicker not to mention his hips had widened. The sight was admittedly quite thoroughly attractive and Blitzwings felt a new rage simmering in his spark when he thought of Sentinel’s scrap optics checking out his hummel.

“I vill destroy zat scrapheap with my bare zervos!”

His frame shook with heavy vents as he cooled himself before gently lifting the blanket to go around his hummels shoulders until he stopped halfway. Something that should’ve been painfully obvious started to click in Blitzwings processor as his monocle zoomed in on Bumblebee’s chest plates. They were bigger and something more peculiarly telling was how his hummel’s tank was bigger too, round in fact, almost as if.

All three of Blitzwings faces began to spin out of control as his processor malfunctioned making Bumblebee jump from his dazed recharge. Spark pulsing as he tried to make sense of the situation before he focused on calming his con down. Getting Blitzwing to settle on Icy before Random tried to take control with an odd worried expression only for Icy to come back and Hothead making a brief appearance with worried frustration only for Icy to come back with a flat yet emotion fueled expression to take over.

“Hummel?! Are ve sparked?! Is that vhy jou’ve been so tired and cold?! Are ve sparked?!”

Bumblebee blinked in shock at the rushed question that was said with such urgency he felt himself answering before he could stop himself.

“Yes..”

It was out before he could think and when he went to try taking it back Blitzwing switched to hothead who yelled at him for trying to lie.

“Don’t lie to me! I can zee ze proof on jour tank! Vhy didn’t jou tell me zooner?! How long have jou known bug!!?”

“I’ve known for a while…”

Bumblebee looked down in shame face plates being lifted by Hothead who still was so gentle with him yet looked furious. But Bumblebee knew what the anger was protecting. His Blitzwing, his secret sparkbond and conjunx, was hurt more than anything else by his hiding this.

“Its not that I don’t trust you Blitz,” Bee held a servo to his cheek smoothing it with a digit, “it’s because I’m afraid…”

“I’m not afraid of you blitz, I’m afraid of what will happen,” he assured his conjunx as he took in his calming appearance. “We’re playing a dangerous game being sparkbonded..conjunxed..to kill one of us is to kill the other…we knew that agreed to it and accepted the risk. If either of our factions knew of us we’d be offlined on the spot after a series of torture..and yet..I don’t regret it.”

“I’ll never regret choosing you..but I’m terrified of them finding out about the sparkling…they didn’t sign up for this..for a war with no seeming end in sight..I didn’t..I don’t want to emerge a sparkling just for them to be offlined or upgrade without their carrier and sire..that..I did and it hurts..I never want them to watch our sparks extinguish..”

“Blitz..I don’t know what to do..I’m already showing and I’m not even halfway through carrying the others will piece it together eventually..I only told you I was a carrier the others don’t know and if I suddenly am found carrying they’ll know its from a con. I’m so scared Blitz..I don’t want them to take them and make me offline them…”

With arms wrapped around his tank as if to shield their sparkling, Blitzwing watched as Bumblebee trembled.

“I didn’t know how you would react and I didn’t wanna endanger you but I also didn’t wanna make you choose between your cause and my spark-”

“Shut up hummel!”

With gasp Bumblebee snapped his helm up and looked into Hotheads vibrant orange optics that looked into his spark as he pulled him close.

“They’re not jour sparkling, they’re our sparkling! Our sparkling who vill grow up with a zire and carrier! I knew the risks of interfacing with jou the moment we sparkbonded and became conjunx! I chose jou, us, the moment I accepted and reciprocated my feelings for jou! So shut up with this my sparkling scrap and fragging put jour trust in me and lets vork this out together!”

Bumblebee could do nothing but stare dumbly at Blitzwing watching his conjunx vent to cool himself before nodding and wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around his conjunx neck cables. The whir alerted him to a faceplate change and he waited to see the personality he was talking to only for Blitzwing to shift him a little. A servo coming to rest on his rounded tank made Bee stir a little but the slightly cool servo told him who was touching him and he couldn’t fight the relief escaping his dermas.

His optics shut on their own as the lull of his conjunx spark pulsed in his audio and before Bee knew it he fell into recharge feeling far more at ease and peace than he had in the weeks knowing he was carrying.

Blitzwing lowered his optic to look down at his hummel to see he was getting some much needed recharge. ‘Good,’ he thought to himself as he made his decent from their meeting spot in the woods. ‘This should give me plenty of time to hunt down Sentinel and come back to my hummel in our momentary hiding home before I find a way to get us off this planet and into the neutral zone.’

With his processor occupied on getting his hummel, himself and their sparkling to safety, Blitzwing headed off with dark thoughts clouding the back of his processor on how to destroy Sentinel painfully as a wild cackle left his derma, unnaturally long glossa hanging out as he smiled disturbingly.

“Maybe I’ll even keep zat chin as a souvenir! AAHHAAHHAHAHAHHA!!”

-

I love this pairing.

[otherworldseekers]

FFXIVwrite2024 Day 1: Steer

WoL x Nero 534 words Domestic Fluff

“Bolt.”

Severia plucked the requisite article from the tray of the tool box and placed it in Nero’s outstretched palm. 

“Nut.”

She performed the procedure again and watched Nero’s arm disappear back underneath the Red Baron. It was time for the Baron’s annual maintenance (assuming it hadn’t needed maintenance before a year had passed, which was rare) and rather than invading a lingering Castrum to perform the operation (as they had last year), this time Nero had taken the time to build himself a huge repair installation in the yard of their new house in the Lavender Beds. (It had, naturally, required invading multiple Castrums to obtain all the materials, but he insisted it would save them time in the future.)

Severia wasn’t thrilled about it. The thing was huge and stood out like a giant Magitek construction in their otherwise peaceful and pleasantly arranged yard. And seeing it out of the corner of her eye when she was trying to enjoy her rock garden was perhaps not conducive to the serenity she was attempting to cultivate. But he had just been so incredibly excited about it.  And Twelve knew she was incapable of resisting him when he got like that. 

Nero emerged from the underside of the Red Baron futilely wiping his hands on an already grease stained rag. Her eyes were quickly drawn to the satisfied grin on his likewise grease stained face. 

“Finished?”

“Indeed.” He tossed the rag over his shoulder and stood back to survey his handiwork. “Good as new. Better, in fact. Shall we go for a joyride?”

“You do realize you’re absolutely filthy, right?”

He turned to her and smirked. “You’ve some rather adorable smudges yourself.”

Severia’s hands shot to her face.

“No, you’re just making it worse,” he told her with a chuckle. Nero grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him. And then booped her on the nose, laughing when her face scrunched up. “How about you steer yourself upstairs and run a bath for us. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve shut down the station.”

Severia couldn’t help her own smile. Soaking in the tub together was one of her favorite things. “All right.”

“And thank you for your help.”

“I hardly did anything.”

“Ridiculous. Having to emerge every time I need a new tool or part is the most tedious and frustrating part of repair work. And you never make a mistake. You always know what I need.”

“Well, it’s all very meticulously labeled.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Darling.” He leaned down and bumped their noses together. “You know how I feel about that.”

“Sorry,” she said and truly meant it. He was always going out of his way to show his appreciation for her. Perhaps because he knew how it felt to not be appreciated and he never wanted her to feel that way. “I enjoyed helping.”

Which was true. She loved being able to help him. And she loved watching him happily working and humming to himself. 

“All right then,” Nero said and gave her a quick pat on the behind. “Off to the bath with you.”

“Don’t be long.”

“And miss the part where you take your shirt off? Never.”

Thanks for reading!

[pynkhues]

https://x.com/lestatdelioncat/status/1858608673855336516?t=KsAra9iHb3aUiMDx21TF2w&s=19 I dont understand what Jacob meant by this and I definitely would argue that Louis isn't the most vampire but that Claudia is

Mmm, yeah. My interpretation of what Jacob’s saying there is that Louis has an enormous capacity for self-indulgence, and its because he has that, that he has to restrain himself so fully. That makes sense to me, I think we see that in 2.05 in particular between all the boys and the drugs, but I think we also see it in how he bottles things up until they explode out of him and he does things like murder the Alderman Fenwick in a pretty gory and performative way, and, y’know, swims the Mississippi to get at Lestat (in more ways than one!)

Does that make him more vampiric? I don’t know if I think that does, but it begs the question of what you think determines a vampire’s core characteristics? It’s an ever-evolving archetype, and has definitely gone through a lot of iterations in the last twenty years in particular, but I think if you’re looking at the origins in traditional gothic literature, Louis is in many ways the quintessential vampire.

So! Let's have a look at that.

The origins of the vampire

The concept of a vampire in literature was actually created in the same summer retreat that Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein in, which is a delightful little slice of history. You can read more about it here if you’re interested, but the nuts and bolts of it is that a freshly-divorced Lord Byron, his doctor, Dr. Polidori, as well as Percy and Mary Shelly, and Mary’s stepsister, Claire Clairmont (who was pregnant with Byron’s child, a child he really didn’t want), went on a summer retreat to Switzerland together, and basically just spent months reading each other ghost stories which ultimately culminated in Byron suggesting they have a competition to see who could write the best one.

Hilariously, none of them really wrote a ghost story – Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, and Byron actually wrote two things, although he only finished one – a poem called The Darkness which is effectively a dystopian poem about the end of the world – and his unfinished project was a novel about a dying man who swears he’ll be resurrected to visit his friend after he dies.

It's this that’s actually taken up by Byron’s doctor, Dr. Polidori, who turns it into the 1819 short story, The Vampyre, with the lead character being heavily based on Byron himself.

In Polidori’s story, it features a man, Aubrey, observing his rich, sexy male friend, Lord Ruthven, who has superhuman strength and can’t be killed by bullets, and who seems to keep seducing women important to Aubrey right before they mysteriously die. Basically Aubrey slowly realizes through mounting dread that Lord Ruthven survives by drinking the blood of innocent women.

I’ve talked a lot about the Byronic Hero (and how I think Louis embodies the trope), so I won’t go too much into it here, but my point is that the original concept of a vampire is inherently built on those romantic ideas of class and wealth (which is important for reasons I’ll get into shortly), sophistication and intelligence, hiding in plain sight and seduction, and is generally understood to have queer subtext which many read into the relationship between Aubrey and Lord Ruthven (Ruthven literally seduces and murders Aubrey’s lover and his sister, isolating him to his companionship). He’s also inherently Byronic, being first started by him, and later based on him – Byron truly isthe I-don’t-know-if-I-want-to-be-him-or-be-with-him guy of literary history, haha.

Building on the origins and evolving the metaphor

It was the late 1800s though when some of the most genre-defining stories were published. The two biggest being Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla (1871) and, of course, Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897). The genre had evolved already at this point, but the archetype actually didn’t change all that much. In fact, the vampire as someone who is rich, predatory and seductive became character traits that became metaphors in and of themselves, namely as a class metaphor. This was started with Lord Ruthven in The Vampyre, but it’s really expanded here, particularly in Dracula, who’s understood in the context of the 1890s to represent the solitary nature of monopoly capital that sucks the life from the labouring classes. He hoards his wealth through land and gold, and preys on the working class.

There’s been a lot written on this, so I won’t labour the point, but the understanding of vampires as symbols of aristocracy and capitalism has always existed, and I know that we joke about Louis being the first vampire capitalist, but it’s actually not true. Capitalism has always been a vital part of the genre, because class has always been a central tenet of classic gothic fiction, for better and for worse.

Wealth and class is also central to Carmilla. It’s set in the 1800s in Austria while the wealth gap between the rich and poor is increasing, and Carmilla comes from an aristocratic, old money family. She benefits from being rich, and she uses her social power as a rich aristocrat in order to seduce and prey on people in the lower classes. Again, the entwining of wealth and class is really prevalent, but interestingly too, Carmilla’s the most explicitly queer of all of these early vampire stories, with the lesbian relationship woven through it effectively textual, but Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu also posits two means of being turned into a vampire, which is kind of uniquely interesting to me.

One is the way we know – vampires turn vampires, but the second is that vampires are people who’ve been rejected by God, whether due to suicide, as explicitly stated in the book, or excommunication from the church for a sinful life. While this hasn’t literally carried forward much in the genre, I do actually think its still there. The elements of sin and quote-unquote ‘corruption’ are still threaded through most vampire fiction even today, and while hedonism is more common in modern vampires, there are elements of misery that feel pervasive. The idea that vampires are born either through being turned, corrupted or dying by their own hand is just one that I find really interesting, and I think also speaks a bit to elements of the Byronic Hero that the vampire is inherently steeped in as an archetype.

…And evolving some more

It was actually Anne’s books in the 70s that relaunched vampires into the stratosphere popularity-wise, and they did evolve in theme and metaphor as a result. Vampires are understood to be manifestations of current anxieties, which yes, in the 1800s was the rise of monopolistic capitalism, female sexuality and homosexuality, and in the 70s through 80s became metaphors for anxieties around STIs, the AIDS crisis, and addiction in particular, but these themes of class and misery never left the genre.

That said, the Vampire as an archetype in and of itself was also informed in this period really by the Milton’s Satan archetype which has gone on to form the modern concept of the anti-hero. I talked a lot about the Milton’s Satan archetype here in terms of Lestat, but the important thing to note is that it holds to the idea of a protagonist as a fallen angel who becomes a hero-villain, hedonistic, vain, proud and horribly, terribly human.

So, do I think Louis’ the most vampiric of the vampires?

Yeah, actually. In a lot of ways, Louis marries all the foundations of the traditional vampire. He’s as wealthy, intelligent, and seductive as Lord Ruthven was, but he really feeds into the late 1800s vampire as a symbol of the parasitic nature of monopolistic capitalism and landed wealth. He chooses to be solitary and rejects community, he’s using women’s bodies to keep his family in wealth, he’s hoarding and commodifying art and wishing death on artists to increase profit, he’s gentrifying San Francisco, he’s turned in a church on a night he likely would’ve commit suicide, tying back into Le Fanu’s idea of alternate ways of vampires being turned, hell, he’s even doing drugs with addicts in the sprawl of the seventies, using his social power over Daniel by flaunting his wealth to get him into a room with him.

And he’s a Byronic Hero. So he’s miserable while he does it, haha.

That joy in the hunt that Claudia has to me is more like Lestat’s, which I do think as I said in the Milton’s Satan / Fallen Angel archetype post is more tied up in the demonic than the vampiric, traditionally speaking. There’s definitely crossover though, especially as Milton’s Satan has informed the modern anti hero, and vampires are generally always anti heroes in modern fiction. I don’t think Claudia necessarily is a Milton’s Satan either – I’ve said it before, but I think she’s a true Gothic Heroine – but she definitely has some of those attributes of a fallen angel, particularly in the sense of hedonism and perversion of form and family.

In a lot of ways, it’s part of the fun with Claudia – she gets these elements of both Louis and Lestat, and gets to be her own thing too. Her vampirism is its own unique monstrousness, but I don’t think she plays as cleanly into the traditional vampire as Louis does.

I'll leave it there, because this is way more than you asked for, anon, haha, sorry. Hopefully it's interesting.

[georgies-ftts]

my genuine thoughts and reactions watching One Piece as someone who has never consumed a different piece of One Piece media before

spoilers… obviously…

Episode 1:

thick glaswegian accent straight away you’ve won me over

this guys moustache is immaculate kinda looks like every version of captain hook ever mushed into one

i recognise the scottish guy

random guy #374’s sideburns are… definitely there

slay drop a bomb before you’re executed horribly

cracker opening theme actually 9/10 should’ve been longer

fourth wall break?

nope he’s talking to a bird

okay funky trouser man you shout into the abyss

this birds got better drip than me

‘Mutiny��� funny actually

he’s not having a good time

what the actual fuck is that ship

aldiva? love of my life?

Koby needs a fresh trim… probably… idk

love me some cheeky windmills

i recognise red hair hat man too

that kids fully gonna die

luffy is fuckin nuts

is he eating… raw??? steak???

australian pink haired harrypotter is about to shit himself

dudes about to get his shit rocked

funky hat man??? is fucking??? elastic

rope burn doesn’t exist in this universe

elastic head is genuinely fuckin horrific

but also slay

think i’m gonna like depressed green hair man

Mr 7 is wearing two ruffs….

‘My favourite is number 1’ fuck him up emotionally i like it

and then fuck him physically this is going grand actually

sword fights that are choreographed immaculately and with fluid camera movements truly do hold a very special place in my heart

oh wait is the luffy kid funky straw hat man

“your mug” yes get that slang in there

wait but luffy has a steady american accent with no twangs

purple orb i’d eat it

oh so would he apparently

what the fuck it’s green

who the fuck is red haired hat man i can’t be bothered to pull up imdb

don’t kill shanks he treats the bar staff with respect

he was in ‘fresh meat’ i found him

he’s so gonna die

i’d slap man bun guy so fuckin hard

luffy needs to like… have a nap or something

woah luffy straight in there with the insults

he had a munch and now he’s a bit bendy

now i recognise koby jesus christ

didn’t need to slap the poor guy jesus

koby is cute i like them

ginger woman floating in the sea

“sweetheart” fucking get rid of them

is she gonna fuck em up

slay queen found a new love of my life and she’s wearing funky socks

‘where’s my face?’ bruvva i could squish your cheeks like a toddler that wall is not for you

it’s green haired sword guy love him

“one for my friend” dude that is a body. in a sack.

it’s ginger sock girl, marry me

blonde british man is gonna catch these fists, sir that is a child leave her alone

lucious malfoy looking ass

yes Zoro (the subtitles are the only reason i know what’s goi-)

did he just eat that off the floor.

blonde british man is fucking terrifying

another sword fight???????

kolby you are me actually

fuck them up fuck them up fuck them up

i’m a lesbian but i do think green haired man just turned me bisexual

“my father” jesus fuckin christ they hired draco malfoy

like the rum???

jesus christ daddy’s boy needs a fuckin gag or some shit

i want Zoro’s earrings please

why does this man have a metal plate bolted into his face

“where does it even go” i think you know

koby realising not everything that’s made out to be ‘good’ is always good slay, we love a little bit of depth

i love a cgi sewer pipe

jesus chrrriiiiiiist draco malfoy is back

kick him in the balls

“when i get down” dude you are literally half on the floor already….

my wife ginger socks girl is back everything is good

she’s gone again, devastated

luffy kinda has the percy jackson cockiness yknow?

luffy 10/10 would do a phycology gcse

fucking english bastards ruining everything

it’s fine she fucked em up again

what is the grand line may i ask

her eyes are stunning

i think she just shat herself

draco malfoy needs to go what the-

that’s his bare arse

chop his dick off

please

i beg you

i think luffy just wants some friends

she’s a pickpocket too holy fuck-

“i’m never joining” yuh huh sure

why’s she searching the papers on the desk surely they would be in a draw or some shit or like a secret message or something

win for luffy

153rd marines really doesn’t sound all that threatening

so he’s like… hench as fuck too?

protect the hat luffy as you should

green haired man’s just pitched up c’mon

slay, literally and figuratively

is he wearing zebra trousers?

not where i thought the sword went…

yeaaahhh fuck him up

that kick was fucking immaculate

so green man is also fuckin hench???

oi listen to the queen

HA MALFOYS HAIR REMINDS ME OF MY WEIRD BARBIE

zoro smiled that’s it life is good

KOBY MY SON

koby no don’t

okay koby you slay love you

you keep them massive fuck off glasses safe

do they meet again? please tell my they meet again and they both live and are happy i will cry-

ooo action music my favourite kind of tv music

what the fuck is that snail and why is it also a phone

SCOTTISH MAN IS BACK

they took your mum actually

a pirate in a straw hat who’s skin is made of rubber thankyou

ooo new emo green haired man

they infact we’re not planning anything ever

that’s that one guy from agents of shield

jesus he’s fuckin creepy

oh that’s terrifying actually

FUCKIN TUNE

[shukakumoodboard]

Soooooo, about that gaaleesbians fan fic you were talking about....

LETS GO LESBIANS

ahem

i swear i've mentioned it before but i cannae find it so i shall simply. talk about it again relieved emoji

i have exactly one(1) gaaleesbians fic which came to me in a bolt from da lord after @urieskooki was talking in chats about a fic she was working on affectionately called priestie boys and so now you are all eventually getting: naruto but puritan salem witch trials lesbians au. behold

it's called thread of deepest scarlet, heart of shining pearl and it's going to take me an eternity because i've decided i will write it ye olde 17th century sermon style for why though hey totally unrelated hey would u like a snippet? would u like a snippeptpett? woul ud dyu--

“If you would but allow me to taste you,” she whispered, her lips a red gleam against pale skin, red as shone the skin of a crisp apple in the Garden of Eden. Crimson, like blood on the fangs of a snake. “I might offer your treasure worship.” What treasure had she to offer? What worship might she, humble mortal as she was, deserve? “I do not know that of which you s-speak!” What were these feelings coursing within her, consuming her? Was she bewitched, as the sermons had warned? Was Gaara beset by the Serpent, invoking such spells as to ensnare Lee, feminine and vulnerable thus to such infernal spirits, so said the gospels? She had tried, with prayer, with holy silence, with physical toils, to protect herself against the plagues of consumption and stay herself upon the Lord. And yet. “La petit mort, the little death, or so say the French,” she said. Soft her hand slid across Lee’s cheek to brush a strand of hair. Her low laughter rang across the chamber, sweet bells for which no music could find itself an equal. “Has no lover bestowed upon you such wonders?” “L-lovers!? I have but one, my h-husband!” A husband for whom she must always be deferent to, obedient, subservient… Scarlet lips curved down, a frown to wrinkle her pale forehead and its wine-stain mark. “Does he please you?” “To serve my Lord and my husband is my d-duty—I shall not neglect even if he—” “This I have not asked.” Her words struck Lee down, like gospel, her eyes the nails upon which the Saviour crucified. Bow your head in prayer, o wretched ones. “Has he brought you raptures? Does he please you?” O Lord, forgive her. “No.” Lee had thought no sin could truly taste sweet until this moment, where fruit glistened naught on branches but between red lips and shining teeth. And she itched, burned, Hellfire under her skin screaming for a thirst that but Gaara’s touch might slake. Fingers, delicate, stroked up her front, around her waist to until the apron, green wool pooling to the floor while Gaara undid the small glass buttons down her gown front one by one. Lee should not allow this. Her body was a revelation meant for her husband alone. And yet. “As Christ loves His church, the husband must love his wife absolutely, and so I vow this unto you, I will be joined to you and you alone, as one body and one flesh.” Tenten’s stockings, a gift from Lee herself, on the floor— “Wives, be subject to your husbands, as to the Lord.” No. She would not! No sanctity could be found in her home, no longer was her bed a place of holiness, why should she be the sole faithful one? Let he without sin cast stones upon her, she would bear it. Gaara’s crimson red lips sang poisonous, blasphemous hymns, and she wanted nothing else. “I can,” she breathed. “I would show you, in all your loveliness, such wonders, if you wish it.” For if Gaara was the serpent in the Garden, she was Eve, and in that parable, it was she doomed to succumb to temptation; her weakness preordained, this was her Apple and the ways of wickedness were already within her, and so. “Please.” And so, she let Gaara consume her.

if it's not obvious as hell: local witch gaara is asking to consume wife-of-the-pastor-who-has-never-nutted-lee's coochie . hell fuckign yeah

[babyhatesreality]

hi friend!! i love ur work so muuuuch, you have no idea!! i literally check everyday if you post something 😭 i think i'm obsessed with you atp 😭 but it's my birthday today! and i was wondering what baby or the daddies are like during baby's birthday and how they celebrate!! 🎂 it's probably so cute and chaotic and baby doesn't shut up about it for days or maybe daddies get too excited and go waaaay overboard with the planning and decors bc they want the best for baby 🥺 ilysm and i hope you know you truly make my day 🤍

Hi back Nonnie Friend!! Happiest of birthdays, my darling!! Thank you so much for your kind words, they helped me immensely today, they were such a gift. Okay, I'm breaking my own rule here and skipping up in the line as I wanted to get this out on your birthday to give you a gift right back! (To all my other asks, please know you are ALL literally WIPs right now!!) Happy Birthday, Nonnie!!! <3 <3 <3

The Birthday Baby

Pairing: Daddy!Stucky x little f!birthday baby

Warnings: DDLG (SSC), f! reader, reader's birthday, daddies going nuts (in the best way possible), super hyper excited baby, fluffity fluff fluff fluff.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated. 

"I'm telling you, it's dinosaurs."

"Dinosaurs was LAST week. THIS week it's My Little Pony."

"Okay, yeah, I'll give you My Little Pony this week, but she likes the Disney princesses better than the Ponies."

"Anyone can do Disney princesses at any time, we need to go with what she likes right now. And I'm telling you, it's My Little Pony."

"That's just a phase."

"Well, so were the dinosaurs!"

"She plays with them in the tub constantly, she's always stomping around the place roaring..."

"Oh, is that what she's doing when she does that? I thought that was Lion King."

"Wait...it might be dragons then..."

"No, she wears the dragon wings and the mask when she's a dragon. So I guess you're right. Wait- none of the My Little Ponies roar, do they?"

Bucky flopped back down on their bed with a groan. He couldn't keep up any more. He and Steve had been at it for what felt like hours, trying to figure out the theme for your upcoming birthday party. The trouble was, you bounced so quickly from favorite thing to favorite thing, they couldn't figure out what would make you happiest. They had tried asking you. It had gone about as well as the conversation was currently going. No one was able to make up their minds about anything.

"Buck, it's gotta be perfect," Steve said, running his hands up and down his thighs nervously. It was the only thing keeping him from bolting off the edge of the bed where he was sitting and pacing around the room. "It's the first time she's spending her birthday with us- we need it to be special and exactly what she wants."

Bucky sat up, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought. "Okay, Stevie, maybe we're going at this the wrong way. This may be nuts, but go with me. What if...."

And then he laid out a weird but potentially brilliant solution. And they both breathed a sigh of relief. Then got to work.

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

The day before your birthday arrived, and you were running around like crazy, so excited for your party the next day. Papa and Daddy would only tell you that you were going to like everything at the party- they wouldn't give you any more details than that. Which drove you batty in the best way. You were constantly running from room to room, looking for clues, asking them questions, and spinning in circles in pure excitement.

"All my friends gonna be there, right?" you asked Steve for the umpteenth time. He smiled patiently and nodded.

"Everyone's coming, sweetness."

"Even Nicky?"

"Yes, even Director Fury," Bucky jumped in. "And I wouldn't call him Nicky, baby."

"It's my BIRFDAY, Daddy, I get to make da rules!" you said impishly, giggling at the idea of calling the tall, cool guy 'Nicky'. Bucky gave you a devilish smile back before scooping you up and tickling you.

"Yeah, that's not how that works at all," he teased while you screamed with laughter. Finally, when you seemed to wear out slightly, he set you down with a gentle pat on the butt. "Now go play. Papa and I have work to do."

"For my birfday??"

"Can't tell you, it's a surprise," Papa grinned at you. You just squealed in delight, knowing that was code for 'yes', and tore out of the room, cheering.

Steve sighed happily. "Well, she's gonna sleep well tonight," he joked as he listened to you running down the hallway to the playroom. His phone pinged. He pulled it out, then gave a short cheer at the message. "Last thing just arrived," he said triumphantly. "Sam's hauling it to the rec room, and he's going to help us set up after she's gone to bed."

Bucky rubbed his hands together gleefully. "We did it, Stevie, we got it all. Nothing more to get, it's all here. We did it." They both paused in their cheering when they heard your footsteps come pitter-pattering down the hallway again. You peeked in to see if they were still in there, and then gleefully jumped into the room, holding out a piece of paper.

"Lookit, Papa, lookit Daddy!" you said, holding up your artwork. "Lookit what the new crayons that Aunt Shuri sent me do!! The purples are SPARKLY!!" you squealed with joy, shaking the hastily drawn flower picture at them. "They SPARKLE!! Purple sparklies are my new favorite EVER!! I'm gonna go draw more flowers!" you shrieked in one excited breath before hopping out of the room like a bunny.

Steve and Bucky just looked at each other in panic. Steve recovered first, going back to his phone. It only took two minutes, then he sighed in relief again.

"Okay," he said, a touch of weariness in his tone. "Purple sparklies on the way."

Bucky shook his head in wonder. "Wow," he said, hushed, looking at the phone in Steve's hand. "This internet thing...so great," he mused. "I still can't believe it."

"SO helpful, right??" Steve said, nodding vigorously along with his husband's wonder and appreciation of modern technology.

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

The next day was one that you would remember forever.

You had excitedly but nervously held onto both your daddies' hands as they took you down to the big Avengers room where you all had your inside parties and holidays and stuff. They were watching you with big (and nervous) smiles on their faces as you entered the room, just the three of you. You stopped in awe at the sight that awaited you.

The room looked like it FAO Schwartz had exploded. There was a little bit of absolutely everything you loved, tucked into every nook and cranny of the room. There was a pin-the-tail-on-the-My-Little-Pony game, an inflatable dragon perfect for someone to bounce on, a dinosaur pinata, a coloring station, a lego station, a Disney princess dress-up costume rack- the list went on and on. Along with pops of colorful streamers and bunches of balloons with lights in them. It was a joyous cacophony of color and imagination. You walked around slowly and softly, your eyes wider than they'd ever seen them before, touching everything reverently as you took it all in. After a lap around the room and seeing a bit of everything that you loved, you turned to them.

"IT'S PERFECT!!!" you screamed joyously, before hurtling yourself into their arms.

The rest of the day was a brilliant blur.

Sam was the first one to arrive, and scooped you up in the biggest hug possible, whispering in your ear that you two would go flying the next time that he babysat and giving you a big kiss on the cheek. Bruce and Natasha arrived next, losing Wanda and Pietro instantly as you grabbed the other littles' hands and pulled them into your Wonderland. Natasha just laughed, seeing how entranced and excited you were.

"You two did it, you nailed it," she praised, playfully slugging Steve on the shoulder. "Although I will say you may have gone just the teensiest bit overboard," she said, an eyebrow arched playfully.

Bucky shrugged as Steve blushed. "I seem to recall a certain couple hiring and flying out Sokovian acrobats to put on a show for the twins' last birthday," Bucky tossed back playfully at her. Bruce chuckled low, putting his arm around his wife.

"He's got us there, love," he said, grinning at her.

Tony, Pepper, and Peter arrived soon after, causing all you littles to shriek with joy and pull Peter into the melee, which he joined happily.

"Wow," Pepper said simply, smiling and trying to contain her giggles at the craziness surrounding her. "You guys really outdid yourselves!" she said heartily. Tony looked around, then sidled right up to her.

"You DO realize that I am going to throw this in your face absolutely every time you accuse ME of going overboard for Pete," he said in his nonchalant tone, gesturing to the fantastical play land. Pepper just rolled her eyes and smiled.

The whole gang was quick to arrive after that. Nick, Maria, Rhodey, Thor and Jane, Darcy, Scott and Hope, Loki, Sylvie, and Prince Loki, Clint, Laura and all their kids, including Kate. Laura came and found you right away, giving you a huge hug- she always gave the best hugs ever.

"Happy Birthday, angel!" she said, squeezing you tight.

"Tank you, Aunt Laura!!" you said, giggling. You latched onto her hand, pulling her to the refreshment table. "Lookit, Papa and Daddy got me a COOKIE CAKE!!"

"Oh wow, that is so great! And so YOU!" she said, teasing and tickling you. You squealed in laughter before the gang called you back to play, and you took off running. Laura looked at the table. The paper dessert plates seemed to be a mix of Frozen, Phineas and Ferb, and purple sparkly ones. She tilted her head and looked up quizzically at Steve and Bucky.

"Internet," they both said, looking very proud of themselves.

"Ah," Laura said simply, nodding with a polite smile.

After a loud and raucous time, after the cookie cake was devoured and all the presents opened and all the games played, everyone went home. Steve and Bucky had gotten clearance to clean up the next day so they could spend this entire day focused on you. As they were getting you ready for bed, they got grateful texts from every caregiver in the Tower- all the littles were worn out from all the fun and had gone down easily.

You were the same- happy but exhausted from all the excitement and activity. "Best birfday ever," you murmured before your "I love you"s, a final squeeze to each of them, and falling asleep, tucked in between the two people who wanted to give you the world- and delivered today.

[punk-chicken-radio]

machine music...

ah. the hum of artificial things. pseudo humanity in action.

but truly, none of us would be here without machines, no matter how much we might hate them, argue with them, declare outright war upon them, as @theoldsmelly is wont to do when the vending is out of his favorite cheese snacks....

for myself, i've been overly relying on machines lately, even getting put inside them, and trying to get put inside bigger ones, to hurry my current state of not having a properly working neck to its inevitable repair. in the quest to see which of the two of us, between smelly and i, becomes made of more artifical parts first, i am gaining the fucking edge. my requests for 'just give me a whole new spine' aren't going over well, but i'll take the few nuts and bolts the doctors can throw in there to keep me upright, and would rather it be done by machine than man, tbh....

but when it comes down to it, the best machines of all are the ones that make the music. they can be simple machines, or incredibly complex ones, but they all enrich our lives and make us wanna move. okay, i'm not supposed to move much, but who can resist the dulcet tones of a wayward sax, or a jaunty synth when the air carries it to our ears and through our bodies to our very heart and souls...

christ on a bike, my pain pills are obvs kicking in. let's get this show on the road. you know what's next....songs about machines, made by machines.

love (waiting for a different dr and a different test) axiomatic and the old (and the machine that goes ping ping) smelly

[basilone]

Hiya friend, could I please request #2 "honey" forrrrr....Darlene? <3 — @shoshiwrites

Of course, of course! 💙 Here she is, finally truly at home in her natural habitat, and who else would she meet......

honey

He has heard her whole story before he’s had a chance to meet her.

It’s the sort of thing that rankles him these days. Word traveling so fast on base you’d think it’d taken flight from one end to the other in record time. Opinions being spouted off until they’re fact, facts being retold so often that one needs a flashlight to find anything true by the end of it, and judgment coming hard and fierce between it all.

She’d been subject to enough of that. Don’t need a lady mechanic round these parts, or so the base had buzzed. Don’t need that sort of bad luck. He’d archly reminded some that they’re not on a boat and no woman – alive or dead – should be treated like some ill omen. A harbinger, if Curt’s many sordid nearly Irish tales are to be believed. (They aren’t. Gale knows this. Curt does, too. They’re told anyway.)

As far as stories go, hers contains nothing Gale hasn’t heard before. She’s hardly the only one hailing from Georgia – the many Dorrance-Joneses on base alone provide a veritable invasion from that state – and she’s nothing special with the down-on-my-luck-making-my-own-way patchwork history of odd jobs and family quarrels. Nothing to write home about.

“You all right there, honey?”

Gale blinks. Stares at the riot of red curls perched precariously atop a very, very freckled head. There’s a dark grease stain on her cheek that travels streak-like into her hair, just above her ear, as if she’s tried and failed to wipe it off with her sleeve. She’s a little gap-toothed, if the flash of a quick grin is anything to go by, which might be the first real thing he learns about her without there being a known story attached.

“Ah asked,” she repeats, sing-songing her words back to him, “you all right there, Major?”

“Just fine, Sergeant.” He nods at her. “How is she?”

“She’s a beauty.” There it is again, that little flash of a gap between her front teeth as she smiles. “Should be up and purrin’ in your ears again by tomorrow, sir. Wasn’t a whole lot wrong with her, but ah liked workin’ on her. Sorry to say them feathers took a beatin’, though.”

He eyes the wing she indicates with a wave of her hand. “Walk me through?”

“Sure thing, honey.” Teeth worrying at her lower lip. A look in her eye that’s almost contrite. “Sorry. Major. Right this way, sir.”

Gale stuffs his hands in his pockets as he follows in her footsteps. Observes her repairs done to the wing with the same critical eye he would Lemmons’s repairs – cursory in some places, nuts-and-bolts details in other places – and isn’t surprised to find she knows precisely what she’s doing. She’s worked on fighter planes. Bombers. Jeeps, even, if John’s to be believed. Her work’s not a mystery. Nothing to pluck an ill omen out of thin air over, either.

“Question,” he says, then, and it’s only practice that keeps a smile off his face, “how does one get honey from Major?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “You ask nicely. Sir.”

“And you don’t apologize about that from now on, either,” he hums, nodding at the wing more than at her. “Understood?”

Her low, warm chuckle is answer enough. “Ain’t even shown you her new iron belly yet, sir. Would reserve judgment on me until then.”

No, Gale almost says, observing the stubborn set of her shoulders and the flicker of determination in her dark eyes, I think I have the measure of you just right, Mayfair. “As long as she flies, Sergeant,” he says instead, “I will be the last to judge.”

[marta-bee]

Briana Boston's story is interesting in light of the UHC CEO Murder. If you're not familiar, "Briana Boston, 42, had just had a medical claim denied and was talking on a phone call with a representative from Blue Cross Blue Shield. The Lakeland resident then allegedly said: “Delay, deny, depose. You people are next.”" She's now been arrested for "threatening to conduct an act of terrorism."

She shouldn't be imprisoned, definitely not facing such a long jail term. But whoever she was speaking with also didn't need to be threatened with "You people are next" when they were just doing their job. That had to be a truly shit day, and it's not like the phone rep was setting the policy or did the denial. Nor did Ms. Boston need to have to rein her frustration in when her claim was denied. What she needed short-term was calm and clear directions on what to do next if she disagreed with the decision. Longer term, depending on why the claim was denied, she probably needs a system that didn't force her to deal with all this. & people working for health insurance companies (I'm talking of people doing the nuts-and-bolts work, like whoever answered the phone call) deserve a safe space to do their work. As long as we have these insurance companies in any capacity, making them a miserable place for anyone to work isn't going to make them run more smoothly.

I'm mainly struck by how the current political climate makes all that less likely, not more. There's a GoFundMe for Ms. Boston here. I've not vetted it myself, but it might be a good place to start if you're so driven.