#JAILED FOR LOITERING

[dougielombax]

So you arrested him all because of a hunch?

Saying he was a part of “it”?

What is “it”?

No you didn’t elaborate!

The warrant reads that he was “loitering with malicious intent”.

Fine.

7 years in the Offshore MegaJail With No Windows!

NEXT!!!

[hiirenvirna]

tav questions - can i get 3 & 15 for risk, and 9 & 19 for hemlock 👀

Risk questions:

Already answered 3 in an earlier ask!

15. Who do you think they'd be in a modern setting?

I think she'd be like. A personal trainer or something. Wakes up early each morning to go for a jog type of person. Really into guided meditation apps and shit. But also listens to dad rock.

Hemlock questions:

9. Whats their relationship with their dream guardian like?

Ngl their first reaction was probably just "oh wow a hot stranger wants to help me that's so awesome" and only after talking with their party members did they consider that they should maybe be a bit more cautious. After that they've been trying to take everything they said with a grain of salt but oh my god it's sooo hard when you're a chronic people pleaser. Like yeah I probably shouldn't trust you but PLEASE tell me i'm doing a good job and you're proud of me.

also they did fuck

19. Whats their worst crime?

I guess this would depend on the definition but if we go by the letter of law then it'd be all the murder and such that is a part of the standard "good" playthrough so mentioning all of that seems a bit redundant. They did also do quite a bit of murder that wasn't necessarily needed bc pretty much every time they tried to deescalate a situation they rolled like shit and the person they were trying to persuade went "fuck you. die." The answer they'd probably give themself is that they failed to save people who could have been helped. They saved a bunch, yes, but they also let some of them down. The answer that I would give is that, just quantity wise, they did not need to set so many things on fire and explode them. Like they didn't do a big arson so I guess it's fine but it was just a lot of arson man

This is only marginally related but I'm sharing it anyway because it's funny to me. They did get arrested and go to jail two times during my playthrough, for like the most minimal offences they ever committed. One of those times Gale and only Gale got arrested with them. I'm using this as an excuse to post this doodle of them i drew back then.

two bros chilling in a jail cell

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"'DRUG STORE COWBOY' IS GIVEN 60 DAYS," Toronto Star. June 1, 1943. Page 2. ---- "Miserable Thing to Do," Magistrate Tells Youth Who Assaulted Woman ---- HAD BEEN DRINKING ---- "B" Police Court, City Hall, Magistrate Woodliffe. "This was a miserable thing to do," said Magistrate Woodliffe, sentencing Harvey Christopher, 16, to jail for 60 days "with hard labor." Accused was charged with aggravated assault upon Mrs. Margaret Kenny. He pleaded guilty.

"I was walking on Bathurst St., when accused and two others came along and stepped in front of me and blocked my way," said Mrs. Kenny. "They had been drinking. Accused said something and when I said let me pass, he told me not to be in 'in such a hurry' and smashed me in the face and split my lip."

"Did he hit you?" asked Mr. Malone. "I don't know whether he hit me or slapped me," replied Mrs. Kenny. "I hurried home and got my husband and went back to Bloor St. where he held this man until the police came. He was very tight and staggering."

M S. Goldstein, corroborated Mrs. Kenny's testimony.

"I mistook her for another girl I met at a dance place," said accued. 'I slapped her but not hard. I am very sorry for what I did. I had been drinking both beer and whiskey."

"You had no right to be drinking at all at your age." said the court.

"This adolescent hooliganism must stop," said the crown. "It is bad enough for these drugstore cowboys to stand around corners making remarks when women pass but to stop and assault a woman in this manner calls for severe punishment."

The magistrate said the sentence woud date from the time of Chrstopher's arrest.

Wm. Kribbs, who accompanied Chritopher, faced a charge of vagrancy by incommoding passengers on the sidewalk. To Austin Ross, defence counsel, Mrs. Kenny admitted that Kribbs had not spoken to her or touched her but had stopped in front of her. "There will be a conviction." said the court, imposing a penalty of $10 or seven days. As Kribbs had been in custody more than that period he was allowed to go.

STOLE AUTO TIRES ---- "A" Police Court, City Hall. Magistrate Browne. George Crisp pleaded guilty of stealing six auto tires from his employers. He was remanded to June 8 for sentence.

For stealing a pair of pants from a Queon St. store, Walter Stonehouse was given 14 days. "He entered the sore, took the pants and walked out," declared Det. Sergt. Wilson.

HIT GUARD, IS FINED ---- County Police Court. County Buildings. Magistrate Keith. Convicted of assaulting a uniformed guard at a Swansea steel plant, Dalton LeRoy Winter was fined $10 or 10 days and ordered to have the officer's uniform repaired.

Constable Bethel Haslam said accused, who was dismissed, refused to leave the office of the superintendent.

"When I tried to force him out, he took a swing at me but missed. and then grabbed my coat ripping the sleeve," witness said.

Accused, who pleaded not guilty, said he went to see the superintendent, and Contable Haslam ordered him to leave. "When I refused, the constable grabbed my coat and punched me in the face, I was held by other men and the constable kept punching me," Winter stated.

FAILED TO REPORT ---- "C" Police Court, City Hall. Magistrate Prentice. Louis Peter D. Dorenici was fed $25 or 10 days for foiling to report for military training. The court ordered him handed over to the military authorities.

Convicted of theft of two parcels from the auto of Jack Bolander, on Wellington St. at 8.30 p.m. on May 28, Leonard Ross Woodcock a member of the air force, was sentenced to 60 days to date from the time of his arrest.

[t4t4t]

The Liberal is always INNOCENT; he has nothing to do with anything; he never acts:

“God forbid! I didn’t send for the Police! I didn’t intend any VIOLENCE! I just didn’t want an Unobjective Person in My Department. If he was jailed or shot by the Police, THAT’S NOT MY CONCERN; I’M COMPLETELY INNOCENT! I DIDN’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THAT, and in any case, that merely shows what kind of person HE really was.”

The Liberal’s project is to exclude the radical from society, but he does not take responsibility for the project; he realizes his project in stages, but he is only responsible for the “innocent” first stage. OTHERS DO THE REST. The Liberal merely initiates the process, and is not responsible for what the others do.

The Reactionary hits the radical directly; the Liberal does not do his own hitting. The Liberal merely PROVOKES the radical until he responds to the provocation, and when he responds, THE COPS GET THE RADICAL. The Liberal maintains his good conscience: HE didn’t act--the radical acted; HE didn’t repress the radical--the cops did. THE LIBERAL IS ALWAYS INNOCENT; his only desire is peace and quiet.

The Reactionary throws out a radical and then has him arrested for Loitering or Conspiracy or outside Agitation if the radical returns to fight; the Reactionary “eggs on” and harasses until the radical is provoked to hit back, and then has him arrested for Assault and Battery; the Reactionary tries to exclude the radical from any sources of income in order to have him locked up as a thief. To the Reactionary, the radical is ALREADY A CRIMINAL WHEN HE EXPRESSES HIS THOUGHTS.

The Liberal knows just as well as the Reactionary that “The cops’ll get ‘im”; HE COUNTS ON THE COPS TO PROTECT HIS PEACE AND QUIET; but, as Rafferty repeatedly observed, THE LIBERAL DOESN’T WANT TO SEE THE COPS WHO PROTECT HIM.

The Liberal can be compared to the Medieval Church. The Church excommunicated a heretic, but did not itself put the heretic to death. The Civil Authority, the Secular Authority, took charge of the heretic’s body. The Church was innocent; the Civil Authorities and the Executioner were the ones responsible for physical extermination. The excommunicators of the Church maintained clean consciences.

Thus also the Liberal: All he does is to excommunicate the radical, to exclude him “spiritually”; the Civil Authorities do the rest. At every single step he applies systematic terror and violence, and at every single step he manages to maintain his clean conscience.

The Liberal ALREADY KNOWS that when his “Leftist Colleague” is an unemployed radical he will do something for which it will be legitimate to throw him in jail, but the Liberal doesn’t want to be aware that HIS PEACE AND QUIET ARE MAINTAINED THROUGH TERRORISM AND VIOLENCE. In other words, the Liberal’s weapons are the same as the reactionary’s; the only difference between them is that the Liberal doesn’t look, and has a good conscience. He’s “tolerant,” he “reads radical literature,” he’s the “only one who talks to radicals,” he’s MORAL in every single way; he goes out of his way to “help radicals”; he’ll do everything for radicals which will help him keep his good conscience WHILE HE CONTINUES TO RELY ON TERROR AND VIOLENCE.

Liberal professors and students whose situations can only be maintained through terror and violence, through systematic psychological and physical murder, advertise “Make Love Not War.” Liberal students who have ALREADY CHOSEN to help maintain the dominant project when their time comes, are busy “accumulating” large “stocks” of good conscience while they can, while their “new styles of life” do not yet conflict with their future “responsibilities.”

Liberals are not “moderate.” That’s their own self-image. They’re extremists, but unlike reactionaries, THEY’RE EXTREMISTS WITH GOOD CONSCIENCES. Their instruments are not “ideas”; their instruments are TERROR and VIOLENCE. But unlike lynchers, THE LIBERALS TURN THEIR EYES AWAY to maintain their innocence.

People are EXCLUDED; thousands of people are OUTSIDERS; yet the Liberals who forced them out are TOTALLY GUILTLESS, and have the illusion that they are the ones who are “sympathetic” to the Radical Students, the Emotionally What-Have-You Students, the Hippie Students. The Liberal who is the first to move WHENEVER SOMEONE CROSSES ONE OF HIS LINES at the same time “contributes generously” to “Left-wing organizations” and “is against the war in Vietnam.” He is a supporter of all GOOD THINGS; he is a GOOD PERSON; he’s the BEST PERSON IN THE WORLD. He is able to accept physical and psychological TERROR and VIOLENCE WITH A GOOD CONSCIENCE AND CHRISTIAN MORALS.

Kalamazoo, February 1969

I Accuse This Liberal University of Terror and Violence, Fredy Perlman

[theconcealedweapon]

In our capitalist system, you can be jailed for a victimless action then used as a source of cheap slave labor for corporations.

In our capitalist system, if you're suicidal, you can be involuntarily committed to a hospital and forced to pay a massive medical bill.

In our capitalist system, corporations can price gouge, hinder repairs, and plan obsolescence, and you can't compete with them because they own the patent.

In our capitalist system, homeless people are arrested for loitering or panhandling.

Capitalism is not freedom. Not even close. Capitalism is tyranny of the rich.

[libraford]

Merve: aaaah, the cart lady is back at city hall again. You know, tgey ought to make loitering illegal so they can put her in jail and we can finally be rid of her.

Me: ...

Me: ... so I found out the other day that her name is Jenny.

[brayneworms]

c'mon, baby, you're my best fix | sampo koski

kinktober day three: dry humping

word count: 2.4k

content: dry humping, gender-neutral reader, silvermane guard!reader, hatesex elements, sex as stress relief, semi-public (alleyway), reader has been drinking but isn't implied to be intoxicated, dom!reader + sub!sampo (but he's implied to be a switch), elements of sadism + masochism, degradation, coming untouched.

♪ love in a trashcan - the ravenettes.

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

The biggest fucking lie anyone had told, ever, had come out of Sampo Koski's mouth that afternoon:

C'mooon. I can be good.

You know for a fact that this is a lie, because through no will of your own you have become quite well-acquainted with Sampo Koski, and if there's one thing you're sure of is that he has a physical aversion to doing what he's told.

He had been told, for example, the following many times: Leave me alone, Koski. You're a fucking creep, Koski. Stop conveniently walking by my workplace the very minute I finish my shift, Koski. No, you can't buy me a drink, Koski.

And yet he shows up anyway, like a bad penny, like a dog someone hadn't reprimanded harshly enough and had come sniffing around looking for scraps. Maybe you're too nice, but you sort of doubt it. You think it's more likely that Sampo likes when you talk down to him, which is a whole other can of worms that you're not remotely interested in opening.

"I get the feeling you're mad at me," comes that familiar simpering voice, sliding home into the booth opposite you. Sampo slumps forwards against the table with his face squished against his open palm, grinning that ever-present crescent-moon smile. Cut-jade eyes glimmer out at you through the half-light of the tavern. They always seem to be glittering, despite the absence of any real light. "It's this nagging feeling!" he continues gleefully, even when you glare at him. "This annoying but rather persistent voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that when you tell me to leave you alone, you actually mean it!" He gives a hearty laugh, toying with his flask of ale, and peers up at you through his stupidly thick lashes. "Still, I know it can't be true, considering what happened the other night."

Stupid alcohol. Stupid Sampo. Stupid, stupid you.

One day of weakness. Being a Silvermane Guard was never exactly easy work, but most days tended to be less harrowing than the one you'd had. Every lead you'd chased had slipped through your fingers, and your shift had ended abruptly when the brother of a victim you were seeking justice for had elbowed you to the ground in frustration and spat on you. Your superior wrestled him off you and told you to clock off early.

You supposed she was being kind, but it just made you feel more useless than ever. Boiling with anger and with nowhere to put it, you stormed to the nearest tavern with the intention of drowning your sorrows. Two cups of mead in, you'd gone outside to clear your head, and there he had been, lurking around like an alley cat, sharp eyes lingering on everyone who walked past. No doubt looking for his next easy target. You clear your throat pointedly, and he spins around. Surprise quickly melts into familiar delight.

"Captain, my Captain!" he trills, slinking over as he was wont to slink everywhere.

"Not a captain," you remind him for the fortieth time. "Why are you loitering around here, Koski?"

An affronted hand to his chest, as though clutching imaginary pearls. "Oh! Did they outlaw that, too? Going to cuff me and sling me in jail, hm?"

"Don't fuckin' tempt me," you grumble, tipping your head back against the wall of the tavern. "Can you hurry up and commit a crime in front of me, or something?"

Sampo grins. "Rough day?"

"You're not helping," you snip back, slightly unfairly. He isn't really doing anything more than hanging around being irritating. He slinks closer, slinks like he always does, like it's the only way he knows how to move. Oozing around like a toxic slime, draping himself against the wall just in front of you, arm braced against the brick behind your head.

"I could, though."

His forwardness is hardly a surprise. There isn't any danger of missing his meaning in the sleepy droop of his eyes, the lazy smile curling at his lips. Sampo is an incurable flirt to each and everyone—the thing is that most of the time it's part of the con. You know a few Silvermane Guards who have fallen into his charm and his bed that cut him a lot of slack where they really, really shouldn't.

Sampo Koski has friends everywhere, and that's what makes him so dangerous.

You know this. You have done for a while, especially because he'd been trying to worm his way into your bed for about as long as you'd known him. You resent the thought of him having any sort of power over you, though. There's no denying that he's attractive, and you've often wondered if he would be able to put his money where his mouth is, for lack of a better phrase. But handing over that amount of control to someone like Koski is just incurably stupid.

Because then you're trapped. Every time he'd catch your eye afterwards, they'd glimmer, and you'd know he was remembering your moment of weakness, inviting you to remember it too. Every time his eyes would rake down your body you'd know he'd be recalling when he'd seen it devoid of clothing, sweating, trembling. Every time he'd look at you, he'd know he'd already won.

Really, there's a very simple solution. Don't let him win.

"I bet," you breathe, meeting his eyes for once. You can see them widen slightly, his lips part in surprise before he makes a recovery from this most minuscule slip of his mask.

"Ohoho?" He lets out an irritating little laugh. "Gosh. Must have been a really rough day."

"I'd prefer it to get rougher."

Sampo's mouth splits into a wide grin, one almost fanatical in nature. "I should've pegged you as the type!" he gushes. "Why would anyone be nonsensical enough to join the Silvermane Guards unless they secretly enjoyed a little pain? Between you and me, Captain, I don't mind it either."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" you sigh. "Only a real masochist would so frequently try to get under my skin."

His lashes flutter. "I'm trying to get under much more than that, Captain."

You grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him down the alley beside the tavern. In the dusk light, the two of you slip into the shadows almost immediately, and you follow the narrow path down to the back of the tavern, where the noise of the street outside is quietened to a whisper. Sampo giggles behind you.

"What an exhibitionist you are," he says slyly. "I should've expected it from you, I guess. I guess—"

You plant two hands on his chest, shoving him back into the brick wall, and kiss him. His words flutter to a halt and he stifles a yelp of surprise against your mouth before his eyes squinch shut. His hands aren't shy, flying up to grip your waist, and you press yourself flush against him. He makes a whimpery noise into your mouth as your knee slots itself between his legs, pushing up. He runs hot, you can feel it even through his clothes, and it's a welcome immersion from the perpetual algidity of Belobog.

He grunts as he pulls away, and you take in the slightly glazed look in his eyes and the high colour in his cheeks with a tinge of gratification. "We don't have an awful lot of time," he says pseudo-apologetically. His hands fly to his belt, fingers working nimbly at the buckle. "I'm due somewhere in twenty—"

His voice stammers to a halt when your hand clamps down over his, stilling his fingers. Sampo blinks up at you, puzzled; the penny hasn't yet dropped, you suppose, even as you patiently pry his fingers away from his belt.

"What are you doing?" you ask bluntly. Sampo's lips part and he looks at you as though you're quite delusional.

"Ah... ahem?" He laughs nervously. "Is that a trick question?"

"No," you answer easily. "What are you doing?" Off his bewildered look—which you take the time to enjoy, considering how little you get to see anything but smug ostentation on his face—you shrug. "Oh, I see. That's what you thought this was? I take you into some... secluded little alley, and I get you off?"

Sampo's mouth drops open. "I—I would've—"

"Let's not delude ourselves," you interrupt, and push your knee up between his thighs again. He makes a high, shaky noise in the back of his throat, tipping his head back against the brick wall. "D'you really think you've earned that?"

"Hm?" Sampo swallows hard, the juts in his throat flexing. "I—"

"All you do is hang around bothering me," you hiss. "And you think... what, one well-timed innuendo is all it took for me to change my mind? If you want to get off, then get off." Your knee slides against him, the stiffening in his trousers, and he makes a rather pathetic noise.

"You're not serious," he gasps, cheeks flushed scarlet. His sleepy eyes are wider than you've ever seen them and trained frantically on you. "Come on, Captain, you can't mean that. W-what would you get out of it, even?" He tries for a smirk. "I promise, if you let the reliable Sampo get his hands on you, you won't regret—mmfph?"

Your fingers slip under the stupid windows flaring over his hips, gliding over the skin there. He runs so warm, and it's ridiculous considering Belobog's perpetual winter, as you curl your fingernails into the skin of the small of his back 'till it dimples and drag his hips painstakingly over the flat of your thigh.

This time, sweet as music, he doesn't talk. His mouth drops open and he lets out a shivering moan, gloved hands scrabbling on the brick wall behind him. "You really are serious," he says in disbelief even as his hips roll absently against your leg. A strained laugh escapes him as—finally—a painfully scarlet flush starts bleeding into his cheekbones. "I always knew you Silvermanes were crazy."

"Mm. Not all of them," you say quietly. "But I am. I'm pretty crazy."

Sampo shudders, one that worms its way slowly through his whole body, and then he drops his head against your shoulder. He smells nice, like smoke and mint, his hair soft as it brushes your skin. His hips move languidly against you, stuttering occasionally, unsure—until you flex the muscle of your thigh against him. A whimper breaks free, high and whiny like shattered glass.

"You're so cruel," he groans even as his body drags against your leg. You underestimated how overwhelming it would be; his breath in the hollow of your neck makes the skin there hot and clammy, and when he moans it goes right in your ear. You're certain he's exaggerating to get your resolve to weaken. Nobody actually sounds like that.

And you can feel him, hard and hot as a brand, pushing up against your leg. You shudder almost imperceptibly, because yes, yeah, you're wondering how he would feel inside you, but you can't—not tonight, you promise yourself as your teeth grit. Tonight isn't about that.

It's about winning.

"Please," Sampo grits out, turning his head so you can see slices of his moonstone eyes through the sweaty locks of hair. "I—nngh, oh—I want inside of you."

"Take it or leave it, Koski," you say, a bit too breathlessly for your liking. He shivers with a sulky noise, and the whole time, even as he talks his hips are rolling against your leg. He picks up speed as sweat starts rolling down his skin, as his hands scrabble over the brick and then fly out to grab your waist and haul you closer. His strength is ridiculous—but so is yours. You let yourself be pulled, feeling his mouth and teeth against your ear, the breathy noises spilled across your jaw.

"Oh—please, I'm close." His eyes blink up at you, wet and deceptively innocent. The look on his face is almost heartwrending. "I need you, anything—your hand, mouth, anything, I don't care, please—"

"You're going to cum in your pants against my leg like the dog you are," you spit, your hand fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. He yelps, the flush on his cheeks darkening, eyes fluttering shut. "And you're gonna be grateful you even got that much."

Sampo moans, broken and high; his hips stutter against your leg as his hands curl into your waist so hard you're sure they'll leave bruises. But under the pleasure is a certain frustration, a sobbing sound as he cums and it sets your blood alight. You shiver with the delight of it.

The seconds that follow feel like victory.

Sampo peels away from you, stumbling back against the brick wall behind him. He's scarlet all the way down to his chest, his mouth agape and eyes wide and glittering with unshed tears as he uncomfortably adjusts his pants. They're dark and it's night, so he can probably get away with them until he gets the chance to go home and change, but the thought of him walking around in soiled underwear thrills you.

You probably are actually crazy. Sampo's annoying, but he's quite perceptive.

He clears his throat, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Well. Erm. That was..." He swallows. "The great Sampo really got himself in a rather sticky situation this time, didn't I?"

"Poor choice of words," you supply, and he winces, flushing harder.

He clears his throat. "Like I said, I, erm, have somewhere to be. Nice catching up, though." He puts two fingers to his temple and flicks them into the air in a mock salute. You watch as he spins lazily on his heel, rolling his shoulders as he starts his walk back down the alleyway.

"By the way," he added, pausing a few feet away. "I certainly hope that wasn't your way of trying to dissuade me." Your eyebrows raise, and he grins; his canines are sharp, and you can see them flash when his lips peel back. "Well, be serious: once you feed a starving dog, it doesn't leave you alone, does it? It comes back for more. Maybe it even follows you home."

He leaves you with that, one last lingering look and an implication that has you burning more than anything that transpired in the last ten minutes.

You get the altogether not unpleasant feeling that this will be far from the last you see of Sampo Koski.

[raineandsky]

#131

Inspired by #16 on @creativepromptsforwriting's drabble list!

The villain is gathering as much cold hard cash into their arms as possible when someone pointedly clears their throat behind them.

“[Villain],” the hero says smoothly. “You’re not above stealing from banks yet, I see.”

“And you’re not above loitering outside waiting for something to happen,” the villain retorts.

“It’s a shame to see you back here.” The hero hums a laugh, but the villain’s too busy scooping money into their bag to care. “You know I hate to arrest my favourite villain.”

“No need,” the villain says with their usual dry sarcasm. “New laws say that you don’t have to.”

The pause the hero leaves is just long enough to be suspicious. The villain glances back at them, just about catching the slight frown before they notice their nemesis looking.

“Yeah right,” they say unconvincingly. “New laws my ass.”

The classic I kind of believe you saying. The one that gives away that the villain’s quip was, for some reason, taken entirely too seriously. They were setting up for a joke, but— are they actually going to get away with this?

“No, no, they’re real.” The villain smiles as convincingly as possible. “Look it up—villains get benefit of the doubt if the agency deems their schemes particularly newsworthy.”

“The agency wouldn’t.”

“The agency recognises talent, don’t they?”

The villain gestures to the hero vaguely, and the hero falls right for the little ego boost. A smirk tugs at their lips for a moment, their stance a little straighter. “Well,” they say offhandedly, “I don’t think the agency would class robbing a bank as newsworthy. You do it every other week.”

“It’s not about the act, [Hero], it’s about the pizzazz!” The villain is in entirely too deep with this joke they were trying to make. “The agency likes people who can have a little fun. You know I like to make a show.”

“I do, unfortunately.” The hero sighs. “So, what? You just leave here with a stack of cash?”

The villain knows pushing their luck will get them in jail. “Well, you caught me—that’s pretty good going. I’ll leave the money as a congratulations.”

The hero watches carefully as the villain puts the money in their hands back on the shelf. “And the stuff in the bag,” the hero adds.

“Oh, come on, I can’t have anything?”

“You said you’d put it back.”

“Ugh, fine.” The villain tips their rucksack up and dumps a pile of cash on the table. “Happy now?”

The hero hums distractedly for a moment, their eyes glancing over the unstolen money scattered about, before huffing defeatedly. “Sure.”

The villain beams way too obviously. “Sweet. I’ll be heading off then.” They make for the door before deciding to dig their own grave a little more. “The agency does a stamp system now, y’know.”

“What is that meant to mean?”

“Catch five villains in the act and you get a free coffee,” the villain says brightly. "Or so I’ve heard. Ask [Superhero] about it.”

The hero nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

The villain hadn’t come in here expecting to walk straight back out. They certainly hadn’t expected to meet a hero in there without ending up in jail or hidden in some obscure part of the city.

But that doesn’t matter now. The villain is free, hero is going to make a fool of themself in front of the superhero, and that sucker didn’t even notice the forty thousand pounds stuffed into the villain’s coat.

[hyperlexichypatia]

I'm not, generally speaking, a fan of punishment as a solution to social problems. Punishment is often overly harsh, ineffective as a deterrent, and doesn't solve the actual problem. The punitive mentality is more focused on making sure the "bad guys" "don't get away with it" than on actually solving the problem.

But I get a lot more worried when people talk about "alternatives to punishment", or when they support their proposed solutions because "it's not punishment."

Because what that means, in practice, is "I'm conceptualizing this form of coercive control as 'not punishment,' and therefore not subjecting it to the rigor, due process, or evidentiary standards of punishment."

The U.S. loves punishment. It's one of our favorite national pastimes. But we do have, both legally and culturally, some limitations on punishment, at least in theory. Punishment isn't supposed to be "cruel and unusual." It's not supposed to be inflicted without "due process of law." You're supposed to be convicted by a jury of your peers.

But if you call it "not punishment," none of that matters!

You can force people to register under a law that didn't exist when they committed their crimes, because it's "administrative," not punitive.

You can subject disabled people to shocks similar to a cattle prod -- which would surely be cruel and unusual punishment -- but it's okay, because it's not "punishment," it's a "treatment" called an "aversive" (that's therapist for "punishment").

You can have people locked up and forcibly drugged solely because they can't afford housing, but it's okay, because it's "help," not "punishment."

Police can kill people in cold blood -- judge, jury, and executioner -- and it's fine, because it's "self-defense," not "punishment," even if they argue after the fact that the victim "deserved it."

It's also a matter of cultural attitudes. If you said "The punishment for trespassing should be life in prison," or "The punishment for loitering should be permanent loss of the right to control one's body, money, or living space," or "The punishment for turnstile-jumping should be lifelong forced ingestion of drugs that numb basic cognitive functions," most people would think this was horrific, much too harsh a punishment for a relatively minor crime.

But if you change it to "Instead of jailing and punishing unhoused people with mental health issues, we should respond to their minor crimes by Getting Them Help, like institutionalization, conservatorship, or outpatient commitment," people now think this is completely reasonable.

Even being the victim of a crime can get someone not-punished far more severely than the perpetrators are "punished." People might serve jail time for financial fraud, but not usually a life sentence. Being the victim of financial fraud, however, can lead to a life sentence of institutionalization -- which fraud investigators have cited as a barrier to getting victims to report fraud. I personally know of multiple disabled young adults who were afraid to report being the victim of sexual assault or other kinds of assault because they knew that if they reported it, the perpetrator might or might not face some kind of punishment, but they would definitely face some type of "not-punishment" coercive control, like forced therapy, forced drugging, supervision, or having to leave school.

You want a society with less punishment? Me too. But only if you acknowledge that "punishment" includes all forms of coercive control. If you do something to someone against their will, if you restrict someone from their right to live as they choose, that's a punishment, regardless of whether you call it that.

[readyforevolution]

IF YOU DIDN'T KNOW THIS YESTERDAY THEN TODAY WOULD BE A GOOD DAY TO LEARN THIS.... "All stories don't have a happy ending"

In 1866, one year after the 13 Amendment was ratified (the amendment that ended slavery), Alabama, Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, Georgia, Mississippi, Florida, Tennessee, and South Carolina began to lease out convicts for labor (peonage). This made the business of arresting Blacks very lucrative, which is why hundreds of White men were hired by these states as police officers. Their primary responsibility was to search out and arrest Blacks who were in violation of Black Codes. Once arrested, these men, women and children would be leased to plantations where they would harvest cotton, tobacco, sugar cane. Or they would be leased to work at coal mines, or railroad companies. The owners of these businesses would pay the state for every prisoner who worked for them; prison labor.

It is believed that after the passing of the 13th Amendment, more than 800,000 Blacks were part of the system of peonage, or re-enslavement through the prison system. Peonage didn’t end until after World War II began, around 1940.

This is how it happened.

The 13th Amendment declared that "Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction." (Ratified in 1865)

Did you catch that? It says, “neither slavery nor involuntary servitude could occur except as a punishment for a crime". Lawmakers used this phrase to make petty offenses crimes. When Blacks were found guilty of committing these crimes, they were imprisoned and then leased out to the same businesses that lost slaves after the passing of the 13th Amendment. This system of convict labor is called peonage.

The majority of White Southern farmers and business owners hated the 13th Amendment because it took away slave labor. As a way to appease them, the federal government turned a blind eye when southern states used this clause in the 13th Amendment to establish laws called Black Codes. Here are some examples of Black Codes:

In Louisiana, it was illegal for a Black man to preach to Black congregations without special permission in writing from the president of the police. If caught, he could be arrested and fined. If he could not pay the fines, which were unbelievably high, he would be forced to work for an individual, or go to jail or prison where he would work until his debt was paid off.

If a Black person did not have a job, he or she could be arrested and imprisoned on the charge of vagrancy or loitering.

This next Black Code will make you cringe. In South Carolina, if the parent of a Black child was considered vagrant, the judicial system allowed the police and/or other government agencies to “apprentice” the child to an "employer". Males could be held until the age of 21, and females could be held until they were 18. Their owner had the legal right to inflict punishment on the child for disobedience, and to recapture them if they ran away.

This (peonage) is an example of systemic racism - Racism established and perpetuated by government systems. Slavery was made legal by the U.S. Government. Segregation, Black Codes, Jim Crow and peonage were all made legal by the government, and upheld by the judicial system. These acts of racism were built into the system, which is where the term “Systemic Racism” is derived.

This is the part of "Black History" that most of us were never told about.

[longliveblackness]

Martin Luther King Jr. was Arrested 29 times for these so-called crimes. Here are just a few occasions when he was arrested and why:

January 26, 1956 — He was arrested in Montgomery, Alabama as part of a "Get Tough" campaign to intimidate the bus boycotters. Four days later, on January 30, his home was bombed.

March 22, 1956 — King, Rosa Parks and more than 100 others were arrested on charges of organizing the Montgomery Bus Boycott in protest of Parks' treatment.

September 3, 1958 — While attempting to attend the arraignment of a man accused of assaulting Abernathy, King is arrested outside Montgomery's Recorder's Court and charged with loitering. He is released a short time later on $100 bond.

September 5, 1958 — King was convicted of disobeying a police order and fined $14. He chooses to spend 14 days in jail, but is soon released when Police Commissioner Clyde Sellers pays his fine.

October 19, 1960 — He was arrested in Atlanta, Georgia during a sit-in while waiting to be served at a restaurant. He was sentenced to four months in jail, but after intervention by then presidential candidate John Kennedy and his brother Robert Kennedy, he was released.

May 4, 1961 — He was arrested in Albany, Georgia for obstructing the sidewalk and parading without a permit.

April 12, 1963 — He and Ralph Abernathy were arrested in Birmingham, Alabama for demonstrating without a permit.

During his time in jail, he he wrote what is now known as his historic "Letter from Birmingham Jail."

June 11, 1964 — He was arrested for protesting for the integration of public accommodations in St. Augustine, Florida.

February 2, 1965 — He was arrested in Selma, Alabama during a voting rights demonstration, but the demonstrations continued leading to demonstrators being beaten at the Pettus Bridge by state highway patrolmen and sheriff's deputies.

Legendary civil rights activist Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spent a night in the jail on a trespassing charge after he and others were arrested after they attempted to eat in the Monson Restaurant on June 11, 1964. The arrest was reported in The St. Augustine Record and is included in the state legislative committee's investigative report, "Racial & Civil Disorders in St. Augustine," February 1965.

•••

Martin Luther King Jr. fue arrestado 29 veces por estos supuestos “crímenes”. Estas son sólo algunas ocasiones en las que fue arrestado y el por qué:

26 de enero de 1956: Fue arrestado en Montgomery, Alabama, como parte de una campaña "Get Tough (Ponerse Firme)" para intimidar a los boicoteadores de autobuses. Cuatro días después, el 30 de enero, su casa fue bombardeada.

22 de marzo de 1956: King, Rosa Parks y más de 100 personas más fueron arrestados acusados ​​de organizar el boicot a los autobuses de Montgomery. Esto en protesta por el trato que recibió Parks.

3 de septiembre de 1958: Mientras intentaba asistir a la lectura de cargos de un hombre acusado de agredir a Abernathy, King es arrestado frente al Tribunal de Registro de Montgomery y acusado de holgazanería. Poco tiempo después fue liberado, luego de pagar una fianza de 100 dólares.

5 de septiembre de 1958: King fue declarado culpable de desobedecer una orden policial y multado con 14 dólares. Eligió pasar 14 días en la cárcel, pero pronto lo liberan luego de que el comisionado de policía Clyde Sellers pagara la multa.

19 de octubre de 1960: Fue arrestado en Atlanta, Georgia, durante una sentada mientras esperaba que lo atendieran en un restaurante. Fue sentenciado a cuatro meses de cárcel, pero tras la intervención del entonces candidato presidencial John Kennedy y su hermano Robert Kennedy, fue puesto en libertad.

4 de mayo de 1961: Fue arrestado en Albany, Georgia, por obstruir la acera y desfilar sin permiso.

12 de abril de 1963: Él y Ralph Abernathy fueron arrestados en Birmingham, Alabama, por realizar una protesta sin permiso.

Durante su estancia en la cárcel, escribió lo que ahora se conoce como su histórica "Carta desde la cárcel de Birmingham".

11 de junio de 1964: Fue arrestado por protestar por la integración de alojamientos públicos en St. Augustine, Florida.

2 de febrero de 1965: Fue arrestado en Selma, Alabama, durante una protesta por el derecho al voto, pero las protestas continuaron y los protestantes fueron golpeados en el puente Pettus por patrulleros de carreteras estatales y agentes del sheriff.

El legendario activista de derechos civiles, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., pasó una noche en la cárcel acusado de invasión de propiedad privada después de que él y otros fueran arrestados después de intentar comer en el restaurante Monson el 11 de junio de 1964. El arresto fue informado en el periódico The St. Augustine Record y está incluido en el informe de investigación del comité legislativo estatal, "Desórdenes Civiles y Raciales en St. Augustine", febrero de 1965.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Year for Stealing Radio Artist’s Violin,” Toronto Star. December 20, 1932. Page 2. --- John J. Kelly Also Pleads Guilty to Stealing Musician’s Car --- Once again will the enchanting music of Murray Griss and his violin be heard on radio and stage, because the appearance of John J. Kelly on a charge of stealing the instrument heralded its return to its master.

When the Griss automobile disappeared from the curb with the beloved violin resting on the rear seat, the musician raised a hue and cry throughout the city. The bereavement was publicized in The Star’s ‘Are You Listening?’ clumn and there was not a musician in the city who did not mourn with Violinist Griss.

Kelly pleaded guilty to theft of both car and violin.

Detectives Shields and Hinchelwood are the officers who recovered the artist’s property. Kelly was sentenced by Magistrate Jones to one year on each charge, to run concurrently.

‘The car had not been run far,’ Defence Counsel W. B. Horkins suggested.

‘Two thousand miles,’ retorted the crown. 'Not much these days,’ Mr. Horkins smiled.

‘Every candy company is doing the same thing,’ declared Col. R. H. Greer, defending William Robertson, Norris Heller and James McDonald, on charged of conducting lotteries.

Lottery on CandlesThe ‘lottery’ was a matter of 200 candles in a box, a certain number of them with dark centres and the rest white. If a purchaser of the one-cent confection was fortunate enough to draw a ‘dark,’ he was rewards with a five-cent candy. Accused were manufacturer, agent and shop-keepers.

‘I’ll make it withdrawn,’ his worship declared.

The epic refusal of Detectives Coulson and Wilson, of a $50 bribe popped up again with the appearance of Alex Boychuk on a charge of attempting to pervert the course of justice. He pleaded guilty.

Put $50 in Pocket‘The officers were investigating some alcohol in the house,’ Crown Attorney W. O. Gibson recalled. ‘When they are were leaving accused put his hand in Coulson’s pocket and when the officer looked inside he found $50 had been placed there. They arrested Boychuck.’ The pleading of Thomas O’Connor, for the defence, brought a three-month sentence on a charge which has a maximum of two years.

Stole Women’s ClothesRugged, masculine men were James Kitchen and Ross Crawford – and not a little abshed were they to plead guilty to theft of ladies’ dresses, underwear and sweaters. Det.-Sergt. Mumberson, however, cleared things up by testifying that accused were present and past employees of the factory where the things were made. Both are married, too.

‘I will have to be more severe, because you are on probation,’ explained Magistrate Jones. ‘Six months.’

Having made restitution of the sum of money involved in several fraud charges, Rupert Rive was put on a year of probation when he appeared for sentence.

A Friendly Argument ‘It was a case of a friendly argument,’ explained Defence Counsel T. B. Horkins, defending Oscar Grossman on a wounding charge. ‘They were drinking together. Everything is all right.’

Failure of complainant to appear lent strength to the protestations of friendship. Case was withdrawn.

Charged with shopbreaking in connection with his entry into waterworks property, Norman West pleaded guilty to trespassing and was assessed $10 with a 10-day alternative.

Three thefts of overcoats from unemployed men were charged against Joseph Johnston, Maxwell Armstrong and Albert Wybrow. The trio had attended an entertainment for workless men and picked up the coats, it was charged.

Wybrow is a Barnardo boy and intercession by the home led Magistrate Jones to be lenient. ‘I hope you will be properly grateful, my boy,’ said his worship as he suspended sentence. The other two were sentenced to three months each, dating back to Dec. 11, when they were arrested.

Court was adjourned to the afternoon.

Frowns on Church-loiteringVigorous and sincere was the assurance of Camille Plourde, facing a charge of attempting to take his own life, that he was through with that sort of thing.

‘You won’t try it again?’ asked Magistrate Tinker in early police court. ‘I certainly will not,’ he rejoined. Plourde was remanded for sentence.

Yesterday Mike Sanderlowich was sent back to the nether regions to sober up. To-day Mike popped his head over the railing and grinned assent when his worship inquired after his state of sobriety (Mike’s), the grin broadened as Mike departed, on remand.

Justice chose to grant Daniel Roach Thomas Ryan, on vagrancy charges, the opportunity of a Merry Christmas. They both rated $10 or five days.

‘I was just in there,’ were the simple words of Christopher Farrell, charged with loitering in a church wash-room in a manner to suggest vagrancy. P.C. Vance, 62, testified accused had been drinking and his worship set the assessment for being ‘just in there’ at $10 or 30 days.

In University CorridorLikewise, the bench estimated it was worth $10 or 30 days to Augustine Cullen for failing to give a good account of himself when stopped in the corridor at the University of Toronto where the students hang their coats.

Only two days in the city, George Hartwich was a first offender in Inebriation Alley and drew the customary interview with Captain Bunton. William Bonner and Henry Flood were invited to pay $10 or spend 30 days in meditation because they pleaded guilty to being drunk.

[hinacu-arts]

another random unrelated crossover scene. takes place in riseverse

JAIL HOLDING DOOR SHUTS BEHIND DONNIE, 12!RAPH, AND 12!CASEY WITH A *CHING*

12! Casey: so, who are we gonna call-

Kendra: Von Ryan.

Donnie: *spins around*

Donnie: Kendra.

KENDRA IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BARS, IN THE FEMALE HOLDING AREA

12! Raph and 12! Casey: *lean out to see around Donnie*

Kendra, sitting causally against the wall: fancy seeing you here. I'm surprised everyone's buying those stupid disguises. So, who's this one? A cousin?

Donnie: i see you managed to get arrested all by yourself this time. What did you attempt to do? Rob another bank?

Kendra: that's none of your business. But I'm sure it was far more exciting than what landed you here.

FLASHBACK. DONNIE, 12! RAPH, AND 12! CASEY CRAWLING OUT OF THE SEWERS WITH THE INTENT TO COMMIT ARSON. THEY ARE ARRESTED FOR LOITERING OUTSIDE THE STORE.

Donnie: where's Jermey and Jason? Thought you were incapable of doing anything yourself.

Kendra: Jermey is out of state and Jason is at his dad's. I dont need them for every job.

12! Raph: so who's this chick?

Donnie: Raph, Casey, meet Kendra, head of the Purple Dragons Tech Club. She's a persistent annoyance and intellectual rival.

Kendra: you wish you were as smart as me.

12! Casey: is this, like, nerd flirting?

[blorbocedes]

I was thinking how insane it is that private prisons exist. cause if a prison exists for profit, and it gets profit from increasing prisoners who do cheap labour for pennies then they can simply lobby for laws that increase criminalisation. jail mentally ill people, jail homeless people, jail anyone loitering, anyone in poverty, anyone who can't afford paying bail, and more

then I looked up the countries that have private prisons. and it really explained A Lot .

[moqi2004]

Omgomg I need to see Dalv being introduced to Starlo's family

Hi! Sorry for how long this took! I wrote about 400 words last Wednesday and couldn't get myself to write more, and I was busy after that. It's done now though, and I hope you enjoy! I will tell you that on the proofread, I screamed to myself saying "THEY'RE GAY" multiple times out loud.

And to the anon who more recently asked for this same thing, you get your wish early :) congrats!

Family Introductions

Words: 1530

Cross-Posted on Ao3

Tags: implied past Staroba (one sided), family interactions, fluff, self-consciousness, anxiety, family teasing, sugary sweet, reassurances, Starlo being a proud boyfriend.

Summary: Starlo takes Dalv to meet his family in Sunnyside Farm. Dalv is understandably nervous about this. He finds that he has nothing to worry about.

Fic under the cut. Enjoy :)

Dalv’s first time in the Wild East had been the most fun he’s ever had. At first, the heat had been difficult to deal with, and the grains of sand loitering around within his shoes were almost unbearable. Luckily for him, his boyfriend was there. Starlo had offered to carry his cloak while they walked, which Dalv was quite happy to let him do. He also rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, attempting to cool down his body as much as possible. It didn’t take Dalv long to notice that Starlo was staring at him, eyes widened and face slightly flushed. Dalv bashfully held back from bringing it up.

He made a mental note of the reaction regardless.

The Wild East itself was a quaint little tourism spot with limited technology. Dalv noticed that most shopping and general commerce was done in Oasis Valley just west of there, while classic Dunes entertainment was celebrated right here. With a rustic tavern and even a jail (for show, thankfully), the place felt like it had jumped right out of a children’s tale! The aesthetic and charm quickly drew Dalv in, allowing to forget about the unbearable heat for just a moment.

Having the opportunity to meet all of Starlo’s friends was truly a blessing for him. After saying a quick hello to Ceroba, who he had kept in close contact with after she visited him in Snowdin with a box full of corn, he was introduced to The Feisty Four. They were all a joy to get to know. Dalv was content to sit and watch as Ed and Moray teased and bantered with Starlo, Ace staying back with him to make sure he was comfortable. Dalv had to reassure Ace a couple of times that he didn’t feel like he was being dragged around or forced into goofing with the posse. Star did have to stop Mooch from looting Dalv’s person a couple of times.

The two of them didn’t linger for very long, however. While Starlo did consider his posse as a second family, the real reason the two came all this way was so Dalv could visit Starlo’s family. As the two walked past Blackjack’s and out of town, Dalv couldn’t ignore how his heart began to race and his mind began to panic. What if Star’s family didn’t approve of their relationship? What if they didn’t like him? What would he do if things went wrong? Would he and Star have to…?

“Hey, Dal? You doin’ okay? Yer shakin’ a bit…”

Dalv’s attention quickly snapped towards Starlo. In his thoughts he had failed to notice that they had stopped walking, the pair’s hands carefully intertwined. Starlo could probably feel just how sweaty Dalv’s palm was starting to become. 

“Uh- I’m…”

Dalv wanted to tell Starlo that everything was okay…

He knew that would help nothing.

“I’m worried… I don’t really know if your family will like me…”

“Dal…” Starlo reached towards him with his free hand and rested it against his cheek, “I know my Ma and Pa will love ya. With a huge heart like yers, I know they’ll see ya for the monster I love. Heck, with the dedication to yer work and experience growin’ corn yerself, I’m sure even Orion will get along with ya! All you need to do is be the vampire I fell in love with.”

“But what if they hate me-”

“If they hate ya I’ll drag ya outta there and shower ya with all the kind words ya deserve t’hear.”

“So you won’t… Leave?”

“Of course not, darlin’... Never.”

Starlo leant forwards and pressed a delicate, reassuring kiss to Dalv’s forehead. Dalv allowed his shoulders to relax and nestled himself within his boyfriend’s arms. Star returned the hug eagerly, pressing a couple more light kisses to his horns. Dalv was unsure why he was so apprehensive in the first place. He had Starlo, after all. He knew the Sheriff was a noble and kind soul. He was ashamed to even think that he considered Star leaving him because of his family’s reactions.

“So, uh,” Starlo spoke up, the two still embraced, “you still ‘aight to do this?”

“Of course,” Dalv broke away with a warm smile, “lead the way.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. 🦇 .* :☆ ﾟ｡･ ───

Dalv was certain he had stepped into his own personal heaven. He knew that was probably a little sad, calling a corn farm the equivalent of paradise, but he truly couldn’t help it! The farm was a quaint little area with a corn field bigger than what Dalv could ever grow back in The Ruins. A cute, cobbled path and a little white house completed the homely feel that Sunnyside Farm radiated so strongly. Nearby, a four-pointed star in messy overalls and a plaid shirt was tending to the crops. Star momentarily glanced towards Dalv before waving.

“HEYYY, ORION!” he yelled, causing Dalv to jump a little.

The star turned around, eyebrow raised and lips drawn in a line of mild annoyance. He then caught sight of Dalv, who squeezed Starlo’s hand for support as the two were approached.

“Starlo,” Orion briefly regarded, “who’s this?”

“Right!” Starlo moved his hand from Dalv’s to wrap his arm around his shoulder, “Orion, this is Dalv, my partner! Dalv, this is Orion, my brother!”

“H-Hello there,” Dalv held out his hand for Orion to shake, "It's, uh, nice to meet you. This farm looks so well maintained, you must do an excellent job keeping the crops at this quality. I struggled to grow my own in The Ruins because of the lighting conditions and drab environment, but I found that with enough love and care the stalks can still grow to be incredibly strong and durable. It really portrays the… Strength of the… Plant…”

Dalv trailed off, eyes wide. Oh no, he’d been caught corn rambling! How could he let himself do that??? He focused back on reality when he felt his outstretched hand move up and down.

“You managed to grow corn in a place like that?” Orion asked, letting go of Dalv’s hand.

“Yea, he did!” Starlo chimed in, looking at Dalv with the proudest expression, “really impressive stuff, too! I’ve seen it myself!”

“Ah, it’s nothing that impressive-” Dalv began.

“Starlo!”

The three turned at the call of Star’s name. A sun monster and a moon monster walked down the steps of the house’s front porch. Starlo happily waved to the both of them, Dalv looking at him and then giving a small, shy wave of his own. When the two approached, the moon wrapped Starlo into a hug, which he seemed content with accepting. The sun monster came over to jostle the hat on Star’s head, as if ruffling the hair he didn’t have. The two then regarded Dalv, who Star was eager to introduce.

“Ma, Pa, this is Dalv! He’s, uh…” Star flushed a light pink, “he’s my partner.”

The two simultaneously looked to Dalv, who willed himself not to shrink backwards at the attention. He’d done many organ concerts at this point, but the stage fright from that could barely compare to the anxiety he felt at this moment. He steeled his mind. Please don’t hate me please don’t hate me please-

Dalv feels his hands being held. It felt different to Starlo’s hands-

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Dalv,” the moon monster smiled sweetly, holding both of his hands within her own, “my name is Crestina. I’m Starlo’s Mother. Thank you so much for being there for my little boy.”

“Ma, please…”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all, miss,” Dalv beamed.

“My name’s Solomon,” the sun monster added, “and truly, I’m glad Starlo finally found someone else after all these years. I thought that after Ceroba, he’d-”

“Pa, come on!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Solomon let out a hearty laugh.

“Don’t pay them no mind, Dal, I beg of ya…”

“Don’t worry, Star” Dalv looked at his boyfriend.

Dalv wasn’t sure what came over him after that. He just… Spoke.

“Honestly, I should be thanking all of you,” he began, “thank you for raising Star. I’m so happy I was able to meet him. He’s the kind of monster who can make any situation fun; who can bring joy everywhere he goes. He’s just so… Warm. So much so that I feel that same warmth whenever I’m with him. He’s supportive of me and my art, he’s amazing to talk to, and the only person I can think of spending all my time with… I couldn’t imagine life as it was before I met him… So thank you for having me, and uh, hopefully I can be the monster to stay by your son’s side.”

Dalv turned to Starlo, who’s face was a glowing scarlet. His jaw hung slack and his eyes were blown wide under his hat. 

“He’s perfect,” Crestina whispered to herself.

“Huh?” Dalv looked towards her, hands still within hers.

“Come with me, Dalv,” Crestina began to walk, gently guiding Dalv along with her, “I simply must show you our family photo album. I can assure you, my Starlight was an absolute treasure growing up-”

“MA!”

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