#yes a white lib friend of mine said this to me out of the blue today. no she didn't know my whole family are us citizens

[khattikeri]

i need all white american liberals to take a deep fucking breath post-trump inauguration 2.0 and reconsider before saying shit like "im worried about you and your family, do you have your papers together?" to your peers of color now that ICE is conducting raids.

certainly this regime will dive further into authoritarianism and fascism but the united states is not going to dissolve and collapse overnight just because imperialist Red took over from imperialist Blue. consider the level of privilege you have, if you only freak out about america's crimes against minorities and foreigners when republicans come into power.

i don't care how good or kind your intentions are, stop for two goddamn seconds before saying this racist shit unprompted to your black and brown friends.

[babyboywilson]

Chapter Twenty-Four (Tinsel and Tourists)

Word Count: 1,918 (another super long chapter, I just can’t stop myself. Chapter continued under the Read More)

Cas’ POV

Link to ao3 / Link to masterpost

When the doorbell rang on Christmas morning, Libby was up and out of her seat in record time. “I’ve got it!” she yelled, darting across Cas’ living room and throwing open the front door. “Sam!”

“Hey there Libby,” Cas heard Sam say, and as Cas stepped out into the hall he saw the taller man wrapping his best friend in a hug.

“Somehow I feel like I’m being replaced in the best friend department,” Cas fake sighed, before cracking out into a smile.

“Oh, please,” Libby said, rolling her eyes. “Not like you aren’t enjoying someone else’s company right now.”

As if on cue, Dean stepped into the house past Libby and Sam, and his eyes instantly found Cas. The second he saw Cas, Dean beamed, eyes lighting up and a loved-up look crossing his face. “Hey handsome,” Dean said softly, pulling Cas in by the waist and sneaking a hand up the back of his shirt. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas indeed,” Cas said with a laugh, rubbing his nose against Dean’s. His boyfriend. God. How was any of this even real? Cas leaned forward, sliding their lips together and humming a pleased sound against Dean’s mouth when Dean deepened the kiss. When they broke apart, Cas whispered a quiet, “Hi beautiful.”

“Gross. Can you guys not make out in front of us?” Libby teased, grabbing the bottle of wine from Sam’s hand and moving into the kitchen.

“Oh, no, we’re definitely going to continue to make out and make you be witness to it,” Dean replied, yanking Cas impossibly closer and kissing him again, slow and deep. Breaking the kiss, Dean nuzzled along Cas’ cheek. “I um- brought you something,” Dean murmured.

“I got you something, too,” Cas replied, sliding his hand into Dean’s and tugging him gently towards the Christmas tree in the living room. Cas reached under the tree, grabbing a silver present and handing it to Dean.

Dean made a little noise of surprise. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said, a tinge of red climbing up his cheeks.

“Shut up and open it,” Cas said, chewing on his lip as the nerves licked up inside his stomach. Was the gift too serious? Was it not serious enough? What did you buy your boyfriend of two days when you were already madly in love with him?

Dean slowly opened the box, untying the ribbon and reaching out to perch the bow on top of Cas’ head. “You know, regardless of what’s in here, you really are my present this year.” Cas made a face at the corniness, and Dean laughed, pulling Cas in and pecking him on the mouth. “I know it’s cliche, but I’m serious. I said it a few days ago, and I meant it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Castiel Novak.”

Cas felt like his heart was exploding; as if every single molecule in his body was vibrating with his love for Dean. “Love you. So much.”

Dean beamed at him again, and God, yep, Cas really and truly was so in love it ached deep in his bones.

Pulling off the lid, Dean peered inside, and his smile went from beaming to blinding. “Is that ice skates?” Dean asked, pulling the white skates out of the box.

Cas flushed dark red, nodding nervously. “I thought we could go again. Just us. I um- had them personalized with the date of our date on them. Because it was uh- the day I fell for you. Literally and metaphorically.”

“Cas,” Dean said, choking on the word.

“When we were on the ice together, before I physically fell on the ice with you… when we were skating around the edge and we were just talking and you held my hand… I fell for you. I mean, I knew I was falling before. I was head over heels for you before you even kissed me. But it was on that date when we kissed on the ice… I knew I wasn’t just falling anymore. I knew I was devastatingly in love with you. That there was no turning back. You had my heart,” Cas said quietly, thumb tracing patterns over Dean’s knee.

Dean lurched forwards, dragging Cas into a kiss so toe-curlingly good that Cas swore he’d never been kissed with that much intensity and love in his entire life. “You’re beautiful. God, Cas. You’re such a sap, but God, you’re absolutely…” Dean trailed off, reaching up with his free hand to trail his fingers across Cas’ cheek. “I love you. God. I’m so in love with you,” Dean muttered, pressing fast little kisses across Cas’ face.

“You um- you like them?”

“Love ‘em,” Dean said, pressing their foreheads together. “Does that mean more ice skating dates? Because I’m pretty sure you promised to teach me to skate as well as you do.”

With a soft laugh, Cas looped his arms around Dean’s neck, bumping their noses together softly. “As many ice skating dates as you want. As long as you promise to kiss me on the ice.”

“Oh baby, I promise to kiss you everywhere all the time,” Dean teased, and as if to prove his point, he tilted his head and captured Cas’ lips in another kiss. Dean was the one pulling back and breaking the kiss a few blissful seconds later. “Your turn to open your present.”

Chewing his lip, Cas ducked his head with a muttered, “Okay.”

Dean gently nudged a box into Cas’ hands, and Cas sucked in a deep breath as he looked at the bright blue wrapping paper. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, and as he gently tore the paper, he began to feel the nerves kick up again; not even sure this time as to why he was so nervous.

But when he opened the box and looked inside, he felt his heart skitter out of his chest. The newest edition of the Montpelier Culinary School’s cookbook sat inside, with recipes from the chefs and the newest batch of students to graduate inside. Cas felt like he was going to shake apart. Dean had been listening. To everything he said. Even the parts about his dreams of being a chef.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, voice cracking on the name. “How? When?”

Dean reached up and settled his hand on the back of Cas’ neck, gently bringing their foreheads back together again. “Yesterday, when you were working. I told you I needed to run an errand for a fellow hunter and that I’d be back by dinner. I drove out to Montpelier and went to their culinary school- which is amazing, by the way. You mentioned how you’d been thinking about going back, but you weren’t sure. I just wanted you to know I support you if you decide to go back to culinary school. You’re an amazing cook, Cas, and someday I know you’ll be an even more amazing chef. And if there’s anyone who can cook the recipes from this book, it’s you,” Dean explained, voice tender and loving.

“You drove all the way to Montpelier because I told you I went to culinary school there before I dropped out?” Cas asked in shock, tears welling in his eyes.

Dean shrugged, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just cracked Cas’ heart open until it was beating solely for Dean. Like he hadn’t just made Cas fall even deeper in love.

At a loss for words, Cas kissed Dean. Kissed him and kissed him until his lungs burned, and then he kissed him some more. When they broke apart, both gasping for air, Cas felt like his face was going to break from how hard he was smiling.

“I’ll cook you something from the book tonight,” Cas said, grinning like a fool.

“I’m looking forward to it, sunshine,” Dean replied, fingers dancing up into Cas’ hair and stroking along his scalp softly.

“Hey, if you guys are done being all sickeningly loved up over each other, are you going to join us out back or not?” Libby called from the back door.

“Out back? What’s out back?” Dean asked, looking at Cas questioningly.

“I have a small fire pit in the backyard, and it became a tradition years ago that Lib and I toast marshmallows and make s’mores on Christmas morning,” Cas explained, standing up and offering Dean a hand. “That is, if you’d care to join me?”

“In making s’mores? Hell yes,” Dean replied, taking Cas’ hand and eagerly jumping up. Hand in hand, Cas and Dean made their way outside, where Sam and Libby were already tucked around the small fire; stainless steel sticks in their hands as they toasted their marshmallows over the fire.

“God, that already smells good,” Dean said, grabbing a couple sticks and some marshmallows, handing the extra supplies over to Cas. “Do I want to know how this became a tradition?” he asked, looking between Cas and Libby.

“She started it,” Cas said, pointing a finger at the same time Libby cried, “He totally started it.”

“Ah, so you’re both weirdos then?” Dean asked, grinning widely.

Cas stepped into Dean’s space, snagging the stick from his hand before he could stick his marshmallow into the fire. “If we’re such weirdos, then I guess you don’t want to eat this s’more. Oh well, more for me.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean said, pushing up into Cas’ space, and kissing him. Just as Cas started to sink into the kiss, Dean yanked the s’mores stick from his hand and broke the kiss. “Ha. Nice try, handsome, but I win,” Dean teased, moving to hover his marshmallow over the flame.

Cas smiled brightly, sidling up next to Dean and starting to roast his own marshmallow. “Important question here. If you answer wrong, I’m breaking up with you. Burn the marshmallow, or evenly roast it?” Cas asked, nudging Dean’s shoulder with his own.

“You’re gonna break up with me if I answer wrong?”

“Mmhmm. Very serious question here, Dean. It’s make or break stuff,” Cas said in faux-seriousness.

“No pressure or anything then,” Dean said with a laugh. “Even dark brown, but not charred.”

Cas fake pondered Dean’s answer, but he broke out into a smile after a few seconds. “Right answer. Thank God, I don’t have to break up with you.”

Dean heaved a large sigh, leaning to press a kiss to Cas’ cheek. “Thank God, because I have no intention of letting you go anytime soon. You’re mine.”

The surge of warmth that burst through Cas’ veins had nothing to do with the crackling fire. They spent the next hour making s’mores and sharing stories around the fire. Cas took a bite of his s’more, feeling the marshmallow ooze fluff across his lips.

“Let me get that for you,” Dean said, darting forward to kiss the sugary treat from Cas’ lips. That led to them making out, and Sam and Libby jeering at them good-naturedly.

After that, Cas and Dean started sharing s’mores, leaning over and stealing kisses between each bite. Curled up by the fire in Dean’s arms with the sweet rush of chocolate and sugar, Cas had never had a more perfect Christmas. And judging by the way Dean kept pressing kisses into Cas’ mouth, Cas knew Dean felt the same way.

“Best Christmas ever,” Cas murmured into Dean’s mouth as they finished their fifth s’more.

“Best Christmas ever,” Dean echoed, leaning in and chasing the sugar high of Cas’ kisses.

Tag List Part 1 Below- (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list!)

Tag List: @cas-deserved-so-much-more @hello-x-sunshine​ @bibelphegor​ @likepurplemuses​ @expectingtofly​ @neo-neo-neo​ @shadowywerewolfqueen​ @a-sweet-indisposition​ @feraladoration​ @xojo​

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[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 challenge 21 and 22 - Undercover and Red Sand

Summary: Alistair Shepard’s back at it at Krispy Kreme when a contact informs him about red sand on the Citadel. So... how easy is it to get into Chora’s Den when you’re wearing OTT Sweet? He’s about to find out...

---

Nothing like showing C-SEC up by blowing the lid off their latest red sand problem. If only it hadn't wound him up in interrogation.

“Alright, Commander... I can understand a Spectre shutting this down... but how?”

Alistair shrugged as he shifted his weight so the uneven chair didn't bother him. They had one main way of dealing with suspects, even the ones who had helped them out. Unlucky for them, he understood physics. After all, they drummed the basics into recruits during boot camp. Chairs could eat his ass – ironic, considering he was sitting.

“Well, I heard rumor of it, so I investigated and found out what was going on. The rest was easy with my squad.”

The C-SEC agent looked almost incredulous as they glanced at him from across the table. “And... how did you do that? We've been working to get someone in for months.”

“Oh... I went undercover.”

“Undercover?”

And here was the time to get creative. He couldn't give ALL his methods away. Besides, no way such a straight-laced C-SEC agent was going to believe this.

“Commander Shepard, it's been a long time since we've worked together. How are you doing?”

Alice was looking good. He still wasn't sure why they were meeting on the Citadel like this, however. Good thing he had brought her things along to return, otherwise he would've had to mail it the next time he was in port.

Ah, the life of a wandering Spectre. Never in one place long.

He sipped at his tea before he answered. It was good tea – strawberry. He liked strawberry, good to know she did too. It went with her outfit more than his, mind you – today's coord was OTT in pink and white. Not a bad look on her, definitely different than the mint-chocolate number in the bags by his side.

“As well as can be expected. I hope you haven't been bothered by anyone since I dealt with the Blue Suns.”

She smiled at him as she took a dainty nibble at a biscuit. “Not at all. Things have been quite peaceful, actually.”

That was great... but it didn't explain why he was sitting in a lovely little cafe, drinking tea with his sister's friend. There was something she was going to ask him, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it much.

Maybe he should've just done it by text... it would've been easier to say no.

In the pause, Alice took another sip of her tea and daintily put the cup down without making a sound. Her eyes were on him, burning not with desperation, but determination. Something about that made his stomach shift, yet at the same time... well, curiosity didn't just get the cat. Sometimes it got hamster-handling Spectres.

“In the time since then, I've become aware of something on the Citadel. I come here every so often to shop. Omega unfortunately leans a little too Classic for my taste, though I do believe that it would be the perfect style for you-”

Nope. Taako was good out here, to quote the old 21st century classic.

“Anyway... during one of my trips, I happened to catch whispers of something when I stopped for a refreshment. I believe you know what red sand is, Commander Shepard?”

His eyebrow zoomed to his hairline. “How does red sand come up among lolitas?”

Alice put a hand to her mouth to hide her chuckle. “Why, it doesn't. When did I say I only associate among lolitas?”

Yeah... that was his mistake. Still, his mind was wheeling. If Alice had heard mention of red sand on the Citadel... just the thought of it made his stomach turn. It was the sort of thing she definitely shouldn't be around...

And he sure as hell shouldn't. After all, as a biotic that shit fucked him up six ways to Sunday.

“At any rate, I tried to contact the proper authorities about it. They laughed at me and dismissed it as ramblings of a little girl with an active imagination.” She sniffed. “Ignoring the fact my ID says I am almost 30, by the way.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they're a real crack squad.”

“Which is why I came to you. You know my information is real, and more importantly, you are a Spectre.” She took a sip of her tea. “You can get to places that C-SEC cannot.”

Both of these facts were true. Still, he didn't see why they needed to meet in person. For something like this, all he really needed was an email. More than that, Alice had the same tone she had used the first time she had asked him for a favor.

You know... when he wound up in the dress in the bag he was currently holding.

“Right, but... why do I get the feeling this is going to involve a petticoat again?”

When Alice smiled, there was nothing friendly about it. “I may have neglected to mention when I was in this establishment, I may have slipped to my acquaintance that a friend of mine was a gorgeous petite blonde with blue eyes and a taste in OTT sweet...”

Alistair's cheeks turned scarlet. “You set me up again?!”

“Well, you did it so well the last time...” her voice dropped. “Please, Commander. I know you know the danger of red sand. I heard about your accomplishment on Illium with the Justicar. C-SEC refused to believe me, and I know this was true. You need to investigate this for the good of every biotic in the Citadel.”

She had made a grab for his hand with this, her eyes shifting from crafty to pure pleading. Part of him wanted to believe this was an act... yet the gaze she was giving him was downright desperate. Alistair felt his resolve dropping away as he glanced down at the bags.

Good thing he had made sure these were properly cleaned and ironed...

“Where do I have to go?”

Alice smiled as she poured him more tea. “Have you ever heard of a bar called Chora's Den?”

“Yeah, I almost got shot there twice.” His voice was flat, his eyebrow even higher. “A lolita at Chora's Den is going to stick out.”

His contact chuckled as she reached for a biscuit. “That's the point, Commander. Now, you're going to need to be there by 22:00-”

Why did he get the feeling he was going to regret this...

---

“Commander, are you ready?”

Yes, he just needed to fix his petticoat.

Alistair had never expected to wear one ever again, and yet there he was. Apart from some new accessories borrowed from Alice to help with the change in fashion and season, it was the same damn dress, petticoat, and wig he had worn the last time.

The purse was different, though. Made hiding his gun and a few other tools easier should he need it.

“I'm ready, Alice, just had to make sure everything was sitting right.”

The line for Chora's Den was short that night as he approached with quick, even steps. The second time in rocking horse shoes was easier, not that he had practiced for the occasion or anything. He was just more confident this time as he made his way to the entrance. After all, this wasn't his first rodeo.

“Now, I told them my friend's name was Jane. You can fill occupation and hobbies in yourself, just remember that we met at Baby the Stars Shine Bright's store on the Citadel.”

He knew that brand – it was a classic. Not quite OTT due to the prestige of being one of the cores of lolita fashion, but it was famous. Hell, he'd watched Kamikaze Girls the first time he'd been preparing for a mission like this. A brand only lasted that long through staying power and appeal. It wasn't quite to his taste, but he could see how it had made it to the late 22nd century.

…

And now he was forming opinions on clothing brands. Shit. He was getting way too into this undercover work.

“Right... thanks for the ad-lib room.”

“Bo said you were an expert at it. Now, I'll let you know when I see them. This contact camera is amazing, did you really design it yourself?”

Alistair had to resist a chuckle as he waited in line, pretending like he was taking a call on his omni-tool. “Oh no, it was a customization of an existing design that didn't quite meet my needs. I could show you the fabric when I get back tomorrow.”

Alice was a smart woman – she caught on quick. “Impressive. Is this what working what a Spectre is like?”

Oh, she should see him when he had tech in his hands. That's when the magic happened. His contact cam was just a fruit of that effort from having to go undercover one too many times. After all, he could hardly rely on cameras where he went half the time. It was better to have one on hand that was constantly being saved to his hard drive on his computer back on the Normandy. There was also a backup version Alice would have, and a second version on his omni-tool. You could never have enough backups in case things went wrong.

Some might call him paranoid. They could kiss his ass, he had died once before – you could never be too careful.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, I think you're lost. The Tea Room is up a ways.”

There was a man leering at him. The outfit had definitely turned him off, so his only reaction to what he perceived a woman was scorn and minimizing. Alistair had seen this plenty of times before, and dealt with younger versions in his teens. Luckily, it didn't bother him.

So he shot them a blank, dignified look down the bridge of his nose as he walked past. “I do believe the line is back there. Chora's Den isn't fond of nobody line cutters last I checked.”

The man's friends laughed as he sputtered. Naturally, an assault to his identity would prompt a desire to beat the shit out of the one who had caused it. The question is, would he go after someone in a dress and petticoat?

Looks like the answer was yes – he was leaning forward.

“Why  you little-”

With a swift movement, he had the man off balance and knocked on his ass. Then he kicked as a reminder to stay down. It wasn't hard enough to hurt anything seriously – just well aimed. It left his annoyance groaning on the floor.

He gave the friend group a blank look as he kept walking. “I would advise keeping your friend on a leash. I think he's in heat.”

Then he entered Chora's Den under the eye of a more than amused bouncer and with the chorus of a bunch of already drunk men. They were quickly drowned out by the music of the club and the energy that surrounded it.

It looked a little different since Fist had been running it. Cleaner maybe, though probably just as corrupt. There were still dancers of various council species, and those who enjoyed watching. These he gave a wide berth, making his way to the bar. This was the same person- he hadn't seen their body when they had cleared the place out. Smart woman.

“Nice going with the guy out front, honey.” She gave him an appreciative nod. “Saw it on the cams. What can I get you?”

He smiled, carefully. “Please tell me you have some form of sprite here. I don't exactly drink, but I'm here to meet someone.”

The bartender laughed as she reached under the bar. “Last time I heard that, Commander Shepard was still on his first life. It's why I carry the stuff. Here, I call this the Red Shepard. It's got a little grenadine in it for color.”

…

Apparently, there were drinks named after him in bars. Who knew? At least it seemed to be the designated driver special. He was happy to accept, though when he tried to pay she shook her head. Part of him was worried it was his borrowed credit chit, but then she smiled.

“You did us a favor, honey. The bouncer almost threw out his shoulder tossing him out. Drinks are on the house tonight.”

Well, that was good for him. He smiled and went off to find a place to sit so Alice could get a view of the floor. Though the music was loud, his ear piece had a noise blocking feature he was more than happy to turn on. When it came down to it, he just didn't like night clubs. Add in the dancers and he liked them even less.

If they were dudes... well... he probably would've been too embarrassed to stay long.

“See anybody yet, Alice?”

“No, but your performance outside the Den was impressive. Was that aikido?”

He smiled as he sipped at his drink. “I picked it up in basic because I was smaller than everyone else and got tired of getting my ass kicked.”

“A friend of mine learned judo for the same reason.”

Good to know someone else was kicking ass on the small side. Alistair raised his glass in tribute as he took a careful sip. He had needed the sugar anyway – he had started to feel a little shaky after walking in. Low blood sugar was fun like that.

As he waited for his blood sugar to raise as Alice looked around, he took the chance to glance around Chora's Den without moving his head. They had definitely cleaned the place since Fist had run the place. They probably had to – his squad had left more than a few bodies and bullet holes when they were breaking out to go rescue Tali. He could still remember where he had almost collided with a wall running after Bo to make sure everything was alright.

She had left quite the trail of destruction. It was kind of impressive. Good they had fixed it in the two years since he had been dead, though.

“Commander, the target is approaching you now. Play nice.”

Alistair picked up his head as he took another sip of his drink. There was indeed someone approaching his table. Surprisingly, they weren't wearing a coord. Instead, he would have said they were any normal resident of the Wards.

Which of course, meant nothing. Out of uniform he looked like any random twink with a minor obsession with hamsters.

“Jane, is it?”

Right, that was his code name. He gave his best cordial smile, much like he had seen Alice give, and nodded. The person in front of him smiled as well as they took the seat across from them, already carrying a drink in their hand.

Theirs was definitely alcoholic – it was making his damn eyes water.

“It's so good to finally meet you...” he trailed off. “Forgive me, Alice didn't give me your name.”

They answered a little too quickly – someone was eager. “It's Rax. I was a little worried you weren't going to show up. Chora's Den is kinda rough, I'm still surprised Alice comes here when she's on the Citadel.”

People were just full of surprises, weren't they?

Alistair took another sip of his drink as he gave Rax the once over. While he didn't see any tattoos for the major gangs, the lean muscle and scarred hands suggested they were into something. Part of him would have considered undercover C-SEC, but they were obvious from a mile away. Garrus had taught him to to tell them anyway. So this guy was probably either a low level merc striking out on their own, or they were from a third party gang trying to muscle in on the big three.

Poor sap. They'd be lucky if they survived the year.

“So... why don't you tell me about yourself? Alice played this close to the corset I'm afraid.”

They were already stammering as they swallowed half their drink in one impressive gulp that dribbled down their chin. Gross. At least Alistair was a master of keeping it off his face as he kept the camera trained on his target. C-SEC might need this data later after they wiped the egg off their faces.

“Oh uh... nothing special. I just do some work locally.” Another sip – someone was nervous. “How about you? Alice says you're not on the Citadel much?”

He shook his head carefully, taking another sip. “No, my work takes me off the station frequently. I work for a small organization doing research on how the various council species construct clothing.”

“Makes sense, what with how you dress and all.” They obviously then bit their tongue. “Sorry, just... don't see a lot of women like you on the Citadel.”

Alistair chuckled much like Alice would as he played with the straw of his drink. “Oh, I'm not that rare.  We just keep to different places on the Wards.”

Why did he get the feeling Rax would love nothing more than to know where those areas were? While he wasn't exactly a member of the subculture, he could tell someone trying to scratch an itch when he saw it. The guy was kind of pathetic, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. A little more charismatic, and maybe he'd be concerned.

Then again, he was just pumping the guy for info.

“Oh... m-makes sense I guess. I mostly stay down here.”

The Spectre in disguise took another sip of his drink, careful to monitor the level. “What kind of work do you do? You look strong... C-SEC, maybe?”

The person in front of him snorted into their way too strong drink. “C-SEC is a fucking joke, Jane. They're just glorified pencil pushers sweeping the Citadel over.”

While this was true... maybe he could lean into this to get somewhere. Alistair nodded along as he played with his straw again. It was easy to see Rax was watching his every move. Maybe it was a good thing he had painted his nails for this...

It was the little touches that made the role worth it.

“Sounds like you get into some dangerous things, Rax.” He smiled, leaning in. “That's kind of exciting.”

Rax grinned, but there was nothing friendly about it as they lowered their voice. “Oh, you could say that. C-SEC doesn't even know I exist. Those idiots keep pinning my shit on other small time idiots. It's really clearing the market for me.”

Man, he must have been drunk to let go this easily. That, or he was puffing himself up. Alistair wasn't sure right then as he started putting the pieces together. With dealers, he could never tell. Usually they weren't too friendly with him... but that was when he was in armor.

So he lowered his voice again. “Market? Do you mean like... drugs?”

“Oh, I got something better than that, Jane.” Rax was so close that Alistair could smell their breath – gross. “You ever heard of red sand?”

“There, you have them! Pump them for information!”

Alice was getting excited, but the Spectre remained calm as he took a small sip of his drink. Every motion he made was deliberate, due in part to the fact he knew he was being watched. Rax's body language was screaming some rather lascivious things to say the least. Sadly, they weren't Alistair's type.

He liked his merc on the good guys's side.

“Red sand... that's that stuff that makes you biotic, right?”

Rax nodded as they drained their drink. “For a bit. I have a guy who supplies me from Ilium. C-SEC still thinks it's coming from Omega, the fucking morons!”

Yeah, they were... but now Alistair needed to find out where he was keeping it. Oh, he was going to regret this part... but it was what he needed to do. Luckily, he had a gun in his purse and a well-modified omni-tool to put up kinetic armor should he have the need.

So he smiled, finishing his drink. “Sounds thrilling. Skirting the law, working with that kind of material. You live an exciting life.”

“You don't know the half of it, Jane.” They looked at both empty drinks on the table. “Say... looks like both of us are out. I got something a little better at my place. It's not far if you want to come with... I can walk slow for you.”

Alistair smiled as he stood, straightening his skirt as he did. “Maybe you can tell me a little more about your exciting life while you're there. I've never tried... you know...”

He looked away, willing his face to blush. It was hard to do it on command, but it gave him a chance to look through his altered eyelashes. Rax was watching him, looking as though they had just won the world series.

Too bad they wasn't getting lucky tonight.

“Well, I think I could give you a taste.” They held out their arm. “Follow me, then. This place was getting a little too loud anyway.”

The pair were soon leaving Chora's Den, walking out of the club entirely. The bartender gave Alistair a concerned look, but when Rax wasn't looking he winked and patted his purse, briefly showing the outline. Then she shook her head, but smiled anyway.

It was short walk, like the merc had said. This part of the Wards was pretty run down, just like the Spectre remembered it. Luckily, they were heading for a small group of ramshackle warehouses. Honestly, it was just the place he expected someone to hide red sand.

Still... talk about keeping it right under C-SEC's nose. If Rax hadn't been so horny for a pretty face in a long skirt, they might've pulled it off longer.

“Here's my little piece of heaven.” Rax's smile turned to a smirk as they nudged Alistair closer to the door. “So uh... how about we get to know each other a little better? It's gonna be hard to do this in such a big skirt a-”

Alistair was all smiles as his eyes glowed bright blue and pinned his target against the wall. “Yes, I do believe it's going to be a little hard to do this if you keep trying to undress me with your mind. Now, about the red sand?”

Now it was going to get fun... he had plenty of sugar to work off from that Red Shepard. Might as well put it to use.

Poor Rax. All they had wanted to do was get laid. They had even been nice about it. Sadly, that's what happened when you tried to fuck a Spectre pumping you for info.

---

“So you went undercover in Chora's Den and wound up meeting with the middleman.”

Alistair nodded as he finished his compacted story. The C-SEC agent still looked incredulous, but he had filled in the needed pieces. Naturally, he had kept out the parts about him being in a dress, but they were more window dressing anyway.

“Yep. They showed me the warehouse, I restrained them when they made a move against me. Then you guys showed up.”

Turns out Rax had been sitting on a small mountain of red sand, enough to really fuck some people up. They were still working on locating their supplier, but Alistair had a feeling they had long since cut and run. After all, there hadn't been nearly enough to strike out as a solo dealer. More likely, they were just holding for someone more powerful.

But... that was one supply cut off he supposed.

“Well... you managed to clear up a red sand smuggling ring we had previously thought was connected to Omega. Not to mention a few assaults, a missing person, and a possible murder.” The C-SEC agent looked rather sheepish. “You uh... you do good work, Shepard.”

Alistair smiled as he rose. “Thank you. Can I get going, though? I need to get back to the Normandy. They kind of can't take off without me.”

“Oh uh... sure. If we hear anything else, we'll let you know...”

With that, Alistair took his leave of the station. As he did, he walked past the office of a few other officers. From the looks of things, they were clearing the cases he had managed to bust open for them with a few hours work.

Not a bad job for a Spectre.

“I don't get it... are you sure that's what she said?”

“Yeah, bartender at Chora's Den said a woman in a green, puffy dress with blonde hair was seen leaving with Rax. Nobody's seen her since.”

And then he was walking a little faster. After all, he had a ship to get back to, and a lot of questions he didn't want to answer. Besides, he had a dress he needed to iron and return once it was back to pristine condition.

He was definitely returning it this time. No more cross-dressing...

…

At least not in this dress. Green wasn't really his color, and Alice probably wanted it back. Maybe he should...

Fuck. Now this was a road he didn't want to go down.

[morningsound15]

I agree with you that the whole political system in the US is rotten to its core. I don't know what it is, but it's not a democracy. And yes, Biden won't bring the structural change that's needed. However, don't you think it'll be easier to get any change at all if after the election we get a blue house, senate and president? (Not to mention the supreme court seats won't fall into Republican's hands.) I mean, at least this way there's a chance progressives can get some of their causes through.

okay, so this is like the only ask i’m going to answer about this because i do NOT want this page to turn into this, this blog is the only part of the entire internet for me that isn’t entirely devoted to politics, organizing, radical education, theory, community-building, mutual aid, agitation, etc. i do that on literally every other social media platform and i do not want to do it here. that said i will answer this ask, i guess, though not exactly in the way you asked it i’m just gonna dump my thoughts on electoralism & this election here and i apologize in advance for how long this is going to be

to your general ask: yes, some people believe that. that is a reason many people are participating in this election (i go into that further down). my objection is not to the idea of participating in this election, the idea of voting, or the idea of voting for joe biden. it’s the entire framing of the situation & it’s the complete disregard for any people who have decided not to participate in this election, or who have decided to participate in this election & not vote for joe biden (i am NOT talking about republicans or trump supporters, that is a party of fascists & white supremacists & i am NOT talking about them, i’m talking about young people and the disaffected left). i’ll explain (under the cut so it doesn’t clutter y’alls feeds & so hopefully i won’t get as much hate because if there’s one thing i know it’s that no one on the internet reads)

what i object to is the framing of joe biden as anything less than an active enemy of the left & progressives. (the left & progressives are not the same thing, but they are both to the left of the dem party so i am putting them together for the sake of this argument but progressives are not leftists, though some leftists do describe themselves as progressives & vice versa, just want to put that out there to start.)

what i object to is the framing of joe biden as an ally. this kind of “at least he is willing to be pushed” “at least he’s already been pushed to the left by progressives” “at least he’s willing to listen & maybe with enough pressure we can get him where he needs to be!” “at least maybe a biden administration will support the policies we want them to!” because he’s not willing to learn, he’s not willing to help, he’s not willing to listen, he’s not willing to support progressive policies to tackle the healthcare/climate/war/imperialism crises or do any of that stuff. his policy goals, his entire campaign is basically to figure out what is the absolute bare MINIMUM thing he needs to do in order to say that he’s “moving the country in the right direction” so he can get elected & so he can get political cover from well-meaning but ultimately extremely sheltered dem figureheads while at the same time actively standing in the way of any real reform, progress, change, abolition, justice, etc. that’s his goal, he’s been very clear about that fact, i do not need to go into all the ways he’s already said & proved that! it’s obvious in his speeches, in the entire dnc (i watched every night of the dnc hoping for someone to lay out a good reason for me to vote for biden & i came up with 0 thanks democratic party), the people he has running his campaign, the donors he has, the lobbyists he hires to write his policy platform, the way he cozies up to billionaires, racists, segregationists, war criminals, and the way he always has in order to ‘maintain the order of politics’ & it’s gross & we don’t really need to go into it. he’s a capitalist, he’s a corporatist, he takes $$ from pharmaceutical companies and oil lobbyists and he is not a good person. BUT! many progressives know this and believe this, & still are voting for him. that is fine.

but we have to remember that joe biden is not our friend, he is not our ally, he is an enemy of the left, he is an active obstacle stopping us from achieving what we want to achieve (liberation, equality, justice, the dismantling of capitalism). so let’s not get it fucking twisted, like we need to be clear about that from the jump. we shouldn’t talk about him like he wants those things, like he’ll help us achieve those things, because he doesn’t, and he won’t, so we do not need to talk about him like he does. it is damaging to the progressive left of the democratic party to talk about biden like he’ll help us achieve any of our goals, because he won’t. we will need to fight just as hard if not HARDER under a biden administration to get the things we want, because we’ll be fighting with the people supposedly in our own party too, and they (along with the political machine they worship & kill themselves to support) are going to do everything they can to demonize and push out the young progressive diverse left, to break their spirits & destroy the political potential of the few politicians they actually do like, because that’s what they’ve always done, because the progressive left represents a threat to institutional capitalist white supremacist power. so our job would not be EASIER under a biden administration. it will just be different. we have to be very clear about that when we talk about what might happen in november.

now, that’s NOT TO SAY that there are not good reasons people have for voting for joe biden. i’m not telling people not to vote for joe biden and i am not telling people not to vote. that’s not what i’m saying. you just have to understand what this country is, what these politicians are, what they want, and what they are going to do to achieve what they want. just don’t lie about it. and only when you understand all of that can you make a truly informed decision about this upcoming election.

you can support joe biden for a lot of reasons. there are a lot of people whose politics don’t align with mine who want me to vote for joe biden, and there are people whose politics do align with mine who are making the choice to vote for joe biden. and the things that the latter group says, stuff that i find persuasive, is stuff like “joe biden is an enemy. donald trump is also an enemy. putting joe biden into office is better for the cause of liberation/leftists/revolution because he is a weaker enemy. he is a weaker opponent. we might be able to do things with him in office to help us tinker with the way our system is structured that will ultimately be for the benefit of the true left wing of this country, which will help future political actors survive in our rigged electoral system and maybe actually gain & maintain political power.” (stuff like abolishing the filibuster, getting rid of the electoral college, packing the courts, systemic changes that we need to make if we want to wrest control of this broken political system from the hands of fascists and white supremacists - many of whom sit inside the democratic party too, so let’s not get that twisted. all of these proposed changes, by the way, it’s important to note (unless i’m incorrect which i don’t think i am) joe biden doesn’t openly support or advocate for ANY of them, so let’s not get THAT twisted either.)

here’s the argument i think you’re making anon, from the mouth of comrade Angela Davis (libs love to weaponize angela davis’ words on biden without comprehending any of her politics or supporting her abolitionist policy positions, also there are other abolitionists who do not agree with davis here but i digress):

“In our electoral system as it exists, neither party represents the future that we need in this country. Both parties remain connected to corporate capitalism. But the election will not be so much about who gets to lead the country to a better future, but rather how we can support ourselves and our ability to continue to organize and place pressure on those in power. And I don’t think there’s a question about which candidate would allow that process to unfold… if we want to continue this work, we certainly need a person in office who will be more amenable to our mass pressure. And to me, that is the only thing that someone like Joe Biden represents.”

i don’t know if i fully agree with that argument per se! but i understand it, and i think it’s valid and valuable, and i understand arguments like that, and they are persuasive to me in many ways. because the republican party maintaining power is the way we slow-march into fascism, but also the democratic party getting/maintaining power is the way that we continue to slow-march to neoliberal destruction of the planet. so they’re both bad, obviously. but there are people who think (maybe they’re right! i’m swayed by this argument) that the biden administration would be easier to manipulate, easier to transform, than a trump administration.

(the counter-argument would maybe be that there are a lot of fucking liberals paying attention & even showing up in the streets right now because donald trump is the president, and if donald trump is no longer the president they’re gonna go home and be quiet and go back to brunch and close their eyes and plug their ears like they did with obama, just like they did during standing rock and ferguson and occupy, and be like “oh kamala harris wore CHUCKS on an AIRPLANE look at how COOL she is don’t you remember when there was a COOL war criminal in the white house?” there are people who are going to do that if biden/harris win, and that’s risky to me! like that is a risk we need to be talking about. i see that as dangerous. now, that’s not to say that’s more or less dangerous than what we currently have, it’s just a different kind of danger we need to be cognizant & wary of. and it’s people who post statuses like “fuck you all if you don’t vote for biden you privileged snowflake how dare you look at everything biden’s ever said done or promised he will do and decide that you don’t like that and you don’t want a part of it how dare you you fucking cuck you fucking idiot you support fucking fascists you fucking idiot” who make me lose my mind because like shut up! you don’t know what you’re talking about. there are people who know what they’re talking about who have decided they’re going to vote for joe biden and there’s people who know what they’re talking about who have decided they are not going to vote for joe biden, and you know what they don’t do? they don’t fucking fight each other, they don’t attack each other, they understand & support the reasons their comrades have for taking the action they are taking. and that is just what this is about. stop yelling at people that you don’t know who are making choices you don’t understand just because you don’t understand their choices.)

(this is even assuming biden will win, which is unlikely, or that trump will relinquish power, which is unlikely, or that there will be a peaceful transference of power and not a full-scale right-wing armed militia explosion of violence on american streets after november 3rd, so let’s all really be prepared for what might be coming in the next couple months!!!! all of these arguments mean next to nothing when we don’t even know what kind of violence awaits us in november)

it’s just psycho to think that joe biden is anything but an enemy. he is an enemy. and you can vote for an enemy and you can have your reasons for voting for an enemy, but don’t sell me shit and tell me it’s gourmet.

that’s mostly what i object to. the framing of this. and i’m not telling people not to vote for joe biden i’m not telling people not to vote. i think people should vote, because for those of us who are able & haven’t had that right stripped away from us or stolen from us by our own government, voting is easy, it’s literally the easiest thing that you can do because it’s also the LEAST politically effective thing that you can do. it’s like step fucking 1 because its impact is so low. that’s not a reason not to do it! that is not a reason not to do it. voting is important because any functioning society needs to have an engaged citizenry and an engaged electorate. now we don’t have that here, but you know what i’m saying. electoralism is a conditionally useful tool of enacting change and what we choose to do with that tool is an individual choice and there are people who are making different calculations than you, and they’re coming to different answers. and those people are often radicals, they’re often poor, they’re often black, or indigenous, or undocumented, or incarcerated. they’re often the most marginalized people in this society who are making these kinds of non-voting decisions, and it’s racist and misogynistic to assume that it’s all privileged white kids who are making that choice, because it isn’t, okay? it fucking isn’t.

and it’s so crazy because it’s always white cis libs who are talking about how important it is to get out and vote and to vote for people who aren’t like you and to vote for someone who isn’t you and it’s like, the black radicals i know are not voting for biden! they just aren’t. they do not see the electoral system or the fucking presidency as the thing that’s going to help & protect their communities. so instead they’re organizing on the ground, they’re distributing food & funds & housing comrades & fighting the police & helping elders shop and pick up medicine & making sure kids have internet access so they can go to school and that is what people are doing on the ground. they aren’t all up on instagram or tumblr sharing voting memes & telling people to hold their nose & “just vote for biden he’s the best choice we have” because they understand that for their communities, that’s not what liberation looks like. that’s y’all doing that goofy social media shit.

political power lies with the people always. the people collectively will prove whether or not the biden electoral strategy (of appealing to older, conservative/moderate, white voters in the midwest instead of young voters, poor voters, and voters of color all over the country, but i digress) is successful. whether or not his strategy is successful, the responsibility for the outcome of this election lies SOLELY with the biden campaign, capitalism, voter suppression, white supremacy, and our undemocratic election system — NOT the individual voters. know your enemy & know which system you need to fight. hint: it’s not apathetic or disengaged voters.

vote for whoever you want to vote for. don’t vote for trump, obviously, he’s a fascist do not vote for him. but for people who are not fascists or white supremacists, just try to understand what you’re doing and your position in the world & in this political system & act accordingly. not voting is not an excuse to do nothing; if you are choosing not to engage in electoral politics the expectation is you should be working twice as hard to make sustained impacts and improvements in your community. and if you ARE choosing to engage in electoral politics, the expectation is you should be working twice as hard to make sustained impacts and improvements in your community.

if what you think the liberation fight is is making sure you turn out at the ballot box on november 3rd, if that’s how you think you are being the most helpful, it isn’t and you’re not. you’re doing something, sure, and it’s not bad. like i did this, this was my job for a year, my job was to register voters and get young people to vote. i don’t have that job any more because i don’t believe that’s the solution. i just don’t believe it’s the solution. i don’t believe we should be talking about this upcoming election like it’s a solution, because it’s really just another problem we’re going to have to face and tackle, and we can’t talk about this election like anything is going to be solved if joe biden is president instead of trump because it’s not, and it won’t be, and these people are all our enemies, and we have to treat them like they are. that’s not to say don’t vote for them, if you understand all that & that is the decision you come to! just know what you’re voting for, and know what it means.

whatever, i’m not gonna keep going on this, rant over forever just had to spit that out somewhere and if i put that shit on my Facebook i would get unfriended by every white lib i went to high school with so fucking quick…

[tevotbegotnaught]

The Boys Club Pool, a strip mine of pale-blue concrete, secured on three sides by a spiked, iron fence and on the fourth, a low cinderblock building. At the bunker’s entrance, you slid money across the counter and received a basket, lock and tethered key for your street clothes. Even on the hottest days (the best days to be there), the cool interior was an ancient cistern of chlorine and wet stone. Under its vaulted ceilings, hovering dragonflies, trickling shadows, droning pumps.

I remember going there first with my parents and their friends. Still small enough that the blue-backed water demanded all my feral navigation. I fixated on the towering steel slide. A quicksilver surface glazed by a bank of water jets mounted at the apex. It spun me off its waterfall lip, arms and legs akimbo, filling my sinuses with buckshot. After decades of "up south" Jim-Crow, the 60’s management allowed Black patrons entry. Under a corrugated plastic roof, the un-ironic jukebox cranked out James Brown’s "Say it Loud" and Rare Earth’s "Get Ready". Mostly girls danced and boys watched, a strict but unenforced segregation.

T, a local Greek guy, his wife and daughters ran the facility; staffing the entry, snack bar and (in T’s case) acting as police force. It was T’s voice hurling plosives through its boot camp PA. His thighs-rubbing-together gait patrolling the deck, pneumatic forearms swinging. Always in uniform: a white t-shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts (55 waist ), white socks and sandals. If a fight started, he tugboated alongside the combatants, pushed in and grabbed each by the arm. Trying to break his grip meant losing your dignity as he easily twisted you flat, then speed-walked you out.

T attended our downtown High School and played football at USC, then 2 games at tackle with the 1942 Detroit Lions, who went 0-11, scoring 38 points while allowing 263. NFL lists his twenty-six year old stats as 6’0", 220. He joined the Marines and fought in the South Pacific, where young men dropped on swampy islands became limping newsreels of biblical suffering and cataclysmic heroism. When he bent a thumb across his palm to ask a lifeguard to buy "Four Roses" whiskey, the jungle rot gulped sunlight.

In and around the pool, I grew up and remained very much a child. My dumpy body narrowed, slumped posture lengthened. I weighed a hundred pounds, none of it soft nor secure. 7th grade meant a new school and old anxieties.

Hannah Penn Middle School sat low in our hilly town. A creek ran through a deep gully next to the athletic fields. Across the street, a cavernous bargain store, "Franklin Discount" and its conjoined parking lot. Beside the store, a factory where the famous "York Peppermint Patty" was made, packaged and shipped. In its reception area, a cardboard box with unwrapped, chipped patties, a penny each. After school, a nickel bought more tooth decay than one thin hand could hold.

School staff, mostly early Boomers, reflected their era. Mr R, an English teacher, legs withered by polio, once javelined a crutch at a recalcitrant student, then calmly asked for it back. Mr S, the "with-it" guy: turtleneck, pendant and Beatles toupee, wrote skits for us and toured our show to elementary schools. Mrs D, algebra, wore a full-length mink to work until her cop husband was convicted of taking kickbacks from towing companies. T, a generation-and-a-half older, was the health teacher, freeing him to run the pool in summer.

Leaning over battleship forearms, he read aloud from our 1950’s textbook. When provoked, he commented. In one ad-lib, he described various types of oral sex in clipped, anatomical language, concluding them all "abnormal sex acts". Eyes straight down, a roomful of teens flexed our toes deep in our shoes, Some days he asked us to read. Quickly impatient with slow or quiet readers, he’d call on his niece, a shy girl, and make her awkwardly finish a whole chapter.

One day, on my walk into his classroom, T said something in Greek to me. I sat down and slid my books into the rack under the seat. He chuckled.

"You hear that?" He said, playfully adding my name.

"What?

"I said, did you hear that?"

"No"

"I called you a rotten tomato in Greek"

"Well, you’re a fat slob in any language"

T’s mouth opened.

The class inhaled

"Apologize!"

"I’m not gonna apologize. You insulted me, I can.."

"No! Apologize now!"

He searched his desk, drawers whooshing open, then slamming shut, booms

ricocheting off the linoleum.

"Apologize!"

T stood up, empty handed. He moved quickly in front of me.

Someone in the room let out a long, provocative "oooooo"

"Are you going to apologize?"

"No" I said, smirking.

T’s right hand lifted. Up close, I saw its silver dollar-sized nails, tropical mold peppering their cuticles.

His fingers closed on my shirt front. It bunched in his grip along with some skin. The shirt pulled taut across my shoulder blades. Fabric secured, he slowly raised his straightened arm from the shoulder, lifting my torso and legs out of the chair. Tiny tears in the shirt seams audible as I rose.

My knees caught the desk, lifting and tilting it, finally dropping it to the floor with a hollow clang.

Countering my ascent, he leaned away, breathing steadily through his nostrils, left arm and leg backstopped; an Athenian lawn jockey. I rose inexorably until my back was just below the ceiling lights.

Pressure on my sternum emptied my lungs and prevented me from inhaling. Looking up, he held me suspended for an excruciating moment.

"Apologize!"

Lacking the air pressure to actually speak, I mouthed, "I’m... sorry...sorry"

Very slowly, T lowered his arm. My legs found the opening in the desk and my backside, its seat. He released my shirt, turned, walked back to his desk and wrote something. I gulped air and rubbed my chest. T held up a slip of paper. "Take this to the office"

All Principals had "paddles", often more than one and always on display in their offices. My legs reattached. I took the paper and walked out. The windows and lighting fixtures sparked haphazardly. I headed to the wall for balance. In the main office, a secretary waved me toward the principal’s office. He looked up, cradling a phone against his ear, whispering,

"have a seat"

and continuing his conversation. Behind him, a wide board with tapered grip hung from a coat hook. I slid the paper in front of him. His hand unfolded and refolded it, then pushed it aside. He hung up the phone, squared his chair to the desk and asked in an absolutely level voice,

"You know what you did?"

"Yes"

"T took care of it"

That phrase, which I answered reflexively, wasn’t a question. He told me to go to back to class. As I got up, my ears were ringing, the same way they did when I swam underwater. The lobby glowed with afternoon light. I walked unsteadily past rows of lockers. A sonar wash enveloped me, close as my breath. From the open doorways: muttering, desks rattling. I didn’t want to go back to class yet.

[vorthosthewillis]

S.F.T.W, part one

     So this story comes from a simple line in @the-foxwolf ‘s latest tale, about how Finn knew of the magic dampening bracelets. From there, I jokingly posted a thing called, “HRLP” (yes, the misspelling was on purpose), asking for help, and thank you so much for everyone who offered their fanwalkers!!! This story exploded, and is already larger than probably any I have written so far on tumblr, so I am splitting it into two parts. Part two is nowhere near done just yet, but it’s coming, I swear. Anyway, without further ado… (Note: this story occurs directly after both Connections and A Dead Plane (the second by the awesome  @gigaguessmtg ), both of which are sequels to Silence. Man, I was not expecting so many of these to link up so well)

    Apple cider was heavenly. HOT Apple cider? It put apple cider to shame. Then Ansari brought up “hard” apple cider, and of course Finn had to try it. That involved going to a local bar, and that led to trying another hard drink first, and led to Finn and Ansari both a little… drunk.

    “DUDE WE NEED TO START A DESTROYED WORLD ANONYMOUS GROUP MEETING, IT WOULD BE AWESOME,” Finn screamed at Ansari, who nodded and spun around in his chair before puking on the floor.

    Yah, just a little drunk.     “Dude, dude… you know who needs a group? Goblins man! They are so underrepresented!” Ansari called out as he wiped puke off of his face with a nearby napkin. “Whoa, I totally agree! I know this gobbo, named Piku, she made me this mask! It’s a special, magical mask!” Finn responded, and swatted Ansari’s hand away as he reached for it. “Mine!!! Mineminemineminemine!” Finn spoke all in one word, then took a deep breath before continuing, “Also, I know this guy by the name of Libs, on Stawthese, a pyromancer, very cool goblin, one of my closest friends!” Ansari gave Finn a look of respect, or at least what drunk Finn assumed was a look of respect. “I am SO GLAD I found someone who cares about goblins man! It’s soooo good to hear!” Ansari exclaimed, and Finn nodded, probably more than he should as he was… oh no…  and there was the floor.     It was as he slowly pulled himself back up that he noticed the azorius members sitting at a nearby table and watching him and Ansari with disgusted looks. Jerks, They didn’t know his life, or Ansari’s. They didn’t know what it was like. Screw them.     Ansari was saying something about wierds now, but Finn could barely hear the other elf over the anger building inside of him. They didn’t know what it was like. How Dare They Judge Him. He staggered back onto his feet and sauntered over to the fancy men and women in their white and blue robes. “Wha… what gives you the right to judge me, eh?” The people at the table moved back, as if threatened, and Finn sarcastically added, ‘What? Think I’m gonna hurt you? Oh no, here comes the masked man, coming to stab your livers, you’ll never be able to drink again!” As one the group’s faces abruptly dropped into a serious face, and they stood up. Finn burped and grinned, though he dimly remembered they couldn’t see it. “What you gonna do? Rule me to death?” The azorius mage closest to him said a word, and suddenly Finn was on the floor again, and everything went dark.         ~*~     Ansari awoke to find himself in a cold cell, light protruding from what must be a small window. This was not his home, nor Kaladesh… yesterday’s events flooded back into him, as well as a sudden pounding headache from all the alcohol, no doubt. Some people in white and blue robes detained Finn with some strange magic, and then came after him while he was talking about wierd equality.     Though he was glad he could remember what happened, one of these days he wished he would be able to talk about equality in a… calmer manner than drunk.     He looked around his little cell. It was pretty plain, with a little window and on the other side a metal door with a small barred window at the top. The only things in the room were a chamber pot and a bed, which he was currently on. As for him… he looked down in surprise as he realized that a pair of bracelets around his arms. “What the..” he said out loud, and tried to summon one of his moths to investigate out of the room, only to realize he couldn’t. He looked down again. The bracelets were dampening his ability to access magic somehow! He was really beginning to regret coming to Ravnica with that strange elf of a planeswalker. Almost as if on cue, he heard a groan from a nearby cell. “Finn, is that you?” Ansari called out, and surprised to feel a tiny bit of relief when he heard in return, “Nah, just another stupid hungover idiot who remembers getting trapped in some sort of azorius jail. Oh damn, was I a fool last night.” Despite the situation, Ansari chuckled and said, “So much for that wonderful sarcasm you seem to love.” “Yah,” Finn growled, “Sarcasm for the win.” ~*~     Finn sighed after that, and looked down at the cursed bracelets. This sucked, and honestly was all his fault. He simply had tried to be friendly and open up to Ansari, and it went extremely overboard. If stupid drunk Finn had been able to keep himself in check… but, to be honest, asking a drunk person to control themselves was like asking a dragon to not use its fire breath. It wasn’t going to happen. He sighed again. Coming to peace with his problems did nothing to help him out of here though.     The sounds of someone, or perhaps multiple someones in some sort of marching file, faintly came through the doorway. Finn sat up quickly, saying nothing but watching his door to see if it opened. The footsteps came closer, and stopped right in for of his room. “Prisoner 428, please stay away from the door. No violence will be utilized against you if you comply,” a voice called out, and Finn yelled back, “428, eh? Been called a lot of things, but not 428. Can we switch it to 134? That’s my favorite number.” The people on the other side of the door did not respond, but the door opened nonetheless, revealing a man in azorius robes as well as what appeared to be two guardsmen. “Prisoner 428, I am here to remind you that you are under arrest for threatening a group of azorius lawmages with implied assault. Though this is considered a minor infraction and not in the league of serious infractions such as murder, we take threats to our guild members very seriously. As such, you have been assigned a court date in… “ the man looked down at a piece of paper, “…four months. After all paperwork is compiled, checked, rechecked, and presented, of course, which I am legally required to remind you can take up to a year for minor infractions as they do not take priority.”     “What?!?” Finn growled in surprise and anger. The lawmage looked at him with wide eyes and the guardsmen put their hands on their shortswords. Finn rolled his eyes, and added, “Oh yah, be soo scared of the masked man with no magic. What am I going to do, kick you to death?” This time the lawmage starred with thinly hidden anger, and Finn didn’t need to read his mind to know this guy was pissed. Dang it, he shouldn’t have done that. He opened his mouth to try and apologize and calm down the situation, but the lawmage abruptly said, “Enough,” and walked out, the two guards seconds behind. The great metal door groaned as it closed once more, and as the footsteps faded, Finn smacked the bed. “Why do I always push people away!?!” he hissed out loud, and nearly jumped when Ansari answered, “Perhaps the same reason I tried to push you away, back on Kaladesh. It sucks trying to talk to other people, people who don’t understand your pain.” Finn nodded even though he knew Ansari couldn’t see it, and took deep breaths to calm himself. Now was no time to let his emotions take control, they needed a plan.

    It didn’t take long for Finn to come to the conclusion he would need outside help. The biggest problem were these bracelets - without them he would be able to get out of here easily, but he couldn’t get them off. The problem then became how to get outside help and who. For obvious reasons, Ansari was out of the running. Saria had mentioned when Finn saw her a day or two ago that she was leaving Ravnica for a bit, so likely she was off world at the moment. What about that guy he just met yesterday, Lucion? No, he was likely still on Denicomus, and even if he wasn’t, there was no way to contact him to let him -     “Well, well, well,” Lucion began as he phased out of the nearby wall, “Have a good evening?” ~*~     The lack of a face to watch made Lucion’s dramatic arrival lose some of its touch, but Lucion enjoyed the maneuver just the same. Finn’s head snapped forward to look at Lucion, and he was surprised to hear Finn respond, “Oh yah, best of my life, always wanted to be put in jail for a stupid misunderstanding. Isn’t that on your to do list, buddy?” This man was far stranger than he… no, this was more of his sarcasm, thought Lucion. Choosing to ignore it, Lucion came fully into the room and sat on the bed beside Finn. “Listen, I admit I do not understand why you are here, but I assumed you would be more interested in getting out.”  “I am!”, a voice come from the other side of the wall. Lucion raised an eyebrow, and Finn pointed at the wall and simply said, “Lucion, meet Ansari. Ansari, Lucion. Happy introductions all around. Yay.” Lucion stood up, and made his upper half ethereal so he could reach through the thin wall. On the other side was an elf, his clothes and armor clearly not from Ravnica.  “Wish we could meet under better conditions, but still, nice to meet you Ansari. I am Lucion, of Innistrad,” he said, and Ansari gave a small smile. “I’m Ansari, from.. Well, my world is gone, so currently Kaladesh. Are you a friend of Finn’s?” Lucion looked back through at the quiet masked man, now currently looking off into space. What was he thinking about it? “I don’t know about friend, per say… perhaps acquaintance?” he said as he turned to Ansari once more. That brought a laugh from Ansari, who responded, “Yah, I’ve gotten the feeling that Finn doesn’t have many friends.”     “When you two are done making love over my problems, we need to talk about the plan here,” Finn said in an annoyed tone. Lucion turned back to Finn, who was now standing and staring out the window. “Ah, so have you come to your senses? Ready to leave this wretched building? Not even the ghosts like it here,” commented Lucion and he watched a nearby ghost nod in agreement. Finn’s response surprised Lucion:     “No, you idiot.” ~*~     Finn watched Lucion’s face fall, just a smidge, and felt instant regret over his words. “Sorry man, pushing people away is apparently one of my strengths when stressed nowadays. What I meant is that Ansari and I can’t leave yet.” “What the heck are you talking about man ?!?” Ansari asked from the other room, and Finn quickly reviewed in his head the plan he worked out while Lucion and Ansari were talking. “Ok, so before you try to prison shank me Ansari, hear me out,” he began, and Ansari became quiet and Lucion took a seat on the bed once more. “We could leave, no problem, especially if Lucion would be so kind to take off these bracelets. But, we still have a problem. The Azorius would keep looking for us, perhaps even bring in the Boros to try and grab us. Not only would that mean we could not come back here, but everyone you associate with here would be targeted, too. Now, maybe that’s no one for you Ansari, but I have a close friend, another planeswalker, who calls this plane her home for now and I won’t be the one to ruin it for her.”     Lucion nodded in agreement, with a look in his eye that Finn hoped meant that Lucion realized Finn wasn’t some bumbling fool. “What do you suggest then?” Lucion asked, and Finn answered, “It’s not good enough to simply leave, as I said. We need to get to the paperwork on this encounter. The azorius senate keeps careful records of every infraction, as that lawmage from earlier was so willing to remind me. We get the paperwork for this event, and pardon ourselves.”     “Excuse me, but why not just destroy the paperwork? I feel that would be simpler,” Ansari injected, and Finn shook his head out of habit, even though he knew Ansari couldn’t see it. “We could,” he began, “ but you don’t know this group as well as I do. They likely have triplicated the paperwork by now, it will be almost impossible to get rid of. However, if we pardon ourselves on even one copy and make it look real, then when it is compared to the others they will assume the pardon simply wasn’t added to those forms yet. They will literally let us walk out of here at that point.” “Intriguing plan. How do you propose we pull it off?” Lucion asked, and Finn sighed. “I doubt we could do it just us,” Finn admitted, “But if we had help it would be a piece of cake, I could handle the paperwork if we could just get me to it. We have established I have one friend and that’s it, do you folks know anyone?” For a second everyone was quiet, and Finn felt a nervous trickle down his spine. “I.. I may have heard of or know one or two people could help us,” Lucion finally said, and Finn couldn’t resist raising his hands in the air and saying, “Score!!!” Lucion smiled, which made Finn felt good. He needed to be honest and show himself to others more often, and Lucion and Ansari both seemed like good people. Better than himself, at least.     “So could we start with these cursed bracelets, my… acquaintance?” Finn said in a mocking, but playful tone, and Lucion replied, “Certainly,” before coming over to gracefully get the magic damping bracelets off. As Finn felt his connection to magic rush back to him, he threw up an illusion around both his and Ansari’s cells, showing them with bracelets still on. “Alright, here’s what I was thinking…” Finn began as Lucion moved over to Ansari’s cell. ~*~     Ellis was relaxing when the person he was pretty sure was a planeswalker walked into the gruul guildgate. Ellis gave the man a quick once over, surprised someone like him was in gruul lands. Guess he needed something…     “Excuse me, are you Ellis? I am Lucion, from Innistrad. I heard of you from a mutual acquaintance of ours, and I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”     Ah.     “Listen man, not sure what you need, but are you sure you have the right guy?” Ellis asked. What type of favor could this guy want? Lucion curtly nodded, and said, “We would require you to… provide a distraction, and interfere with as many azorius members as you can.”     Ellis smiled. This was a favor he could pull off. “When do we start?” End of Part One Lucion belongs to gigaguessmtg Ansari belongs to @erybia Ellis belongs to @foilmountain @actualborossoldier @baldore-of-the-boros, @confused-phyrexian… and everyone else I normally tagged I already did so earlier. If you would like to be included in my tags, or would like to see your fanwalker pop up in one of my tales, let me know!

[coneshotline]

LABOUR 1945-2010

of bennites and blairites, of infighting and shitflinging, of pretentious blurbs and italic text

here, have some really old mixes (made in about 2012 i think)...i don't even like some of the bands featured any more but i'm too lazy to change it. i actually only finished one of these the other day! so yes, only 'drowning men' has been published before but the other has been 99% complete for years now...blame those mmmm [smacks lips] depressive episodes

1945-1979 | 1979-2010

tracklist/liner notes under the cut

1945-1979

in our bedroom after the war - stars (out of the rubble)

it's us - yes, we're back again, here to see you through, 'til the day's end and if the night comes, and the night will come, well at least the war is over

lift your head and look out the window stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go listen! the birds sing! listen! the bells ring! all the living are dead, and the dead are all living the war is over and we are beginning

childhood memories - british sea power (1945 labour government - the new dawn)

and a little electricity won't hurt and no a little electricity won't hurt especially when we're all out of gas and coal and oil, and steel and cash but a little electricity won't hurt and no a little electricity won't hurt

against agamemnon - the mountain goats (clement attlee)

red, red, red everywhere bright red all along the thin canvas wall i stepped outside for a little air i stepped outside to get away from it all

one way - the levellers (aneurin bevan)

my father when i was younger took me up on to the hill that looks down on the city smog and above the factory spill he said, "now this is where i come when i wanted to be free" but he never was in his lifetime, but these words stuck with me

the velocity of saul at the time of his conversion - okkervil river (an unceremonious defeat)

the audience is tired, "we've had enough fire, we're entering the age now of ice" and i, feeling older, pull off to the shoulder and wonder, with my head in my hands, should i call my wife

and say "enough 'you and i,' enough of 'the fight' enough of 'prevail' or 'walk in the light' while the angels stood by i got high as a kite too tired to smile or know that i'm right

machine - regina spektor (hugh gaitskell)

i count all my blessings i have friends in high places and i'm upgraded daily all my wires without traces

hooked into machine

we were wasted - the leisure society (bevanites)

and from the flat above the square we watch our comrades bare their teeth, their souls, their flesh

we were wasted son we were wasted all on the ride from the nightclub to our drive all the way we sang

the pioneers - tunng (bloc party cover) (gaitskellites)

if it can be broke then it can be fixed if it can be fused then it can be split it's all under control

if it can be lost then it can be won if it can be touched then it can be turned all you need is time

so here we are reinventing the wheel i'm shaking hands with a hurricane it's a colour that i can't describe it's a language i can't understand ambition tearing out the heart of you carving lines into you dripping down the sides of you

we will not be the last

easy lucky free - bright eyes (the disarmament debate)

i set my watch to the atomic clock i hear the crowd count down 'til the bomb gets dropped i always figured that there’d be time enough i never let it get me down, but i can’t help it now

weeping willow - the hush sound (deaths and rebirth)

there will be a tomorrow the sun will light a sea of sorrow tonight it set and took our friend if i could do one thing, i'd bring him back snow won't stick to the weeping willows

maybe, this time - ok go (harold wilson)

you've spent your entire life quick-tongued and always right hasn't being right just let you down?

soft revolution - stars (1964 labour government - hopes and dreams)

we are here to save your life the fool, the drunk, the child, and his wife

we are here to take the blame to take the taunts and lift the shame

and after changing everything they couldn't tell we couldn't sing

joan of arc - arcade fire (barbara castle)

you had a vision they couldn't see so they put you down but everything that you said would happen it came around and they're the ones that put you down 'cause they got no heart but i'm the one that will follow you you're my joan of arc

speed the collapse - metric (devaluation of the pound)

every warning we ignored, drifting in from distant shores the wind presents a change of course, a second reckoning of sorts

hope on fire - vienna teng (the workers united)

gotta fight gotta strike 'cause there's no turning away from what you don’t want to know

gotta change rearrange something’s bending to break it’s just a matter of when

burning up - ladytron (born again tony benn)

i wrote a protest song about you, about you set off on the long march without you, without you

i set myself on fire without you, without you i wrote a protest song about you, about you

so many things worth burning for

sonnet - hundred waters (from 'sonnet' by percy bysshe shelley) (1974 labour government - a radical promise)

through the unheeding many he did move a splendour among shadows, a bright blot upon this gloomy scene, a spirit that strove for truth, and like the preacher found it not

white winter hymnal - fleet foxes (michael foot)

i was following the pack all swallowed in their coats with scarves of red tied 'round their throats to keep their little heads from falling in the snow and i turned 'round and there you go and michael, you would fall and turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime

half day closing - portishead (the counterattack)

underneath the faded sun the silent sum of the businessman has left us choking

dreams and belief have gone time, life itself goes on

the last living rose - pj harvey (the failed referendum)

goddamn europeans take me back to beautiful england and the gray, damp filthiness of ages and battered books and fog rolling down behind the mountains on the graveyards and dead sea-captains

past the thames river, glistening like gold hastily sold for nothing, nothing

if it is growing - fanfarlo (wilson resigns)

your memory's failing your eyes are like rocks and i can see you on the floor of your box

you've got answers in everyone is electric circuits and that's all there is

then here's the irony no one will know if it's tomorrow or today that you go

caliber - wintersleep (jim callaghan)

you drive the exact speed limit keep of a track of your mile listening to radio music smiling when everyone else smiles you should take a beating willing do it in the name of the cause do it for the feeling that one day maybe you can be your own boss maybe get a beautiful woman get a fat piece of land get a couple of kids a prototypical civilian housing towards the future mining towards the sun you keep your caliber loaded no one's gonna fuck this up

electioneering - radiohead (the loan)

it's just business, cattle prods and the imf i trust i can rely on your votes

beggars - bombay bicycle club (lib-lab pact)

your guard isn't on, your barriers open your words have now got the whole town waiting my army is down, my company old and leaving quiet and burned

riding a fleet of beggars and cons taking it back, it won't be long

isles - little comets (winter of discontent)

leeds screaming bristol torn belfast and hull forlorn oxford dreaming in denial with all its gleaming spires

stoke bleeding glasgow yawns dundee and cardiff mourn york breaking sheffield cries all fears are multiplied

elephant gun - beirut (vote of no confidence)

if i was young i'd flee this town i'd bury my dreams underground as did i, we drink to die, we drink tonight

take the big game down

we used to wait - arcade fire (election '79)

now our lives are changing fast hope that something pure can last

the red flag - billy bragg (to the future)

though cowards flinch and traitors sneer we'll keep the red flag flying here

1979-2010

bye bye bye - school of seven bells (the beginning of the end)

after the great flood, all washed away, i still stayed

one by one 'til there's nothing left of you one by one by one by one

you and i are a gang of losers - the dears (old labour begets new)

every single one of us is getting massacred on a frozen path fever comes to wipe us out and scratch your name off of a list

you and i are on the outside of almost everything you and i are on the other side of almost everything

red right hand - nick cave & the bad seeds (tony benn)

he's a ghost, he's a god, he's a man, he's a guru

you're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan designed and directed by his red right hand

life - dai (benn vs healey)

instrumental

he dreams he’s awake - stars (michael foot, landslide defeat, and the wilderness years)

sunrise, oh sunrise, when will you ever come? sunrise, oh sunrise, when will the night be gone? it won't let me go

from red to blue - billy bragg (labour, miners, and militant)

i hate the compromises life forces us to make we must all bend a little if we are not to break but the ideals you've opted out of, i still hold them to be true i guess they weren't so firmly held by you

the geese of beverly road - the national (labour's rebranding and 80s excesses)

we'll take ourselves out in the street and wear the blood in our cheeks like red roses

we're the heirs to the glimmering world

illuminated red - the accidental (kinnock and mandelson)

and illuminated red - and illuminated white instead like a red sock burning through my table; lying in my bed

oblivion - patrick wolf (kinnock and mandelson, pt. 2)

oh my stubborn son, i know that you said you need no one don't you see danger, danger, danger, headed to oblivion?

our hell - emily haines & the soft skeleton (new labour/john smith)

we're moderate, we modernize 'til our hell is a good life all we know is to forget how to do right

colouring in the black hole

overture - patrick wolf (tony blair)

it's wonderful what a smile can hide if the teeth shine bright and it's nice and wide

titan arum - foals (gordon brown)

you see assassins on the walkway home you eat yourself from bones to bones, to tongues to toes contractors nor the council can find the time to piece your head again

drowning men - fanfarlo (the new labour ouroborous)

even though the lights have changed i'm caught up in an endless loop we spend our time with drowning men, we're going to let ourselves get dragged down

do you want the truth or something beautiful - paloma faith (landslide victory)

do you want the truth or something beautiful? just close your eyes and make believe do you want the truth or something beautiful? i am happy to deceive you

destroy everything you touch - ladytron (brown and mandelson)

anything that may desert you so it cannot hurt you destroy everything you touch today destroy me this way

bright bright bright - dark dark dark (blair, to mandelson)

you always cared for me, that was easy enough to see you always cared for me, and i pushed you in the dark and i wanted to tell you, i wanted to tell you but i lie, i lie, oh i lie, i lie i hurt myself, i hurt myself nearly as much as i hurt you

you and whose army - radiohead (blairites and brownites)

come on, come on, you think you drive me crazy well, come on, come on, you and whose army you and your cronies

masters of war - bob dylan (iraq, pt. 1)

you fasten all the triggers for the others to fire then you set back and watch

celebration guns - stars (iraq, pt. 2)

desert wind and a perverse desire to win history buried in shame

then the next day, how will you know your enemy? by their colour or your fear? one by one we can cage them in your freedom make them all disappear

my hands grow darker every day

claws off - margot and the nuclear so and sos (blair and brown)

if you wanna go, get lost if you wanna stay, shut up

wine red - the hush sound (brown takes over)

the sea is wine red, this is the death of beauty the doves have died, the lovers have lied

monster love - goldfrapp (brown and mandelson, redux)

i never thought i would return to be consumed by you again

everything comes around bringing us back again here is when we start and where we end

weekend away - tunng (the end)

wander through the wreckage all is said and done faces dance in the light

forget those days, they've gone

mykonos - fleet foxes (david miliband and ed miliband)

and you will go to mykonos with a vision of a gentle coast and a sun to maybe dissipate shadows of the mess you made

when out walking, brother, don't you forget it ain't often that you'll ever find a friend