she is chiseled out of stone

Colony Vs. The Tax Evaders for Freedom and Justice

This fills the tentacle square on my bingo card. 
Challenger @rose-on-the-mountain, who is also responsible for the Tax Evaders. 

I’m not sure if this will actually fit into the Happy Lights ‘verse, or if it’s just a fun sort of what-if scenario, but I hope you enjoy it!


“They call themselves The Tax Evaders for Freedom and Justice,” Steve explained. He rubbed at the center of his forehead. “They’re registered as a church.”

“That is a joke,” Tony insisted. “There’s no way that is actually not a joke.”

Steve shrugged helplessly. “That’s what the file says. They’ve recruited some B-list villains including… The Kangaroo, Asbestos Lady, and… Flag Smasher?” He was miserable just reading the names and pushed his tablet away so he could put his face in his palm.

“Wow,” Clint said, “You are a massive troll, Cap, but I don’t think even you could troll this hard. Why are we getting called for this one? Isn’t this something that the cops can handle? Or, you know… the local biker gang?”

“We don’t really have anything better to do at the moment,” Steve pointed out, “And it would be a good training exercise for our newest member.”

The colony didn’t quite understand the point of chairs, but it was trying to imitate its human colony members. Several of the larger tentacles were coiled around the empty chair at the briefing table, and the rest were spread out over and around the table to keep limbs wrapped around their humans. It was a small subcolony of only forty-seven members who had come back with ‘Steve Colony’ after their last trip to the colony homeworld, and looked intent on setting up a permanent colony presence.  

“Can’t we just sic the IRS on them? I mean…The Church of the Tax Evaders for Freedom and Justice. Really,” Clint persisted.

Think of it like a team building exercise, Tony suggested, and the colony lit up gold at his mental voice. I have new arrows for you to try out.

Sold! Clint agreed.

Sold! the colony repeated, flickering through a quick rainbow of colors, and then asked, Sold?

The colony did not understand currency, and the last time Tony had tried to explain the concepts of buying and selling, they’d ended up in a circular loop of Why? for most of the night. About the only thing the colony had been attracted to during the conversation was Tony unleashing financial ‘logic’ into the colony mindspace. It was a good thing they weren’t interested in using the colony’s understanding of math to their own benefit, because they could just about take over the world with only minimal effort and the colony’s help.

Let’s not start that conversation again, Bruce pleaded. “Asbestos Lady?”

Steve checked the notes. He grimaced, but offered, “Apparently she’s fire-proof?”

“And dying of asbestos poisoning?” Sam guessed. His chair was conspicuously tentacle-free, but he had his head propped up on one fist and was casually petting the magenta tentacle that had wrapped around his water glass, the end periscoped up to eye level and nuzzling against his fingers. It flickered gold and the colony was suffused with a definite sense of smugness at the attention. “Has the colony been cleared to leave the tower?”

“Technically or theoretically?” Tony asked innocently. He was completely bound to his chair by a dozen thick loops and being towed around the table at the colony’s leisure.

Sam hastily held up a hand. “I don’t even want to know. Plausible deniability is a thing.”

Keep reading

Fort-nine Years

@halfbreednight @illyrian-high-lord @readinglikewildfire @crazybossbitch1 @2-bookmaster-2 @lovemeinnercircle @lovelygirl-3 @micmac21 @myhighlordrhysand @alienathedreamer @kateflowrchild13

Thank you all so much for your comments and in return, I give you and everyone else who liked my last one, I give you all this.

She was in the gardens the day he returned to her.

Viviane floated through the gardens, a ghost among the icy flowers. That was all had been, a ghost, since he’d left. Moonlight thread pulled away from porcelain skin, curled and woven into a braided masterpiece of icy flowers, vines, and hair, the rest left to dance down her back, like a frozen waterfall against the snow white plains of her back. White chiffon sleeves patterned with crystal vines and flowers crept up her arms to grasp at her shoulder, but stopped its journey upon her skin there, instead deciding to go southward again, this time to merge with the more solid rayon and voyage the swell of her pearly white breasts and down her chest, tight, like if it clung tight enough to her, it could bar any danger from marring the smooth flesh beneath. But that is not your job, her mind sighed, that job belongs to him. The tight fabric protected her only past her rear, where it blossomed into an icy white cascades of chiffon and lace, surrounding their mistress, with ends that danced with the wind. The only whisper of color lie in the piercing aquamarine eyes that seemed to glow against their background. She lifted a slender moon kissed hand from her lap, to lightly drag it across the snow covered bench she’d chosen as her perch, leaving a blossoming swirl in its wake. As beautiful and fair as winter itself the servants would tell her each morning as they dressed her in white and wove jewels into her hair. Usually she would take it in stride, allow it to ignite the flames of confidence she’d need to survive the day and rule in her beloved’s place, just as she’d promised him that day forty nine years ago. But days had passed since the anniversary of that day, and with every day her hope was ebbed away by the unseen icy winds of despair. Forty nine years Tamlin was given to find her. The one who would free them from the mountain. But forty nine years and he still hasn’t come home. He still hasn’t come back to me, he promised he would. Ever since the anniversary of the curse, she demanded to be alone and came out here to wait. In this garden of snow carved archways and flowers of crystalline ice and white stone benches she’d wait, in this garden where they’d danced as children and dreamed as adults, dreamed of the world as it could be while they debated on everything and nothing under snowy days and clear nights where stars glimmered like snowflakes trapped in the unending sky. Viviane felt her right cheek warm as a tear spilled over and raced downward. Inside she felt like glass, splintering an breaking, but only in her solitude would she let it break, for as much as she wished she could wither away along with her hope, or cast herself into the fire that was Amarantha in order to join him. But no, I promised him I’d be strong and protect our people, I cannot fail him now. An icy wind brushed her face, whisking away her fallen tear and whispering her name in her ear. Viviane, oh my Viviane it whispered to her as it caressed her cheek. Her pale lips parted in shock, and her head turned to the right of its own accord, like a tether was pulling her toward it. There he was, standing atop the stairs of the entrance to the small garden, right under the snow carved archway, frozen.  His snow white tresses slightly disheveled as he panted, out of breath. Only his thick white cloak billowed in the wind, the rest of him frozen in place, icy blue eyes glued to her form. Slowly, Viviane rose to her feet, unsure if her beloved Kallias was truly there or if her crumbling hope had fabricated him. Slowly she placed one foot in front of the other, afraid if she got too close then he would vanish in a gust of snow and wind. But when his lips broke out into a watery smile and shaky breath of relief, relief that she was there and she was safe and that Amarantha hadn’t touched her was what finally undid her. She felt the ends of her own lips curl into a smile and a small whimper escaped her parted lips just before she ran to him. Strong and sure arms already open wide to receive her she fell into the broad chest she hadn’t touched in forty nine years. Large arms crushed her to him so tightly she almost thought she thought she would become a part of him, and perhaps that was what he wanted, to hold her so close she couldn’t physically be parted from him, something she would not mind in the slightest. Her armed snaked around and ensnared his neck bringing his face down to allow her to crush her lips against his. Forty nine years she had been waiting, only imagining what it would feel like to kiss him, and the feeling was electrifying. While the rest of his body was like hard stone and chiseled out muscle, his lips were feather soft and warm as they sent electric currents through her nerves. Her knees began to buckle but before she had completely lost her ability to stand those large, protective arms had lifted her into the air as he swung her around, lips never parting with her own while snowflakes swirled around them in a silent praise that their master and mistress were once again together, once again whole. Once her feet were gently placed back onto the stone Kallias ripped his lips from hers and buried his face into her neck, body wracked with sobs. “You’re safe, you’re safe, thank the cauldron your safe.” He whispered over and over again. Tears of happiness and pure, unending love fell freely from her cheeks and froze into little diamonds in her lover’s hair. “You’ve finally returned to me.” Was all she could manage before closing her eyes and bursting into a laugh. At least she thought it was a laugh, or maybe they were sobs of relief, she couldn’t exactly say. “Marry me.” Kallias whispered into her hair. Viviane’s laughter froze and her eyes flung open. “What did you say?” She knew exactly what he had said, but she couldn’t believe it. Kallias pulled away from her and kneeled down into the snow, grasping both of her tiny hands in his much larger ones. “Marry me, Viviane. Today. Right now.” He asked her again with more love and hope in his eyes than stars in the night sky. Viviane wasn’t sure if her smile could grow any larger or if her body could contain any more joy than it held in this moment as she threw herself on top of him and with the High Lord of Winter gazing up at her, she finally gave him her answer. “Yes. A thousand times yes.” Kallias grinned and with one arm her wrapped it around the back of her neck to pull her down into another time stopping kiss. The Winter Court would officially have their Lady and the long years their lord had spent in unrequited love had finally come to an end.

You, standing at a precipice
You, a full tank of gasoline
You, forest fire lit by the matches of supremacy
You, burning down everything you touch.
-
You were a kid falling in love with every black cat that crossed your path.
You broke your mother’s hand mirror just over 7 years ago
but you don’t see your luck turning around.
-
You.
You burn down everything you touch.
You.
You are a fire you never wanted to light.
You are so hollow
You can stuff kindling in your bones.
-
You
didn’t sleep the night you killed her
You
didn’t sleep the night you found her
You
are not her
So why does it feel like you’re choking every time your hands are around her throat.
-
You don’t know how to kill something that never was alive
She is only a clay sculpture
That you call your body
You are a forest fire
That only knows how to serve as her kiln.
-
You do not love her
But you still are her
“Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.”
That is to say you may have built her with your own chisel
But only because you found the wrong slab of marble
-
That is to say
You were born more archaeologist than artist
It’s no wonder you’re still trying to dig out the boy inside you
-
That is to say
You learned discovery synonymous with invention
It’s no wonder you’re trying to build something by finding what’s already there
-
All life is made of cells
That is to say you are made of the same stuff as God
The holy spirit of your own within
The writer of your first creation myth
And your own fucking miracle once you learn how to build.
—  fairy spits Ode to Every Trans Boy
Part Two, Chapter Two: Tiuilip Bàn-Dhearg

You can find previous chapters here.

October 1968; Scotland.
Claire.

It had taken four different floral shops and as many days, but I finally had them. The final florist found them at a distributors in Edinburgh and we had arranged for me to pick them up at his shop this afternoon.

I reflexively reached out to my hand to keep them from sliding off the passenger seat beside me as I slowed to a stop outside the gate of Lallybroch. My gaze rested on the fragile, pink blooms of the bouquet of tulips, making my heart drop to the pit of my stomach.

She would have been twenty-three this past August, a grown woman.

I had told no one about Julia, the child of my heart. Her memory was too precious, too raw to share with Mrs Graham. I certainly didn’t tell Frank.

She was mine alone.

This certainly didn’t keep the feeling of her presence at bay. I may not have said her name aloud in twenty years, but I thought of her everyday. I saw her in Bree’s smile, heard her in the laughter of school children.

I moved towards the small burial ground behind the stone house in a fog of memories and pain. The wind stirred the leaves on the ground beside me. It carried the sound of child’s voice with it, a single word spoken with all the tenderness a toddler poses: Mim.

I hesitated at the entrance of the sacred ground and called the visions of the past to play once more for me. I saw her auburn curls, bouncing with delight as she and Jamie spun around the master bedroom here at Lallybroch. Her blue eyes smiled at me as she giggled and threw her arms around my neck.

Being torn from Jamie was sorrow enough, but to have my child wrenched from my arms was the tipping point that catapulted me into the depths of despair. She was dying, had hours left to live. I had said goodbye on the chance she didn’t survive the trip thru the stones, yet it hadn’t been enough. I needed more. More time, more closure. Final thoughts and words and caresses would never be enough.

Jamie had promised me she would be laid to rest here with his parents if she could not come with me thru the stones. This knowledge kept me going when her absence made me weep. I had been alone, until Brianna came along, but Julia would never be. She slept with the protection of her grandparents and watched over me alongside her father.

Walking along the weathered stones, I read the names. Some were familiar, some foreign. I found Ellen and Brian’s right where they had been when I had visited them with Jamie. My heartbeat slowed as I mentally prepared myself to see my daughter’s headstone for the first time.

It wasn’t where I thought it would be.

Caitlin Maisri. Iseabaìl. Two small stones, monuments to children, but Julia was not among them. The world seemed to tip and right itself as another stone caught my eye. It was a little distance away, but still near Jamie’s parents’. I stumbled over a tuft of grass as I walked over for a closer look.

Julia Ellen. Beloved daughter of James and Claire.

My knees went out from under me and I collapsed beside her stone, reaching out with a shaking hand to trace the carved letters. The stone itself was partially sunk into the Scottish soil. Another line, presumably the dates of her birth and death, was obscured beneath the ground. I dug at the unyielding dirt with my fingers, my heart needing the confirmation that she hadn’t lived long without me.

But I received none.

The more I uncovered, the more obscured the chiseled text became.

I finally stopped, resting my forehead against the cold stone, and let my tears fall with abandon.

A Tiny, Tiny Flame

“SIR!”

When the fuck had she last slept? Defiant felt as if her brain was lagging two fulms behind her, every word spoken sounding as if it came from a great distance. She already had trouble hearing people… it took all her energy just to understand the orders she was given, rather than have to ask anyone to repeat what they said.

Which no one wanted to do, surely. It wasn’t as if anyone had had much sleep, with the first strains of sunlight coming up over the mountains… true to her words to her Captain, she hadn’t so much as sat down for more than a few minutes at a time.

She was starting to wish she’d not been so determined to prove her worth. Kale probably wouldn’t have put her on latrine duty for more than a week… maybe two. A month, at worst. It’d be worth it for the nap.

Fuck, was she running an errand?

Keep reading

His Broken Promise ( 1 of 3)

The tension in the room was almost unbearable. No one dared to talk, for fear of the repercussions of their fellow team member. They were walking on eggshells, waiting for their leader to hand out assignments. Raven subconsciously cowered, with every Titan, honorary and active, being present the strain almost fell solely on the empath. She could feel their fear, their intimidation along with every possible emotion that seeped from them slowly and agonizingly. She wanted to scream, to tell the others to control themselves but she knew she couldn’t. The empath herself was afraid, just like them all. This was the final mission, their final strike against newly formed Brotherhood of Evil. Each and every one of them were there for a reason, and it would be unethical to act any other way than appreciative.

Raven looked to her fiancé, his stone features were chiseled into his tired, prematurely aged face. This war had taken its toll on everyone, but none more than the changeling himself. Brother Blood had called out to him personally in the beginning, demanding his head for repercussions of the past. The deaths that followed weren’t his fault but her endless reassurance could never convince him otherwise. Beast Boy had changed over the past year and there were times when she didn’t recognize the man she shared a bed with.

Instinctively her hand slid into his, intertwining their fingers intimately. He was pulled from his trance and instead looked down into her soft face. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips, it was small but it was there none the less. “Hey beautiful,” he whispered almost playfully, “come here often?”

She could feel the warmth in his words ignite within her, “No, but if you’re going to be around I’ll need to start making an exception.” It was a pathetic attempt at flirtation on both ends but it was enough to silence her nerves.

“Alright, sorry for the long wait everyone.” Nightwing spoke with the volume of a man much older than himself. “We have your assignments, each paired with those who accommodate your skills best. They are as followed-“

His orders began to blend together, separating teams and friends alike. The Titans in the room began to shift awkwardly, uncertain of those who they were unfamiliar with. “Garfield, myself and Red Star will attack the main entrance. Raven, Argent and Killowat will need to disarm the watchtowers on the East and West sides. Starfire, Pantha and Terra-“

Raven could feel her body stiffen as her name and the changelings were called out separate. Something began to gnaw at her chest causing her to become uncomfortable in her own skin. Her blood ran cold as a broken premonitions began to flash before her eyes. Blood, green, gravel, it all made no sense and yet screamed at her in every way. This was wrong, so very wrong. She could feel her hand drop form his, falling from his grace. Beast Boy made no effort to look at her, completely consumed in his leaders orders.

“Alright, you have your orders we leave in an hour so suite up and get ready people. This is all or nothing and I expect the best from you all. Dismissed.” There was an accumulation of responses from those in the room as everyone rose from their seats, seeking out one another for comfort or choosing to leave all together.

Raven bolted for her leader. “Richard,” she demanded, breaking his concentration from anther Titan. “Why did you separate us?”

“What?” Nightwing replied, irritation and frustration laced within every syllable. “What are you talking about?”

“Garfield and I, why are we separated? We work perfectly well together and-“

“Raven, please you’re making a scene.” Beast Boy pleaded, tugging at her cloak gently as if begging for her to regain her composure. His light touch only enraged her even further causing her body to become hot to the touch.

“I don’t care.” She sneered, “Something bad is going happen, and I need to be paired with Gar. I saw it! I-“

“Enough.” Nightwing commanded, grabbing hold of her wrist, undoubtedly noticing the terrified stares of the others around them. “Outside, now.”

Raven felt herself being dragged, removed from the crowed room where the swirl of their emotion pulled down on her. Garfield followed close behind, placing a comforting hand on the small of her back.

The sky was grey, clouds over casted as the sun attempted to shine through. Fresh air kissed her skin, causing her to intake its sweet and salty taste. Finally her hand was dropped, “What is going on Raven?” Richard demanded, nearly pushing his frustration and rage onto her.

“I need to be paired with Garfield.” She bit, squirming under his harsh gaze.

Their leader rubbed his temples in annoyance, “Plenty of couples are separated, me and Star, Aqualad and Terra, Kole and-“

“I had a premonition.” She replied quickly, sending a shiver through her. “I saw something.”

“What did you see?” Nightwing asked, “If it’s something dire of course I’ll pair you two together.”

“I-I” she muttered, “I can’t explain, not exactly. Its pieces of a picture not yet formed. I saw blood, green and I just know something bad is going to happen.”

“That’s not enough.” He bit back in response. “I need you with your team Raven, they are inexperienced and will need guidance. I can’t just change plans because of a broken vision.”

“But-“

“That’s final.” Nightwing hissed, taking a dangerous step towards her. “I don’t need you causing a scene with the others, they look to us for leadership and if we go moving things around it will cause an uproar.”

“Richard I saw-“

“I know you’re scared.” Her leader replied in a gentler tone, taking in a deep breath for control. “We all are but I need you to do this for me okay? I need you with your team.”

Raven wanted to say so much in that moment but nothing came. Her turmoil ripped through her painfully and she wanted nothing more than to scream but she kept silent, knowing in all reality there was truth in her leader’s words. “We leave in 45, take that time and spend it with your loved ones. I know I plan on it.”

With his final breath he left the two Titans, leaving the destruction of his decision in his wake. So Raven stood there, unable to discern her emotions. She could faintly hear her lovers call, his soft, soothing voice washed over her like the safety blanket she so desperately needed. Still she did not reply, too preoccupied with her internal struggle.

Again his voice called to her. “Raven.” Her eyes snapped to meet his green pools. His broken smile crossed his face, exposing his adorable fangs. “Well hello there.” He cooed, cupping his hand under her cheek. She craved his touch, pressing her face into his palm as she planted butterfly kisses against his fingers. He responded just as tenderly, pulling her into a strong embrace.

“Don’t go.” She whispered against his chest, burning his scent into her brain. “Please something bad is going to happen, don’t go without me.”

“Relax Rae.” He cooed in her hear, “It’s all going to be okay.”

“No it’s not.” She replied, fighting back the tears that brushed against her lashes. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t lose me, sweetheart.” He replied softly, stroking her hair. “If everything goes as planned this will be the end. We can get married like we are supposed to and start popping out little Garfield JR’s.”

A chuckled left the empath without her permission and she allowed it to hang between them awkwardly. Her grip tightened around him as his lips grazed her neck tenderly.

“Trust me Raven. It’ll all be okay in the end. I promise.”

—–

The rain poured relentlessly above them, soaking the Titans that had formed a tight circle around the scene before them. No one spoke, the only one daring to utter a word was the gods above as they roared with the storm. Lightning illuminated the two in the center, their bodies intertwined gracelessly in an attempt to regain the intimacy they had once shared.

She was soaked. Not just from the rain but from the blood that clung to her leotard. The empath sobbed against his body, clinging to his chest desperately. Her fingers fumbled against his skin, trying to heal his battered and broken vessel but he refused to respond. His name fell from her lips over and over until it was the only thing that surrounded them.

Gravel dug into her bare knees but she felt no physical pain. “Wake up.” She whispered to his pale face, taking a moment to push back his matted emerald hair. “You promised, it would be okay.” Someone spoke her name but she ignored it, instead focusing on him and his still heart. “I love you Garfield.” She mumbled pathetically.

“I’m so sorry.”

The Addtional "Suspects" Of Columbine

This is a partial list of other people named by witnesses as being additional shooters or somehow involved in the attack. Most of these people were interviewed by police who cleared them as suspects claiming they had alibis. It turns out that the alibis in question are not as strong as the public has been led to believe. For example, most of the alibis are the mother or ‘close friend swears person was at home or with them’-variety. Other 'suspects’ listed have never been identified but were sighted by multiple witnesses.


Eric Harris - Known shooter, identified by witnesses

Dylan Klebold - Known shooter, identified by witnesses

The BMW Gang - Circa 40 minutes before the shooting a construction worker claimed he spotted a BMW, matching the description of Klebold’s car, with 4 occupants do a u-turn in front of the school.

Chris Morris - Morris was claimed by several students to be the leader of the so-called “trench coat mafia”. He was named by several witnesses as being a shooter and was actually taken into police custody before being released. Morris’ alibi is that although he was at school in the morning that he cut class and went to a friends house to play video games prior to the start of the shootings. Morris also claimed to have gone to the before-school bowling class on 4/20 but his name does not appear on the roster. Morris’ mother was a police officer.

Robert Perry - Multiple witnesses named him as being a shooter. Perry was a 'trench coater’ but had graduated or dropped out the year prior. Perry was in the habit of spending time at the school to visit his friends. Perry had horrible acne at the time and this was a consistent feature described by witnesses. Of all the witnesses who actually named an additional shooter, the majority of the witnesses named Perry. Perry’s alibi is, like most of the people named as additional shooters, his mother (now deceased).

Brian Sargent - Not identified by name, but several witnesses described a person extremely similar to Sargent, a short, chubby/fat shooter with a round face. Sargent is important as circa a dozen witnesses described an overweight shooter. Neither Harris nor Klebold were overweight. In fact, Sargent was reportedly the only member of the 'trench coaters’ who was overweight. Sargent’s alibi is that he was hanging out with friends after going to a local Burger King. It’s not known how far the police checked out this alibi or whether they just accepted it at face value.

Joe Stair - Identified by name as being involved by several witnesses. However, no witness actually observed him to be holding or firing a gun. At least 5 witnesses heard other shooters say the name 'Joe’. At least 2 of the witnesses said a phrase similar to, “Joe, I have three of them in here”, was made by other shooters. Mrs. Mikesell, an employee of Columbine High School, advised police that several students came and told her that Joe Stair had been seen in the school during the shootings. Like Perry, Joe Stair was not a current student of Columbine High School. Stair’s alibi is that he claims he was at home with his mother until he left to pick up his sister at the library circa noon. There is no indication Stair’s mother or sister were ever interviewed by police to either confirm or deny Stairs alleged alibi. In 2007, Stair was found hanged to death. Some speculate that it was not a suicide as Stair’s body was found with a bloodied nose and with blood on the floor. Interestingly, Stair died shortly after he began posting on a message board dedicated to the Columbine tragedy.

Eric Dutro - A 'trench-coater’, at least one witness claims the shooter she saw may have been Eric Dutro.

Nate Dykeman - Best friend of Dylan Klebold. (More info to come)

Eric Veik - Friend of Dylan Klebold, helped to make videos with Klebold and Harris, was not identified by witnesses as being a shooter; however, was the person who put the 'Thought of the Day", reading, “Bet you wish you weren’t here today”, on the school’s monitors. Veik was arrested in October of 1999 for allegedly threatening to perform a repeat of 4/20. Veik was also investigated by police in conjunction with an alleged plan to blow up another school.

The Splatter Punks - Matt Nalty, Matt Akard, and Jim Brunetti, three young men who were not students of Columbine who were arrested by police in the field outside of the school. They were friends of Eric Harris. At least one witness placed them in the school in the morning before the shooting. The trio were also sighted by at least one witness at nearby Clement Park as well. According to Sheriff Stone, the three claimed they came to the school to check the scene out after hearing of the shooting on the radio. According to Stone, there were no reports on the radio at that time. The trio allegedly gave alibis involving parents or being in the company of each other and were quickly released by police.

The Balding Man - A balding man with blond hair, a chiseled face, and muscular body, described as being in his 30s, was witnessed by at least 2 witnesses. The unidentified man was in the company of a younger shooter. The unidentified man was mistaken by one witness as being a police officer until she saw that he carried a sawed-off shotgun. A witness even made a sketch of this unknown man. The witness claimed police pressured her to say that this man was Eric Harris, even though she knew Harris personally and knew it was not him.

The Round-Face Shooter - Several witnesses described a male with a round or full face as being a shooter. Refer to Brian Sargent above.

The Blue Jeans Bomber - Several witnesses described a male wearing a white shirt and blue jeans who threw pipe bombs onto the roof of the school. This bomber was seen in the company of two other people, with most descriptions of the other two people as wearing trench coats. Police insist that this was Eric Harris. Harris wore a white shirt during the attack but not blue jeans.

The Masked Shooter - Several witnesses described a male shooter who wore a mask.

The Blond-Tipped Shooter - At least two witnesses described an older male shooter with shaved hair on the sides of the head, longer darker hair on the top of the head, with bleached or blond tips to the hair. This description does not match either Harris or Klebold.

The Park Bomber - A pipe bomb was detonated in the nearby Clement Park shortly before the start of the shootings. A witness described seeing a male with a moustache.

The Park Shooter - One witness told police that he saw a person hiding in the bushes while shooting a gun at nearby Weaver park. The witness allegedly complained that he thought the police did not take his story seriously.

The Black/White Camo Pants Shooter - Several witnesses, including at least one teacher, described a shooter wearing black and white camouflage pants. Neither Harris nor Klebold wore these pants during the shooting. Interestingly, in at least one video made by Harris and Klebold, there is one person who was wearing black and white camo pants.

The Rooftop Shooter - Several witnesses described seeing at least one shooter on the rooftop of the school. At least one witness claims he was told by police to keep running as there was a shooter on the roof.

The German-Speaking Shooter - A few witnesses described a shooter wearing either a red or orange shirt, a trench coat, baggy pants, and who spoke German. It was later learned that German was spoken at 'trench coat mafia’ meetings.

The 20-ish Shooter - At least one teacher described an older shooter, looking to be in his 20s and not a student at the school. One parent also claimed to have seen an older, 20-ish, man hanging around a group of students dressed in black at the school while dropping off her daughter on the morning of 4/20. This shooter may or may not be the same as 'the balding man’ listed above.

The Duffel Bag Carriers - Several witnesses described people carrying unusual duffel bags. Most of the descriptions of these people do not match Harris or Klebold. It is believed the bags contained guns, bombs, and knives used in the attack.

And all the doubts I’ve faced

He should return it, he thinks. It served it’s purpose. She might want it back. It’s not like he can use it again, anyway.

Loosely based off the prompt “the necklace is supposed to tell me when you’re hurting, but it hasn’t stopped telling me since I first put it on” and also a picture @forcekenobi once sent that still makes me want to carefully carve out my own heart and give it to her on a silver platter.

spoilers for episode 69

At some point, among the confusion and chaos of Raishan, and the resurrection, and the constant what-if fear of the dragons, Percy seeks out Pike. He should have done it earlier, if he’s being honest with himself, but for all his brutal truths Percy has never been particularly good at being honest with himself, not in the ways that really count.

He looks for her in her bare-bones temple, white stone like ribs stretching up from newly-broken earth and Pike the beating heart within. Except she isn’t there; a scattered handful of new followers murmur half-learned prayers as they work to finish the building, their shepherd conspicuously absent.

“She’s in the garden,” says a worker when he asks, a man who is still only a boy, and Percy follows his directions to the plot of land around the back of the temple. It’s a small thing, neatly laid out: here is the sage; here is the lavender; here is the rosemary. Herbs for burning, for rituals, for dinner, maybe, if he asks nicely. 

He doesn’t think Sarenrae would mind.

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In “Lick and Lather,” Janine Antoni reinvents the tradition of the classical bust by employing soft, impermanent materials and unusual sculpting techniques. 

While a conventional portrait in marble begins with stone that is chiseled away, for this work the artist created a mold from her own body and cast versions in chocolate and soap. Through two distinct processes, Antoni wore down the sculptures, obscuring their features: she repeatedly licked the chocolate bust and washed the soap version with her in the bath. This ritualistic handling and erasure of her own likeness was a way, the artist has said, of acting out the “love-hate relationship we have with our physical appearance.”


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He is standing stock-still, she knows, out of her eye line, upwind. Her muscles ripple, bunched tight, ears straining. When she hears a rustle of tiny paws over the underbrush she springs, growling.

The rabbit startles and flashes out from its cover. She lopes after it leisurely, listens for the familiarzingandthudthat means his arrow has found its mark.

When she finds him, he is kneeling over the rabbit. Arrow right through the eye, just like every time. The smell of blood fills her senses and she bares her fangs in a silent growl, salivating.

He looks up at her, eyes with a little too much shine, a little too red. She pads over to him and rests her nose against his cheek. His hand comes up against her neck, and he curls his fingers into her thick fur.

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Steggy fic:  Haunted

This is about as fluffy as it’s possible for me to get.  A little post-Agent Carter Season 1 Halloween fic (since my “real” Halloween fic is never going to be finished in time).


A Halloween party.  SSR Agent Peggy Carter was at an honest to God Halloween party.  She looked around the cramped basement bar, the air thick with smoke and conversation.  Earlier in the week, when Angie had suggested this, Peggy had flatly declined.  A Halloween party?  Who’d heard of such a thing.  Actors, apparently.  American actors.  

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Everything

**Olicity prompt from florence-bubbles : Holding hands**

** I hope you like it Florence**


Oliver couldn’t believe what was happening. Felicity was sitting in his lap, the heat emanating from her jeans clad core spreading over the bulge in his pants that was no longer a secret.

Was this real? The candle lit, medieval room deep within Nanda Parbat had quickly become a refuge from the rest of the world.  A world that was completely upside down and held so many uncertainties.

“Hey, where did you go?” She whispered, their eyes never breaking contact as her hands cradled his face. Her thumbs stroking across his five o’clock shadow, the stubble a tactile decadence she had been longing to indulge.

“I keep thinking this is a dream…that I’ll have to wake up.” He said as his strong archery, calloused hands threaded through the thick, silky strands of her hair to cup the back of her neck.

“Don’t let it be a dream.” He pleaded as he drew her head towards his and captured her lower lip in-between his, greedily sucking on it before his tongue gently touched her mouth, asking for entrance. Her sigh of pleasure was all the permission he had needed to slide his tongue in and sensually dance with hers. Shared breaths and the faint, rustling of clothing that their hips made as they rubbed and ground against each other, were the only sounds heard in the hushed peace of their room.  

Felicity wanted more and wanted it now. She broke away from his kiss to only have him pursue her lips. “Oliver…” She said as he nibbled and tasted her.  “Lay back.”

She watched his dark, passion filled blue eyes regain focus enough to understand what she demanded. His shirt, long forgotten lay haphazardly on the stone floor.  Her eyes feasted on his golden bare chest, his chiseled abs flexing as he uncoiled and laid back on the bed.

Felicity reached out to rest her hand over his heart. A need to connect with him in ways more than the physical, suddenly consumed her. His hand slowly engulfed her smaller one, intertwining with and gently squeezing her fingers in understanding. After she thickly swallowed back her emotions she looked him in the eyes and said, “I love you.”




***Thank you olicitykisses for offering to read our fandom’s fanfic and I’m normally very shy about my fics, but all of you have been very kind to tag me on your works of art, so here I go. 
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The Diner

Summary: Not everyone from the Enchanted Forest has their own fairy tale. Granny gets fed up with the patrons gossiping everyday, especially when they can’t seem to stop talking about the pirate and the princess. 
Word Count: 1,300
Rating: K   

Unlike the rest of the townsfolk – who were cursed with an extra thirty years of youth, Granny could feel her age in the creak of her bones and the folds of her skin as she woke up. Sometimes Granny thought Regina cast the curse to punish her, not Snow, or anyone else for that matter. She was a child of the moon – even if she didn’t transform – and to wake up at the crack of dawn every morning to open the diner was its own unique kind of torture. Couple that with the gossip that seemed to burst forth from her diner’s seams – sometimes Granny wouldn’t mind taking up the crossbow again.

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