No, but give me a Race who grew up in a supportive home.
Who was always taught that you love who you love, and it doesn’t matter if they’re a boy or a girl or anything, just as long as you love them.
And give me a Race who realized he was gay very young and not thinking anything about telling people. because he knew he was going to love a boy and who cares, as long as he finds love?
Give me seven-year-old Race walking around his house with books on his head and telling people he was practicing to be a princess so he could marry his very own Prince Charming one day and he had only ever seen princesses marry princes and all he wanted to do was marry his prince one day.
Give me his sister never letting him forget it, even though his mom told him he could be a prince himself and still marry the handsomest prince in the world.
Give me Race seeing Spot five minutes after being dropped off at campus and instantly texting his sister that he found his prince.
Give me Race falling hopelessly in love with Spot as they became friends, but Spot being so straight passing from his messed up childhood that Race can’t figure out if he’s gay or not, and being scared to ask in case his isn’t and he messes things up.
Give me Race awkwardly trying to get him to tell him without directly asking until finally, finally, Spot catches on and just kisses him.
Give me a Spot Conlon whose childhood was totally the opposite of Race’s.
Give him homophobic assholes for parents who don’t let him play with anybody who has any chance of being supportive of gay people and gay rights.
Give me a Spot who knows everything they’re saying is wrong, because who the hell are they to say that people can’t fall in love with whoever they want to?
But give me a Spot who is brainwashed into believing it, so that by the time he’s eleven and realizes that he like boys, it literally makes him sick to his stomach.
Give me a Spot who’s scared to even think the words, “I’m gay” because he’s terrified his father will find out somehow.
Give me Spot not telling anybody, because all his friends and family share the same homophobic views of his father.
Give me Spot not even coming to terms with his own sexuality until he’s almost out of highschool, and even then not telling anybody.
Give me a Spot who goes off to college as far from New York as possible to get away from his family and not be scared of maybe finding a boyfriend.
Give me Spot seeing Race and instantly knowing that that boy was the he wanted to date.
But give me Spot being so conditioned to acting straight and not telling anybody that he doesn’t know to tell Race.
Give me Spot getting his hopes up over and over again that maybe this cute gay boy might just like him, and then give me Race bumbling to explain his accidental revelation and just crushing Spot’s fleeting hope.
Give me Race finally saying something so obvious that it can’t be explained away and just swearing and blushing and give me Spot realizing that he really did like him and just kissing him.
And give me Spot so insecure, scared that Race is just messing with him and scared that his family will find out and just plain scared.
Give me Race who’s willing to sit with him and talk and help him through whatever he needs help with, who’s willing to talk as much as he needs to to convince Spot he really does care.
Give me Race slowly building Spot up from the mess his family made him, helping him see that really there isn’t anything wrong with him and that it’s absolutely okay that he feels something other than friendship for boys.
Give me Spot proudly presenting Race as his boyfriend at graduation, finally not scared of his family, and give me him kissing Race right in front of his family and then pulling him away by the hand, not caring that the assholes he had to call family for years no longer were willing to call him their son or nephew or brother or anything.
Give me Race standing up when they finally get married and just pointing right at his sister and yelling, “I told you I would marry a prince one day!” And give me Spot blushing furiously and pulling him down but secretly being so happy that he finally found somebody who loves him unconditionally like his family didn’t.
Give me Race never giving up on Spot, even on his worst days, and always keeping Spot grounded no matter what.
For unofficialbridge, ‘cause she’s amazing and just got into a kickass college and I wanted to finally get this posted this in ecstatic, proud celebration. Her prompt was: “After everything, sometimes Percy sees that AB is feeling blue and he shows off all the biotics in ridiculous attempts to cheer her up. Eventually he gets a smile out of her and all is well.”
I kind of went a little off-prompt and wrote entirely too much, but I hope you like it!
5092 words; warnings for blood, language
The end of the war brings with it a host of impossible miracles.
The Crucible fires, and its red light bursts through the galaxy like a wave seeking shore. The Reapers, still and silent, finally, finally wait for the end of their last cycle. Differing species of every fleet hold to their fragile truces and,
together, mend the wounded, mourn the lost. Eventually, the Normandy, scorched
and torn and barely holding itself together after a crash landing and a
desperate patch job, finds its way home,
And the galaxy holds its breath as, from underneath a pile
of rubble, scorched and torn and barely holding herself together, Commander
Chase is found.
“He’s quite sway-backed as an equine senior citizen. But he’s very, very active for 31. (He has) never lost his interest in the opposite sex. I guess he won’t until he has all four feet in the grave. He still likes the girls very much. How do the French say it - he’s still got that joie de vivre.”
- Dave Hooper, Horseman’s Journal, June 1971, on pensioned stallion Count Fleet
David Tennant Appreciation Week - Day 7 - Why I like him
wellll this could take some time. Lets put aside his attractive little face and great hair and huggableness for a second
and let’s talk about that fantastic personality.
First things first, he is so amazing with his fans. You can always tell that he really cares a lot, and not to mention he’s great with the little ones
Also, he seems to always be sincere (and adorable) on his interviews. I like a man who doesn’t lie to the press. He’s so genuine and I think that’s awesome
He also seem to be so friendly. He makes friends all the time, and he looks like such a great guy to hang out with. Not to mention he can be super goofy and awesome with them. I wish he was my friend.
In fact, David Tennant embodies what I see as perfect friend. A lot of my friends tend to leave me after a year or so, because they think it’s weird that I don’t change my interests to fit in to society. I don’t conform, I like who I am and some people just can’t learn to respect that. And you know what I say to those people?
Well, it’s David that taught me to think like that. To be myself, and not care how anybody else thinks. I’m allowed to be a geek, and i should be proud of it.
David was always proud of the geek he was, and I admire him for that. He gives me the self confidence I need. He has taught me that I am who I am and no one can change that, and I admire him for preaching that to this generation.
He inspired me to pursue my writing, the same way he pursued his acting, so I look up to him a lot for that
I have had a lot of bad experiences with obnoxious people, and one point in my life I honestly stopped believing good things happen to me, that anything in my life can go well. And then came the absolute radio interview, and things started looking up. David has done so much to restore my faith in the fleeting race that is humanity with his kindness and generosity and compassion that I rarely see elsewhere.
He is that celebrity that embodies how celebrities should be. Adorable and caring and kind and always reaching out to people. And he’s normal. He’s not spoiled rotten or anything like that, he’s just another human being, and he proves that to us by being his adorable self.
I hope I get to tell him all this when I meet him at comic con in may. My life has started to finally go somewhat ok, and I believe he is the reason for a lot of that
So happy birthday David and thank you for everything
Ziva David stretched further across the driver’s seat, one
leg popping off the ground as her weight shifted. It wasn’t between the console either…
She sighed—where was it?—but she wasn’t about to
admit defeat, or worse, admit she was wrong. Especially not to her partner.
“It would go faster if you were helping me,” she griped from
the passenger foot well, checking the underside of that seat while she was down
“No thanks,” came his airy, distracted reply from outside
the SUV—more accurately, from behind her. “I like the view right here.”
Tony DiNozzo might have been a federal agent, but he startled
like a spooked child when the former Mossad ninja swiftly extricated herself
from the vehicle and turned on him, brown eyes blazing in the summer sun
overhead. He exhaled anxious chuckles,
his smile dazzling.
“Come on, you know I was just kidding!”
Ziva narrowed her gaze, running her tongue over the backs of
her top teeth. She stepped close to him
in the space of the open car door, their t-shirts not quite grazing. It forced
him to look down at her, shades slipping down the bridge of his nose; despite
the heated mood, he nudged the brim of her ball-cap up—the better to see her deadly
A shadow formed between them.
“If you do not wish to help me,” she intoned, tilting her
head so his broad shoulders blocked the sun’s rays, “all you will have the
privilege of doing for the rest of the week is looking.”
Cheers from beyond the parking lot rose and faded; a whistle
shrieked; there must have been a goal.
After adjusting her hat, his hand had dropped to her
shoulder, and he squeezed there now. “You
Surely he was thinking back to the previous times such a
threat had been made and followed through: those dark, lonely, no-touching stretches
of punishment. Tony lasted a few hours,
at the most; his apologizes came quick, dripping from hungry lips, laced on the
rough, aching run of his skin.
Ziva shrugged off his touch, smirking. “I do not make bottomless threats, Tony.”
“Baseless, honey.” He pushed his sunglasses into place, resigned. “I’ll start on the trunk.”
The victorious smile was just blooming on her lips as a sweet
little voice drew their attention.
“Momma, Daddy?” In
her emerald uniform and cleats, Sarah DiNozzo hobbled toward them favoring her left
leg. Pig-tail braids the color of milk
chocolate bounced around her ears.
Both parents lunged, but Tony reached her first, tugging her
against his side to rest. Her chin cleared
his belt now—when had that happened? “What’re
you doing? We told you to wait on the
“We were looking for the first-aid kit,” Ziva explained, cursing
herself for how off-task they’d gotten.
“It’s okay!” Sarah
chirped with her usual easy-going nature; in that way, she was her father’s
daughter. She hiked up the hem of her athletic shorts, baring the red gash
striped across her non-kicking knee. “It stopped bleeding pretty quick, so I
don’t think I need a band-aid any—”
“You still need to clean the wound, or else you could
develop an infection, Sarahleh.” Ziva swept back to the SUV, searching and
Behind her back, Tony and Sarah exchanged knowing looks. Mom.
“Ahh yes—found it!” Ziva
emerged from the backseat brandishing the white container. “I told you it was
in the car.”
“Didn’t doubt you for a second,” Tony pledged, with a wink. He knelt, and Sarah used his knee as a stool
while her mother administered the antiseptic, dabbed to the abrasion with a
cotton ball. Next went on the Neosporin and a band-aid large enough to cover not
only the wound, but also her entire kneecap. All the while the family discussed the umpteenth
Minion movie to hit theaters later that summer.
“Banana!” Tony imitated, eliciting a giggle from his first-grader.
Ziva hummed, smoothing down the edges of the adhesive
bandage. “There, b’seder?”
“Yeah, thanks, Momma.” Sarah launched up, her healing time
miraculous. She bent her knees, testing. “It feels good, can I go back now?”
“You sure?” Tony held her by the elbow, still.
“Yeah! Coach said I
could play the last few minutes of the game if I got ‘patched up.’ And look—” The
young girl jumped where she stood, landing with a grace belying her sporty façade;
over a year of dance classes hadn’t gone to waste completely. “So can I, can I,
can I plllleassse?”
The parents exchanged knowing looks. Sarah.
“Of course, we will be right there to watch you.” Ziva towed
her daughter into a hug, and Sarah clutched her father in a fleeting embrace
before racing off in the direction of the soccer field.
“Hurry up!” she called back to them.
Ziva flung the infamous first-aid kit back into the strange
depths of the car and slammed the door shut; Tony locked it up with the key
“Tough as nails, that one,” he remarked, tossing a casual
arm over her shoulders.
They started off, and Ziva pressed into his side, her own
arm lazing around his low back. She grabbed at him—gathering shirt and bits of
skin in the loving pinch of her trimmed nails. He laughed.
One of the greatest documents of a fascinating time in the history of American music and culture has got to be Alice Bag’s online archives of interviews with women in L.A. punk. Covering roughly a five year period from 1975 - 1980, these interviews are a testament to a fleeting moment when race, gender, class, color and pretty much every other bullshit distinction was blown aside in the name of total creative freedom and the pursuit of fun.