#community detention

[naturesapphic]

Her baby

Mommy!melanie martinez x little!fem!reader

Warnings: age regression, fluff, reader being scared of loud noises, lactation

You weren’t supposed to drop. Not right now. Melanie was busy performing and here you were on the side with some of the extra dancers and directors who was making sure everything was running smoothly, and you were deep into your headspace. You guessed it was because of how loud everything was and you just immediately shut down. When Melanie went off stage to get her portals gear on you heard one of the dancers tell Melanie what was happening and she hurriedly went over to you before she had her mask put on for portals.

“Baby? Are you okay?” She said loudly since you had noise cancelling headphones on and couldn’t really hear her unless she was right by you and raising her voice. You whimpered slightly and nodded your head slowly. Melanie knew you weren’t okay but she had a show to do and couldn’t just cancel, especially since it was almost over. She went over to one of the security guards and whispered something in his ear which confused you.

Melanie went back over to you and quickly gave you a quick peck on your lips and forehead “I have to go now babygirl but mommy will be right back. This nice man is going to go ahead and take you to the bus so you don’t have to listen to anymore loud noises okay?” She explained to you and you nodded your head as you waved bye to your mommy as she went over to the makeup and hair people to get her mask on. The nice security man gave you a warm smile and went outside at the back of the building where the bus was at.

He went up to it and put the passcode in, unlocking the door and he helps you inside. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Don’t hesitate little one.” He said kindly and you gave him a small but grateful smile as he closed the door as he went outside of the bus to keep watch. It was about thirty minutes later when the door opened and there came Melanie rushing in to see you. “Babygirl! How are you feeling. Are you okay?” She said quickly but calmly.

Ever since she had to leave you to finish her concert she had the worst anxiety knowing that you weren’t okay and you just needed her, but she was here now and that’s what matters. You looked up and saw your mommy coming towards you with a calm look on her face but you knew better than that, you knew she wasn’t calm. You put down your toys and got up on your feet running to your mommy. You jumped in her arms and she caught you with a giggle as you clung to her. “I Otay mommy! Jus nu wike loud noises…” you pouted at the end and she nodded her head in understanding.

“I understand baby. Next time I’ll just leave you on the bus and have security near you at all times so you don’t have to hear the loud noises.” Melanie stated and you smiled up at her. “Tank chu mama.” You said happily and she sighed happily, thankful that her baby is content and okay. “I would do anything for my little bug.” She said and you nuzzled your head against her plump chest which meant that you were tired and was ready to nurse. Melanie went to the back of the bus where the bunks were and let you crawl in first before Melanie went in behind you.

She lifted up her shirt and took off her bra, letting her chest fall free. Your eyes was locked onto her chest as you admired them, even though you’ve seen them many times. She pulled you close to her and cupped the back of your head and guided your lips to her nipple. You started suckling on her chest immediately and made cute soft suckling noises that Melanie found absolutely adorable. Not long after, you fell asleep and once melanie knew you were out, she let herself fall asleep too.

A/n: I had this in my head so I decided to write it. I hope yall enjoy! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love yall! :)

[remedialchaoticscreaming]

help how to convince all of my friends to do the season three opening with me for my junior year

[pawtrolling]

Hewwo! Can I get paci pfps of Clapton Davis and Derek Danforth (If ur comfy with doing that!) otherwise maybe Rainbow Dash or some kitties!

of course, here you go!! ♡

[unusualsims]

??????

[usadvlottery]

Immigrant Legal Aid Policies in the United States encompass a set of regulations and initiatives designed to provide legal assistance and support to individuals navigating the complex immigration system. These policies aim to ensure that immigrants, regardless of their status, have access to fair representation, information, and resources. Legal aid organizations collaborate with government agencies, pro bono attorneys, and community partners to offer services such as legal consultations, representation in immigration court proceedings, and advocacy for the protection of immigrants' rights. These policies reflect the commitment to upholding the principles of justice, fairness, and inclusive, recognizing the importance of a robust legal framework to address the diverse needs of the immigrant population in the United States.

[quotesfrommyreading]

Mr. Xi is the son of an early Communist Party leader who in the 1980s supported more relaxed policies toward ethnic minority groups, and some analysts had expected he might follow his father’s milder ways when he assumed leadership of the party in November 2012.

But the speeches underscore how Mr. Xi sees risks to China through the prism of the collapse of the Soviet Union, which he blamed on ideological laxity and spineless leadership.

Across China, he set about eliminating challenges to party rule; dissidents and human rights lawyers disappeared in waves of arrests. In Xinjiang, he pointed to examples from the former Soviet bloc to argue that economic growth would not immunize a society against ethnic separatism.

The Baltic republics were among the most developed in the Soviet Union but also the first to leave when the country broke up, he told the leadership conference. Yugoslavia’s relative prosperity did not prevent its disintegration either, he added.

“We say that development is the top priority and the basis for achieving lasting security, and that’s right,” Mr. Xi said. “But it would be wrong to believe that with development every problem solves itself.”

In the speeches, Mr. Xi showed a deep familiarity with the history of Uighur resistance to Chinese rule, or at least Beijing’s official version of it, and discussed episodes rarely if ever mentioned by Chinese leaders in public, including brief periods of Uighur self-rule in the first half of the 20th century.

Violence by Uighur militants has never threatened Communist control of the region. Though attacks grew deadlier after 2009, when nearly 200 people died in ethnic riots in Urumqi, they remained relatively small, scattered and unsophisticated.

Even so, Mr. Xi warned that the violence was spilling from Xinjiang into other parts of China and could taint the party’s image of strength. Unless the threat was extinguished, Mr. Xi told the leadership conference, “social stability will suffer shocks, the general unity of people of every ethnicity will be damaged, and the broad outlook for reform, development and stability will be affected.”

Setting aside diplomatic niceties, he traced the origins of Islamic extremism in Xinjiang to the Middle East, and warned that turmoil in Syria and Afghanistan would magnify the risks for China. Uighurs had traveled to both countries, he said, and could return to China as seasoned fighters seeking an independent homeland, which they called East Turkestan.

“After the United States pulls troops out of Afghanistan, terrorist organizations positioned on the frontiers of Afghanistan and Pakistan may quickly infiltrate into Central Asia,” Mr. Xi said. “East Turkestan’s terrorists who have received real-war training in Syria and Afghanistan could at any time launch terrorist attacks in Xinjiang.”

Mr. Xi’s predecessor, Hu Jintao, responded to the 2009 riots in Urumqi with a clampdown but he also stressed economic development as a cure for ethnic discontent — longstanding party policy. But Mr. Xi signaled a break with Mr. Hu’s approach in the speeches.

“In recent years, Xinjiang has grown very quickly and the standard of living has consistently risen, but even so ethnic separatism and terrorist violence have still been on the rise,” he said. “This goes to show that economic development does not automatically bring lasting order and security.”

Ensuring stability in Xinjiang would require a sweeping campaign of surveillance and intelligence gathering to root out resistance in Uighur society, Mr. Xi argued.

He said new technology must be part of the solution, foreshadowing the party’s deployment of facial recognition, genetic testing and big data in Xinjiang. But he also emphasized old-fashioned methods, such as neighborhood informants, and urged officials to study how Americans responded to the Sept. 11 attacks.

Like the United States, he said, China “must make the public an important resource in protecting national security.”

“We Communists should be naturals at fighting a people’s war,” he said. “We’re the best at organizing for a task.”

The only suggestion in these speeches that Mr. Xi envisioned the internment camps now at the heart of the crackdown was an endorsement of more intense indoctrination programs in Xinjiang’s prisons.

“There must be effective educational remolding and transformation of criminals,” he told officials in southern Xinjiang on the second day of his trip. “And even after these people are released, their education and transformation must continue.”

Within months, indoctrination sites began opening across Xinjiang — mostly small facilities at first, which held dozens or hundreds of Uighurs at a time for sessions intended to pressure them into disavowing devotion to Islam and professing gratitude for the party.

Then in August 2016, a hard-liner named Chen Quanguo was transferred from Tibet to govern Xinjiang. Within weeks, he called on local officials to “remobilize” around Mr. Xi’s goals and declared that Mr. Xi’s speeches “set the direction for making a success of Xinjiang.”

New security controls and a drastic expansion of the indoctrination camps followed.

The crackdown appears to have smothered violent unrest in Xinjiang, but many experts have warned that the extreme security measures and mass detentions are likely to breed resentment that could eventually inspire worse ethnic clashes.

  —  ‘Absolutely No Mercy’: Leaked Files Expose How China Organized Mass Detentions of Muslims

[closeted-goth]

operation victor unison...

[community-creating-change]

Let’s collaborate on how we can create the change that is desperately needed in our community!!

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Spent an hour today talking to Harry Beach, one of our three real, honest-to-goodness "desperate criminals." It served to reinforce my growing realization of how inadequate a characterization such a category as "desperate criminal" can be.

Most of the men in West Street [the federal New York Detention Headquarters] just now are of the "light-custody" variety. Either they have short sentences, orthey are types not given to violence: OPA violators, draft dodgers, confidence men, and so on. These three are a different breed of cat. Harry, for instance, is a bank robber serving a forty-eight year sentence. One of his companions, sporting the unhkely name of Norman de Britten, wears two bullet scars, was bodyguard to the notorious Dutch Schultz, and has twenty-nine years to do. The third, Richard Langford, is a quiet, scholarly looking hijacker waiting to be sent somewhere to begin a sixteen-year stretch.

These three are locked in one cell-block for twenty-three hours a day. The other hour they spend on the roof, under heavy guard, getting what exercise and fresh air they can. They eat all their meals in their cell, and the guards heave an almost perceptible sigh of relief when they lock them back in after the roof period. I got to know them through Bob Brooks, for whom Harry especially has a tremendous respect.

"Imagine that guy," he said to me. "A successful lawyer and he gives it all up and goes to prison just for his convictions! What a guy!"

Harry himself is quite a guy. About my age, he has already served eight years and has forty still to do, but he is as calm and unperturbed as anyone in here, with the possible exception of his two cellmates. They "build their time" easily, joking with each other and with guards and other inmates, wasting no time on worry or self-pity. That in itself is quite an accomplishment for men in their shoes, though not too surprising. Men who put their own lives on the line when they break the law, as these did, are likely to be strong characters, and one can only reflect with regret on what they could have been if they had started on another track.

Much more astonishing is the gentleness and kindness they all three exhibit, not occasionally, but consistently. They chat encouragingly with men who would drop dead on the spot with their sentences—like the little liquor dealer, Mr. Robin.

Poor Mr. Robin violated the OPA and got a sentence of fifteen days, and he is absolutely certain that he will not survive it. He wails and whines more than anyone else here, walking unhappily through the corridors between the cells literally wringing his hands.

Robin's greatest comfort comes from the three long-timers. He stands at their cell for hours at a time while they josh him gently about his "long stretch," assure him that the days will pass more swiftly than he thinks, and laugh at his fears that he will be socially ostracized when he gets out. All this from men who cannot even begin to hope for release before as many years pass as Mr. Robin has days!

But the most impressive example of this kindness came a few days ago. A young Jehovah's Witness, barely eighteen years old, was brought in with a three-year sentence for refusal to accept the draft. Just a boy, probably brought up in a kind, decent, middle-class home and totally unprepared for anything like this, the youngster simply could not take it. He shrinks from everyone, can hardly talk, and seems on the verge of complete mental collapse. With the instinctive cruelty of unhappy, frightened men who find someone in an even worse state than themselves, some of the inmates have tormented him pretty badly.

Newcomers usually spend at least the first night on the second floor, but the authorities assigned him directly to the third, apparently hoping that the relatively quieter atmosphere there would help. When it did not the lieutenant went to Harry and his cellmates for help. The result was that the young JW was moved in with the three desperadoes—an act that on the surface would seem completely irrational. But the lieutenant knew his men. The three desperate criminals could not be kinder to the boy if they were his brothers. They actually come close to hovering over him, and when they talk to him, as Harry does frequently, they are as compassionate as his own parents could be. Under their influence, and in the protection of the constantly locked cell, the boy is beginning to respond a little, and today I saw him smile briefly at one of Harry's sallies. It would be funny if it were not so touching. Any time I am tempted to categorize anyone as unrelievedly bad, I shall remember Harry and the young JW."

- Alfred Hassler, Diary of a Self-Made Convict. Foreword by Harry Elmer Barnes. Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1954 (written 1944-1945), p. 30-32.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP: The Roomate

Despite all their madness, it's no secret in Amity Park that the Fentons are certified geniuses. When Maddie and Jack Fenton first move to town, they are all anyone can talk about.

Maddie was well known among women because, at the time, women in STEM were rare, and it was even rarer for them to actually gain recognition for their efforts. Her work, confusing to most of the public, meant a lot to the women in Amity Park.

Before she arrived, she had been featured in three separate magazines: one for science, another for sponsoring a scholarship for STEM women, and the last for her inventions of self-defense accessories to arm young women. Yes, most didn't know about her until they learned that she was moving into their small town, but that was beside the point.

Her husband was a little less known, but it came as no surprise that he was also said to be rumored as a well-educated man. He had two PhDs. Two.

At the time, almost everyone in Amity Park had a high school diploma, the highest degree level of the masses. Sure, some well-off families could send their children four towns away to the closest college, but it was rare.

It was also a privilege—a means to show off at the annual street market, where the proud mothers would smugly describe their children's dorm rooms or majors to the tightly smiling neighbors.

In the early eighties, having a higher education made people appear more respected, and here was Jack Fenton, a man who had two Ph.D.s and was rumored to be working on his third. The man who had bought out the old Steward faculty building by the main street was having a crew removed into a home/laboratory.

Everyone buzzed for weeks about the new neighbors, and sharing any new details about them was exciting. It may be strange to people outside their little town, but with a population size of at least five thousand (at least in the eighties when the Fentons arrived. and the population grew well into the thousands when Axion Labs was built), news of changes was rare and few in between.

Amity Park didn't have big-shot names on their roads, much less stay to live. Heck, they only recently started getting a carnival to go by, and that was at least seventeen years since the Fentons moved in.

So, it was no surprise that Fenton's daughter showed just as large a brain as she did. Yes, the Fentons were less academic types than they were expecting, showing a rather odd obsession with the paranormal, but no one could deny their ability to build anything.

The Fenton boy was the only one who didn't live up to the family name. Danny was on the right path until Freshman year, when his grade rapidly dropped to the bottom of his class, he vanished for hours on end and went into destructive fits randomly.

He has been found among enough rooms ripped apart to know that Fenton was out of control. School staff spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Fenton often, and the two parents genuinely seemed to take their conversations to heart, attempting to instill better behavior within Danny.

Nothing seems to work. No grounding, detentions, community work, or group meetings seem to get through the boy's head. The Fentons were at their wit's end with their youngest. Mrs. Fenton, fretting that her son had never behaved like this.

Then, ghost attacks started appearing around the same time to make things worse. While the town laughed at them at first, everyone quickly realized the Fentons were one of the few who could provide defense against the ghosts. Throughout more and more attacks, the people started to defer to the Fentons in times of crisis.

The people who once booed them now rallied around them, and it took no time for everyone to acknowledge that the Fentons were now among the highest in the town's social ladder.

That came with some benefits.

"Are you sure this would help Danny?" Maddie asks, staring at the pamphlet in obvious doubt.

"Mrs. Fenton, I assure you that I would not have recommended Daniel for the program if I didn't think it would help him," Mr. Lancer responds with great patience. "It is apparent that he is dealing with something that needs more support than the school staff can provide."

"But to send him away?" Jack cuts in, looking close to tears.

"Don't think of it as sending him away. Think of it as putting him in an environment that can help him. Frankly, Daniel is struggling here. He's been having more and more destructive fits, his teachers have noticed he's paying less and less attention in class, and a few students have even approached me saying he seems to be hiding weapons in his bag."

"Weapons?" Maddie gasps. "Our Danny?"

"Rest assured, we have done searches and investigations as these accusations are not accepted without reason. Daniel does not seem to have any on him, but I worry he may be facing severe bullying if children were willing to lie about something so serious." Mr. Lacner sooth swiftly. He sighed, leaning back in his seat as neither adult looked particularly happy by his words. "The staff and I attempt to step in when we can, but bullies always find ways to slip past us. For example, bothering him off campus. I just think Daniel will be better away from those causing him harm, especially if he really is dealing with a previously unknown mental illness."

He pulls out more pamphlets, one with testimonies from previous program participants. When Lancer left Amity Park for college, he never planned to return. He got his teaching degree alongside his associates in English and History.

Lancer had taught at a different school, a more well-known and better-funded school, but he missed his small town. He missed the neighborly people, the less noise, and Amity's clean, crisp air. He found himself quitting his Gotham Academy job in Grades six to eight, moved back home, and attempted to drag Casper High out of its failing pit.

He still struggled as the school couldn't find enough teachers. He taught four different subjects—math, History, English, and Science—whenever he could, and there was almost no funding.

But Casper High was slowly getting better every year due to the connections Lancer had made in his seven-year tenure as a Gotham Acadamy Professor. One of these connections was the father of his favorite English student.

Bruce Wayne.

Mr. Wayne attended every single one of Jason's plays, and as the Drama Club sponsor, Mr. Lancer would chat with him. Most people knew Wayne was an airhead, but Wayne was delightful to be around. Like Mr. Lancer, he cared deeply about education and always took the teacher's suggestions to bring up at PTA meetings.

When Lancer chose to move back to Amity, Jason was devastated and insisted he had Bruce's number. It was heavily implied that the board wanted Lancer gone due to his "questionable" teaching plan—he tried to teach empathy a little too much, according to some parents—and the boy thought his sudden departure was due to this.

Mr. Wayne assured him if he had been let go or pressured into leaving, he would provide Lancer with an entire team of lawyers. Touching as it was, Lancer assured them he was leaving on his own accord.

He contacted Mr. Wayne, asking for advice on how to apply for school grants or any other tips the billionaire could give him. The man was the most involved Father Lancer had ever met, including fundraising and supporting art programs.

Casper High had been this close to removing Band, Drama, Cheerleading, soccer, and Baseball because it needed more money to afford them. Not to mention all the other clubs that had vanished when Lancer was a Casper student. Bruce was happy to help him save the programs for the students.

It was the main reason Lancer was made vice principal so quickly. He was basically keeping Casper High running.

Two years later, he heard the news that Jason had been murdered. It shattered Lancer's heart. He went to the funeral and watched Mr.Wayne slowly fall apart. Even as he returned home, he tried to reach out to the man whenever he could.

It may have felt different to the other man, but Lancer always thought they were friends. Eventually, Mr. Wayne bounced back—never forgot—from Jason's death, and slowly, the gap between them was reconnected.

The reason for Mr. Wayne's mental recovery was the one that suggested this program. He had personally invited Mr. Lancer to send Daniel.

"Tim Drake is a brilliant boy," Mr. Lancer continued, watching the two couples struggle to decide. "His team is filled with trained psychologists, he has the facilities to deal with Meta children, and Daniel won't be uncomfortable rooming with him as a teenager himself."

Maddie looks at Jack, but while she sees the hurt in his eyes, she also sees his resolve. "Alright, we'll send Danny to the Meta Mentoring Program. It's what's best."

"I'll let Mr. Drake know he'll have a roommate."

[spacelazarwolf]

before yom hashoah ends, i want to remind folks that sephardi, maghrebi, and mizrahi jews were also deeply affected by the holocaust.

this is by no means inclusive of all communities who were affected by the holocaust and its aftermath, i do not have the emotional bandwidth for that, but hopefully this gives you some insight into jewish experiences outside of what's usually talked about.

the jews of morocco, algeria, tunisia, libya, and italy were all subjected to the racial laws of the vichy regime or fascist italy, which prevented them from attending educational institutions, holding public office, and owning businesses and sometimes property. moroccan jews were protected from some of the violence faced by other jews of the mediterranean and north africa because of the moroccan sultan mohammed ben youssef, who was vocally opposed to the anti jewish laws. he reportedly told the vichy government, "there are no jews in morocco. there are only moroccan subjects." he believed he had a god-given responsibility to protect moroccan jews. "moroccan jews are my subjects, and it is my duty to protect them against aggression."

unfortunately, other jewish communities did not receive that kind of protection. algerian jews faced a pogrom by the local arab population in constantine, killing 25 and destroying several jewish homes and businesses. 2000 algerian jews were sent to concentration camps in bedeau and djelfa, where many died from hunger, exhaustion, disease, or beatings. 5000 tunisian jews were forced into labor and detention camps where over 400 of them were killed. in libya, there was a violent pogrom which killed 500 jews out of a community of 4000. 2600 of the survivors were sent to the giado concentration camp, of which 526 died. in tunisia, there was a violent pogrom which killed over 130 jews (including 36 children), injured hundreds, and left 4000 homeless. italian jews faced pogroms, the jewish ghetto in rome was raided and over a thousand jews were detained and sent to concentration camps. a total of 7680 italian jews out of a population of nearly 45,000 were killed.

in greece, thousands of jews were deported to auschwitz. as many as 50% died en route, and only 10,000 out of over 75,000 survived, a nearly 90% death rate. their homes were looted and their property was stolen, and when the few survivors tried to return after the war (a difficult task as the greek foreign ministry attempted to delay or prevent their return to greece), most were unable to regain their property and possessions, forcing most to seek asylum in israel or other countries.

egyptian jews were not directly affected by the axis powers, but extremist organizations like young egypt and the muslim brotherhood sympathized with the nazis and even secured nazi funds to distribute thousands of antisemitic propaganda pamphlets. sporadic pogroms took place throughout the 40's, stoked by political leaders like mahmoud an-nukrashi pasha who said to the british ambassador, "all jews were potential zionists" and dr heykal pasha who said "if the u.n. decides to amputate a part of palestine in order to establish a jewish state, ... jewish blood will necessarily be shed elsewhere in the arab world ... to place in certain and serious danger a million jews." this political extremism prompted the 1948 cairo bombings that killed 70 jews and wounded 200, with many more being killed in the riots following, and eventually led to the expulsion of nearly all egyptian jews, whose money and posessions were all confiscated by the egyptian government.

similar political persecution was directed at iraqi jews, leading to the farhud, a pogrom which killed 180 jews and forced tens of thousands to flee. though there were many who did not support the nazi regime or agree with their views, there were just as many in arab countries who did, in no small part because of active effort by the nazis to gain sympathy from arab populations who already did not get along with their local jewish populations. this led to several other pogroms that took place in the 30's and 40's across lebanon, syria, and british mandate palestine, including a pogrom in jaffa which killed 9 jews and forced 12,000 jews to flee, and another in tiberias which killed 19 jews (including 11 children), most of whom were stabbed to death.

it's understandable that most of what the general public knows about the holocaust is the stories of ashkenazi jews from central and eastern europe, because they comprise the vast majority of the victims. hopefully, this encourages you to do further research into the ways other parts of the diaspora were also affected.

[thewildwaffle]

Friend Shaped

The professor clacked his beak sharply three times in the front of the room. The students, around 40 individuals, and many species from across the galactic arm hushed almost immediately. “Welcome back, class. The day for your first planet-side mission to Nemulon 3 is fast approaching, and we've still got a lot of safety training to cover, so let's get started.” The professor stepped aside to allow a projection to display against the board behind him. A picture of a blue, green, and gray planet shone brightly against the dark tapestry of space. Nemulon 3 had been discovered deca-orbits ago but offered a wide variety of biomes that were the perfect blend of challenging and safe to train new recruits to the Galactic Alliance’s Exploration Fleet. “Today we're covering some alien fauna you may encounter while conducting exploratories. Most are small enough that they won't pose much of an issue, but we do have a few category 5 lifeforms that you need to be aware of.” The display behind the professor changed from an image of Nemulon 3 from orbit to a chart topped by 5 images with their respective labels: karindru, oold, dini-dini, barintuna, and great lavalen. Before the professor could start in on the next part of his lecture, a voice spoke out from the middle of the classroom.“That looks like a dog.” The professor stood with his beak half open. He was certainly not used to being interrupted, let alone this early in the lesson. “A what?” He finally choked out. There was a pause as if the offending student was thinking better about drawing more attention to themselves before slowly putting their hand up in the air. It was a human. Cadet Valentina, if the attendance role had been accurate. “I said it… it looks like a dog.” Human Valentina inhaled as if gathering the courage to say more. “They're a carnivorous canine species on earth that humans domesticated thousands of cycles ago and selectively bred to be pets.” The professor’s beak closed with a snap and some of the features near the base of his neck ruffled slightly. “Nemulon 3 is 47 light years away from Earth. Any similarities between each planet’s fauna is purely coincidental, a product of parallel evolution.” The human bowed her head and said nothing else, so the professor continued. “Now, for many of you of larger stature, a single karindru might not pose much of a threat, but their real danger comes from their numbers. They live, travel, and hunt in packs. Thankfully, their method of communicating with each other in their packs are quite loud, so you will hear them long before you see them, and hopefully, before they see you. Typically you’ll hear anything from yipping, chirping, and howling.” “Kind of like coyotes.” The professor stopped and stared at the human again, feathers ruffling once again. “Another kind of canine species back home,” Valentina offered quietly. If the professor was capable of growling, he might have been tempted to at that moment. Instead, he sighed slowly. “I can assure you, trying to get close to these will likely end with your injury or death.” “Well, that's what ancient humans thought about wolves too, but then we bred them into dogs and now they’re our best friends.” “Karindru are not, nor are any native creatures on this planet, your friend. Not now, not ever.” The professor turned sharply back to the board. The entire class was dead silent. Few even dared to breathe. It was quiet enough, in fact, to hear the human mumble under their breath, “If not friend, then why friend-shaped?”

The human was promptly given detention and assigned extra homework of writing “I will not try to domesticate any native fauna on Nemulon 3” one hundred times by hand.

[a-wild-things-rambles]

*deep emotional conversation*

my mum: "i mean if you dont get a job after ur education you can sign on then we can all go down the pub and everyone will be like "FUCK YEA [crows] FIRST JIRO" its part of a tradition you know. first detention, first jiro." -my mum on the subject of being raised by alternative parents and community

[tma-thoughts]

Can we talk for a second about how genuinely punk hobie brown is? Because i was worried he would be some detention episode of a disney channel show edgy stereotype but no!! He actually has punk and anarchist beliefs! He dresses traditionally punk! He protects his community and respects his friends! He acts like a real person!! Even his more over the top jokes like how that black hole was a metaphore for capitalism, or how mayday is an anarchist for climbing all over everything, are jokes that actual real punks would make!!

For some reason alternative characters who behave like the people in the subcultures they represent, and more importantly real people, are few and far between. Im so happy hobie is properly punk.

[forwhomthewordsflow]

The Start of Something New

modern music teacher eddie munson x art teacher fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: just fluff…lotsa fluff

author’s note: i’m still new to this whole author thing so please be gentle!!!  also, i’d totally be into making this a series if you guys are into that…

word count: 3.4k

If you had asked him five years ago if he thought he’d ever set foot back into this shithole ever again, under any circumstances, Eddie would’ve told you to fuck right off.  But alas, here he was, grading papers in his classroom during his grading period.  Yes, that’s right folks.  Eddie Munson – resident town freak – is now a proud music teacher at Hawkins High School.  Who would’ve thought?  Certainly not Eddie.  Or anyone else for that matter.  But apparently all it took was a mandatory Music History 101 class that he was forced to take in community college, and he was hooked.  Eddie tried as hard as he could to hate the class, but he couldn’t help the fact that he had a natural gift for the subject.  Begrudgingly, Eddie Munson earned his first A+ ever, and an invitation to join the class for another semester as a TA.  He couldn’t believe it, but he said yes.  And so began the long and surprisingly painless journey of a town freak turned teacher.  

Eddie still sometimes wonders how he ended up here.  He recalls his days of detention and lunch-time table speeches like it was yesterday, wishing he could walk right out of class and never come back.  But, he figures that if he has the chance to be the teacher that he never had for another kid just like he used to be, then he should probably fucking take it.  The job isn’t necessarily all bad.  Sure, the pay isn’t great and dealing with parents can be a bit of a shitshow, but Eddie still manages to find himself having fun while he’s at work.  The kids he teaches are pretty damn awesome, and he honestly really likes spending his days hanging out with them and teaching them about music.  But even after all the great students and the sweet vacation time he gets each year, his most favorite part about his job is you.

You, the brand new, drop-dead gorgeous art teacher here at Hawkins High.  Eddie couldn’t believe his luck when he met you towards the end of July during orientation.  He likes to think he has an above-average amount of game when it comes to women, but it’s as though every ounce of cool-ness was sucked out of his body as soon as he entered into your vicinity.  Eddie cringes as he thinks back to your very first meeting, where he opened up with a very smooth, “So…you come here often?”

And even though that moment plays on a continuous “you suck” reel in his mind, your sweet, shy giggle that came afterwards makes it all worth it.  He still remembers the blush on your cheeks, the smell of your perfume, and the sparkles on the inner corners of your eyes that made it damn near impossible for him to look away.  You had been kind to Eddie that day, willing to look past his stupid idiot boy self and explain to him that it was your first day on the job and that you had moved here from the city.  Eddie had managed to ramble out a few more mismatched words to you as he was staring at your pretty smile and the smattering of freckles on your nose before he was rudely interrupted by the beginning of orientation.  Eddie didn’t see much of you after that until right before the start of the school year, when teachers have a week or two to say goodbye to summer and set up their classrooms before the first day of school.  He had just finished putting his records back up on display when he figured it was time for a little break.  He meandered down the halls under the guise of stretching his legs, when really he was just trying to see which classroom the new, beautiful art teacher was given.  And of course, because the universe apparently has it out for him, he found you on the complete opposite side of the school from him.  Eddie smiled at the way you had decorated your door, made to look like an artist’s palette.  He wondered if you’d made each individual part by hand, and how long it had taken you to piece each one together on your door.  The idea that he’d probably rarely ever cross paths with you throughout the year is what led to his face back and forth pacing in the hallway while he thought of a plan.  You’d think that they’d put the art teacher a bit closer to the music teacher as they were both considered “electives,” but fate has a nasty way of fucking things up for Eddie.  Nevertheless,  Eddie was determined to find ways to bump into you.   He was on a mission for a first impression do-over, this time featuring cool-sexy-funny Eddie instead of the awkward and embarrassing version of himself that you met during orientation.  He was going through his mental stash of one-liners to open up with, and unfortunately, was not paying attention to where he was walking.  Just as Eddie went to turn around and continue on with his hurried pacing, he bumped into someone…hard.  He heard a squeak, a splash, and a gasp as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.  There you were, so beautiful, so angelic, so…wet?  Eddie steps back in horror as he realizes that his clumsiness has resulted in you spilling what looks like paint water all down the front of your shirt.  

“Oh no!  Oh shit, I- I’m so sorry!  I wasn’t even looking where I was going – shit, fuck – I’m so fucking sorry holy shit –” Eddie rambled on in a panic induced frenzy while you stared up at him in shock, clutching the now empty water cup in your hand.  Eddie stilled as he felt your other hand graze his arm – holyfuckingshit you’re touching him!!! – in an attempt to calm him down.

“Eddie!  I promise, it’s totally okay!”  You laughed as you said this, and Eddie felt his eyes turn into giant red hearts like they do in the cartoons.  “If I freaked out every time I spilled something on myself during a project, they’d have sent me to the nuthouse a long time ago.”  Your eyes widened as you realized that might’ve been a weird thing to say to this gorgeous man that you don’t know that well, but his deep chuckle calms you down immediately.  You both stare at each other grinning like fools for a few moments before the icky feeling of a sopping wet shirt gets to you.  You bend down to pick up the few paint brushes that had scattered on the ground, and Eddie quickly gets down onto one knee to help you.  

“I uh, I’m really sorry again about this.  I’m usually much cooler than this, I swear.”  Eddie mentally punches himself in the dick for saying such a dumb thing.  Why can’t he just operate like a normal fucking person right now?  To his surprise, your adorable giggle graces his ears.

“I swear it’s really okay.  I have an extra shirt in my classroom.”

At the mention of your shirt, Eddie can’t help but to sneak a peek at your body through your sopping wet t-shirt.  He can just barely make out the tops of your collarbone, the outline of your tank top, the curve of your breast–

Eddie’s impure thoughts are interrupted by you standing back up and pulling at your wet shirt.  

“Well, I’d better get back to it then I guess.”  You look at him with a different look in your eye than what it was moments ago.  It almost looked like you were waiting on him to say something. Did you want him to come with you to your classroom?  Apparently he spends too long contemplating your desires because you give him a small smile and start to turn back towards your room.  Eddie manages to buck up and find his inner cool-guy just in time.

“D-Do you need any help with anything?”  You turn back around with a smile on your face, happy that he finally said something.  “I’m known to be pretty handy, if you need any help hanging things up, building shelves…anything at all, I’m pretty good with my hands.  It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie’s grin makes you clench your thighs a little, you hope he doesn’t notice.  Even if you tried to speak, you’re not sure any words would come out, so you nod your head and try to fight the blush that’s blooming on your face.  Eddie spots it of course, he thinks it’s adorable.  You jerk your head over your shoulder, telling him to follow you, and start back to your classroom.

Eddie can’t help but to bust out a few celebratory fist pumps as he trails behind you.

Stepping into your classroom felt a lot like stepping into a different world.  Eddie felt his jaw drop as he looked up and around the room at all the colorful signs and decorations you had put up everywhere.  There were wooden shelves lined with more art supplies than Eddie had ever seen in his life, various paintings in different mediums hung up around the room, and a large carpet in the middle of the room that looked like someone had splattered paint all over it.  After he was done taking in the wonder of the room, Eddie’s eyes landed on you standing by your desk.  You watched him look around at all your hard work, and you really hoped that he liked it.  You hoped he didn’t think you had overdone it or that you were trying way too hard.

“So, what do you think?” You ask nervously.

“What do I think?” Eddie responds, “I think that I would’ve killed for a classroom like this when I was in highschool.  This is the coolest fucking thing ever.”

Eddie thinks your beaming smile could light up an entire town.  

You look down, blushing hard.  “Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie loves the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth.

You begin to pull at your shirt a bit, the wet material making you more and more uncomfortable by the second.  The cups in your hand clink together as you fumble them around, and Eddie rushes to help you.

“Here, let me help with those.”  

You look up at Eddie with wide eyes, and notice he was standing quite close to you.  His big brown eyes had tiny flecks of a caramel color in them, and his lips were pulled into a soft smile.  God, you hope he didn’t notice you were looking at his lips.  

(He totally did.)

“Oh, th-thanks.”  You awkwardly dump the cups and paint brushes into Eddie’s waiting hands as he chuckles quietly.  Pulling your shirt away from your body with both hands now, you spare a glance to the closet near your desk in the back corner of your classroom.  “I’m just going to change into a new shirt really quick.”

Eddie blushes at the thought of seeing your bare skin.  “Oh, do you want me to like, turn around o-or I can totally leave if you wanted –”

“No you’re fine, I’m wearing a tank under this.”  You shoot him a small smile over your shoulder and turn to open up the double doors of the closet.  

Eddie wonders if you hear his breath hitch while he prepares himself to see you in a tank top.  

Inside the closet, Eddie can see jars of wrapped candies, some clothes hanging on a short rod, various school supplies, and a few blankets folded near the bottom.  He thinks it’s so adorable how organized you seem to be, and wonders if it’s like that inside your home.  He’s ripped away from his thoughts when you peel your wet top up and over your body, revealing a white ribbed tank top underneath.  Eddie feels his heart pounding inside of his chest as he takes you in.  The skin tight material of your tank top, the curve of your waist, your beautiful bare shoulders.  When you turn around, Eddie’s condition intensifies.  He feels his jeans get tighter at the sight of your round breasts, and the water that spilled onto your shirt must have soaked through a bit, because Eddie can just barely make out the lines of a beige colored bra underneath.  Eddie suddenly coughs loudly and looks up to the ceiling, mentally scolding himself for being such a horn dog.

Of course, you had already seen Eddie ogling your chest, and you couldn’t help but to feel a little flattered and hide your smug grin as you pulled your new, dry t-shirt over your head.  “There we go, good as new!”

Eddie took this as his cue to stop observing the tiny divots in your ceiling tiles.  You had put on an oversized green t-shirt, and you looked absolutely adorable in it.  Eddie wondered what you’d look like in one of his shirts…

“If you want, you can set those right on that empty shelf over there.”  You point to his left at one of the shelves lining the wall.  Eddie looks confused for a moment until he remembers he’s holding your cups and paintbrushes.  He walks over to the shelf and places the items very carefully next to the other cups, turning back around to face you afterwards.  You wring your hands together in front of you, struggling to meet his eyes.  Why is this so hard?  He’s just a guy.  A very hot guy with cool tattoos, pretty hair, a dangerous smile…

Eddie tries his hardest to find a reason to hang around in your classroom with you a little longer, he can’t blow this, not when he still has so much to learn about you.

“So, why all the lamps?”  Eddie begins to wander around your room, stopping to look at each of the light fixtures you’ve placed throughout the space.  You wonder if he’s making fun of you, but the genuine interest on his face says differently.  

“Oh, um, I sort of hate big lights.”

“Big lights?”  Eddie turns to you with a grin and a soft chuckle.  “What are big lights?”

You point up at the LEDs lining your ceiling.  He looks up with you and realizes what you mean by ‘big lights’.  

“Oh,” Eddie laughs ,”Big light.  I get it now.” He takes a step closer to you and notices your chest rising and falling a bit quicker.  You don’t hold eye contact for more than a few seconds before finding something to look at on one of your walls, Eddie thinks it’s adorable how shy you are right now.  “I’ve always hated how…clinical they make everything look sometimes.”

“I know right?”  Your small outburst surprises Eddie a bit, you’re looking him in the eyes now and he’s thinking you might not be as shy as he guessed.  He’s also thinking about how goddamn beautiful your eyes are, and that he might have found his new favorite color.  “I mean, I know I’ll have to turn them on for at least one or two art projects during the year, but I just feel like the softer lights make it look a lot more inviting in here, right?”  Eddie nods along and can’t help but smile at how cute you are when you’re a little fired up like this.  “And I’ve just read so many articles about how the harsh LED’s make it harder to focus sometimes for the kids, and some even said it can actually make them more nervous!  Well, no way, not in my classroom.”

You huff and look at the ground, realizing that you might’ve been doing a little too much just now.    

“Sorry.  I get really passionate about the kids sometimes.”

“Hey, no way.”  Eddie takes a step closer until he’s looking down at you.  “I really like how obvious it is that you care so much.  Some of the teachers around here seem like they couldn’t give two shits about their students.  That, or they’re too goddamn old to remember how.”

A giggle bursts out of your mouth, and Eddie wishes you wouldn’t have covered your smile with your hand.  He might just have to make it his life’s mission to get you to smile and giggle more.  

“Seriously though, these are super cool lights in here.  The kids will love them.”

“Really?  You think so?”  You look up at him anxiously.  It’s clear to him that you’re genuinely worried about your students not liking you or your classroom, and he wishes he could take all of that anxiety off your shoulders.  If he knows anything from years of working here,  he knows the kids will love you.  

“Yes, I do.” Eddie places a hand on your shoulder.  “The kids are gonna freak out, your room is the best one in this place by far.”  You smile up at him and he smiles back.  He realizes that he’s touching you and pulls his hand back before he can think too much about it.  He takes a step back and plucks a curl from his mane of hair to mess with, a nervous habit of his.  Eddie racks his brain for an excuse to stay with you longer.  He still has so much to learn about you!  He wants to know your favorite color, if you listen to rock, who your favorite artist is…he needs to use his big dumb brain and think of something quickly before the lull in your conversation teeters into the realm of awkward.  Suddenly, he’s hit with a stroke of genius.

“You know…” You look back up at him with a smile.  You’d been hoping to God that he’d say something else to keep your conversation going.  “I’ve actually been looking to spice up my one classroom a little bit.”  He looks down on you with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes.  Definitely.  I think you may be just the right person to help me, seeing as your room is decorated to perfection.”  You giggle and swat your hand in front of you in an “oh, stop it” motion. 

 “How may I be of service?”  You look up at him, batting your long lashes with your hands clasped behind your back.  Eddie gulps and tries like hell not to let his mind wander too far.

“I – uh, have recently learned a few things about the evil and illusive ‘big light’,” Eddie makes air quotes around the word ‘big light’ and you giggle at how dramatic and silly he’s being, “and I find myself suddenly in need of some lamps of various shapes and sizes, similar to the ones that are displayed in this lovely room.”  He makes a sweeping gesture with his  muscular arm towards your lamps.  Amping up the drama with you might’ve been a risk, but Eddie decides it’s paid off in full when he notices you trying, and failing, to hold back your laugh.  

“I think I may be able to help with that.”  You sigh and tap at your jaw in a thoughtful way.  “You know, I got most of these at IKEA if you’re really in the market for some.  At a fairly good price too.”

Eddie nods at this new information.

You take a tiny step closer to and look up at him through your lashes.  Eddie struggles to breathe, you smell so good and you look so pretty and he really should be focusing on what you’re saying but he can’t get over how gorgeous you are  –

“You might need some help finding them in there though…IKEA is huge and you wouldn’t want to get lost in there.”  Are you implying what he thinks you’re implying?  “I could…go with you maybe.  Help you pick out a few new lamps for your room.”

Eddie is speechless.  You just asked him to hangout?  Outside of school?  Eddie must look like a fucking idiot as he struggles to speak, and you mistake this for hesitation. 

“Or–or not, if that’s not something you’d be into.  I totally get it if you want to keep things professional and not meetup outside of work–”

Eddie interrupts your nervous rambling quickly.  “No, no!  Are you kidding?  I’d love to IKEA with you!   I – I mean, go to IKEA.  I’d love to go to IKEA with you.  Whenever you want, I’m free whenever you want.”

You let out a big breath and smile at the blush that’s blooming on Eddie’s cheeks.  The two of you stand there in your classroom smiling like idiots for probably a little too long, but who cares?  The gorgeous music teacher wants to take you to IKEA to shop for lamps, and you can’t help but feel like this could be the start of something really, really good.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"At Federal Detention Headquarters [in New York City] we were unloaded, and under the stares of curious workmen and passers-by, walked through the big steel doors into prison.

Since then we have been searched by electric eyes and human ones, stripped of our clothing except for shoes, cursorily examined by the medical staff, ordered to take a shower, and supplied with very old blue denim pants and cotton shirts. We have been photographed and fingerprinted, questioned about all sorts of personal matters, and finally assigned to cells. I find myself in the same cell with Bob Brooks [another conscientious objector], who has been languishing here for the past two weeks. He is impatient to be shipped to whatever prison they have selected for him, but I'll be just as happy if he sticks around for a while longer. It's a good feeling to have someone you know in a place like this!

...

it was not a good night. On the contrary, it was very much a bad night. I was homesick, lonely and to be quite honest, scared.

The bed didn't help, either. I had the top bunk—though the word "bunk" is purely a courtesy term. "Shelf" would be more accurate, since it consists of a sheet of steel with a three-inch mattress, on which I spread my sheet and blanket. It was mighty hard on the aged Hassler bones, accustomed to an inner-spring mattress. I lay awake most of the night, struggling with my own lacerated emotions and racked by the sounds of other men's misery: men groaning, sighing, or even weeping, some awake and some asleep. The lights—not all but a good many—remained on all night, too.

...

Anyway, after an eternity had passed, during which I doubt that I slept more than thirty minutes, the lights went on full and it was morning. (All light in here, night and day, is strictly by courtesy of Mr. Edison!) In a few minutes a gong rang and we lined up in the dayroom of our cell-block for "count." This was about the fifth time I have been counted since I got here, and I understand we go through this every two hours all day long. With the count finished and checked, the steel-barred doors slid open and we jostled our way to breakfast in the dining-room downstairs. It is a segregated dining-room, with Negroes and whites forced to sit at different tables, which immediately poses the question of whether or not to accept it without protest. I think however, I shall postpone grappling with that problem until I get a little better adjusted to the whole works! .... Why is it that whenever you get involved in sleeping in large groups it becomes essential to get up at or before the crack of dawn? It seems especially senseless here, because there is little enough to do anyway. You would think they'd be glad to have us stay in bed a while. But no, promptly at six o'clock the lights go on, doors slam open, whistles blow, and we stagger out of bed and line up for "count." Then the whole long day stretches out in front of us, and the dreams of freedom succumb to the reality of boredom and loneliness.

Having made sure we're all here when we get up, the prison officials rest easy for only a couple of hours. By that time they feel sure something must have happened to some of us, so they count us again. A few hours later they do it again. And again. Altogether, between the time lights go up in the morning until we are snugly tucked way in our trundlebeds, they count us an average of seven times. Each time the bell rings for count we stop whatever we are doing and stand wherever we happen to be, while the hacks go by, their lips moving slowly, and the helpless rage sweeps over us.

This angry rebellion is something I had not counted on, and in the face of it I find it very difficult to continue to be pleasant to the guards and other officers. However, I am trying to behave exactly the same toward both officials and inmates, neither taking out my resentment on the guards—who after all did not put me in here—nor conceding in any way that I consider them better than, or even different from, the inmates. This poses some problems, of course. The place is shot through with intrigue and conspiracy. As in any situation where coercion and the threat of coercion dominate, the users of the coercion are constantly uneasy, constantly fearful. They suspect the inmates of plotting to escape, to riot, and to murder, and they must always be on the alert to anticipate trouble before it comes. One of the means they use to be forewarned is the "stool pigeon," and I have already had pointed out to me several stoolies, who are regarded with loathing by the rest of the men.

The inmates generally react to the officials as one would expect them to: they hate everyone connected with the prison set-up. Consequently they suspect anyone they see talking on friendly terms with an officer. Also, there is, of course, the ever-present danger of being a stool-pigeon unintentionally. What I am trying to do is to talk with officials quite openly on any subject except individual inmates. So far as my own affairs are concerned, I have nothing to hide from them and so have no need to practice evasion there. One subject I shall certainly not avoid: my feelings about the institution of prison, about which I am already developing some strong convictions."

- Alfred Hassler, Diary of a Self-Made Convict. Foreword by Harry Elmer Barnes. Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1954 (written 1944-1945). p. 9-12.