#its okay they’re beyond the police

[itsatorchwoodthing]

[muertawrites]

Damsel in Destruction (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: Jason and one of his cult members attack you and Eddie as you escape from the Upside Down. You show him just how fed up with his shit you are. (Takes place after the scene where Eddie absolutely destroys it on his guitar. I’m taking creative liberties as to the context of that scene but I have a feeling I’m right.) 

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings: blood, mentions of bullying / physical abuse, harsh language, some slightly anti-religious phrasing

Author’s Note: y’all i’m on the verge of a total mental break. i got my heart ripped to pieces by someone i really cared about and probably could have loved, lost my job without warning because everyone i worked with was a backstabbing cunt, and lost a fundamental human right at the hands of my government. all in less than three months. so this is actually an eddie munson x me fic bc i want to express how totally unhinged i feel and still have someone love me for it. or honestly just to have someone love me period would be nice. i’m losing my fucking mind y’all. i’m gonna go drink myself into a stupor and apply for jobs i no longer feel passionate about and pray for a quick and painless death ✌

“Let's go. We gotta get back."

Eddie's rough, firm grip seized around your bicep and hauled you up off the forest floor, your own hand latching around his arm and clutching him as you stumbled upon standing. Your part of the work was done - Eddie had effectively shattered Vecna's ability to possess minds with the killer shredding of his guitar. Now you just had to meet up with the others without getting caught by the police, an angry mob, or the swarm of demabats and other horrendous beasts that Vecna had set loose upon the living world. Easy.

You jogged through the woods behind Eddie's trailer, hand clasped within his as you traversed roots and rocks and your own shaking legs. He pulled you along, almost ripping your arm out of its socket for his hurry; when you cried out, he slowed and wrapped an arm around you, pressing you into his side.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I'm worried about the kids."

You grinned, squeezing his waist.

"They're okay," you assured him. "They do this all the time."

You walked like that for another mile, tucked under Eddie's arm with his hand rubbing apologetic circles into your shoulder. Eventually, specks of light began to emerge on the horizon, poking through the trees - you were almost to Hawkins High.

Then something heavy collided with the back of your head, knocking you off your feet in a dizzy, blacked out haze.

"Get her," commanded a familiar, chilling voice from somewhere beyond your now blurred vision. "I'll control the animal."

"Don't fucking touch her," you heard Eddie snarl.

His words were followed by the sound of skin hitting skin, bone on bone. Something metal clattering to the ground. Shuffling, bodies struggling against each other, insults and slurs thrown back and forth. More blows.

A hand seized the nape of your neck, using the collar of your denim jacket to force you onto your feet. Your sight came back to you, head clearing enough to realize that the back of your skull was throbbing, and a leather-clad arm was wrapped around your throat. It wore the sleeve of a letterman jacket.

At least the angry mob was smaller than you expected it to be.

You started to thrash. Your hands flew to the arm at your neck, pulling and scratching, while your body slammed back forcefully into the chest of the boy holding you.

"Let go of me!" you shrieked, enraged. To your glee, he struggled to keep his grip on you.

"Shut her up," Jason ordered. "I'll deal with her next."

He stood several feet away, leaned menacingly over the trunk of a tree. Eddie's throat was crushed under his forearm, blood pouring from his nose and a gash in his eyebrow, his guitar shattered at his feet.

"Like hell you will," you muttered.

At your neck, your captor's sleeve had raised just enough to expose a length of skin; you bit down with all your might, teeth sinking in until you tasted blood. The boy howled in pain and flung you to the ground, spitting the words "crazy bitch" through his tears. You rolled, coming to a stop on your side.

Something was lodged beneath you. It stabbed into your hip, up the length of your torso, its pointed end poking your ribs. You reached underneath you, wrapping your fingers around it and finding it cold to the touch.

A crowbar. The same one that had probably knocked you out.

"What the fuck happened?" Jason shouted.

His crony didn't get a chance to respond. You sprung to your feet, swinging the blunt end of the crowbar into the boy's gut, doubling him over; you then slammed it down onto the back of his neck, effectively incapacitating him. He toppled with a groan, and you raised your eyes to find Jason turned around, staring at you in shock and ire. Eddie lay slumped against the base of the tree, stunned.

"Just fuck off, Jason," you warned. "You don't want to find out what your medicine tastes like."

He laughed, a condescending smile spreading across his waxen face.

"You're gonna hit me with that thing?" he teased. "I'm bigger than you, sweetheart. Don't get yourself hurt."

"Go ahead and hurt me," you retorted. "You'll just prove that you're the monster. Not Eddie."

He scowled, showing his teeth and contorting his mundanely handsome features into an ugly position. Your grip on the crowbar tightened.

"He's possessed by Satan!" Jason bellowed. "I am doing God's work by casting him from this community! From this earth! You... You little whore. Jezibel! You'll rot in hell. Both of you will!"

Fire rose in your chest, the seething burn of a hatred rooted so deep within you that it could never be removed. Jason had hurt you beyond repair; he'd brought you to tears with his words, mortified you in front of your peers, touched you like he owned you, made you believe in the self-loathing he'd inflicted on you every day since you were children. You still could feel his breath on your neck, his hand up your shirt, his laughter when you couldn't control your tears. All of it was horrifying; a nightmare you couldn't wake up from, a monster you couldn't escape because it had made itself a home your mind.

But none of it compared to the fury he sparked in hurting someone you loved.

You took a step forward, murder in your eyes.

"I am so. Fucking. Sick-"

You swung the crowbar at him; he dodged backward.

"-of your stuck up-"

Another swing; another dodge.

"-psychopathic-"

You swung again. He stumbled.

"-bullshit!"

You had him up against a tree, cornering him so he had nowhere to go. You seethed, knuckles white around the handle of the crowbar, shoulders heaving with your ragged breaths. He stared at you with wide, terrified eyes.

"Are you scared, Jason?" you taunted. "Nobody's ever fought back against you? Have they?"

You lunged, cackling when he flinched.

"I always knew you were a coward. Scaring the shit out of other people because you, yourself, are afraid. And of what? People who don't think, or act, or look like you? People who won't bend to your will? People who can see through all the weights you lift and punches you throw? People you can't control? Everyone knows that's why you hate Eddie so much. Because he never gave a single fuck what you or anyone else thought of him, and no amount of threats could make him fear you. And then you go and pull the oldest, slimiest white man trick in the good book and hide behind your religion; use it as an excuse to hurt the people who see you for exactly what you are. To the extent that you're willing to ruin their lives, even take them with your own disgusting hands. You are nothing but a sad, sniveling little roach, who's never known true friendship or respect in his life. It almost makes me feel bad for you."

You grinned maliciously, blood trickling between your teeth and dribbling down your chin. Jason visibly quivered when he realized it wasn't yours, but the boy's you had bit.

"Almost."

You thrust the crowbar upward under Jason's jaw, savoring the sickening, satisfying crunch of bone. Another swing, sent forward with every muscle in your body, and you cracked his nose, his skin splitting open and spurting blood down the front of his shirt. He let out an anguished sob, the sweetest noise you'd ever heard.

"Look at that!" your joyous holler echoed through the trees. "You can't even take a fucking hit."

You swung again, the sharp edge of the crowbar slashing open his cheek. He was thrown off balance; you brought the crowbar hard into his knees, not caring what damage you inflicted. As he crumpled, you beat him in the back, sending him down harder. He rolled over, crying out in agony, and you dipped the sharp end of the bar under his chin, tilting his head up to look at you; your booted foot pressed mercilessly into his chest, threatening to snap ribs.

"If you touch me, or anyone I care about ever again, it'll be me who destroys you. Not the wrath of your false god."

Jason whimpered in response. You spat in his face - one final blow - before dropping the crowbar and rushing back to Eddie, all of your rage forgotten at the sight of him bludgeoned and bleeding.

"Eddie..." you cooed, falling on your knees in front of him. "Oh, Eddie, your face..."

He silenced you by grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you, pressing you close with a ferocity you'd never witnessed in him beyond a D and D campaign. You closed your eyes and melted into him, opening your mouth so you could feel his tongue against your teeth. He tasted of blood; you snapped back to reality and pushed him away, concerned again for his well-being.

"Dude, that was the sexiest thing I've ever seen," Eddie gushed. His face was absolutely caked with blood, his teeth beaming white through black streaks as he grinned. "You were so fucking unhinged... Will you go out with me sometime?"

You chuckled, the sound leaving your chest in little more than a breath.

"Eddie, you're bleeding profusely," you reminded him. "And I think we're both concussed."

You removed the bandana from around his head, refastening it over his brow so it soaked up the blood and helped stop the bleeding. His knuckles were also split open from the force of punching Jason square in the jaw, so you covered them with a strip of fabric torn from the hem of your dress. He gazed at you dreamily, taking your hand in his once the makeshift bandage was adhered.

"You know I'm in love with you, right?" he confessed.

Your eyes met his reluctantly, heart jolting in your chest at hearing the words you've always wanted him to say.

"Ever since I met you, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," he continued. "I think you're amazing. And you just saved my fucking life. You're the most fucking incredible person I've ever known and if I'm not buried beside you I'll die twice."

You laughed at his dramatics, one of the many things you adored about him. His hand raised to your face, his thumb swiping the blood from your chin. The way he looked at you was like slipping into a warm pool - safe, comfortable, freeing. If someone as dark and cynical as Eddie Munson could trust someone enough to love them openly, you knew you could bring yourself to do the same - and he was the one who deserved your love most.

"We can pick out headstones once we make it out of this," you promised him. "But right now, we've gotta get you to the school. You need stitches and a good cleaning up."

Eddie obliged, allowing you to ease him off the ground and drape his arm across your shoulders, leaning some of his weight on you. As you plodded your way across the school's parking lot, he stopped, turning to face you.

"Kiss me again," he pleaded.

"I would love nothing more," you told him, "but we have to get you inside."

"Please, baby, just kiss me again."

The pet name made you shiver, a lightheadedness overcoming you that had nothing to do with blunt force trauma.

"If we die tonight, I wanna die thinking about what it's like to kiss you."

You scoffed, the sound playful as a drunken smile curled across your face.

"We're not gonna die," you stated. "At least not if you just let me get you some fucking first aid."

"God, I love you..."

Eddie leaned in and kissed you again, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in close to him. You held him tightly as you molded your lips to his, swearing in defiance of Heaven itself that you would never let him go.

[dwreader]

A Meal to Remember by @iwtvfanevents

Part 2: I am suddenly Megan Ellison, a wealthy lesbian, my father is a billionaire who has allowed me to start my own production company to make films I want to see. Money is no object. Here are the fics I would adapt and who I would hire (bully into) directing.

1. Reformation by verseau - first of all, I would pay $1 billion to acquire the rights outcompeting Amazon, Netflix and Apple and I would make Betsy adapt the screenplay. I maintain this must be cinematic because Ldpdl’s hole needs to be experienced in 70mm imax AND I would not allow any countries to censor like they did to Florence’s boobs. This would be like an Eternal Sunshine/Blue Valentine/Two for the Road type romantic dramedy that jumps back and forth in time to show the couple’s struggles and progression, and the non-linear storytelling means it automatically becomes an Oscar frontrunner. I would try to hire Barry Jenkins first but he is occupied with The Lion King 2 at Disney so then I would go to Mia Hansen-Love to direct. Beyoncé does the soundtrack. I didn’t even have to ask her she just wanted to.

2. Part of Your World by weathermood - I will imprison Mr. Monsterfucker himself Guillermo Del Toro until he agrees to direct this film like I am Kathy Bates in Misery. He will read it and then be like okay I agree you don’t need to kidnap me I will make this movie. We are going full Avatar 2 level budget to make sure underwater scenes are believable cause I won’t tolerate bad Aquaman CGI. The budget balloons to $400m but that’s okay cause it makes $2.7b worldwide and there’s 2 sequels greenlit immediately cause the world wants to see Louis get pregnant.

3. A Potentiality for Corruption by vampdf - Guillermo is occupied with Part of Your World and its sequels now so I turn to Robert Eggers to help bring to life this gothic horror romance. It’s 3 hours long. Parts of it are in black and white and there’s aspect ratio changes that confuse and unsettle the audience. We debut at Cannes. We get a 47 minute standing ovation but also some walkouts and fainting in the crowd because some vanilla viewers couldn’t handle the ending, which is controversial but has everyone talking.

4. Cord of Communion by themasterletters- this has now become a #1 nyt best selling novel so we have a built in audience and they want it to be a tv show cause of its length and we can’t skip out on any important points. Every streamer wants it but I choose HBO cause of the prestige factor and I’m an Emmy whore. It becomes Sunday night essential viewing replacing Succession it’s like if The Idol was actually good. I hire many talented directors such as Raine Allen Miller (Rye Lane), Francis Lee (God’s Own Country), Gina Prince Bythewood (Beyond the Lights) and I make Rolin Jones be my showrunner. We sweep the Emmys. The episode where Lestat fires Louis becomes the new Red Wedding traumatizing millions.

5. Pieta by baberainbow - When iwtv the amc show ends, I hire Paul Verhoeven to direct a standalone sequel film based on this fic. It’s as insane as you could ever imagine. The Catholic Church is mad at us. It’s condemned by the Vatican and the anti-feminization police. They’re protesting outside our premiere like they did to Benedetta. It doesn’t matter cause it just makes the film an even bigger hit.

6. Hand to God by boltcutters - first I pay Ziska $1 billion to finish writing this. Then I go back in time to 1933 first to make Hollywood not adopt the Hays Code so we can have gay and interracial stuff in movies and then to 1946 so Howard Hawks can direct this Danlou version of The Big Sleep.

PSA: some of my links aren’t working cause I’m on my phone (on vaca) so please forgive me but y’all know where these fics are don’t lie!!!

[tawneybel]

Note: “Imagine how greedy Ross Humboldt gets over your body when he can tell you’re pregnant with multiples.” Contains sex pollen, too.

It was late by less than two weeks. How Mr. Humboldt knew he was a father again was beyond you. Eight days. A week and a day since he’d successfully inseminated you. Which Ross claimed would result in “a whole brood of ______-Humboldts!” 

A father again and again and… 

The lush grassland wanted to share its fecundity with its guests. Or subjects. Whatever it deemed you two. You weren’t a member of the Church of the Black Rock. Ross was. Initially, you didn’t like calling him by his first name. Who would, in your circumstances? Pretending he was still married to Natalie didn’t help. (You’d tried.) “Till death do we part” and all that. A normal union whose vows might not apply to Ross’s new marriage. 

“I haven’t even taken a test.” 

“But you are,” Ross insisted with a smile. Ignoring the ridiculousness of your statement. There were no pharmacies out here. 

Dodging his caresses wasn’t an option now. 

Not that you wanted to. There wasn’t much else to do. A bag of books to fight ennui. Some convenience store fare. Your leash was shorter than ever after the escape. Which had been too easy. Ross slept like the dead after screwing. Maybe the Tall Grass thought it tamed you. Or it liked to tease. A yawning path tempted you out of the maze. The church remained fixed even as you jumped up one, two, three, four times. Heart thumping, you made a break for it. Thankful that with everything/-one lost, your keys remained pocketed. 

Find a station. No, not a police station. A gas station. Nobody rational will believe me. Becky, Cal, Tobin, Travis. All gone. Whether from the mortal plane or just the Grass, who knows? And what plane is the Tall Grass the entry for, anyway? Fairyland, limbo, some fresh hellscape? Okay, found a station. 

After that, you were on autopilot. Waking up in the passenger seat to Ross racing back down the way you came. “Racing” was a bit strong. Just going a bit above the speed limit. Nothing a typical suburban dad wouldn’t do on the way to a beguiling destination. 

“Picked up some groceries while you were out.”

It wasn’t stated like a question. You had one or a dozen, but swallowed your queries. The Tall Grass wasn’t so isolated. Not like Ross and me and babies makes one, two, three… It shouldn’t have been able to reach out that far. Pollen, maybe. Your new family was rooted here. The idea of rhizomes reaching out miles upon miles, seeking your footfalls… Because you had been barefoot. Shoes long lost to the Grass during Ross’s wooing. You hoped the convenience store clerk didn’t notice. She either hadn’t or was too polite to say anything. Too bad there hadn’t been a drive-through.    

“Good,” Ross continued, “you’re going to need all the nutrients you can get. Need to keep your strength up. For all the fucking.” 

A giggle bolted from your mouth. The sky was darkening but you spotted a Plymouth Fury. So you were entering the Tall Grass where you’d exited. For the last time, probably. 

“And the birthing, of course. I’ll help with that.” 

“Like you did with Becky?”

It just slipped out. Ross smoothly parked your vehicle. For a wild second, you imagined plowing through the vegetation. Mowing it down. Ripping open packs of snacks, scattering, and stomping on them. Their saltiness ensuring nothing green grew there ever again as you smooshed them into the ground. 

“Now, ______,” Ross chastised, rolling down your window. Like you needed fresh air. “I’m not a certified midwife, but we’re going to have help. I want our babies to be safe and healthy just as much as you do.”

His tone made you feel childish. Throwing a temper tantrum wasn’t going to help. Your face flushed further as he poked at your panties. 

“Look, all those hormones aren’t just making you wet. They’re also giving you nesting instincts.”

“They are?” you asked, snapping your eyes away from the Grass. The blades of which sought you out like sunlight. If it wasn’t dusk, you might have noticed the large clumps of pollen wafting through the air. If it wasn’t dusk, and Ross hadn’t been massaging you through your underwear. 

You shut your eyes and inhaled. 

“Let me do the errands in the future, okay?” 

“Ross, someone might see usssss.” Your plea quickly turned into a hiss of pleasure. He’d pulled aside the soaked cotton to reveal your warm cunt. His thumb teased your slit, making you try to push yourself onto it. Mr. Humboldt’s current favorite hole of yours leaked onto his hands. 

“We got a gusher!”

Your thighs tried to rub together, but your spouse quickly withdrew his thumb before prying apart both soft limbs. 

“Uh uh. Take your skirt off.”

You nodded, obediently unbuttoning. However, the skirt was actually part of a dress with a differently patterned top and bottom. As soon as Ross caught sight of your soon-to-be swollen breasts, the last thread of his restraint unraveled. 

“Fuck, I’m so greedy for your body.”

His face burrowed into your tits, supported by a front-fastening bra. Once unlocked, they sprang free, ready to get sucked by Ross for nine months straight. And afterwards. His hands stayed on your legs. Squeezing them tighter and tighter, till you cried out. Wanting to suckle each nipple, but unsure which to start on, he nuzzled the cleft of your breasts. 

“Twins mean double the milk. And quads-!”

He groaned, unable to resist your now yielding thighs. Or your puffy nips or the fact you had an unfilled gap hot and dripping. You hadn’t been penetrated for almost half a day, which was a problem. Unless asleep, Ross knew you needed at least a couple fingers inside your warm hole. Preferably a cock, though. He needed to be stretching you out for childbirth. Make it feel almost weird not to have something inside you. 

(The fact that’s not how vaginae worked wouldn’t occur until post-nut clarity. Ross was just that psyched for you to deliver quadruplets.) 

If your nethers got too sore, he’d love to sandwich himself between plump tits. Plumpening tits.

“Ross, take me inside the grass.”

Your husband complied, leading you by the waist. The tips of your nips hardened, reaching out for the Grass’s blades. Ross matched your smile as the greenery encased you both. Looking forward to ______’s birth canal getting plugged, overflowing with cum, bearing brood after brood after brood. You were spot on about the Tall Grass’s desire to share its fecundity. About making Mr. Humboldt’s length swell only at the thought of worshiping your arable body.

Letting you go had been a fun experiment. Ross would be in charge of grocery shopping from now on, though. It didn’t need you to touch the Rock. Not yet. Not with its pollen keeping you compliant and, more importantly, aroused.

The newlyweds were enjoying their stroll to the center of the contiguous United States. You absentmindedly fingered your coochie, prepping it for more breeding, while one of Ross’s hands slid up to work a nipple. 

Yeah, you were going to enjoy maternity. 

[sparkypantaloons]

The Price

It's a routine night for Red Hood. Stopping traffickers and rescuing victims and the like. But when he thinks he spots his Mom, things begin to spiral. He's never really known how to deal with his grief.

~~

Jason’s helmet has been damaged. Rain is seeping in. A cold, steady trail, that runs behind his left ear, and down under his armour. Steam still rises from the muzzle of his gun.

Home, Robin. You’ll catch a chill.

He steps over the groaning bodies. Doesn’t give them a second look as he unlocks the back of the eighteen-wheeler. Inside is as he expected. Dozens and dozens of women. Maybe even a hundred. Shivering and cold and hungry.

“It’s okay.” He says. And the voice modulator in his broken helmet garbles the sound. Drags out his words like they’re dying. “You’re okay.”

He begins to help the women down from the truck. He can hear the police sirens on their way, along with the ambulances and specialist support workers he told Oracle to call for. It’s not clear how long some of these women have been held and without the proper care, they’re vulnerable to being trafficked again almost immediately. Gotham in the rain is no kind of freedom.

As the emergency services arrive he steps back, retreats to the shadows to watch from a distance. He’s taken care of the easy part, the violence. Now the real work begins; the healing and coping and living. It’s not exactly his area of expertise.

His hair is soaked. Sticks uncomfortably to his scalp beneath his helmet. He suppresses a shudder. Thinks about how much he’d like a cigarette.

Coat on my little bear, you need to stay warm.

The women continue to emerge from the trailer. Tall and short and fat and thin, black and white and brown. Old and young and in between the two.

He’s fumbling in his pockets for a lighter when he sees her. She steps down from the truck with weak legs. Her hair limp, her skin almost translucent. “Mom?” The word escapes before he realises, drags out into a moan through the damaged modulator. He pulls the Hood from his head as he begins to move. “Mom?” He calls, more urgently now as the woman disappears into the throng of people. The word feels foreign in his mouth, awkward and unfamiliar. When was the last time he used it? “Mom!” He calls again, pushing through police and paramedics and women. So many women, where has she gone? What is she doing here, how is she even alive, where has she been this whole ti—

“Mom!” He towers over her, but he’s never felt so small, so desperate. “Mom, it’s me, it’s Ja—”

The woman turns to face him. She’s frail, it’s true. Blonde and weak and pale. But she’s not his mother. She looks up at him with blank eyes. Pupils dilated beyond sight with the drugs.

Jason recoils on instinct. “I’m— sorry.” He mumbles. “Sorry I thought you were—” His throat burns, his vision blurs and he turns. Runs. Tries to ignore the awful stone of confusion and hurt and shame in his chest. The way it presses on his lungs, makes it hard to breathe.

Don’t cry little bear. Mommy's here now.

Of course it wasn’t his Mom. It couldn’t be. She’s been dead for years. Over a decade. It could never have been her. He should have known...

~

He doesn’t remember making it home. Wakes up in his bed the next morning and can’t bring himself to figure out how. The grief is all consuming. A weight in his blood, forcing its way round his body, until he’s too heavy with sadness to move. He makes it to the couch, but not any further. Sinks into the cushions as the daylight moves around him; until the shadows grow into one and night falls again.

He doesn’t patrol that evening. Doesn’t respond to Oracle’s hails for support over in Chinatown either. Eventually he makes it back to his bed. Sleeps.

~

He wakes the next day angry. Annoyed with himself for being so self-pitying. His mom’s been dead for years, no need to get all pathetic about it. He forces himself into a cold shower, tries to shock the sadness away. Then heads into the night, adrenaline burning in his veins.

It’s raining again, and his punches land heavy, bone cracking beneath his fists and his boots and his hurt. He rages across the city, inserting himself into every fight he can find, desperate to exhaust himself out of his misery.

It doesn’t work. Not even when he squares up to Orphan and tries to taunt her into fighting him. She clicks her tongue, ignores his jeers about Bruce and killing and calling herself fucking Orphan when both her parents are alive.

“You are sad.” She says, monotone. And Jason can’t tell which way she means it. Has never been able to tell, frankly, and if she won’t fight him then he doesn’t care to. He drops from the roof with a hissed insult in her direction, and swings back into the fray.

Maybe he can get Bruce to fight him, he thinks. Except Batman isn’t out tonight. Benched by Alfred for a twisted back.

He gives it up as a bad night, and heads home to his apartment, instead. Takes himself to bed before the burning behind his eyes gets the better of him.

~

Jason sleeps in fits and starts. Dreams of Cass as the driver of the truck and of finding only Sheila inside the trailer; of being eleven again and Bruce and Catherine kicking him out of the Manor. He wakes to a wet face and a sore throat and a horrible pit of loneliness in his stomach.

“Fuck this.” He mutters to the quiet, dragging himself from his bed and getting dressed. If he leaves now, he can make it to the Manor before Robin gets back from patrol. A fight with Bruce always makes him feel better… He won’t feel like this anymore, anyway.

He gets to the old stone mansion around 3am. He thinks about heading in through the Cave, but it isn’t Batman he wants to fight, it’s Bruce. He decides to scale the trellis outside his old window instead. Maybe he’ll stomp mud through the stupid shrine Bruce has in there for good measure. That always winds the old man up.

He lands with an unceremonious thump. Makes no effort to minimise the racket he makes as he slams the window closed in its frame behind him. His old posters are still on the wall, fading now in the light of so many years. Wonder Woman smiles down at him from one, Denzel Washington glares from another. Bruce must have superglued them to the wall for them to still be up after all this time.

His books still sit on the shelves around the room, and on his desk is his unfinished science homework. Something about xylem and phloem and osmosis. The bed is still made, a faded pair of pyjamas on the pillow and a copy of Nicholas Nickleby is on the nightstand. Beside it, a framed photo of Catherine and a four year old Jason.

“Oh.” He says stupidly to the empty room. He had forgotten that was here.

Suddenly his eyes are burning again, his throat too tight to swallow. He sits heavily on the bed, holds the picture in his hands.

“Jason?”

It’s Bruce, obviously. Jason doesn’t look at him, too busy trying to see the photo of his mom through the blurring in his eyes.

“Oh, Jay.” Bruce says sadly.

The mattress dips beside Jason and a warm hand rests on his shoulder. All of the fights seeps out of him. “I thought I saw her the other day,” He says. His voice is barely a whisper, creaking into the air through the tightness in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. “That’s always tough.”

“Does it happen to you, too?” Jason asks, wiping at his eyes.

“Less and less.” Bruce says. “Sometimes I worry I don’t really remember what they look like anymore. Even with the photos.”

“I don’t have any photos,” Jason doesn’t realise it’s true until the words have fallen from his mouth. They leave a bitter taste on his tongue. “I don’t think I’ve really even thought about her since I’ve been… since I’ve been back.”

“Oh chum,” Bruce says softly, and Jason feels eleven all over again. Broken with grief and loneliness and loss. “You should have said.” Bruce stands slowly, the pain in his back telegraphed in his movements. He shuffles over to one of the bookshelves, pulls down a box that sits on the top shelf. He hands it to Jason.

“What’s this?” Jason asks.

Bruce shifts awkwardly. “I have a programme that searches for pictures of you kids and your families.” He says. “As more records are digitised, it collects them. Most of it is old school photos, or the occasional local paper. It’s partly for me.” He mumbles. “I have so few pictures of you all when you were little.” A pause. “But it’s for you as well. Memories of your childhoods…” He trails off.

Jason opens the box and his own smiling face looks up at him from inside. There are photos of him from kindergarten and elementary school. Pictures from theme parks in the summer and visits to Santa’s Grotto at Christmas. Catherine is in there too. Next to a seven year old Jason on the tea cups and a five year old him at the zoo. There are even some photos of just her. One from her university pass when she had been studying to be a teacher, and one from her drivers license. Her and some girlfriends at the top of the Empire State Building. Photos Jason has never seen before, that he didn’t even know existed.

He stares at her, the beautiful woman she was, before the drugs wasted her away. His throat gets tight again. He turns to Bruce.

“Do you think she’d like me?” He asks, his voice small.

For once, Bruce seems to know the right thing to say. “Oh, darling.” He presses a kiss to Jason’s curls. “She’d adore you.”

[ginarickys]

the early reception of hsmtmts season 4, or what we’ve seen of it so far, has been majorly positive. there have been a lot of negative comments too and while everybody is completely within their rights to criticize/discourse over media, the extent that some “fans” have been going to (mostly bitter portw*lls) is just borderline malignant and i’d like to address some of these reoccurring complaints.

as it relates to ej caswell, he is NOT a punching bag. i’ve seen so many people argue that they’re no longer supporting or watching the show because of its treatment of ej and i’m not mentioning this to attempt to police what people should or shouldn’t support, i’m mentioning this because the arguments i’ve seen for this point are laughably vain, as well as hostile towards every other character who isn’t him.

ej is not some victim of bullying by the hands of the writers. every character in hsmtmts has struggled. every character has had to endure some level of change, because it was necessary for them grow. every character has been penalized for trying to revert back to the things that actively regressed them. rini, that was shown to hold both ricky and nini back, didn’t stick for that exact reason. ej hasn’t gotten it worse simply because the writers wanted him to.

his “character arc” was learning not to give people food poisoning. his “struggle” in season one was losing followers because of a poor decision that he consciously made.

and of course, i couldn’t tackle this entire ej discussion without mentioning the whole “ricky stole his girlfriends” card that people are still playing. nini and gina were not THINGS to be stolen. both of them made the choice to break up with ej for reasons that were completely valid, because people who’re capable of thinking for themselves can do things like that. portw*lls and ej fans have a pattern of degrading gina especially, all because she didn’t allow herself to stay in a relationship that was making her unhappy.

you guys cannot stand that ej doesn’t get to own who he dates. it’s beyond telling.

as it relates to fan service, the people claiming hsmtmts sacrificed “realism” to cater to fans being anti rinas doesn’t surprise me. the disney show is the one you guys are cracking down on about realism, okay.

rina isn’t fan service. gina getting the lead isn’t fan service. those are things that make complete sense within the contextualization of the show, which you guys always choose to ignore. these are things that have been built up through parallel storytelling and through multiple accounts of foreshadowing, but i understand those who are saying these things are happening because the show needs “saving” with olivia gone wouldn’t perceive it that way.

i’m not calling anyone simple minded. but what’s the real reason gina shouldn’t be the lead? what’s the real reason ricky shouldn’t be with a girl who understands him, supports him, and provided the positive change that he needed at a low point in his life? why shouldn’t these characters be happy with each other?

ricky and gina are the truest to themselves when they’re together. ricky sees gina’s ambition, he sees her talent, and he praises her for that. gina sees ricky for all of his potential. she never actively tore him down, she never ridiculed him. was there a point where she set boundaries between them? sure, but they came out on the other side of it the strongest they’ve ever been. certain characters exiting the narrative doesn’t mean that the other characters stop growing or developing, the story doesn’t suffer just because your ship isn’t endgame, or because your favorite character isn’t always happy.

finally, in defense of ricky bowen, he’s had more than enough growth to beat the regression allegations.

just to reiterate, gina wasn’t property for him to claim. gina is the one who told him that he’s been her choice for some time, despite not being her plan, he was still the one she was choosing. ricky didn’t coerce her into saying that. he wasn’t pulling strings or feeding gina lies so that she would break up with ej, either.

ricky has been battling with change and defining himself since the very beginning of the show. over the course of three seasons, we watched ricky genuinely commit to theater. he came to camp to be with his friends, not to sweep gina off of her feet. even with people calling him unreliable, even after being told that he has “no profitable skills”, even after having some bumps in the road. ricky has done nice things for his friends without expecting anything in return.

after being defined by his slip-ups, more or less, ricky finally got to hear that he was a yes to someone. a shot worth taking. i’ve seen people complain that he’s the main reason that they’ve given up on the show, as well as claim that he gets everything handed to him. he had to make sacrifices and lose things to get to where he is. there’s quite literally no denying that.

this has gotten entirely too long, but i’m trying to illustrate that a lot of these story beats are obvious. no one is obligated to watch something that they don’t like, but i’ve seen former “fans” act horrifically racist and sexist, i’ve seen them discredit the cast, i’ve seen them complain about the attention season 3 gave to anxiety and sexuality, just because they weren’t happy nini left the show, and because portw*ll wasn’t together by the end of the season.

this is a disney show at the end of the day, try and relax.

[cielcius]

haha imagine shouto gets hit w a quirk and has a devil and angel appear.

pro-hero!shouto x doctor!g/n!reader

The sirens that ring through the streets of Musutafu echo in Shouto’s ears, bringing a headache with a sharp whip that takes a crack at his temple. Finally, after a long and unnecessarily drawn-out battle, the villain was down with their head ducking into the police car, hands cuffed behind their back as they struggle to get out one last curse to Pro-Hero Shouto.

“Curse him back.”

Shouto looks up, perplexed at the new voice but there’s nobody around him, or at least not close enough to have been so loud, and Shouto swore he was starting to see the words form in front of him. “Who said…” He trails off, moreover being physically interrupted as the paramedics usher him off the battle scene and to an ambulance where they can tend to his injuries. As they start to bandage the cut on his arm, the voice makes its appearance again.

“Stick your finger up their nose. It’ll be funny.”

“Don’t stick your finger up their nose, even if it is funny.”

This time, Shouto is sure to survey his surroundings, eyes narrow as they look for the source of the voices. Though halfway through his search, his headache comes back with a sharp pang, forcing him to close his eyes in order to bear the pain. “Mr. Shouto, are you alright?” Shouto waves it off as a headache, a concussion at worst, which isn’t anything new to him.

Or maybe the part about hearing voices was worst, he couldn’t tell at the moment as the mentioned voices had started to invade with ideas, and ideas opposing those ideas. As far as he could tell, there were two voices that sounded frighteningly similar to his own, now that he’s heard a good amount of the conversations that went something like:

“That villain was such a bastard. He oughta follow them to the pound and give them a piece of his mind. Just imagine, the look on their face.”

“He’s not gonna follow them, much less beat them up. Sure, they might have been a little rude and violent but everybody has bad days.”

“Well that guy had a bad week if you ask me. Maybe a few of them for him to have fought like such a whiny little bi—” 

“Can you stop?” Shouto’s outburst comes sudden and frustrated, having been annoyed to the limit where the need to speak seemed necessary.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Shouto.” At the meek voice, Shouto comes to the realization that nobody besides himself can hear the voices.

“Oh, look what you made him do. Now the paramedic is scared. Go on, apologize.”

“Wait! Sorry, I was talking to someone else.” At Shouto’s claim, the paramedic takes a look over of the scene around them—and there’s no one near conversing range. The paramedic looks back at Shouto with their eyebrows knitted, cautious hands still moving in practiced motions to fix him up. “Mr. Shouto, are you sure you’re okay? You can tell me if there’s something bothering you, or I can help with your transport to the hospital.”

Shouto sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

— 

“Mister Todoroki Shouto? Can I come in?” Shouto nods, pausing before he voices a confirmation for the doctor to enter the makeshift room of curtains. Beyond the white curtains, he can hear the shouts of nurses and the squeaking wheels of stretchers being rolled to and fro. When the curtain is drawn to let the doctor enter, the sounds increase before trailing off into a muffle again.

“Oh, they’re a pretty one. Bet they’re a good fu—”

“How about you leave it at pretty.”

Shouto can’t stop the slight turn down of his lips at the voices, half-vexed at the atrocity and yet, he finds himself agreeing—his doctor is really pretty. “Hi, I’m Doctor Y/n L/n. I heard something happened with you out on the field?” Shouto nods, the only question in his mind being how to explain what happened.

“Okay, can you tell me what happened?” Shouto purses his lips together before nodding. “Uh, I keep hearing myself.” The voices start again, bantering between each other over Shouto’s recent statement.

“He just messed up our chance with Mx. Hot Doctor.”

“They have a name! It’s Doctor L/n, and that’s not even what we’re here for!”

“Ah, shut up. You obviously wouldn’t get it. I mean, look at them.”

Shouto doesn’t know why, but he finds himself eyeing you from head to toe, looking back up to meet wide eyes. “Mister Todoroki, do you think there’s another way to explain it?” You’re obviously uncomfortable, and Shouto doesn’t blame you. He doesn’t even know why he did that.

“They’re arguing.”

“They?”

“Yes, the voices. They sound like me, but there’s two of them, and they keep arguing about you—” Shouto stops when the voices interrupt him.

“Dipshit, why the hell would you tell Mx. Hot Doctor that?”

“It’s Doctor L/n!”

Shouto gauges for your reaction, suddenly feeling the urge to stand up and leave when he finds you speechless in the presence of his words, before you seem to come to your senses. “Okay,” you write something on a clipboard. “Are they sentient? Like saying things that aren’t your original thoughts?” Shouto begins to nod before stopping abruptly. Did it count if he agreed with what they were saying though?

“Well, they say things that I don’t think of, but I agree with them.” You scribble some more on the clipboard. “Okay, can you tell what they’ve been saying? Are they telling you to do something? Any harmful, or perhaps violent thoughts?” Shouto tilts his head in question. Though they hadn’t prompted him to do so much as set fires to buildings, at least one of the two voices didn’t seem to voice completely harmless thoughts.

“They’re not telling me to do anything right now, but one of them seems to want to do something, and the other voice says not to do it.” You nod and scribble more down, and Shouto wonders if you have the so-called “doctor’s chicken scratch” writing.

“Maybe this was a bad idea. We’re clearly causing trouble for Doctor L/n.”

“If we wanted to cause trouble, we can still burn the building down.”

“They’re telling me to burn the building down.” Shouto feels as if it was something to tell you, but the same feeling of wanting to stand up and leave returns when you stare at him blankly. “I’m gonna transfer you to ICU.”

Shouto sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

[royal-confessions]

“They said she was straight outta Compton. They compared her newborn son to a monkey. They linked her very first project to terrorists. Harry was called a race traitor. Faux anthrax was sent to them within a racist letter and was treated by police as a hate crime. Good on Meghan for telling the world this isn't okay, and good on Harry for standing up to his relatives and getting his wife and son out of that toxic environment. No human should go through that no matter WHAT family they're part of.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“From calling Meghan Markle the n-word to claiming she faked her pregnancy and presented a doll to the world, it's beyond shocking and repulsive how vile people can be.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“if you look at all of the comments on meghan's suits interviews almost every comment before 2018 is about how pretty and nice and funny and friendly she is. but every comment 2018 onwards is mean, hateful and rude. i mean its clear proof of the impact of the daily mail's horrific hate campaign against her.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Never forget that Oprah was in response to the hate,now people use it as an excuse for hating. Never forget that many white people get more angry at being called racist than the actual racism itself e.g. people angrier at Meghan for telling the world there's racism in the institution than at the fact that there's racism in the institution. Never forget that many white people will always believe whites over nonwhites e.g. why they're satisfied with "we're very much not a racist family" statements” - Submitted by Anonymous

“[White] people view princessing as a white job/activity. It's why there's people trying to come up with scientific reasons as to why mermaids can't be Black(it'd be funny if it weren't so tragic), why they insist a certain married-in princess isn't a princess even though technically anyone who's legally married to a prince is indeed a princess, why that princess is criticized for things white princesses do without pushback because again it's never about the action/outfit,it's about the pedigree.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“It is horrifying how people view Meghan but it's also what I expect from people who idolize the royal family” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Not all critics of Meghan are racist, but all racists hate Meghan.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“A woman rang LBC and talked about her 14 year old black daughter having faeces thrown at her by a group of white boys. Meghan’s treatment by the media isn’t an isolated experience that affects her only, by normalising this kind of abuse gives people the encouragement to go after anyone they perceive to be another object they can ridicule and humiliate.” - Submitted by Anonymous

[aweightyissue]

On Weight Loss and Morality

Conversations around weight and weight loss have always been contentious.

The oft repeated mantra of weight loss has been “there is no silver bullet.”

It’s a jeering remark meant to chide dieters for trying anything beyond eating skinless chicken breast and 20 hours a week working out.

If you want to lose weight you have to pay the penance for every excess pound. You have to earn it.

Their smug satisfaction of watching weight loss aids fail is salt in the wound. They snickered at limitations and failure of Amphetamines, PhenFen, Ephedrine, Orlistat, LapBands, and Gastric Bypass.

See? You can’t cheat your way out. You did this to yourself, now you must suffer the consequences.

An anti weight loss movement emerged in opposition to this mentality. Body positivity is a healthy response to diet culture; making the radical assertion that existing in your body, the way it is, without trying to change, is not only okay, it’s a good thing.

Love your body and focus on being healthy. Your weight is not your worth. This cannot be said enough. Your worth in this world is not related to how your body looks.

When around came GLP-1 medications, the reactions have been fascinating.

The drugs themselves are remarkably effective, and instead of targeting the weight, they correct the underlying metabolic problem. They’ve been on the market for years and are generally known to be safe.

The ire toward them, is in some ways unsurprising.

No! You can’t do it the easy way! You have to work at it!

You’re stealing them from the deserving- the diabetics. Ironically, the same people they blame for their own illness.

The body positivity crowd response is fascinating as well. Taking the drugs is a betrayal. You shouldn’t want to change your body. You’re giving into diet culture. You shouldn’t want to fit conventional beauty standards.

The response has been negative from both sides. People feel entitled to police the bodies and choices you make about your body.

Both of these reactions are moral judgments. You have to pay for your sins. Either for gluttony or vanity.

The thing is, there should be no judgement at all.

Weight loss requires a lot of mental energy. You have to commit your mental and physical energy to it. There are a million reasons why someone can’t or doesn’t want to do that. And that’s okay. There is no reason why you should feel obligated to.

However, ignoring the very real disabling effects of obesity is also a kind of denial of humanity. It’s not anyone’s business, and to condemn someone for trying to prevent or correct the effects is kind of cruelty all its own.

There’s no reason someone should have to justify their desire to change their bodies or their efforts to do so.

Try to love your body, regardless of its size, but it’s okay if you want to lose weight and you don’t have to justify your reasons or your decision to use medication to do it.

Everyone else, support people if they choose to change their bodies as well as when they choose not to. It’s not your decision, your business or your place to judge them.

We, the body positivity advocates don’t criticize trans people for changing their bodies because they’re unhappy with the way it looks. We don’t shame people with disfiguring congenital defects who choose to have corrective surgery; even when it poses no health risk. We understand the very real effects of social stigma, and wouldn’t criticize them for avoiding it.

You’re punishing people trying to lose weight for the sins of vanity and envy.

The other assholes, you wouldn’t tell a cancer patient “there’s no silver bullet” or snicker when an experimental or risky treatment fails. You don’t tell people with high blood pressure or high cholesterol that taking medicine is “taking the easy way out.” You know it’s cruel, you simply want to punish people for the sins of gluttony and sloth.

All I’m saying is - leave the people taking weight loss meds alone.

Weight is not a moral issue.

Weight is not a moral issue.

Weight is not a moral issue.

Weight is not a moral issue.

Weight is not a moral issue.

[nazli-ersan]

Rage Against the Machine

The jail cell was a world of its own, a microcosm of all the pain and suffering that lay outside its walls. The air was thick with the stench of fear and hopelessness, the faint echoes of footsteps and whispered conversations a constant reminder of the world beyond. Nazli's eyes traced the outlines of her tiny cell, taking in the peeling paint, the rusted bars, the flickering light that cast eerie shadows across the walls. It was a place that seemed to exist outside of time and space, a place where the only thing that mattered was the crushing weight of confinement.

Nazli felt the cold, hard metal of the bars against her fingertips as she gazed out at the grey walls that enclosed her. The rage she felt was threatening to consume her. Starting to pace back and forth in her cell, glancing at the cold metal bars, an unwelcome barrier between her and the world beyond. The Turk kicked the wall in frustration, feeling the jolt of pain shooting through her foot, but she didn't care. She needed an outlet.

They’d been under the Rutherford thumb for so long now, she’d accepted it as normalcy that whatever heinous crime she’d commit, the police would always, without a fail, look away. Indeed a golden chain it was, and ironically, their fight for freedom had landed her in a jail cell. This time, the invisible Rutherford hand hadn’t intervened, and it hadn’t made everything magically go away.

This was a clear message that couldn’t have been clearer. 

Touching their shitty lieutnenant would not go unpunished. 

Perhaps, Naz wouldn’t have been so fucking angry if she’d been locked up for the countless crimes she’d commited in her thirty years of life, but instead the Ruthford irony was far bitter - the charges were completely false.

Attempted murder of Ayaz Ateş - when she was informed why the police were dragging her to the patrol car, her first instinct was to yell “I fucking wish”, still dumbfounded it was really happening. There was no way they’d confused her with Emine, this was absolutely intentional. Naz wasn’t quote sure why she had to suffer for that little brat’s actions, but she knew enough about the Rutherfords to know it was no accident.

So this is how the life worked - when the puppet masters dropped the puppets, they ended up in the ditch, discarded, stowed away like useless peices of shit. The thought of spending more time in this room, where the stale air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and sweat, and the only sounds were the distant echoes of voices and the occasional clang of metal doors made her skin crawl.

Berat was her first call, obviously.

“...so yeah, I don’t know what kind of twisted fucking game they’re playing. Don’t worry though, you know I’ll make prison my bitch.” It was more to reassure herself, than Berat, possibly, but Nazli didn’t want him to spiral into feeling bad for her. He had enough shit going on.

“I mean, sure, we could try bail, but I don’t think Ruthercunts would allow that. You know every judge is eating out of their hands,” the anger was starting to morph into despair in her voice.

“Listen, my minutes are up. Need to go. Don’t do anything stupid,” Naz said in hurried sentences, “but.. do punch Emine for me, would you? Okay, hanging up n-”

Well, she’d always known and accepted the fact that most of times, she behaved like an animal rather than a civlised human, but this she naively didn’t expect - to become a caged animal.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

From a Let's Read I'm reading;

Sometimes I feel like Lancaster was put in this story just to say to everyone's faces what I'm thinking while I read this. It's not true, of course. He's also there to fix problems and be a badass, but he also spends a lot of time being the lone voice of reason. And he's willing to actually talk to Brian like an adult, on his terms and just say what needs to be said.

And having done the Black Lives Matter thing, I can confirm that this is true. There is a class of person, over represented on the internet, I think, who will interpret any calls for reform, no matter how moderate or reasonable, or statement that systemic problems exist as an attack on the very foundations of civilization.

Class, I want you to see if you can spot the snuck premise here.Just write it down on a scrap of paper or hold it in your head.

Time's up. Pencils down. did you get it? It's okay if you didn't. Arc probably did, he loves this one.

Supporters of any political cause like to do something some people call the Advertiser Fallacy. You paint your side in the best light, and the opposition in the worst. 

BLM likes to claim it's "just caring about black lives", without actually bothering to look for evidence of racism beyond "a black person died". It doesn't care about black-on-black crime, doesn't even care about black people hurt - physically or otherwise - in its own riots. This forum poster - who claims he's not anti-cop, honest - says he's stood in the lines at BLM protests.

And notice how he describes BLM; "calls for reform" or just a "statement that systemic problems exist".

Notice how the "specific accusations of racist police brutality" part is conveniently left out. He just goes in based on the assumption that BLM is absolutely right. In reality, it's not only bad at finding racism, it's bad at finding police brutality.

Earlier in the thread, he complains about how cops "band together" in the face of those same "calls" or "statements". As if BLM doesn't make accusations and assumptions against entire police departments, or cops in general. BLM, I gather, thinks a cop should be thrown to the wolves the second an angry mob with a hashtag demands it. I think there's people have even harassed and hacked other cops' and their families, just for being from the same precinct.

Are cops perfect? No, they're human. They screw up. They should be held accountable. Has BLM ever proven a single incident was actually because of racist cops...?

No. Not once.

Not in 2016 when this post was made, and not now, 8 years after it started. It's never been able to fulfill the most basic goal of any activist movement; proving there's a problem to begin with.

In fact, a few months after this post, a terrorist would murder five cops guarding a BLM march. And that wasn't the first terror attack.

That happened in NYC, before BLM was a year old.

If I may Marvel for a moment, there's a moment where the authoritarian villain who's about to purge the world of disruptive elements via intercontinental railgun speaks to a guy from India. 

He goes "What if Pakistan was about to march into Mumbai and drag your daughters into a soccer stadium for execution? What if you could stop it, just by pressing a button? Would you do it?" The Indian guy thinks, and goes "not if it was your button."

That's how I feel about BLM. Police brutality and racism are real issues, and BLM is absolutely terrible at addressing them.

[lunarifie]

Rewatching Ninjago

(With no context other than the episode)

Skybound 7-8



Okay by why is Dareth out of everyone helping Nya, Cole, and Lloyd save Jay

Are Kevin and Dan self inserts-

Lloyd: who are they? Retrieval experts?

Dareth: better! Screenwriters.

I also saw these two random dudes in the jail and they were given lines and everything istg these are self inserts 💀

Also theyre voices sound abnormally normal

Everyone else in the show has a sort of distinctive or exaggerated voice

Not to mention how normal their outfits are. something I would actually wear in real life.

These are just some guys

The plan to recreate the sky pirates airship to blend in is actually a good idea

Lloyd: Ar! Yee.. matey, we be be, becoming pirates!

Dan and kevin:…

Kevin: okaaay thinking on the fly, the green one wont do dialects.

Dan: the mute pirate!

The dialect teacher: (teaching Cole and Nya)

Lloyd: (following their movement and swaying but not saying anything with a smile on his face)

I bet Lloyd loved pirates when he was little

This must be so fun for him :)

The airjitzu master after nadakhan stole him and his temple: This is me and my pupils home! You cant take it!

Nadakhan: And get rid of those peaky ghosts as well 🙄 theyre so last season

HDNSIFNSNR

The way Nya and Cole are hoping Jays okay 🥺

COLE FOUND JAY!!! WHAT I DONT REMEMBER THIS HAPPENING?!?!?!?

Jay sounds so pained :(

God I really wish Ninjago had like, a cartoon style like she-ra or spiderverse. Coles helping Jay stand and Jays voice actor is doing such a good job in sounding in pain but this would hurt so much more if we could SEE it.

They apologized to each other 🥹

Clancy (looking away): now here are the rules you need to follow new crewmates!-

Lloyd: (trying his fucking best as the mute pirate to mime to Nya that her mustache is falling)

Nya: 🤨

Lloyd: your mustache…

Clancy: hey! I thought you were mute

Lloyd: its a fucking miracle!

Huh, okay. So not only can the ninja not summon their dragons if they’re fearful, but they cant if they’re too drained or exhausted.

That makes a lot of sense actually

I love when powers come hand in hand with like health and stuff

They all got captured 😐

I hate that Nyas alone with Nadakhan

Jay: Thanks for trying to save me but maybe it would’ve been better if you guys never came…

Damn.

God Nadakhans so creepy…

Cole: Nya! Dont do it! Itll make Nadakhan all powerful-

Nadakhan: The black one goes first.

ik Coles the black ninja but the poc Cole headcanon has made me double take and go “🤨” to a few lines

DID NYA JUST FLIP DOGSHANKS HFJNSJF Holy shit

If I had a nickel for everytime an ancient item could collect elemental masters powers, id have two nickels, which isnt a lot but its weird it happened twice right?

STOP. MAKING. WISHES.

Lloyd: We have to be wiser for what we wish for!

Jay: NO. NOT WISER. QUIETER. NO. MORE. WISHES.

Coles getting his wishes twisted

Lloyds trying to think this through

And Nyas just wasting wishes💀

Like girl its not that hard to just NOT say ‘wish’

LLOYDS OLD?!?!?! 😭bfjdjfnfjsnt

Its so funny that the youngest became the oldest

Thats also scary though

Imagine the kid you swore to take care of turned 90 in a second

Lloyd: i see beyond the now..! Youll need your wish when its said from the heart

Love when age and wisdom gives you future vision

Jay: SAID FROM THE HEART?!?!? HEARTS DONT TALK!!!!

FUSION DRAGON!!!

How does that even work though

An electric and water dragon should be killing both Nya AND jay.

Wait so Cole and Lloyd used all their wishes. How is nadakhan gonna trap them in his sword now?

CLANCY NO DONT WISH THEM AWAY

Clancyyy :(

Nya riding the dragon while Jays sitting behind her is giving me movie Nya and her motorcycle vibes

so its just Nya and Jay now

And the whole police force I guess.

But what were they ever good for.

Oooooo a safe house

Wonder where it is.

Zanes dad’s lighthouse!!!

WAIT WAIT WAIT IK WHOS IN THERE

Jay: No no, let me row the boat, you saved me last time, let me do this for you :)

Awww thats sweet

Jay: Either way, a gentlemen NEVER lets a lady row.

Aaaand you ruined it.

Flintlockes getting reaaal suspicious of Nadakhan…

MUTINY! MUTINY! MUTINY!

that was kinda pathetic…

Jay: (venting his heart out about how this is all his fault)

Nya: Jay-

Jay: (continues venting)

Nya: JAY. Shut up. 😀

Jay: I know I know, you dont wanna hear it-

Nya: No- JAY. we’re not alone.

ECHOECHOECHOECHO

Jay: (cowering behind Nya)

Nya: I thought you were supposed to be protecting me?!?

Jay: I thought you were over that!

ECHO!!!!

Does anyone have any fic recs where Jay and Nya take echo with them????? Bc ik they leave with echo but we never see him again.

Clancy deserves better :(

Its actually kinda sweet how Jay wants to protect Nya

Little robot: (steals echos chess piece)

The seagulls: (trying to alert echo of what little robot just did)

Echo (looks back): Wait… How did you..?

Little robot: 🤷

Echos so cute 😭

I love Jay and Nya 🥺 theyre so sweet and it makes me genuinely like their relationship when they aren’t fighting

Nya fixed up Echo!!!

Nya: Its nothing… its just, both of you seem so convinced you have a future with me.

Nya: what voice do I have in all this? All my life , my identities been defined by someone else. First I was Kais sister, then I was your horrible girlfriend!

Nya: Even when I wanted to be Samurai X sensei told me no…

Nya: I just want the choice to be who I wanna be.

I feel so bad for her.

See THIS is why shes my favorite. I literally love her sm.

Her character is just so dynamic and well written

I really hope the ninjago writers dont tear down her characterization and make her bland in newer seasons

Fuck theyre here.

Nya: Lights, camera, ACTION! (flash-bombs nadakhans crew)

Dogshank: OW! You pulled my hair?!??! WHAT KIND OF WARRIOR PULLS HAIR???

Nya: One that is woefully undersized!!!

Jfjdjdbfhsjdnsjrn

Fuck this being about Jay. This is Nyas season.

Jay: Whatever you do! Dont pull that lever!

Doubloon: ? (looks at the lever) 😈 (pulls lever)

Jay (falls through escape trap door): Thanks! :D

GO ECHO GO

Aw echo :(

Nya: (pouring her heart out and confessing she’s always loved him and wants to protect him and for him to go through the travelers portal)

Jay: (goes for a kiss)

Nya: (fucking shoves him in the portal)

Nya. Girl. Ik this was like, an act of love. But if you marry the djinn, hes gonna be all powerful.

Like, its great that you believe Jay can save you later and stop the wedding. But you could have just left. If Jay got captured he’d still be able to make the ‘i wish you were never a djinn’ wish.

Nadakhans so creepy. I hate him and hope he dies.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

TWD 11x22: Analysis, Part 2

Here is some more general discussion about this episode, and symbols we’re seeing in 11c:

@galadrieljones:

Connie and Daryl in the “tunnel of love” LMAO. If anything, he seemed super distracted and he wasn’t even paying attention to her, to the point when she felt the need to stop them and ask if everything was okay! As usual, I am very pro-ship in most respects. Donnie is a perfectly respectable ship if that’s your jam, but there is zero romantic chemistry between them, and they seem just like very good friends, always there for each other, but neither of them seems interested in anything beyond that. And, yeah. Carol and Maggie are clearly foils right now, per the motherhood theme. Carol and Daryl have very little connection imho. 

I don’t have many notes. I liked the insurrection bit. It feels like this is karma for Negan, and I was shocked that he was going to sacrifice his life. I truly believe he was ready to die, and that was very scary as Annie was screaming his name, and then his terrified reaction when the Warden went back on his word was powerful. If you’ll recall Negan told Maggie earlier this season that he expected that she was a “woman of her word,” as he’s always been “a man of [his].”

Whatever Negan is or isn’t, he’s always been loyal to his code, and all of his actions, even if they may be deemed as harsh and despotic, are justified in their own way. Ezekiel’s anger with Negan for killing Henry’s brother is probably misplaced for Negan, but I thought it honorable of Negan not to say anything, to just let him have his anger, because ultimately, Negan blames himself anyway. Still, Negan may not have even known about Henry’s brother, as at that time, a lot of his guys were going rogue.

Simon killed the Scavengers against his “word,” and Henry’s brother was an accident. If anything it was Richard’s fault. So anyway, that whole scene was very scary to me, and very powerful. The CW soldier who turns on the Warden in the end reminded me of Huck in the flashbacks from “Truth or Dare” during Operation Cobalt, when she turns on her fellow Marines and shoots them rather than shoot the civilians in the sewers.

At the time, I wondered if maybe this was CRM directive, but now I’m not so sure. I am wondering if maybe she wasn’t a CRM operative yet, that she was wrestling with it, and with her mother’s role in the CRM, and then she became one definitively when the military lost its humanity. This would explain why she becomes so disillusioned in the end, and why she betrays the CRM, because she thought they were good, and they turned out to be the same exact thing as the military—committing genocide, disregarding human life, etc.

This makes me wonder if perhaps the CRM was once better. Was it the hero in the beginning of the Fall? Saving civilians, valuing human life while the US Military napalmed innocents. But then overtime, they became power hungry, or as the atomized world began to fortify, more and more concerned with the possibility of insurrection. I have noticed this season and also in “Diverged” the presence of what could be mass casualty events among the military. Daryl runs into a LOT of dead National Guard in one place in “Diverged,” and then in Fort Connors, it appears that MANY soldiers died at once, the way they’re all scattered on the floor. They haven’t been executed. Perhaps they were gassed? So I’m thinking perhaps the CRM has been getting rid of the military threat.

The insurrection also made me view Beth’s time at Grady as an “insurrection.” She rallies the old man to help her break into Dawn’s office and save Carol’s life. Her escape attempt, we could wager, may have rallied hope among the wards in general. She also kills both Gorman and O’Donnell, who had been abusing the wards, and in the end, she tries to kill Dawn. I noticed that in this episode, Daryl kills the Warden, JUST as he killed Dawn (the Chief of Police). I thought there had to be something going on here. I really wish we knew more about Beth’s time at Grady.

This made me feel like she had truly become a leader among the insurrection there, and her sacrifice was akin to Negan’s (who did not die, who was saved in time by the actions of ONE, a la Eugene’s speech in the court room). The whole “drop in the bucket” thing really reminded me of Beth. It made me feel like her actions against Dawn were motivated in this way, and this was commentary on that. Unlike Edwards, who was a coward, and Noah, who only cared about his own escape, Beth made a sacrifice to try and change things for the better. In “Coda,” Beth’s actions were squandered with TF. Nothing changed, because she was lost. But now, they’re amounting to something great.

@wdway:

But isn't the CRM the military? Guess I'm just not quite understanding. Are you talking about a uprising within the Civil Republic Military? Isn't what we saw in World Beyond the resistance rebel civilian trying to bring down the CRM with some working do you take down from within?

@galadrieljones:

No, I’m talking about the episode Truth or Dare, when we see Huck as a US Marine during the Fall. There’s a scene where they’re ordered to execute dozens of innocent civilians in a sewer. Huck shuts off the power and kills all the marines in her squad instead, including her friend. She then rescues the civilians and helps them escape.

She also then does her part in the CRM coup.

I think the CRM was not a part of the military but a separate entity that swooped in when the us military failed—or that’s what I’ve gained so far.

@wdway:

No, I think it had more to do with me being in the middle of a couple of different projects and was too lazy to go back and reread.

Has anybody else ever started searching for something and then got caught up and went into all kinds of different directions and at the end you go, "what was it that I originally was searching for?" That is definitely me right now.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Are you kidding? I do that just going to the kitchen to look for food.

@wdway:

I found some interesting things that sparked some ideas.

2 of Caravaggio's paintings. The Denial of Saint Peter, was seen in Slabtown with Beth which connects her to the image of St Peter. 

The other painting is, Crucifixion of St Peter. Peter's request of being being crucified upside down became a symbol of Martyrdom. Martyr- a person who is killed because of their religion or other beliefs.

We first see Beth wearing a cross at the funeral home in Alone. We see her with Daryl in the basement where Beth speaks of the dignity of the dead and how it is a beautiful act to remember that the dead walking were once humans. It is later where Beth and Daryl are in the kitchen and Beth tells Daryl he is a good person that we first see that her wearing a cross, and we see it on her throughout her scenes in the episode. We do not see it again until the hallway at Grady Memorial Hospital when she is hugging Noah.

She is no longer wearing the cross around her neck but it is hanging from her left wrist. She is carrying her cross. During the act of crucifixion, nails/spikes were hammered into the wrist holding up the body on a cross. It is believed that a crucified person had three spikes, one for each wrist and then one through the crossed feet. The number 3 is a holy number connected with the Trinity. Which looks quite similar to the logo of the CRM.

I realize looking at the painting that the spikes used in crucifixion could pass for railroad spikes. Another possible connection between railroad spikes and the symbolic means of crucifixion. Crucifixion=Martyrdom=willing to give one's life for a belief.

A interesting coincidence I found in my search tonight, or maybe not so coincidental, is that the 3rd book of the Gospel is Luke. Luke the physician was one of 12 disciples/Apostles of Christ. In the Gospel of Luke, Peter's denial of Christ is found in the 22nd chapter.

The number 12 has been so prominent the last few seasons and I believe that the original intent was to end the first series of The Walking Dead in the 12th season and then start a new, possibly going another 3 seasons, telling the story of the CRM. Unforeseen things happened such as covid. So there is only 11 Seasons officially but it has been airing for 12 years. 12 years/12 disciples.

The number 22 has been seen a lot in the series. Shane wears the number 22 on a necklace. The 22nd episode of the series was Walk With Me, where we found out what had happened to Andrea and Merle, Daryl's brother, which were both thought to be dead by TF.

We've also seen the number 22 on objects in the series

Police car in episode Coda.

Michonne going with Virgil to his island. I believe this is from Walk With Us.

S11e21 Outpost 22.

We also have 2, 22nd episodes in the series. S10e22 Here's Negan and s11e22 Faith.

Let us not forget that the very last Chapter of the New Testament is Revelations 22.

Like I said in the beginning I really don't remember what my intense search was this evening but I think I have stumbled across some interesting connections.

I have more to say about episodes 22 but I'm going to leave that for tomorrow or in my case since it's after midnight here it'll be later today.

@galadrieljones:

As you were writing I was formulating this same idea and then it was like reading my own thoughts. The railroad spikes. There are three of them leading the way to Leah’s house. I really love this connection, thank you. 

I think the connection to St. Peter is even more compelling when you consider the connection to the Louvre via Caravaggio and Gimple’s inspiration from The Da Vinci Code and how this could inform what we know about Daryl’s spin-off. 

I also love that Beth is “carrying” her cross in Coda that’s wonderful imagery. I think your speculation about there originally being twelve seasons is really interesting. Covid really shook things up, didn’t it? And the number 22—I didn’t put together Revelations 22 here. Brilliant! This is reminding me of how strong the Christ imagery really is around Beth. “Everything gets a return,” says Morgan, the prophet.

Also what you said about martyrdom reminded me of Negan in 11.22. The Warden would not let him die a martyr and instead was going to sacrifice Annie so that he would feel it.

Eugene was also almost martyred in 11.22. I haven’t really given the title much thought as it’s so simple. Faith. Eugene and Negan put their faith in God in the end there. As characters they both have rarely allowed themselves to have faith in anyone or anything aside from themselves, so to sacrifice their lives to inspire the flock to revolt is really this ultimate leap of faith. They’re both saved when their actions inspire those with the power to make one small difference, which counts.

Also I never commented on Mercer’s last line: “Time to fuck shit up.” I was like YES LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO lol

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Lol. Right? I thought Maggie’s final line in ep 21 was pretty badass. It would have been hard to top it. But by golly, Mercer did!

@wdway:

Thank you! Once I realize the railroad spikes were so similar to crucifixion spikes and that it is believed that 3 nails/spikes were used in the act of a crucifixion my mind went right to Leah's cabin door and the three spikes. 

And just as I'm writing this something else has occurred to me about the symbolism of the door spikes. In Exodus we read of the Hebrews protecting themselves from the plague of death of the firstborn by putting blood around their door frames. If three at the door is a symbolism of an anxiety enslaved Society seeking freedom, then the spikes we saw hammered into the tree also would represent the freedom that was one through the crucifixion upon the tree of Christ. 

This is just a weird little side note but as I've been writing and thinking about the words Crucifixion and Exodus, I can't help but think "X" is used as a symbol of Beth. X in Greek is an actual legitimate abbreviation for Christ. And of course, we have in Roman numerals X represents the number 10, in modern day English X is the 24th letter. The last episode of the entire series will be 24th episode.

I just want to note that the phrase of Beth carrying her cross on her wrist is not mine. It is phrase that has been used many, many times over the years by Bethylers.

I'm going to try not to be so long winded with telling you guys what I believe the writers are pointing to in the present storyline and how it is a twist on what they told us in Slabtown but back then we had no way of being able to interpret the clues because we have no idea of the existence of the CRM. 

A couple of episodes ago I noticed the empty chair near Daryl at what looked like an old train depot. I thought it was a symbol of the spiritual but not physically presents of Beth for for Daryl. 

The next episode we had an empty chair across of Max. I again thought it could mean an unseen presents. In this last episode when Negan goes into the room to see Annie the camera lingers on an empty chair next to Annie's bed just before he sits down. I thought this was quite noticeable and made a point of rewatching how they shot the scene where Negan was brought into the office of the warden. The chair on the other side of the wardens desk is all but invisible. We never even see any signs of the chair other than Negan is suddenly sitting in a chair. This may me feel correct in that an empty chair has significant.

Last night I wrote about Peter and how his upside-down Crucifixion become known as The Martyrdom of St Peter. Near the end of episode Faith, we see Negan willingly about to give up his life for his wife and child but also for TF who he would not that's betray. He surprised us all, didn't he. We without realizing it were all waiting for his denial. His moment of pulling a Dr. Edwards or a Denial of Saint Peter to Jesus. This is when I realized that soon after we saw the empty chair across from Max, Eugene came forward and turned himself in. After we saw Negan and the empty chair in Annie's room soon after Negan give himself up. Both man where ready and willing to die for the beliefs that there are still things in their world worth dieing for. They were ready to Martyr themselves.

Now let's take a look back at Slabtown.

Beth bring food to Dr. Edwards. In the background we see chairs similar to the one near Daryl at the train depot.

There is a record playing and 2 empty chairs in front of Edwards desk. Edwards invites Beth to sit down and she accepts freely of her own will. They talk about the painting by Caravaggio, The Denial of Saint Peter. Edwards offer Beth guinea pig and she accepts. A wink and a nod to the fact that she will be/she is the guinea pig.

Much later we have a very different Beth setting in Edwards office after being beaten by Dawn for aiding Noah and his escape.

This time she is sitting in the other chair facing the painting. A white coffee cup visibly behind her. The water turned the egg hard, the carrot soft, but it was the coffee that changed the water. She has no longer that naive girl who accepted what was happening around her she is the change.

Beth conference Edwards on what he has done and his reply is to acknowledge the painting, that if Peter had not denied Christ he too would have been crucified.

Caravaggio's, The Crucifixion of St. Peter. Peter did deny Jesus 3 times before the rooster. He was a scared weak man but that denial changed him. He became one of the great apostles of Christ. He spent the rest of his life spreading the gospel of Christ. He finally was imprisoned and then crucified in Rome. His request was to be crucified upside because he did not feel he was worthy to be crucified in the same way as Christ. This Crucifixion is known as The Martyrdom of St. Peter.

The new Beth seeing Carol being brought into the hospital. We see in the next few episodes that Beth has had enough of the corruption of Grady.

She was so close to leaving with her family but Dawn had other ideas. Dawn demanded Noah and he willingly went back. When Beth embraced Noah Dawn said she knew he would be back. That's when Beth got it. She understood Dawn. Everything had become clear to her. (This is me theorizing) in watching that moment again I couldn't help but remember how from Fear Al's girlfriend (can't remember her name) who was a part of the CRM telling her that no one ever leaves. That they would be hunted by the CRM until found. 

I do not think that Beth stabbed Dawn for the sake of Noah or not only Noah. I think she had clarity in the moment that if Dawn was alive that she and her entire family would be hunted until found. Beth was too much of a valuable specimen, a guinea pig that could not be let go. She was shot in the head to be stopped. As far as Grady and team family knew both Dawn and Beth were dead. The dead tells no tales. We have speculated that Beth was placed in a car trunk. We'll find out soon enough. I believe this is the only way that Grady, the CRM would allow TF to leave, to live. But our Christ figure Beth rose again and became a living Martyr of a rebellion.

Hope you guys liked this.

I know that I skipped over some things like Eugene wonderful a very powerful but subtle rebellious speech. A speech from a person who believed he would soon be put to death. A martyrs speech. 

I need to rewatch again but my question is, it seems like I remember the warden telling Negan he would not allow him to be a martyr. Am I wrong in that? Did I make that up in my head, because that's a really strong possibility. If no one can remember I'll go back and check it out.

I'm also want to stay that I truly believe there's not a single member of TF that would not die for their family. We saw that in s4 "A" when Daryl was willingly going to give his life in exchange for Rick's.

@galadrieljones:

The Warden definitely says that he’s not going to let Negan be a martyr, yes. He goes back on his word and is going to kill Annie in front of him. This is the last straw for Ezekiel, who is a pacifist at heart.

I love all your thoughts about Coda here, and Beth, and martyrdom. It’s very similar to how I view Beth as taking on the role of the Good Shepherd, ie: Christ’s speech about how sometimes the shepherd must kill the wolves to protect the flock. It’s not simply Dawn demanding Noah back that changes Beth’s mind. It’s when Dawn says, “I knew you’d be back.” That’s when Beth gives her the look of death and, I believe, realizes she has to kill Dawn to end her reign of terror. 

And while we obviously don’t know how much Beth may or may not know at this point, she may definitely know that if they simply leave, they’ll be in the CRM crosshairs. Ofc this still doesn’t explain why Beth doesn’t kill Dawn by stabbing her in the neck, and instead stabs her in the shoulder. But I think that has to be a product of an unreliable POV.

@wdway:

I agree about the unreliable point of view which was Rick's who was standing behind Beth. So hard to tell how much he could actually see. People have talked about how stupid it was of Beth for using little scissors but in fact that's the only weapon she had available to her. And I don't think she had it planned until the moment arise and she felt she had no other choice. She was protecting her family with the only weapon she had. No one called Rick stupid for using his teeth with Joe the Claimer. The fact is Beth not leaving Grady with TF was how the story as a whole needed to be told.

We haven't talked about the walker that picked up Lydia's knife. What does everyone think?

@twdmusicboxmystery​:

I’m honestly not sure what to think of that. It might just be a way to show that there are more smart walkers around. Beyond that, I don’t know. Did you have any I sights about it?

Loved everything you said above about Peter symbols and the empty chairs. I actually started writing something up earlier. I may have written you a small book, lol. I’ll finish it up and send it in a little bit. I touch briefly on the Peter stuff as well. Slightly different but it all really amounts to the same thing. We’re all on the same page about that. So, you may not have been long winded, but I will be.

@galadrieljones:

Yeah I noticed that, too, but am also a little unsure. I agree it could just be to show the smart walker threat isn’t over. I also think it’s purposeful that Lydia is continuously aligned with smart walkers, as she was a Whisperer, and there seems to be some narrative karma there. Maybe Lydia will show up in a spin-off? Or maybe the walker will show up again, with her knife, and do some damage? Scary thought, if somebody thinks it’s a Whisperer and underestimates what they’re capable of.

Also I totally agree about the scissors. They’re as good a weapon as any. And I don’t think it’s stupid what Beth does. I think it’s unexplained. If she wanted to kill Dawn with those scissors, she could have by stabbing her in the carotid. That’s why I think it’s just not what happened, and Rick didn’t see everything. It’s also why we don’t hear the gun “cock.” It just shoots, and we see Dawn’s gun but there’s no way she could have shot her in the forehead from that angle and proximity. It’s impossible, and doesn’t make sense. The best explanation is that Rick is remembering poorly, didn’t see, or is missing time somewhere.

I did a pretty close shot analysis of coda and made a post a little while back. A lot of what I saw up close interested me. For example, how the director blocks the face-off with Beth and Dawn, and how the camera angle makes Beth appear taller than Dawn at times so that it appears that the bullet flies over Dawns head and into Beth’s. But Beth isn’t really that much taller than Dawn, if she is at all, and the bullet couldn’t have done what it did. There also seem to be frame missing between when Beth stabs Dawn and when she gets shot.

twdmusicboxmystery:

I’ll stop there for today. Thoughts?

[akillysheel]

❝ Were you serious? ❞ ( 6/75 )

Summary:  In the end, he did let her know he was okay. Characters:  Kip, Jagger. Prompt:  ❝ Were you serious? ❞ Warnings: N/A

A/N:  Sorry for the break between uploads.  I was dealing with a uhhhhh ~Mental Breakdown~ lol.  I’m slowly getting myself back together, but please just be patient for a couple of weeks while I get back into the groove again!

Success has a glorious way of putting her to sleep.  Though her slot in the bar had been brief–  a measly fifteen minutes on stage, it had taken longer to set up than it had to perform–  it had left its mark.  The applause echoes in her mind as she gradually enters the world of the living once more, vision blurred and fluffy until her bland white ceiling comes into focus.

One day, these gigs will pay off.  She tells herself this day in and day out, if only because it keeps her hopeful.  The life of an artist is a painful one, one destined for ignorance and underappreciation, but she loves music too much to give it up.  As long as she's still alive to do so, she'll continue to make it in spite of the fact that it seems rather fruitless;  it's all she can do, and all she has to offer the world in turn.

If not this, what?

Still hazy with sleep, Kip retrieves her phone from beneath her pillow and clicks the power button.

[ 2 MESSAGES  →  JAG. ] [ 1 VOICEMAIL  →  JAG. ]

The memory of the previous night hits her like a truck, heart beginning to race as she recalls his clumsy stagger and his hazy eyes, the image of him driving turning into a wreckage that she can’t fully visualise--  because she isn’t brave enough to.   Even now, she can’t quite believe she’s seen him in any other state than perfect.   It feels similarly to seeing a teacher outside of school.  Eerie, if only because the concept of them having a life outside of their job has never hit you in the way that it does in that moment.  They’re a complex person, with their own thoughts and feelings, and you never stopped to realise it because you were too busy stressing about trigonometry.  In that same vein, she’s never viewed Jagger as somebody that exists outside of his debaucherous career.  He's always well-dressed, well-groomed and ruthlessly articulate.  Sharp, like a knife, and with the temperament to match.  What she'd seen last night had been nothing short of sloppy--  a glimpse behind the curtain that she’d never asked to see beyond.

Hurriedly, she beats her thumb against the notification, cursing the lag of her old model as they load at a snail’s pace.

[ TEXT  →  JAG. ] I made it hpme. [ TEXT  →  JAG. ] Don't piss your pwnts.  Assignment tomorrowq.

Kip stares at the messages with a look of begrudging awe.  Even in the throes of inebriation, he retains his snippy tone, and she can’t quite figure out whether to be impressed, annoyed or relieved.  Most likely some cryptic amalgamation of the three.

He got assignment right but not pants?

With a quiet snort of laughter, she throws her legs over the side of her bed and drags herself from beneath her covers.  If he’s indeed going to follow through on the whole assignment shtick, she at least wants a slice of toast in her.  Trying to do Jagger’s bidding is made even more insufferable by hunger.

A generous helping of butter is drawn across her toast before she hops up onto the counter and nibbles at one corner as she scrolls through her social media feed.  Fourteen new likes.  One new comment.  It doesn’t take long for her mind to drift from the pictures of cute animals and crass jokes flooding her timeline, brain steadily filling with visions of what Jagger’s going to want from her this time.  One day, she fears she’s going to fall too far down the rabbit hole;  find herself neck-deep in dirty darkness that she no longer wants to escape from.  Holding a wrapped shipment of spice had almost been too much for her to handle.  How the hell is she going to manage anything more incriminating?  Even if Jagger can keep her clean in the eyes of the police, she’s still been exposed to things she can never forget.  Doors she can never fully close.  People she can never fully wipe from her memory.  Some things run deeper than the law.  In fact, they tunnel beneath it and emerge on the other, darker side, nails dull and muddy, teeth sharp and spiteful.  Kip knows that.  She’s been one of them  -  and at the rate she’s going, she will be again.

Her mind drifts uneasily to the voicemail.  She’s never been nervous to open one before–  not even when she and her brother have had fights–  yet she can’t help but worry.  She may be playing a glorified maid at the moment, but when things get real and Jagger requires an extra set of hands, she can only imagine the horrible things he’ll make her do.

With evident apprehension, she forces what’s left of her breakfast down before belligerently clicking on the notification.

                                          YOU HAVE…  ONE, NEW MESSAGE!

“Kip, listen…  that song you played at the bar, was that yours?  I’ve never heard anythin’ like it before.  I searched some of the lyrics but nothin’ turned up,”  Jagger slurs, his voice low and thick before the sound of shuffling consumes the line. At first, it’s nondescript and quiet, but she quickly identifies it as bed sheets rustling.  It relieves her to know that he hadn’t been drinking when he sent this;  he’d already been drunk behind the wheel, the last thing he needed to be doing was trying to talk on the phone too.  “Can’t stop playin’ it over and over in my head.  Think I took that bassline home with me.  I’m thinkin’ of you;  you-- singing, I mean.”

Clumsy.

Her brow furrows as she listens to him toss and turn, mumbling incoherently as he does.  His message brings with it an indescribable warmth.  It settles in her cheeks, the same way it does when she receives praise from someone she hopes to impress, and it stays there in a way she’s not felt before.  Jagger is a hard man to please.  She’s barely seen him crack a smile since their unfortunate meeting, nevermind lavish somebody with genuine wonderment.  A pleased little smirk forms on her face;  smug, upturned like she really is some sort of posh snoot.

Jagger clears his throat on the recording, and it makes her straighten up.  As if he’s right next to her to smother her ego. 

“Bring me a copy of that song on a disc.  I want to play it in my van.”

Abruptly, the message ends, and she listens to the automated voice ask her what she wants to do with the voicemail as she struggles to close her mouth.  From beginning to end, his words were a mess…  but they were undoubtedly honest, and that’s what matters to her.  People like to blame their loosened filters on being drunk, but Kip knows better.  She knows that intoxication makes people brave, not liars, and not even someone as supposedly flawless as Jagger is exempt from this shameful truth.  The things he’d said…  she knows he’d never say them without some sort of failsafe.  It’s not like I knew I was complimenting you, dipshit.  I was shit-faced.  She hears it so clearly in her head that she scoffs outwardly, her smile large and audacious.

Now her only question is whether she really should burn him a CD containing her song or not.  Sober, she doubts Jagger will appreciate her smarmy attitude.  He may very well snap it in two right in front of her, and that will hurt her more than she cares to admit.

After considering her options, she types out an impish set of texts and hits send before she can think better of it.

[ TXT  →  KIP. ]  Still thinking of me, bossman? =P [ TXT  →  KIP. ]  Were you serious about the disc by the way?  I can totally burn you one.

Oh, he’s going to give her hell for that one, whether it was well-played or not.  She can feel that much in her soul.  In spite of this, just picturing his stupid face as he reads her texts is enough to make her climb into the shower with a smile.  

[peninkwrites]

The First Night - Ch 2 of 9

Ponk has important plans that night, but first they'll spend the evening with Sam.

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 3

Mafia AU masterpost

~ Ponk ~

“I don’t understand how this will help you all.  Like, passing stuff along is one thing, but this is getting really dangerous, you know?” Ponk shifts nervously from foot to foot.  They’ve been in this office many times by now, the far wall made a deep red by a floor length curtain, bookshelves on either side, gunmen just beyond the mahogany doors, and a desk half cast in shadow in front of them.

“We’ll have them for an hour at most.  You won’t have to do anything else,” Antfrost reassures them.  He remains standing, leaning against the front of his desk, his button up another splash of red and his gun visible in its holster alongside white suspenders.  These mob types are always so overdressed.

“You said you could do it.  If you can’t anymore, we won’t have any reason to uphold our end of the deal.”  As always, the leader of the Badlands is sharp, leaned back in his chair, twisting his rings around his fingers absently.  All that authority with so little effort, his very presence tinging the air and making everyone tread lightly.

“I’ll do it, I will,” Ponk says quickly.  “It’s just… Sam has been getting really stressed lately, and like obviously he’s noticed shit being off, so…”

The pair exchange glances, amused at the notion that they should be concerned for a cop.  “This is the last thing we’ll ask of you,” Antfrost says.  “After this, you’re out.  Out of all of it.  We won’t let Schlatt touch you.”

Ponk nods, “or Sam.”

“Yes.  Or Sam.”

Ponk takes a deep breath and hardens their resolve.  “Right, then.  Won’t be able to get out until late.  Normally I’d just use the volunteering excuse but this time I’ll… I’ll have to wait until he’s asleep.  I dunno how late that will actually be, but I’ll meet you at the bridge, alright?  Don’t try to find me.”

Ant nods.  “Someone will meet you there.”

“Someone?  Who?  I’m not gonna walk up to a damn stranger and pass off the Police Captain’s keys,” Ponk folds their arms over their chest.

Another exchange of glances Ponk doesn’t understand.  Ant replies again.  “We’re not going to get too closely involved.  I believe you’ve met Punz, right?  We’ve hired him to… carry out the rest of the mission.”

Ponk relaxes.  “Punz.  Good.  He’s good at what he does.  There can’t be anything left out of place.”

“We don’t want that either.”

“Okay.  Er.  Good,” Ponk gives them a nod.  “So, that’s all?”

“You’re free to leave,” the man waves a jeweled hand to the door, diamonds flashing in the dim light.  Ponk is quick to make their exit, still unnerved by the whole business.  They’re used to a mob boss whose threats are more transparent.

Ant watches as the door shuts behind them, turning back to his boss.  “You’re too good to him.”

A hint of defensiveness enters an already unforgiving tone.  “To who?”

“To Bad, obviously.  Who do you think I meant?  Ponk?” Ant scoffs.  “I know if you had your way, we’d use Ponk until it got them arrested or their pig boyfriend dead.  You’re striking up a pretty generous offer, losing a very useful source, just to… I don’t know, indulge whatever fantasy Bad has been trying now.”

“Careful, Ant.  You shouldn’t belittle your boss so easily,” Skeppy continues to twist the many rings around his fingers, giving Ant a warning look.

Ant stares at Skeppy, who had been the primary resident of this office and its affairs for years now.  “You’re right,” Ant responds coolly.

“Go.  I’m done for today.  Just make sure this gets done.  Have Punz leave it here, I’ll take it to Bad myself,” Skeppy dismisses him.

“You shouldn’t stay here alone.”

“I won’t be long.  I said you were dismissed.”

Ant sighs, knowing there’s no more room for argument, leaving his old friend behind.

~

Ponk is late.  Sam does his best not to worry, but lately everything had been worrying him.  He’s given up trying not to pace the length of their messy– albeit far too fancy– West side apartment, Fran sitting patiently by the door, watching him with mild interest.

“I know, I know, Fran.  We’ll go when they’re back, promise,” Sam reassures her.  “Ah, you know what– I’m just gonna call–”

Sam breaks down and goes to the phone on the wall in the kitchen, spinning a familiar number.  It rings.  Once, twice, six times.  Nothing.

“Nothing.  That means they’ve left the museum, so they’re probably on their way home now, right?” Sam keeps Fran posted, trying to reassure himself.

She ignores him, ears pricking up and looking to the door, hearing the lock turn well before Sam does.

“I know, I know I’m late–” Ponk knows exactly what to expect when they come in the door.

Sam grabs them in a hug, picking them up off the ground.  “Yeah, really late.”

Ponk smiles into his shoulder, endeared.  “Sorry, Sammy.  Didn’t mean to have you up in a fuss.”

Sam sets them down.  “What took you so long?”  He pouts.

“Er, you know, got held up at work.  Had to talk business with Eret.  Should’ve called and told you,” Ponk shrugs off their jacket.

“No, it’s okay, I’ve just been you know… all out of wack, lately,” Sam sits at their kitchen counter, gesturing vaguely to the air.

“Any more weird shit at work?”

“Huh?  Oh, yeah.  Yeah, of course,” Sam rubs his forehead, a constant headache had made a home there these past weeks.  “Y’know that sting I told you about?”

“Huh?” Ponk feigns forgetfulness, despite knowing exactly what Sam is going to say and what the problem had been.  “Remind me.”

“We were trying to shut down one of the Warehouses– one of The Captain’s– but– I dunno, something tipped her off!” Sam sounds so frustrated.  Ponk only feels fond.  He still calls her the Captain.  “It’s really starting to scare me, Ponk.  If we have a mole in the precinct– trusting the people there is all we have in this.  The Badlands keep pushing and– god, it’s like we’re trying to win a war, not protect a city and-and people are still dying.  Rookies are getting taken out of commission by an unexpected firefight because these fucking criminals are suddenly not where they’re supposed to be and- and I’m tired.”

“I’m so sorry, Sammy,” Ponk murmurs.  There’s nothing more to say.  The whole reason they’ve been trying to change this is because of the burden it’s put on Sam.  Already they had been trying to get out, to get away from Schlatt, but this deal will be the last for the Badlands.  It had been a necessary evil, the cost of protection from Schlatt for them both, but that doesn’t mean Ponk won’t regret it.  Sam’s job had always been hard and had always been dangerous, that was the nature of things in this town, but Ponk never again wants to know an incident that almost pushed Sam to a breakdown could be traced directly back to them.

“It’s okay.  Nothing you can do.  I just gotta…” Sam clears his throat, refusing to let his voice tremor, “keep pushing through it, I guess.”

Ponk tries to distract from the pang of guilt in their chest by exploring the kitchen, counters cluttered with dirty dishes and mismatched mugs and probably a fair amount of dog fur.  It’s sparse.  Not from lack of funds, rather the two of them rarely have time to get groceries, Sam almost glued to the station, and Ponk drifting from their job at Eret’s museum, their own less reputable business ventures, making house calls as the doctor of the worst mob boss on the map, and funneling information to the Badlands to boot.  Thankfully, two of those things would end tonight.

“Hey, uh, I’m thinking of stopping volunteering,” Ponk says.  It had been such a charming cover, lying and saying they were volunteering their skills as a doctor at a homeless shelter over on the East side of the river.  It had been easier than now having to lie and say they were stopping, far less noble and far more questionable.

“What, why?” Sam is distracted from his work troubles.

“It’s just… been running me ragged, if I’m honest,” Ponk shrugs.  That part is true.  “And the people… I want to help people, you know that, but, uh.  Certain patients get rude and– and violent.”  Also true.  Just one patient, but true.  “So.  I don’t really want to anymore.”

“Violent?” Sam frowns, grave and endearingly protective.  “Wouldn’t the shelter keep people like that out?”

“Yeah, but there’s only so much they can do,” Ponk shrugs.

“Do you want me to speak to the department?  I could have someone sent out there.  Not usually something we do, but if I say it’s a favor for me– I could send them to you,” Sam offers.

“No, no there’s no need,” Ponk says quickly.  “They’ve, er, got their own security figured out.  Really, Sam, I’m just tired.  And… I don’t like what it’s doing to the two of us.  I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Ponkie, I know that’s my fault too.  When I come home I feel like all I do is talk about work,” Sam sighs.  “Sometimes I think I’m not cut out to be Captain.  Feel like I just stay there out of obligation nowadays, but– But at least I know I’m doing something important.  Doing good work,” Sam almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.  “Maybe I should… cut back on my hours.  I make more than enough as Captain, it’s not like we need my overtime.  I don’t know.  I feel like they always need me there.”

Ponk hadn’t thought about that.  Not Sam’s hours– But it reminded them of another problem this quitting business would draw up.  Ponk hadn’t gone to help Schlatt out of the goodness of their heart, they had gone for some very compelling pay.  They’d explained that away with a raise from Eret, and while Eret definitely pays them well, museum curators are not supposed to make that fucking much.  They have no idea how to lie their away around that one.  Say Eret started paying them less?  Say the museum has run into some hard times?  Eret will run out of money when Schlatt quits drinking, and Sam won’t believe it for a moment.

“Nothing, huh?” Sam says.  Ponk realizing they’d been staring into an open fridge for almost a minute.  “I was gonna go walk Fran.  Wanna come?  We could get food while we’re out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” Ponk sighs.  “Don’t expect us to get any good street food this side of the river.”

“I know, I know,” Sam rolls his eyes, fond, Fran’s leash in one hand, taking Ponk’s with the other.  Ponk holds Sam’s hand, and for all the risks they’re going to take tonight, all they can feel is relief.  Sam is once more apologizing to Fran for walking her so late, looking in far better spirits as they return to gleaming city streets and Ponk thinks they could listen to him forever.  He never lets go of their hand.  One last job, and they go straight.  One last job, and this whole mess ends.  For Sam.

[reasoningdaily]

An Atlanta man was arrested for a crime in a city he never visited. Why?

ATLANTA, Ga. (Atlanta News First) - “I swear to God I ain’t never been to Louisiana.”

On Nov. 25, 2022, Dekalb County police stopped Randal Reid, 29, along a stretch of I-20. Reid was wanted out of Louisiana, according to a background search officers ran on him during the traffic stop, after two Bayou State jurisdictions accused him of stealing purses.

“You got two theft warrants,” a DeKalb officer told Reid. “They’re both in Louisiana. Who would use your name? Who would get you involved?”

“I don’t even know nobody in Louisiana,” Reid responded.

At the time of Reid’s arrest, neither he nor DeKalb police knew Louisiana law enforcement used facial recognition technology (FRT) to ultimately issue the warrants. Reid’s attorneys now say Louisiana law enforcement used FRT to link him to crimes he did not commit. Reid was released from jail on Dec. 1, 2022.

FRT is software that analyzes facial features and compares one image to another, to confirm a match or offer a limited set of results with similarities. But as more law enforcement agencies use the technology, the search for suspects is leaving behind a trail of new victims.

Several recent studies show using facial recognition technology may contribute to greater racial disparities in arrests.

‘They made a mistake, it’s OK’

Using facial recognition, police in Detroit linked Robert Williams to security video. The video shows a Black male pocketing watches from a Michigan jewelry store.

Williams, his wife Melissa and attorneys have filed a lawsuit in which they accuse detectives of failing to thoroughly investigate beyond using FRT.

“There was no questioning, no asking for an alibi,” Melissa Williams said.

“Arresting me for absolutely no reason other than whatever you seen on a picture, that’s just not real,” said Robert Williams, who now wants the technology banned.

Atlanta News First Investigates obtained body camera footage which shows police arriving at Williams’ home in Farmington Hills, just outside of Detroit, waiting to arrest him. His wife and kids watched from the driveway as he was arrested.

Robert Williams can be heard, saying, “They made a mistake. It’s okay. I’ll be back in a minute.” He did not come back for at least two days.

‘Where did you get all this from?’

In February 2019, police in Woodbridge, New Jersey, questioned a man in a Dodge Charger parked outside a hotel. The suspect was accused of stealing from the hotel’s gift shop.

As officers are questioning the driver, he cranked up his engine. “Cut it off now, don’t move, we’ll shoot,” officers yelled. They repeatedly told the driver to stop and put his hands up. The driver eventually struck a car and came close to striking an officer.

Court documents revealed police later used FRT software to run the actual suspect’s fake driver’s license through its system. The results linked Parks, who still describes the charges in disbelief, to crimes he did not commit.

“Aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, shoplifting, eluding... My jaw just dropped. I was like, where did you get all this from?”

In the cases of Reid, Williams and Parks, all three Black men were jailed and all were falsely matched.

Studies show racial disparities

A national study found using facial recognition technology “contributes to greater racial disparities in arrests.” The author, Dr. Thaddeus Johnson, is a professor at Georgia State University and also a former police officer.

Had FRT been available to him during his time as a police officer, Johnson said he probably would have used it, but not to make a final determination in a case.

Johnson’s study examined FRT deployment in about 1,100 cities and subsequent arrests in 2016.

The results illustrate agencies that used FRT had a 55 percent higher arrest rate for Black people and a 22 percent lower arrest rate for White people, compared to agencies that did not use facial recognition.An Atlanta man was arrested for a crime in a city he never visited. Why?

“Bias can be embedded on the very front end,” Johnson said.

According to the report, the contributing factors in racial disparities included:

Black people are “overrepresented” in image databases, like mugshots, so they carry a “greater risk of being misidentified.”

A lack of racially diverse software programmers and photos used to train or build algorithms.

Absence of federal guidelines on interpreting results

The psychological effect of “workers relying more heavily on shortcuts for time-sensitive, high stakes decisions.”

Meanwhile, more recent data by the National Institute of Standards and Technology reveals FRT has a “wide range in accuracy across developers.” For example, systems created in China have more accuracy in identifying Asian faces, according to the study.

But among U.S. systems, the highest false positives were among people of color. “We can use this technology, but we can’t do it at the expense of inequity and discriminatory policing, whether we mean to or not,” Johnson said.

Atlanta News First Investigates confirmed the facial recognition company in the arrest of Randal Reid. A spokesperson said their company encourages law enforcement to develop policies and treat results like a lead or tip, not as a deciding factor in a case.

But some agencies don’t have clearly defined policies, the subject of part two in this special investigation.