#and now i drive a forklift for a living

[itstimeforstarwars]

I think it would be fun to make Uncle Throckmorton very knowledgeable about physics just as a nod to where Throckmorton the skateboarder came from. He doesn't use it for anything. He has a normal ass job. But he can be just like me!

[compacflt]

The poor SECDEF being referenced in Ice's postcard as an unfunny man and then in the Slider POV where Ice and Mav talk to SECDEF and have some sort of inside joke where they laugh about them. I love all these small inside references that feel like Easter eggs. How do you keep track of them when you're writing? Not sure if it will be in the 120k words of extra scenes (which I'm so grateful for, like I'd be fine with even just scraps) but being a fly on the wall while Ice interacts with the SECDEF be like sounds hilarious. Ironic that Ice thinks that he'd sit out in his retirement until he becomes SECNAV and then possibly SECDEF in "Debriefing" and that Ice has become the sort of unfunny man that lost his acerbic wit but regained it by the end in Slider's POV. Anywho I'm kind of in love with your writing and these characters and will sorely miss them when you're done posting these extras. Thank you for writing this fic and the extras and the WIP Wednesdays and everything. I know you've got other writing projects and wishing you the best, and can't wait until the 120k words drop this weekend. :)

to be clear the secdef ice says is unfunny/the secdef ice & mav laugh about at his retirement party are these two fucking guys

im very hesitant to label anyone war criminals even for Funny Reasons because words do mean things., but when it comes to Bob gates i do get all twitchy and hair-triggery

i think ice being secdef after being secnav is unlikely at best & impossible at worst but the thought of him stepping up to do it during bidens second term & then having to deal with. like. china invading taiwan is unbearably funny to me so it’s not out of the question in my fic universe because it would be good for the bit. first openly gay secretary of defense and he sends the US to open all-out conventional war with China,

[seat-safety-switch]

Not sure if you've been watching these streamers. There's all these shows where people just live, normally, except there's a camera pointed at them. Real authenticity. If you're tired of the fakeness of reality TV, the perfect antidote is someone dressed up in a motion-capture suit pretending to be a 53-foot-tall anime girl trying to learn how to drive a forklift.

Last week, though, I got watching this very interesting stream. Turns out it was about this dude who was all about living off the land. He'd gotten a property somewhere out in Washington State, like the real deep parts that nobody wants to visit and only dead people have ever seen. He was going to set up an entire household from scratch, refuse the comforts of modern life, and then take a bunch of donations from his wife's eternally-connected, satellite-linked 3D handheld camera array.

Thing was, he wasn't recording 24/7. And a keen viewer spotted him at a nearby coffee shop in someone else's stream. Remember what I said up above about authenticity? The viewership revolted. They'd been tricked, they'd been betrayed, by someone that some defective part of the human psyche had convinced them was virtually socially equivalent to their best childhood friend. It was time for revenge.

When I watched it, there were a bunch of other streamers there, all around him, in a kind of judgment circle. Every so often, one of them would look around in a sort of panic. It didn't take long for me to realize that all of them had been condemned by the internet community for their own crimes, and forced to come here under threat of non-payment. Their entire economic way of life was dependent on listening to this stream of moneyed whackos observing them from afar, and now those whackos were taking control of things.

For hours, I worked on my shit-box Plymouth and would occasionally glance up at the screen. Outdoorsy Mike, sweat pouring down his face, worked to dig his own grave using a shovel he had made himself on the previous week's stream. Everyone around him watched, stoically, through their own head-mounted GoPros, occasionally reciting the name of someone who had donated $20 to the stream in frightened monotone.

You can't get that on NBC.

[burnandblind]

I guess I'll just keep saying it in as many ways and as many times as it takes:

Humanity needs to grow out of this phase.

Materialism. Capitalism. Toxic levels of selfishness. Lack of self awareness. Lack of compassion. Ignorance. Lack of accountability.

Just.. basic growing up stuff. But on individual, group, demographic, and societal levels.

Who the fuck am I?

Brown. Mixed. Black/Greek/White. Trans. Autistic. cPTSD.

I exist at a lot of intersections. I also happen to be pretty, smart, and strong.

That's its own can of worms/double edged sword.

Bc people think these traits SHOULD be mutually exclusive. Or something. Idk.

Then there's the.. spiritual connection thing. Which everyone has. But I think the more experiences you have, the more it changes you. Just like anything else.

I've lived at least 3 life times. I can weld, drive a forklift, operate a crane. I've been a busser, a line cook, and an assistant manager/cashier.

I've been homeless. I've been an alcoholic. I've had my share of crazy times and drugs. I've been married and divorced to an abusive woman of color.

The only things I haven't had enough of are love and money.

Most people kill for those. I just try to work for them. Honestly.

Somehow, that's never been good enough. Though many people didn't bother to work as hard for me as I have for them.

Not in my personal or business lives.

Now. Now, I'm sick of being humble. Of being quiet. Of being chill about how I've been treated or people's stupid bullshit.

I've only ever made my problems other people's when I've asked for help.

When I try to share my experiences? There's a lacking of response that eats at me

I don't care for attention. I want to live my life in peace.

But my issues are indicative of The Issues™️ that have been eating at humanity for thousands of years.

I'm just very much the guy that is here and tired of the bullshit.

I'd like to have a 3 some with a girl and guy or they of my choice and fuck off to the woods. Really.

[duckapus]

Incorrect Quotes (ssenmodnaR Edition)

Now that it's been a while since "It's Gotta Be Perfect," SMG4's once again feeling comfortable with the idea of being more ambitious with his videos. Thankfully he has learned his lesson and won't be striving for perfection, and he also won't be trying to go it alone. Instead, he's taking inspiration from the man he was designed as a self-insert of and putting together a production crew (of actual employees, not enslaved Toads. That's another low point he doesn't want to go back to.

Next up on the applicant list is Baljeet, for some reason, who's been asked to put together a meme compilation as a test of his editing skills.

"Alright kid, show me what you got."

"Of course," he moves to hit the play button, but pauses to add, "I should warn you, however, that it is a bit... strange, at certain points." He hits the button before 4 can ask what he means.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

FM: *gestures incredulously at a car* Who parked their car...

*the view shifts slightly to reveal a jpeg of a BLT under one of the tires*

FM: On my sandwich!?

Steve: I did!

FM: *gets so angry he explodes into a coin*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*MarioMario54321 and Tari face each other on a version of final destination, with MM wearing a Duel Disk and Clench transformed to fulfil the functions of one*

MM: You ready?

Tari: *grins* Born ready.

MM: Well then... *starts using the Yu-Gi-Oh! intro Yami voiceclip* It's Time to D-D, DD-D-DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD *D-ing continues as he starts spazzing out*

Tari:

Clench: 'da fuk?

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Elanore: *runs around in an office building, throwing raisins around like confetti* RAISINS! RAISINS! THEY USED TO BE GRAPES!

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Meggy: *wandering through what's clearly a Zelda dungeon for some reason*

Random Evil Wizard Dude: *appears from the shadows, pointing menacingly with a staff* Stop right where you are, Maddy.

Meggy: *gasps* How did you almost know my name?

Wizard Dude: I have approximate knowledge of many things.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Desmond: *sitting on a bench, minding his own business*

Franky: *rises up behind him* I can smell you.

Desmond: *jumps up in shock while yelling in Homer Simpson's voice*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

MM: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Perry: *assumes a fighting stance in the middle of a warehouse while Doof does an evil laugh off-screen*

Doof: You are too late, Perry the Platypus! I am now... *drives on-screen in a forklift* FORKLIFT CERTIFIED!

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*this would work better in a visual format, just picture Paige doing the same actions as the music video while Crabcake keeps showing up in the areas they point out in funny poses*

Paige: Now everything smells like salmon!

My shirts!

My couch!

My sheets!

If I had a couple more square feet,

I imagine this would not happen!

Everything smells like salmon!

Straight-up salmon.

Smell it from the bed to the door,

when you're living in a space that's not much more than a cabin,

well sometimes this happens

Everything smells like salmon.

FUCK IT UP ANDI!

Andi: *epic keyboard solo*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Avatar Kirby: *reenacting Speed of Kirb...through the Showgrounds, while the SMGs watch him through the coffee shop's window with resigned annoyance*

SMG3: I'm not helping him if he pisses off Marty.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*back at the Yu-Gi-Oh! duel, Tari and Clench have resorted to playing against each-other while they wait for MM to hopefully pull himself together*

Clench: ...Well this sucks.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*The Abyss and Juliano are in the middle of a fancy restaurant...for some reason*

The Abyss: I poisoned one of our glasses, but I can't remember which.

Juliano: The way this dinner is going I hope it's mine.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Mario: Fuck you, Baltimore!

Bob: If you're dumb enough to buy a new car this weekend,

Mario: You're a big enough schmuck to come to Big Bill Hells Cars!

Bob: Bad deals!

Mario: Cars that break down!

Bob: Thieves!

Mario: If you think you're gonna find a bargain at Big Bill's,

Bob: You can kiss my ass!

Mario: It's our belief that you're such a stupid motherfucker-

Bob: You'll fall for this bullshit!

Mario: Guaranteed!

Bob: If you find a better deal,

Mario: Shove it up your ugly ass!

Bob: You heard us right!

Mario: Shove it up your ugly ass.

Bob: Bring your trade!

Mario: Bring your title!

Bob: Bring your wife!

Mario: We'll fuck her!

Bob: That's right! We'll fuck your wife!

Mario: Because at Big Bill Hells,

Bob: You're fucked six ways from Sunday!

Mario: Take a hike!

Bob: To Big Bill Hells!

Mario: Home of Challenge Pissing!

Bob: That's right!

Mario: CHALLENGE PISSING!

Bob: How does it work?

Mario: If you can piss six feet in the air straight up-

Bob: -and not get wet-

Mario: You get no down payment!

Bob: Don't wait! Don't delay,

Mario: Don't fuck with us, or we'll rip your nuts off!

Bob: Only at Big Bill Hells!

Mario: The only dealer that tells you to FUCK OFF!

Bob: Hurry up, asshole!

Mario: This event ends the minute after you write us a check!

Bob: And it better not bounce or you're a dead motherfucker!

Mario: Go to hell!

Bob: Big Bill Hells Cars!

Mario: Baltimore's filthiest,

Bob: And exclusive home to the meanest sons of bitches in the state of Maryland!

Mario: Guaranteed!

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*several robed figures stand in a circle around a chained up Teletubby*

Robed figures: Chanting in unison, chanting in unison, chanting in unison... (yes, they are actually chanting the words "chanting in unison" in unison. it's even an actual voice clip from the Adventures of Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius.)

Luigi: *opens a door to whatever room these guys are in, sees what's happening, and swiftly backs out the way he came*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Hex: *dancing to Buck Bumble's theme music*

fucking Jerry the Goomba kid: Buck Bumble sucks, ya dumbass!

Hex: *the music stops with a record scratch and she slowly turns her head to look at him with a vacant expression*

A Few Seconds Later

Hex: *back to dancing, now with Jerry's burning corpse off to the side*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

MM: DDDDDD-DUEL! *finally done, he looks up to see that Tari got tired of waiting and left* Ah, crap.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

"...The hell was that?"

"That is what I said! Oh sure, give all the weird stuff to Baljeet! It definitely will not make no sense without context! I do not think some of them are even from our universe, and I am not sure how that is even possible!"

"Well...it's at least well-edited? Might work as part of a "Ssenmodnar" video or something, we haven't had one of those in a while. I'll, uh, I'll get back to you later, alright?"

After he leaves, Baljeet sighs and looks back at the monitor, "I need better clips."

[canyonkingdom]

you're all going to hell two

(chapter 2, part 1)

tw: mentions of $u|c|d3, murder, invasion of privacy,

"Mickey's dead?"

Lifty's innocent voice shriveled up.

"...Yes." Terry said blankly.

The port was dead silent.

"As if you guys actually cared about that man." Camp commented negatively, polishing his newly furnished caterpillar house. "He was so forgettable-"

"Yeah, but he didn't deserve to die." Lifty lamented. "I mean, die in that way."

"It's possible he killed himself?" Terry questioned as he kept loading Lifty's forklift with boxes. "It's his cement mixer after all."

"He's an asshole. What kind of asshole would want to commit suicide if they're so full of themselves?" Camp retorted back.

"Then someone killed him..." Lifty eloped.

"Of course someone killed him, idiot!" Camp shouted back in shock of the utter stupidity. "I just don't know who..."

"You can't make a response yet." Terry said. "There's barely any evidence to work with-"

"It's not a suicide." Camp reassured.

"I don't want to believe the your word, Camp," Terry followed after, grief stricken in his voice. "It's just... shocking."

Lifty's eyes glowed. "We could investigate the case more! We could ask more questions to Spooky-"

"It's not the right time, Lifty. The man's traumatized as fuck." Camp stated almost immediately, making Lifty's happiness die down. "He already played his part, and we're not specialists at this type of case!"

"But I heard that-"

"Let;s just get back to work." Terry quipped, a smile on his face. "Lifty, bring them to the trailer."

Lifty pouted, but he followed orders. He kept the forklift going.

Camp put the towel down, looking at the orange sky.

"It's not a suicide." he repeated.

It was silent.

"The funeral service is at Tuesday morning." Max unhappily said.

The construction crew was filled with sadness and dread and everyone was a mourning mess.

Well,

expet Poke and Bruner.

They blankly stared at Mickey's dead, grayish, cemented body under the glass of the casket.

"You shouldn't have followed us, bitch." Bruner forced a laugh, but it ended in pity.

Poke glanced at the other man with sad eyes. He tapped Bruner's shoulder.

"We need to talk."

Bruner hissed, eyeing the coffin. The two solemnly went outside. They glanced upon the faces locoed with despair and sadness.

"We should tell them." Poke gestured.

Bruner didn't answer. A pang of survivor's guilt hit the two like a shockwave, but Bruner was still shaken uo from the events.

"Oh, there you guys are!" Mr. Builder's raspy voice was easy to recognize. Both people looked up to see their boss. "Gonna leave now?"

"...No." Bruner said straighforward. "We're just looking for... a breath of fresh air."

Mr. Builder's smile was of sadness. "It hits hard, y'know? One day you're having the time of your life, the next day we're doing with funeral preparations." He let out a depressed sigh.

Bruner wanted to say sorry so bad.

Camp atayed awake most nights, but this was for an unusual reason.

"Lifty," he whispered, shaking the young worker from his premature sleep. "Lifty!" he repeated.

Lifty opened his eyes groggily. "Eugh... why?" he asked.

"My trailer's down, can I please use your forklift?"

Lifty blinked the sleepiness in his system. "But why? Can't you... just use Terry's?"

Camp sighed. "Do you really think I would walk a mile to his house?"

"Yes?" Lifty fathomed, rubbing his eyes before yawning. "You're fit and healthy. I live off of food stamps and coke-"

"Just let me borrow the forklift." Camp jeered, "Please."

"O- ok." Lifty finally answered. "But you could've just called me-"

"I don't have your number." Camp immediately said as the smile in his face grew. "Thanks." he highlighted as he left the room, leaving Lifty basking in the dark.

It was incredibly weird driving a forklift at night, but Camp didn't care. He only cared for the truth.

He stopped at Spooky's house, the array of tires was enough for him to recognize it. He jumped down the forklift and scanned the area.

"Hello?" he sing-songed.

The door creaked open.

"Camp?"

Camp smiled underneath his pain. "Oh, hi! Can I talk to you?"

Spooky hesistated, his hands clutching the door. "About- about what?"

Camp was on thin ice. "Mickey's death."

Spooky felt his stomach drop. "Why?" he asked.

"I need an explanation."

Spooky sighed, pulling the door open. "Come in." he said, his mouth dry. He left Camp oggling for information.

Camp took his time, admiring the vintage, yet incredible aesthetic of the mud staining his walls. He grimaced at the sight of dirty stools, but he sat anyways. His meter for gossip was up the roof.

"So?" Camp started.

Spooky quivered. "It was scary, man."

Half of Camp's being regretted the invasion of privacy, but deep inside he knows he can solve this.

"I could- I could hear him screaming under all that cement." his voice shaked terribly.

Camp pressed his lips in a thin line. "Did you notice anything?"

"Red lights."

Camp's ears perked up.

"I saw read lights." Spooky said, "I told Poli about them but... but he just brushed it off." Camp raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" he was as confused as Spooky.

Spooky shivered. "Please stop talking about it."

Camp's lips pressed into a thin line. A pang of guilt engulfed him, yet he still wanted to continue asking questions.

"I'm-" Camp eloped. "I'll stop."

Bitterness fumed in his mind.

When he left Spooky's house, he still wanted answers. His palms were sweating as he thought of the red lights Spooky talked about, how the rescue team dismissed their existence, not even thinking about it further.

Yet one thing he can say is that it wasn't a suicide.

He felt tearing up as he returned the forklift to Lifty's apartment.

-///-

part 2 releasing shortly after, maybe, maybe...

camp's a fucking idiot and we all know it but he's gonna be alive for a VERY long time

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Reactions to Nintendo Direct

Pikmin 4

Olimar: Ah, I wish I were there. It has been quite some time since I’ve had a good treasure hunt and catalogued the creatures of PNF-404. Maybe I should dust off the spacesuit and take a trip?

Samus: Weren’t you kidnapped by some crazy goo monster that wanted to be your mom?

Olimar: Inevitabilities of the experience, it’s all things you have to live with when you’re an explorer.

Samus: Amen to that.

Splatoon 3 DLC - Inkopolis

Callie: Woohoo, Inkopolis Pla-za!

Marie: It has been a while since we’ve been back there. I honestly thought Jelonzo was dead.

Callie: And Sheldon had kids. I don’t know what to feel about that but the excitement of everything else is leaking into that opinion.

Marie: I think it’s a Tom Nook situation. I don’t think Sheldon would ever kiss another woman, let alone have kids.

Splatoon 3 DLC - Side Order

Callie: …

Marie: …

Callie: … Is that what happens when lesbians get divorced? Inkopolis gets zapped into a hell dimension?

Marie: … I don’t know. But something tells me we’re going to have to invite those two to group therapy now.

Kirby’s Return to Dreamland - Magolor

King Dedede: Serves that egghead right. All of us had to go through at least one alternate universe to start being good people, and he ain’t gonna be an exception.

Kirby: I hope he wins. I like Magolor, even if he betrayed us and tried to conquer the universe.

Bandana Waddle Dee: That and Merry Magoland is a boon to the local economy. Plus he technically already won. If he were to lose, that would cause a time paradox in our universes timeline that would resonate-

Metroid Prime Remastered

Samus: Finally, Metroid Prime fou- wait. This is the first one. Well, I said I would dress up as a clown if I lost. May as well go catch my next bounty as one.

Tears of the Kingdom

Samus: Well at least you got a release date finally. And the game looks gre- hey, where are you going?

Link: Didn’t you see me drive that car thing? That means I’m going to be making vehicles, and if that happens, I need to go and get forklift certified. For the sake of Hyrule.

Samus: I completely understand.

And finally, Silksong

Luigi: Oh yeah, Silksong!

There is no Silksong.

Luigi breaks down into tears.

[tiredlilguy]

Oda hc’s that i started last night and am finishing while im on the train:

look at my man.. im in love with him

- I’m married to him

- has piercings. Just normal lobe piercings, but he did consider getting more at one point.

- human heater, rly warm all the time

- sleeps in boxers, no shirt on (the day I picked up dazai spoilers, but when he went to go see who was in front of his door, he had to put a shirt on first)

- anxious sleeper, is a light sleeper and will have soft jazz playing in the background, if he's in a comfortable place where he feels 100% safe, then he'll knock out instantly

- has the best sleep schedule out of anyone in the BSD universe, but he also is just awake at 3AM for some reason

- his footsteps are always quiet, u cannot hear him even if he was walking behind u, one time scared the shit out of Dazai and now dazai always looks behind him when he turns the lights off in his room

- will shit talk ppl in the mafia if he’s tipsy, he’s a gossiper fs fs

- if you are walking behind him and slowing down and your in a group of people together, he’ll stop and wait for you to catch up

- stands on the side of the street where the cars are and put u on his other side

- holds hand out for you to grab if your getting out of a vehicle or a surface: like stepping in front of you at the train station so you can grab his hand before stepping off, or opening your car door and helping you up by offering his hand

- he’s actually… really fucking sassy, at least that’s how he feels deep down, but just ends up being too stoic because that’s just how he is

- fav genre of music is jazz

- he’s gotta be buff to some extent, there’s no way that he isn’t

- he can sew rly well

cats follow him, even if he isn't giving them attention, they just follow him anyways. one time showed up to lupin with like 3 cats behind him and didn't notice until Dazai and Ango mentioned it

hands are extremely calloused and rough, but his touch is always gentle

his hands shake when he colds a gun ever since he swore off killing

has jewlery that he wears (I think i said in another post, but he definitely wears rings and has pierced ears), all of his jewlery is stolen from his old assassin jobs and he originally took them just for the extra money, but ended up wearing them in the end

can be impulsive, the only reason why he has pierced ears is because one night he woke up and felt the need to do something (he took one look at a sewing needle and then took it and went to the bathroom to pierce his ears)

has a motorcycle license, is certified to operate different vehicles (boat, bus, RV, forklift... etc.); for what reason did i think of this,,, i just think he had a lot of jobs that involved driving until he decided to work as a mailman

was mute for a long time because he had no one to talk to for a while

does that dad thing where he knocks on pillars and lightly jumps up and down on floorboards to make sure it's steady

he lives in an apartment that he got from a nice man who happened to own a apartment complex who saw him sleeping in an alleyway and offered him a place to stay

can do magic tricks... one time did it to save dazai from getting caught and oda was able to hide a key under his sleeve (idk if this makes sense)

I'd add more, but i'm sleepy and hungry. hope u enjoyed :D

[bailey808]

Me , a few years ago, I was a construction engineer, maintenance technician, landscape maintenance and design.

My original dad was an engineer, worked on oil rigs , crane operations, my step dad is an electrical engineer, also worked on oil rigs , of shore and on land . Is a marine electrician, and linesman,

As a young boy our nabours had a truck company, we will all go see them ,I used to drive industrial size forklift carrying wood around site after school where my mum worked, with no qualifications whatsoever. Grew up playing around heavy industrial dangerous equipment, like it is a play ground, I now walk in fount of massive rigs on site with no fear, because I have an natural instinct when there is danger. So hard core and alternative gay. I don't fit in anywhere, because I have so much to say .not into commercial structure social values, behaviour disorder, because I have no one to provide assistance. Because I blow everyone away with hard truth.

People say I have an attitude, and I definitely do .

But stared my career with 4 years multi media artist background, movies production, sound editing, computer design, ceramic, have solid work around the world. Can produce music videos, and interor design production, program lasers ( 3D holographic) blue > 16 km range Green > 12 km range. and design details and specifications, EX > thunder strobe, UV 3D visuals , video projection, and even mobile military grade hand held laser , sound activation live , x 6 × 4 green 2× 50mw 2x 150 mw 2 x blue 150mw > just for fun , development, electronic music production, Techno > post nu Rave > European ( Germany, Belign) concept architecture, self supported and sustainable, future based technology and development. Study aĺl the time > coverage all specific information, the universe, outside and inside hyper intelligence, superpsychic , Alien life ,the Prymids, ancient history, am highly spiritual with no specific religion, into conspiracy theories, new technology, militarily, space development, now I do reviews on Google maps > in less than one year it's now over 85.000 views , millions watching on social media platforms, taking about subject matter that goes way over everyone's head, and they get sacred of what I have to say , because it contradictory to what everyone believes, so it makes my life a living he'll, I also have certificates interpersonal communication level 2 > interpersonal communication with different cultures level 3 , first aid core health > level 3 > resuscitation > specialist in emergency situations, but get endless people telling me I have mental health problems, when its the complete reverse, because I don't know anyone that has as many certificates and abilities like myself, and I know how to be treated, this is how it is , if others have issues, I push them away, so whenever I hear this, I get facts and certistics, maps , plans , information, for backup to support everything I say and do .

Yes I'm one of a kind

I was born this way.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 8, Part 1 ("The Inns and Outs of Inns")

I'm skipping past the second half of the previous episode (I really couldn't think of anything interesting to say about it. It was that whole thing where Rory and Paris get initated into The Puffs, and the Mother/Daughter Fashion Show). You can read my previous reviews here.

This lady held out her cup for a refill. Jess looks down at the mug and walks right past her. I found his terrible customer service inexplicably delightful. I'd say she was gonna stiff him out of a tip for that move, but no one in Stars Hollow tips anyway.

Jess: It's 7:45 am, do you want me to go to school or openly defy child labor laws? Idk, I think you should have a word with the Walmart corporation first, the place hired a 17 year old to drive a forklift during school hours. Luke: Stay out of trouble. Jess: Guess that means calling off the chickie run down at the salt flats. What in the everliving hell does that even mean? What teenager talks like that in 2001, the Year of our Lord? Damn you, AmyShermanPalladino. *sighs deeply*. *Opens Google* "A chickie run is a high-speed drag race toward the edge of a steep bluff above the ocean using stolen cars." It's apparently a reference to the movie Rebel Without A Cause with James Dean. Well, I learned some pointless new information today. Thank you, Mr Mariano. You may not serve customers their coffee but you do serve up hot steaming cups of old timey references. Lorelai and Sookie: We're coming up with names for the new inn. Michel: How about the Money Pit? The Outhouse? The Inn Headed for Bankruptcy?

Heh heh.

I only recall seeing a police car in Stars Hollow two other times (when Kyle's party got busted up and the time Jess comes back in season 4 and gets pulled over? Am I forgetting anything?). Here's the big emergency that called the mythical, rarely seen Stars Hollow Police into town. Spoiler alert: It was some chalk.

And now this pathetic town of bored people with nothing better to do are going to call an emergency meeting over some chalk. Taylor is fa-reaking the fuck out.

Taylor: I've got a dead body outside of my store! Sheriff: No, you have a chalk outline in front of your store.

Sheriff: My partner's out doing a headcount to see if anyone is missing. Until then, just hang tight. Let me remind you how many people live in Stars Hollow. Sometimes it may seem like you only see the same 15 people over and over, but the mind can play dirty tricks on you.

Yes Taylor, just hang tight for a few minutes while one police officer does a head count of nearly 10,000 people. A police officer going around counting people to see if anyone happens to be dead is one of my favorite bits of absurdity in the entire show. 30 seconds later:

Golly that was fast!

Heh heh heh. It is a pretty stupid prank. I think most of Jess' pranks are amateur at best. I believe in his potential. He could come up with something way better. The people of Stars Hollow deserved to be Punk'd for how they treat him. I give this one an A though, because it pissed everyone off so thoroughly, and that's all that matters.

Gilmore Girls wardrobe department: LAYERS! MORE LAYERS, DAMN IT! Wardrobe Assistant: He's in a shirt under a shirt under a vest! I cannot layer anymore! *cries*

Sooo purdy.

Luke jamming a screwdriver into a toaster is highly erotic.

It goes without saying that from here on out we are going to be pausing often to admire screen shots of Jess with absolutely no context. Tomatos Sign: Spotted

Oh, we haven't gotten to the part where Jess murders Shane and dumps her body in the lake. We'll get to that in season 3. In my gritty Gilmore Girls reboot titled The Hollow, there could be several justified homicides. For one example, it's canon that Luke never throws Taylor off a bridge, so my reboot would seek to correct this.

HE'S JUST A LITTLE GUY LET HIM SULK AND LURK What the hell else is there to do in Stars Hollow anyway? The image of Jess of visiting an arts and crafts store is pretty hilarious.

What the hell is AmyShermanPalladino's obsession with swans? "Swans scream one thing, Mom. Sigfried and Roy." Ah yes, another fine early 2000's tasteless "gay" insult. Luke & Lorelai are discussing the grave consequences of missing or even being late to a town meeting. To which I say, if Taylor threatens you, just tell him you're gonna squeal to the Feds about all of his shady financial crimes. That'll shut him right up.

He's been in town for like what, a week and he's already a "situation". I think that's awesome. Your mere existence on this Earth is so powerful that you've thrown an entire community into disarray. Good for you, baby. Good for you.

May I remind you again they are calling this community meeting because of some chalk. "When Mrs. Lanahan couldn't buy lettuce from my store, she drove straight to Woodbury instead." You know what, I just gotta bide my time and let the nutcase rant, because Walmart will eventually drive him out of business for good and in a double scoop of justice, I have faith that he'll also be taken down for his money laundering crimes.

This committee of 85 year olds will seal Jess Mariano's fate. It looks like Hell's waiting room. Jess loves a good town meeting because it's the only time he gets to stay home and whack off in private. Luke tries to give Taylor $1 for a head of letuce (actually, first he asks "how much is a head of lettuce?" which is something he should know if he's running a diner, but I digress. "The CHARGES against your nephew are numerous!" Let's hear them, shall we? He stole the "Save the Bridge" money. But Taylor was going to launder that money, what will he do now? He stole a gnome from Babette's garden. He "hooted" one Miss Patty's dance classes. Please try to imagine Jess ever "hooting" a woman (uhh, she means catcalling...I guess? I could see him calling out some sarcastic quip/witty observation though. He took a garden hose. Why Jess? Why? How did they know he did it? What did he intend to do with it? Where did he keep it? With the 500 baseballs he stole from the school? He set off the fire alarms at school last week. This is a more serious prank that would have gotten him in big trouble if he was caught. And again, Lane and Dean go to this school. Hello? I know at this point Jess and Rory don't know each other well, but that's still major gossip, so why are Rory's boyfriend and best friend always keeping this stuff from her? I am Jess Mariano's defense lawyer and every last thing my client does to annoy the citizens of Stars Hollow is justified. Lorelai, sarcastically: I heard he controls the weather and wrote the screenplay to Glitter** (**a movie starring Mariah Carey that came out in 2001 and is regarded as one of the worst movies of all time and was a box office bomb and possibly the biggest blight ever on MC’s career). You know, Lorelai is being sarcastic by saying she thinks Jess controls the weather but she hates him so much I wouldn't put it past her that she actually believes that. I mean, she already believes that the sun shines out of Dean Forrester's ass. Bootsy: I never like the look of that kid, I knew he was bad as soon as I saw him. AGAIN HE'S BEEN HERE FOR LIKE A WEEK. The subject of the meeting turns from Jess to piling onto Luke for no good reason, and my man Lucas is just about to burst a blood vessel defending himself and Jess from these nutjobs. I honestly couldn't love him more. He's so REAL. Please don't stroke out on us, we need you. Taylor: "There is a consensus among all the towns people that Stars Hollow was a much better place before Jess got here." Kindly go to hell, Taylor Doose.

Dean spending two days on his hands and knees scraping Jess' prank from cement is a beautiful kind of justice. Edit: A commenter made me wonder how Jess made his artwork stick to the cement. Off to Google I went once again. Apparently you can use hairspray to set chalk art, but professional chalk artists use high grade varnishes to set their designs. Jess never half-asses anything. He puts his whole, cute little ass in. You also have to wonder how in a town full of unemployed busy bodies with nothing better to do than notice everything that goes on in town right down to when Rory Gilmore farts, not a single person heard or saw any of this happening. Lorelai fretting that the Independence will be sold to a corporate hotel chain is realistic and it would inevitably happen in my gritty Gilmore Girls reboot titled The Hollow. The Independence Inn would become a Holiday Inn, Luke's would become a Starbucks, Doose's would become a Walmart, and Dean Forrester's house would be a parking lot after a meteor crashed through the roof.

Someone should bash your head in with a safe.

Never in the history of mankind has a single individual sown so much havoc with a single stick of chalk.

Every time I look at that wool jacket lining I feel super itchy.

The captions should really say "okuh", and not "okay." Because that was a stellar "okuh". Get it right. Just another injustice perpetuated against Jesstopher Mariano.

Oh, she did. To be continued in Part 2 so I can add more screen shots.

[andthemouseroared]

I am officially at the "playing virtual Barbie dolls with Ashley by seeing how many different cute outfits I can dress her in" stage of my life with RE4make.

I have decided Ashley is far and away the most fashionable of all the protagonists.

She's the only one who can do midcentury European college student, everyday casual, anime waifu, scenester, emo, professional businesswoman girlboss, eGirl, debutante socialite, foreign diplomat, Actual 18th Century Princess, modern punk and 80s wastelander metalhead and rock them all perfectly. A fitting tribute to her influencer faceclaim.

Believe me, you have not lived until you've seen Ashley spinning kick a Ganado's head into the ground fully decked out in an 18th century ballgown.

Now in true Ashley fashion, this is a shitpost that also reveals some important truths about who The Mouse is as a person.

Fashion is something that's really important to me. I do a lot of vintage and indie clothes shopping, and my style is one of my favourite ways to express myself. Like any form of creative expression, a person's fashion sense can tell us a lot about who they are and what they value. For someone as fashion-forward as Ashley, her style being so versatile and freeform (either officially, through mods, or both) can tell us she perhaps has an equally diverse range of interests and skills: It's even canon she can randomly drive a forklift for reasons which very pointedly go completely unexplained.

This isn't like Jill's locksmithing or her occasional thick Los Angeles accent, which in canon do seem like genuine oversights or boring deus ex machina: Ashley being able to operate heavy machinery or being secretly a scene girl seem like deliberate Noodle Incidents on the part of the writers and designers.

So Ashley has hidden depths, and she's also a bit of a troll with an offbeat sense of humour XD

Taken together, this all makes Ashley come across as unusually developed for a video game protagonist of this type for me: She has a lot of seemingly intentionally dropped threads that seem to hint at a wider backstory that isn't going to be told. She's never coming back in another game or movie, but from a fanfic author/RPer's perspective it's one of the things that make her a lot of fun to think about and play with.

I suppose one could argue these are really all just jokes about how Ashley is often seen as a stereotype (the canon content, anyway), but I choose to read them otherwise, if for no other reason than because Ashley's taken enough flak over the past two decades.

[reasoningdaily]

From left: Charles Turner, Timothy Catlett, Levy Rouse, Chris Turner, Russell Overton and Clifton Yarborough, attend the funeral for their friend Kelvin “Hollywood” Smith on Oct. 27 in Capitol Heights, Md. (Jahi Chikwendiu/The Washington Post)

https://wapo.st/3PFKslz

Clifton Yarborough patted his chest as he turned his gray Honda into a narrow alley in Northeast Washington. “My heart racing fast,” he said. He eased the car to a stop and pointed to a garage behind a rowhouse. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s where it happened.” There was graffiti on the weathered plywood door. Otherwise it looked ordinary. There was nothing to indicate what had unfolded in the small structure 39 years earlier.

The alley in the H Street neighborhood is around the corner from the home where Yarborough, 56, grew up, but this is the first time he has been here since he was a teenager. He didn’t want to stay long. He put the car into drive and pulled away from the place where a 49-year-old mother of six from the neighborhood was found dead in 1984, the victim of a brutal beating and rape.

Then 16, Yarborough was the youngest of 17 people arrested in the case. He and seven other young men from the neighborhood would eventually be tried, convicted and incarcerated for a combined 258 years. Justice, it seemed, was served.

But the men have insisted all along that they had nothing to do with the rape and the murder. That they didn’t know anything about those crimes. That their trial wasn’t fair.

Kelvin Smith, who served 35 years before being released in 2019, died at home in October. Steven Webb died in prison in 1999 after a stroke. He had served 15 years. The other six men — Yarborough, Christopher Turner, Charles Turner, Timothy Catlett, Levy Rouse and Russell Overton — are now in their 50s and 60s.

They have completed their sentences and been released from prison. The final one got out just last year.

But this ghastly crime hangs over them. They are free, but not free.

What they want, they say, is for their names to no longer be associated with one of the most vile crimes in Washington history. And they want the government that prosecuted and jailed them to admit it was wrong for not sharing evidence they believe would have helped them prove their innocence.

All of the men now live in Washington or its close-in suburbs. They have jobs — forklift driver, maintenance worker, parking lot attendant, janitor, warehouse worker.

They have reconnected with their families and friends and are trying to shape a new life in a city and world that has changed immeasurably from the city and world in which they grew up. Their newly free lives are dominated by thoughts of what they’ve lost and what they can still salvage.

“What hurts is my character being slandered, that people say I would do such a thing that I didn’t do, especially to someone I knew,” Yarborough said. “Clear this. Make it be known we didn’t commit this crime.”

Rouse says it is hard for him to trust anyone. He was 19 when he was arrested and had a newborn son,whom Rouse wouldn’t see in person until his release in 2019.

“I wrote letters to him a lot, and when he grew older he would write me back, saying — Dad, I know you’re innocent and I’m always going to love you,” Rouse said. “It hurts me inside to know he had to go through that.”

Rouse says he and his 39-year-old-son are now the best of friends, making up for time they were apart.

Since getting out of prison, Rouse has focused on moving forward.Now a maintenance worker, he has completed computer courses from a career training school. He also counsels other former prisoners who have recently been released. And in September, he got married. “It’s wonderful, wonderful,” Rouse said. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

But even as he looks forward, Rouse can’t let go of the past. “It’s important the truth comes out because they know they was wrong,” he said.

Charles Turner lives at brother Christopher’s apartment in Southeast Washington. He has a full-time maintenance job at the Martin Luther King Jr. library in downtown Washington. He’s determined to reclaim his time.

“They took 36 years from me, so I plan to be out here alive for another 36 years,” Turner said. “I’m gonna get those 36 years back.”

Turner, 59, said he feels cheated that he was locked up when his mother died and that he couldn’t say goodbye to her. And he laments never having children.

“Being locked up, they took my bloodline,” he said. “No one is gonna ever know I was even here.”

Christopher Turner, nicknamed “the Mayor” by other defendants, was the first to bereleased. He was given a shorter sentence than the others because he had completed high school and had no criminal record. In prison, he spent much of his time reading and learning about the law. While incarcerated and in the years since his release in 2010, he has led the effort to clear his name and those of his fellow defendants.

Along the way, Christopher Turner has also become an advocate for prisoners. He is on the board of the Mid-Atlantic Innocence Project, which works to prevent and overturn convictions of innocent people, and Free Minds, a D.C.-based book club and writing workshop for incarcerated youths.

The men’s effort to continue lobbying for their innocence while reentering the workforce and reconnecting with their families and their city, Christopher Turner admits, is wearying.

“I know the guys are really tired,” he said recently over breakfast at a Capitol Hill diner. “We’re trying to move on with our lives. But this is still a fight we need to fight. As long as there’s air in my body, I’ll continue to fight.”

The men compare their case to that of the Central Park Five, the five teenagers from Harlem who were convicted of the 1989 rape of a woman and spent years in prison before DNA evidence and a confession led to their convictions being overturned in 2002.

But this murder occurred before the use of DNA in solving crimes began, and no evidence that can be tested survived. And unlike the Central Park case, no one else has come forward to admit guilt.

Over the years, the men have unsuccessfully appealed their convictions.

In 2017, at the Supreme Court, their attorneys argued that prosecutors violated the Brady rule by not turning over evidence to the defense. The court ruled 6-2 that the withheld evidence would not have made a difference in the outcome of the case. After that decision, the men were out of options.

But their attorneys and some of the most powerful law firms in Washington have stuck with them.

“I wouldn’t represent them if I thought they had any involvement in this whatsoever,” said Shawn Armbrust, executive director of the Mid-Atlantic Innocence Project and Christopher Turner’s attorney. She has been working with the defendants since 2005. “Our standard is — you can’t have any involvement in the crime. If we find evidence pointing to guilt, we’re done.”

But there are no legal appeals left to file. No courtroom arguments left to make. No witnesses left to cross-examine.

For the defendants and their attorneys, their only hope may be a presidential pardon. And that, all of them acknowledge is, a long shot.

Crime was a problem in Washington in 1984, especially in the busy, blue-collar corridor of H Street NE. Murders in D.C. were nowhere near the astronomic levels they would climb to in the late 1980s and ’90s, but they weren’t rare either.

Among them, one murder stood out: The Oct. 1, 1984, killing of Catherine Fuller.

Fuller was 49, Black, a married mother of six who lived a short walk from the alley behind H Street where she was found dead on that rainy October day. She had been beaten and sodomized with a pipe-like object. It tore through her intestines and abdomen, according to medical examiners. Her ribs were broken. Fuller weighed less than 100 pounds. She had been robbed of $50 and some jewelry.

Years later, her son David Fuller would remember her as “a loving, caring parent.” His mother, he told The Washington Post in 2017, “was the type of person who would go out of her way to do anything for you.”

The pressure on police and politicians to find the culprit — or culprits — was intense. The most promising information came the first day, when a street vendor who found the body told police he saw two men acting suspiciously in the alley, one with an object under his coat. They ran when police first approached the scene.

But there was little else to go by. Then a couple of anonymous phone tips. A caller referenced the “8th and H Crew” and mentioned a few names.

Three days after the murder, detectives, acting on the tip, picked up Yarborough. Then 16, Yarborough was a special-educationstudent at Eastern High School. His IQ was below 70, and he had difficulty reading. He was interrogated for hours without a lawyer or a parent present.

Yarborough said he told police he didn’t know anything about the crime, but he eventually signed a statement that provided some details and names. He would later say he signed the document because he was scared.

Despite the early leads, the investigation stalled. It was not until late November that a 16-year-old girl gave police the name of Calvin Alston, a person she said had talked about committing the crime. The girl later acknowledged being high on PCP when she was interviewed by police. Alston denied being involved but eventually gave police information about Fuller’s death and a few names, including Yarborough’s. Later Alston would testify that police threatened him with life in prison if he didn’t admit to a role in the murder.

The detectives brought Yarborough back in.

According to Yarborough, the questioning this time was relentless. He said detectives slammed him against a desk, injuring his knee, and held his head above a flushing toilet. The detectives denied those allegations under oath and said the injury was preexisting.

Eventually, Yarborough said, the detectives wore him down. He said they read a statement to him given by Alston and told him to corroborate it. Yarborough agreed, and his statement was videotaped.

“The homicide people interrogated me to a point where I wanted to do anything to get out and go home,” Yarborough said, sitting at a Starbucks across from a Whole Foods on a revitalized H Street that bears little resemblance to the neighborhood in which he grew up. “First they had to calm me down from crying.”

His attorneys would later argue that Yarborough’s testimony was coerced. The two lead detectives and a police officer who worked on the case either declined or did not respond to interview requests for this story.

Yarborough’s statement became crucial evidence that helped lead to the arrests and conviction of his fellow defendants and cemented the idea in the public mind that the crime was the work of a ruthless gang, the “8th and H Crew.” All of those charged, however, said there was no gang. Some of them didn’t even know one another.

Ultimately, 10 people were brought to trial in 1985 for Fuller’s murder. After deliberating for seven days, the all-Black jury found two defendants not guilty and six guilty. The jury told the court it was “impossible” to reach a unanimous verdict for Christopher Turner and Russell Overton.

The judge ordered the jury to continue deliberating, and two days later, the jury returned with guilty verdicts for both men. It had taken “40 to 50” more votes to reach a unanimous decision, jurors told reporters later.

Christopher Turner, then 20, was stunned. He was so certain he would be found innocent that he had turned down a plea deal that would have required him to serve just two to six years. Taking a plea deal for something he hadn’t done was something he objected to on principle, he said. “People still ask me, do you regret not pleading guilty and going on with your life? And my answer is no, emphatically no, I don’t regret it.”

David Fuller was 16 when his mother was killed. He knew a few of the defendants. Christopher Turner was three years older and helped manage Fuller’s go-go band. Yarborough was the same age and lived around the corner. Yarborough said he used to bring pies his grandmother made over to the Fuller house.

Fuller, who now lives in Missouri, originally agreed to be interviewed for this article but then did not respond to messages. The Post was unable to locate Catherine Fuller’s other children. But David Fuller talked about his mother and the case in 2017 for a Post story.

By then, he said, he had found a measure of peace with what had happened. “Even with loss you got to keep going,” he said.

And he acknowledged that some or all of the men may not have been responsible. “My heart goes out to some of the gentlemen if they were falsely accused, because they suffered,” he said.

Russell Overton, 65, folds his 6-foot-7-inch frame into an armchair in the living room of his 85-year-old mother’s tidy Silver Spring home. He has lived here with his sister since his release in March 2022.

Overton, the last of the men to be released, was the oldest of them when they were arrested. He was 26 then and had children. Now he is a great-grandfather and getting to know his family as a free man.

The adjustment hasn’t been easy. Overton still sleeps with his door open and wakes at every sound. He keeps his toiletries in a container on his dresser the way he did when he was locked up. He has a job at a warehouse where he is doing well but is still coming to terms with engaging in pleasantries and trusting people.

“What happened to [Catherine Fuller] was wrong. I’m sorry that it happened. Sympathy for her family,” he said in an interview, leaning forward in his chair. “But there’s no way I can have remorse when I never did have anything to do with it. I wasn’t no angel out there. I got in trouble here and there, but I didn’t do this.”

The system, he said, failed them all.

In 1995, while still in prison, Christopher Turner wrote to Post reporter Patrice Gaines, who had helped cover the original trial. He told her he wanted her to know he was innocent. Gaines looked into the murder and made discoveries that raised questions.

In 2001, Gaines reported that Harry Bennett, called as a witness in the case, told her he had falsified testimony to avoid a life sentence.Bennett said the prosecutor, Jerry Goren, “painted a picture for me. All I had to do was say yes.”

Gaines would also learn a critical piece of information never turned over to the defense. Three weeks after Fuller’s murder, a woman named Ammie Davis told police she had been in the alley that day shooting heroin and saw a man she knew named James Blue. She said Blue savagely attacked a woman and stole money from her in the alley. The week before the Fuller trial began, Blue fatally shot Davis. He died in prison in 1993.

The defendants in the Fuller case challenged their conviction in D.C. Superior Court in 2012 and learned during discovery that another key piece of information was never turned over.

One of the men who ran when police first approached the scene was James McMillan, a 19-year-old who was new to the neighborhood. Three weeks after Fuller’s body was found, McMillan was arrested in two violent assaults and robberies of middle-aged women in the neighborhood. But even though he had been identified at the scene by three witnesses, prosecutors did not share that information with the defense in the Fuller case.

Eight years after Catherine Fuller’s murder, McMillan would be arrested for the murder and forcible sodomy of a woman in an alley in the same H Street neighborhood. He is serving a life sentence in federal prison in Virginia. He declined through prison officials to be interviewed and previously denied any responsibility for Fuller’s death.

During the 2012 proceedings, Goren, the prosecutor, admitted that evidence had been withheld from the defendants. He testified that he didn’t pass on information about McMillan because he did not believe it relevant enough. He also said he didn’t tell the defense about Davis because he didn’t find her story credible.

Reached briefly by phone at his California home earlier this year, Goren declined an interview.

D.C. Superior Court Judge Frederick H. Weisberg ultimately rejected the bid for a new trial, saying the “petitioners have not come close to demonstrating actual innocence.” In 2015, the D.C. Court of Appeals confirmed that ruling. The Supreme Court decision in 2017 ended any hopes the men had of having their convictions overturned.

For some who have followed the case, the Supreme Court ruling was the culmination of a process that has been flawed at every step of the way.

“It’s reaffirmed for me that there are some deep systemic problems in the legal system and that those need to be fundamentally changed,” said Thomas L. Dybdahl, whose book, “When Innocence is Not Enough: Hidden Evidence and the Failed Promise of the Brady Rule,” tracks the legal journey of the Fuller murder defendants in the context of examining Brady disclosure requirements.

Dybdahl argues that even though the Brady rule requires prosecutors to hand over favorable evidence to the defense, they have little incentive to do so because they face little threat of punishment for not adhering to it.

The defendants in the Fuller case “didn’t want mercy, they wanted justice,” Dybdahl said. “Unfortunately, they didn’t get either.”

In 1985, Michele Roberts was a D.C. public defender representing Alphonso Harris, one of the men charged in Fuller’s murder. Roberts, who retired last year as the executive director of the NBA Players Association, remembers the “intense pressure on the government” to get a conviction. Her client was one of the two defendants to be found not guilty.

While her client went free, Roberts said the evidence withheld from the defendants would have been critical to the outcome of the case.

“If I had what we later discovered … all of them would have walked,” she said. “The most powerful evidence that you can present as a defense attorney, if it’s credible, is to be able to say ‘Not only did my guy not do it, but let me tell you who did.’”

John Williams, a lawyer with the powerhouse Washington firm Williams & Connolly who represents Yarborough and argued the men’s case at the Supreme Court, said one option may be available to the defendants to provide them some measure of justice.

Williams said he and the other attorneys are actively considering petitioning for a presidential pardon. It is a complicated process that could take years, and there is no guarantee they will be successful.

“Those are always long shots,” he said. “But these men are incredibly deserving.”

“They were wrongly labeled as murderers. The system still regards them as murderers,” Williams said. “I understand why they’re continuing to fight, and that’s why we are continuing to fight for them.”

In late October, the six surviving defendants wore suits to the funeral of their gregarious and fun-loving fellow defendant Kelvin Smith, known to all of them by his nickname, ‘Hollywood.’ On a breezy, sunny afternoon at a cemetery in Hyattsville, they walked past rows of headstones and markers to the gravesite. One of Smith’s favorite songs, “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by the Verve, played through a speaker nearby.

Smith was Christopher Turner’s best friend. On the day of the funeral, Turner said he thought about how little freedom his friend had been able to enjoy and how he wouldn’t live to see his name cleared. “I felt bad because I wanted him to have that moment,” Turner said.

On days when he struggles to find the energy for this fight, Turner said, he thinks about Hollywood and about Steven Webb, who died in prison. And he thinks about his fellow defendants and their families and friends, whose lives were forever changed by a horrific crime in a small garage in an alley in Washington almost 40 years ago.

“I’m not even sure what keeps me going,” he said. “I just know there’s a fire burning inside me to right a wrong.”

[magic-vinny]

It's so nice to see some of y'all again so some life updates (none of these are jokes I'm 100% serious)

- I am now a flooring/carpet salesman for a living

- I am getting married to someone I met in the Gorillaz fandom. We have been together for almost 3 years now

- I rescued a dog, her name is mama (she came from a puppy mill 😔)

-i am now forklift certified but still can't drive a car because I'm too gay

-im like really hyperfixated on clone high rn so I apologize in advance

-i honestly haven't drawn in forever, I can't even find my drawing tablet but I've tried to get back into it

-mochi

[morulezopelforever]

Alec Scudder is fed up what with one thing or another...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31992058/chapters/79240288

I’d like to highlight a Maurice fanfic I wrote in 2021. ‘A Gentleman’s Tale’ is the first part of my series ‘For Maurice to End where the Muddle Begins.’

Meet Clive, Maurice and Alec, men in their forties in the 21st centurty, more specifically during one of the 2020 pandemic lockdowns. Their story is told from Clive’s perspective.

Clive has not seen Maurice and Alec for years, and now he finds himself spending a weekend at their place. After a more than warm welcome, Clive feels he has to repay his hosts by inviting them to visit him and Anne...I’m afraid that is not going down all too well with Alec, who used to be an employee at Durham Logistics and who has his own bad memories to battle...

After Alec got home, he joined us in the garden. By now it was too late for a full meal, to my secret relief, because the couple must be nearly broke and I did not want to eat too much of their food. Lazing in his chair, smoking one of my cigarettes and guzzling Carlsberg from a can, Alec promised he’d make us some baked beans on toast with a fried egg on top. That sounded really lovely, but then he got up and announced that he’d clean out the shitty litter boxes first and take a shower and get changed. ‘He’s unbelievably energetic,’ Maurice said admiringly when his lover had gone back inside.

The meal was constantly interrupted by cats begging for bits. One crawled into my lap, settled down and fell asleep, only to wake up when Alec served bowls of tinned rice pudding and jam for dessert.

‘Don’t feed Lily, please,’ he said when I let the animal lick some sweet goo off my finger. ‘She’ll get the screaming ab-dabs.’ ‘That’s enough, Alec,’ Maurice sighed. ‘Don’t spoil Clive’s appetite.’ They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Then they kissed. ‘I love you, you dirty bugger,’ Maurice breathed.

When we were having tea, I conveyed my plan. Now I included Alec too, because I had just seen how inseparable they were. ‘You’re both very welcome to spend some time at my house, to get away from it all. Technically speaking, it’s forbidden because of the corona rules and yadeyadeya, but Anne would love it.’

Alec sat up with a jolt as if struck by lightning. ‘Your house? Are you daft? What if your mum sees me?’

Maurice smiled and lit a cigarette. I had nearly run out, so I decided to drive to the next service area after tea to get a carton. ‘Only Clive and Anne live there, love,’ Maurice said. ‘Why would his mother be a problem?’ Alec would not explain why, and after getting a string of pleading questions, he put down his tea mug with a bang. ‘O.K., so you fellers really want to know? Clive will kick the shit out of me.’

I gave him an encouraging smile, earning a grin of relief.

‘Remember our trip to Amsterdam?’ he began. ‘Must be twenty years ago now…a long time anyroad. I saw all that crazy stuff in the souvenir shops, nothing to my liking, but then I found something…and I got an idea straight away…That shop assistant must have thought I was mad, because I just stood there, nearly pissing myself laughing…So I buy the thing, right, and some other rubbish for my friends…I showed it to you, Clive, didn’t I, when we were having espresso at the airport.’ ‘You did,’ I said. ‘I thought it was grotesque, but I figured you’d bought it for yourself.’

‘So anyroad,’ he went on. ‘You should know, Clive, and I’m sorry if I insult you, you’re a fine bloke and all, but your mum, that’s a different thing. She had a company car, right, so she could have had it cleaned at a car wash and charge it to her credit card…But she wouldn’t. One day she comes up to me while I was outside loading a truck, and she says: ‘Oh, Mr. Scudder, would you be so kind as to clean my car in the washing area for our vans?’ ‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Durham, I’m a forklift driver,’ I say. ‘I can’t just stop loading, my supervisor won’t allow it.’ So she smiles and says I can do it after my shift and I’ll get paid overtime. So I say yes and since that day, it’s the same song, twice a week: ‘Oh, Mr. Scudder, would you be so kind…’ as if her Mercedes ever got dirty, it never did…Yes, I got paid, but then the complaints come. ‘Mr. Scudder, there is mud on the carpet under the pedals, don’t you ever wipe your feet before you get in?’ ‘Mr. Scudder, there’s dandruff on the headrest, would you please keep your head up when you drive my car?’ ‘Mr. Scudder, I found a dent in the number plate. It wouldn’t have been you, would it?’ And all the while my warehouse mates are laughing at me, thinking I’m sweet on the old lady…Sorry, Clive…I got pretty bloody sick of it, I tell you…So after we got back from Amsterdam, she comes up to me and before she can ask, I say: ‘No problem, Mrs. Durham, I’ll wash the Mercedes after my shift.’ And then…’

He started to laugh, coughing helplessly, shaking. Maurice was intrigued. It was a very exciting story. ‘Here, have one,’ I said to Alec, pushing my pack of Marlboros towards him. ‘I’ll get more later.’ Alec nodded, lit up and grinned.

‘So there I am, the Mercedes is all clean and dried and polished, and then I stuck the thing from Amsterdam onto the flap of the boot. And then I drove the car back to the executives’ car park and put it in its place with the rear end facing the wall…’ He started chortling. ‘So she never saw it when she drove off later…Well, next morning she calls me into her office…She’s mad as a bull, shouting at me because on her way home the night before, the other drivers had been honking and flashing their headlights and making all kinds of gestures…The print on the sticker was large enough for all to see…and for me to get fired on the spot.’

‘What did it say then?’ Maurice asked, puzzled. I knew, but I wanted Alec to tell, because every word out of his mouth was so deliciously sordid and juicy, as was this whole story. ‘Well,’ Alec sighed, out of breath with glee. ‘It said: Don’t walk on the grass – smoke it! See driver for details.’

Interested? Check this link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31992058/chapters/79240288

[lastconcourse]

Tornado Recipe UltraJune

(Symphony Futility in Z major)

Unstageable play

Regiondirect→Camereye stood parallel

A kitchen in an upper middle class home. It’s a dim noon. The counters+sink are lit by adjustable lamps on two aluminum racks overhead. In the middle of the room there is one center island; marbletopped, with two wood doors that open for access to inner-cabinet storage. The sink is in the back at stage right. There is a window above the sink. The Readers can see on the outside that there’s a dreary dusk sky, plus a cloud above. All the cabinet doors are white, the sinkfaucet is gold color, the cabinet doors are gold color. A rack of silver soupladles+spatula+tongs+whisks+tablespoons is mounted on the wall over a blender and beside a black air fryer. Right side: Out of the refrigerator come both hum and icerumble sounds. A windchime sings in parallel with nearing thunder.

(egg timer, stove, junk drawer full of rubberbands, unused tools, a tape measure, whole drawerfull of clean knives+forks+spoons, a dishwasher, a spice rack with one hundred flavors, a microwave, )

Flying soup ladles calmly stir a pot of boiled tin foil. The air fryer cheerfully pops its door open. A gantry crane lowers its chain from the ceiling, on the hook is a red wicker basket full of leather wallets. Two big bowls spin slowly like tops on the center island, one full of ice cream and the other full of fresh soup. The airfryer drops its door open and slides out its metal rack. A forklift made out of an exercise machine takes the basket and dumps the wallets on the airfryer’s rack, which is stuck out like a tongue. A flying pair of tongs with biplane wings serves rolls of bread from a tray out of the oven. The air fryer timerknob is now switched on and the timer is making its quick chatter sound. Icecream and Soup bowls drift and bounce together a bit like careening tops, and now the leather bakes.

Regiondirect→Stage right (Begin ruination of a birthday lunch)

A cardboard box full of embarassing memories is spilled down the stairs: Thousands of ruled paper sheets with awful poems written on them go wafting into the kitchen where they float around and fold into paper airplanes, then they land on the center island in perfect rows like jets on a battleship.

Poemjets: We’re here to attack your confidence with this cringey reminisence.

A stolen medalion flies through the air and crashes into the stained glass sconce of an antique wall lamp which is mounted in the living room: Sconce is shattered when it hits it. Shard after shard of red and blue crystal-cracked glass falls into a steel cauldron on a wheeled cart on a line of railroad tracks sitting on the carpet: The cart drives and the cauldron is taken to a forge by the fireplace where the glass is melted down and poured into a mold that shapes it into a skull: This forms the skull of a clueless fool, this is the first and most important skull.

Blue+Red Glass Shards

Blae+rued Gless Sharides

Blaew+Rueld Gleessh Shparides

jBlaw+Ruelld Gleetssh Sparidens

jblaw+rulled Gleethss Spaidens

Jblaw+krulled tGleeths Spidens

Jlaw skulled tleeth Spienes

Jaw skulled Tleeth Spines

Jaw Skull Teeth Spine

Jaw, Skull, Teeth, Spine

Regiondirect→Stage middle; from mouth of humanactor one

(activate buffoon here)

Foollessclue:

I am going to get this job. Before they mock me and I evaporate. I am going to get my job. j’andob→And keep my job once I have it; I will have a job: this job I am applying for, I will not be mocked or evaporate→ I am applying for a lifetime career→My choices are God’s design→I am not a deadbeat+/or wastrel ‘l ‘el ‘l ‘rel ‘l

Regionpoint: High up at stage middle:

Four cabinets above a stove open and reveal a long television screen behind them, the screen plays a panorama video of the inside of a grocery store on a time lapse, rapidly showing shoppers moving around and down aisles through a full day. So the commerce source of groceries plays inside the storage destination of groceries.

Regiondirect→Stage left+downstage

Foolllessclue walks like a desk, heavily skulking: A Huge wooden desk in the office room walks like a heavily skulking crab from its place in the office into the doorway of the kitchen. The desk Stomps and sprouts two claws made of stationary: Protractor joints, fountain pen fingers plus inky venom in nibs and two eyeballs on stalks that are webcams.

Deskrab: I make my next shell out of your hard work and notes. If you ever do any hard work again.

Foollessclue stands in the doorway and contemplates going back to bed. Then an idea comes to him:

Foollessclue: Eureka! Wow! Golly! Lord Almighty! The truth has arrived!

A wrecking ball made out of a soccer ball weighing six tonnes falls from the ceiling and crushes the center island: obliterated the bad poems, marble landing strip, and cabinets, instantly.

Chunks of marble fall into a plexiglass gutter and the camereye view changes

Regiondirect→ Camera is now low and pointed upwards: the reader can see through the stage floor to where a plexiglass gutter runs from stage right to left, with cold green water thrashing through it toward a previously hidden now→revealed underground room where a cashregister with bulldozer tracks and an abacus with centipede feet are seen watching the deluge of marble chunks and water fall from a sewer pipe above them into a trough before them.

Hot water spinning in a blender elsewhere.

Rock and Water dropping top right to bottom left.

Cash register bell ding sounds when the drawer pops→slides.

The cash register reaches out with a thin alu-wire appendage, picks pieces of marble out of the wet junk, and carefully organizes them into its drawer compartments. The abacus keeps record while a gooseneck lamp uses square chalk to write mathematical figures on the wall.

Two haggard bowls spin slowly like tops on the plot of the destroyed center island: Now one is filled with pinecones+dry ice and the other full of burning coals+dominos.

A bookshelf gets into a fistfight with the front door. The front door comes unhinged and walks backwards into the stage right of the set while the bookshell follows it and throws punches with arms made out of desk lamps. Sound: of bulbs shattering on punch-contact. The door topples against the fridge: KO. The Shelf keeps punching with lampfists until the door is busted full of holes, then the door breaks almost in half and crumples on the floor up against the fridge.

Regiondirect→ Camera cuts back up to oblique angle of Foollessclue frantically scribbling ideas in a big leather planner

Foollllessclue: I will invent a way to cure all diseases: I will socialize with the society. I will take pictures of every single thing that has ever existed. I will get a job making Christmas cards.

Foolllllessclue gets on his moped and rushes down to the job office. Each of his pockets is jammed with crumpled social security cards, resumes, a half eaten highschool diploma, and a computer eyeball.

A framed photo falls from the kitchen wall and lands face-down: Nothing breaks. The framephoto begins to crawl around on the floor like a bug and bites at the ankles of a chair which kicks and stomps back. Both of them go in circles around the left side of the kitchen.

The leftover marblewater swirling in the trough that couldn’t be fit in the cash register’s abdomen was scooped up by a bucket held by the abacus and laid out on a table. The gooseneck lamp sprouts a tungsten arm and starts using epoxy and bolts to connect the pieces of marble together, end to end, particle by bit, until the dusty chunks are two long bars. The cash register now takes out a chisel and rapidly sculpts the repaired marble bars into two legs, this makes the first pair of legs.

Marble Chunks Bolts

Mairble Chaunkes Beoelts

Mahirble Caunkes feBoelts

Mahigrbles Cankes febelt

mathigrbles Cankves febet

maThigbles Caves feet

aThighles Calves feet

Thighles Calves Feet

Thighs Calves Feet

Foollllllessclue uses his two marble legs to walk into the job store. But his foot gets caught on the doorway and he trips→and his pockets spill their garbage contents everywhere. ←↑→

A suitcase with eight thick-tired wheels (The front two bigger than the rear six) drives like a semi onto the middle kitchen tile at stage middle: and parks. And honks a horn.

Now there’s a sound of two numberlock clasp unclinching, the hinged clasps pop up: then it’s door-like top half opens on the hinge, it drives back/steers to readjust a bit: top half all open: A water fountain sprays out, cubes of ice and a layer of sleet float in the cold, cold water inside this case. A rope net with many small buckets hung on loops at the knots of its threads, is lowered by a golfclub seesaw, gently, into the case, from where it snatches a small portion of water.

(Certain parts of the rear set walls are actually transparent television screens with translucent texture applied to them to give the illusion of tile and drywall. To give readers in the audience the ability to see scenes in the backyard, the screens are turned off, and are looked through.)

Regionmention: Dry ice smoke still looms around in levels, the whole set has developed it’s own climatology with clouds in layers of various hot smogs. The stormcloud aboutside the windows is now flinging billiard balls onto the roof, and into the windchimes and birdfeeders. The windchimes panic and take flight in an instant, the chime goes off stroking through the sky like a squid, hanger upwards, decorations and metal pipes flexing like thick kite streamers beneath. One of the square metal birdfeeders falls from its hanger and starts spinning aggressively on the grass like a top, then starts cutting the soil like a tornado, then shoots off like a flying saucer, and crashes through the window: slowed by the exploding glass: drops into the sink with a bang-loud clang.

Birdfeeder: I was made to feed dinosaurs, but now I’m run aground.

The hail is destructive: Little bombastic billiard balls coated with razor blades and ice start to punch like bullets through the ceiling of the set, fall down on the floor, and shatter out as colored dust and airborne metal while the kitchen tiles start sliding left like a conveyorbelt.

Regiondirect: → (Pathetic here)

Foolllllllessclue: I need a new pair of arms. See? These two limbs are a fool’s impliments.

The kitchen tiles start to undulate aggressively like a solid white ocean.

Kitchentiles: Out! GET OUT! No more of this nonsense. I am meant to be walked on, I am not a landfill.

The Air Fryer’s door falls open and the ExerMach Forklift grasps and moves the tray of melted, smoking, burning leather-walletpile up into ↑ the air. A sentient cloud of smog floats down like a jellyfish and mingles with the rising fumes of fired leather. The sinkfaucet tries to spray the wallet tray with water to put the flames out but only succeeds at waterboarding the birdfeeder in the sink.

A huge pair of hands both wearing motorcycle gloves descends from the ceiling; fingers pointed at the back of the stage, one hand at stage right+one at left, they descend on the rack of burnt leather. A cabinet door above bangs excitedly. The blender swirls hot water. The ExerciseForklift bows and condescends→moves to stage left→into the shadow a bit. Readers see the gloved hands scoop up the leather and stretch it: Outward streetching burnt, charred moneywallet, streeetching out a whole rectangular platterworth. Down below, hot coals and smokey dry ice are getting flung everywhere when the two bowls get mad and attack each other. Up above the GlovedHands form the hot wallet material into two arms→starting at the elbows and strexpanding outward toward the hand and shoulders. A flying pair of tongs with helicopter rotors hovers over and helps be blacksmith→it pulls and sculpts out the leather to form two palms and ten fingers. A third hand holding a bottle of wood glue descends between and squirts it in the folds of the leather and a serpent made out of thick twine with a blowdryer for a head is charmed by a tornado siren to rise out of a low cabinet. The blowdryer snake sprays heat onto the glue to dry it: This is the first pair of arms.

Wallet Leather Ash

Wallcet Leathear Ansh

Wallicet fLeatohearm Andsh

bwallicep florhearm hAndsh

ballicep forhearm handsh

bllicep forearm hands

Blicep forearm Hand

Bicep Forearm Hand

Foollllllllessclue: I will use my arms to get a job making Christmas cards. I will mail my Christmas cards to every person on Earth. Everyone will love me. I’m going to make a lot of money. Money will be given to me out of love. People will pitty me. I will make money from love.

Stage right side of the kitchen implodes in a shower of blasted apart ceramic plates, tossed around silverware, twigs + leaves off tree branches, atomized drywall; flung up tiles. The whole upper floor comes down

Regiondirect→

A set of bedroom furniture is dropped into the destruction. a king size bed plummets with sheets+blanket flapping.

The Cash Register, Abacus, and Lamp respond with alarm to the sound of destruction above. A dark storm cloud, floating not more than 15 feet above the ground, coasts through the exposed hole in the house and then starts to rapidly pour floodsurge levels of water into the kitchen scene. Eventually the water reaches the translucent gutter and starts to pour from high right to low left into the secret room belonging to the Abacus, Lamp, and Register.

Abacus: We’re going to drown. I guess I can count the water by volume.

Lamp: This downpour is erasing my chalk. I can’t work in a flood.

Register: I will rust and jam shut. The marble will be lost within me.

A huge billboard with the words “Too Bad So Sad" and "I Don’t Feel Bad” written in bright blue on a yellow background crashes through the stage wall from right to left like a battering→ram: tosses bedsheets, wood and tree chunks around while swinging across the set.

Regiondirect→From stage right (With happiness)

Foollessclue runs into the kitchen waving around a stack of Christmas cards while loudly exclaiming “I have the solution! I have the answer! I will find success and happiness!” Right as the ceiling collapses and buries him under the entire set. The water continues to rise until the whole room is a flooded half-floating landfill. Burnt things and wall studs floating on rain. The lights extinguish. Try again.

[ycurkxng-a]

This Isn't How It Was Supposed To Go!

Characters: (Payday) Hoxton, Jimmy, King, Sokol, Bain, Vlad, Captain Winters

Warnings: Major death

Notes: I'm only writing this because my friend was sobbing and shaking and begging me not to, and bc of Roblox. I can't even remember what she did

Something was wrong. That's what Bain had deduced quickly as the gang went ripping through Murkywaters building once more, they'd already robbed it silently, now Vlad had sent them back in. For what? He didn't know, Vlad kept his lips shut tight until they found just what he wanted. Goddamn nukes.

Bain's rage was unmatched then and there, just overheating the container they were in would've been enough to blow them all to hell nine times over, but Vlad seemed rather uncaring. It was too late to pull back now, so they persevered, throwing the warheads onto forklifts and driving off to another vehicle, which was then used to bring the warheads to a train. All of this was done while avoiding an endless hail of bullets from turrets, snipers, and swat teams.

This cycle repeated until they had gotten all but two of the nukes to the train, currently stuffed in the trunk of a car that Jimmy was speeding in. It was a quick argument between the heisters when he jumped into the driver's seat, Hoxton being the one to say that he felt safer shooting himself in the leg and running than letting the cokehead drive, but after nearly getting his head blown off by a sniper he figured that it was the fastest way to get out.

With Jimmy and Hoxton in the front, King and Sokol had gotten into the back. Shooting out of the windows for suppressing fire, most bullets whizzed by the cops they were aimed at, but it was enough to make them back away into cover. Of course it wasn't for very long, but any breather from getting shot at was nice.

Hoxton had one hand clutched tight onto his assault rifle, while the other one held onto the door. "Fucking hell Jimmy- did you ever learn how to drive?!" He shouted, turning to see Jimmy hunched over. Even with the mask over his face, the smile underneath was obvious. "YOU KNOW IT ISNT THAT BAD, MATE!"

A scoff was returned to Jimmy with that, Hoxton regretted not just dragging him out of the car and getting in himself. "You two okay back there?" He asked, turning his head to glance back at King and Sokol. "I'm fine! ...doll, are you alright?"

"Sokol is fine, do not worry!" The Russian assured, in the moment he was more worried about crashing and burning thanks to Jimmy's reckless driving. For the moment he had no choice but to trust him with his and the others lives, even if it was hesitantly.

Luckily enough for them, the train was just up around a corner, which was quickly drifted around by Jimmy. The backend of the Longfellow slammed into the train but didn't slow him down, he sped up ahead and then slammed on the brakes, forcing all the passengers to jerk forward and hit whatever was in front of them. "You goddamn twat!" Hoxton yelled, pulling himself back up and smacking the cokehead upside the back of his head.

It was taken lightly despite the real anger behind it, causing Jimmy to laugh out as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut, rushing to the trunk. The others followed suit, Sokol was the first one to grab onto a bagged warhead to haul it inside of the train, which doubled as their getaway. His movement would've been faster if it wasn't for how heavy the nuke was, that and the bullets coming at them from Captain Winters crew, standing dead ahead of where the car was.

"IT'S THE MOTHERFUCKING CAPTAIN!" Hoxton screamed out, using the front of the car as cover to avoid the bullets coming towards them. King used an open door to protect himself, ducking behind it while he grabbed onto a grenade from his belt. He set down his AK and stood up, pulling the pin to the grenade and throwing it at the group of shields. "GRENADE OUT!"

The explosion that followed was enough to rip through most of the group, Winters still stood, but next to more corpses than living men. When he realized that, he immediately started backing out of the area. "He's retreating!" King shouted, even though the gunfire had stopped momentarily which gave Hoxton the go-ahead to step out of cover and look over at the youngest heister, who turned around to see the others. "Get that last fucking n-"

One shot rang out, stopping Kings speech immediately. His head twitched and his entire form went limp, Hoxton froze up as King hit the ground with a thud. In that position, the Brit saw what had happened.

A bullet had gone right through the back of Kings head, splattering his blood on the inside of his mask. Looking at where the bullet had come from, Hoxton got to see Winters, standing there in awe of his own work. Of course he knew it wasn't safe, so he hurried out with the rest of his team.

"What just happened? Why is King- fuck!" Bain shouted out, getting a good look at the scene. Hearing the mention of King is what brought Sokol out from the train, his eyes immediately darted to stare at the body on the floor. "Cub?" He called out, jumping down and rushing forward past Hoxton.

The rest of the gang stayed silent, they'd dealt with heisters being brought into custody- but never dead. Sokol continued to talk to Kings body, crouching down and grabbing onto the back of his suit, shaking him. Whatever he was saying was lost on the others, as it had been in his native tongue, things such as "Вставай, давай!" and the likes.

Jimmy didn't really understand what they were silent before, assuming that King would just be getting back up. Death was nothing more than a second thought to him, being able to jump from clone to clone in seconds. But King didn't have that same ability, no, that was it. He had one body, and it got dropped. While they all stood around, Jimmy threw the last nuke inside of the train, slowly, but it was done nonetheless.

"Come on! Let's get the fuck outta here, lads!" He shouted to them, jumping onto the train and staring out at them. "What the fuck are you all standing around for?!" Jimmy continued, the gravity of the situation still being unable to truly crash down on him. The stare Hoxton shot towards Jimmy was like daggers, making him even further confused. "The kids.."

Hoxtons attempt at speaking was a failed one, going quiet as he looked back to the corpse that Sokol still sat by. "Yeah, he fuckin' died, he'll get better- NOW GET THE FUCK ON!" He yelled, gesturing for the two to follow him. Unfortunately, all that did was drive the two into an even deeper pit of rage.

Moving quickly, Hoxton dropped his gun and jumped onto the train with Jimmy, but not to escape with him. That was made clear when his arm cocked back and swung forward, his fist cracking the other in the jaw. The sudden force of Hoxtons punch knocked Jimmy down to his ass, "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"What? What did I say?!" Jimmy asked, backing up and putting his hands up. "THE KID IS FUCKIN' DEAD- AND YOU JUST DONT GIVE A SHIT?! I SHOULD KILL YOU!" He snapped, the veins in his neck bulging out with his rage. The only reason he didn't continue to attack Jimmy was because of Sokol behind them, in one hand was the corpse of King, in the other- the last nuke. The thing he'd died for.

Everyone went silent as Kings body was set down on the ground, Sokols rage and grief radiated off of him in waves while he set down the warhead. "Is that all of them?" Bain finally mumbled out, the train beginning to move on the tracks, slowly at first- but picking up speed quickly. "What the hell happened?" He asked, looking through the container. "It... It was the Captain," Hoxton began, "the motherfucker got a stray shot and... He hit the kid."

"Fuck." Bain sighed.

"Yeah..."

In the quiet was where Jimmy finally began to realize just why this was such a tense situation, he could come back, he had clones, King didn't. King was a normal human, not some mad scientist like he was, he didn't have backup bodies to jump into. That was his only life, and it had been taken in an instant.

That's why it had such an effect on everyone, it's why Sokol and Hoxton were so angry, he was dead. Shit.

..there had to be some way to get him back. He just needed a bit of time.