#one of those things that makes me proud to be an american

[mourning-again-in-america]

love that there's a "guy who tried to smuggle Bibles into the Soviet Union and got elected to Congress". i'd probably disagree with him on nearly every policy position but i respect that act.

#one of those things that makes me proud to be an american #the absolute energy of American missionaries is incredible and its just one of those byproducts of America being America #like...the ethnologue is just one of those things necessary & proper for proper worldwide evangelization. #but imagine if academic linguistics had to make that sort of thing on their own! how much would that even cost?

[saucy-mesothelioma]

A few (primarily Southern) superstitions I found while doing an Antrho project. Most of these are from my family's history, but a lot of them are also just very common Southern superstitions that I thought were cool.

The first male to enter the house after the New Year has to give the family a dollar, which has to be taped above the front door indicating that money will flow throughout the house for the new year. According to my mother, this comes from a side of the family that she believes was Polish. She's not sure if that's true or not, but my grandmother on that side did this every New Year's until she died.

Eating black-eyed peas, collard greens, and pork on New Years brings good luck. This one's very common and my family does this every year (my parents cut out the collard greens, but my grandmother keeps them in. She also uses hog jowl instead of regular pork). The peas are for luck, the greens are for money, and the pork is for prosperity.

Putting a mirror on your porch can prevent the devil from entering your home. Basically this comes from the idea that the devil can only enter a house at night and must return to hell at sunrise and by placing a mirror on your porch, his vanity will cause him to spend the entire night looking at his reflection until the sun comes to banish him.

If you plant a cedar tree and it grows to be six feet tall, you'd lose someone close to you. This one comes courtesy of my grandfather and was honestly one I'd never heard of before.

To prevent spirits from entering your house, paint the entryway/porch of your house with haint blue to confuse them since spirits can't cross water. You see this a lot here and mainly it's the porch roof that's painted haint blue, but I've seen doors and shutters also painted this way.

If you have cracks in your house, a boo hag (a trapped spirit that kind of acts like a vampire) can use them to enter your home. Boo hags mainly use a person's breath as sustenance instead of blood, and it's believed that if the person being fed on by a boo hag struggles, the hag will just take their skin. The hag also has to return to their own skin (as when they feed at night they have none) by morning or else they will be trapped forever without skin.

Having a bottle tree can ward off evil spirits. This is the same thing as painting your porch haint blue, except you hang blue bottles on a tree instead. A lot of people have these regardless if they believe the superstition and they're honestly really beautiful.

#this place might be a waking nightmare sometimes but god does it have some interesting folklore #like when I'm able to ignore all the horrible things that happen here it makes me genuinely happy live here #I've got a whole book based on ghost stories from here that I need to share sometime as well #the only one of these that didn't come from my family was the one about the bottle trees #but those are so common here that I included it anyways #I also just really love bottle trees #I'm trying to see the positivity more in my culture and heritage and I'm slowly beginning to learn to be more proud of who I am #it's a lot of personal negativity to try to push past but I'm getting there #american south #deep south #appalachia #meso's musings

[theriverdalereviewer]

school shootings were always my biggest fear as a student and now I still fear them as a teacher

#what could I say about this that I didn’t already say after parkland? #after sandy hook? after virginia tech? after columbine? #after the millions of other school shootings that didn’t get media coverage cause the death toll didn’t break a record #that’s the part that’s getting me #nowadays a shooting where only 2-3 victims doesn’t get any media coverage #but in any other country in the world this would spark national outrage BECAUSE ANYONE DYING IN SCHOOL IS NOT NORMAL!!! #but noooo in this country (ONLY country in the world where this regularly happens) there’s no way to prevent it #like are you american exceptionalists proud? we’re the school shooting capital of the world how amazing #all because we refuse to ban guns the blatantly obvious solution that has worked out for everyone else #fuck you and your second amendment rights we do not need to adhere to these dumb ass founders beliefs #what society adheres to rules from 300 years ago that were written by some of the most evil men in history they didn’t know SHIT #and anyways they themselves said that it needs to be well regulated but of course that part is ignored #dumbass politicians coming up with anything to ‘fix’ the problem besides banning automatic weapons #TED CRUZ IS SAYING DOORS ARE THE PROBLEM AND THAT THERE SHOULD ONLY BE ONE DOOR?? MF THAT IS A FIRE HAZARD #and they’re saying we need armed security as if the USELESS POLICE DID ANYTHING TO SAVE THOSE KIDS #‘only thing that can stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy’ oh really? and what happens when that good guy also gets shot like in Buffalo? #and saying we need to secure schools like they’re prisons cause a metal detector is gonna stop a psycho with the intention to kill #all this security will just make Black kids kids with special needs kids of color and so many more feel even more unsafe #and let’s not forget the stupidest idea of them all ARMING TEACHERS???? #teachers don’t get paid enough nor is it in their job description to KILL SCHOOL SHOOTERS #THAT IS THE POLICE’S JOB NOT OURS??? and this puts so many kids at risk too and teachers shouldn’t have to sacrifice themselves?? #we can’t even get our lesson plans to go the way we planned them AND YOU WANT TO PUT A GUN IN A CLASSROOM? #i hate that the kids teachers and parents did more to protect each other than the people that get 40% of the city’s budget #all cause they were ‘scared’ well maybe you’re in the wrong line of work you coward pigs #and let me get started on the fact that we have an epidemic of murderous young boys that we have been ignoring since columbine #all of these shootings were committed by young adult men with incel white supremacist nazi ideologies #but sure let’s act like they did this because of bullying SHUT UP #men are literally the problem. like we need to be monitoring boys more instead of micromanaging our daughters #cause look at what kind of monsters they become #all of these violent video games and chat rooms where the most vile things are said is literally a pipeline to becoming an incel nazi

[hagravenholm]

Sure I’m a huge fan of restorative justice and rehabilitation but there are some people who literally deserve the worst things imaginable to happen to them because of the things they have chosen to do to others. Sorry not sorry.

#like if you’re an unrepentant nazi or p*do or have targeted any minority group deliberately #and your actions that you have willingly taken have directly lead to people’s deaths or torture or imprisonment etc. like I’m sorry but #you deserve the worst you just do. too many American war criminals have lived a long happy healthy life surrounded by their loved ones #passing away peacefully in their bed from old age while their actions have lead directly to genocides and untold destruction then like #I’m sorry I don’t give a shit about showing these people compassion and some people are just proud of it and won’t change and don’t want to #oh that makes me a bad leftist? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #there is no justice unless we make it and innocent people dying for nothing should come back to bite those responsible in the worst way so. #imho #and before any of you say anything no I am not advocating to give the state access to capital punishment for them to ofc target leftists/ #/whoever the fuck they want bc yes I understand how basic things work #I’m talking abt us making them pay bc some of them legitimately have to.

[reasonsforhope]

Article Link

"Minnetonka first started selling its “Thunderbird” moccasins in 1965. Now, for the first time, they’ve been redesigned by a Native American designer.

It’s one step in the company’s larger work to deal with its history of cultural appropriation. The Minneapolis-based company launched in the 1940s as a small business making souvenirs for roadside gift shops in the region—including Native American-inspired moccasins, though the business wasn’t started or run by Native Americans. The moccasins soon became its biggest seller.

[Photo: Minnetonka]

Adrienne Benjamin, an Anishanaabe artist and community activist who became the company’s “reconciliation advisor,” was initially reluctant when a tribal elder approached her about meeting with the company. Other activists had dismissed the idea that the company would do the work to truly transform. But Benjamin agreed to the meeting, and the conversation convinced her to move forward.

“I sensed a genuine commitment to positive change,” she says. “They had really done their homework as far as understanding and acknowledging the wrong and the appropriation. I think they knew for a long time that things needed to get better, and they just weren’t sure what a first step was.”

Pictured: Lucie Skjefte and son Animikii [Photo: Minnetonka]

In 2020, Minnetonka publicly apologized “for having benefited from selling Native-inspired designs without directly honoring Native culture or communities.” It also said that it was actively recruiting Native Americans to work at the company, reexamining its branding, looking for Native-owned businesses to partner with, continuing to support Native American nonprofits, and that it planned to collaborate with Native American artists and designers.

Benjamin partnered with the company on the first collaboration, a collection of hand-beaded hats, and then recruited the Minneapolis-based designer Lucie Skjefte, a citizen of the Red Lake Nation, who designed the beadwork for another moccasin style and a pair of slippers for the brand. Skjefte says that she felt comfortable working with the company knowing that it had already done work with Benjamin on reconciliation. And she wasn’t a stranger to the brand. “Our grandmothers and our mothers would always look for moccasins in a clutch kind of situation where they didn’t have a pair ready and available to make on their own—then they would buy Minnetonka mocs and walk into a traditional pow wow and wear them,” she says. Her mother, she says, who passed away in 2019, would have been “immensely proud” that Skjefte’s design work was part of the moccasins—and on the new version of the Thunderbird moccasin, one of the company’s top-selling styles.

[Photo: Minnetonka]

“I started thinking about all of those stories, and what resonated with me visually,” Skjefte says. The redesign, she says, is much more detailed and authentic than the previous version. “Through the redesign and beading process, we are actively reclaiming and reconnecting our Animikii or Thunderbird motif with its Indigenous roots,” she says. Skjefte will earn royalties for the design, and Minnetonka will also separately donate a portion of the sale of each shoe to Mni Sota Fund, a nonprofit that helps Native Americans in Minnesota get training and capital for home ownership and entrepreneurship.

Some companies go a step farther—Manitobah Mukluks, based in Canada, has an Indigenous founder and more than half Indigenous staff. (While Minnetonka is actively recruiting more Native American workers, the company says that employees self-report race and it can’t share any data about its current number of Indigenous employees.) Beyond its own line of products, Manitobah also has an online Indigenous Market that features artists who earn 100% of the profit for their work.

White Bear Moccasins, a Native-owned-and-made brand in Montana, makes moccasins from bison hide. Each custom pair can take six to eight hours to make; the shoes cost hundreds of dollars, though they can also be repaired and last as long as a lifetime, says owner Shauna White Bear. In interviews, White Bear has said that she wants “to take our craft back,” from companies like Minnetonka. But she also told Fast Company that she doesn’t think that Minnetonka, as a family-owned business, should have to lose its livelihood now and stop making moccasins.

The situation is arguably different for other fashion brands that might use a Native American symbol—or rip off a Native American design completely—on a single product that could easily be taken off the market. Benjamin says that she has also worked with other companies that have discontinued products.

She sees five steps in the process of reconciliation. First, the person or company who did wrong has to acknowledge the wrong. Then they need to publicly apologize, begin to change behavior, start to rebuild trust, and then, eventually, the wronged party might take the step of forgiveness. Right now, she says, Minnetonka is in the third phase of behavior change. The brand plans to continue to collaborate with Native American designers.

The company can be an example to others on how to listen and build true relationships, Benjamin says. “I think that’s the only way that these relationships are going to get any better—people have to sit down and talk about it,” she says. “People have to be real. People have to apologize. They have to want to reconcile with people.”

The leadership at Minnetonka can also be allies in pushing other companies to do better. “My voice is important at the table as an Indigenous woman,” Benjamin says. “Lucie’s voice is important. But at tables where there’s a majority of people that aren’t Indigenous, sometimes those allies’ voices are more powerful in those spaces, because that means that they’ve signed on to what we’re saying. The power has signed on to moving forward and we agree with ‘Yes, this was wrong.’ That’s the stuff that’s going to change [things] right there.”"

-via FastCompany, February 7, 2024

#indigenous #indigenous artists #indigenous art #moccasins #thunderbird #native american #native american art #cultural appropriation #indigenous peoples #cultural representation #minnesota #minnetonka #minneapolis #red lake nation #ojibwe #anishinaabe #reconciliation #fashion #fashion news #good news #hope #indigenous designers #native artist #indigenous artist

[b1rds3ye]

“Your Hoodie? No, My Hoodie.”

How the boys react to you stealing their hoodies/clothes, if they would steal yours, and other cute clothing shenanigans

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Genre: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k (~300 each)

Warning: A little spice but no smut

A/N: After writing some drama/angst pieces I figured some pure fluff will do me good 😌

Captain John Price

Price’s fashion sense has become a little dated, so while he has one or two hoodies, he owns a lot more jumpers and vests (especially those puffy ones that all American dads seem to wear in colder weather)

He also doesn’t wear said hoodies all that much so if you steal them, he’ll likely just compliment your attire like a gentleman then go about his day. When he does notice the hoodie as his, he doesn’t care, you can have it

“Lovely top, darling.” “Price, sweetheart, this is yours.” “… Ah, so it is.”

However Price will notice if you use one of his jumpers or sweaters, not that he has a problem with it. In fact he encourages it, he thinks you look far better in them than he ever will and you actually make his clothes look fashionable when all he ever cared about was practicality

It becomes a bit of a love language of his, for the sake of being a gentleman and as he gets older he’s more aware of the cold. Price is always making sure you’re suitably warm before going outside when it’s chilly and he’s always giving you his own clothes to layer yourself with

Ever a traditional man, Price loves doing up your outerwear for you, as you keep talking and he nods along with deft fingers making work of buttons or zippers. There’s something intimate about it, having his hands so close to your abdomen, with him being responsible for your warmth and consequently your wellbeing

Has considered asking you for a hoodie or item of clothing of yours to bring him comfort on missions but eventually decided against it. His operations get messy unexpectedly and quickly, heaven forbid if he loses your items. He doesn’t have the best habits either and he’ll never forgive himself if he gave your clothes the lingering smell of cigar smoke

Simon “Ghost” Riley

When off duty, hoodies are his go to. They’re simple, easy to put on, the hood obscures more of his features and with his stature they help him look terrifying. He has quite a few but they’re all the same dark shades so for the longest time you thought he only had a couple

He always tells you and Soap that he’s “plenty fashionable” and you genuinely can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. All you know is that it looks like he wears the same outfit 24/7

The first time he saw you in his clothes, it activated something in him. It was an almost animalistic possessiveness, like wearing his clothes meant you were willing to be owned by him

“Fuckin’ hell,” is all he can say, it’s quiet, barely audible but just loud enough for you to hear and get the hairs on your back standing. You feel like prey being found by the predator as he stalks up to you and attacks you with kisses

Seeing you in his clothes is like a public broadcast that you’re with him, that you’re proud to be with him and Simon wishes he can reciprocate but he’s got a reputation to uphold but most importantly, he doesn’t want to put a target on your back by associating you with him

He still does little things just so he can feel connected to you though, he’ll gladly slip accessories under his sleeves or in his pockets to remind him of you

He has taken one of your hoodies with him on long missions, he swears it’s the only thing that keeps him sane when he brings it close and gets the scent of you and home. He’s not concerned about having it damaged, he leaves it at base, neatly folded and stashed away like a treasure that he guards with his life

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Has a respectable amount of hoodies, he likes how comfy they are and he wears them well. The only thing better than him wearing them, is you wearing them

He’s a tease, he wants you to take his hoodies but he’ll never outright say so. You won’t have a choice though when he straight up steals and hides all of your outerwear, leaving you to drift over to his wardrobe and take something

And then he acts incredibly smug about it as if he didn’t orchestrate the entire damn thing

He gets giddy whenever he sees you wear his things, you just look so damn cute. If you’re leaving for an event you better hope your friends don’t mind you being half an hour late because he will latch onto you, begging you to stay with him

Johnny will also try to wear your clothes. Doesn’t matter if you’re a few sizes smaller than him, he’s not afraid of prancing around in a crop top in the confines of your home (or in public if he’s very tipsy). Are you a similar or larger size to him? Well call Johnny a communist because it’s not your closet but our closet now. Don’t be surprised if some of your favourite clothes “magically” disappear

He becomes very proud and energetic when wearing your stuff or vice versa, he puffs his chest out like a pigeon but he does get very serious and apologetic if he accidentally damages your things and will immediately buy you a new one

A chronic clothes stealer, he has most definitely taken your non-important items with him to missions. He stores them under his camp bed, he calls it a mini shrine that he worships for good luck

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably the most fashionable out of the 141 (although the bar isn’t set particularly high), he has a range of hoodies for various casual occasions, dark for covert missions, brighter if he’s just out with friends, you name it, he’s probably got it

His clothes are so high quality you honestly feel bad so you initially avoided using his clothes, which just broke Kyle’s heart because he’s an absolute sucker for the trope of partners sharing their things. He has to near beg you to take his stuff

But when you finally do? Especially out of your own volition? Kyle is all over you, praising you to the moon and back about how good you look, trying to encourage you to take more of his things

Extra points if you borrow his hats, Kyle swears it’s the cutest sight in existence and now he has a reason to look forward to a sunny day

Loves cuddling you while you’re wearing his hoodie, particularly where you’re lying on the couch and he’s on top of you, head on your stomach or chest. He has to give himself credit, he bought some very soft hoodies and on you with his head listening to your heartbeat has him feeling like he’s lying on a cloud

He adores how at the end of the day his clothes end up smelling like you instead, he’s almost tempted to never wash them

He will never gift you clothes, if you want clothes you’re taking them from his wardrobe and that’s final. The only exception is if he wants you two to wear stylish matching outfits where he’ll supply you with what you need

Alejandro Vargas

A man of style, Alejandro much prefers his turtleneck jumpers (also because he knows he absolutely kills it) but he does have a hoodie or two if he’s really prioritising discretion or comfort for the day

Seeing you in his hoodie gets him incredibly riled up, even if to you it’s not incredibly stylish or sexy. The instant he lays eyes on you in his clothes he’s rushing up to pull you into a passionate kiss, hands tugging and massaging you through the thick fabric. Whenever you have to pull away he’s purring in Spanish before pulling you back in

Obsessed with seeing you in his clothes, if you ask for a jacket he’s automatically going to his wardrobe. If you want your own clothes you’re going to have to get it yourself because Alejandro can be very stubborn when he wants to be and will only bring you his own attire

Alejandro will gladly borrow your clothes if he can, but only in private. It destroys him inside because he desperately wants to be publicly associated with you but he will never risk your safety associating with him in Las Almas for his own selfish wishes

An absolute gentleman, he loves putting clothes on you. He opens up the hoodie so it’s easier for you to slip your arms in, he zips it up for you, and then he tugs at the folds so it compliments you perfectly. In his world, you’re the emperor and he’s but a humble and grateful servant, he’s not letting you lift a finger

The only thing he could enjoy more than putting on your clothes is taking them off for you. Not even in a lustful manner (although that’s not off the table for him), it just feels intimate, like he’s pulling armour off of you, with you entrusting him with your most vulnerable self and he’s honoured you trust him this much

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

He likes his cosiness and practicality so he has a fair lot of hoodies and he’s more than happy to lend them to you. You don’t even have to ask, he just assumed that when you two became a couple his stuff was yours too

But when Rudy first saw you in his clothes, he was taken aback. He never thought much of his clothes, they just look decent and offered functionality, so how did you make such mediocre items look so damn good?

Gets oddly sentimental when he sees you in his clothes. It’s such a domestic sight, one he thought he’d never see when he dedicated himself to Las Almas. Every time he’s holding you close, peppering your face with brief but hefty kisses. You won’t be escaping his grip anytime soon

Rodolfo will only borrow your clothes if you explicitly tell him you can. He adores you and treats all your items as something sacred, it feels almost blasphemous using your things

When he does use your items, he realised it’s been a long time since he’s felt bashful. Not that he’s embarrassed or ashamed of you, far from it. He just knows some of his soldiers will ask and he’s near giddy that he can talk about you

Another clothes helper, he giggles when he sees you get tangled and lost in his slip on hoodie, accidentally trying to put your head through the arm sleeve. He gently guides you, and when you finally poke your head out, he gives you a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead as though he hasn’t seen you in months

“Ah, I found you mì amor.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #task force 141 x reader #los vaqueros x reader #john price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #rudy x reader #/*avery actually writes*/

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen act with their doctor* s/o

*encompasses doctors, medical students and anything related to medicine or science bc as a literature/ law girly it's hard for me to be specific on this 😭

masterlist

seungcheol, hoshi, seungkwan, chan

soooooo so unfathomably proud. brings it up whenever he can bc he knows that it's a big achievement and takes so, so much effort on your part and he wants people to acknowledge just how smart and hard working you are. offers to be your ‘rubber duck’ that you bounce medical terms off of while you're rambling or revising, and gosh everything sounds so so complicated and he wants to just hug you and praise you and tell you how incredible you are for knowing all of these horribly complex-sounding things. wants to know everything, from the stuff that you're studying to that doctor's oath you have to take and can you actually instantly diagnose someone just from looking at them like those doctors do in medical dramas?

jeonghan, joshua, wonwoo, woozi, minghao

concerned about you overworking yourself, mainly. it's a difficult path to go down, and he knows that it's going to require long hours and sleepless nights but he makes a point to stress how you and your mental health comes before anything else, okay? he knows that your degree and your accomplishments are important, but what's the point in an accomplishment if you're too burnt out to relish it? lets you talk to him about a particularly bad day, where you were swamped in assignments or tests or the hospital was horribly busy and you didn't even get to sit down once. kisses your forehead gently and whispers softly until you finally fall asleep, exhausted but relaxed by his unfaltering presence

junhui, mingyu, dokyeom, vernon

you know that cliche thing in medical kdramas where the bf brings food for their doctor s/o who's working overtime? is that actually allowed??? well, whether it's allowed or not, he does it, and it makes you want to cry out of happiness every time. he's just a sweet, slightly clueless bf okay. understands nothing about what you do but is supporting you no matter what, because damn getting into medicine is hard and yet you're doing it so well. was binge watching greys anatomy this one time (the suspense of it was good okay) and you plopped down onto the sofa next to him and gave him a running commentary on all the inaccuracies, so now whenever anyone brings up that show, he goes off on a tangent about how horribly fake the entire set-up of it is

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@weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @hanniehaee @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @all-american-fangirl

#this was highly highly requested haha #fairyhaos.works #seventeen #svt #seventeen fic #seventeen drabble #seventeen headcanons #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #scoups #seungcheol #jeonghan #joshua #hong jisoo #junhui #hoshi #wonwoo #woozi #jihoon #minghao #the8 #mingyu #dokyeom #seokmin #seungkwan #vernon #dino

[decolonize-the-left]

Have you heard of the American Indian Movement? Did you know natives had a movement/group in the 70's-80's dedicated to native liberation?

No? It's a part of history they don't teach you in school, but come close and look so I can show you.

Watch this, it's not long I promise. This is Russel Means, a prominent native activists and one of the leaders of AIM. AIM sought to help natives with things like tribal sovereignty, housing, healthcare, and food security.

Here he is testifying to the US government.

The transcript ^

A little excerpt of the end:

"The American Indian people’s right to self-determination is recognized and will be implemented through the following policies:

The American Indian individual shall have the right to choose his or her citizenship and the American Indian nations have the right to choose their level of citizenship and autonomy up to absolute independence;

The American Indian will have their just property rights restored which include rights of easement, access, hunting, fishing, prayer, and water;

The BIA will be abolished with the American Indian tribal members deciding the extent and nature of their governments, if any;

Negotiations will be undertaken to exchange otherwise unclaimed and un-owned federal property for any and all government obligations to the American Indian nations, and to fully -- and to hold fully liable those responsible for any and all damages which have resulted from the resource development on or near our reservation lands including the -- including damages done by careless and inexcusable disposal of uranium mill tailings and other mineral and toxic wastes.

I want to thank you, gentlemen, for inviting me here. It's been a high honor, especially since I'm the only one invited here today to testify that doesn't receive money from the federal government. Also, I want to make -- I was introduced as a former founder and leader of American Indian movement to the tribal chairwoman that you have here, a former associates for the American Indian Movement back in the days when we were gross militants and so I just wanted to let you in on that, that the American Indian Movement is a very proud continuing part of American Indian Society.

Thank you."

"The American Indian Movement remains based in Minneapolis with several branches nationwide. The organization prides itself on fighting for the rights of Native peoples outlined in treaties and helping to preserve indigenous traditions and spiritual practices. The organization also has fought for the interests of aboriginal peoples in Canada, Latin America and worldwide. “At the heart of AIM is deep spirituality and a belief in the connectedness of all Indian people,” the group states on its website."

#AIM #American indian movement #usa #politics #native sovereignty #tribal sovereignty #native rights #treaty rights #human rights #russel means #dennis banks #leonard peltier #native america #native #indigenous #ndn #BIA #bureau of indian affairs #colonialism #settler #settler colonialism #usamerican #liberals #progressives #leftist #ogala lakota #native pride #american history #native history #lakota history

[evilminji]

We all know how Vlad likes to make clones of Danny and then get rid of them when they don't work out I'm just imagining a entire crack filled idea Ra is one of those clones I just got accidentally into a dimension.

Ra got thrown all the way back in time in a different dimension and is incredibly pissed at Vlad for creating him and worried about Danny if Vlad making more clones like Ra

Out of spite not only does Ra come immortal and try to do glad when it comes to doing shady things to make Danny proud aka the best mother of all times he's also trying to make the world a better place he got the weird balance of Danny along with Vlad obsessions. 100 years into making the colt and being alive Danny finds out about Ross existence as the ghost King and decides you know what I support all my children as a mother even when they are starting coats or planning world domination, and destruction. In the straight up tells Ra don't kill too many people you make mom's job harder and anytime you need something call me I'm proud of you for at least waiting to make the world a better place. Like on the scale of good and bad Danny placed him right in the middle Ellie wants to be a hero and a traveler so if she's in the top when it comes to the good skeleton in the middle scale is Ra cuz does he own a cult yes but he also wants to make a world a better place, and Dan is at dead last for just wanting destruction sometimes but he's working on it he does clay art now.

Ra also inherited Danny's ability to make things chaotic without even trying. I just see Rose dropping to Talia and Damien sometimes while your great/grandmother was country but other than I don't think we have any more races mixed with us.

Or he just drops I'm not laying tally I have the sleeping normally my mother was 14 when he had my siblings in me and mother described it as going to do with excruciating hell.

Talia has been tired argument with Ra after he accidentally just straight up says well great grandfather was grandmother's uncle he did go to school with mother's parents and was best friends with mother's father.

Tim is so confused and all he wants his answers in the background .

I can just see Ra comparing Damien's fearless his old mother's fear illness he will mention of nowhere mother fist fought father when they first met or mother can break a wall with a single hit of their head.

Talia is going to be so confused when they find out that only is mother a crazy batshit person he's also the ghost King.

Talia staring at Grandma who is the ghost King: father did you not think this was important to tell me sooner.

Ra: I have mentioned this before in one of my conversations about mother you just weren't listening Talia.

Danny in the background frelingover his kid and his grandchildren along with great grandchild.

Ra full name is Ra Al Ghul 'Dirgham' Fenton Master

Danny says they had to keep with the cycle of the names no matter where they are in the name.

(This is also my secret chance to finally Vlad Masters as Arabic you can pray that out of my cold dead hands Danny American-born Chinese who who has a very strong country accident because of his father)

Any who don't have to write this I just hope you had a good laugh form my stupid writing I really do love your work hope you have a fun time reading this ╰⁠(⁠*⁠´⁠︶⁠`⁠*⁠)⁠╯＼⁠(⁠^⁠o⁠^⁠)⁠／

Not stupid! I got my first Ficlette! :D this is amazing and thank you! I did enjoy it!

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Alla Nazimova (A Doll's House, Camille, Salomé)—She was a proud lesbian, she was a director, she was artsy and experimental, she was instrumental in the rise to fame of Rudolph Valentino, she had the worlds biggest strap on energy

Xia Meng, also known as Hsia Moog or Miranda Yang (Sunrise, Bride Hunter)—For those who are familiar with Hong Kong's early cinema, Xia Meng is THE leading woman of an era, the earliest "silver-screen goddess", "The Great Beauty" and "Audrey Hepburn of the East". Xia Meng starred in 38 films in her 17-year career, and famously had rarely any flops, from her first film at the age of 18 to her last at the age of 35. She was a rare all-round actress in Mandarin-language films, acting, singing, and dancing with an enchanting ease in films of diverse genres, from contemporary drama to period operas. She was regarded as the "crown princess" among the "Three Princesses of the Great Wall", the iconic leading stars of the Great Wall Movie Enterprises, which was Hong Kong's leading left-wing studio in the 1950s-60s. At the time, Hong Kong cinema had only just taken off, but Xia Meng's influence had already spread out to China, Singapore, etc. Overseas Chinese-language magazines and newspapers often featured her on their covers. The famous HK wuxia novelist Jin Yong had such a huge crush on her that he made up a whole fake identity as a nobody-screenwriter to join the Great Wall studio just so he can write scripts for her. He famously said, "No one has really seen how beautiful Xi Shi (one of the renowned Four Beauties of ancient China) is, I think she should be just like Xia Meng to live up to her name." In 1980, she returned to the HK film industry by forming the Bluebird Movie Enterprises. As a producer with a heart for the community, she wanted to make a film on the Vietnam War and the many Vietnam War refugees migrating to Hong Kong. She approached director Ann Hui and produced the debut film Boat People (1982), a globally successful movie and landmark feature for Hong Kong New Wave, which won several awards including the best picture and best director in the second Hong Kong Film Award. Years later, Ann Hui looked back on her collaboration with Xia Meng, "I'm very grateful to her for allowing me to make what is probably the best film I've ever made in my life."

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Alla Nazimova:

HOT as hell. GAY as hell. TALENTED as hell. Producer, director, writer, actress. A silent era superstar who is credited with having coined the term "sewing circle" as a code-word for gatherings of lesbian and bisexual women. Has been called "the founding mother of Sapphic Hollywood" and was the owner/operator of the Garden of Alla Hotel in West Hollywood, which she bought in 1919 and sold in 1928 after deciding she wanted to go back to Broadway. In addition to starring opposite Valentino in Camille, she also had an affair with BOTH of his wives (Jean Acker and Natacha Rambova). In her day, she was one of the most influential women in the business.

"Nazimova was primarily a star during the silent film era, and her career in film started when she was almost forty. She was openly bisexual, and was engaged in two lavender marriages during her life while she carried on relationships with women (including at least one, and possibly two, of Rudolph Valentino's wives). She was brilliant and an autodidact - when she first moved to the United States from Ukraine, she spoke no English, but taught herself "in about five months" and went on to work as a screenwriter (among other things). Her predilections lay in art film, and she's credited with starring in / producing / directing one of the first American art films, the adaptation of Oscar Wilde's play Salome (1923). She has an elegant and commanding presence in all of her films, and is an absolute sensation to watch in motion."

Gif link, another gif link

A great actress who also produced a great deal of her films, Nazimova is absolutely mesmerizing to watch. She was also bi and coined the phrase "sewing circle" for sapphic celebrities.

Xia Meng:

#xia meng #alla nazimova #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 3

[thestarlithideout]

Perfectly Imperfect

Requested: No Requests are: Open!

Summary: You realize the Doctor like you at the worst possible time

Warnings: Fluff, danger, sleep deprivation, mutual pining

A/n: Moved from my wattpad of the same user

PRESENT DAY, TARDIS, FLOATING AROUND SPACE

"Y/n!" 

You roll over, turning away from the noise you had yet to register as The Doctor calling your name. You were having a wonderful dream, one you couldn't quite recall now. You try to fall back into the euphoric dream atmosphere your subconscious had created, one where the only detail you seemed familiar was The Doctor's lips on yours, but that's a nightly occurrence. It's an unusual situation — a human, in love with a Time Lord who was likely to send you away at any time. And to have dreams where you kiss him! It's quite embarrassing, and you've sworn to never say a word to anyone. 

"Y/n!" 

You blink a few times, eyes adjusting to the dark of your bedroom. Now you can make out the familiar shapes of the simple room. You realize it was The Doctor yelling for you from across TARDIS, now bounding up the stairs, you hear. He knocks loudly on your bedroom door, rattling it just slightly. 

"You can come in," you yell just loud enough for him to hear. You sit up, leaning back on your hands. He bursts' into your room, door hitting the wall behind it, he looked crazy — hair mussed up, clothes crooked, a huge grin plastered on his face. "Wait," you tell him, holding up a hand. "Don't tell me, Earth needs saving, doesn't it?" He nods frantically, throwing your blankets off of you, grabbing your hand in both of his and ushering you out of bed. 

"Daleks, probably." Is all he says as he drags you to your bathroom. "Go on, get ready." You smile as he opens the door for you, placing a hand on your lower back to push you into the bathroom. 

You flip on the light, turning to the sink. You brace your hands on the counter, letting out a huff of a laugh when you look at your flushed cheeks in the mirror, shaking your head. Incredible, he is incredible. 

When you return from the bathroom a few minutes later, with a washed face and clean teeth, The Doctor is waiting for you, laying sprawled out on your bed. The things I could do with him laying there like that. Hmm. 

You blink hard, ridding yourself of those thoughts. God, that was utterly appalling, and he's The Doctor, he's your best friend. Stop it. You take a deep breath, clearing your throat. "Is there something you need?" You ask with a chuckle, sitting at the edge of your bed next to his stomach, and you have the urge to run your fingers through his hair. He's just so pretty, I can't help it. 

"Yes," he says, sounding oddly excited. "I need you to hurry, breakfast is nearly done and you need to eat before we go to Earth." He sits up, leaning back on his hands. You lick your lips, smiling. 

"What'd you make?" 

"Well, for my little American friend, otherwise known as Y/n, I made your pancakes. And for the Ponds I made regular pancakes." He smiled at you, proud he remembered how you liked yours. He attempted once to make you pancakes, but they were more like crepes than the fluffy pancakes you're used to. You ate them, they were good, but when he asked what you thought you revealed that you were used to more cake like pancakes. 

"Aw, that's sweet you remembered." You gave him a quick hug. You shouldn't have, because, God, you didn't want to let go. He's so warm, and he wraps his arms around your shoulders and it's like he's saying he's going to protect you from any dangers, anywhere. 

He smiled at you as you pulled back, "Of course, I want you to be happy here. I want you to stay." He makes you want to melt. Just become a puddle at his feet, he's such a sweetheart. 

You're the newest addition to The Doctor's little family, joining his adventures just six months ago. He still feels like he needs to make you happy, so he keeps doing these nice things for you, that's the only reason he keeps doing these things for you — well, pretty sure. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Eleven." 

∆∆∆

SIX MONTHS AGO, TARDIS

"So, this is your eleventh body?" You ask, leaning against the kitchen counter, holding your coffee between your hands. 

"Pretty much, my eleventh regeneration." He nods, he's standing opposite of you, barely a foot from you. 

"That's cool. Can I call you Eleven? It's just kind of weird to call you Doctor." You realize as soon as the words come out of your mouth that that sounded extremely rude. "Oh jeez, I didn't mean- I just meant, I'm sorry. Your name is great, it'll just take some getting used to. I'm sorry." You scramble to get out, and he watches with an amused expression. 

"It's okay, I promise you, it isn't the first time." 

"Oh no, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. Dammit." You set your coffee down, dropping your face into your hands. "I'm sorry." 

"It's alright. You can call me Eleven, that sounds nice." You look up. Maybe it's just your imagination, but it looks like his cheeks are tinted red. You give him a small, apologetic smile. 

"Wait," you start to ask, smirk barely restrained on your face, "How old does that make you?" 

"Older than I care to remember." He said, trying to tease back. But you could hear the sadness in his voice, the weight of the loss of everyone he's had to let go of. Your smirk immediately dropped, and you walked up to him sliding your arms under his to give him a great big hug, squeezing him tightly as you rest your cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, feeling him finally hug you back, resting his head on top of yours as you rub your thumb over his little tweed jacket. 

∆∆∆

"But you are going, unless you plan on me going down for breakfast in this." You gesture to yourself, too big t-shirt and short shorts on, you're so lucky that your shirt isn't see through — you don't have a bra on. He looks at your outfit quickly, perhaps lingering on your legs for a second too long, but that was just your imagination, surely. But what isn't your imagination is the way he licks his lips, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth when he looks back up at your face. 

"No, I suppose not." He nodded, letting out a deep breath. You get off the bed, and he follows, smiling at you as he shuts the door. 

You get dressed quickly, throwing on jeans and a bra underneath your shirt. It's fine, you think before grabbing a jacket. 

You take the stairs as quick as possible, smelling the sweet pancakes in the air before you ever reached the kitchen of the TARDIS. You make an excited face as you bound into the rather large kitchen, "Smells so good." You raise your eyebrows at Amy when you catch her eye, gesturing at The Doctor who was currently wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron. She just let out a short laugh, shrugging. You smile as you slowly walk over to him, leaning on your elbow on the counter next to him. 

"Interesting wardrobe change, Eleven." You tug at the apron when he turns to face you, he was working on one of your pancakes, waiting for it to finish cooking. 

He smiles, "Yes, well. . . Don't really have an explanation for that, I guess." He shrugs his shoulders, raising his eyebrows as he does which makes you scrunch your nose, light laugh falling from your lips. He goes back to focusing on your pancake, pressing the middle of it before transferring it to a plate with another pancake on it. 

"I made you two, is that okay?" 

"Perfect," you say with a smile. He nods, happy that you like the pancakes. 

"Well," he says with a clap, rubbing his hands together before taking off the apron, "We best get going. We've got to save past Earth from what seems to be a less developed breed of Daleks. Eat, Y/n, we have some time, it might take us a quick minute to get to 1207 AD Earth." He smiled. 

"Dear God, I'm not wearing a ridiculous dress." He snickered at your blatant hatred for the style. 

"Well, it would be quite hard to fight in." He squeezed your shoulder before walking out to the main controls. 

You grab your pancakes, spreading a bit of peanut butter and drizzling syrup over them before sitting down at the table with Amy and Rory. "Alright," you say matter-of-factly, "When does he stop feeling like he needs to make me feel welcome? I love it, he's such a sweetheart, but I don't want to be surprised when he gets comfortable with me and stops doing nice things. When did he stop doing it with you two?" 

They shared a look, before Amy answered you. "Y/n, darling, what are you going on about? He never did anything like this for us. Just this morning he was ranting on about he was going to make you your pancakes, and me and Rory were like 'Yum, can't wait.' And The Doctor just looked at us before realizing that he should probably make us some as well. 'You were wanting some too?' He said." She finished with a laugh, but noticed your confused expression as you chewed. 

"Y/n, you're not stupid," Rory groaned. "He only lets you call him Eleven-" Rory starts, and Amy intersects. 

"The one time we tried, he got very defensive, 'Only Y/n calls me that, what are you doing?'" She puts on a voice for him, imitating his accent.

"Yeah, he never made food before you got here," Rory continues, "He would be up shouting at all hours of the night. Hell, he never comes to our bedrooms to wake us up, never knocks, never brings us nothing, he fuckin' carried you to TARDIS once." Rory was talking about last week, you hadn't slept at all for nearly three days, almost collapsing. 

∆∆∆ 

DISTANT FUTURE, ONE WEEK AGO, PLANET OF SIRIATH

You fought to keep your eyes open as you stumbled, attempting to run, back to the TARDIS. But every step you took hurt you, every inch you ran made you want to collapse and let the Cybermen take you. You ran through the fields, corn stalks towered high above you, hitting you as you run. You can hear the Cybermen behind you, metal clanging as they trample the corn, searching for you and your friends. The Doctor runs beside you, Amy and Rory already on TARDIS. 

You hit your foot against a fallen corn stock, your toe slams against your shoe, and you fall, arms shooting out in front of you, bracing for the stings of leaves smacking you. But you just fall into something solid, yet soft. You collapse into it, realizing it's The Doctor, and pass out nearly immediately. You're barely half awake as he picks you up and runs the last hundred feet to the TARDIS, where Amy and Rory hang half out, yelling for him to run faster. 

"'Leven," you mumble, hiding your face in his chest, but trying to push him away at the same time, "'Leven put me down so I can run. Have to get away from the Cybermen, 'Leven." He shushed you and absolutely floors it the rest of the way. 

As soon as he enters the TARDIS, he takes you to your room, demanding Amy and Rory hit a thingamajig, and pull a spinny whatchamacallit and get them the hell outa dodge. You couldn't decipher the words, you just heard it running all together. 

"What's happened? Why- Are you okay?" He sets you down on your bed, kneeling beside you.

"Sleepy, Eleven, so fucking sleepy." You curl up, hands under your head, on your side. 

"When's the last time you slept?" You couldn't find the energy to shrug, so you were quiet. 

It wasn't until the next morning Amy and Rory told you he stayed in your room, in a chair by the door the entire 27 hours you slept. When he found out you hadn't slept in three days prior to that because of him and the Cybermen, he didn't let you get up for anything for two days, bringing your food and coffee to you to make up for it. 

∆∆∆ 

"He didn't. . . Well then why. . ?" You tried to work out in your head why in the he'll he would do that for you, but the only answer that kept banging around in your head was flashing red and screaming out with a blaring alarm, "HE LIKES YOU!" But he doesn't, he's a damn time lord, Christ Sake. It'll never happen. 

Amy rolls her eyes with a playful smile, "By the look on your face, I think you're pretty damn close to figuring it out." She jokes, getting up to leave.

Rory follows, patting your shoulder. "'Don't really have an explanation for that,' please, Y/n. Just kiss him already, I had to help him pick the damn thing out. 'Y'think Y/n will like it?'" You scoff, looking down at your mostly empty plate, reluctantly smiling at the possibility. You're sure at least Rory knows about your little crush, and Amy definitely knows.

---

1207 AD, SCOTLAND, EARTH

You reach Earth, year 1207, in a mere seven minutes. Thinking back on it, any past (or present, including Amy and Rory) companions you've had the pleasure of meeting have never mentioned how damn long it takes to travel. Once, you had to jump from a small, sandy planet from a galaxy far, far away, with two suns, billions of years in the future, to a huge ice planet in a galaxy halfway across the universe, in the present day. It damn near took twenty minutes of crashing and tumbling around the TARDIS console to get there.

You stumble out of the TARDIS and onto the green fields of a small village in Scotland, calming from absolutely cackling at something Amy said. But you go immediately quiet and stand straight up when you realize somewhere that should have been filled with music and celebration for their leaders, was dead silent. Not an animal sounded, no one person trying to sneak up on you. Only the near silent sound of your friends filing out behind you, realizing the exact same thing. 

"Doctor," you whisper, fear present in your voice, "Why is it so quiet?" He hadn't stopped walking until he was just slightly in front of you, arm overlapping yours. His fingertips would brush yours if he tries to reach behind him, and he does. But he grabs yours, squeezing them. Amy and Rory are on the other side of you, and you glance over at them to see if they noticed, yep. Amy is nudging Rory, pointing at you and The Doctor, and when she catches your eyes she raises her eyebrow at you, silently saying I told you, didn't I?

"Unevolved, with no armor — Daleks." He says, seemingly reading his Sonic Screwdriver. He takes a deep breath, "We need to locate them. Their goal will be to find the source of power and take over, AKA find the leaders and use them as vessels." He quickly explains, turning around to face your group, but not letting go of your fingers, instead sliding his hand up to cup your wrist. "After that they'll probably try to take over. . ." 

---

You look around in panic, trying to calm down. You're hiding in a dead woman's hut, trying desperately not to breath through your nose, but at the same time hoping the smell masks you. You run your hands up and down your thighs, trying not to cry from the pure panic of being separated from your friends while killer aliens are on the loose and could literally take over a body and pretend they would help before killing you for "getting in the way." 

That's exactly what they did to the villagers — took over their leaders minds and  slaughtered everyone who tried to revolt. You choke back a sob as you find the bedrooms, that's right, bedrooms. Plural. There's a child's bedroom, evident by the small wood carvings — bears, ducks, and a little heart. You don't want to look in the room, but something tells you that you must, a voice inside your head, something urging you on. You admire the carvings that litter the room, you turn around, trying to find more about the people who lived he- you let out a scream, stumbling back. You knock your head against a shelf, eyes stinging. 

There lay a small girl's decomposing, delicate body. She couldn't have been more than six. You stifle your sobs by holding your hand over your mouth, dropping to your knees. "Oh, God." You quietly sob, wiping your eyes. 

CRASH!

The sound of splintered wood fills the hut, and you panic. Your stomach fills with dread — you're trapped. "Eleven, TARDIS, please. Someone — Amy, Rory. Help," You whimper, face falling into your hands. 

You hear a shout, and doors knock down, falling with a quiet thump. 

More shouts, this time coming from outside the hut. You hear the familiar warbling of the Doctor's screwdriver. You gather yourself, bottom lip still slightly shaking as you rake your hands through your hair. The make-shift door to the child's room falls, and in comes a woman (a child, really) with a large, black squid-looking thing on her back. You back away, pressing your back against the wall. You breath deeply, holding your hands up. 

"Please, listen to reason. You don't want to kill me." 

"Give me a reason, human." It spat, speaking through the woman. You know she's long gone, her eyes are dead and dull. No life whatsoever.

You sputter, trying to come up with a reason when you see the Doctor silently creep behind the Dalek. 

"Because she's my human, and I think your kind may remember what happened the last time you messed with a companion of mine. And they weren't as important as she, so I do suggest you leave her be." 

Your eyes go wide, watching as he rants to the Dalek. It shakes the head of the woman, huffing a garbled laugh.

"Fine, I won't kill your precious human." It speaks, turning around to face the Doctor. "I'll kill you, once and for all!" It lunges at the Doctor, and you let out a scared cry. They struggle, falling to the floor. You search for something to help, and your eyes fall on the wood carving next to the bed. You hadn't noticed it before — a wooden knife, sharp despite being wood. You grab it by the hilt, waiting for an opportunity to help the Doctor. They wrestle around, Eleven tries not to hurt the woman, but she was dead before they started fighting. The Dalek grabs hold of the Doctor's hair, ripping him backwards, banging his head against the floor. It leans in and talks in a low voice. "And then after I kill you, I'll kill her too." It laughs, and the Dalek on the woman's back is face up.

You lunge towards it, stabbing at the Dalek. It spurts black, but it didn't make much of an impact. It just stands up, forcing the woman's face into a scowl. "Stupid human. Your Doctor tried to protect you, and you do this. Now you both shall die." The woman's face comforts into an evil grin, advancing. It rips the wooden knife from your hand, forcing you against the wall once more.

The Doctor scrambles up, reacting late, and fumbling with something in his jacket. He pulls something small and round out, still trying to get it to start. You're not sure what it is, but all you can focus on right now is the Dalek, who's getting closer and closer to you. The woman's nose touches your cheek, and you feel no breath hitting your cheek, making you want to sob once again. The woman is a walking zombie, dead, but body being used. The Dalek rakes her fingers down your face, and you feel the partially blunt carving pressing into your right side.

The Doctor runs at the Dalek, screaming something unintelligible to you. You double over, throbbing pain focused in your stomach, something ripping out. Then everything goes fuzzy. Your vision is impaired, only seeing a blur of the Doctor's tweed jacket coming off, and him leaning over you, mumbling something. You blink, trying to keep your eyes open. He grabs your hand, pressing hard on your stomach, and you start coughing, something warm and wet hitting your lips. It's metallic tasting. You keep your hand on your stomach despite the throbbing. You can't hear anything but his voice. It's too loud, even though you can't quite make out what he's saying. Two more people, a blur of red hair and a blur of brown hair. Amy and Rory.

Your hair, wet from sweat, is brushed from your face. You groan, and it burns your throat. This is taking hours, you've been laying here in pain for what feels like forever. You wince as someone's hands slide under you, picking you up quickly. It's Eleven.

"I'm getting blood on your jacket." You whimper, feeling too weak to do anything else. He's running, and you see the blurs of green from trees, and red from fire, and black from smoke all swirling together.

"It's alright, Darling. It's okay." It sounds like he's speaking underwater, voice muffled and barely decipherable.

He's still running, glancing down at you. You hear a boom as you enter a temperature regulated room — TARDIS, you're grateful for her.

---

You wake up in a daze with a pounding headache. The dim light coming from the lamp in the corner of the room — not yours — hurts your eyes. You sit up, hissing in pain when a sharp feeling runs up and down the right side of your body. Tears prick your eyes and you blink them back, taking shallow breaths. Then you realize that you aren't in the same clothes you were in when you arrived in Scotland, in 1207 AD. That they aren't even yours. It's a plain, a too big t-shirt that fell to your mid thighs. You squint your eyes to look at the bedside table — a carved heart. You inhale sharply, it all comes rushing back to you.

The Daleks. Eleven saving you. Stabbing the Dalek. Getting stabbed. Eleven saving you again. Waking up here.

My human.

Because she's my human.

You squeeze your eyes shut, calling out to TARDIS. "TARDIS, honey, where's Eleven?" Your voice is raspy.

She whirs in response, you're sure the Doctor understood it and is coming running. You can't help but wonder whose room this is. You've never seen it, and it doesn't look very lived in, but it sure is cozy. It's comforting, familiar for some reason.

The door bursts' open, hitting the wall. You wince, turning away from the light that shines through it. "Ow," you groan, drawing out the word.

"Y/n," the Doctor shuts the door quietly. He takes a deep breath before turning back around. He's been crying, you think, his eyes are puffy, and red. It's a reasonable assumption.

"Eleven," you groan as you stand up. You're wearing shorts now and you hope that it was Amy that got you dressed, it would kill you if it had been Rory or the Doctor.

"Eleven what's wrong?" You wrap your arms around his middle, laying your head against his chest. He rests his head against yours, hand coming up to cup the back of your head, the other hovering over your back.

"You- you almost died. Y/n, you can't do that." He sounds angry, but he's so calm and it's kind of freaking you out.

"But I'm alive. I didn't die, and I was helping you. So it doesn't matter." You shake your head slightly, shrugging, but grimace when it pulls at your side.

"Are you hurting? Lie down, God, what's wrong with you humans? Always risking your life. Bunch of martyrs, you lot." He mumbles to himself after telling you to lie down. He leads you to the bed, pulling back the blankets for you. You comply, but scoot over. You pat the bed next to you, and look at him with pleading eyes. He huffs, but smiles nonetheless as he sits next to you, back against the headboard.

"Whose bedroom is this?" You wonder aloud, scooting over to lay your head on his shoulder.

"Mine." Your eyes go wide, and you hope he can't feel your face heat up.

"Oh."

"You just," he stumbles over his words, looking at you. "You shouldn't have done that. Why would you do that? You could have gotten yourself killed! Then what would I have done?? I would have lost the only woman I- I would have lost my best friend. You're my best friend. Why would you endanger yourself like that? Y/n, you've been in a comatose state for nearly two weeks." He rants, angry again. He moves away from you to face you now. His eyes well up with tears, and he can't help but run his fingers lightly over your cheek, trailing down to the collar of your shirt. "You look beautiful in my shirt." Your face burns as his fingers brush over your collarbone.

"I'm absolutely furious at you, still." He laughs, but it turns into a choked sob. He's just relieved that you're okay. "God," he closes his eyes, and lets his forehead fall into the crook of your neck. "Y/n, why would you do that?"

Because I love you. Because I couldn't let a Dalek, of all things, kill you. Because I love you. Because I couldn't live with myself if I ran. Because I love you.

"You're my best friend." The Doctor huffed a hurt laugh, blinking against your neck.

"You forget I have the ability to look in your mind — to know what it is you're thinking." He says sadly, pulling you to him. You're knees are interlocking, one between his legs and the other on the outside.

Fuck off. Don't fucking mock me.

He shook his head, "You were reckless." He changes the subject with a sad look to the side. His hands drop from your face, and he stands up, clearing his throat. "You- You won't do that again. Next time we go anywhere like that you- you will- Uhm, you'll stay with TARDIS." He nodded, fixing his bow tie, shoving his hands in his pockets. He leaves the room, leaving you a distraught, hurting mess.

You run your hand over your face, sobbing silently. "God," you sigh, "What the hell just happened?" You wipe the tears from your cheeks, taking a deep breath.

Just, please, if you hear me. Please listen. Come back, please come back. Please, please, please. Jesus, I need you to come back, Eleven. Please, Doctor, come back.

I love you. I love you so much, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being stubborn, I'm sorry for risking my life. Please come back, Eleven. Would you please come back?

You silently beg for him to come back, to come back so you can make things right. You talk to him, in your head, until your head hurts. Until you've cried so much —begging him to come back, to talk to you, to kiss you — that your eyes hurt, until they've got bags under them that will last for days, until the corners of your eyes are rubbed raw from wiping them. Your heart aches for him, all you want to do is apologize, apologize for being reckless, for being so harsh on him, apologize for not telling him earlier.

Please, Doctor. Come back to me.

You roll over, facing the table. The throbbing pain on your right side had now slowed to a dull ache, the pain in your heart too much of a distraction. Your eyes fall to focus on the carved, wooden heart on the bedside table. You reach out and grab it, it doesn't look like the one from the hut. It's smoother, sanded down. You run your fingers over it, and find notches in the back. You turn it over in your hands, eyes widening when you read what it says. It's in his scraggly, loopy, endearingly him handwriting.

For my best friend, Y/n. Don't ever endanger yourself like that again. It would simply be too much for me to bear if I were to lose you.

♡ Eleven

Your heart stops. It weighs down on your chest like a rock, it's become a lead weight in your chest. Eleven what just happened? What does the heart mean? Why would you sign it like that?

You clutch the heart in your hands, laying down to finally sleep. You snuggle into his blankets, pressing you nose into his pillows. You know why it was familiar. It's him. It smells like him. Doctor, I love you so much.

---

You wake up to the door creaking open. Odd. Normally the Doctor comes bounding into your room, yelling for you. Or he carries you out to the consol, still half asleep, dropping you on one of the empty spots until you insist on brushing your teeth and changing out of shorts.

You squint, rolling over to see Any standing in the doorway, but the Doctor is already here — sleeping, curled up, in the arm chair across from the bed. You still have the heart in your hand, half of the words imprinted on your palm, along with the heart, and his name next to it. You look up at Amy, and she ushers you of the room. You walk as quick ad possible put of the room, and Amy shuts the door behind you.

"What the hell happened between the two of you? He's been shut up in his library since he left, and TARDIS wouldn't let us in." She questions, a concerned look in her eyes.

"I just-" you sigh, "It's a long story." You drop your head, looking at your bare toes, as if they're the most interesting things in the world — half painted, you remember when you showed the Doctor, and he just about lost it.

∆∆∆

TWO WEEKS AGO, TARDIS

You half-skip out into the main control, careful not to smudge the rich, dark green paint of your toes. "Doctor!" He turns around, hands still on the controls.

You stick your foot out, wiggling your toes. "Isn't it a pretty color?" You smile, you just bought the color two days ago, on a trip to Greece. You'd been wanting to go there, and the Doctor finally complied.

"Dear God! What is that on your foot?" He scrambled for his screwdriver while you stood there, an amused look on your face. It sounded a flat noise, and the Doctor hit it against his palm a few times.

"It's just nail polish, it's not an alien. I thought you were, like, thousands of years old." You say with a laugh, a slight smirk evident on your face.

"At this point, I've completely lost track." He physically relaxes, inspecting the color further. "I think it suits you wonderfully, though I do believe that's true for any color. Which, by the way, I can see twelve more of." He reminds you smugly, a posh smile on his face. You've had this conversation (about him seeing exactly twelve more colors than you) many, many times.

You just snort, rolling your eyes playfully with a smile on your face.

∆∆∆

PRESENT DAY, TARDIS

"Well we've got all the time in the world, now don't we?" She questions, eyebrows raised. A crash comes from inside the room, and you both look at the door, where a disheveled Doctor stands, hair sticking out in all directions.

"I woke up and you were gone." He has his hand on his chest, relieved. "I thought you left." His eyes are wide and slightly bloodshot, like after crying, or when you don't sleep for nearly a week, though of course that's different for him.

"Why would I leave?" You ask bluntly, not letting him hone in on what you're truly feeling — sadness and regret. Regret for not telling him earlier, for pushing him away.

"I-" He stutters wordless noise out, and Amy looks between the two of you.

"I'm going to leave you to whatever it is you're doing." She backs up before rounding a corner, after that you hear her feet pounding against the floor as she sprints off, yelling for Rory.

"I didn't know if you still wanted to be here or not." He admits, looking sheepishly at the floor.

"Again, why wouldn't I want to be here?" It's a stiff interaction, awkwardness clings to the tension between you and your Doctor.

He doesn't say anything, but you understand almost immediately. His companions have left of their own free will before, they got bored. They didn't want the excitement. They wanted a family.

"Doctor, I wouldn't leave you just because of an argument. Not even if you forbade me from leaving TARDIS," you raised your eyebrows, letting little emotion seep into your voice. You know that if you were to, then you would end up crying again. And you're already dehydrated and emotionally exhausted.

"Promise?" He avoids looking at you, instead opting for anything in your immediate vicinity.

"Of course." You should know I would never leave you, and you know why. You think sadly, for once wanting him to read your thoughts, and you look at the floor.

"Okay, right," he says, nodding. He goes to leave, but hesitates, turning back to you. He opens his mouth as if to say something, hand half reaching out to you. "I- Y/n, can I please talk to you?"

"Is that not what you're doing?" Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision, face warm and now wet with tears that keep coming.

"Y/n that's not what I meant, please?" He opens his door, hand outstretched and reaching for you. 

You don't take his hand, but you do walk into his room, arms wrapped around you as you look at the ground. He walks in behind you, shutting the door. You didn't notice, you were too busy looking a the ground, but his face dropped when you rejected his hand, and it terrified him even more. But you don't notice any of that, you're focused on avoiding him for as long as possible.

"Y/n, please, look at me." He walks over to you quickly, cupping your cheek in his hand, thumb running over your jaw. He tilts your head up to look at him. "Listen-"

"Don't let me down easy, alright? Tell me you don't feel that way about me and I'll leave. Just don't act like you pity me. Send me away, please. Just don't act like you pity me. Like you don't want to hurt me, because if you do hurt me it'll be that much easier to make myself leave." You don't look at him, but his hand still cups your jaw even as you turn your head.

"What are you talking about? I love you," he says in a quiet voice, and your lips part in shock.

What?

"I love you, Y/n." His hands hold the back of your neck, using his thumbs to make you look at him. "I love you." He stares at you with this intense adoration, like you're the only thing that matters in the universe. In any universe.

"You love me?" You ask in disbelief. You know it isn't logical, but what if he's only saying that as a friendly type of love? What if he's lying, just to get you to stay? God, you love this Doctor so much, but he could be twisted sometimes. He truly just does not want to be left all alone.

"I've always loved you, with both of my hearts." You roll your eyes, fighting back the tears that well up and threaten to spill over.

"I love you too, Eleven." Your hands wind up in his adorable, drive-you-crazy tweed coat, and you pull him down to you, capturing his lips with yours. He smiles into the kiss, hands moving up to tangle in your hair. You stand on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move hastily against yours. It isn't one like in the movies — perfect and timed and coordinated. This is one of need, of love, of desperation. It's perfectly imperfect as you pull him closer to you, breaking the kiss.

He's holding you to him, squeezing you as close as possible, hands still in your hair and eyes still closed.

Your forehead is pressed against his, breathing heavy as you hold him tight. You don't want to let go, but you're both hot and emotional.

It's perfect in the most imperfect of ways. 

masterlist

#eleventh doctor x reader #doctor who #amy pond #tenth #rory williams #twelfth #eleventh hour games #eleventh house #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor fluff #eleventh doctor smut #eleventh doctor angst #with a happy ending #doctor x reader #the doctor #the doctor x reader #doctor who x reader

[bitchesgetriches]

Bitches I need some advice.

I'm fat, okay? I'm not ashamed about it. It just... Is. I'm fat.

Being fat is also fucking me up. It's causing me sleep problems, it's fucking my joints, I can't walk as far as I used to, I haven't run in years.

I want to lose weight. Not for anyone else. For me. I want to be fit again.

I'm surrounded by people telling me I'm "not fat" and need to "love myself like I am". I'm 210lb and 5'3". Ya girl is fat. And I'm okay with that it's not a bad word. I love myself. But I also love the things I used to be able to do when I was fitter. It's just really fucking hard.

I've got zero support left and right. And I don't know what to do. I know this isn't your area of expertise, but you're such great internet mamas that maybe you can help.

My darling child, we are SO humbled that you came to us with this. And while this isn't an area of our OFFICIAL expertise... weight and athleticism is something that I, Piggy, personally think a lot about! So let me see if I can offer some support to you, my beloved fat child.

By way of background: I have never been fat. Heavier than I want currently, but not fat. So I don't completely understand what you're going through. I have always been an athlete of one sort or the other. But more than that, I have always had the privilege of being relatively skinny without trying. At peak fitness I was running and rock climbing and doing all the stretchy and weight-trainy stuff. I was 5'5" and 130 lbs of jacked Bitch.

I am also a proud Italian American woman, which means that after 30 genetics decreed that I start putting on weight and rounding out and coming into my full Zia-ness. I'm currently 155 lbs. and running/climbing/stretching/jumping about/weight training is getting harder and harder. And that's frustrating to me.

Fat is not a bad word, merely a descriptor. So I'mma use it just as you have! I'm proud that you are prioritizing your health and ability to do what you love over losing weight for the sake of just being smaller. Because let's be clear: weight and health do not necessarily go hand in hand. If your goal is to improve your sleep quality, energy levels, and joint pain, then you should focus on activities that will work directly on those issues. Maybe that'll lead to weight loss--maybe not!

A lot of the medical establishment is cruel to fat people, so I'd be cautious about approaching this with your doctor. But you SHOULD get medical guidance before embarking on any kind of physical change. If your doctor says "Well, just lose weight through diet and exercise!" then you might want to look for a new doctor. If they instead offer practical solutions for incremental improvement, then great.

One of my favorite athletes is The Mirnavator. She's a fat marathon runner and offers a lot of information on how to start walking more and running as a fat person. I think she'll be a good role model for you as she focuses a lot on energy and joint health.

Also, you should check out Aubrey Gordon's blog Your Fat Friend and her podcast with Michael Hobbes, Maintenance Phase. She's also got some great books out! She's a fat expert on weight loss and diet culture. And her insights into healthy nutrition and body image are amazing. Her data-based approach will help you avoid the extreme dieting and weight loss trends that can hurt your health. Plus she's funny as fuck.

Lastly I will just say that mental health is tied to physical health. You're bummed about not doing the things you use to be able to do... and that probably makes it a lot harder to change! Acknowledge any depression or anxiety you feel about being fat and give yourself compassion. Start small and do what feels good.

Now here are two VERY old articles I wrote when I knew less about fatness. I think they still have a little bit to offer, though:

Why You Probably Don't Need That Gym Membership

Run With Me if You Want to Save: How Exercising Will Save You Money 

Any fat members of Bitch Nation who want to weigh in? Uh... pun not intended.

#tw: weight loss #tw: fat #tw: dieting #just adding trigger warnings because I know any discussion of fatness and weight loss can be really triggering to some folks #be well my darlings

[dancingtotuyo]

All Farms…

Javier Peña

Summary: Javier has to decide what to do with the ranch

Warnings/Tags: grief, loss, hurt (no comfort?), ranch/farm used interchangeably here.

Notes: I started this on Christmas after walking my grandparents farm which happens to be the same farm I lived on for the first 7 years of my life. My grandparents are getting older which has sparked a lot of conversation with what will happen to the farm when they're gone. Fast forward to now, I'm currently processing a lot of feelings this Easter weekend. I lost my step dad last year. He was a farmer too. After his cancer diagnosis, all of us kids (there are ALOT of us) came home for Easter. It was the last time I saw him look like himself and the last time we were all together before he died. In my processing, I started working on this piece again. It's one of those things I need to put out into the world for me. I hope for anyone else going through something similar, it brings you comfort or makes you feel not quite so alone.

Peep the cow picture. I took that one myself at Christmas :)

Words: 966

Author Master List

All farms have a graveyard. One of lost memories and stories. Typically along a ridge or tree line, piled-up equipment that was never sold or broken beyond repair sits in overgrown piles and sunken earth. The old family car. The beat-up sports car or pickup truck each son or sometimes daughter inevitably thought they could fix only to spend hundreds of fruitless hours with one glory ride before it went haywire. Scrap metal torn from barn roofs pile up. Every tire imaginable is half buried in the earth. No farmer dares to clean out the graveyard. The moment you do, you’ll find use or need for the items thrown out. 

The Peńa’s graveyard sits between scattered trees at the bottom of the hill. Javier rarely makes his way to that side of the farm. They don’t use that space for cattle since his dad downsized the herd. He pretends there’s no reason for it, but it’s more than just broken down cars and scrap piles to Javier. It’s a ghost town of memories. 

There’s his mom’s ‘62 Ford. The one she drove his whole childhood. The vehicle that took them across town, to Sunday services, and hosted their many road trips. It’s where his Mom feels most tangible, her soft voice playing in his head singing to the radio. 

His first truck. The one he’d spent months fixing up, he kissed Sally Jones on a Saturday night and done much more with Vanessa Reyes. He’s proposed to Lorraine in that truck, driven past the church in it too. 

Chucho’s first American Harvester sits further back. His dad is so proud of that machine… or he was. 

The ache grows in Javier’s chest as he stands at the edge of the graveyard. He begged Chucho for years to clean this up. His dad always waved him off, stating that he would get to it someday. Except, Chucho didn’t make it to someday, and now it is Javier’s responsibility.  

His fingers twitch, desperate for the feel of a cigarette between them. Nicorette gum sits in his breast pocket instead. He’s working to quit again, picking the worst damn time to do it, but that’s life. 

He should probably bring the tractor down to pull everything out. It’s overwhelming with no good place to start. Digging around down there will only dig up the memories. Javier can’t deal with the memories right now, so he leaves the project for another day. He only needs to clean it up if he decides to sell the ranch. 

The house is quiet when he walks through the door. Javier is used to the subtle sounds of life- the coffee pot going, the tv running on low, Chucho’s boots on the linoleum, but it never comes. It won’t ever come again. 

Javier kicks off his boots, lining them right next to his dad’s. He hasn’t moved them. He’s not sure he will. 

He heads for the back of the house toward his room but stops at his Dad’s door. It’s shut tight as he places a hand on the wood. Javier hasn’t gone in there since picking out clothes. It’s a strange thing to pick out clothes for a dead man. How does one pick out what someone will wear for the rest of eternity? 

His hand lands on the knob, and it gives way with a squeak. The same squeak that used to echo down the hall, waking Javier up before the sun to let him know it was time for chores. Javier is flooded with the comforting scent of his father. It envelopes him, pulling tears into his eyes immediately. The bed is fixed just as Chucho had left it before he went out and started the chores just as he always did. Except that day, almost a month ago now, Chucho Peña didn’t return to the house. 

He collapsed in the field. He was already gone when Javier found him. He died alone and that hurt almost as much as the fact that he was gone. 

A thin layer of dust covers the surfaces in the room. He should clean it, but would it lose its smell then? In here, Javier feels surrounded by his father. The closest he can get to him. His room, the one he shared with Javier’s mother, is perfectly preserved. 

Javier dares to ease onto the bed and look at the world from Chucho’s perspective every day as he woke up. On the dresser, there’s a photo of his parents when they first started dating, and one from Javier’s high school graduation. On the bedside table, there’s a book with a bookmark halfway through, a picture from his parent’s wedding day, and another of Chucho on the tractor with Javier in his lap. He couldn’t have been older than two at the time. Javier traces it with his finger, wishes he could remember that moment, wishes he could go back in time and relive it all, even the bad days, and treasure it all, ask his dad more questions, called him more often.

Javier lays down on his parents' bed. Chucho’s scent is thicker here with Javier’s head on his pillow. Big, hot tears fall from the corners of his eyes dampening the pillow. He rests his hands over his chest, letting his eyes close. Javier can hear his voice now, his laughter, catches a hint of his mother’s as well. It’s Javier’s job to carry on their legacy.

All farms have a graveyard. One of lost memories and stories. No farmer dares to clean out the graveyard. When a tractor kicks the dust or that farm use pickup can only be stripped for parts, Javier follows in his father’s footsteps. He lays them to rest between scattered trees at the bottom of the hill.

#javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #narcos #javier peña narcos #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #pedro stories #pedrostories

[bewires]

oppenheimer criticisms I haven't seen but think would be fair:

-choice to have 90% of florence pugh's screentime being "hysterical topless woman"

-movie does not pass bechdel test at all; otoh it is a historical biopic representing the life of a man to whose field of study very few women had access at the time and the movie makes a point to show those women gaining access. like. it's not a movie about women at all, and I doubt I will see nolan make such a movie ever, but beyond florence pugh's character there are some good and nuanced moments in there especially with emily blunt but also with minor characters

-early sequences of tortured baby oppenheimer dreaming the beauty of physics are very overwrought

-choice to not shoot on location in germany (look this one is just for me I have been to all the places oppenheimer studied (I am not a theoretical physics fangirl but I know several) and the only place they chose not to actually film in person is göttingen which I take personal offense at)

-they cast matthias schweighöfer in a hollywood movie. no excuses for that one tbh.

oppenheimer criticisms I have seen and think are unfair

-"nolan can't make a good war movie" bc he will not make an intersectional war movie. potentially accurate in re dunkirk, which I didn't see bc I don't like war movies, but in this case he did not make a war movie, he made a historical biopic. the war is relevant, obviously, but the movie is not at all about the battlefield or the front, it is about the life of a physicist, and yes, it's not very intersectional.

-the effects of the a-bomb on the people of japan are not given due diligence. I understand people disagreeing about this but I have also seen several posts of people going "I won't watch this but I bet it doesn't" and uh. I think it does. I think every moment in this movie after the trinity test is entirely about oppenheimer realizing the impact of his research and it is shown several times, excruciatingly, how aware he is of what the effects of the a-bomb were. we do not see the bomb, nor do we see japan, because again, it is a historical biopic about this one dude and he wasn't there. this is also the first time I have seen a mainstream hollywood movie make repeat and pointed note of the fact that in a military sense the use of a-bombs in japan was not necessary.

-movie is pro-war/glorifies the a-bomb/glorifies oppenheimer. I think the strongest case you can make is that it glorifies the a-bomb because movie splosions are cool. but I also think the movie's biggest strength is its ambiguity. whose fault is it there was an a-bomb? is it oppenheimer's? he sure thinks so! is it einstein's? he sure thinks so at least indirectly! is it the american government's? they sure think so and they're proud of it (all of these according to the various chracters of this movie). is it a good thing they developed the a-bomb? several characters have several differing opinions on this! oppenheimer himself seems very divided and unsure by the end of the movie and cannot make a judgment call. in the end (much like with cillian murphy's other iconic character who wears a hat cough cough) if people walk out of this movie as fans of the character or his actions imo that's on them and not on the authorship of the movie

#oppenheimer #I think it was a very good movie that's all #the cultural impact remains to be seen #and there are grounds for concern there #but the morality policing I will not watch the impure movie tumblr posts #really grind my gears

[lewkwoodnco]

Can I make you a request about Anthony Lockwood based on the song “So American” by Olivia Rodrigo🥺😭

so american! - Lockwood x Reader

when he laughs at all my jokes and he says I’m so american oh god it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this much I’d go anywhere he goes when he says I’m so american oh god I’m gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up i might just be in la la la la la la la la la love

a/n: this fic has been rattling around in my head for a couple of weeks now and I was soooo double minded abt writing it so THANK YOU for the ask!!!!!! might not have written it otherwise heheh also I’m sooo proud of how my gifs turned out it was so fun to colour them all guts themed 😍😍 I hope you enjoy!! <333 also im having issues w the keep reading button AGAIN so sorry :(((

warnings/tropes: lockwood and reader are already in an established relationship, fluffy fluff, veeerrry small sprinkling of angst but happy ending! domestic sweetness

word count: 3.3k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

“Ready?”

Lockwood ducked into the car's passenger seat, grinning at the sight of her comically desperate expression. George and Lucy were fussing in the backseat, mainly because of Lucy’s seatbelt, or lack thereof, and they didn't seem to notice his arrival.

“Just wear the fucking seatbelt.”

"I'll be fine, George."

"She got her license at 16. 16! They just let anyone drive all willy-nilly up and down the roads in America."

Lucy gave him a look. He finally gave up and tugged at his own seatbelt sceptically, muttering darkly under his breath.

Lockwood & Co. was much more than a psychical investigation agency. Outside of their working hours, each member liked to work on some kind of passion project. After not having driven for over a year since she got her driving license in the States, she had decided to apply for one in London. Luckily, her employer had gallantly offered to provide her with the lessons she badly needed, having been the first of the three to earn his license. Well, employer and boyfriend. 

Her mother could hardly believe the news and, frankly, so could she. In a lot of ways, having an English boyfriend was vastly different from having an American one. First, there was a slight communication barrier, given how terrible she was with accents. Then there were the differing preferences - Lockwood seemed forever ready for a cuppa at any time of day, whereas the only kind of tea she really enjoyed was iced tea. Still, these differences left gaps for lingering gazes and silences that stretched on a little too much, and somewhere in between she slipped her hand into his, and the rest was history. 

Lockwood turned away to buckle his seatbelt.

"Okay, your seatbelt on?"

"Yes."

"Ready to go?"

"Hang on," came George's peeved voice from behind them, "you're not going to brief her first?" The two of them stared at each other blankly. 

"Uh, Y/N, do you remember how to drive?"

"Sure." It was one of those things you never forget, like riding a bicycle. Sure, it had been a while, but how hard could it truly be?

"Brilliant. Now-"

George pulled himself forward between the two front seats, straining against his seatbelt. “We don’t drive on the right side here. We drive on the left side of the road. Left. Left.”

She glanced at her rearview mirror which outlined the line of cars behind them parked on the left side of the street.

“No. You don’t say.”

Lockwood coughed, poorly concealing his laugh as he craned his neck towards the backseat windows. "Right, all clear. I think we can move of-"

"Parking brake."

"Er, right, what George said. Disable the parking brake first."

“I’ve never driven with a parking brake before.”

“So you push in this metal bit, like so,” said Lockwood, gently manoeuvring her fingers into the right grip, “and then pull it up a little, and then bring it all the way down.”

She tugged at it in frustration. “I -it’s not working.”

“Lockwood, did you tell her to step on the “

“Step-on-the-brake-while-doing-that-yes I was just about to say, George. I think I know how to teach someone how to drive. Unless you’d like to take over?”

"Oh, please. You couldn't pay me to sit in the front seat with that maniac driving."

She got her parking brake down, checked her mirrors, and they were off. For a minute there it was quite enjoyable, trundling through the mostly empty backstreets of London. Lockwood even tried to prop his feet on the dashboard before getting badly told off by George. He was forever propping his feet up at the slightest chance - at the Archives, at home, and now here. Maybe it was all part of some innate desire to be a wheelbarrow.

And so, things were going perfectly rosy, until she faced her first real challenge - oncoming traffic. As soon as the car heading towards them came into plain enough view, the four of them went into hysterics. The road was just narrow enough to make overtaking a little too tricky for her abilities at the moment.

“What do I do? WHY isn’t he slowing down?”

“Don’t panic, it’s alright. Stop a little to the side.”

She cursed, fumbling for the brake pedal her foot had carelessly slipped off of. Lockwood was nervously watching the car get closer and closer to them.

“Now would be a good time to stop, Y/N. Brake! BRAKE!”

They shot ahead sharply, swerving right sharply, narrowly missing the car passing them. Lucy swore loudly and George gripped the car grab handle above him as he started scolding no one in particular. 

"NOT THE BRAKE!”

Lockwood gripped the steering wheel over her hands, frantically trying to steer them to safety. With some difficulty, she shifted her foot back to the right pedal and slammed the brakes. There was a bit of a scuffle in the backseat, including George going off on Lucy in a very ‘I-told-you-so’ tone.

At the front of the car, Lockwood and she were still frozen, reeling from the past very exciting 30 seconds. Her eyes settled to where his hands were still resting on hers, tightly pinning her fingers to the steering wheel.

“Your hands are so warm.”

He peeled them off almost instantly, and she was sorry she brought it up in the first place. “Yeah, well, they’re panicking, just like the rest of me. What the bloody hell was that? I thought you said you knew how to drive!”

“I do know how to drive.” She bit back a smile at the sight of her 180 cm tall boyfriend trying to catch his breath with his hand dramatically splayed across his chest, muttering something about Americans handing out licenses to just about anyone.

The drive back to the rental car agency was much less eventful. After returning the car, they trudged back up the road to Portland Row. As they hung their coats up, she met his thoughtful gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He drew in a breath and hesitated. “You look nice.”

“Is this some convoluted way of patting yourself on the back for your fashion choices?”

“So you agree? You think you look nice?”

She groaned. She should have known no good was going to come from showing Lockwood Mean Girls. Still, it was hard to stay mad for long at a face like that. "You’re such a nuisance. A…delightful one, arguably, but still a nuisance.”

"You find me delightful?"

"That's your takeaway?”

"Next thing I know you’ll be saying you fancy me.”

“I’m literally wearing your shirt right now.”

“Luce!” He turned and started down the hallway. “Y/N says I’m delightful!”

As usual, the four of them reconvened in the kitchen a little after lunch for a tea break. Well, the four of them minus Lockwood, who had been bullied into fixing a plumbing issue in the basement. They sipped their tea and chewed their biscuits in silence. She wished she could bring down a little for Lockwood.

“Maybe I should go see if he needs some help.”

“No!” George nearly upset his tea, which made Lucy choke on her biscuit. “ Don’t go down there. You’ll distract him, he won’t get shit done, and that’ll be one more week without hot water for me.”

So she sat back down sulkily, brooding over her tea, until another topic of conversation struck her.

“Speaking of Lockwood -“

“- no one’s mentioned Lockwood-“

“-did you guys see the socks he was wearing today?”

Lucy and George didn’t even try to muffle their groans.

“They were very nice socks! They had the most precious pattern of baby ducks against a darling blue backgr-“

She stopped short as Lucy reached across the table to grip her hand.

“Y/N, I say this with love, but if I have to hear one more word about Lockwood, or his stupid bloody socks, I am going to ram a fork into my eye.”

She blinked, confused, and scoffed. “Gosh, you guys are so overdramatic. I don’t talk about him that much.”

George and Lucy exchanged a look.

“Okay, so maybe I like my boyfriend and I enjoy talking about him. Is that really so bad?”

Lockwood rescued all of them from the siege of George’s response by walking in right then, holding a wrench and looking a little worse for wear, but appeared very pleased with himself.

“Fixed!”

“Finally.”

Lucy frowned at the clock above the stove. “Isn’t that client meeting at Tooting today?”

Lockwood’s smile slipped right off as he glanced at his watch and rushed out of the kitchen, muttering furiously. His simple black leather watch which complemented his wrist so perfectly-

“Y/N! Time to leave!”

Maybe George and Lucy had a point.

Once their client meeting had finished, she and Lockwood stood on the pavement outside the house, looking for cabs to flag down. It was a balmy evening, and a cloudless sky meant they could enjoy the warmth of the setting sun beating down on them. She squinted down the road while Lockwood pulled something out from his coat pocket.

“For a job well done this morning and at the meeting…” he revealed two pieces of tightly wrapped square candies sitting on his palm. “A little treat.”

She stared at the candy for a moment, thinking hard.

“Caramel! I just remembered.”

“…what?”

“That’s what we call it in the States. A caramel.”

“It’s made of caramel, sure-“

“Plural is caramels.”

He made a strangled sound from the back of his throat. “Changing an uncountable noun into a countable one? That’s just lazy.”

“Fine. What do you call it?”

“Toffee.” The vowels rolled off his tongue like silk in that English accent that had made it difficult to fully concentrate from day one. Standing next to him, watching him gently and methodically unfolding the golden wrapper, shining and glinting like a beacon of light…maybe this was all she needed to be happy.

“Taw-fee?”

He pulled a face at her exaggerated American drawl, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as he pried apart the stuck halves of the toffee. She watched him visibly relax as the first tangy notes hit his tongue, her own half close to melting in her palm under the brunt of the setting sun. He met her gaze and gave a faint smile, almost reflexively covering her hand with his own.

“God, you’re so American. So, which is it? Toffee or caramel?”

She bites into what's left of the soft treat she's scraped off her palm. It's warm and comforting and she instantly feels a little more happy. Maybe it's the candy, or maybe it's the boy whose side is pressed into hers. Love, she decides. It's love.

“How many cups of tea have you had today?”

As idyllic as the weekend had been, they were back to their usual busy routine which meant that their evening tea break was the first time they’d see each other since breakfast. She had just walked into the kitchen where Lockwood was seated at the kitchen table, pouring over a mess of papers with a cup of tea to the side. One of the first things she had learnt about Lockwood was his near-debilitating addiction to tea. Now, he silently took a sip from his mug and she gave an exaggerated sigh, settling into the opposite end of the table.

“You really drink too much caffeine.”

He quirked his lips into a lopsided half-smile -/ he peered at the papers she had spilled onto the table. “What’s all…” he gestured to her papers with his mug, “…that?”

“The Rotwell agents give me hell for my American accent when they’re on duty at DEPRAC.” She held up her list of words dolefully. “‘Least I can do is pronounce things right.”

He slid into the chair next to her, taking a look at the list. “Which one are you at?”

“Pri-vacy. Pri...vacy. Nope, can't do it.”

“Of course it sounds weird when you say it like that. Try using it in a sentence.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. If I have to say ‘pri-vacy’ one more time, I’m running you through with my rapier."

Lockwood choked on his tea.

"...or, you know...'pry-vacy' sounds perfectly fine."

She gave him a brief smile. “Anyway, I’ve got to do a Satchell’s run now. Lucy says we’re out of flares. Don’t wait up for me.”

It took her a decent amount of time to collect all the supplies they were out of stock on, yet when she returned Lockwood was still sitting in that same chair, staring at the same papers with worn-out eyes, distractedly tugging at his hair. He barely looked up when she walked in, mystified.

“You’re still up?”

He rubbed his face firmly. “I can’t…I can’t figure this out.” She took a closer look at the papers. There were reports dating back two centuries on the house of one of their upcoming cases.

“The investigation is tomorrow and I have no idea what or where the Source could be.”

“Well…maybe George’s figured it out.”

“If he did, he’d be home by now.” He hunched over the papers once again, his head swaying dangerously close to the table, and she was instantly reminded of how exhausted Lockwood had looked that morning. As if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. She started stacking some papers together.

“It’s getting late. We should head to bed.”

“But I’m not done yet.”

“You can continue in the morning, but right now, you need to rest.”

His features hardened like he was ready to start a fight, but it lasted all of half a second before they caved to exhaustion. He looked like a drenched cat left out in the rain, with his hair messed up and in disarray.

“George is still at the Archives. What kind of a boss would I be to go to bed now? What kind of a…friend?”

Lockwood leaned back in his chair, briefly pressing a hand to his eyes and then his forehead, his forearm trembling ever so slightly. In the dim light of the kitchen, he seemed more skeleton than Man with his malnourished pallor and the scar on his lip being carefully outlined by a shadow. She ran a hand through his hair, down his neck, all the way to his shoulder.

“Hey. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re human, too.”

He gave a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll come in a while.”

“Promise?”

He gave a jerky nod. The tea in his mug had gone stone cold by then, and so she brewed him a fresh cup. He looked up, confused, as she placed it next to his papers.

“What about the caffeine?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and combed down the hair sticking up all haywire, as if she hadn’t heard him. “What about it?”

He smiled faintly and gave the hand on his shoulder a light squeeze, and returned to his work with his eyes humming with a little more energy.

Later that night, she dreamt that he was falling, and she was losing her mind trying to save him.

She should have known nothing was going to right in the job from the very beginning. None of them had been able to find much information on the house, and they were running late, so tempers were running very high. Even during the case itself, they were forced to split up and fumble through improvised plans. That was until she had stumbled onto Lockwood frozen at the basement door, looking down into the darkness in a strange way. 

Go back, he had said. I don’t know what any of us can expect in this place. So I’ll come with you, she had replied. Or let’s wait for George or Lucy. I can’t. Why not? It’s different. I don’t have the time to explain it. Different how?

You’re more important.

The look on his face was more foreign than the house itself.

Now they were home, back at Portland Row. Lucy and George had sensed something was off and retired to their rooms. Lockwood headed towards the kitchen, and she followed him. He hadn’t spoken a word since her face had blanched at the sight of him poised at the basement’s entrance. She tugged at the ends of her hair. She could feel an argument brewing and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Are you okay?”

Lockwood continued rummaging through the refrigerator for his routine drink of orange juice, taking his time to reply. “Don’t I look okay?”

“Yes. No.” He was terribly confusing. “Why did you say you weren’t important?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said you were less important.”

He finally twisted the cap off the carton with his trembling fingers. The case had shaken all of them up, but for some reason, he was trying to hide it.

“Well…it’s not not true.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I’m a figurehead, Y/N. I represent the agency, that’s my name on the plaque out there, but that’s about it. You, Lucy, George…you’re the soul of the agency.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If…heaven forbid, something were to happen to one of us…”

Oh, he was so aggravating. She massaged her temples. She was going to punch him soon if she wasn’t careful.

“…the lot of you’d be better off without me than anyone else, and-“

"Oh god, shut up already!"

Lockwood abandoned the carton and straightened, and they glared at each other from opposite ends of the kitchen. “Or what? You'll shoot me?"

His expression softened only marginally when he saw how close she was to tears. She shook her head.

"If you pull another stunt like this...I might just have to marry you.”

“I’d have to marry you so that you can look down at your bloody hand and remember that there are people out there who would be nothing without you.”

“Y/-“

“Shame on you, Anthony J. Lockwood. Do you think George wouldn’t care about losing his best friend? Or Lucy? Or me? Hm?”

The tears had started to trickle down her face, and he walked towards her with a sympathetic expression, any and all rage long forgotten, and offered her his handkerchief. She could barely manage a weak glare before caving and accepting it, wiping away at her face. As soon as she was done, she wrapped her arms around him, and he enveloped her in a warm hug that smelled faintly of vanilla.

“That was a…a terrible thing to say, Anthony.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty shitty job then. I’m worried about you every day.”

She felt rather than saw his smile, though he could perfectly picture it in her mind - uneven and tipped to the right, but perfectly sincere.

"Also, I'm pretty sure that shooting remark counts as xenophobia."

"Yes, I'm hugging you very xenophobically now."

She buried her face into his chest and scrunched her nose hard. It was moments like these that only cemented her faith that she was never going to find somebody who made her feel the way Lockwood did. Seeing him standing outside the basement, she didn’t even need to think about what to do next. It had become incredibly instinctual - her readiness to take his hand and hurtle into the latest oblivion, blind as a bat. It didn’t get more simple than this: she just wanted to be wherever he was. 

It was him and her, and her and him - Portland Row’s cripplingly disaster couple, Mr A.J. Lockwood and Miss Americana.

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #olivia rodrigo #guts spilled #so american #songfic

[leverage-ot3]

time for the obligatory post about what episodes I want to see in the upcoming leverage season(s)

(for reference, I made this similar post in 2020 after the reboot was announced. I'm pasting some from that post bc I still want them to happen lol)

new ideas:

I mentioned a date night episode in the last post (apollo really did bless me with foresight for the date night job on that one) but for considerment: ot3 date night. possibly their first date night after they all get together. breanna and sophie know it's happening (harry is, like, peripherally aware) and some crime hijinks are going down and the three of them are frantically trying to stop bad things from happening that are going to interfere with the date. I want to see them going through it behind the metaphorical curtain. I want to see breanna fighting for her life trying to out-hack the hacker that is going to ruin their ten-part itineraried date. harry has to get in a fistfight and eliot is so proud about it when he finds out after everything is over

tree law episode. harry has been frothing at the mouth about it since it was made. his life has been moving him towards this penultimate moment. breanna thinks it's HILARIOUS and cheers him on 100% of the way. she is VERY enthusiastic about this con

I'm not going to mention certain things because I've seen jrogers posting on bluesky social and I know he might be already writing some of those plots

con that the food trucks have plot-relevance. like, one of his food truck stations is being harassed /victimized by, like, a local gang or something that takes advantage of food truck/cart workers and the team steps in. the actual (veteran) food truck workers get involved in the con. leverage international might just have gained a few retainer members

quinn should come back for an episode. I know the actor is friends with ckane. they should make it happen because it would be iconic and I said so

on a similar note, ckane is friends with jensen ackles and. guys. wouldn't it- wouldn't it be extremely funny if a flame from eliot's past named sean sylvester who is a rugged drifter with a questionable past

episode where tara or maggie (or BOTH, can you imagine how powerful that would be???) come back and there is slight flirting with sophie possibly??? that or very obvious chemistry from a past tryst. sophie has slept with both of them, I know it in my heart of hearts. bonus points if tara and maggie fall in love (I think it would be funny. maggie's taste in men is canonically atrocious, I think she deserves someone like tara at this point)

I just want a lot of side characters to come back, okay? sue me I miss them

gonna put the rest under the cut since this post has become obscenely long

not episode-specific, but I want more mentions of the korean leverage team. and all the other teams too! we know that in canon there is the south korean one, the nigerian one, and one in london (I think that's it for mentions so far, but correct me if I'm wrong!)

episodes addressing issues with american imperialism and its effects on minorities and marginalized communities, specifically within this country (there aren't a lot of episodes where they are actively out of country)

dear fucking god take a more abolitionist stance on policing I'm begging. would it KILL you to not be weird about cops? pls just punch some more cops. take down white supremacist cops, I'm sure you can scrounge something up bffrrn

women's rights episodes. I know it's kind of recent, but episodes about accessibility of stuff like birth control, abortion access, etc. y'all are capable of making excellent episodes on that I know it

more climate crisis-related episodes. god knows you're feeling it in the deep south

taking down a corrupt megachurch pastor (although lbr, there is no ethical megachurch anything and you can fight me on this)

something to do with ace rights bc I think it would be really cool to see the team advocate for that stuff, especially since breanna is canon ace

helping a polycule that is being victimized by X organization/entity (maybe a housing association or medical or something???). breanna is bombastic side-eyeing the ot3 the entire time. it is making hardison sweat. sophie thinks it's hilarious

taking down 'writers' that use ai and self-publish AND/OR people that take original/fan works off of like ao3 and wattpad and publish them for personal profits without the author's consent. breanna would have a field day with this (god herself could try to convince me that girl does not read/write fanfic and I wouldn't believe it)

episode about underfunded public schools. we saw corrupt private schools in the fairy godparents job but I want an episode that would make abbot elementary writers proud

episode addressing native/indigenous. eliot is from oklahoma, I'm sure he is well aware of the health/job/economic/etc disparities on reservations. I will email jrogers about it myself if I have to- it anyone can get people going about native rights through a tv show it would be leverage.

I sent an ask to wil wheaton once asking if he was open to returning to leverage and I think he said he would be down for it. but chaos either has to be a reluctant ally to leverage international and is being handled by quinn as a hitter OR he is just. in jail. bc he sucks.

bpas and/or pfas episode. breanna has mentioned microplastics before but I want more

the team tears the shit out of conversion therapy camp owners and plants the seeds for legislation that will punish parents that try to send their kids to those hellscapes

while we're at it, I'd love to see an ep where they tackle the trans bathroom issue. god knows the news doesn't talk about it nearly enough

something to do with foster care. they end up starting some sort of foster care network that past clients/allies can take part in. maybe a mentorship program for kids that want to do what they do one day (they are very reluctant to encourage kids to participate in crime BUT if that is the avenue that they are going to inevitably go towards, they guide them in the right direction). nana makes an appearance (*insert 'everybody liked that' meme*)

prison industrial complex episode. I KNOW we had the jailhouse job BUT we really need this in our year of 2024

another episode on corrupt influencers. maybe influencer parents? dear god pls take them down a notch

ep where there is an underlying message that tells you how to avoid becoming victim to scams or something, or like is a tutorial for how to identify scams you might fall victim to (sorry, I just have to say this after two separate people tried to pig butcher me in less than two (2) weeks))

not to say I want them to do an ep calling out cop city, but it would feel really good to watch the leverage team rip that concept to SHREDS

the minimum wage job. need I say more? we deserve the catharsis

pls go after goodwill execs, esp the ones in the pnw that have their sector as for-profit and have become millionaires+ because of it while paying their staff (especially disabled staff) fucking pennies

while we're on the topic, pls call out salvation army (the corporation)

I can probably go on for like five hours so I'll stop here

ep that we get to see harry and his daughter bond :)

job where they get to lower the price of insulin (and other drugs)

actually, you know what? an episode where the crew annihilates big pharma and terrible insurance companies

I think that breanna should be able to go off about mass/over consumption as a treat. I 100% believe she has Thoughts about it. like, she will absolutely call out the corporations that are responsible for these trends, but also she should be allowed to mention our tendency for overconsumption as a society. obviously there are a few corporations that are doing most of the world's pollution/ecological damage, but we should be doing our part too and I KNOW it would be in-character for her to go off on it

I bet she has a LOT to say about influencers, tbh. obviously not all influencers are bad, but there are sooooo many problematic ones and problems within the influencer industry

sizing discrimination in the modeling/clothing industry. let eliot talk about how there are no perfect bodies. also while I'm on the subject, can we PLS have more body-diverse background actors on the show? I know this is nitpicky but I'd really love to see some more people that look like me, even if they are just in the background

a thinly veiled writers' rights episode (I'm looking at you media execs and the stupid amount of time it took for you to comply to the WGA demands)

something to do with media companies making entire movies/tv shows and then fucking cancelling them/not releasing them and using them as tax write-offs. every time it happens it baffles me. that is cartoonishly stupid villain shit. I can't imagine lovingly working on a project for a year plus and then the company just going, nah, we aren't going to release it because you suck and it's a good business move

ai art and ai in general. please. let it BURN

okay now I'm done

ideas from the previous post that I still want:

comicon job. I said it before and I will say it again- we deserve it!!! come on, it's the age of the geek after all!!! (in the last post I also said a ren faire ep, but I will let the card game job count for that)

summer camp ep? I saw a tumblr fic about it and I think it could be cute. it could kinda be like the fairy godparents job- eliot in charge of some type of sports (archery, fencing, etc), hardison would be in charge of arts and crafts (this boy might be a genius with tech and in general tbh, but the show did such a good job of showing that he’s also very talented with the arts- sculpting the statue for the miracle job, forging the old diary in the king george job, etc), parker would LOVE to be in charge of a high ropes course. breanna would totally be down for some sort of nerdy kid robotics or simple, traditional camp games (can't go wrong with the classics. everyone loves making bracelets!) I feel like it's too stereotypical to have sophie have kids put on a play but we all know that's exactly what she would do. idk for harry? I think he has the same traditional camp activities vibe as breanna. he's in it for the nostalgia. OR something to do with videogames

please, please, please, please, please make an episode where they take down a cult, im begging. that would be such a good episode. definitely a mindfuck episode like the experimental job (4x11). I’ve seen a few posts about a job dealing with a cult (here’s one) and I think it would be really interesting 

MORE STERLING being DONE with leverage shenanigans!!! give me feral!sterling like in the frame-up job (5x10)!!! give me sterling that protests every step of the way but conveniently looks away and “whoops, the team just disappeared, I have no idea how that happened!!! diddly dang darn it, they got away again!!! sorry guys!!!” bonus points if mcsweeten is there too and also participates in intervening hijinks

the team takes down a circus that is still using and abusing wild animals!!! because first I’d LOVE to see acrobat!parker swinging up in the air like a pro and being in her element, but also because those places are the fucking worst and need to Go Down. give me eliot having to pose as an animal trainer with deep sympathy for the animals being abused, quietly talking soothing words to them when he thinks no one is around (correction: hardison is, in fact, around, and filming his boyfriend’s softness to save for later). give me charismatic hardison playing the role of ringmaster, running and flaunting about and being passive-aggressive to the circus master. give me eliot freeing the animals from their chains when they are finally able to shut the place down and relocate the animals to sanctuaries (his hands shaking just a little as twists the key in the lock, because he too was once an abused, caged animal in his own right and he knows how liberating it is to finally be free). 

#i have SO much to say about native rights and I'd give a kidney to be able to have it shown for all on a wide reaching show #for the love of god it's the least we can do #sorry yall im just. really passionate about native rights. I made myself a nuisance to all of my hs history professors talking about it #every chance i got. if the textbooks won't talk about it i will make my presentation about it and educate my peers my goddam self if i have #to #anyway. i will get off the soap box now. but yeah educate yourself on native/indigenous rights (based off where you live too) #episode ideas #leverage redemption #leverage redemption s3 #speculation #mine #parker #alec hardison #eliot spencer #leverage ot3 #parker x hardison x eliot #sophie devereaux #harry wilson #breanna casey #mr quinn #quinn #side characters #leverage international #tara cole #maggie collins #jim sterling #recurring characters #sophie x maggie #sophie x tara #maggie x tara