hidden machine


John Oliver: Trump’s Russia scandal has the intrigue of Watergate, except everyone is incompetent

John Oliver has a new shorthand for President Donald Trump’s ongoing, multilayered Russia scandal: “Stupid Watergate.”

“It is not clear what is really going on here yet, although one possibility is that this all amounts to what I’m going to call ‘Stupid Watergate,’” Oliver said on Sunday’s Last Week Tonight. “A potential scandal with all the intrigue of Watergate, except everyone involved is really bad at everything. And the relevant question isn’t so much, ‘What did the president know and when did he know it?’ as it is, ‘Is the president physically capable of knowing things at all?’”

By Oliver’s telling, every single phase of the Trump-Russia scandal has been brought on by a dumb mistake. He walked through some of the key players of the scandal, all of whom have been the target of questions about whether Trump’s team worked with — — and covered up working with — Russian officials to support Russian interests and manipulate the 2016 election with hacked Democratic emails.

Take Attorney General Jeff Sessions. Most recently, he was brought into the Russia scandal when it was revealed that he misled Congress under oath, telling senators he had no communications with Russian officials when he had in fact talked with Russia’s ambassador twice last year.

But here’s the thing: Sessions wasn’t even asked during the confirmation hearing if he had spoken with Russians. During his hearing, Sen. Al Franken (D-MN) asked, “If there is any evidence that anyone affiliated with the Trump campaign communicated with the Russian government in the course of this campaign, what will you do?” Sessions replied, “I’m not aware of any of those activities. I have been called a surrogate at a time or two in that campaign, and I did not have communications with the Russians.”

“That was an unforced error,” Oliver said. “He wasn’t even asked whether he’d met with the Russians. He just implicated himself out of the blue, which should have been immediately suspicious. If you ask someone how their weekend was, and they say, ‘Well, I definitely wasn’t masturbating into the Slurpee machine at the 7-Eleven,’ you check the fucking security cameras at the 7-Eleven, and you don’t act surprised.”

Other Trump surrogates have also come under fire, including former Trump campaign operative Carter Page. When asked whether he had met with the Russian ambassador in Cleveland during the Republican National Convention, Page responded, “I’m not going to deny that I talked with him. I will say that I never met him anywhere outside of Cleveland. … I may have met him. Possibly. And it might have been in Cleveland.”

Or consider former Trump campaign manager Paul Manafort. When asked if Trump had financial relationships with Russian oligarchs, Manafort said, “That’s … that’s what he said. I … that’s … what I said. That’s … obviously what our position is.”

“Holy shit,” Oliver said. “That was so unconvincing it probably set off an unplugged polygraph machine just hidden in a closet somewhere.”

To top it all off, Trump’s apparent tactic to distract everyone over the weekend was to claimwith absolutely zero evidence that President Barack Obama ordered a wiretap of Trump Tower during the 2016 campaign — an idea that may have come from an article published by the conspiracy-laden website Breitbart News.

“I think we can now officially declare that Trump has a worse media diet than the Son of Sam killer,” Oliver said. “And he got all his news from a talking dog who told him to murder.”

What all of this amounts to, Oliver argued, is one of the most incompetent cover-ups — if there is really a cover-up — in the history of presidential scandals. It is, in other words, “Stupid Watergate.”


(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qf4tyRQoT5c)

In the style of the FNAF Creepypasta hidden lore videos from the past we now have which is hopefully the first of the Bendy and the Ink Machine creepypasta lores. Not a bad way to expand on the world of BATIM. :)


Chips the War Doggie,

During World War II there was a great need for US Military service dogs, and to recruit more dogs a program was created where civilians could donate their pets for the cause. One such doggo was a German Shepherd/Collie?Siberian Husky mix named Chips. Chips took onto his military training quickly and he became a guard dog with the 3rd Infantry Division. He even guard President Franklin D. Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Churchill during the Casablanca conference in 1943. However, it was in battle where Chips would show his bravery.

Chips took part in the invasion of Sicily on July/August of 1943. In one incident his platoon was pinned down by a hidden machine gun bunker. Chips broke loose from his handler and literally stormed the bunker, jumping through the firing slit and viciously biting the four Italian soldiers within. The soldiers ran out of the pillbox in terror and surrendered to the Americans. Chips was wounded in the action, and as a result was awarded the Purple Heart. In another incident Chips alerted his unit to an enemy ambush. During the ambush, he carried a phone line attached to his collar back to the rear so that his men could call for reinforcements. 

Chips would continue to serve on the Italian front, later took part in the Allied invasion of Southern France in August of 1944, and the subsequent invasion of Germany. He was discharged in December of 1945 and returned to his family.. Throughout his service, he performed many more brave acts, and never failed to alert his fellow soldiers to dangers such as incoming artillery, enemy aircraft, and enemy ambushes.  For his feats and bravery in the face of combat, he was award the Silver Star and the Distinguished Service Cross. Quite impressive for a humble doggo.

Chip’s fame spread across the United States which unfortunately led to a problem.  The Commander of the Order of the Purple Heart complained to both President Roosevelt and the War Department stating that by awarding medals to a mere dog they were demeaning the men who had also been decorated. As a result Chip’s medals were revoked and US policy was changed so that dogs were recognized as equipment, not combatants. 


Here are my theories revolving capture technology in a realistic pokemon world. I’ve had the idea rattling around in my head for quite a while, but I just got a prompt to get it on paper, so I thought I would share it!

PART 1. – The first step is the Silph Co. branded Intellechip (name pending, lol) This chip is the key for my idea and is mass produced. The basic idea for step one is that upon turning sixteen, you can apply for an adult Pokémon licence ( until this age, you are considered a minor and have to be registered under your parent or guardians licence, so family pets are fine, but you can’t buy or use poke balls for example, until the age of 16).

When you apply for you licence, this chip is implanted into the palm of your hand. This then connects with the pokedex you are given, which also contains a similar chip. This transfer’s information about you once inputted and is essentially your trainer identification. It also keeps track of your health, has your phone numbers and data etc, and loads of other cool gadgetry. The main point is that it knows you and keeps track of you. In terms of who keeps track of this basic info on yourself, Silph co is a conglomerate that has branches in the police, security and of course, ties to the Pokémon league. No particularly personal information would be there, only stuff that you yourself would be happy putting there, but as it’s a mobile phone, or smartphone, it could be used for online and wireless bank transfers when you lose a match, satellite navigation to the nearest Pokémon centre and various other purposes.

 Whilst they are expensive, there is extended warranty on pokedexes etc, so it’s not too bad to replace. In case of identity theft, if someone were to take your pokedex and try and use it as a fake ID, the dex would read the other persons chip, or lack thereof, and report itself stolen instantly. It has to be close to its trainer to be used as an official league licence, so there Is a good degree of security.

PART 2. – Pokeballs also contains chips. They have two in fact, one for themselves and one that is implanted into Pokémon upon capture. When you purchase a pokeball, it interacts wirelessly with the one in your hand and the one in your pokedex, meaning that it is registered to you to a specific ID and cannot be stolen. Again, there is a degree of security surrounding this kind of equipment. I do imagine, however, that Pokeballs without Pokémon in them can be hacked or gifted to other trainers, but only through use of the pokedex system allowing an official transfer. If they are empty, I don’t imagine them being too hard at all to gift.

This also means that when they are thrown and are not broken, they gravitate back to the trainers palm (ever wondered why they bounce back in a lot of the anime?) meaning they are easier to track if thrown or lost. It also means during battle, they return swiftly to the palm, meaning the trainer can recall the Pokémon at will if they feel it is in danger or needs to be switched out.

PART 3. – When capturing a Pokémon, the pokeball tags the Pokémon with a chip, in the same way we tag our pets. It’s perfectly harmless as the Pokémon is reduced to its ‘energy’ state within the ball. This chip then sends the Pokémon’s data, information, height, weight and all vital signs immediately to the pokedex so that you have a complete and whole view of the creature you have just obtained. It is also at this stage that you can input a nickname.

This means you can monitor the Pokémon’s health directly on the screen, which is what I imagine the ‘HP bar’ to be in a realistic setting. Rather than simply beating each other to a pulp until one or the other goes down, it means they can keep track of how they are doing and switch them out when they are low or injured. In a realistic setting, death is not an unlikely situation, especially for new Pokémon trainers.

This also means that in ‘official’ matches, so with gym leaders, league members or in special battle grounds, this information is transferred to the large screen as shown in the example picture, so that the entire audience can keep track of the match details and how things are going. Think of it as the information that plays about the team as a football match is going on. It also links with a registered pc of your choice, or wirelessly to the cloud network that is available in all Pokémon centres.

This means that, as I imagine a lot of trainers to take laptops with them, they can access their items, plug them in at a local centre and access their whole list of Pokémon, their items, their mail, etc. Upon capture, you also get the option to swap the Pokémon into your team by transferring one from your belt to the pc. Everything is simple and automatic for today’s trainer-on-the-go! (as for PC systems themselves, that’s for another time, though I do imagine it to be much harder to own masses of Pokémon, as they can’t be kept in a box for too long. In fact, I don’t imagine there to be a ‘box’ at all, the pc is just a way of accessing them. They could be sent to live with your parents, a guardian, a friend or a day care in your town, which I imagine to be a very big business and therefore a viable option to keep 10-20 Pokémon per trainer without being cruel.)

PART 4. – The pokedex is also the way TM’s and HM’s are able to be taught to Pokémon. The CD’s are obtained and kept in small cases that can then be installed into the pokedex. Once inside, they can then be taught to any Pokémon in your team of six wirelessly using the chips. As the information is essentially downloading straight into the ball and then into the Pokémon, it’s instantaneous. (In this highly technologically advanced world, I don’t see this as being much of an issue or a question of morals, but eh)

There are a whole load of other things I would like to explore with this idea, but for now, these are the main aspects. It means that information is able to travel freely and swiftly in a world where everything is very fast-moving. I hope this has been explained clearly enough, and do let me know if you think it would make an interesting part to a poster collection, or trainer guide. I also plan on doing information on battles and gym leaders, as well as the league itself. Thanks guys! 

wolfgirl465  asked:

2d protecting his s/o

A/N: here’s some bubble gum drop lovey dovey tooth rotting fluffy shit for you

You pant as your back rests against the vending machine, hidden behind conveniently placed trees and bushes as you catch your breath. You had been running from them for what seemed to be hours, only suffering a few casualties as you examined a few dampened spots on your swimwear. You look down at your water gun, panicking as you were low on ammo. You curse under your breath but silence immediately when you hear footsteps on the grass approaching you. Adrenalin shoots through your core as you debate whether to surrender or keep fighting as the footsteps become louder. 

You hold your water gun out ready to fire but halt when 2D holds his hands up in surrender. You let him join you in your hiding place, some of the water from his hair dripping onto your shoulder as he’s been completely soaked.

“Murdoc keeps cheating,” he mumbles as he wipes his soaked bangs out of his face.

“I told you we should’ve filled these up with holy water,” you say and the two of you laugh together at the murderous idea. Your laughter is cut short when you hear Noodle’s voice from a distance, “I hear them behind the vending machine!” spider sense?

The two of you get up and start sprinting immediately only to be ambushed by Russel and Murdoc. 2D grabs your hand and starts running the other direction. He managed to get ahead of them quite a bit, stopping once you’ve found a safe place behind a bench, “I think we lost ‘em,” 2D says in between pants. 

“Guess again, bitch.” 

You look up to see the three of them standing in front of you, all of their weapons pointed towards you both. 

“Y/N. Run,” 2D says.

“Why? It’s just wate-” 

“Just run!” he shouts and you get up anyway, jogging a little to the left before you turn back to see him getting blasted with water from all directions. Their guns eventually run out and they stare at him for a moment before Murdoc throws his empty plastic gun at his head.

“Ow!” 2D grabs his head.

Russel smacks his lips, “I knew we should’ve kept you in the penalty box.”

The four of you run about the park shooting water at each other while laughing as Murdoc sits in a small cardboard box by the bench labeled “penalty” while mumbling under his breath.

uh oops

fiddle-dee-dee777  asked:

I think the "new character" that Henry mentions in his tape is more than likely Boris. They were already working on ideas for cartoons during the first two weeks since he and Joey started the company, which implies that Bendy had already been thought of and created beforehand for the shows. Maybe Joey didn't like the idea of Boris in the same way that Disney didn't really like Goofy but decided to go along with it anyway since Henry was his partner.

It could be, but keep in mind that ideas for cartoons doesn’t equal Bendy existing, as Joey Drew studios could have had lots of non-Bendy shorts under it’s name in the early days. For example, Walt Disney Studios produced many shorts before creating Mickey Mouse (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, anyone)?

things Rohan does in the Jorge Joestar novel

  • buys a house with giant bright sunrooms on every corner, puts his study in the gloomy windowless room in the middle
  • upon getting stuck underground in a state between life and death starts astral projecting from fear of missing deadlines
  • sleeps plenty by which he means three hours a night
  • describes self as “high-strung” on multiple occassions
  • (after AU!Morioh gang rings his doorbell) ““Oh, theyre back,” Rohan said. His eyes went dead.”
  • listen he doesn’t care if the universe is crumbling and his entire house is swarming with Italian mafia he WILL get his clock back
  • very irate about anyone touching his desk, DON’T touch his desk, it doesn’t matter if you were piloting a spaceship all the way from Mars and had to crash through the roof of his study to get into the tesseract time machine stand hidden under the floor, DO NOT TOUCH HIS DESK

October 12, 1917 - Battle of Passchendaele

Pictured - “Good God, did we really send men to fight in that?”

A ferocious downpour started on October 12. So did the Battle of Passchendaele, the final phase of the Third Battle of Ypres and the name that has become synonymous with the whole offensive. Haig, certain that the Germans were on their last legs, decided to continue the push for the town of Passchendaele, ten miles east of Ypres.

Passchendaele is situated on a small ridge overlooking the Ypres salient. An American might find it ridiculous to call it a ridge at all; but at 200 ft the gently sloping hill-town was an important strategic feature in the flat Flanders battlefield.

Two Anzac corps from the Second Army jumped the bags on the morning of October 12. Their advance was slow and costly. It had rained all night, and continued to come down in torrents. The troops literally waded through mud, while German artillery plunged down overhead and hidden machine guns raked the flanks. That the Australians and New Zealanders took their first objective in the morning and pressed own is a testament to their high motivation and esprit de corps. But by afternoon they had been ordered to dig in, their officers sure that nothing else could be done. One small party made it to the village of Passchendaele itself but was annihilated by a German counter-attack.

The Fifth Army to the north did not fare much better. Part of the problem was the mud. British artillery shells splashed harmlessly into the soft earth while the Germans in their concrete pillboxes remained safe to shoot back. Everywhere the fighting was vicious and taking prisoners the exception, not the rule. Later it was claimed that Haig’s Chief of Staff, Sir Launcelot Kiggell, broke down when he visited the battlefield. “Good god, did we really send men to fight in that?” Apocryphal or not, many on both sides felt the same way. Yet the battle continued.

Suitors and Smells (and sensations)

Alyn Crawford - you take in a deep breath and know his skin smells of freshly ground grains, flour, the crispness of newly chopped wood. Bread baked in a giant stone oven; the ticklish sensation of sugar and powder on the tip of your nose. Kneading. Crafting. The consistent patience of rolling of dough. It is the comfort of spices swirling into gastronomic harmony, of warm soups and hearty meals, of laughter by the fire and communal spirit and the tenderness that comes with family. You take in another breath and -
There is steel and gunpowder and mud and wiremesh; the stench of sweat; of thundering onward and constant pushing to pierce front lines. Chaos. There is running and shouting and desparate need to win - or to save a life - there isn’t much difference now. You can hear roars of artillery, of everlasting marches and screaming, of souls taken apart by violence and blood (- there is just so much blood)

Leo Crawford - you take in a deep breath and know his skin smells of pages upon pages upon pages of knowledge; new and worn and yellowed and earmarked, and somewhat torn because he was reading too fast and wanted to know what happened next. His is the smell of books: leather-bound, hardbound, paperback, pages held inside a ziplock bag because he dropped it in the bath once. Encyclopedias, codals, annotated texts, forgotten tomes with hidden knowledge and secrets whispered from the gods. You take in another breath and -
A hundred bodies shouting at the same time, screaming over one another, a battle of interests and bottom-lines, of insurmountable pride and extreme prejudice. It is the crushing weight of responsibility. You hear the pounding of the gavel and calling people into order but the voice is lost in the cacophony of ideals and principles and money being exchanged by well-meaning hands and well-meaning looks and (how dare you betray your family like this)

Louis Howard - you take in a deep breath and know his skin is dozens of perfumes and fragrances, of flowers in full bloom: dandelions, orchids, and yawning hibiscus and lush bougainvilleas, of woodlands and barks, of afternoons by the lake and its stillness. His is the scent of adoration and delicacy, of holding on to dreams, tempered - but only ever so slightly - of realism and practicality. His is efficiency and managements but with the tenderest of hearts. You take in another breath and -
A musty bedroom, old and sagging wood, metal bars and grime coated windows; soot and dust - so much undisturbed dust - blanketing untouched linen, the bed, the room, the house. Cobwebs serve as curtains and each door creaks the way a child would but the crib had long been empty and the house long abandoned and forgotten and discarded and (you don’t know what being left alone feels like)

Giles Christophe - you take in a deep breath and know his skin is a coating of pastries and cinnamon and the sweetest powdered things sprinkled generously on confectionaries. It is fountains of chocolate, of stacked sugary delicacies that make you cringe in delight, and the slow dripping of honey from the tip of your tongue. It is soft cushions and even softer beds. You take in another breath and -
Melted wax stamped on proclamation and decrees, of harsh words and harsher laws, of meetings held in the middle of the night and the unshakeable feeling of being constantly watched, hairs on the back of your neck standing on the end. It is ambition and hunger and power that comes with negotiating with a knife to your throat - only you can’t see it just yet. Plots, entrapments, and hidden machinations, of secrets sealed with loyalty or fear and (you thought I would never amount to more than this)

Byron Wagner - you take in a deep breath and you smell ink and parchment, hear them being shuffled into order, given and signed and taken away, a constant flurry of things done and to be done. It is the burning candles late into the wee hours of breaking dawn, of hands guiding you and teaching you the way of things. It is cool summer nights spent dreaming upon the stars; it is musk and privilege, silk sheets and luxury. A firm voice telling you it knows better things. You take in another breath and -
The smell of almost rotting meat and flies; nature having its way with untended wounds. The stench of blood, spilled and pooling, and bodies dragged across stone slabs, of chains clasping against gasping throats, of panic and fear. It is submission, of opening yourself up entirely unto forces you cannot comprehend. You hear the gross sobbing and spilling of tears and drool, and absolute compliance to the haunting of ghosts, or else lose whatever it puny thing it is that you cling on and (I have no use for you now)

Albert Bruckhardt - you take in a deep breath and you smell fabric and cotton and tailored suits, and ever so faintly the smell of vegetables and greens, of freshly plucked apples and strawberries, and the diligence that is required to tending gardens and ensuring that all matters are in working order. It is freshly dug earth. It is grease in the cogs of an infinite clockwork, the constant hurrying about. You smell precision and detail and absolute unquestionable loyalty. You take in another breath and -
You smell horses and leather and the distinct human scent that comes when skin touches a burning blade. Whips and swords and bloody morningstars and the smell of the earth, again, except hastily dug to ease the burden hauling corpses. It is rope to your wrists and manacles around your feet. The teeth-gritting sound of sharpening swords and the roughness of hands to your throat and (I told you! I told you! I told you this isn’t so!)

Nico Meier - you take in a deep breath and you smell early mornings and the warm chamomile tea. His is the scent of fresh linen and beddings, of waking up and finding yourself warmed by the tender rays of the sun; of fresh water drawn for a bath, of lathering soap, and oils on smooth skin. It is peeking through a flutter of eyelids, of delicate china, and the way you chew when you know you have a secret. You take in another breath and -
The stink of sewers and muck and sludge and dozens of other things no longer useful co-mingled with people who have been forgotten and forsaken and bear the burden and shame of being born. It is the underbelly of the city. It is unwashed bodies huddled together to keep warm during winter, of longing and  desperation and feverish desire to live just one more day no matter what, to be something to someone or anyone or everyone and (I just wanted someone to really look at me)

Sid -  you take in a deep breath and you smell freshly squeezed lemon garnished on vodka, of old whiskey and scotch on ice. Alcohol tempered by an even head on more even shoulders. It is the smell of sunny days and running on vast and open fields. His is the smell of constant presence, of laughter and inconsequence of any action you take whatsoever. It is throwing the ball so hard and so far and yet knowing that it will come back to you because it always does. You take in another breath and -
It is the smell of chloroform and gasoline, of clandestine meetings over spiked drinks, of leaning in to whisper only the darkest of secrets. It is the binding of wrists and the gag in your mouth and the shadows at the corner of your eyes. Money constantly passing between hands because loyalty is nonexistent. It is the lightning fast jab you can’t quite see, the paranoia of perpetually holding a dagger under your pillow and (I need you to leave me alone)

Robert Branche - you take in a deep breath and you smell a hundred different paints and a hundred different solvents, and a hundred different canvases on display. His is the scent of splashing watercolor, of mixing colors for rainbows, of standing still and taking in the landscape. It is kneeling down on one knee to take each of you hand to kiss tenderly. His is the scent of restlessness and voyage, the gasps of experiencing things for the first time, of constant change and you take in another breath and -
You smell an old, heavy cape that has never seen the rays of the sun. Myrrh smeared upon two hundred seventy bones. It is the smell of rigidness, of unbendable will.  A thousand voices offering a thousand different advice, not even once considering that the ears that hear cannot bear the weight of the world. It is power thrust upon unready hands and (I did it to protect them, to protect you!)

Super Ashinaka Gakuen Bazaar
Gakuen K WSD V Edition LE Bonus Drama CD

Thanks again to the wonderful @yumegasaki for the translation of this full length sideshow of a drama cd.

So, Ashinaka School holding a fair and a flea market. Enjoy.

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The Hardest Target Chapter 15

Art by @cjjingram as is the title! 

So after a very long delay I thought I’d see if anyone was still interested in reading this fic…

Read it here or on AO3

Chapter 15: Love Conquers Fear

Minutes felt like long, unending hours as Sara’s rage grew and, Laurel’s silence becoming overwhelming. John felt the news should have been delivered long ago but, Lance felt that Felicity’s intent had been clear. They’d agreed that if the time came they’d reveal her true intentions however both secretly hoped that she’d reveal them herself. 

“Why didn’t you just tell us the truth from the start dad?” Laurel muttered from her small corner of Felicity’s hospital room. 

Frowning he replied, “She knew how he’d react, she was counting on them waking up sooner…” His voice dropped another octave when he muttered, “She thought the bond was stronger than this…” 

Four pairs of eyes flew to the small broken woman hidden beneath layers of machines and harsh white fabric. Each of them saw the angry, puffy red line along her neck. Each of them saw her chest still rising and falling in time with the beeps of the machines. Each saw their own worst nightmare coming to life but, it was Sara who saw the truth. 

“She hid the truth because she knew him, she knew them…” she echoed somberly. 

Laurel’s head tilted upward, “Sara don’t be dumb she didn’t know this.” 

Sara’s small shrug and hearty laugh made both men’s skin prickle with an almost eerie sense of remembrance. “You don’t remember them Laurel, you didn’t see them as children. Oliver was many things I’m sure but, Felicity was his anchor.” 

Lance’s broken soul felt a small shred of light tearing past his old, broken down gates. His daughter’s soft smile and Laurel’s confused brow made his heart nearly skip a beat. Just as his lips parted Sara glanced towards him. Their eyes locked and, their small smiles grew. “You were with them dad, you were with her as she clawed her way back to him. You know I’m right. Felicity wasn’t taking a stupid nor reckless chance she was taking a calculated one.” 

Sara’s soft smile faded into a fairly somber one when Lance replied back, “When she faked her death she told me right before the guards came for her that she saw him. She saw her Oliver staring out through those dead lifeless eyes. She knew then that the only way to bring him home was to…” 

“Trigger an emotional response,” Sara interrupted as Laurel added…

“You’re telling me that on some level she knows it’s him?” 

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A separate wall of tiles with flower motives in the kitchen is what breathes life and style into the interior. The kitchen features a laundry corner, but the washing machine is “hidden” in a subtle way. This 4-room HDB apartment is an excellent example of how subtle mix and match can be. What is interesting about the interior is that the designer opts for more modern flooring materials in the dining room, such as tiles, but still sticks to parquet in the bedroom and other rooms. In the dining…

Haunted Desires

SPN Prompt Challenge | blissfulcastie
Prompt: Scream
Pairings: Destiel
Word count: 4.5k
Tags: College au, haunted houses, light angst, drunken sexy times, bottom!cas, top!dean, confessions, fluff

This sucks.

Okay, maybe Castiel is being a little dramatic. But honestly, a haunted house is the last place he wants to be right now. He doesn’t even like them in the first place. He sees no point in getting a thrill out of being put in fearful situations on purpose. He’d much rather be laying in his warm bed, binging watching Stranger Things for the third time this month and sipping at some warm tea. Not trudging through some cobweb riddled building that feels like someone left the windows wide open for the chilled breeze to whisper throughout. Admittedly, he’s been in sulk mode since last weekend and going out is the last thing he wants to do. But it was either drag himself to this stupid haunted house or go to another frat party.

He was not about to make that mistake again.

“Aw, come on, Cassie. Cheer up a bit!” Gabriel crows next to him, giving him a little nudge.

Castiel shoots him a glare through the dimmed lighting and smoky haze produced from some hidden fog machine. “You drag me out into the cold to walk through some haunted house. Do you really expect me to be thrilled about this?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes while Anna pipes up for him, “Castiel, you’ve been moping around all week. We had to do something.”

“And it’s not just some haunted house. This place is five stories tall! And it used to be a hospital!” Gabriel adds, seeming more offended by Castiel’s dismissal of the place rather than his sour mood.

He sighs, ignoring Gabriel’s remark. “I’m fine. Is it so bad to want some time alone?”

Anna snorts. “No, but look where that’s gotten you. You’ve been pining over Dean ever since that party last weekend and it’s time to either do something about it or get past it. As your friends, we won’t stand by and watch you wallow in self-pity.”

There’s a simultaneous shudder and cringe at hearing the name. The name that he didn’t dare say aloud but has been echoing around in his mind ever since that night. That wonderful, mind blowing -

Castiel stops the thoughts before they truly surface once again. He can’t go there. Not here. Not now. Preferably, not ever, but that’s next to impossible. He frowns a little, becoming aware of how he’s displacing his frustrations with himself on his friends. They’re only trying to help, after all. “I’m sorry. It’s just… what happened at that party…” He shakes his head. “You’re right. I need to get over it one way or another.”

Gabriel brightens up at that. “That’s the spirit! Now come on, we’ve got four floors to get through!” Castiel huffs under his breath, watching his friend skip out of the room and leaving him and Anna to exchange an amused look before pressing deeper into the haunted house.

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[TRANSLATION] PSYCHO-PASS OFFICIAL PROFILING 2: 100 A&Q about Psycho-Pass universe 2

PP Staff answers 100 questions asked by fans

Here yougo, the last portion of the questions. I am terribly sorry as always for thedelay. But this time it’s actually not my fault. As I said on my twitter, myInternet connection died on me last night. >_______> The questions this time are about characters. Happy Easter everyone! ˆ____ˆ

Questions 001-050

Questions 051-100

051. Q: Ginoza-san seems to like addressing Akane as anata*. Is there a reason behind this?

A: To Ginoza, Akane is a person whom he can naturally address this way.  

052.Q: Having become an Enforcer, Ginoza-san started drinking alcohol. Hasn’t he thought about starting smoking?

A: He’s a non-smoker.

053. Q: In the first OFFICIAL PROFILING book it was stated that it had been 20 years since Ginoza-san had a girlfriend. Does this mean that he had one when he was 7?

A: We leave it up to your imagination. It’s something that only Ginoza himself knows.

054. Q: Ginoza-san’s favorite food is bread. What kind of bread does he like in particular?

A: Baguette.

055. Q: In the situation where any independent action by Enforcer is forbidden if there’s no Inspector nearby, how does Ginoza-san walk his beloved dog Dime?

A: He walks it in a walking machine, hidden behind a hologram.

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