#Kyle about to read the evidence real?

[brokenpieces-72]

Files and Timing

Holding cells aren’t exactly comfortable and when you’re highly wanted men in a police station where there is no one in your pocket things get ugly easily. Price and his men were separated but they didn’t talk much.

Alejandro was pacing constantly, his thoughts going to Rudy. Rudy had stitches from the raid which made him an easy target. Thankfully no one had entered the cell to take advantage of his injuries. Kyle was in the same cell as Price, Johnny and Simon next door. Farah was being held in a different precinct.

When Simon asked to speak with you it threw them off a little. They waited patiently for his return, which was a rough one. A couple of guys were dragging while he tried fighting them off. Price had seen Ghost fight cops, this was just an act.

“Bitch had it coming!” Simon barks out once they finally get him in the cell. The cops ignore him as they walk away.

“Little rat like the rest of ya!” Johnny calls out joining in, and leaning against the bars. “Yeah keep walkin, blue collared mutts. Just mad cause you got nothing on us!”

Once the cops turned the corner and he heard the door close, Simon spoke up over Johnny’s taunts.

“Shut up Soap fucking hell.” Simon says sitting down. Johnny gives him a look of confusion.

“They’re dogs like y/n, since when do you care?” Johnny argues.

“Y/n is not a dog.” Simon says. “They’re a cat.”

“…saying they’re a pussy or…” Kyle says, to clear the silence. He gets some looks and puts his hands up in apology. Just wanted to break the tension. What was he supposed to say after Simon says something like that?

“What are you getting at Simon?” Price asks, moving on from the subject.

“Shit use of metaphor. The kid didn’t do anything wrong.” Simon says.

“They snitched on us, told us bout it and then got us cuffed.” Johnny argues, leaning back against the bars and folding his arms.

“Let’s hope you’re wrong then, otherwise this may be a problem.” Simon says sitting back in his seat. “As long as the kits are taken care of that’s my main concern.”

“Softy.” Kyle mutters.

……

Farah is escorted out of the holding cell she was put in and sees both you and Alex waiting for her. You have your uniform back on, and holding a file. Farah is somewhat relieved to see you both, but is a little confused. She listens as she’s read her rights and rules for being released. Once finished she comes over and Alex hugs her.

“I’m alright.” She mutters.

“I know.” Alex says. The three of you leave and head to a safe location. Alex’s place. You excuse yourself to get changed in the bathroom while Alex makes Farah some food.

“How?” Farah asks, sitting at the table.

“This stuff.” You say coming out holding up a file. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You set it down, sitting at the table, sliding it over for Farah. Farah takes it and opens it immediately. You fidget in your seat a little, nervous about what she’ll say. Admittedly Farah was a test to see if you could pull it off. Farah believed in the system somewhat, knowing it was rigged and flawed she still believed in it to a degree, which meant she never tried to cheat it. Broke it yes, but never cheat. Farah looks over the evidence and her brow furrows. You fidget more.

“You truly didn’t do anything wrong, this just proves it.” You say, hating the only sound was from Alex in the kitchen. Farah shuts the file and slides it back to you.

“You faked the evidence.” She states with no real tone to her voice. You can’t meet her gaze, but you feel it. “Can you do it again?”

You look up at her surprised. There is a serious look on her face. There’s a hint of displeasure. She knows what this meant and the risks you took. It was necessary to test it, and bail wasn’t something you could get for the guys. You’d already gotten started on Rudolfo and Alejandro, their files just needing a couple pieces to get everything you need. She doesn’t like doing it, but she knows it will save plenty of time.

“Rudy and Alejandro’s are have a couple more photos printing now.” You say. You look back down at your hands, playing with your fingers. “I’m sorry about the other night, I should��ve intervened.”

“If you did you’d be in more trouble. Alex was enough.” Farah says. “What do you need from me?”

“I’m still working on that. I have to get back to work, and I’ll need to hold some interviews. Not sure how easily I can face them.” You admit. “Wanted to see if I could do it first.”

Graves got you all of the evidence from the night in question. You get to work immediately, staying up late with all the files, keeping yourself awake as much as possible. You needed to put a whole new case together with the parts you already had. Thankfully, you just needed to wake up some criminal records for motive but giving the guys a reason to be there… that was more difficult. Alibis couldn’t easily be made. You needed to land them somewhere. Everyone you could trust to provide a fake alibi was unreliable. In the end you still needed Nolan. Nolan could cough up the truth, and you could give the guy probable cause for being there. From there you might be able to get them off. Say they intervened in a vigilante act.

You had to find a way to reach him though. The two times were by chance. The first he was in a diner, may not have even known who you are. The second time he did and tried to yank you from the streets. You needed to find him and fast. Right now the only one who was close by and willing to talk, that might know Nolan is Milena, but that was a massive risk going after her. Someone as high profile as her, security may not be an issue but if she talked, plenty of high powers would take her seriously.

You’re going through all of this in your bedroom, papers and files sorted into messy piles, the light disguising the time. When you check it you see it’s an ungodly hour in the morning. The same morning you had to go back into work. Graves might send you back home once he sees you but knowing him it won’t be easy. You spend what time you have left before you go to sleep for a few minutes, looking for evidence of Nolan. Security cameras picked up a figure fleeing a ship. The face is a little fuzzy but you could enhance it.

Unfortunately, you don’t get the chance to show it. In your half baked exhausted state someone grabs you on your way to work.

Graves is bouncing his leg at his desk, asking everyone who comes in about you. They all shrug saying they haven’t seen you for some time. He considers filing a missing persons report for you. First he makes some calls, asking about you. First the pub, assuming someone might be there. Nothing. Then he tries Alex, but he says you went home. Graves has tried your cell more than once, with no answer and he’s even called the land lord. Still nothing. Graves tries to focus on work but it’s impossible. You wouldn’t go dark for no reason. He’s missing something.

That something is you.

He gets up from his desk and goes to the holding cells. Before he can open his mouth he gets insults thrown at him from Johnny and Alejandro. Simon just stares him down. Tough crowd.

“Look will you shut up?” Graves asks holding up a hand to Johnny.

“So you can boast around? No!” Johnny says.

“I’m not here to gloat I have questions.”

“We’ve already done this, move on.” Kyle chimes in.

“Oh for fuck sake,” Graves says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where’s y/n?”

The cells go very quiet at the question. Graves looks between the cells and sees confused looks, with a couple holding concern. Anyone who was previously laying down sat up, and any who were sitting made their way to the bars.

“Cameras are off right now.” Graves says quietly.

“The fuck happened pendejo?” Alejandro asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know much of anything do ya now.” Price comments, arm folded.

“That’s why I’m asking.” Graves says regretting his decision.

“Y/n isn’t one of us, you said it yourself.” Johnny says.

“I am not discussing this matter, I just want to know where they could be.”

“So you came to the seven people in prison?” Kyle questions.

“You didn’t bother talking to Farah first?” John asks.

“Farah was released, she’s innocent.” Graves argues. “I called her, I called Alex, I even called the pub thinking maybe someone there would know, y/n is missing and I don’t know how to find them. Like it or not, I’m the only one able to keep them alive right now.”

The room goes quiet again. You were in constant communication with all of them when they all thought you were on their side. Now you went dark. Price doesn’t like any of this, and hates that Graves might be the only one who can help you. He can’t help but feel this is some ploy to get more names.

“You’re giving us a frozen lake and not telling us how thick the ice is.” Price says. Graves comes up to the bars to meet his gaze and Price is a little surprised reading his expression. Graves is a prideful man, but right now he was desperate. Whether Price liked it or not, something was going on and Graves needed their help.

“Y/n was supposed to come in today, the day before she was asking about MacTavish’s old case file.” Graves lowers his voice. “The arrest was all me, y/n had nothing to do with it. They’ve been working on getting you all out of here.”

“Likely story.” Johnny mutters. He gets a displeased grunt from Simon.

“They got Farah out. She’s with Alex.” Graves exclaims. “I know she met with Ghost one day, but they didn’t go into much detail. I didn’t let them, because right now they are the only ones who can save your asses.”

“We wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t gotten a tip.” Price say, biting back some anger. Graves sighs. “I got orders to make an arrest by Makarov, somehow he caught wind of the tip. Makarov was already on to them, I had talked them up to try and cover them up.”

Johnny stands up from where he was sitting coming over to the bars. “Y/n didn betray us?”

“They’re missing now. I’ve tried calling them and everyone I can think of. Is there anyone else they might be with?” Graves asks. Price didn’t know what to say or think after hearing that though his expression remained stoic. You were on their side, and that night he was pissed off. The arrest made it worse. Now you were trying to fix it all and were in trouble. Graves could also be fucking with all of them.

“Give me one good reason I should trust a word you say.” Price says, his voice low.

“What am I supposed to do to convince you? Open your cells?” Graves says getting right fed up.

“Be a start.” Soap mutters.

“Price… you made the same promise, I know you did. Their safety is important to you.” Graves presses.

“You don’t know shit.” Price argues.

“You’re telling me he told you he had a kid and if they throw themselves to the wolves, sit back and watch the feast?” Graves says, pressing his lips. Price pushes back from the bars pacing. Right now, he was thinking back to that night. The night he found you at the apartment sleeping. The night he recalled everything he knew about your father and the promise he’d made to keep you safe.

“You’re not your father!” He’d said that. You weren’t your father but that didn’t mean you weren’t loyal. Didn’t mean you weren’t trying to do the right thing. You were your own person. You were missing. He wouldn’t lose to Makarov again.

“If you turn on us Graves,” Price warns. Graves eyes tell him everything. He lowers his voice once he gets close to the bars. “Find Nolan. Find Nolan and you’ll find Y/N.”

Graves nods and steps back, raising his voice. “You boys have been great guests. Be sure to include it in my report.”

You’re sitting… you’re waiting… you’re in… so much pain.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

[sag-dab-sar]

Clarification: Generative AI does not equal all AI

💭 "Artificial Intelligence"

AI is machine learning, deep learning, natural language processing, and more that I'm not smart enough to know. It can be extremely useful in many different fields and technologies. One of my information & emergency management courses described the usage of AI as being a "human centaur". Part human part machine; meaning AI can assist in all the things we already do and supplement our work by doing what we can't.

💭 Examples of AI Benefits

AI can help advance things in all sorts of fields, here are some examples:

Emergency Healthcare & Disaster Risk X

Disaster Response X

Crisis Resilience Management X

Medical Imaging Technology X

Commercial Flying X

Air Traffic Control X

Railroad Transportation X

Ship Transportation X

Geology X

Water Conservation X

Can AI technology be used maliciously? Yeh. Thats a matter of developing ethics and working to teach people how to see red flags just like people see red flags in already existing technology.

AI isn't evil. Its not the insane sentient shit that wants to kill us in movies. And it is not synonymous with generative AI.

💭 Generative AI

Generative AI does use these technologies, but it uses them unethically. Its scraps data from all art, all writing, all videos, all games, all audio anything it's developers give it access to WITHOUT PERMISSION, which is basically free reign over the internet. Sometimes with certain restrictions, often generative AI engineers���who CAN choose to exclude things—may exclude extremist sites or explicit materials usually using black lists.

AI can create images of real individuals without permission, including revenge porn. Create music using someones voice without their permission and then sell that music. It can spread disinformation faster than it can be fact checked, and create false evidence that our court systems are not ready to handle.

AI bros eat it up without question: "it makes art more accessible" , "it'll make entertainment production cheaper" , "its the future, evolve!!!"

💭 AI is not similar to human thinking

When faced with the argument "a human didn't make it" the come back is "AI learns based on already existing information, which is exactly what humans do when producing art! We ALSO learn from others and see thousands of other artworks"

Lets make something clear: generative AI isn't making anything original. It is true that human beings process all the information we come across. We observe that information, learn from it, process it then ADD our own understanding of the world, our unique lived experiences. Through that information collection, understanding, and our own personalities we then create new original things.

💭 Generative AI doesn't create things: it mimics things

Take an analogy:

Consider an infant unable to talk but old enough to engage with their caregivers, some point in between 6-8 months old.

Mom: a bird flaps its wings to fly!!! *makes a flapping motion with arm and hands*

Infant: *giggles and makes a flapping motion with arms and hands*

The infant does not understand what a bird is, what wings are, or the concept of flight. But she still fully mimicked the flapping of the hands and arms because her mother did it first to show her. She doesn't cognitively understand what on earth any of it means, but she was still able to do it.

In the same way, generative AI is the infant that copies what humans have done— mimicry. Without understanding anything about the works it has stolen.

Its not original, it doesn't have a world view, it doesn't understand emotions that go into the different work it is stealing, it's creations have no meaning, it doesn't have any motivation to create things it only does so because it was told to.

Why read a book someone isn't even bothered to write?

Related videos I find worth a watch

ChatGPT's Huge Problem by Kyle Hill (we don't understand how AI works)

Criticism of Shadiversity's "AI Love Letter" by DeviantRahll

AI Is Ruining the Internet by Drew Gooden

AI vs The Law by Legal Eagle (AI & US Copyright)

AI Voices by Tyler Chou (Short, flash warning)

Dead Internet Theory by Kyle Hill

-Dyslexia, not audio proof read-

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Grave Discovery

Wes was so excited about having dug up some real evidence of ghosts that he forgets that police consider riding around with a corpse strapped to your bike suspicious behavior.

For the prompts: Wes Weston was proving it. Ghosts were as real as the dirt under his fingernails and the shovel he used to slice through grave earth. [from @ishouldgetatumbler], and Wes, tired and fed up with everyone not believing him, sets out on a mission. And this time, with the evidence in his hand, everyone will have no choice but to believe him. [from @ashboy-3]

Read also on AO3

[Warnings for graphic description of a corpse, police involvement, and grave robbing]

Wes Weston had bought a shovel.

It was more expensive than he would have thought, and he didn't get an allowance, but he did do odd jobs for neighbors every once in a while to fund his hobbies, racking up a respectable savings before spending it all at once on a new camera lens or basketball uniform. This time, he had spent it on a shovel.

He'd tried to borrow a shovel, but the apartment his family lived in only had a couple small potted plants, and you didn't really need a shovel for those if you didn't mind getting your hands a bit dirty. Nobody else in the building had any use for a large shovel like Wes needed either. And when he asked beyond his apartment complex, people started asking questions like 'what's a kid like you need a shovel for?' and he couldn't very well tell them he was going to dig up a grave.

So Wes had pulled together his savings, biked down to the hardware store, and bought himself a brand new shovel that cost him nearly twenty dollars after tax. Wes hadn't really been expecting it to cost more than five, but the clerk at the store assured him he wouldn't find a good, long-handled shovel cheaper anywhere else.

Wes had bought it, but checked elsewhere anyway, planning to return it if the clerk happened to be lying and he found a cheaper one. He didn't.

He grumbled in frustration anyway, as he rode home with the shovel zip-tied to the side of his bike. He'd wasted all that time riding to every hardware store and gardening supply store in Amity Park for nothing.

When he turned down onto his street, he noticed some of the neighbors looking at him funny when they saw the shovel, but he paid them no mind. Most of them already thought he was a bit of an oddball, so this probably wouldn't make their opinion of him any worse at least.

Wes locked his bike up in the apartment building's garage and headed upstairs. His father was working late, and Kyle was out skateboarding with his friends, so the apartment was empty when he went to his room to hide the shovel under his bed.

What he had to do would be an all day sort of task. Probably it would even take multiple days. He knew exactly what he was looking for, but he only had a general idea of where it was buried, or how deep. He would start tomorrow.

That night, he slept restlessly, anxious for what he planned to do the next morning, both excited and afraid.

He awoke early the next morning. Well before his family, who preferred to sleep in on weekends. He took his shovel with him down to the garage, and with it, he rode out to the edge of town.

There were miles of woods between Amity Park and Lake Eerie, but Wes didn't go very far. There was only so much distance three people carrying a hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight could have covered over the rough terrain of the woods. He wrapped his bike-lock around a tree just deep enough in to not be visible from the road, slung his brand-new shovel over his shoulder, and started walking.

There was a heavily marked up map in his pocket, but he'd memorized it by now, so there was no real need for him to consult it. Wes knew exactly where he was in relation to the road, the town limits, and Fenton Works, and that was all he needed. He'd done the math. He knew more or less where he needed to dig.

The shovel made a hollow metallic shink as it sunk into the soft forest floor.

He knew what he was doing. He knew the truth. And soon enough he would have all the evidence he needed to convince everyone else.

It shouldn't have been that deep, Wes thought. Even with three people together, it was doubtful they would have gone all the way down to six feet. In fact, he thought it was doubtful they would have gone deeper than three, but when his first hole got about four feet without finding anything, he shoved all the dirt back in and stabbed a stick upright into the ground to mark that he'd already dug there before moving on to the next spot.

Even if it took him all day, all week, all year, he would keep digging until he found what he was looking for. He was fed up with all the mockery and ridicule he faced from his peers and neighbors, and now he was determined. He was a man on a mission.

Wes Weston was going to prove it. Ghosts were as real as the dirt under his fingernails and the shovel he used to slice through grave earth.

He didn't find anything that weekend, and when he came home covered in dirt and leaves his dad made him do all the laundry. That didn't stop him from going out again next weekend.

He was so sure it was there. So sure he could find it.

On the third Saturday he spent digging holes in the woods, with calluses now forming on his hands and sweat dripping from his brow, he found it. His shovel hit something hard, and when he looked down into the hole he saw some dirty fabric that looked like it might once have been white, but was so badly stained now as to look brown.

Wes returned to his task with renewed vigor, digging wider and wider until the whole thing was visible.

For a moment he hesitated. It didn't... smell like he had been expecting it too. and though the white sheet wrapped around it was stained with mud, it didn't appear to be stained with... anything else.

Cautiously, Wes pulled back the edges of the sheet, wondering if what he'd dug up had been buried far far more recently than what he had been looking for. But no.

He had been expecting a reeking lump of rotting decay barely recognizable as the person this corpse had once been, but that was not what he found. What he found was the corpse of one Daniel Fenton, a student who still attended Wes' school, even in death, and the son of the town's local quote-unquote 'ghost hunters'. 

It was perfectly preserved, like he was only sleeping, except his skin was deathly pale, his eyes glassy and sunken, his cheeks gaunt. The body was covered in burns, as was the jumpsuit it was wearing, holes melted right through the rubber in places, and black scorch marks on the surface. But though it must've been buried there for months by this point, there was no bloating, no decay, and no smell of death. 

A cloud passed over the sun as Wes marveled at it in curiosity, and when the light dimmed, he could see that the corpse was glowing faintly.

Wes didn't know why, but he checked for a pulse. He pulled off one of the gloves, melted to the point of being nearly unrecognizable for what it was, and pressed his fingers to the corpse's wrist. 

Nothing. 

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Now all there was left to do was transport the thing back into town and show everyone. And this time, with the evidence in hands—or dragged along behind his bike, rather—they would have no choice but to believe him.

Wes wrapped the sheet back around the corpse and dragged it to where he left his bike, then took both of them to the edge of the road. He'd brought with him his skateboard and some rope. Wes almost never used his skateboard. He and Kyle had both gotten one from their aunt on their thirteenth birthday, but Wes had never gotten into skating like Kyle had.

He lifted the corpse onto the skateboard. It wasn't tall, but neither was the board very long, so it's feet still dragged on the road behind. It would have to be good enough, Wes decided as he lashed everything together and to the back of his bike.

The road was rarely busy, but on the weekend, there were a few cars carrying people out to the lake for fishing or camping or what-have-you, but Wes didn't especially notice or care. 

So single minded was he in his mission, that he didn't even think about how it would look for him to be pulling along a corpse behind his bike until he was stopped by the police.

"Uh... what's the problem, officers?" Wes asked.

"You mind showing us what you got under that sheet there?" One of the officers asked.

Wes grinned. "Absolutely officers!" he said. "What I've got here is absolute proof that ghosts are real, and you two get to be the first to see it!"

He loosened the ropes only slightly, planning to tighten them again once the officers acknowledged that he was right and brilliant and sent him on his way. Then he pulled back the edges of the dirty sheet to show the police officers the sunken face of... Danny... Fenton's... corpse....

Once Wes was literally staring in the face of what he had done, he suddenly had second thoughts about so eagerly showing his proof to law enforcement. Well... shit. It was too late now.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," one of the officers breathed out. 

"Lay down on the floor and put you hands behind your back," the other shouted. "Down on the floor, now!"

Wes did as the officer said, mentally kicking himself for being so thoughtless in his excitement to have proof.

He was pretty sure that, technically speaking, he hadn't done anything illegal here. Digging in the woods wasn't illegal. They couldn't exactly charge him with obstruction of justice, or accessory to murder, or even a cover up, because he had been very specifically uncovering up something. It wasn't illegal to show people a dead body someone else had killed, especially not to show cops. They wanted you to do that.

Yes, this looked very very bad, but once the misunderstanding was cleared up, Wes was sure he'd be let go without any charges being filed... probably... hopefully.

"I know how this looks," Wes said, as he was handcuffed and roughly shoved into the back of the squad car. "But I want you to know that this is just a big misunderstanding. I discovered the body and was bringing it back to town to show people. Someone tried to hide it in the woods, and I found it there. I am not a murderer."

The police officers did not look convinced as one of them read him his Miranda rights and the other called for back-up to deal with the... well... the crime scene, he supposed. His bike was a crime scene now.

"Hey, am I gonna be able to get my bike back after this?"

"You have the right to remain silent," the officer reminded him. "Fuckin' sicko."

Never in his whole life had Wes dreaded a call home as much as he did this one.

Despite having definitely broken the law before, usually breaking and entering and privacy violations, he'd never actually been arrested for it. Now that he was being arrested, he technically hadn't broken the law, but it was looking increasingly less and less likely that anyone would believe him.

Luckily, he was a minor, so they weren't allowed to question him without talking to his parent or guardian first, but unfortunately that meant they had to call his dad in on his day off after he'd been working over time all week. His dad was a patient and understanding guy, but even he got grouchy when his day of rest was interrupted after a 60 hour work-week. 

"Wes..." his dad looked absolutely exhausted. He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Why did I just get a call from the police telling me to come down to the station because my son had been found in possession of an unidentified corpse?"

"I didn't kill anyone," Wes said immediately. "He was like that when I found him."

His father sighed again, more deeply this time, and blinked tiredly at him.

"Why don't you explain this whole thing to me, from the beginning?"

Wes began to recount his theory about ghosts, about Danny Fenton. He explained how he'd learned that Fenton had somehow died, and that his friends, possibly with his help, had taken his body out to the woods and buried it. Then about how Wes had bought a shovel so he could find the body and show everyone the truth, that Fenton was dead, and ghosts were real, and he was one. Finally, he told his dad about being stopped by the police and arrested when they saw what he was transporting.

"But technically speaking, I haven't done anything illegal," Wes finished. "At least... I'm like 90% sure nothing I actually did was illegal. So this is all a big misunderstanding."

When he was done, his father just stared at him silently for a very long moment. When he spoke, he said only a single word, shaking his head, looking more tired world-worn than Wes had ever seen him

"Why?"

"Because I'm right!" Wes insisted. "People need to know the truth, that there a ghosts walking among us. They could be dangerous! And even if they're not, think about what this means for humanity! This is proof of an afterlife, that our souls can stick around even after we're dead. This is world-altering information, and I had to prove it, and I have the evidence now—"

"And you're in a holding cell!" His dad pointed out, tone cold and harsh. "Wes, you know I love you no matter what, and I never discouraged you from pursuing your hobbies and theories before, but this is a step too far, kid. There is a corpse involved now, and my fifteen-year-old son had been arrested under suspicion of murder. This is serious. Do you understand how much trouble you could be in if we can't prove that you aren't responsible?"

Wes snapped his mouth shut and swallowed before shifting his eyes downward and nodding guiltily.

His dad sighed once more and scrubbed his hands over his face. Evidently he'd rushed out of the house so fast he'd barely been able to change out of his PJs and didn't even get the chance to shave, because his face was scruffy, and his clothes were rumpled, and he hadn't properly aligned the buttons on his shirt.

"I'm sorry," Wes said. "I didn't mean for you to get dragged into this."

"No, don't... don't be sorry about that," his father said. "Be sorry about digging up a corpse and transporting it through the middle of town in broad daylight. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Yeah, I got over-excited," Wes admitted.

"Is this why you've been coming home covered in dirt the past few weekends?"

"Yeah. Are you mad?"

"Oh, you are doing everyone's laundry for the next year after this little stunt, mister."

"That's fair."

It wasn't long before an officer came to take Wes and his dad to an interrogation room, where Wes was handcuffed to the table.

"Is that really necessary?" his dad asked.

"It's standard procedure for suspected murderers," replied the cop gruffly.

His dad scoffed and rolled his eyes, and the cop sneered at him.

"You should really be taking this more seriously," the cop told him darkly. "Your son was discovered transporting a dead body through town without any indication of remorse for his actions. If the coroner determines it was murder, he could be tried as an adult."

"Maybe you should consider that I know more about it than you do right now, and take my lack of concern as a sign that you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion."

Wes gawked a bit at how coolly his dad was handling this. He knew the man was taking this situation as seriously as anyone, but he was acting very convincingly like he didn't think it was a big deal, and the cop seemed to be genuinely put-off by it. Wes had to hand it to his father, he was selling it well.

A few minutes later, a detective came into the room and dropped a thin file on the table. He sat down across from the Westons, took out a pen and notepad, and opened the file to reveal crime-scene photos of Wes' bike and the makeshift corpse trailer behind it. 

In the corner of his eye, Wes noticed his dad grimace in disgust, but he kept quiet

"Let's start with who this poor stiff is," the Detective said. It wasn't a question, and it left no room for debate.

"Daniel Fenton," Wes replied. "He is a freshman at Casper High."

The detective's eyebrows shot up in surprise at how easily Wes had answered him. "Sounds like you're gonna make this go nice and smooth for me," the detective said. "In that case why don't you go ahead and confess for me."

Wes scoffed. "Weren't you listening?" he asked. "I said he is a freshman at Casper High, not was. He's still a student there. I can guarantee you he'll be in class tomorrow."

"Now how's he gonna do that when he's stuck in a drawer at the morgue?"

"The same way he's been doing it for the last several months despite being buried in the woods," Wes said. "He's a ghost. Or... ghost-adjacent maybe. He's not an ordinary human, at least. And I didn't kill him. You can call him up yourself to come identify the body. I'll even give you his number."

"That's real cute," the detective said with a sneer. "But I'll take that number."

Wes gave it to him, and he wrote it down on his notepad to check later.

"Now, if you're really gonna claim you didn't kill him, why don't you explain just how his corpse happened to end up tied up to your bike while you rode into town?"

Wes explained again, just like he had to his father, the whole story, from the first time he realized Danny Fenton wasn't quite right, to finding the body and taking it into town.

The detective nodded along, occasionally interrupting to ask for clarification, or details, but it was clear he was just trying to catch Wes in his lie and didn't actually believe a single word he was saying.

"Alright, well we're gonna send someone to verify every single part of that story of yours," the detective said. "Until we get a cause of death back from the morgue, there's not much more we can investigate, since clearly you didn't kill him on your bike in the middle of town. We're done for now, but don't think for a second that this is the end. I'll send someone back to take you back to your cell in a minute."

There was no way Wes' dad could afford bail, so Wes made himself as comfortable as possible in his holding cell. Luckily, he didn't have to share it with anyone. That didn't really mean there was any privacy, just that he wouldn't have some drunk falling all over him.

He spent most of his Sunday there, bored out of his skull, although one of the beat cops let him have her newspaper when she was done with it. Then, late in the evening, the detective that had interrogated him came to the door of his cell, his face pale as a ghost, and opened the door with trembling hands.

"You're... you're free to go," he said, his voice weak and cracking with... fear?

"What changed?" Wes asked, stepping to the door of his cell.

The detective moved out of his way with a look of terror as Wes stepped around them. The fact that Wes was a good few inches taller than him probably wasn't helping him calm down.

"The uh... the victim," he managed to get out. "He's still alive."

Wes raised an eyebrow, and that was apparently question enough before the words just tumbled out of the man in a rush.

"He came to the morgue and... and he looked just like the corpse. Same DNA, same everything. Hospital records confirmed he doesn't have any twin, no explanation he just... he just said 'that's me, don't worry about it' and... and-and then he walked out afterwards like nothing was even wrong, like nothing was... fucked about the whole thing. He said you didn't kill him—that-that-that it was an accident and... fuck. I don't know how you did it. I don't know how anyone could do something like this, but if the victim's not dead, then... then...."

He shook his head. It seemed like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"You're free to go," he repeated finally.

"Don't supposed there's any chance of me getting the corpse back?" Wes asked.

The look the detective gave him wasn't just horrified, or baffled... it was broken. He gave Wes the most broken look the boy had ever seen, then mutely shook his head and stumbled down the hall as if he was either very drunk, or very much wanted to be. 

"Can I get my bike back at least?!" he called after the man.

"That's... a question for impound," came the warbling reply.

Wes frowned, but did not pout as he walked out of the holding area and to the front desk to see who he had to talk to about getting his bike out of impound. He couldn't get it back right away, and had to make an appointment to reclaim it. He would also need a photo ID and proof of ownership. He wasn't sure he even had proof of ownership. He'd bought that bike at a garage sale, so it wasn't like he had a proper receipt for it.

He'd have to figure something out before next Wednesday, but for now, it looked like he was walking home.

The next day at school, Danny found him and gave him a very angry talking to about violations of privacy, and the severity of disturbing someone's grave, unmarked though it may have been.

"I'm going to show everyone the truth, Fenton," Wes told him, unafraid of the monster before him. "Maybe I lost the corpse, but I'll find new evidence. And when I do, everyone will know the truth about you. Everyone will know what you really are."

Danny scowled and threw his hands up in frustration and left Wes alone.

The was nothing in the news about Wes' arrest, or the corpse. It seemed the police had chosen not to release any information about Wes' initial arrest until they had more information—and once they got more information there was simply no plausible way to explain it to the news outlets, so instead they decided to cover it up.

Maybe Wes should have been grateful that his arrest wasn't in the news, but he was mostly just frustrated that his evidence wasn't either. He'd worked hard to find that corpse, and now it was just going to sit in a drawer in the morgue, or a pauper's grave... not rotting.

[meowsticmarvels]

ok wait dumping this in a tumblr post buuuuut reasons why i think phis autistic as Fuck!!! not structured and a lot of these could be considered a stretch but i just. Think it is a bit real personally . if anyone else cares. some spoilers ahead i think i dont remember where im tired right now but i wouldnt suggest looking at this if you havent finished the game. yeah. :3

- she speaks with a very monotone and flat voice throughout both games she's in (though it's more evident how flat it is in VLR's voice acting). of course she can be emotional at times but like.. in comparison to the other characters shes very inexpressive. multiple of her sprites in VLR are just variations of the :| face . looking at VLR's other sprites which are much more expressive its more her just being like that it seems. i dont think i have to explain why im putting this here she is SO deadpan with her delivery

- speaking of the above when sigma gets stabbed by mira diana's crying while phi has barely a reaction apart from "it might even affect me more than you". It's not that she doesn't FEEL these emotions strongly its just more that she's bad at expressing them. she has a few moments where she's particularly angry (see: her yelling at delta for example, or pushing kyle away) or upset (see the shoot: live end of fire where she breaks down in front of diana, or luna end when sigma abandons her) and it just all falls apart and Breaks yknow. but this is not the norm for her

- she's.. Very blunt . i don't have to explain this. even during vlr itself iirc this makes a couple people go Ummm what the fuck okay

- eric comments rhat she has a really weird stare that unnerves him a bit. this might just be an eric thing or about her doll but listen to me.;

- her ZTD doll is the only one with no mouth whatsoever which could be an allusion to her inability to express her emotions (maybe) (could be a stretch but there are a LOT of interpretations here i can pull my list from twt if anyone wants me to elaborate)

- theres a few moments i can remember (like once or twice) where she makes a super dry joke and people take her completely seriously. it happens at least once in vlr i can confirm though

- the whole thing with her reaction to the luminol reads as a sensory issues thing but i might be crazy on this one

- infodumps. so much. there's multiple moments she tries to but gets cut off before she can but it happens. A lot. especially about anything related to psychology or physics (includes stuff like quantum mechanics, annihilation energy, the prisoner's dilemma, schrodinger's cat alien hand syndrome, etc. she also almost infodumps about missiles once)

- there's some aini short where mizuki's playing vlr. one of the things she says to aiba is like "hey phi's kind of like you aiba! neither of you can read the room!" Mizuki do you know what you are saying. Hey

- a couple additional lines from safe mode dialogue: phi saying she won't do a puzzle because she'll "get her hands dirty" (though it could just be a joke), and another time where sigma says "so there IS a sense of humor behind that mask."

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 21/03/2024

Poké Village

Season 5 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume C

Ripped by XxFemBu55yL0V3RxX

I've yapped on and on before on here about what the true core of SiIvaGunner is, be it comedy, emotion, shitposting, community, lore, what have you. There obviously isn't one true answer to that question: it's all subjective, not just based on your own reading of the channel, but your own experiences with it. As an aspiring writer, I love digging deep into its narrative and theming, the stuff found in Nice, Slick, Blackness and NIGHTMARESCAPE 〜Unrestrained HyperCam 2〜 (Final Boss Phase 2) - but other people are far more invested in the act of ripping itself, the people who go the mile beyond that even I do and keep up with all the various fan channels, or even make rips themselves. But no matter your angle, there's one thing that binds everything together, the thing that Poké Village and so many other rips represent. To share what you love, and love what others share.

I'm sure that at this point, Violet Snow Memories is one of my most-linked posts on this blog, but that's exactly because it represents that theme so well. Kyle Hyde's duology of DS Adventure games aren't exactly worldwide phenomenons, yet there are still people out there - people like Uncle Fill - who wish to share their love for the games in any way they can. And in turn, I myself have enjoyed hundreds of rips representing games and franchises I've never really engaged with much, franchises like Touhou with Imperial Touwer or Sable with Sable's Stickerbush. But it doesn't really matter whether or not I'M a fan of these series, when its ever-so-evident just how much the people making these rips love them, the love you can see in the rips themselves. And hell, I've said it before and I'll say it again: It was Chaze the Chat's love for Maroon 5 as a band, its early history and distinct style highlighted in the rips on SiIvaGunner, rips like As Miku Collides, that got ME invested in the band in return. Each ripper on SiIvaGunner, each contributor and fan submitter, wishes to share a piece of themselves with SiIva's audience, and it's truly heartwarming to see how many of us are able to look beyond the boundaries of fandom to appreciate real quality.

Which, then, brings us back to Poké Village - a rip featuring the Pokke Village theme from the Monster Hunter series. First appearing when the series was still primarily on the PlayStation Portable, and only reappearing on the core-fan installment Monster Hunter Generations. The franchise is far from niche, the song far from obscure - but it still isn't exactly a theme known to those *outside* of the Monster Hunter sphere, in the way that we for instance all know the tune of Green Hill Zone without having played a Sonic game. SiIvaGunner isn't exactly a gathering spot for the Monster Hunter community (the games themselves have a pitiful amount of rips on the channel), but by just Poké Village alone, you may be fooled into thinking otherwise.

What XxFemBu55yL0V3RxX's created here is a beautiful 7-minute arrangement of the aforementioned Pokke Village theme, initially led by the very same nostalgic Game Boy hum that leads much of the Johto Pokémon games' soundtracks. The extensiveness of the arrangement alone speaks volumes - it reminds me of rips like Jesus of the Underground right off the bat - but its hardly where the rip stops to impress. For one, I think the choice in game to use for this "bait-and-switch" arrangement is incredibly smart and quite deliberate. As an outsider, I need not have played a Monster Hunter game to get a sense for what Pokke Village is like, due purely to my associations with Ecruteak City and how those feelings are leveraged in the rip. I have no nostalgia nor attachment to any Monster Hunter game, yet the emotion present in just the rip's first half alone, the way the theme swells and settles, it conveys the rural village atmosphere pitch-perfectly. And all of it is, of course, elevated by the rip's unexpected twist - the remarkably seamless switch from the Pokémon GSC sound, to something far closer to a ground-up arrangement.

At first, I drew the conclusion that it was directly based on the Ecruteak City or Cianwood City theme of Pokémon HeartGold/SoulSilver, the 2009 remakes of the Johto Pokémon games for Nintendo DS. And while the arrangement feels incredibly similar to the sound of the DS, from the samples used to their quality, I can't directly connect the instruments used to either of the two city themes (which share a melody but with differing arranges). Yet the vibe is what truly matters, XxFemBu55yL0V3RxX is able to harness the warmth and comfort of those familiar DS-era samples to further bring home the sheer vibe of the Pokke Village theme that elevates the rip beyond its starting point, beyond its initial concept. I love pleasant surprise escalations like this, like I covered back in Plantasia 2, and much like that rip itself - I love how Poké Village is using it purely to further push a message of affection for a piece of media XxFemBu55yL0V3RxX seemingly holds very close to him.

Melody swaps between themes with such similar atmosphere are always some of the most surefire hits on SiIva, I'm reminded of just how quickly Aquadial enchanted me to name just one. And Poké Village certainly fits that mold, but I'm enamored by just how far XxFemBu55yL0V3RxX went to celebrate this theme that many of us are likely still rather unfamiliar with, to champion a franchise otherwise so underrepresented on SiIvaGunner with a seven-minute tribute covering two entirely different styles of arrangement. And it makes me so happy that it all worked, that the rip was able to hit the way it does without me having ever played a Monster Hunter game. Or in other words, that I was able to love the piece of himself that he shared in this rip.

[cheesetalia]

Teach My Heart to Bend Instead of Breaking Day 5: Raising a family & Nature

For @hetalia-rarepairweek's Day 5: Raising a family & Nature | England/Canada | warnings: cheating, dubcon relationship

Summary: Arthur wakes up to one of his worst nightmares becoming a reality.

Can be read on the Archive of Our Own or underneath the Readmore:

The way that Arthur and Matthew's relationship was announced to the world happened in a way that neither had intended.

Matthew had pictured himself telling first his papa, then, once Papa had met Arthur and come around to their relationship, Matthew would tell Alfred. Then Matthew and Arthur would just be openly together in public from there on.

The way Arthur had pictured it was that it never happened. He had no intention of ever telling anyone he was involved with Matthew, and just hoped to string Matthew along until the boy graduated. Then Matthew would break things off, move away for work, and settle down with a nice man who wasn't in the closet and already married.

Arthur had dreaded, even had nightmares, about some of the ways word of his affair might get out. Gilberte finding lovebites from Matthew on his skin, Gilberte finding texts or nudes from Matt on his phone (he'd since switched anything incriminating to a second, burner phone), the college Dean using his master key on Arthur's office door and catching him balls-deep in Matthew.

But the revelation of Arthur's affair with Matthew didn't come from a furious Gilberte or a sanctimonious snooping college employee.

No, it was a betrayal from Arthur's own son, Kyle. Unlike Gilberte, Kyle had seen the signs and put two and two together. Worse, he'd spotted the burner phone and somehow snuck into it to sync all its contents up with an account of his own.

Then emailed the naughty texts and photos to all of Arthur's coworkers and the college dean. Emailed them to every relative and friend of Arthur and Gilberte. Which included one Francis Bonnefoy, still one of Gilberte's best friends, although Arthur despised the arrogant prick and avoided him.

Gilberte seemed angrier that he'd cheated with Francis's son than that he had cheated, period.

"You sick fuck," she'd fumed, "I held Mattie in my arms when he was a baby."

She was busy tossing shirts and pants into the suitcase on the bed, but wasn't too distracted to give him a tongue lashing while she packed. Arthur rubbed some sleep out of his eyes. He'd been awoken a few minutes before his alarm usually went off, by Gilberte cursing him out as a selfish cheating prick. He'd thought he was in one of his recurring nightmares at first, but the soft morning light and Gilberte's livid face proved all too real.

"How was I supposed to know Matthew is his son? His last name isn't Bonnefoy and there are three different Matthews in that class!" Arthur protested.

He didn't know why he was bothering to argue; he didn't care that Gilberte was angry. He was just acting on autopilot, his mouth moving of its own volition. He was still reeling, like a boxer who'd been on the bad end of a flurry of blows. Only the punches to the head were the incredulous and furious emails and texts from their friends, family, and some of Arthur's colleagues. He'd gotten a few outright calls, which he'd hung up on quickly when they immediately began shouting, and then silenced his phone.

"You know," Gilberte said, "I believe it. That you're stupid and selfish enough to stick your dick in my best friend's kid without even knowing who you're fucking. That you've been fucking him since—" she stopped to scroll on her phone, and Arthur burned knowing she was scrolling back to that first photo he'd taken of Matthew, the first evidence of their affair.

"Since almost the start of the semester, and you never thought to ask him about his family. So typical of you," she mocked.

"Gilly, I really am very sorry—" Arthur began (he wasn't, but it seemed the thing to say).

"Dude, I don't even care. I'm leaving. You can clean up this shitstorm on your own this time," Gilberte said.

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked, his voice high and desperate.

He prayed she'd say just to a motel for a few days to have some space, or to Antonia's house.

"To Monika's," Gilberte said.

She tossed a clear toiletry bag into the suitcase and then slammed it shut.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. Monika was back living in Berlin; if Gilberte was going there, she probably wasn't coming back any time soon.

"When will you be back?" Arthur asked.

Gilberte grabbed her suitcase with one hand and headed for the door. Arthur followed her downstairs. She paused before the front door.

"Back to the states? Dunno. Back to you and this house? Never!" Gilberte laughed.

Then she flung the door open. Arthur stepped out onto the porch, still in his slippers.

"But what about the kids?" Arthur yelled.

Gilberte didn't give him so much as a backwards glance, just tossed her suitcase into the backseat of her car. Then she was backing out of the drive way. Then driving away. Then gone.

A small hand tugged on Arthur's sleeve. Arthur glanced down, seeing his youngest son standing beside him, still dressed in his anchor and lighthouse patterned pajamas.

"Where's mama going?" Peter asked.

Arthur put his hand to his head and began rubbing his forehead. He was getting a headache. He needed to get Peter ready for school and then go face the music at the university. And check on how Matthew was doing. If Francis hadn't woken up, Matthew might not even be aware yet what had happened. And it would be better for everyone if Francis heard the truth from Matthew, instead of finding out via filthy texts and photos of his son with cum dripping from his eyelashes.

He was pulled from his musings by Peter continuing to yank on his shirt and repeat himself louder and louder til he was shouting up at Arthur. Arthur gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to shout back.

"Listen, if you'll leave me be for five bloody minutes you can stay home from school and play with your Playstation or build Lego houses or whatever it is you do," Arthur told him.

Maybe it had been Kyle that liked Legos? Perhaps Gilberte was right and he really did need to spend more time with the kids. His youngest was too annoying though. And Kyle was a traitor. Leo, his eldest who was away at a university on the other side of the country, was the only member of the family he wasn't currently pissed off at.

"Really?" Peter asked, big blue eyes widening up at Arthur.

"Yes, really," Arthur said.

"Yay!" Peter yelled, jumping way too energetically for Arthur's nerves.

He turned and ran off, whooping, and Arthur was glad to be rid of him for the moment. Arthur couldn't very well go to the university while caring for a nine-year-old, so that was out. He needed to come up with a cover story, some excuse. Check if he was in any of the photos or if there was anything else proving it was truly him and not a malicious prank. Make sure Matthew was going to keep quiet and not spill the beans to any college officials. Talk to his union rep.

Arthur could kill Kyle for this. Fortunately for his son's continued survival, he'd decided to leak his poisonous little trove of texts and photos on a week he was staying out of town with friends.

With a mounting list of things to do, Arthur headed to his study to pour himself a stiff drink. First things first, he had to break the bad news to Matthew.

[bungoustraypups]

PLEASE REBLOG THIS. DON'T JUST LIKE IT.

so i didn't reblog the post itself bc it disgusted me so badly i had to block the OP but @/bogleech made a post just now about the situation involving youmacon's guest kyle carrozza and the artist he harassed and caused to lose their job, Ang.

the post they made is bullshit. it's wrong.

ang was fired because he and several others TOLD THEIR WORKPLACE THAT THEY WERE A PEDOPHILE. they did not say that ang was just drawing cartoon porn which is what they were actually doing. they straight up said ang was a pedophile. and THAT'S why they were fired, which lead to the loss of their health care, which has led to their current end of life situation. you can read about the whole situation in this twitter thread here

be warned, the more you read, the worse it gets lmao

this is the statement Ang themselves made on it, in their google doc, with the entire situation laid out with evidence

i'm fucking begging people to rb this. bogleech has a massive following and that post will no doubt get spread around. the real facts need to be known.

kyle carrozza is a murderer, full stop. and everyone who harassed ang and collaborated to cause them to lose their job is complicit and an accomplice in that murder. let's not let this get twisted.

PLEASE REBLOG THIS

[super-secret-clown-corner]

catching up on the kabsmp videos rn and i'm having normal person thoughts as usual anyway did you guys ask for a crazy ass idea on where i think the storyline is gonna go because i have a crazy ass idea on where i think the storyline is gonna go (this is gonna get long sorry in advance)

In Which I Lose My Mind Over Some Guy's Minecraft Persona In A Goofy Ahh Lore SMP

cover image for sillies

So. Hear me out. Clown is still the overarching villain of the series. Whatever's happening with Kyle and the void is still """""important"""""" n stuff, but (totally not because i'm biased or anything (i totally am)) that's all a red herring covering up the real threat. The idea I have rn is that Clown is biding his time and finishing up whatever research he had on the void, then when Kyle is defeated, he's gonna swoop in, take the void for himself, and become basically unstoppable which'll lead into season 3 or smth.

Bits Of Info That Makes The Pepe Silvia Meme Cover Relevant

Time to be insane and dump every single bit of potential evidence on why I think Clown's a bigger threat than the others think he is, starting at the very beginning (i'll try to keep this as chronological as possible but i'm busting my brain trying to piece everything together i watched this so out of order at first).

First, obviously, is the whole him killing Pyro bit and betraying him to get to Rae, then killing everyone in the commune. hoWEVER bro just casually tore open a portal to the nether and back and none of the other people in the group can do that. It's kinda hinting that Muu knows how to make portals but other than that the original s1 group has been stuck there since the start (which maybe suggests Muu isn't from this dimension also but that's another thing to unpackage).

a side note here: lincu came from an end portal that clown made for maddy and they NEVER BRING THAT UP AGAIN????????? WHAT

In the Pyro POV that came after that, it was heavily suggested that Clown was originally a conqueror or insanely destructive pillager (not the actual mob) (like come on, "bow before the scythe emblem" or whatever the words are? just write your name in the book you're practically screaming it at this point). Then, when Branzy showed up in that cameo episode, he didn't shut up about how Clown destroyed entire villages and killed a fuck ton of people (i will scream more about this point in a second 😁).

In the Season 2 opener animatic, he dropped his manipulative buddy buddy act the moment the void appeared, stabbed Kaboodle, and fucked off. He was also shown going full aggro on Magic, trying to get information about the void from her. A little while later, he's shown reading books on the void and finds something "perfect" for whatever he's planning (brain explosion).

Looping back to the Branzy cameo, it was revealed that he, Branzy, and Ashswag worked together in a laboratory somewhere in a different dimension researching and experimenting with portals. Ashswag said that Clown pushed him into one they made, which resulted in him glitched out and broken (WHICH OPENS UP ANOTHER CAN OF WORMS ARE THEY SUGGESTING THAT THIS IS ALL ACTUALLY JUST A SIMULATION/GAME LIKE HOW MINECRAFT ACTUALLY IS???????????? holy shit if i think about this for too long i'm gonna have another huge scream fest again).

and THEN in the most recent one as of today (aka A New Issue) it's revealed that Pyro had his suspicions that Clown is otherworldly and unnatural. Bro casually soloed a 100-Piglin invasion. I already had the thought of "oh yeah this guy's definitely not from any of the three dimensions" but the only contradictory thing that popped up for that was he and Pyro used to live together for a bit with the Waste Walkers. HOWEVER with this new information that Clown was just this anomaly that popped up periodically in their group, he's practically screaming that he's not from any of the three dimensions.

BASICALLY. I'M VERY NORMAL RIGHT NOW.

i love overcomplicating silly lore as a pastime

[cheesy-poofs]

Why Kyman?

This was a long time coming, so I decided it would be fun to touch upon some of my feelings on this ship Its mostly because its the ship I decided to stick with and I'm not a huge shipper in general. Honestly I didn't ship anything for most of the time I watched the show. Style, Kenman, Bunny, ect. never appealed to me because I thought they would work the same as friends (not that I have anything against those ships). Cartman and Kyle are a different story, though.

These are my feelings as of now, and are always subject to change. This is less of a meta post, and I mostly made it to think through some of my feelings about Kyman and some other ships. I touch upon some controversies lightly. This is not meant to be a discourse post, however.

Well, let's proceed. I wrote this all in one sitting, so its not well-thought out or anything, I might clean it up later or specify things better but in the meantime, I'm posting this raw.

First off, I'll touch upon how I ended up getting into it.

As for when I realized I loved Cartman and Kyle's dynamic a lot, it begun in the episodes "Tonsil Trouble" and later on "Cartman Finds Love" which made me appreciate the humor of the ship. When I finished watching the show, I thought it would be fun to look into the different ships of the fandom and decide what I liked. This actually begun with Candy (Cartman x Wendy) because I enjoyed their episodes and thought they were funny. But something felt like it was missing in that ship; it just didn't feel like there was enough there, and my interest in it was short-lived.

Then I came across my first Kyman fic, and if its not evident, I ended up really liking that fic...and reading a ton more Kyman fanfics and falling deeper into this ship. I don't read fanfics anymore because a lot of them don't quite capture the characters in a way I enjoy, but it did lead to me obsessing over Kyman and rewatching most of the episodes about them.

Then I made this account. I lurked on here for a while but I think I started actually posting on Stan/Trey's birthday. I was happy to see a lot of other people who still enjoyed Kyman, let alone South Park. I didn't touch social media during my first binge of the show, save YouTube or sometimes Pinterest. I also had no friends who liked South Park at the time, which was part of the reason I made a Tumblr in the first place. I wanted somewhere I could actually see people who were as obsessed as I was/am.

This was when I learned that Kyman was controversial. Honestly, I never thought of Kyman as "Nazi x Jew" because I didn't define them as characters purely based upon that. I never really saw Kyman as a wholesome ship either, but I kind of liked that aspect because its a fucked up relationship on both ends. They're just fictional characters who often do really fucked up things because apart of South Park's humor is kids doing things they normally don't do. That's why I roll my eyes at people trying to argue which ships are "abusive" or not because it doesn't matter. They're not real. You can have distaste for ships or be uncomfortable with Kyman because of the nature of the ship, that's fine. But its really not as bad as people make it out to be; not inherently.

Recently, I've reconsidered my feelings about Cartman, but that doesn't ruin Kyman for me because, at the end of the day, I ship them purely for fun. I don't take this show that seriously. I also don't get people trying to argue that Kyman is less tropey than other ships because its honestly just typical "Enemies to Lovers" (which isn't a bad thing, but let's be honest with ourselves, its a huge fandom trope). I have no issues with people shipping Style even if its not my thing, and I'll admit a lot of Kyman shippers have this weird superiority complex. I probably used to, but I try not to come off that way anymore. When I say Kyman is the most interesting ship to me I try to make it clear that its only my very subjective opinion. I'm biased because its the first ship I latched onto, and I still enjoy it a lot and find comfort in it.

So to summarize some of my current feelings; I think Cartman is (obviously) a horrible person, and I think people try too hard to soften him up or make excuses for his actions. I enjoy people going over why Cartman is the way he is now, yes, and I think Cartman is a really damaged kid and I get sympathetic of him sometimes myself. He's my favorite for a reason, he wouldn't be the same character if he wasn't awful. But even if I've been a bit of a "Cartman apologist" myself, I've come to accept that he will likely always be awful, and that's fine; that's by design, that's his purpose in the show, and I love him for it. I think people feel guilty for liking Cartman when there's no reason to, just because you like him doesn't mean you're okay with his actions. There might be some dumbasses who idolize Cartman, but they probably shouldn't be watching South Park anyway. Let's not forget what kind of show this is:

I don't like it when people try to exclude Cartman either, because South Park would be nothing without him. I think about "The Death of Eric Cartman" a lot and how it shows that the boys could leave him anytime, and Kyle even admits that he knows Cartman thrives off attention (ironic since Kyle tends to give him a lot of attention, its a big reason why Cartman is so obsessed with him). My point is that the boys still choose to hang out with him despite it all, because they actually don't hate Cartman completely. Yes, they do sometimes, and they'll obviously say that they don't care about him, but often their actions show the opposite. Either way, he's a very significant part of the show, and I do not want to see the sanitized show other fans want this to be.

I don't think Kyle is quite as bad as Cartman (however I would argue Cartman, Stan, and Kyle are all huge assholes and deserve each other). Regardless, it won't stop me from shipping Kyman because I purely like the way they work off of each other, and I personally only care about Kyle when he's paired with Cartman. That's why Kyman is my only Kyle ship.

I thought this post would end up being longer, but I think I touched upon most of my thoughts. Remember, this isn't exhaustive, nor is it definitive. I essentially try to look at Kyman from a neutral perspective, acknowledging both of their faults while also not taking it too seriously, especially given what show we're watching. They're both interesting, layered, and morally questionable characters with a lot of episodes I really like. That's the gist of it.

[impishlavenderthrone]

Hey.

Hey you.

Please leave Kyle A. Carrozza alone. Especially if you're still planning to go to Youmacon. Double especially if you are only going to the con just to mess with him.

He is a massive fucking scumbag, that much nobody can deny. But believe me, he wants to be bothered at the convention. He is relying on it. DARVO is his M.O., it's all he knows. He used it throughout his abuse of Ang, his friends have used it to defend him. And he is absolutely going to the convention still to continue his DARVO routine.

Walk with me for a bit. (Edit 12/10/2023: added more)

Most of Kyle's mouthpiece friends have all said the same thing - that Kyle, at his big grown age, was traumatised by Ang's Invader Zim porn. Not that he found it disgusting - he specifically used charged language that encourages people to fall in line and support him.

In reality, he was trying to throw dirt on his victim to destroy their credibility if they dared speak up about him. That what he did to them was nothing compared to the traumatising artwork he was subjected to.

It worked, reversed victim and offender achieved.

If you've had the stomach to read through Ang's evidence comprehensively, you can likely spot his DARVO in the very conversations he's had with others.

Reverse victim and offender achieved again.

And now, with the news that Youmacon isn't backing down on having Kyle as a guest, the people are not taking it well. Kyle's twitter has been on constant lockdown since Ang revealed their EOL status. There have been calls to harass Kyle at the convention, in amongst people cancelling their tickets and threatening contact with Youmacon partners. Needless to say, Kyle A. Carrozza is Public Enemy No.1, and his life is in very real danger...

Yet he is still attending.

It's foolish, right? Swarms of people are surrounding an event like vultures, knowing exactly What You Did, and itching for a reason to punish you... and you still go? Where is the self preservation? Ladies, gentleman, and others of differing persuasion, Kyle is playing the long game. He knows there's people out there who want to hurt him - he's relying on it.

His past is littered with him pushing for the victim label in whatever scenario he can manage, even if it's totally inappropriate for him to do so. He's daring people to attack him... so he can turn around and pin it back onto Ang.

Making Ang the offender and him the victim, once again.

If you can't stem your hatred for this despicable man, then focus on your support for Ang. Ang has expressed multiple times that the do not want harm to come to any of their abusers.

As grim as it is to say, think about Ang's legacy.

Think about what your actions say about them.

Think about how Kyle and his defenders will twist your actions as malice rather than grief.

Think about what we as a community stand for - anti harassment, anti doxxing, anti harm, and most importantly pro accountability

I understand we're all hurting. I understand that, after all our pleas, we've been effectively kicked in the teeth once again. When I heard Ang and Puppy's news, I could feel my very soul being crushed. If I was allowed, I would have rot in my bed in grief. I, too, wanted vengeance.

But that's not what Ang wants, and it is everything we stand against. Please, please, please; if you or a friend are considering harming Carrozza or Youmacon staff, reconsider. Find that spot of humanity and humility in your being, and hold it close.

Don't let Carrozza and his ilk attack what we stand for.

Edit 1, 12/10/2023:

[Image ID: a thread of three tweets by Twitter user alacruxe AKA "mill nai the violence guy" that reads as follows:

"If you're a supporter of Ang and you're attending Youmacon, DO NOT engage with Kyle Carrozza. Do not follow him, do not speak to him, do not go to his panels. He'll have supporters flocking to him and they will record you out of context and dox you. Do. Not. Engage."

"I know it's tempting to have your moment, but you will not be helping. Show support by boycotting and continue to pressure industry figures to take notice. Crowding the guy and yelling at him that he's a murderer has only made him double down. His stance is not going to change."

"At the end of the day, what the oblivious public is going to see is a bunch of people dogpiling a guy and trying to cancel him, and you just know the news media is going to eat that shit up. Please don't act in a way that's going to spin the public narrative against Ang." End Image ID]

Another important contribution from Twitter that I found. Seriously, leave that asshole alone.

[ncisfranchise-source]

In an era when few streaming shows last beyond a single season, over on network TV, sturdy if faintly overheated procedurals like “NCIS” are still going strong. The first 18-plus of its 22 seasons were led by Mark Harmon as Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the impassive Special Agent in Charge and boss extraordinaire who liked to build boats in his basement in his spare time. “How did he ever get that way?” said nobody ever. But CBS is taking a page from “Young Sheldon” with its latest spinoff “NCIS: Origins.” Or as audiences will be tempted to call it, “Young Gibbs.”

Harmon (who is an executive producer here) makes a brief return on screen to set the stage for a TV series that functions as one long flashback to 1991 when Gibbs joined the Naval Investigation Service (NIS as it was known back then) fresh out of the Marines and shortly after the murder of his wife and child. Austin Stowell is appropriately stoic as Gibbs, but he’s stuck playing a character who doesn’t have many layers beyond his trauma, and the show more or less hopes his tragic loss will do most of the characterization work instead. Spoiler: It doesn’t. He failed his psych eval! He’s wound tight and suppressing grief! Well, that will have to suffice.

TV and film love nothing more than a strong silent type who has lost a wife or child, or both. That way, he can be endlessly sympathetic without having to actually be an emotionally present spouse or parent — or hear about it when he’s not. At least for a few years over on “Law & Order: SVU,” they gave Elliot Stabler a family he could constantly disappoint. But I digress.

Does a weekly procedural need lore? No! But lore you will be served. The show is solidly made and if you’re a dedicated viewer of “NCIS,” maybe there’s something satisfying in the premise. It does try to emulate the original’s sensibility, tempering a super-seriousness with a modicum of comic relief and quirky side characters. And wow, there are a lot of side characters here — as if show creators Gina Monreal and David J. North were throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks — but at least they’re interesting enough, what we see of them, anyway. I especially like what Michael J. Harney does with a brief appearance in Episode 3 as the kind of unflappable, seen-it-all guy who’s been around forever running things in evidence storage. He underplays it just so (and will be a recurring character).

The group of primary investigators is small, if not particularly interesting. Mariel Molino plays the sole woman on the team and she’s a rebel because she wears her NIS-issued baseball cap backward, or something. She and Gibbs have a tense dynamic, but chances are that will thaw into something more. Or not. Just seems like things are headed that way.

But the real breakout is Kyle Schmid as the cowboy who runs this ragtag team of NIS investigators. He’s got a Marlboro Man mustache and a big swinging … ego. This character trope shouldn’t work, but it really does. There’s not much in Schmid’s resume up to this point that stands out, but he is making a meal out of the role and his performance might be the best thing “NCIS: Origins” has going for it. “I’m thinking somebody wanted her dead,” he opines at one point about a case. That’s your theory, his boss asks annoyed? “It’s what we got, ’til we got more.” It’s a great line reading and it doesn’t hurt that Schmid has one of the better voices (twang included) on TV at the moment, marbled one supposes by cigarettes and whiskey and nights by the campfire telling stories about bar fights and his old mare Bessie.

The cases are barely compelling and I’m always reminded how difficult it is to do this kind of economical storytelling well. What about the 1991 of it all? At first glance, the show doesn’t look like a period piece and I’m guessing that’s due to budget. The music does much of the heavy lifting, but there are other details that show up: Beepers, pay phones, microfilm, an overhead projector. It doesn’t feel conspicuous until you really pay attention (or maybe I’m just old) but analog technology is also just more interesting, prop-wise, than endless footage of dossiers and ballistic analysis pulled up on one computer screen or another.

There’s even an extended sequence that takes place at the mall, a place where the average person used to blow hours of their day in a consumerist fog. Somehow the mall might be the most significant throwback of them all and it was smart to think of ways to build a story around it.

“NCIS: Origins” — 2 stars (out of 4)

[mirthlxss]

Off to the races

Chapter 11: Swimmin' pool glimmerin', darling

“Hallelujah, finally, that must be my hanging shoelaces!”

master list

price x oc, series.

a03: pricescigar, Off to the races is posted in full.

taglist:  @deadbranch , @jxvipike, @smoggyfogbottom, and very very big thank you to @bubuslutty for beta reading this!!! She has lots of amazing writing on her page so make sure to check that out too!

warnings: alcohol.

a/n: "Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn't you rather be passionately and voraciously desired?" - Margaret Atwood.

“Let them try.”

“They already have, Simon, and succeeded.” Price bites out, barely keeping himself from chewing out the end of his cigar. “Need I remind you of the mess we’re in now?  Little miss smart ass is down the hall and I sure as hell don’t remember taking on new recruits.” 

“Sure.” Ghost leans back in his usual chair, pupils void of any discernible emotion, palm flat against the round meeting table they all sat around. “Did say I’d take care of it, you said no.” Pointed, the thrum of Ghost’s matter-of-fact tone only made the Captain twitch more.

“Can’t just kill a civilian.” 

A beat passed between them, the air felt stale. Both knew what hung over them, the resounding answer that welled in Simon’s throat, he’d keep quiet but his general distaste was evident. What makes this different to all of Price’s sacrifices? 

The Captain had made split-second choices before, left a man to demolition to save the greater group. To save Garrick. The one real mistake Simon had made in years and it nearly cost him his life, seeing Lily flit about the hallways of their base and hearing her cackle echo around only served as a living reminder of what he’d done. A living, breathing reminder that he had fucked up. She berated him with her presence. 

What was worse, he could still hear her panic. The shrill stutter of a feminine voice, the shaking grasp on his soon-to-be corpse, the pressure on his wound. Simon wasn’t fully conscious after the attack but he was sentient enough to feel her there, the fearful attempts of ushering his sopping blood back into his body did not go unnoticed. He loathed her for it. Why not finish the job? Why follow him here? He was the spectre and yet, she haunted him. 

“Makarov has clearly found his way into the system, someone amongst us has supplied the ultra-nationalists with information, otherwise the races incident would not have happened. This we know.” Price leered over the ancient laptop in front of him, several photos and reports splayed across its screen, a never-ending scroll of nuisances, fires he’d have to put out. 

“Captain?” Soap piqued, tired of trying to get Ghost’s attention, most of the meeting he’d spent nudging the other beneath the table, only now piping up as the Lieutenant clearly wasn’t in the mood to entertain him. Price rose a brow, wordlessly answering the sergeant. 

“Had a funny feeling about the intelligence lads we disposed of.” Gut instinct, it had saved each one of them more than enough times, the general churn of dread that grasped at the sides of one's stomach often spelt out the answers long before any real evidence did. 

“One was Russian.” Kyle pointed out, walking round the table to hover beside the Captain, waiting for permission to take over the computer, pulling up the profiles of the past intelligence team, signalling out one man in particular. 

“Pavel.” Venomous, drastic rumble. 

John looked upon the screen with distaste, the same slimy boy that had taken so much pleasure in unearthing Lilith’s photos, the same child that felt so sure in sharing them. “You think he’s capable?” 

“Cannae’ see why not, squealed like pig when we smashed him in, wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been sniffing around the ultras” Soap shrugged, distinctly remembering the high-pitched yells and bloodied snorts. 

“Just cos’ he sounds like a pig, don’ make him one.” Ghost grumbles, distinctly uninterested in chasing up a stale lead. Not when Makarov had gotten so close already. 

“I don’t mind playing butcher.” Gaz offered himself up, looking down at Price ardently. He’d tried his best to conceal the pang of urgency in his proposal, quietly wanting to bestow another heavy-handed gravel of justice atop of Pavel’s stunted head. Ultras or not. 

“Steady Kyle, this is delicate now, if they got the better of Ghost you can’t just expect to waltz in alone.” 

Garrick rocked back on the heels of his boots, hands now firmly planted on either side of his hips, clutching at his belt with a tight-lipped frown. “Doesn’t it make you suspicious how fast they got all that data? I mean, the sheer amount of it as well, we’ve had targets before and it’s taken ages for a data mine.” 

“It’s not like she’s taken any care in protecting herself.” Simon scorned. 

“Even so, if the Russians wanted to know if Shepard had any soldiers out, they’d be pushing for intel quick.” Kyle kept to his point, not fully ready to look Ghost in the eye but still addressing the room. 

Worn, crinkled, distinctly unorganised.

It had presided in her dreams, her nightmares, in every waking moment since she’d come across this wretched thing, the ledger from hell had loomed over her like the end of days. Much to the Captain’s glee, Lilith had naturally fallen into the mess of numbers like it was her duty, only truly taking time away to awkwardly run after the team in early morning P.T., suitably embarrassing herself with each exercise. 

The unruly accounting itched at her more than anything else, felt like mites burrowing down into her psyche, gnawing at the only parts of her brain she really knew how to use. The hours of the day spent buried in the financing felt a lot like university, harked back to her usual days spent holed up in the library, buzzing off of numerous coffees and whatever freebie pastries the societies would try and entice naive students in with. 

Weighted clunks and taps resonated from her steady typing, eyes scanning from screen to paper as she straightened out another accounting statement, the first couple took a lot longer. Lily had a tendency to fixate on the detail, and this book contained many. More and more insight into their world, handhelds and airstrikes, who knew you could pay for such things? Who knew Captain Price even had the connections to do so? 

Obviously, everyone but her. 

The ledger felt like her bible, deciphering the scriptures would lead her through, tell her how to navigate the scathing desert of the 141. She’d repent, sooner or later, to whom she did not know. That felt irrelevant when she was knee-deep in holy water, wading toward the north star. A mirage no doubt, she’d wake soon, find herself stuck in sand. 

The symphony of work halted as another joined the choir, Lily craned her head back, swivelling quickly in her seat as she took in Ghost’s figure filling up her doorway. 

“Got no survival instincts.” Statement dry, Price’s apostles weren’t known for embellishment. He’d been lingering behind her for minutes. 

“God forbid I’m not looking over my shoulder every second.” Caustic comment flew from her as she swiftly returned to the screen, her rapid typing ranking up in hostility with each pointed jab of a key.  

He hovered, glowering down at her hunched position, suspicious of the resolution shown toward some stupid ledger. “Why’d you try stop the bleeding.” 

A question, it was unnatural for him, and so it was barked out as a statement. Rough and demanding, if he was a stray he’d have been put down long ago. Her fingers twitched over the keyboard, hesitant now, shoulders scrunched toward her neck, instinctively covering her jugular. 

“I don’t know.” She breathed out steadily “It just happened.” 

Her back twinged, his unyielding glare boring into her from behind, unwavering pools of darkness consuming each crumb of information she’d unwittingly give to him, every twitch and shift of her body analysed. His lack of response dragged the strain out for much longer than she cared to bear, tiptoes slowly angling her to move around in the chair to face him once more.  

His jaw ticks at her subtle mocking, molars grinding slowly as he chewed through what he’d say. She stares through him like the lieutenant before her was nothing more than numbers, columns on another page she’d itch to organise, decipher and file under ‘completed’. Ghost looks at her much the same, though his dentition of ‘completed’ varied vastly. 

“There’s a delivery for you out front.” 

“Hallelujah, finally, that must be my hanging shoelaces!” 

Clink!

Ruby red swirled around the glasses, liberal pours nearly spilling over as they toasted for the fourth time. Squinty-eyed and wine-flushed, Lily pooled over the carpet whilst Johnny and Kyle lolled haphazardly on her bed, all airy giggles and smiles. 

“Can’t believe Cap’in actually got you everything you asked for.” Another choked laugh leaves Johnny as he rolls onto his front, eyeing up the mess they’d all made unpacking her boxes and packages. Plastic wrapping covered every inch of the floor, kids on Christmas day, it was carnage. Amplified cries carried down the hallway despite her door being closed, over-excited cheers and shouts shaking from the room with each rip of cardboard. 

“I was half joking about most of what I wrote down!” She cackled, unabashed delight clear as the woman gripped her wine in one hand and a pile of new products in the other, practically vibrating as she couldn’t even hold it all, most of the items had been spread around the room, small heaps surrounding the boys as they continued to ogle. 

“What’s this one for?” Kyle held out a black tube, he’d let himself lean into the fever that Soap and Lilith seemed to share whilst unpacking everything. The Brit had to soothe himself at first, loudly proclaiming that he’d stick to watching, that he’d grab a beer soon and leave them to it. 

“That’s mascara, it makes your lashes longer and just, ten times nicer-“ She shuffled toward the bed and took it from him, twisting the wand out and showing him. 

“It’s no fair you didn’t even really want all this.” Soap whined, picking up the package the tube had come from and emptying the rest out onto the bed. “Share?” His pitched query came with a hopeful yet cheeky grin, obviously enamoured with the plethora of shiny new things. 

“I did really want this stuff, just never actually believed he’d get it, was just tryna’ piss John off.” Lily took a heavy swig from her glass, letting the chalky liquid coat her tongue before she swallowed harshly. “I actually feel sort of guilty…” 

Kyle surged forward, shaking his head adamantly, the hard swinging motion making him dizzy for a moment. “Think he’s the one feeling guilty.” 

He suppressed the urge to hiccup, the yen to protect his masculinity faded pretty soon after he’d been roped into the first glass of wine. Soon after that, it felt strangely uplifting to play along, sit cross-legged and paw over products. It helped that Soap was here, though the other seemed so natural, Kyle had always been slightly jealous of Johnny. He fit in everywhere and got on with everyone. Even now, laid across the bed with one of Lily’s new bras clasped over his pyjama shirt, beckoning her over so he could see the mascara. 

It seemed like some abstract rocky-horror slumber party. He was partially thankful just to be involved, used to watching Soap and Ghost saunter off to do whatever they do together, he’d often find himself trailing along after Price like a lost dog. 

Admittedly, despite how deeply selfish he knew it was, the soldier enjoyed visiting Lily in the hospital. A twisted sense of appreciation sprouted from her captivity, enclosed and wanting people on her side. He was happy to oblige, enjoyed the reciprocated companionship even if it was shrouded in exceptional circumstance.   

“Don’t gotta be guilty if you share huh hen, then it’s good for team morale.” Soap balanced his glass precariously on his chest once he flipped onto his back, scooting so his head hung off the bed as Lilith instructed him to close his eyes, both broke into another round of hilarity without a beat, barely able to keep still or serious for a second as she hovered over him with the mascara brandished like a weapon. They had all gotten through quite a bit of wine. Kyle knew better, knew better than to glare at his teammate for getting on with someone. 

But he was drunk, and determined to keep just this one friend. Just this once, he’d be first.

“Do me, do me-“ Kyle almost threw himself down onto the floor, fumbling down with a loud thud before he positioned himself, eyes screwed shut with determination. The flurry only spurred the two on further, howling with laughter as Kyle kept his eyes shut, inching closer and closer to Lilith, drunkenly shimming around. 

“Come here you silly sod.” She guided his head onto her lap, softly coaxing the man to relax his eyes enough so his lashes wouldn’t fold up, delicately drawing the wand through them. “Keep still.” Her voice dropped to a whisper in concentration, he lay smug, happy for the attention. 

“There, now open!” 

It felt slightly heavy on his waterline, almost akin to when their tactical paint clung to his eyes despite several face washes. Eyes flickered from Lily’s face peering down at him then at Soap’s. 

“I think it’s very pretty.” Johnny hummed, nodding down at him.

“You have lovely long lashes, boys always get the nicest lashes, it's unfair.” Lilith peered closer, admiring the way his seemed to curl with the product. Kyle felt strangely timid, the alcohol diluting his usual reactions, quick to open the capillaries in his cheeks to make way for a deep dusting of rouge. It forced him to shrink into her lap, frowning slightly at how vulnerable he felt, the emotion bubbling over so quickly it flustered him. Wanting for some kind of reprieve, the soldier jumped topics, drunken alarms of his disposition drowning out the sound of sense. 

“You’re gonna have a hard time packing all this up by tomorrow.” He drawled, sitting up from her lap and pointedly ignoring the wide-eyed look from Soap. Lily tensed, her body crookedly bent in the shape of a question mark as she cemented into position, eyes drawing forth the same query in which her body folded. The soft lull of music carried on in the background, cushioning the steely silence between the three. 

You and me, always forever. 

Clawing digits centred themselves around the milky column of her wrist, brown eyes doughy with a needy sense of amicable obligation, Kyle preened over the implications of him being so advantageous as to warn Lily of the change. A clear way to solidify his position. 

We can stay alone together.

“By tomorrow?” She lingered, his fingers pulsed around her in anticipation. Johnny faded into the background, his disgruntled whispers to quieten his comrade falling upon death ears. 

“Going away, all of us, chasing a pig back to its pen.” 

[kudosmyhero]

Batman: Dark Victory #2: Secrets

Read Date: July 26, 2023 Cover Date: January 2000 ● Writer: Jeph Loeb ● Penciler: Tim Sale ● Inker: Time Sale ● Colorist: Gregory Wright ● Letterer: Richard Starkings ● Editor: Mark Chiarello ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

● art is a little meh but the story is excellent ● 👏👏👏👏👏

Synopsis: In an attempt to gain more insight into the Hangman, Batman interrogates the Riddler, as the killer seems to share his penchant for leaving behind clues to his identity. He gives the Riddler a copy of the newspaper clipping pinned to Chief O'Hara's body, and tells him to study it and to contact him when he has something.

Gordon receives a visit from his predecessor, Gil Loeb, who harbors some bitterness over being removed from office. Gordon got lucky with Holiday, as his victims were cheap hoods, but now that there is a cop killer on their hands, the City Council has doubts about Gordon's effectiveness. Gordon tells Loeb that he earned his position, whereas Loeb lost it in a cesspool of corruption and graft. Loeb chides Gordon for his naivety, telling him to not to get too comfortable in the Commissioner's chair, he'll be getting it back soon.

At the Batcave, Batman is poring over the forensic data from O'Hara's murder. O'Hara's neck wasn't broken like in a traditional hanging, and he was hoisted from the ground in a manner that precluded him from putting up any sort of fight. This suggests that the killer has tremendous physical strength, or is utilizing strategically placed automated traps. Batman tells Alfred he cannot be certain, as Porter's refusal to work with him has limited his access to police evidence. He is now suspecting that Two-Face has a hand in the recent events, but he was wrong about Holiday, he cannot afford to be wrong again. Alfred reminds him that even Batman is capable of making mistakes, and Bruce confides that he was close to sharing his secret to Harvey. He wonders if things would have been different if he had been more trusting.

Mario summons Gordon and Porter to his father's gravesite, noting that the disappearance of his body has his sister on edge. He is willing to work with the police to prove that he is sincere about cleaning up his family's reputation. Their meeting is interrupted by Sofia, Mr. Mirti, and two armed bodyguards. Sofia tells Mario that since Gordon cannot protect his own men, he cannot be entrusted with the safety of her family. The gunmen with her are private investigators who are licensed to carry firearms, and they have a judge to back that up. After the Falcones leave, Porter apologizes to Gordon for dragging him into this. She knows about his marital problems, and it's not her intention to make things worse for him at work. Gordon acknowledges they may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and asks Porter if she has any plans for Thanksgiving dinner. Porter reveals that she does, despite being too new in town to form any real friendships.

At the Falcone estate, Alberto is smoking a cigarette in his private study when he hears a disembodied voice, who tells him that he cannot stop now, or they will forget about him. Alberto frantically searches the room for the source of the voice, but finds nothing.

Porter is sleeping at the Hotel Essex, when a mysterious stranger makes his way to her room. She has been expecting him, and the two make love. Meanwhile, Selina Kyle has Thanksgiving dinner with Bruce and Alfred.

The Riddler summons Batman with a demented parody of the Batsignal, revealing what he's found out about the newspaper clipping. He offers a brief explanation to the rules of the Hangman puzzle, noting that it cannot be played alone. More than likely, there are two killers at work.

Loeb is hanged in his home. Stationery from Harvey Dent's office is pinned to his shirt, featuring a second Hangman puzzle, which spells out "Two can play this game."

(https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman:_Dark_Victory_Vol_1_2)

Fan Art: Team Edward by MadGeneticist

Accompanying Podcast: ● Batbooks for Beginners - episode 17

[cartmandolly-old]

(crazy)

cartman is literally the most complex and multitalented character in south park and i dont get most of the people who completely disregard him. if you dont want to see him, dont watch idk? south park is meant to be offensive and it’s okay if you get offended, thats the point. thats also the fun to be had with eric cartman’s character.

but accusing him of homophobic or would be transphobic? did we watch the same show??? cartmans went on a ‘date’ with his other cupid personality after it convinced him there’s nothing wrong w gayness n he never misgendered any character. he regularly crossdresses too. he had giant boobs willingly ffs he’s so queer you shld be able to taste the rainbow through the screen

the reason he’s so repressed and bigoted toward jews is legit his mother. ppl forget that cartman was not raised on /pol/, he was raised with /pol/ rhetoric being spewed by his mother and legit the only evidence against it is that cartman took her to see the passion of the christ to ‘prove’ jews were horrible, when this is easier read as (given context) him being excited to share something with his mother because it agrees with her on jews. interesting to note that liane has been discriminatory toward kyle as well, but acts surprised when cartman is discriminatory toward shelia.

(also i feel like it’s too late into the show to have his influences come from an outside source like the internet, as they do for most kids his age modernly. south park started during the internet’s adolescence, it’s all his mother)

i feel liane being a key factor in cartman’s behaviour is overlooked because she is a mother. i love liane and eric for the evil characters they are, so don’t get me wrong, but you cant really deny that she’s often seen as one of the greats in south parenting because she’s a motherly figure. if you think randy is the worst, spend a few minutes looking over liane. (sharon is actually the best btw)

to the talented part, even in earlier seasons you see cartman being a camera nerd. he’s got very impressive camera skills for Anyone, even outside his age group. i know this because i went to camera classes, and because you can see the south park real estate agents asking how he even got such a nice photo. 

when i first started this blog, i reblogged a post highlighting cartmans musical talents saying he could make a good popstar, and no matter how far i get into cartman brainrot, i still agree. cartman can easily read sheet music and knows his way around a piano, and you can see his dedication to music in his groups fingerbang and faith+1. even if it was just to get the million dollars whatever, if he had no heart for music he likely wouldve had different ideas or been way less inspired.

yeah none of this really matters because its just silly old south park but it matters to me that i feel intellectual about the most evil character on television. i LOVE EVIL CARTMAN. i hope he’s evil forever. i just like him a bit much ykno <3

[3416]

Hello, I love reading your insight on the game! I wonder if you might have insight on a couple of things re: how things work in the nhl, as while I find it fascinating I'm still figuring a lot out:

what is the GM's motivation? maybe that's a wild question LOL but if I WAY oversimplify it: other than wanting to personally do well, the players need to impress the coach so they get time on ice, the coach needs to please the GM so they keep their job, is there a similar motivation for GMs (from owners maybe)? I think I just haven't seen as much movement with them so I am curious how/when they are held responsible for team performance

does the GM consult with the coach on trades/signings? i am wondering if the coach shows up day 1 and the GM basically says "here are the pieces, put together my cup-winning puzzle" or if the coach ever says "we have problems with X, and Y or Z from team blah blah that I coached before would do so much to help us fix X"

I'm not sure if there are necessarily "real" answers to these questions, but I would love to hear your insight either way!

hi there!! those are actually wonderful questions and get to the root of certain nhl jobs. i'm not going to pretend to be an expert here by any means. i only have real knowledge about the leafs and from what i understand, every hockey team is built a tad bit differently. honestly being a fan of something as complex as a whole sport and it's structure is just a constant learning process so fjdkdk forgive me if any of this isn't entirely accurate.

so brad treliving is our general manager and answers to brendan shanahan, the president (if you've ever heard of the term 'shanaplan'.. that basically represents this era of leafs while he's been president). brendan shanahan answers to the owner of the team aka the board of mlse (which is an entertainment company and can be broken into even smaller pieces if you want to get complicated w corporate nonsense. mlse is represented by their ceo keith pelley when it comes to leaf stuff.. he did the end of the yr media w brad and keefe). team to team that structure can kind of shift, like the president can also be the owner or the president and the gm can be the same thing, there can be multiples of roles for different sides of things, etc etc. basically a gm's job is to build the team/staff, a president's job is to oversee that and the org as a whole, and they essentially both have to answer to owners who want this all to be a profitable and successful venture. obviously everyone involved wants the same outcome, but the tier structure can cause hiccups. we actually saw this first hand the summer of 2023 when kyle dubas was fired from the leafs.

if you weren't around for that, essentially kyle dubas was the leafs gm for multiple years and he and the shanahan had a pretty personal-sounding falling out. his firing happened rather abruptly after he was going back and forth in negotiations for an extension, and one of the things hinted at as being most stressful was the constant hoops he had to jump through to get deals done. he needed things approved by shanahan and then the board just to make trades or big moves and it was slowing the process/stopping things from happening. this is evident when you look at the fact that the job he took immediately after departing the maple leafs was the combined role of general manager AND president of hockey operations for the pittsburgh penguins where he has MUCH more freedom. so essentially, the gms have to answer to everyone above them while also managing very hands on things like roster construction and staffing. there is a lot to consider at that position bc you're not totally free to build a team how you specifically want, the people above you still have a plan too. keith pelley had a quote after the playoffs this year about how "they aren't here to sell jerseys" which happens to be ironic bc... the board of mlse very much has an interest in what is financially best for the leafs and that definitely can be impacted by players on a team. the maple leafs are a special case bc they bring in so much revenue whether they win or lose... they sold out crowds back when the leafs weren't even making the playoffs bc toronto really is a hockey city. whereas other places less known for hockey might struggle to bring in crowds or viewership if their team isn't on the rise so there's more incentive to make desperate moves. so anyway, the gm DOES have bigger roles they answer to and their job is to build a team that can be successful so that everyone up and down the structure of the org can benefit. i bet lots of them view it as a puzzle, but also the paycheck does not hurt and it's just another rung on the ladder if you're moving up in the hockey executive world.

as for the gm/coach relationship, there is lots of consulting going on there as far as i'm aware. what makes it hard is when you're introducing new people like the leafs have the past 2 years now (some teams have insane coaching turnover so... coaches may be taken with more of a grain of salt but leafs were blessed with the very interesting duo of dubas/keefe who had a close relationship).if you look at someone like craig berube... he doesn't totally have a grip on these players bc he hasn't had to coach them yet, but he has a style and a kind of player that probably personally fits his systems and i'm sure all of that is relayed and discussed. the leafs roster, like any hockey team, has holes they need to fill, and a coach's input matters but ultimately it's a gm who is supposed to see the bigger picture in terms of what's needed. it's the coach's job to make what is given work physically on the ice. the higher up the structure you go, the bigger the picture is supposed to be to each role, and the higher up you go, the less turnover there is on the whole. coaches are the first to go when things aren't working, then gms, then presidents if need be (haven't seen a lot of turnover of those tbh). but all of those shifts happen in conjunction with the highs and lows of a hockey team. lose their identity when they're losing and sucking, and then start to plan and shape rebuilds and see what players are drafted high enough to make a difference and built around them.

anyway, that is a longwinded thing.. don't mind me ranting LOL. but there are so many moving parts to the front offices of hockey team, and they all do interact with each other and get input from each other for sure. the leafs are VERY corporate and have a business image to maintain as well as being a unique and popular place so it feels like there is EVEN MORE going on sometimes.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Changeling | Soap x Nina

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

Nina sees Johnny for the first time after he betrays the 141.

AN: A non canon all hurt no comfort fic because I saw 1 too many posts theorizing that Soap is going to betray the 141 in MWIII. Also it's 1 am and this is not beta read so if there's a sentence or two that seem off lmk pls

Nina sat across the table from him. She had tried to avoid looking at his hands but the clink of the handcuffs kept dragging her attention away. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry today, she'd spent the past several weeks sobbing into an empty bed with Simon and Kyle on guard rotation. A lot of strings had been pulled to allow her to see him again. He'd be kept in custody until the trial. 

Treason…

He'd been a spy for Makarov. He'd admitted it to Price. 

Johnny reached for her hand and she flinched. He leaned back in his chair. 

"Suppose I deserve that." He sighed. "Thank you for coming, Neen."

"Don't call me that." She hated the way it sounded now, coming from him. 

"I know you hate me and I don't blame you. I just...uh...I just want you to know that it was never a lie. Everything that's happened between us. That was real, Nina."

"I don't know if I believe you." She finally looked up at him. His hair had grown out. His lawyer had reportedly advised him to grow out the mohawk to look more respectable. She wanted to scream, she wanted to fight him, launch herself across the table. How could he?  Betray Price and Simon and Kyle. Betray her. 

"I know..." He took a shaky breath. "I love you and I have always loved you. I will hate myself for the rest of my life for hurting you, Nina. I never should have done this to you knowing how it would all end." 

He reached for her again, as far as the cuffs would let him. She let her hand slip between his. She broke her promise to herself and let out a sob. He squeezed her hand. 

"You were everything to me. John.. I...I.." He nodded along to her words. "What am I supposed to do?"

She was caught in grief. A carefully constructed life collapsed over night. MI6 agents were at the flat before she knew what was happening. They took everything. Every letter they wrote to each other, every one of their journals and his sketchbooks, all the photos, gifts, books, his clothes. All gone in evidence bags. 

Kyle had held her as she cried on the kitchen floor while Simon argued with them about taking her things. She could get some of it back after the trial, not all of it though. Simon almost punched the agent that asked for her engagement ring. 

"Take it and I'll break your fucking hand," He growled as Kyle moved in front of her. 

She still wore it, just on a chain around her neck where she couldn't see it. 

"John, I'm scared." She wanted to still find solace in him, feel his touch and know she was safe. His hands felt cold on hers. "I don't understand. I loved you. I love you. I don't have anything anymore. I can't sleep or eat. I can't even think about us without feeling sick. I just...I want my John back."

"I'm right here, Nina. I'm still here."

"No!" She pulled her hand away and slammed it against the table. "What did I do? What did I do to you? Just tell me. There has to be a reason. 

"I was protecting you. I believed in what he said at the time. By the time I realized how wrong I was, I knew he'd hurt you if I didn't follow the plan. You know what he's done for less. He found out about ya and I was his dog."

"Is that your defense at the trial?"

"There isn't going to be a trial, Nina."

"You're pleading guilty."

"Aye, but I'm giving up everything I know. Makarov won't like that. I begged you to meet me because I'm never going to see you again." He reached out his hand for hers again, letting tears fully flow down his cheeks. "I'm going to die in here, Nina. I'm surprised I've made it this long.  I just had to see ya. I needed you to know that I loved you. More than anything."

She gave him both her hands, he was shaking as he held them.

"I was selfish for dragging you into this." He leaned his head down to kiss her knuckles. "You can hate me for the rest of your life. It's what I deserve but don't ever think I lied to you about how I felt. I wanted to marry you and take you far away from all this. I wanted to give you everything you ever wanted. I should have just let him tear me apart the day I met you."

Nina leaned over the table and wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her face into his neck. He smelled the same. He was just as warm as all those nights in their bed. She gripped the front of his shirt as he held onto her sweater. 

"Don't let go. Please don't let go. Don't let me go." If she closed her eyes and yelled hard enough she'd open them and they'd be at home together. None of this would be real. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry Nina. Fuck... I'm sorry. I love you.IloveyouIloveyou."

The guards were yelling about them not being allowed to touch like this. She yelped as one of them grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back. 

"Don't touch her!" Johnny jumped up, his chair flying backwards. "Don't fucking touch her!"

"John!" She sobbed as the other guard began to drag Johnny out. She turned to the guard holding her back. “Please just one more minute. Please! Please!”

She wrenched herself free and ran to him. She cupped his face and kissed him. His lips were still soft. She hated that he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t run his hands through her hair again, couldn’t rub her knee or back. She hated that it had been months since she’d last seen him. Hated that she thought she had all the time in the world so she squandered most of it. The last time they saw each other they talked about baby names. Did he know what he was about to do? Every thought opened her wounds wider until she was bleeding into him. She hated him, hated how he took every liter of love and wasted it, hated how her first thought when Simon told her the truth was “Is he okay”, hated how she still loved him, how she told herself she’d wait for him. Wait forever if she had to. She didn’t know if she could love anyone like she loved him. 

More guards were rushing in to pull them apart again.  

"You always deserved better than me." He called out as the guards pulled him away and towards the door back to the prison. "I love you, Nina."

A guard held her still until the door closed and locked. 

Someone grabbed her again and she flinched away. 

“It’s just me,” Kyle said, gently leading her away. They could still hear Johnny yelling about how they’d treated her. “Simon’s pulling the car around.

It all felt so hollow now. The ring she couldn't stop smiling at now felt like a weight dragging her to the bottom of the ocean. 

"Can you take me back to the flat?" She asked softly as Kyle helped her into the car. 

"You sure?"

"Yeah..."

The bedroom was stripped almost bare. Just some of her things that they couldn't connect to him. She stripped and changed into one of Johnny's few shirts she'd managed to keep ownership of. She climbed into bed and pulled his pillow to her face. The pillow he laid on when they talked about all their futures. She still had so many questions, so much anger. 

She laid in bed for three days, playing with the ring around her neck and having her heart break over the lingering smell of him on their sheets. 

"Nina..." Simon had a key now. 

"He's gone, isn't he?"

"He is. Found him in his cell this morning." The mattress dipped behind her. His hand rested on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, love."

She didn't know if he meant it. She knew he was hurt too. She just felt like she was the only one who still loved him. 

He was cremated. No church would let him be buried on their grounds. His mum was a wreck about it. They split the ashes. Nina put the ring in with her half. She didn’t really know what to do with it after that. She’d been pulled and thrown across the world her entire life. Left everything behind before. 

She’d never had her entire life fit into a jar before.

Tags: @macravishedbymactavish