element of a criminal

Trump’s Unconstitutional Assault on the Judiciary

One way dictators take over democracies is by threatening the independence of a nation’s courts. Donald Trump is doing just this. 

Connect the following dots:

1. In January, Trump blasted a federal judge for staying his travel ban. “The opinion of this so-called judge, which essentially takes law-enforcement away from our country, is ridiculous and will be overturned!” he tweeted.

2. In February, after the judge made the stay permanent, Trump issued a veiled threat: “Just cannot believe a judge would put our country in such peril. If something happens blame him and court system. People pouring in. Bad!”

3. Last week, after another federal judge issued a nationwide injunction blocking Trump’s travel ban, Trump’s Attorney General, Jeff Sessions, said “I really am amazed that a judge sitting on an island in the Pacific can issue an order that stops the president of the United States from what appears to be clearly his statutory and constitutional power.”

4. On Tuesday, after another federal judge blocked the Trump administration from enforcing a threat to take away funds from sanctuary cities, the White House issued a statement condemning the judge as “unelected.” The statement charged “this San Francisco judge’s erroneous ruling is a gift to the criminal gang and cartel element in our country, empowering the worst kind of human trafficking and sex trafficking, and putting thousands of innocent lives at risk. This case is yet one more example of egregious overreach by a single, unelected district judge.”

5. On Wednesday, Trump said he was considering breaking up the court of appeals for the 9th Circuit, in which these three federal judges hear and decide cases. "There are many people who want to break up the 9th Circuit,” he said. “It’s outrageous.” The 9th Circuit Court covers Arizona, California, Alaska, Nevada, Idaho, Oregon, Montana, Washington and Hawaii, as well as Guam and the Northern Mariana Islands. Eighteen of the court’s 25 judges were appointed by Democratic presidents.

It is the job of the Justice Department to provide a reasoned case for overruling a federal judge’s decision. In condemning individual judges and threatening to break up the court of appeals instead, Trump is attacking the foundations of the separation of powers in the Constitution. 

This assault on the federal judiciary is an abuse of Trump’s constitutional authority – yet another ground for impeachment.


You were raised on Mindoir on the fringes of the Attican Traverse. When you were sixteen, the colony was raided by slavers. The entire settlement was razed and your friends and family were slaughtered. A passing Alliance patrol rescued you, but all you loved was destroyed.

You enlisted with the Alliance military, joining the long and bloody campaign to rid the Skyllian Verge of batarian slavers and other criminal elements. The final battle came when Alliance forces laid siege to Torfan, a slaver base built miles below the surface of a desolate moon. The superiority of the human fleet was wasted in the assault on the underground bunker, but you led a corps of elite ground troops into the heart of the enemy base.

Nearly three-quarters of your own squad perished in the vicious close-quarters fighting, a cost you were willing to pay to make sure not a single slaver made it out of Torfan alive.

Ririka Shepard. Colonist. Ruthless. The Butcher of Torfan.

[ Family - @meflashfanwork ]

Statement to the Court
Eugene V. Debs
Statement to the Court

99 years ago, in 1918, the labor organizer and Socialist presidential candidate Eugene Victor Debs was convicted of violating the Espionage Act and attempting to obstruct the draft with a speech he delivered in Canton, Ohio earlier that year, in which he criticized the United States’ entry into World War I and war in general. In response to his conviction, Debs delivered a statement to the court in which he explained his philosophy and the motivation behind his actions, and expressed his unwavering faith in the ultimate triumph of socialism and of the people. This is that statement.

Your Honor, years ago I recognized my kinship with all living beings, and I made up my mind that I was not one bit better than the meanest on earth. I said then, and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it, and while there is a criminal element, I am of it, and while there is a soul in prison, I am not free.



‘  Y'all know, what happens on Earth stays on Earth.  ‘
 I don’t give a fuck, I don’t give a fuck.  ‘
 I’m willin’ to die for this shit.  ’
 I done cried for this shit, might take a life for this shit.  ’
 We ain’t goin’ back to broke, family sellin’ dope.  
‘  I’ll take your fuckin’ life for this shit.  ’
 I pull up, hop out, air out, made it look sexy.  ’
 They won’t take me out my element.  ’
 Bunch of criminals and money in my phone calls.  
 Fake my death, go to Cuba, that’s the only option.  ’
 Damned if I do, if I don’t.  ’
 'Cause most of y'all ain’t real.  ’
’  Just say his name and I promise that you’ll see Candyman.  
’  Because it’s all in your eyes, most of y'all tell lies.  ’

  • BLOOD.

‘  Is it wickedness? Is it weakness? 
 Are we gonna live or die?  
’  So I was takin’ a walk the other day. 
’  I decide to go over and lend a helping hand, you know? 
’  Hello, ma'am, can I be of any assistance?  
’  It seems to me that you have lost something  ’
 Oh yes, you have lost something, you’ve lost your life.  ’
’  I would like to help you find it  ’
 Oh please, ugh, I don’t like it.  
 Is it wickedness? Is it weakness? You decide. 
 I seen a woman, a blind woman.
 I decide to go over and lend a helping hand.
’  Havin’ a hard time findin’ it.  
’  Quote “and we hate the popo, wanna kill us in the street fo’ sho’" 


‘  Nobody pray for me.
 Ay, I remember syrup sandwiches and crime allowances.
’  But now I’m countin’ this.
’  In fact, I’m downin’ this.
’  I can buy yo’ ass the world with my paystub.  
’  I get way too petty once you let me do the extras.  ’
 I pull up, hop out, air out, made it look sexy.  
’  Its levels to it, you and I know, bitch, be humble.  ’
 My left stroke just went viral.  
 Get the fuck off my stage, I’m the Sandman.
 This shit way too crazy, ay, you do not amaze me.
 Watch my soul speak, you let the meds talk.
’  I’m so fuckin’ sick and tired of the Photoshop.  
’  I make a play fuckin’ up your whole life.


‘  I said I’m geeked and I’m fired up.
 All I want tonight is just to get high up.
’  Girl, you look so good, it’s to die for.
’  It’s a secret society.
’  My resume is real enough for two millenniums.  
’  A better way to make a wave, stop defendin’ them.  ’
 I meditate and moderate all of my wins again.  
’  I’m hangin’ on the fence again.  ’
 I’m always on your mind.  
 I put my lyric and my lifeline on the line.
 And ain’t no limit when I might shine, might grind.
 You rollin’ with it at the right time, right now.
’  Been a bad bitch way before any cash came.  
’  I’m a savage, I’m a asshole, I’m a king.

  • LOVE.

‘  Damn, love or lust? Damn, all of us.
 Give me a run for my money.
’  There is nobody, no one to outrun me.
’  Sippin’ bubbly, feelin’ lovely, livin’ lovely.
’  I wanna be with you, ay, I wanna be with.  
’  Just love me, just love me, just love me.  ’
 If I didn’t ride blade on curb, would you still love me?  
’  If I minimized my net worth, would you still love me?  ’
 I’d rather you to trust me than to love me.  
 Only for the night, I’m kiddin’.
 You’re a homie for life, let’s get it. 
 I know what comin’ over mean.
’  I’m on my way, I know the connection is vague.  
’  Pick up the phone, babe.

“What happened to that young girl was R-A-P-E. Her uncles are R-A-P-I-S-T-S. Not a train. 

 Black males LOVE to say they “run trains on black girls” when in fact they RAPE black girls. The former (i.e. run trains) carries a social stigma onto the female. INFERRING that she was a LOOSE WHORE who CONSENTED to MULTIPLE males having their turn with her because she has an insatiable sexual appetite that ONE dick couldn’t quell. When black males CLASSIFY their RAPE culture as “running trains” the SHAME is placed on the girl. The boys are seen as studs. They should be called RAPISTS. To be a RAPIST is NOTHING to boast about and so they don’t…they simply reclassify what they do to take the STIGMA away and (judicial) CONSEQUENCES out of it. 

 Never should another woman classify the MASS RAPE/ GROUP RAPE/GANG RAPE as “running a train”. It takes the CRIMINAL element off of the RAPISTS and turns the victim(female) into a whore who “consented” to guys lining up back to back to fuck her; smutting her out. That is GANG RAPE. It’s FILTHY, barbaric, and demoralizing, It should be STIGMATIZED as such with the perpetrators(black male rapists) wearing their SCARLET LETTER “R” by being BRANDED as rapists. NOT someone who “ran a train”. 

99% of these supposed trains ran are RAPE. It’s either done through coercion, deceit, pressure, force, or when the victim is under the influence. Never a situation where the female actually consents and is GLEEFULLY consenting to have it happen as the boasters relay to others. Many times the female will like ONE boy, he lures her into a private spot, then HE decides to pass her around to his RAPISTS buddies to be SEXUALLY ASSAULTED. Then he goes on to tell the world she wanted all of them to fuck her. Other times the girls have mental handicaps or were already molested so they don’t see value in their bodies but never do these girls actually want to have consensual sex with multiple guys at one time. Notice for all the bullshit about girls loving trains, it’s never a girl who brings up the idea to a group of guys?”

 - In response to a comment about a black female child having her 3 adult uncles ‘run a train’ on her. 

“Your Honor, years ago I recognized my kinship with all living beings, and I made up my mind then that I was not one bit better than the meanest on earth. I said then, and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it; and while there is a criminal element, I am of it; and while there is a soul in prison, I am not free.”
- Eugene V. Debs, Statement to the Federal Court, Cleveland, Ohio, upon being convicted of violating the Sedition Act (18 September 1918)

when you last left me my blood was in a jar | (1/1)

and you kept it on your mantlepiece

She must be doing something wrong that her son thinks the best way to go about proving his fairytale identity is to steal a sword. She must be doing something wrong to indulge this.

Given everything that Storybrooke and this storybook has thrown her way, it must be wrong that Killian being Captain Hook isn’t the worst option.

notes: love it when i’m just scrolling my dash, minding my own business, and a silly prompt shows up and my brain fires in the completely wrong direction where “MY KID SHOPLIFTED FROM YOUR STORE AND I MARCHED HER BACK HERE TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU AU” becomes nearly 6k of a s1 cursed hook au. anyways, glad that i apparently still know how to put words on a page in something resembling a story, hope you enjoy!

also on ao3

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the sword?”

“It’s not a sword,” Henry grumbles. There’s no masking the disappointment of a ten year old child, and Henry’s mastered the pout. Emma’s not falling for it today. There’s letting him join her for a cup of hot cocoa at the diner when he’s already late for getting…to Regina. But letting him pocket a -

“What is it then?” Emma asks.

Henry simply says, “A replica of Excalibur.”

“The Knights of the Round Table that hard up for money? Franchising a magic sword?”

Henry shakes his head, in that way he does where he sees her sarcasm as something to power through rather than acknowledge. He’s remarkably good at that, too, because when he replies, “No. Emma, you were supposed to read the book,” she actually feels guilty.

“Yeah…yeah, I did. Refresh me though?”

Henry sees her for a liar, liar pants on fire, but he’s mature enough not to say it and Emma’s immature enough to near smile when she looks up at the telephone wire above them.

Keep reading

Ooooo this one started really strong but then a serious cold and a bottle of NyQuil happened.  Brain not work good now on pretty pictures. 

But I always wished the Rebels/smuggler/the underground criminal element was explored more and with a touch more uh … grit.  I mean, I know it won’t (save for GMs running “Edge of the Empire” games) cuz Star Wars ain’t Bebop or Firefly but .. eh.  I can dream.

cw: smoking

artist: @badgertastical

Baby Driver (2017)

What do you get when you rely on a daily diet of pop music, television, and Hollywood? Baby Driver

Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver is a thoroughly entertaining homage to pop culture. Borderline Tarantino-esque without being tiresome, it grabs the audience from bold, brazen opening all the way to its bombastic, bubblegum end. Interestingly enough, what makes this film original is that it’s intentionally formulaic. It draws from pop culture tropes to tell a tale as old as time: a man of few words doing one last, dangerous job, falls in love with a breathless waitress only to imperil her as his unsavory contacts come after them both and threaten his dream of a quiet, painfully normal life. 

It’s a movie you’ve seen a thousand times before, and yet there’s nothing quite like it.  

Baby Driver was non-stop pure fun, powered by a raucous soundtrack and a talented cast. Ansel Elgort is Baby, an amalgam of Ferris Bueller and Ryan Gosling’s character from Drive, and prolific getaway driver to a seriously bad batch of criminal elements that included Jon Hamm and Eliza González’s Bonnie and Clyde duo Buddy and Darling, Jamie Foxx’s perpetually paranoid Bats, and Jon Bernthal’s agro alpha male Griff. Kevin Spacey rounds out this ragtag group with his mild-mannered yet menacing Doc. 

We learn that Baby was roped into this seedy underbelly because he once swiped a car that belonged to Doc. Big mistake, as Doc is some kind of criminal mastermind who, like the Lannisters, is all about those debts. Baby is at the mercy of Doc’s every beck and call, playing getaway driver to all sorts of crazy heists, from bank robberies to post office holdups. Baby doesn’t care much for this life of crime, but he trudges through it so he can get square with Doc and get out for good. But as we savvy consumers of Hollywood films know all too well, there’s no such thing as getting out for good.

Kudos to the stunt choreography in this film, because that opening intro was such a joy to watch. Special mention must be made for Jamie Foxx, who seemed to play the role of Bats with relish. His intensity leapt off the screen, and he made a fantastic antagonist to our young hero. Kevin Spacey, as per usual, brought his signature sneer and style to the film. Overall, Baby Driver boasted a solid cast of characters.

Music is a character of its own in Baby Driver, fueling Baby’s auto antics as he swerves and drifts through the streets in a series of adrenaline-pumping stunts. Elgort looks like he’s having a blast as he channels his best Ferris Bueller, flitting from scene to scene with an easy charisma far from expected from the Fault in our Stars actor. He infused Baby with a swagger that made him endlessly likable…almost too likable. But when you think about the story being deliberately referential, you suspend your disbelief and watch this smooth talking wheelman charm the pants off of Lily James’ blonde ingénue.

…which brings me to the subject of female tropes. On the surface, it’s easy to take umbrage at the clichés of women in the film. You’ve got James’ demure damsel who giggles at everything Baby says and González’s Darling, the fighting fucktoy who spends most of the film scantily clad and wrapped around Jon Hamm. So you’ve got the classic madonna/whore dichotomy, and a leading lady who solely exists to be the fulcrum for Baby’s man pain. But wait! Before you go and fetch your pitchforks, these stock characters of cinema are there for a reason. The whole film relies on your instant recognition of these tropes. Once the audience realizes this, the movie becomes a whole new experience. 

It’s a risky concept, but one that Wright tackles with gusto. He imbues Baby Driver with humor, action, sweetness, and danger; it’s an odd mix of styles to throw into a single movie, to be sure, but as Tarantino’s True Romance demonstrates, it can be done. In keeping with its musical spirit, Baby Driver crescendoes through some predictable moments before saving the totally batshit for last: a grand finale that is so outlandish and over-the-top, it could have been straight out of a comic book.

And that’s the reason why Baby Driver is so good. It commits. It takes a leap of faith that the audience will trust that a movie can be based on Hollywood formulas yet still be told in a refreshing and exciting way. It’s almost too meta, pointing out that while we decry movie tropes and roll our eyes at cinema stereotypes, they can still be enjoyable if you’ve got a good story. 

Oh, and let’s not forget that badass soundtrack, of course.

This tumblr post is hilarious and accurate, and it made me think about what my ideal McGenji fic would contain. Twenty minutes later I had this idea, so here is the McGenji fic I’d write if my fiction writing spoons ever return from the war.

They go on a Blackwatch mission together and kick ass, but then their clothes (Genji’s included because I said so) are ruined for probably the same contrived reasons that women in anime have strategic clothing rips from a weapon passing by them briefly. And this wouldn’t be a problem except they’re technically undercover, and while civilians don’t blink at weird outfits or cybernetics, blood and ripped clothes means violence that they want to stay well away from. So they have to get new clothes. McCree is ready to head to the nearest secondhand store, because lbr people who end up in street gangs in their mid-teens are generally not financially stable people, but former rich playboy Genji is like “oh honey no, let me show you a better way.”

And Genji manages to ferret out a clothes store that serves the very wealthy of the city, because in thrift stores, they’re always looking for the “criminal element”, but the wealthy and famous have any number of sins they want to cover up, so they pay well and the staff of the boutique are always very discreet. And sure enough as soon as Genji starts talking to them, they identify that attitude that people born into privilege often have, and like magic, their old ruined bloody clothes have disappeared and they’re in designer (“only because we don’t have the time to be properly tailored, you understand, but surely you can fit in a few alterations, no, we don’t mind waiting, could one of the staff perhaps go and get us something to eat and a little something for yourself of course”) and they wait out the manhunt for them eating fancy food and drinking expensive coffee in this boutique, because of course the local police wouldn’t dare come interrupt the patrons of this shop, they’re very important people. 

And McCree cannot pull off the attitude Genji can, but the staff assume they’re together, that ~poor disabled Genji~ (ugh) can’t date someone ~proper~ so he provides for this handsome young man. And McCree, being a black ops operative, is good at reading the room, and he goes with it because things will go more smoothly this way. And he’s shocked how good he looks in these clothes with just a little tailoring (rich people get literally everything tailored, it’s why celebrities always look like that, not even kidding y'all) and Genji, from the other stool where he’s examining his own outfit, gives him this look. Y'all know what I mean, that classic fanfic “you gon’ get laid” look.

So they keep up this charade until they leave, and Genji drops the facade and has a heart to heart with McCree about how sometimes people like that are so fake and he can’t stand that people won’t acknowledge how fucked up rich people are under it all, everything gets swept under the rug including attempted murder Hanzo. And then he gives McCree another Look and he’s like “at least it gave me a chance to see what your body looks like out of those layers you wear.” AND THEN THEY FUCK.

(look I know what I like and it’s violence, fake relationships, and putting clothes on characters that I desire but can never afford.)

autistic-tauriel  asked:

Writing prompt 9, Chirrut/Baze pretty please?

9. “You look exhausted.”

Baze gets into their small apartment and all but throws the power cell off of his back. It lands with a dull, dangerous-sounding thunk on the sandy tile, and with one sideways glance to make sure it wasn’t going to explode, Baze ambles into the interior room.

Tile gives way to thick-threaded carpet, quilted into elaborate designs by one of the city’s many artisans. The lower east end of Jehda City is renowned for it’s carpets (and also for it’s criminal element, but that made living there all the more interesting).

Chirrut is sitting on a cushion holding a cup of tea. His head snaps up when he Baze sets his blaster down on the table and sits with a huff on the cushion across from him.

Before Chirrut can speak, Baze holds up a hand. “Please, no jokes.” he says. He knows how terrible he must smell after a day spent searching for a mark in an Imperial dump site. 

Chirrut tilts his head to the side, nods, and takes a sip of tea. He sighs contentedly.

“You look exhausted,” he notes, staring at Baze with unseeing eyes.

Despite himself, Baze chuckles. “I love you.” 

rhlizzy  asked:

Barry cause Felicity's shirt to go on fire again, and Oliver takes of his hood and gives it to her

Thanks @rhlizzy - I’m also going to combine this with the prompt from  @wrldtravler​ - “Don’t hold back.”

World’s Best Vigilante Contest

Felicity laughed at the sight of them, all standing on the starting line. This was going to be an interesting evening. 

“Are you guys all ready? You know all the rules?” 

“Whoever catches the most criminals in one night wins the title of Best Vigilante. Other than that, there are no rules.” Oliver winked at Felicity, and she could tell her boyfriend (she was happy she could call him that again since they reunited after the Lian Yu explosion) thought that he had this competition in the bag. 

His sister, however, had other ideas. 

“Don’t hold back, Ollie. You know I won’t,” she said,giving her brother a wicked grin. 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” 

Mr. Terrific, Black Canary, Wild Dog and Spartan all echoed the same sentiments, and Felicity happily sent them on their way. 

The SCPD was taken aback at how many criminals showed up on their doorstep that night. It seemed that every crime in the city had been thwarted by the vigilantes of Star City. 

In the morning, they all arrived back in the bunker, exhausted. But each were confident that they had won. 

“Where’s Felicity?” 

Their technical support was not to be found at all. “She probably got bored with us and went to bed,” Thea said, rolling her eyes. 

Lightning flashed throughout the bunker as the Flash himself raced into the room. 

“Oh, dammit, Barry, it happened again.” 

Everyone looked in shock at Felicity standing shirtless in the middle of the bunker. Oliver growled and then suddenly everyone had something else to look at. 

He took off his hood and cloak and covered her with it. 

“Sorry, Felicity,” Barry murmured. 

“It’s okay - I kind of owe you anyway.” 

The two smiled at each other, and Oliver had to remind himself he had no reason to be jealous of the two. Besides, she kind of looked hot wearing his hood. 

“Why are you here, Barry?” Thea asked. “Superheroes can’t join the competition. Only members of Team Arrow can participates.” 

Felicity smiled at them all. “Yeah, but there was nothing in the rules about outsiders not being able to help.” 

Oliver threw his head back and laughed. 

“You won, didn’t you babe?” 

Felicity grinned and nodded. 

“What? Blondie wasn’t even playing!” Wild Dog objected. “I bagged 15 criminals tonight.” 

“Nice try, I got 16,” Curtis said. 

“Easy boys, looks like you’re out of the running. I brought in 25,” Dinah said. 

Thea laughed. “Amateurs - I bagged 30.” 

John shook his head - “I pulled in a whole gang by the docks - that put me just ahead at 31.”

Everyone looked at Oliver expectantly. “42,” he said simply and laughed when everyone groaned. “But I’m guessing Felicity brought in many more.” 

Overwatch nodded and smiled. She pulled up something on her computer. “Read ‘em and weep, kids, 75 for the win!” 

“75! How did you manage to pull in 75 even with the Flash’s help!” Thea was trying hard not to be a sore loser, but it was difficult. 

“Easy enough. I knew you guys had been planning this for weeks, so I’ve been tracking the criminal element in the city since then. Once you guys started, I called Barry and we just rounded everyone up.” 

Rene shook his head. “Man, are we even needed?” 

Felicity laughed. “I’m not going to answer that for the sake of our friendship.” 

Oliver used the hood to pull her head close for a kiss - another benefit of her wearing it. “Congratulations, Vigilante of the Year.” 

“Thanks, hon. You know I’m keeping this though, right? You’re not going to need it now that I’m taking on all the vigilante duties with my mad skills.” 

Oliver laughed. “Oh your keeping it all right, but for other reasons than vigilantism.” 

“Ew, I can see where this is going, let’s go guys” Thea said, and she and the rest of the team and Barry hurried out of there with murmurs of “Congratulations, Felicity” before all other clothing besides the hood started coming off. 

How I’d Ruin It: Batman

(thanks to The Lego Batman Movie for making my brain keep coming back to this, and also for making such awesome goddamn toys for my retail therapy needs)

While I write my own stories nowadays, the old fanfic writer in me resurfaces every now and then in the form of idle thoughts about how I’d handle certain stories I love.  Sometimes these musings lead me to one horrible conclusion: that no matter how much I may love the story in question, I’d be absolutely fuck awful at writing it.  This is because the scope of things I’m interested in writing is significantly smaller than the scope of things I’m interested in reading/watching - my muse is a pickier eater than I am.

Still, no matter how awful and off message my bastardized mental versions of these stories may be, they keep popping up now and then, demanding to manifest as stories are wont to do.  So today I’m going to exorcise one of them by summarizing it to you.

Today, my wonderful readers, I’m going to tell you how I’d utterly fuck up at writing Batman.

Keep reading

A Bottle Of Vodka

It’s becoming too easy losing myself in these narratives. Maybe I should worry about that? Or maybe I should just go with them and see where they take me? I’m thinking on the latter.

So this spec story asks the question—what really happened between Oliver and Felicity and that bottle of vodka everyone is talking about.

The Loft, August 2016

A swirling cacophony of emotions swept through Felicity as she woke up. The day stretched ahead of her, filled with apprehension, doubt, fear, worry—and maybe some regret.

But as she lay alone in her bed at the loft, Felicity also felt anticipation and a little hope. It pressed down on her, keeping her motionless and unable to roll out of bed. She stared up at the ceiling and whether she wanted to admit it or not—she also felt joy. A small smile found its way to her face and she let it come. After last night and the moment she had with Oliver at the Bunker, Felicity knew that everything was going to change for her and perhaps for him as well.

She finally allowed herself to move on the bed, and the weight of all these thoughts were washed out of her brain. Felicity’s hangover took her to a place of pain not experience before. It felt like shards of glass grinding together in her head. A throbbing began at her temples and then moved down to the rest of her body. She lay still again and hoped she would be able to find the strength to survive the train wreck going on inside her.

Last night, in celebration of finally putting the Bunker back together after Darhk’s rampage, Oliver broke out one of his bottles of Russian vodka and insisted that Felicity toast their success.  One, two, three shots later, Felicity started to feel a warm glow take hold of her, and with it, her inhibitions loosening up. Oliver was talking about—actually, she couldn’t remember what he was talking about, but the familiar resonance of his voice made her feel comfortable, and maybe a bit happy. She began to notice the carpenter’s pants Oliver was wearing, and he also had on his favorite gray sweat shirt. She remembered how animated he was, gesturing and moving about with excitement as he surveyed the newly restructured Bunker. Felicity helped herself to a couple more shots of vodka. She started to focus more closely on the way Oliver moved his body; the rippling of muscles beneath his clothes, the grace and ease in which he carried himself. The effects of the booze brought back memories she had so carefully suppressed since that day at the loft when her relationship with him imploded. They suddenly rushed back into her drunken mind with the subtly of an earthquake.

Felicity moved on the bed again and her hangover still claimed her. But now it mixed with these memories of last night, leaving lingering traces on her body from physical gratifications.

She had been sitting in her chair in front of her computers, and Oliver came over to take another shot of vodka. He stood so very close to her and Felicity felt her body start to hum, a vibration that moved into her and touched all the spots she had not felt in over a year.  Then without warning, to Oliver and to herself, she reached out and grabbed onto Oliver’s arm, pulling him down to her level. Felicity put her hand behind his neck and kissed him, tilting her head back and loosing herself in his touch on her lips, in his aroma and in the sudden passion he put in returning her unexpected kiss. Felicity started to rise from her chair; then Oliver swept her up and cradled her in his arms, in his strong arms. After all the tension and uncertainty and unspoken desire between them, those walls came crashing down. Their clothes seemed to magically disappear as Oliver gently but forcefully sat her down on the computer table, and it reminded Felicity of what she needed and wanted so desperately.

Felicity forced a smile through her unrelenting hangover. The glass shards in her head began to break apart, bringing back one last memory from the night before.

The empty vodka bottle that sat on the table next to her and Oliver crashed to the floor. Felicity’s cries of ecstasy mingled with the sound of breaking glass as she gave herself to the only man she would ever want.

The Bunker, October 2016


Felicity broke out of her troubled thoughts as Oliver called out to her. “What?” she answered him. “What’s going on?”

Oliver was standing next to her computers, a look of perplexity and concern on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine. I was just following up on that tip you gave me on Church.”

Oliver tried to gauge Felicity’s response, but she was not giving him much to go on. He suddenly thought about that night they had together two months ago and the dizzy moment they shared—right on this table as a matter of fact.

A lot has happened in the city since then, events that seemed to smother the happy time they shared with each other. Tobias Church came to town, looking to put himself in charge of the criminal element that took over Star City after Darkhe’s downfall and the splintering of Team Arrow. Then there was the Vigilante, an unknown force that suddenly showed up to try and curb that same criminal element. And finally, Prometheus. The couple of times Oliver had encountered him only reminded  him of how short-handed he was in having his back covered. John and Thea gone (and with Laurel dying), Oliver and Felicity were struggling with the whole keeping the city safe thing. And now that Oliver was the Mayor as well, things were on the edge of getting out of control.

“So,” he asked Felicity. “What did you find on Church?”

“Only what we already know,” Felicity answered. “Church is ruthless, experienced and here to stay.”

“That’s it?” Oliver replied.

Felicity glared up at Oliver. “Sorry Mr. Mayor, but I am a little overloaded with just me down here. I only have two hands and not a lot to go on.”

Oliver felt the sting of her reply and backed off a bit. In spited of the full plate he was served up every day, Oliver was well aware of the renewed tension between him and Felicity. After their night together, Felicity suddenly seemed to close the door again and Oliver was left out in the cold in regards to just what and where their relationship was heading. Her attitude appeared to seem like nothing happened between them and that Oliver should just keep his concerns (about them) to himself. Not a chance. He still loved her, goddamn it, and because he was a fighter, he was not going to give up on them so easily.

“Felicity, I’m sorry. I know things between us have been…well, they’ve been strained. I thought that night two months ago…”

“Oliver,” Felicity cut him off. “We were both drunk that night. I’m still…I’m still not sure if we can go back to that kind of relationship.” A small tear leaked from her eyes as she forced herself to stay in her chair. A sudden flash of guilt echoed in her heart, and the words she just said to him sounded false in her ears.

“Felicity…I’m not, I mean, I am still here for you.  I am not unaware that what happened that night might have confused you. But don’t think for one minute that I took it as some sort of drunken one-night stand. I love you too much to cheapen it in the way. I know I probably don’t deserve that in my life after…”

“Oliver, I’m pregnant,” Felicity blurted out.

“…what I did…” Oliver stopped talking and looked at Felicity with sudden shock on his face. “You’re what?” he asked her.

“Pregnant,” Felicity replied. “With child, knocked up, a bun in the oven…”  She started to cry.

They looked into each others eyes and realized that everything about them had just changed, for better or for worse.

Oliver broke out of his shock and a slow smile materialized on his face. “A baby? Oh my god, Felicity. When…how…why didn’t you…”

“Oliver, you know this is going to complicate things, right?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “In the best kind of way.” His whole face lit up with the huge grin plastered on it. “Hey, we need to celebrate. A toast?”

Felicity shook her head. “Please, no more vodka Oliver. I think something softer this time”

Oliver took her into his embrace, holding her as if he had just come home after a long journey.

“I agree,” he whispered to her.

@hope-for-olicity @almondblossomme @ruwithmeguys @cruzrogue @tdgal1 @jamyjan @emmaamelia95 @louiseblue1 @dmichellewrites @miriam1779 @marytagus @andjustforthismoment

anonymous asked:

Can you rec some Hannigram works?

I sure fucking can!!

[summaries were written by the fanfic authors]

1. You Have (1) New Message by missdisfortune

Will Graham is a timid, troubled, and somewhat lonely college student who spends his free time roaming the deep web, reading up on true crime, and trolling chat rooms. He insists he’s just making a profile on a shady website for shits and giggles. He doesn’t mean to keep coming back, to make this a daily habit, and it’s not his fault he’s somehow attracted an entire band of rogues that all find him interesting; an obsessive fan, an off-kilter creep, and a charming gentleman who might or might not be joking about being a cannibal. This is all fantasy, right? It says so on the site’s disclaimer. But some of the people here seem like they might be for real…and it won’t be long before he meets each friend face to face. It’s a game of hide and seek, catch me if you can. Ready or not…Real, or not real?

Otherwise known as: Will is an awkward vet tech and Hannibal is a medical student. They meet online and later bump into each other in public. Obviously, puppy love ensues, and murder of course.

2. Red Dawn Rising by ABrokenTeacup

It was the desire to embody his nightmares in some way which frightened Will most. To be inspired by them. Alone in his darkness no longer, yet filled with a whole other type of fear. The fear of his own potential to crush a wounded bird.

Post third season finale, after the fall. Follows the story of Will’s personal becoming and the exploration of his ever evolving relationship with Hannibal. Slow-ish burn.

3. A Great and Gruesome Height by mokuyoubi

In his mind, the fall lasts a small eternity. In reality, it’s maybe two seconds.

Will and Hannibal go over the cliff, just like they planned.

Picks up where the finale ends, fills in all the blanks of the last episode, and continues through to their new life as Murder Husbands. My version of a fix-it fic.

4. 54609 by claritylore

In short, this is set in a world where criminals are reconditioned with painful electrical and surgical therapies and then put into service catching other criminals. A convicted murderer from the Baltimore State Home for the Reformed Criminal Element is sent to the FBI to assist on the Minnesota Shrike case. Stripped of any knowledge of his former life, without so much as a name, 54609 has little choice but to use his unique empathy skills to help the FBI crack the case.

Along the way, he encounters the FBI consultant psychiatrist who got him brought in on the case, and slowly he comes to realise that Dr Hannibal Lecter’s interest in him goes far beyond a professional curiosity. Can he find his lost memories and discover who he once was and, more importantly, who Dr Lecter really is?

5. Too Small A Word by hannigramsarah

After surviving their fall thanks to Will’s careful planning and escaping to Greece, Will feels that Hannibal is avoiding intimacy with him. When he sees the cannibal getting friendly with a local woman, Will’s jealousy erupts and causes them to confront their feelings for each other at long last and they embark upon a passionate relationship. But as they leave their Greek paradise, they have to confront the realities of their situation and make themselves work in a world where they will always be on the run.

6. After Oblivion by ishipthemsogoddamnhard

Will and Hannibal are healing together, trying to find their way to each other, after the fall. Will takes a little longer to get there, and Hannibal let’s him, but when he does the results are steamy.

My fic for the It’s Still Beautiful anniversary fest by the lovely people at the Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive

7. Anyone But Him by angstytimelord

Will wishes that he wasn’t falling for Hannibal – but he’s powerless to control his emotions.

The only reason I was able to answer this so quickly was because I have a link to it on my website: https://ladyslice.tumblr.com/ladyslice_hannigramfanficrecs

talk to me about Mads or Hannigram :) https://ladyslice.tumblr.com/ask

sapphicartsandwriting  asked:

Do you have podcast recs for LGBT+ characters? Especially nb characters and wlw! Thank you!

Of course, happy to oblige :)

  • The Penumbra Podcast- The episode “Coyote of the Painted Plains” is a take on the Wild West where nonbinary cattle thieves whisk feisty young schoolteachers off trains and into a classic enemies-to-lovers plot.
  • Friends at the Table- An actual play podcast. Off the top of my head, I can think of over a dozen nonbinary characters, and there is a significant f/f relationship as well as a significant m/m one. The first and third seasons tell a fantasy tale of magic, murder, and the undead. The second is a space opera set in a galactic Cold War, focusing on a gang of outcasts working for a small time bureaucracy who accidentally get themselves entangled with events unfolding across the galaxy,
  • Procyon Podcasts- The Strange Case of Starship Iris is the story of a government biologist whose crew dies and who subsequently falls in with some (very lovable) criminal elements. Main trans character, main nb character, main f/f relationship. Under Pressure is a podcast about an intrepid English major who takes a research position on a submarine and then realizes there are strange things happening. Features a nb main character.
  • Crossroad Stations- Jim Robbie and the Wanderers is a whimsical, weird, and just plain delightful sci-fi/fantasy trek through a post-apocalyptic America. OAKPODCAST is a podcast made by Holly, a secret agent who finds herself homeless on the streets of Atlanta, with no idea about her future and too clear an understanding of her past. The main character is agender.
  • Nightvale Presents- Within the Wires is a series of relaxation casettes, but the listener soon learns that theirs are not the standard ones. Alice Isn’t Dead is about a trucker who takes a roadtrip in search of her missing wife and encounters monsters real and metaphorical along her way. Both of these are centered around f/f relationships.
  • Death at a Low Price- I haven’t listened to this one yet, but my understanding is that one of the main characters is nb and there are multiple gay relationships. From their about: “SlotSpot is a inter-dimensional hot-spot, one of the few places connected to all worlds, dimensions, and times through a revolving door dubbed the Dimensional Door. It’s a 24-hour convenience store, catering to aliens, time travelers, and inter-dimensional travelers.”
  • Mabel- A series of phone messages left on the voicemail of one Mabel Martin, by one Anna Limon, who has come to suspect that something in the old house in which Mabel’s grandmother lives isn’t quite right.

Also check out this list by @raimijenner; they include a lot of lesser-known ones on there!