#expandable batons

[soothsayersblog]

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[lesbianslugreaction]

Once again I am thinking about how Javert should absolutely be included in the musical's finale. I know some smaller productions have done this, but the bigger ones need to step their game up. I mean, if goddamn Britain's Got Talent can get Javert singing in the finale, so should every other show, too!

Not having him there just goes so against the theme of redemption. Oh, Javert doesn't go heaven? I guess people can't change, after all. Oh, suicide is a sin that people go to hell for? Don't even get me started on that catholic garbage. By that logic, Valjean probably shouldn't be there, either...

It doesn't even have to be a big thing, just let my cringe blorbo sing the song in the background like the rest of the characters. He and Valjean could share a nod, a handshake, a hug, you name it!

Though actually, they should kiss. Who said that

[tstain-is-an-idiot]

CU, except I swapped the genders and changed some minor story details

So basically it's a more magical girl-ish version of the story instead of a normal superhero one (she still is, but just more... magical, I guess?)

[selfdefensegearco]

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Unleash Your Inner Protector: The Auto Expandable Baton Revolution

In the world of self-defense, split-second choices can frequently imply the distinction in between security and vulnerability. In these defining moments, having the right tools available can be the tactical benefit that conserves the day. That’s where the Streetwise Push Button Vehicle Expandable Baton enter the spotlight, a game-changer for those who focus on individual […]

[comatosebunny09]

inebriated | sylus

— summary: you comment on how good he’s gotten at these domestic things, and his mouth twitches with a smile. for you, he would give up this menacing life he leads if it meant waking to your smile each day, dancing and kissing in the kitchen over pancakes and overdone eggs.  — cw: written with femme reader in mind, alcohol & drug use, mild language, tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, sylus is down bad & probably ooc — notes: head empty, just vibes. i needed some domestic, self-indulgent fluff, and this is the result. thank you so much for reading. — now playing: waiting in vain - jordan ward

Sylus, but in the midst of a meeting. And it's all tense, everyone shifty-eyed and tight-lipped, trying to figure out the best way to expand Onychinus’ reach. But then, a particular ringtone breaks through the seemingly impenetrable silence that’s befallen the dimly-lit, smoke-laden room.

The gentleman beside Sylus stifles a laugh into his fist under the pretense of clearing his throat. Sylus gives him a look that bodes disaster as he fishes his phone from his pocket. Fearing for his life, the man glances away, straightening his tie.

With his cell poised in the air like a loaded gun, Sylus dares anyone else to comment on his choice of ringtone with a ticked brow and a swift survey around the room. Everyone pointedly looks elsewhere, hoping to leave with their lives intact.

Seeing as no one’s ballsy enough to contest him, the crime lord brings the phone to his ear, answering with a curt “Speak.”

“Mister Skye?”

The voice breaking through the static is most certainly not yours. And that notion has Sylus sitting up at breakneck speed, assuming the worst. That tense air from before returns, slung over everyone’s shoulders like sandbags.

An anxious chuckle erupts from the other side of the phone. “Sorry. It’s Tara. I probably should've led with that. Didn't mean to freak you out.”

The rigid set of his shoulders eases up the slightest bit. At least you’re with a friend. Still, why is she calling him from your phone?

“Sorry to bug you. But could you come get her? I think she’s had a little too much to drink. She keeps antagonizing the biggest guys here. Says she’ll sick her bad-ass mafia boyfriend on them or something.”

Sylus’ lips quirk. He pinches the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of a migraine creeping in whilst a sigh pushes through his nostrils. He doesn’t know whether to be proud or annoyed.

“They’re about to kick us out of the bar. Please come.”

He can taste the exasperation in Tara’s voice, the poor girl. On cue, you chime in from the background, wailing about needing your ‘Big Daddy Caw-Cawk.’

Someone in the briefing room snorts but quickly hides it when Sylus levels a glare at them.

Relieved, Sylus straightens, rolling the tension from his shoulders. “Where are you?”

It’s laughable how quickly Tara answers, ready to pass you off like a baton. “Husk. Downtown on Main Street. I can drop a pin—”

“No need,” he interjects, well-versed in your points of interest. What? He’s just being the model boyfriend. Definitely not stalking you. “I’ll be there in ten.”

She laughs, the sound of it relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Skye. Seriously, you don’t understand—what the hell are you doing?! Get off the table!” 

Before the line cuts, furniture crashes and glass shatters.

Sylus clears his throat, adjusting his collar. Straightens the cuffs of his sleeves before abruptly standing, the jarring screech of his chair across the tiled floor making everyone in the room wince. 

He doesn’t bother with formalities, shoving his hands in his pockets, that customary bored look descending onto his face. The twins materialize at his sides without a hitch as he makes his way to the door, the atmosphere charged with unanswered questions and anxious looks.

“Mister Sylus!” one of the men calls to his retreating back. But he’s silenced by his seatmate with a hand on his shoulder and a head shake. 

“No sense in getting between that man and his girl. Last guy who did…well, you can probably guess the rest.”

With this new information hovering in the air, the gentlemen around the table exchange grumbles and stiff looks, deciding to carry on as if their leader never left.

—

Sylus has impeccable timing.

He’s tugging his motorcycle helmet off when you emerge from the bar’s double doors, arm linked with Tara’s, the straps of your heels dangling off your finger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit back at the bouncer who so graciously escorted you out. He counters you with his middle finger, muttering something about you being a bitch. 

Sylus’ jaw tenses. His skin prickles with the threat of his Evol. But he tamps down his irritation when Tara spots him. And she’s damn near sprinting, dragging you alongside her. 

“Mister Skye!” Tara beams, a nervous chuckle in her throat. He acknowledges her with a nod and a rehearsed half-smile, his gaze sliding to you. 

You stand beside Tara with crossed arms, bottom lip jutting out with a pout as you pointedly look elsewhere. You’re adorable when you know you’re in trouble, the ambient string lights strung overhead highlighting the pretty contours of your face. Glancing between you and Sylus, Tara slips behind you, practically shoving you into his arms. You stumble with a slew of curses into the hard planes of his chest. 

“She’s all yours,” says Tara, a little too ecstatic for his liking.

Gently wrapping his fingers around your arm, Sylus guides you over the curb towards his bike. Nods at Tara over his broad shoulder, and she grins, frantically waving goodbye. He stifles a chuckle when her shoulders slump, relief washing over her features. You must’ve been quite the handful throughout the night.

Wordlessly, he pulls you to a stop before his motorcycle. Turns away to fetch your helmet, expectantly holding it out for you to take. You continue this huffy game of yours, instead glaring at something behind him. Before he can speak, your eyes alight with childlike glee, and you dash past him across the street in a blur of glitter and perfume. 

With his mouth slightly ajar, Sylus watches you cross the street to a brightly colored cart. The cart's awning features a telltale hotdog logo, and he sighs, shaking his head before following after you. You’re shoving a hotdog into your mouth when he reaches you, your eyes gleaming whilst an appreciative hum eases from your throat.

“Sweetie,” he tries, something akin to affection swelling in his chest. “You’re not wearing shoes.”

You ignore him in favor of savoring your meal. Clearly inebriated if the heavy flutter of your lashes is anything to go by. Try as he might to suppress it, a smile rounds his lips, and while you eat, he takes this time to appraise you. 

Errant curls cling to your comically full cheeks. Your makeup is flattering, your lashes wispy, and your lips painted a dangerous shade of rouge. One strap of your dress falls off your shoulder, and the tight cling of your attire leaves little to the imagination. Full thighs peer from beneath a devastating hemline, legs stretching for days. His study ends at your feet, bare and probably sore from wearing heels all night.

Sylus reaches out to pat your head, eyes slit with affection. Internally, he gushes when you turn innocent eyes on him, the brooding figure you once were tucked far beneath your skin. He surmises that Tara couldn't tame you because you were hangry. You always are after a night of drinking. He steps behind you to fix your straps, fingers softly gliding over your shoulders. 

He angles himself to ear level, murmuring, “Let’s get you home,” before ushering you towards his bike with a wide, reassuring palm at your back. 

You’re more agreeable this time around, nodding and toddling in front, scarfing down the remains of your hotdog. 

—  

You cut a sleek outline amid the bustling streets of Linkon, streetlights glazing over the dark lenses of your visors. 

Your arms loosely wound about his stomach, you’re a warm pressure at Sylus’ back. And you’re giggling something cute, uttering incoherencies that make his lips quirk beneath his helmet. Whatever you drank has you feeling good, your grasp on him slackening even more as you lose yourself to the music blaring in your helmet’s speakers. 

Sylus’ hand covers yours, wordlessly encouraging you to hold fast to him. Linkon’s streets might have the speed limits that the N109 Zone lacks, but he’s still driving fast enough to lose you if he isn’t attentive.

“Sylus!” you call amid the wind sweeping your bodies.

“Sweetie?”

The mischievous giggle that follows makes something cold drop into his belly. 

“I had an edible!” And you sound so proud, like a child showing their macaroni art to their parents. 

An indignant sound is pinched from Sylus’ throat. His eyes widen the slightest. He makes a note to give Tara an earful when he next sees her, squeezing your hands over his navel whilst he cuts a turn.

—       

Your laughter ricochets off the stilled halls of your apartment complex. 

He’s got you cradled in his arms, bridal style, not at all fazed by your jostling about. With a flicker of his Evol, your front door clicks open, and he dips inside, kicking the door shut once you’re nestled in your entryway's cold, dark embrace. He entertains your nonsensical talk with an occasional hum as he toes off his red bottoms, carrying you deeper into your home.

“Shh,” you suddenly hush, shifty-eyed and stiffening in his hold. 

Sylus quirks a brow, slowing to a stop.

Your lidded gaze slides to him, and with a pretty, drunken smile, you say, “My boyfriend’ll be here any minute, Mister. If you’re trying to get freaky, we better do it before he comes.”

Rolling his eyes, Sylus continues through your apartment, effortlessly hauling you to your bathroom.

The room floods with fluorescent light, and you wince against its brilliance, tucking your face into his chest with a hiss. He chuckles something low, depositing you onto your countertop. Your arms fall listlessly from around his neck at your sides, where you try vainly to prop yourself up. It seems gravity has other plans, a blissful, blurring wave of vertigo crashing into you. You reel forward with an intoxicated laugh, but Sylus is quick, steadying you with hands wrapped around your arms. 

He studies you beneath the light. Bites back a grin at your adorable swaying, soundlessly assuring you won’t go barrelling off the counter again if he steps away. He props you against the mirror before getting to work. Snatches a towel from your rack, dampening it beneath the warm spray of your sink’s faucet. 

Delicately, Sylus blots at your forehead, soaking up the sweat and grime you’ve accumulated throughout the night. He ducks down briefly to fetch some wipes from your cabinet and steps between your legs, cleaning off your makeup with rehearsed precision.

It’s not the first time he’s done this, and he finds solace in the monotony of it all. He feels honored, being this close to you. Tilting your head back with cautious fingers encasing your jaw. He strips you down to the marrow, literally and figuratively wiping off the facade you outwardly present to the world. 

You comment on how good he’s gotten at these domestic things, and his mouth twitches with a smile. For you, he would give up this menacing life he leads. Would arrange the stars in the sky if it meant waking to your smile each day, dancing and kissing in the kitchen over pancakes and overdone eggs. 

For now, he settles for this. And when he’s thoroughly swiped the remnants of your makeup from your face, he steps back to appraise his work. He prefers you like this, he thinks as he taps his temple. Bare-faced and unguarded, smiling without a care in the world. 

Taking up your hands, he tugs you to your feet. Moves like he’s working with porcelain, slipping the straps of your dress off your shoulders. He blisters your shoulders with kisses in his fingers’ wake as he slips your dress down until it pools into a serpentine pile at your feet. 

He divests you of your bra and panties, promising to behave despite how bewitchingly your skin glows and how easily it glides beneath his roving palms. He escorts you into the shower once he finishes, where its warm spray works as a soothing balm over your strained muscles. 

When you’re clean and lavender-scented, he swaths you in a towel he’d procured from the towel warmer he bought you and guides you into your bedroom, chuckling when you stop occasionally to tempt him into a kiss. 

Helping you into a comfortable set of pajamas, he eases you into your bed, the cozy linen drawing a pleased sigh from the dredges of your chest. Your eyes dance with sleep, and he’s about to leave you before your fingers weakly wrapped around his wrist stop him.

The look you give him makes his chest squeeze, and had he been anyone but Sylus, he’d be fawning and cooing over how adorable you are. 

“Stay,” you beseech, your voice husky with exhaustion. 

He hesitates for a moment. Murders you with anticipation, though he very well intends to stay. With a smile curving his lips, Sylus peels off his shirt, clad only in his trousers, as he slips beneath the comforter behind you. You settle against him, winding his arms around your middle. And you notch your hips up against him as if you’ve always fit there like a puzzle piece. 

You wiggle your bottom mischievously, but he stills you, reasoning that he’ll never take advantage of you while you’re inebriated. With a haughty pout, you give up on your efforts to seduce him.

You’re content with him holding you like this, stroking over the skin of your wrist with his thumb as you surrender your consciousness to the pretty girls of sleep, ushered to them by his even breaths at the shell of your ear.

[wilwheaton]

All you had to do was ignore the fuckin’ encampment for a month. Maybe make a bland statement. Have campus security issue a citation or two. Declare that a committee is going to look into things. Saul Alinsky writes that “the action is in the reaction.” The campus encampments don’t work if you don’t react to them. And not reacting to student speech on campus is usually one of the things that university administrators do best. Instead, here we are. Snipers on the roofs of major universities. Encampments springing up everywhere. Actual cops arresting students and faculty. Enough of a spotlight that every university administration is worried that shit might go sideways. Republican politicians gleefully egging it on, crowing about “chaos on campus.” (Because the more this moment resembles 1968 on tv, the better.) The conflict has expanded. Colleges are passing draconian measures to clamp down on campus protest. Students are responding to those actions, and responding to the police violence. The action is in the OVER-reaction. The semester will end soon, but it now seems more likely that it will form an ellipses instead of an ending. I’m worried for my students. They are smart and they are brave and they are outraged. They are facing batons and tear gas. This escalation did not have to happen. This escalation will not end well. I blame Republican legislators. But I also expected them to behave this way. Tom Cotton is exactly how we thought he was. Elise Stefanik’s outrage is scripted, typecast. They have not been subtle about their views or intentions. I did expect more from University administrators — Shafik especially. All she had to do was act like an average university administrator. Make noncommittal promises, and wait. Now this is spiraling. And I sit here in this coffeehouse, tapping away at the keyboard. Hoping my students are safe. Hoping I taught them well enough. Wishing that the people who run universities would learn anything at all.

The only thing university administrators had to do was NOTHING.

[infiniteglitterfall]

my all-time favorite Palestinian activist

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Hamza Howidy (@hamzahowidyy)

"I think [reaching Greece in an overcrowded boat no one knew how to drive] was one of the happiest moments in my life, because I survived. And I stayed in Greece -- and I was supposed to stay there to apply for my asylum and get my life there.

"Unfortunately, with the atrocities of October the 7th and my activism, the threats I received when I was in Greece by some radical pro-Palestinian folks, I decided to leave.

"And based on a friend's recommendation, I decided to go to Germany because it's somehow considered safer than the other European countries and there is somehow enough space for a free speech here."

"Voicing dissent [in Gaza] was not an option. Hamas has a no tolerance policy for criticism or objections to any of its policies. Even discussion is forbidden.

"Any journalist who objects or criticizes a policy is suspended and investigated. Demonstrations are strictly prohibited. Freedom of speech in Gaza is a fantasy.

"The dirtiest tool Hamas uses to silence citizens is character assassination through online campaigns accusing dissenters of working for hostile bodies or committing immoral acts.

"Hamas also routinely breaks into the homes of people deemed disloyal and humiliates them in front of their family and neighbors.

"...A huge social gap opened between the wealthy elite who belong to Hamas and the rest of the population who were increasingly living in driving poverty. Public sector jobs were limited to Hamas members, and taxes were increasing on necessities day by day, even as the cost of living skyrocketed.

"Many of us could no longer bear it. I was one of them.

"Though we knew dissenters were subject to imprisonment, torture, and even murder, in 2019, a few of us decided to join forces and form a protest to voice our opposition to Hamas. We called it the 'We Want to Live' demonstration.

"Our demonstration elicited an extreme reaction by Hamas. They violently cracked down on the protests and we were all arrested.

"I will never forget my first day in jail—walking up the steps listening to screams of my colleagues, most of them fellow students, who had been arrested before me. I was held under arrest for 21 days and subjected to various types of torture. I was beaten with batons and sprayed with cold water in the late winter night hours.

"My friends didn't fare much better. A Christian friend was in the next cell and I could hear them screaming at him, 'You are a Christian and you don't like the situation? Then go to another country!'

"After we were released, most of those who participated in the demonstrations emigrated away from Gaza. There was no hope for any change in the current situation. We suffered ongoing harassment by Hamas members.

"Some died trying to leave, like Tamer Al-Sultan, a pharmacist whose crime was asking for a reconciliation between Hamas and Fatah. [The political party of the Palestinian president, which Hamas violently kicked out of Gaza in a 2007 coup.]

"People's living conditions got worse. The wealth gap expanded even further. We protested again in 2023 and were crushed in the same manner as in 2019.

"I was arrested again by Hamas last year and held for 14 days, this time in a small cell with no bed, no window, and barely enough space to sit down. I was released on bail on the condition that I not take part in any further demonstrations.

"I still expressed my opinion occasionally on social media, but the arrest warrants after each post and the continuous threats from Hamas members and accusations of treason made me lose hope that I could make any kind of change.

"I left Gaza in August [2023] to seek a better future for myself and my family."

"I know firsthand that when ordinary Gazans like myself protested against Hamas, there was no media attention.

"No human rights organizations demanded the release of prisoners held for months in Hamas prisons, not to mention those who were tortured by Hamas, and even killed by Hamas—like Issam Al-Saaffein, who was killed under torture in Hamas's jails.

"This trend has continued during the present war. Since October 7, hundreds of Gazans have been killed by Hamas' failing rockets. Hamas has confiscated the food, fuel, and medicine sent to Gaza, and they did not stop here.

"13-year-old Ahmad Breka was shot in the head by Hamas in Rafah while attempting to collect humanitarian aid. Others were fortunate because they were merely shot in the legs by Hamas while attempting to grab humanitarian goods that Hamas stole and kept in their facilities.

"These inhumane acts, along with the agony that Gazans have undergone since October, prompted many to demonstrate anew during this war. They demonstrated in Khan-Younis in front of Yahya Sinwar's house; others protested in the north, asking that Hamas free the captives and cease the war.

"They received the same response from Hamas that I did: They were fired upon.

"And once again, the global media largely overlooked these crimes.

"Daring to take some food in the midst of a war or protesting Hamas isn't the only activity Hamas has persecuted us Gazans for; attempting to play any part of delivering this aid to those in need, or even considering playing any role the day after the war, is enough to get anybody the death penalty from Hamas.

"That's what happened to the Abu-Amro tribe leader, along with two members of his tribe who were killed by Hamas militants a few days ago.

"A couple of months ago, they beheaded the head of a clan leader in the north of Gaza and issued a statement on social media: 'We murdered him, and we will do so to anyone who stands against us and cooperates with Israel.'

"Others who publicly criticized Hamas during the war were reported missing."

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

can you please feed me some Bonten Ran headcanons?

Here are some!!!

Takes a lunch break everyday and refuses to be flexible with it, even if it's an emergency. *Ran calmly sipping coffee while everyone's fighting behind him*

Ran insists on taking Kakucho out for dinner a lot and to clubs (2nd baby brother) 

Ran uses Mikey's taiyaki and dorayaki weakness a lot. He will have them on hand to offer Mikey if he starts getting grumpy

He secretly likes it when the police and media publish photos of them (he normally makes sure he looks perfect for this)

Ran and Rindou find Kakucho and Sanzu's rivalry amusing (they're both team Kakucho though)

He has his old baton hanging up in his office

Ran is kinda the glue that holds everyone together sometimes, he's very good at diffusing tension and breaking up any disagreements. 

He wears gloves a lot 

Does the whole good cop bad cop game with Rindou while interrogating people 

Spends a lot of time sleeping in his office, rip to anyone who tries to wake him (normally the other executives make some expandable lower member do it).

He prefers to sit in the front in the car when a group of them goes out (frequently dodges the driving responsibilities) 

[0-shutdown-0]

Hi! I wanted to create a collaboration of notes I had on Steb and his contribution to the plot of Arcane, also posted this on reddit, so here is everything from stuff I saw to things I hypothesized -

This is Steb:

You can look on his little fandom wiki tag for stuff that I don't touch BUT ESSENTIALLY

1 He appears in episode 1 as the silent officer who pokes Loris while Maddie talks to Vi. And from what I get from the conversation is that Steb had to have worked on the force long enough to be given Maddie as a junior officer that shadows him. An interesting combo considering he turned out to be reserved care and Maddie ended up being false cheer.

2 He's well trained in close combat and seems to prefer it on multiple occasions.

At the very beginning he holds a collapsible baton that seems to be geared more into disarming people or incapacitating them. During the attack on the memorial where he's not only the first to act but later when he reunites with Maddie and their surrounded by Shimmer mutants she seems to have given him a blade that Steb wasted no time in stabbing into the closest mutant. And it develops into him using dual single hand batons when he's enlisted on the strike team.

(We later see all mutants have spears in their head so I can't tell if he killed or not. But I do think he accidently killed the man that shot the flare because there was blood coming out, the mouth was parted open, and both Mel and Steb looked shocked.)

It isn't until episode 9 during the finale we see him shooting a gun that I think it resembles his decision that now he really doesn't have a choice other than to kill the enemy and save the platoon he was given to command (NOTE: I believe everyone he was given to command all ended up surviving) or die trying to knock people out and reduce casualties. I find it interesting especially since he's a medic in addition to being an enforcer.

3 HE IS SO AWARE OF EVERY LITTLE THING

Complete distrust to the Noxus when they arrive? Check. Wide eyed and stunned at Maddie and Caitlyn's decision to join the Noxus then literally checks out like Loris for a long while? Check. He's literally the person to see everything go down and just decides to assumably remove himself from the equation for the next few episodes before being called upon again AND I WISH I KNEW WHERE HE WENT (which has now led to me writing a fic but anyways)

4 Interesting things that I need to point out

-In the end of episode 1 where the strike team is introduced, Steb is the only one to not get a Hextech upgrade to his weaponry,

I assume this is from some type of moral code he continues to have where he refuses extreme force. Additionally, and its probably a stretch, the screen glitches over Maddie and Loris but focuses on him symbolizing he's the only one out of the three of them to live.

-His ears and his little cheek fin frills respond to EVERYTHING. Kind of reminding me of a fish's lateral line when it responds to vibrations in the water and stuff but anyways-

Considering he's some type of Vastya fishfolk, or half of cuz he has eyebrows and hair, it's interesting. I saw someone comment that the fishfolk had a connection to the Arcane and it's magic AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO COOL TO EXPAND ON BECAUSE IT MAKES SENSE. That could have been the reason why he averted to using Hextech advancements. And the more in tune senses helping him stay alive.

As well as explain why he was the first to act like in E1 and E3 when the strike team meets Heenox.

- Speaking of E3, you can literally see him not even look up at the murder dolls which includes everyone's death or injury but his coming true. And when he does treat Heenox not only does he see the effects of the Grey but when Caitlyn loads her gun to shoot the man Steb is turning to Vi like a "Get your woman???" 

He seemed to loose trust in Caitlyn there, as I noted he was the only one to look back when their group split as Vi and Caitlyn went off to face Jinx alone.

I can one hundred percent imagine Steb getting angry as a medic when he realizes he was kept in the dark about the use of the Grey as well, because he's not only the one who has to treat it but also has to live with the realization they did more harm to innocents and Jinx was in the right for rerouting all the vents they opened to release it.

- It appears that he is selectively mute, I assume that is has something to do with his biology since Jericho, the street vendor showed in S1 and later in S2, doesn't speak either but is seen being able to laugh and yell just like Steb. Personally think Steb doesn't speak much because its hard to do/hurts.

Which would have been so interesting to have been explored or at least acknowledged because it would have hit so much harder when in E9 we presumably hear him shout for his unit to get up and move when his leadership was needed most. 

-Maddie's betrayal had to have hurt so bad for him. She was his shadow, the one he was suppose to teach and in the end her ambition for power took hold of her and was the reason for her end. And for him to be someone so observant and careful and let that go right past him must have killed a part of him because he probably excused some of her behaviors. Like how Maddie had called Vi "one of the good ones" when referencing her origin from the Undercity. OR even when they were leaving and when Steb motioned for her to follow him Maddie only went when she heard another officer in the distance call for her.

It definitely could have been expanded on if the Arcane team was given a bigger budget for him to sign and Maddie to mistranslate or even ignore his authority because of his disability. Like, she cares for him but not enough to respect him.

I feel like when Caitlyn woke up to see Steb sitting there that pain was shown heavily but not enough. 

Anyways!

If you made it to the end of my rant, yay, this is all the deep diving I'm using for a fic and I hope it helps, if you have any thoughts to add please do!

[majesticarlette]

Enemies

Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir x Ladybug!Reader

"Surrender your Miraculous, Chat Noir!" You shouted as you glare at him from above on top of the Eiffel Tower.

"Dream on, Ladybug." He smirked and fires multiple Cataclysms in your direction. You used your yo-yo as a shield to protect yourself and fled the Eiffel Tower.

The city of Paris is once again troubled by a megakuma and after you just de-evilized the butterfly, a wild Chat Noir appeared. It's exhausting to deal with two birds with one stone but it's worth it. He was able to expand his powers, making the fights between you more difficult. He could fire multiple but limited cataclysms now. If he expanded his own powers, you sure also did. It's only fair to fight a lion if you're also a lion.

Chat Noir followed you as you escape the Eiffel Tower. Fortunately, he isn't as sharp as a knife, and with your street-smarts, you were able to lose him.

"This is taking too long, I have a date later." You groaned and you activated your second lucky charm, and it gave you a superglue. At this point, you're not going to question how it is used, but to figure out what to do about it fast.

You came back to where the fight was and scanned the environment, and you didn't spot anything to use the superglue with.

"You sure ain't good at hiding, huh, Ladybug?" You turned around and saw Chat spinning his baton, and you finally knew how to end this thing at once.

"Eh, you didn't even catch up to me given your cat abilities. Lame." You rolled your eyes trying to provoke him. He charges at you, and you two get into a fight worse than a catfight.

You love angering the cat in front of you, and the way he's slowly losing his cool from you dodging his scratches satiates an itch in your brain. You don't really hate him in the beginning, you actually wanted to cooperate with this kitty but something about the two of you just don't click. He doesn't plan his punches, he's impulsive, arrogant, doesn't like getting told what to do, and claiming he's a solo flight in fights.

Even actual cats don't behave this way, they won't exert much energy for this crap. Ugh!

Chat Noir growls and starts exerting more strength in his moves trying to bring you down.

"Oh... I see sweat, Kitty. Are you having a hard time? You think you're the only cat who's gonna lose to a bug?" You laugh earning a yell of rage from him. At this point in the fight, you're just dodging his offenses and waiting for a sign to use your lucky charm.

"You think you're all that?! You can't even defeat the megakuma by yourself!"

"Please, you think you did anything? You acted like a cat who broke a glass and thinks he did something great. In short you made it way worse!" He managed to scratch your suit earning a clean incision on your arm. You flinched at the sensation and let out a gasp.

Distracted, Chat Noir took this advantage to reach his staff from behind. He extended it to knock you out of the fight.

You flew from the impact and held onto his staff. You groaned from the pain and checked yourself from any more damages. As you were standing up, Chat Noir used his extended staff to knock you out of your balance, once again falling on your ass.

He chuckled at your state retracting his staff. "You think highly of yourself--"

"And you don't?!--" You hiss

"Shh! I'm talking!" He glared at you. "This is why you're so hard to deal with, you're so stubborn!" As he was about to rant his troubles about you, he saw you wiping blood from your injured arm. His eyes grew wide, did he cause this? If he did... Why would he even care? You deserved it! You don't believe in him! Is it deep, though? It might get infected...

He shook his thoughts and tried to put his staff back but it won't budge. He furrowed his eyebrows and held onto the other end to try and get it off the other but both ended up stuck. He groans in annoyance while putting much force to get it off, yet no luck.

You laughed at the scene and stood from where you were. "I told you, you don't plan ahead. I guess curiosity really killed the cat." You used your yo-yo strings to wrap around his ankles and yanked him up on the street lamp.

"Admit defeat?" You held up the super glue you used on his staff and pinched the cheeks of his upside down face. He only furrowed his brows further. "You know your face could get stuck on that expression--" As things were getting your way, beeping was heard from the two of you. "Not now!" You retracted your yo-yo from him. "This isn't over!" You ran away, leaving him on his own.

You let out a sigh after de-transforming back to your civilian self. You were exhausted from fighting two people today. Why can't Chat Noir surrender his miraculous so you can give it to the person who deserves it, like Marinette! Why did Master Shifu give it to him to begin with?

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone was alarmed. "Oh, no! I totally forgot!" You really need to have a hero/life balance, how will you get to know your other half if you always prioritize hero duties?

You ran your heart out to the park to meet your date today. Panting, you scanned the area to see any signs of him but he was nowhere to be seen. Yeah, he already went home, it's really rude to make your date wait for a while, he might've felt embarrassed.

Sighing for the second time, you turned around and decided to walk home. "(Y/n)! Wait!" The familiar voice alerted you and looked around for the source, and there you saw him, Adrien. He was running towards you.

"I'm sorry, I was late! We hid from the megakuma and only stepped out when it was clear." He panted, catching his breath. Yeah, you and Chat Noir really contributed to his lateness.

"Are you okay? Were you hurt from the villain?" He cupped your cheeks checking you for any injuries.

"N-no! I'm fine, really!" You tucked your hair behind your ear, feeling flustered by his presence.

Little did you know, Adrien noticed your arm injury. It's really identical to what he did to Ladybug.

Yeah, you did not only forget one thing.

[doorhine]

Here’s how things stand on Tuesday, February 20, 2024:

Fighting and humanitarian crisis

Israel’s assault in Gaza has killed more than 29,000 Palestinians since October 7, the territory’s Ministry of Health said on Monday, marking another grim milestone in one of the deadliest and most destructive military campaigns in recent history.

Footage verified by Al Jazeera shows Palestinian people fleeing to take cover after coming under attack from Israeli forces as they waited for humanitarian aid in northern Gaza.

The Israeli military released a video on Monday showing what is believed to be the youngest captive, his brother and mother being led through the streets of the southern Gaza city of Khan Younis. Al Jazeera could not independently verify the Israeli claims.

Separately, Benny Gantz, a member of Netanyahu’s three-man war cabinet, warned that the offensive would expand to Rafah if the captives were not freed by the start of the holy month of Ramadan, expected around March 10.

Meanwhile, with thousands of Palestinians detained by Israel, an Israeli human rights group reported that Palestinians inside Israeli prisons face daily violence from guards. Physicians for Human Rights said that Israeli guards enter cells and beat inmates with batons, kicks and fists without provocation in abuse it said could amount to torture.

The war has driven around 80 percent of the Palestinians in Gaza from their homes and left a quarter of the population starving, according to UN officials.

Read more

[soothsayersblog]

Streetwise Security's Expandable 5' Bo Staff: A Game-Changer for Self-Defense and Training!

Introduction:Welcome to the Bounty Hunter Store, where innovation meets self-defense! Today, we’re thrilled to introduce the Streetwise Security Expandable 5′ Bo Staff, a cutting-edge addition to our arsenal that’s guaranteed to revolutionize your approach to self-defense and martial arts training. Unveiling the “Bo on the Go”: Streetwise Security Products takes pride in presenting the “Bo on…

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |6|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Six: Knight In Shining Armor

Summary: Tension rises between you and Tara when you, once again, find yourself protecting her—old habits showing themselves

Warning(s): Swearing, angst, Fr*nkie, grief (if you squint), intoxication, mentions of social anxiety & underage drinking

Notes: Took a while but it's finally here! Also throwing it out there that my face claim for Charlotte is Sofia Wylie

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

Tara was walking down the streets of Manhattan, finally done with her classes for the day. It had been a long week and Tara was just thankful it was finally the weekend. She walked with one earbud in while her other hand subconsciously clenched her keys in her right pocket. It was a habit she had picked up not too long after what happened back in Woodsboro; that plus the pepper spray, taser, whistle, and expandable baton Sam always made her take before leaving the house, meant she was more than ready to defend herself if needed.

As she continued to walk, she felt something fury brush up against her. She looked down to find a gray cat, brushing itself against her. Tara smiled to herself before crouching down to get a better look at the cat. “Hey, there…do you have a name?” She looked for a collar but didn’t find one. 

Just then, the sky let out a loud grumble. She looked up at the gray skies then back at the cat, thinking. “I can’t just leave you out here to get drenched. Come on, let me take you home,” she gently picked up the cat, who didn’t protest.

By the time she got home, she was soaked. Her mascara was running and her hair was damp. She was freezing cold; she had wrapped her jacket around the cat so he wouldn’t get wet.

Sam began to walk out from the kitchen as she spoke, “Hey Tar– you’re soaked.”

“Yeah no shit, Sam.”

“Is… Is that a cat?”

“...Yes…” Tara said with a sheepish smile; she had completely forgotten about the ‘needing to convince Sam to keep him’ part.

“Tara, no.”

“Sam, yes.” 

Sam sighed as she made a quick trip to the bathroom, coming back with a towel and wrapping it around Tara. “You can barely take care of yourself–”

“Not true!”

“–How do you expect to take care of a whole ass cat?” 

Tara rolled her eyes, still holding the cat protectively in her arms. “Come on, I’m not a kid. I can take care of a cat. I’ll buy his food, change his litter box—all that stuff!” 

“I don’t know…”

“Please, Sammy,” Tara begged, pouting out her bottom lip. She gave Sam the same look she’d give her whenever she wanted more cookies when they were younger.

“Alright—alright, fine, you win,” Sam huffed and an excited smile broke out on Tara’s face.

“Yes!” Tara looked down at the cat victoriously.

“But Tara, I swear, I better not step in cat shit.”

“No cat shit. Got it.”

—

Dook.

That’s what Tara named her new found cat—named after the Babadook. It had been only a few days since she found him and he’s earned the title of, “my little menace,” from Tara. In the few days Dook has been here he has scratched Chad five times, ripped up Mindy’s sweater in five different spots, and constantly hisses at Sam during the most random times. Why? Sam has no idea, but Tara made the theory it was, “just to mess with her.”

So far, the only person Dook has been even remotely soft to was Tara. She didn’t mind that at all; she enjoyed coming home to Dook’s company—her room feeling less empty than it usually feels.

It was the following Tuesday; she sat not too far from the door as she re-watched Fear Street 1994 while waiting for you. Just as she was about to check her phone for the time, she heard a couple knocks on the door. Before Sam could call out for Tara to answer it, Tara jumped up and made her way to the door. Sam only raised an eyebrow before going back to what she was doing.

Tara counted five seconds in her head before opening the door.

“Took you long enough,” she said with a slight eye roll. 

“Afternoon to you too, Carpenter. So, you're gonna let me in or…”

“Well you’re as patient as ever,” Tara remarked sarcastically as she opened the door wider, letting you inside. You placed your bag down, sitting on the couch and taking out your notes as Tara sat a couple cushions over.

“So, I was thinking we could start with Friday’s notes and work our way to today since I couldn’t make Friday—” You suddenly heard Tara let out a dry chuckle, causing you to raise your eyebrows as you looked at her.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Ms. Carpenter?” You quipped, looking up from your papers and at her. 

“Oh nothing…just that you’ve been missing a lot of study sessions lately and–”

“I wouldn’t call two a lot–”

“–and I don’t know why I have to suffer through extra work all because you wanna swap spit.”

You let out a dry laugh, looking at the younger Carpenter before realizing she was dead serious. 

“Oh—Oh you’re serious? Well, how about those two whole weeks you missed over some petty reason—I don't know what the reasoning was, but I know for a fact it was a hundred percent petty.”

“You know what, screw these notes,” Tara said before grabbing your binder from you.

“Hey—Hey! Wait just a minute there—what are you–?”

“We’re watching a movie,” she informed—not asking—after shutting your binder, putting it somewhere you couldn’t reach unless you stood up and walked to it. 

“We're a week and a half behind on study sessions.”

“Not my problem.”

“It’s literally your problem—our problem, actually.”

“Gosh, could you just not stress out for, like, two seconds? You’ll be fine. Now, a little birdy told me you like The Nightmare Before Christmas?” Tara told you, reaching for the remote.

“Yeah… I do.”

“Great. We’ll watch that.”

You didn’t need to know how boring she found the movie; she wasn’t looking at the screen much anyways.

—

Sam sat in her room, reading her book as she enjoyed the silence—wait. It’s silent. Why is it so quiet? It’s never so quiet when you’re over. The most she’s heard in the last thirty minutes were hushed voices, but nothing loud enough she could make out. She suddenly started to think about what could possibly be going on in the other—unsupervised—room. She could no longer concentrate on her book as her protective side took over.

You slightly leaned forward as you watched the screen with all your attention. Tara couldn’t help but wear a small smile when she noticed your intense focus. She pulled out of her gaze when she noticed you make a double take at your foot; just then, she saw a certain furry haired animal brushing up against your leg. 

To her surprise, Dook didn’t claw at you. As a matter of fact, he seemed…fond of you? 

“Hello, there…” You greeted Dook before gently picking him up. If anybody else had picked him up, they would’ve been clawed at in seconds. Tara furrowed her eyebrows as she watched you interact with her cat; the same cat who’s been an absolute ass to anybody who wasn’t her—well, before now.

You scratched him behind his left ear, causing him to let out a satisfied purr. It was then when you finally said something to Tara. “Since when did you have a cat?”

“Got him pretty recently, actually. He was just roaming the streets of Manhattan and had no collar so that’s how he ended up here.”

“Well, does this adorable face have a name?” You asked, looking at the cat as you complimented him.

Tara failed to fight another smile, showing off her dimples as she answered, “His name’s Dook.”

“Like, Babadook?”

“Yeah…” She watched as you continued to be sweet with Dook; he sat comfortably in your lap, looking a lot less grumpy than he usually is.

Suddenly, Sam abruptly enters the living room, causing Dook to hiss at her before moving back into his original position on your lap. 

“Sam, hey. Something wrong?” Tara asked her older sister.

“Uh, I just wanted to check up on you guys; it’s been pretty quiet.”

“Oh, yeah, we decided to watch a movie instead.”

Sam looked at the scene, recognizing the movie—her curiosity increased.

“Nightmare Before Christmas? But I thought you–”

“Have no harsh judgment regarding the movie? Yeah. I know.”

“No, I mean, don’t you find it really bor–”

“Entertaining? Yes, Sam. We know this.” Tara let out a dry cough, hoping Sam would just drop the topic all together.

“Okay…well I’m going to order some pizza. Are you staying over for dinner, Y/N?” Sam inquired, moving on, much to Tara’s relief. 

You looked at the time, thinking as you did, before looking at Sam from where you sat. “If it’s no trouble.”

“Of course not. I’ll order it right now,” she said before walking away, pulling out her phone as she did so.

“What was that about?” You asked Tara with a raised eyebrow, referring to what her and Sam were going back and forth about. 

Tara opened her mouth, not even sure what she was about to say, when she heard someone knocking. “Oh, I should probably get that,” Tara quickly got up to make her way to the door, relieved at being excused from answering.

“What are you guys doing here?” She immediately asked after opening the door to find Chad, Mindy, Anika and Ethan on the other side of the door.

“Good to see you too, T,” Mindy quipped.

Tara rolled her eyes, “I just mean, I wasn’t expecting you guys today.”

“We made plans last week for movie night.”

“And since it’s my turn to choose, we’re watching 10 Things I Hate About You,” Anika added in a cheery tone. 

“Um,” Tara looked over her shoulder to you, before looking back at her friends, “One second.” 

“Wait, who were you loo–” Before Chad could finish his question, Tara shut the door, making her way towards you.

“So, uh–”

“Heard the whole thing.”

Tara lightly nodded, holding her wrist in her other hand behind her back as she continued. “Does this mean… you’re going to go?” 

You were about to say yes but the words caught in your throat when you finally looked at the expression Tara wore.

You thought for a moment, putting down the bag you were just packing.

“Do you want me to?”

“Well…want’s a strong word–”

“Yes or no, Tara,” you said, looking at her.

Tara mumbled something incoherent, looking away from your gaze. 

“You’re gonna have to speak up, mumbles,” you teased the younger Carpenter.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “I wan—I want you to stay. Happy?” She huffed, not even sure why she puts up with you.

You smile smugly at her, “Fine. ‘Guess I’m staying.” 

—

It was awkward—at least, for you, it was. Tara and her friends seemed to get each other, which is great for them, but you felt almost like a chaperone the entire time you were there. You tried to distance yourself as much as possible and when you did find yourself surrounded by the group of friends, you stuck by Anika. 

You always found yourself gravitating toward a familiar presence whenever you got caught in social situations like this. You spent most of your own fourteenth birthday party—that you didn’t even want—attached to Henry’s side, following him around like a puppy. You often stuck by people who you found comfort in. You’ve known Henry since daycare years and Anika has been there since she’s entered your life. 

You look at the time to see only an hour has passed as you sigh to yourself. Why were you here again?

“Hey,” you heard Tara say, opening her bedroom door to find you on her bed.

Oh, that’s why. 

“Hey.”

“You’re not enjoying yourself,” she said as a matter of fact, feeling a little defeated for some reason.

“Hm? Oh no—no this is, uh, great. Yeah, I just love hearing about the same football story over and over again while your curly haired friend continues to make passes at me…so fun,” your voice couldn’t be any more sarcastic. It started out as you wanting to lie, telling her it was going alright—truly! But you can’t help but be your usual sarcastic self, especially around Tara. 

“You’re having the worst time ever, aren’t you?”

You looked at her apologetic expression, exhaling as you adjusted your posture a bit. Tara walks over to sit across from you. 

“Look…Tar, it’s nothing personal. I’m just—I’m just not good with this stuff.”

“What do you mean?” Tara inquired genuinely.

You sighed, pressing down on your thumbnail with your index finger as you spoke. “I’m not good with…unfamiliarity I guess, or whatever. And—and socializing and all that shit just doesn’t come naturally to me—at least not like it does for people like Anika, and Chad—or you.”

Tara continued to listen to your words, giving you her full attention as you opened up to her. You blinked back at Tara, feeling like you just overshared far too much.

“This was stupid. Forget it.” You got up to leave but just as you reached for the door handle, you felt slender fingers wrap themselves around your wrist.

“It’s not stupid,” you heard Tara speak. You turned your head to look at her. “If you ever want to talk about it more… I’m here. That won’t change.” 

You swallowed, taking in Tara’s words as you processed what she was saying. You didn’t trust your voice, only settling for a light nod before leaving Tara’s bedroom.

By the time Tara also left—waiting a couple minutes, wanting to give you some time—you had already made your escape. 

When you got home that night, the feeling of dread took over you. It felt like there was barbed wire wrapped around your throat as you tried your hardest not to cry, because you knew if you did there was a chance you’d never stop. Memories of him flashed through your mind as you tried to shake them away, but it was no use. No matter how much you tried to escape it, Dewey's voice continued to ring in your head.

Dewey placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, looking at you with  genuine eyes as he spoke, “I’m here. That won’t change.”

—

Tara looked around with furrowed eyebrows, looking at the sea of people. She was currently at a Halloween frat party; she chose to go with a pirate costume this year. 

Tara was feeling indecisive about her costume this Halloween but then she got the idea when she remembered something you told her; for your first seven Halloweens, your mom had you dressed up as a pirate. Tara could tell you would not be wearing a pirate costume again any time soon.

Because of your high-sea past, Tara thought dressing up as a pirate would be a fun way to mess with you—well, if you were actually here. You were nowhere in sight. Tara squinted her eyes as she tried looking through the crowd—still no sign of you. 

Mindy noticed her friend looking around the room from her seat, which was odd. By this time Tara would be drinking, dancing, or even playing beer pong with Chad—but not sitting down.

Before Mindy could ask anything, Tara turned to Anika, asking her something that answered Mindy’s unspoken question.

“Hey, where’s Y/N?” Tara asked, her voice was slightly raised due to the blaring music. 

“At home. She couldn't—or rather refused to make it,” Anika answered the younger Carpenter.

“Oh,” Tara let out, turning to look ahead. 

Mindy and Anika glanced at each other, already being on the same page. “Why? Missed her?” Mindy inquired, smirking behind her beer bottle right before taking a sip.

Tara lightly scoffed, “Pfft no.” Tara dramatically rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

“Y/N?” Tara heard Anika say; she immediately sat up, uncrossing her arms and fixing her demeanor. Her expression instantly dropped when she saw who you were with. 

She did not know much about Charlotte. She seemed nice though. Nice enough. Tara heard from Anika that you’ve been “hanging out” with Charlotte for a few weeks now but haven’t exactly assigned labels yet. That made sense; you were never one for labels. 

She suddenly snapped out of her gaze when she realized you and Charlotte were walking towards them. 

“Hey, guys,” you said in an anything but enthusiastic tone.

“Hey, Y/N. Thought you weren’t coming,” Anika pointed out, not unkindly.

“Me too but this one,” you pointed with your thumb to Charlotte, “is quite the debater.”

“I was captain of the debate team back in high school,” Charlotte smirked. 

“Of course you were,” there was a slight teasing tone in your voice as you and Charlotte shared a look. Tara didn’t like that. She didn’t like that at all. You teased her. You gave her looks nobody else knew the meaning behind except you two.

Tara cleared her throat, causing you and Charlotte to look away from each other and at her. “So, you're gonna actually act like you’re here as a college student or a chaperone?” Tara joked and a small but soft smile grazed your face. 

“The night’s still young, Carpenter,” you replied, the smile she had been missing never faltering.

“Oh! Daisy’s here, I’m going to say hi. Catch you later?” You heard Charlotte speak from beside you. 

You looked over at her and lightly nodded, “Okay.” She placed a quick kiss on your cheek, catching you off guard, before going to her friend. 

You sat down in the seat between Tara and Anika—who was sitting in Mindy’s lap—and exhaled, already exhausted from being here.

“You’ve got,” Anika said, pointing to your cheek where there was a lipstick stain. You raised your left hand to your right cheek as your roommate shook her head.

“No the other—” You, once again, completely dodged the spot she was pointing at and Tara groaned.

“Dude, you’re helpless,” she said with an eye roll before reaching over and wiping the spot for you. She softly rubbed your left cheek as you looked at her. It didn’t take long for you to notice how close her face was to yours.

“There…” Tara trailed off, suddenly growing shy when she too realized how close her face was to yours.

Mindy and Anika look at each other before getting up. “We’re gonna dance. You kids behave,” Mindy said before walking away with her arm wrapped around Anika. 

“Let me guess… you’re a homicidal maniac?” She looked at your casual attire.

You smiled at her, tilting your head back and turning it to look at her, “You know me too well.”

You both shared a short laugh before it went silent again. Suddenly, you two realized this is the first you’ve both spoken to each other since that night at Tara’s place.

“Hey, so, uh, you didn’t say goodbye…” Tara said sheepishly, refusing to meet your gaze as she played with the hem of her costume. She didn’t have to specify what she was talking about, you just knew.

“Oh yeah, I was just tired so I decided to call it a night.”

Tara nodded understandingly as you looked down at her hands that toyed with the fabric of her costume. 

“So…was this,” you gestured to her costume, “planned or…? You both laughed again before she answered you.

“Course’ not. I just…happened to have decided on being a pirate a couple days after you told me your ‘first seven years of dread’ story.” Another laugh was shared between you two.

“Well, you look good,” you complimented. Tara couldn’t fight the heat that rushed to her cheeks as the compliment hit her ears. She was about to respond when suddenly you felt your phone vibrate.

You pulled out your phone, reading the text to yourself before putting it back in your pocket.

“It’s Charlotte, she wants me to meet her by the pool.”

“Oh. Yeah, totally.”

“Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, princess.” You smiled at her as you sat up from your seat, Tara’s head tracked your movement. 

“Me? I would never.”

—

One thing. 

You asked her for one, very simple, thing. And now? Now, Mindy and Anika were calling you back inside because apparently Tara had the luck of being near Frankie of all people tonight. 

By the time you made your way inside—as quickly as you possibly could—you could see Chad also trying to stop the situation. You made your way over to the staircase, appearing from behind Chad.

“Let’s stay down here,” you said—not asking. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Frankie said, causing you to let out a humorless chuckle.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, you did,” you remarked, feeling your hands start to ball up into tight fists. Before you could say anything else, Tara walks down a couple steps and is now standing in front of you as Chad keeps a careful eye on Frankie. “No, Y/N it’s fine. I want to,” you heard her say in a drunken voice. Far too drunk to consent. 

Frankie walks down, getting close to your face as he wears a disgusting grin. “Yeah, see Y/N? It’s fine. She wants to.” He turned around, roughly grabbing Tara’s arm. His grip causes Tara to let out a sound of pain, tripping on the stairs.

Without a second thought you pull him by the collar of his shirt, pushing him roughly against the wall; picture frames come crashing down but don’t give them a second look as hear glass shatter. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” You pushed your right arm harder against his throat, pinning him against the wall as your free hand tightly gripped his shirt. “Serousily, where the fuck do you get off!” 

Chad checked on Tara as you had Frankie pinned to the wall. You wanted to hurt him. You wanted to hurt him so bad. What was stopping you? You could do it. You look down at the shards of glass, itching to grab a piece. Suddenly, you saw that sinister smile. His sinister smile. That’s why you couldn’t.

But when you looked back at Frankie, you quickly forgot about everything that was stopping you. All you had to do was press into his throat a little harder and–

“I got it from here, Y/N.” You turned around to see Sam holding a taser. You immediately got the hint, getting off of Frankie.

“Hi! Sorry to interrupt, I'm just going to tase you really quick,” Sam said before tasing Frankie right in the crotch.

“Fuck!” He dropped to his knees, holding onto his stomach as he groaned in pain.

“You bitch!” He yelled, earning a swift kick between his legs—making the pain worse—from you.

“Watch your mouth,” you said before making your way towards Tara. “You okay?”

“It’s that psycho girl from reddit!” Someone shouted from the crowd that surrounded you. 

“Hey, don’t you have something better to do rather than stand around here all day?” Anika shouted at the crowd as Mindy shooed them away.

—

Tara walks ahead of the group as she feels her frustration take over. Sam tries to catch up to her as she calls for her, “Tara, will you stop!” Tara rolls her eyes, refusing to stop as she responds. “I cannot believe you did that, you embarrassed me!” 

“I was trying to help you!” 

Tara suddenly turns around, “And look what happened!” Her voice raises as it runs hot with anger. “You're out of my life for five years then you can't even leave me alone for five seconds,” Tara shouts with a throw of her arms. 

“Because you're not dealing with what happened to us. Have you ever gone to see the counselor at least once?”

You looked at Tara, studying every expression she wore on her face. You wanted her to be okay. You knew it wasn’t that simple, but you still couldn’t help but want it. You hated seeing her like this. You never liked seeing her like this.

You checked up on her when she was at the hospital, relieved she was asleep when you got there. You didn’t want her to think it meant anything. You were just making sure she still had a pulse. Who else would you get into fights with?  That’s what you told yourself, 'cause it’s true! You weren't overly concerned or anything. But it was the bare minimum amount of concern to have when you found out somebody you knew was recently used as somebody else's pin cushion. 

She’s Tara Carpenter, she’ll bounce back in no time, you told yourself. You can still remember the shock on all her friends' faces when they saw you sitting by her hospital bedside. They entered the room and when you saw them, you immediately stood up.

“Sorry, I just found out about what happened and wanted to check on her.” You put your hands in your pocket, feeling uncomfortable with the eyes on you. You couldn’t tell what was going through their heads. “But she’s breathing, so I’ll get going now.” When you’re about to walk out the door, Chad puts his hand on your shoulder which causes you to stop. Was he about to punch you? “You’re welcome to stay, dude.” Oh. 

You were welcome to stay. Did you want to? 

You shook your head,“No, it’s okay. You guys should spend your time with her—unbothered.” You said before walking out of the hospital, not waiting for a response.

Maybe you cared little more than you’d ever admit.

You snap out of your thoughts as you hear Tara’s voice again.

“Because I know what mine is—I’m going to get my degree, become a lawyer, and live my life, my life,” Tara’s voice was firm. Certain. 

—

Two soft knocks could be heard from the other side of the door. Tara was about to tell whoever it was to go away, but then she realized who those knocks belonged to.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” you greeted, carrying a bottle of ibuprofen and a cup of water.  

“Hey,” she replied, head tracking your movement as you put the items down and got closer to where she sat at the edge of her bed. 

“Mind if I…” You gestured to the open spot next to her and she patted it. You sat down, knees touching hers as you looked down at your hands that rested in your lap. Tara’s gaze from you only broke when she felt the feeling of embarrassment all over again.

You noticed a change in her demeanor, causing you to finally glance at her. “I don’t think she meant for to…make you feel embarrassed or anything,” you tried to comfort. You were never good at this kind of stuff. 

“I know… I just—I just completely embarrassed myself out there. You guys probably think a lot less of me now…”

You lightly nudge her shoulder, getting her to look at you again. “Hey, no, okay? We just wanna make sure you're safe,” your facial expression matched your honest tone as you spoke. 

Tara turned her head away, a smirk slowly growing on her face. She turned back to look at you, ignoring how close your faces were. “We?” 

You rolled your eyes as Tara kept hers on you, smirk never falling. “Don’t let it get to that big ass ego of yours.”

“Aww, you caree about me,” Tara teased. You felt your cheeks warm up as you grew flustered.

“I care about you the—bare minimum amount,” you said unconvincingly. 

Tara shoved you a bit, “Liar.”

You shoved her back, “Most honest person you’ll ever meet.” 

Tara shoved you back again. “Liar.”

“Oh, you really wanna play this game?” You inquired, turning your head to her. 

Tara still smirked as she responded, “I could do this all night.”

Your faces were, once again, inches apart. Tara’s eye line meets your lips as tension builds in the room. Then suddenly the door opens, causing you and Tara to pull apart.

“Oops, sorry I didn’t mean to cock block you,” Quinn said as you and Tara silently cringed.

“Please...don't say cock," Tara said while slightly grimacing.

Quinn shrugged then looked at you. “Don’t believe we’ve officially met. I’m Quinn,” she held out her hand. You glanced at Tara before accepting the red head’s hand. 

“I’m–”

“Y/N? Yeah, I’ve heard lots about you.” You couldn’t tell what that could’ve meant, not noticing the shared look between Quinn and Tara.

“Don’t you have, like, a guy to see or something?” Tara asked, trying to get Quinn out of here as soon as possible.

“Well, Tara’s right, I should get going,” Quinn said, immediately getting the hint. “See you around, Y/N,” she winked at you.

“That was…” You trailed off, not able to meet Tara’s gaze.

“Embarrassing? Oh, extremely.” 

—

“Is Tara okay?” Charlotte asked over the phone. You held your phone to your ear as you grabbed a box of leftover pizza from the fridge with one arm.

“She will be…” You thought about the younger Carpenter as you spoke.

“I’m glad.” There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. “I uh… didn’t know you could fight like that.”

“What do you mean?” You placed the box on the table, sitting down.

“You had Frankie pinned. A man with his frame and build was completely defenseless under your hands. It was impressive,” her last words came with a flirty tone. 

“Oh, yeah?” You decided to match her tone.

“Yeah… Do you want to come over tomorrow? My roommate's visiting his boyfriend so I’ll be pretty lonely—some company would be nice."

You bit your bottom lip, thinking as you looked at your calendar. “Yeah—yeah, that works. What time should I stop by?”

“Six good?”

You looked at your calendar again.

“Can’t do six…” You said, looking at Tara’s name on your calendar. “How about eight?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then, super soldier.” 

You let out a light laugh, “Yeah, yeah. See you then.”

—

Tara was on the phone with Mindy, intensely debating over American Psycho, when she heard a couple knocks on the door. 

She got up from the couch as she said goodbye to Mindy, hanging up. She opened the door to see you standing there with your bag on your shoulder. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Tara realized it had been a full ten seconds since she opened the door. She moved to let you inside, and you sat in your usual spot. 

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” Tara inquired as she sat, hugging her knees.

“He didn’t really give us much to work with on Friday so, uh, just whatever we missed last time,” you said, not even looking at her as you looked around your stuff.

“Looking for something?”

“Yeah my pen. It was here five seconds ago–”

“This pen?” Tara said, pulling something from behind your ear. You looked at her and realized she was holding your pen. She hands it to you as you let out a timid chuckle, embarrassed at your lack of attention.

“Are you…alright?” She asked, looking at your features as you spoke.

“It’s just exams and stuff. I’ve kind of been all over the place trying to prepare—but that’s why I’m here. To study. So let’s begin,” you pull out your binder, flipping to the right folder.

Tara hesitantly followed along, keeping an eye on you. 

After an hour and a half, you looked at the time and silently cursed as you got up and gathered your things.

“Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting Charlotte around eight. So, I gotta get going,” you packed everything, racking your brain for anything else you could be forgetting. 

“Oh..okay…”

You turned to look at Tara, “What is it?”

She cleared her throat, slightly shaking her head. “Nothing, have fun—oh, and don’t forget your pen,” she dismissed as she held up said pen to you. 

You wear an embarrassed tight lipped smile, slowly taking the pen from her. “Thanks,” you put the pen in your bag before zippering it up.

“Uh, hey,” you heard Tara call out.

You stopped your movement, turning back to Tara. “See you later?” 

You lightly nodded, a small smile on your face. “Of course.”

—

Tara found herself blasting Lana Del Rey as she wore a pout. Why was she wearing a pout? She had no idea. It was just there, and for some reason she was in a sour mood. She also knew she despised you. Possibly more than she did before; she was just starting to adjust then you had to go and make things even more confusing for her. 

Tara looked at her ceiling as she laid in her bed, petting Dook who rested beside her. She suddenly remembered the beer in the fridge. 

Sam was in therapy, Quinn was seeing another one of her hookups—what’s the harm?

Five beer cans later and she was more than buzzed. The urge to call you was getting harder and harder to resist with each can. She knew she shouldn’t, but she just couldn’t stop herself from opening your contact. 

“Tara?” You asked, confused as to why she’s calling you so randomly.

“Y/NN,” she slurred into the phone. “Have I ever told you you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts?”

“I—uh, where are you right now?”

“Hommee. Where else?” She said, followed by a hiccup.

“I’m coming over.”

—

You knocked two times; you could hear Tara struggling with the door knob from the other side before finally opening it.

“What are you doing here?” Tara inquired with a raised eyebrow. It seemed she forgot about your call from just ten minutes ago.

“Goodness, you’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk.”

“Oh, yeah? Then tell the time,” you crossed your arms as you looked at her. She turned to the nearby clock, “I am not drunk!” She literally told it.

“Jesus,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” you walked over to her but then unexpectedly felt a shove to your chest.

“I don’t—I don’t need your help.” 

You exhaled, knowing all too well about the venomous look she wore. “You don’t mean that, come on.”

“I do! I don’t even want you here,” she slurred as she shoved your chest again.

“Too bad then. Cause’ I’m not leaving you like this.”

Tara had used up all the energy she had left to shove you, so she couldn’t even fight you off as you tried to walk her to her bedroom.

“Fuck you,” she gritted. 

“I know.” 

“No. You don’t know!” Tara yelled. “I don’t need a knight in shining armor,” she continued as you looked down at her. “I’m not a princess who has to be saved all the time.”

“Come on, I know you’re no–”

“This is what you do,” she pulled her arm away from you, “you just swoop in when everything’s fine and completely ruin shit. You think you’re pleasant to be around? Just when I think I have my life figured out, you have to come in and ruin it,” Tara spoke with pure conviction, no slurring in her voice.

“I—I don’t know what to say.”

She let out a dry laugh before saying, “When do you ever.” 

“You’re drunk, Tara… Please just let me get you to bed so you don't say anything else you’ll regret in the morning.”

“I don’t regret anything—and I’ll bring my own ass to bed.”

“Okay,” you softly said. You watched as she walked down the hall and to her bedroom. You waited a few minutes, getting the ibuprofen and water ready, before entering her bedroom carefully. Just as suspected, she was already asleep. You silently place the medicine and water on her nightstand before looking at her resting demeanor. 

Oh Tara, what am I gonna do with you?

-----------

A/N: I 100% know you guys aren't expecting the family member reveal I'm gonna do for R at some point (clues are scattered...)

Taglist: @t-wylia @lesbianpepsi @jennasfav @alyciaddict @justafoolinlove @steffido1993 @niqmandu @severelyuniquereview @darklron @ravenousinferno @smut-religiously777 @beautifulmongerbanditsalad @vanatalye @alexkolax @andsoigotabutterfly

[rxzennia]

thrice shall the bell toll

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 expands on 2.2 leaks, dark content towards the end, character death (everyone dies), heavy angst(?), not proofread. totally did not die a little inside when i wrote this, no. thank you all for 100+ followers! gold and gears, achievement grinding are driving me nuts and seeing everyone else get him makes me want to quit the game altogether. perhaps it’s time i focus more on other things. 

“never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

the musicians begin to play with rigor as the symphony enters crescendo, building up to its climax as the orchestral music increases in intensity and irregularity. the choir sings, paving the way for the descent of an aeon, of justice; their harmony announcing the impending doom of the sinner, promising his demise, promising him eternal rest.

you arrive at the central plaza, just in time for the closing act.

you meet sunday’s eyes, the bastard head of the oak family, the mastermind conducting this cacophony of noises and disturbances. he has the gall to smirk, to flash you a smirk, as if he’s daring you to do anything.

“aventurine, ambassador of the interastral peace corporation.” sunday stalks around the man bound in shackles, like predator circling prey, hands behind his back as he looks down at him with contempt. “you are hereby found… guilty.”

the baton descends – with it, the melody dramatically tips over its climax into decrescendo. 

people often say that death has no place in a dream of prosperity and privilege. 

but when the distinction between dream and reality blurs as the very dimension crumbles, who’s to say that to die is to wake, and who’s to say that death is not still death?

in his last moments of consciousness, aventurine sees you reach for your scarf with an expression he had never seen before. acceptance, perhaps? or disappointment? regardless, you have still chosen to surprise him at his last moment. must you continue to exceed his expectations even at his execution? but both you and he know that it is already too late, and his final solace is that you are present to witness the final chapter of his story.

that he is not left behind again.

the golden hands come full circle, palms closing as the strings lift their bows in unison, leaving only the winds to continue playing. the conductor drops their baton as the inevitable quickly encroaches upon the center stage, as the music ceases until only a sole trumpet remains sounding –

he closes his eyes with a last smile for you; aventurine has finally won, at the cost of losing everything.

once shall the bell toll, for the blessed prisoner condemned to a life of deceit and insincerity.

in a split second, the sky darkens; what used to be perpetually golden and bright has been eclipsed without a trace. the artificial sun goes out, street lamps are extinguished, a veil of darkness envelops the golden hour. what was once paradise becomes the abyss, and lament stands where joy once stood. 

your scarf flutters to the ground as you give it a strong tug, undoing its loops around your neck as you let it fall. you are half-expecting a gasp followed by a waterfall of words, but it never comes.

because there is no source. aventurine isn’t here anymore. 

there’s no more of your boss staring at you with the most awestruck expression as you reveal your face anymore. there’s no more of your boss’s endless pestering anymore.

there’s no more of aventurine opening up to you, getting you to open up, or him tentatively trusting you with fragments of his past anymore.

for the first time, you experience anger. a wrath so intense that it is enough to set even the heavens alight.

it’s about time someone ripped up this disgusting dream woven with fabric made of lies. this facade of extravagant luxury built upon a decaying foundation and the desperation of the masses’ escapism, a nightmare delicately packaged into fantasy that had stripped countless people of their ambitions and futures, it’s about time someone demolished it all.

the dreamchasers who voluntarily surrendered their realities for a temporary escape, the family members who could only obey, the heads of families who put together a ploy like this, and the harmonious strings who composed such a chaotic melody…

none of them matter. 

all that matters is that aventurine is executed, publicly, in utmost humiliation.

your scarf disintegrates into tiny specks of dust. brilliantly platinum scales extend from your fingertips to your jaw, threatening to stretch along your face, too. as if answering your call, serpents emerge from all corners of your shadow, slithering off towards all directions as they respond to your will.

in the sky that is pitch black, even darker shadows rear their heads; they fly, circle around the plane of the masterfully crafted illusion, around penacony itself. they await your orders, they await your next command. 

“eat up, my darlings.”

twice shall the bell toll, for the manufactured illusion of utopia drowning in the afterglow of opulence.

there is a reason why oroboros the voracity has kept to themselves in an unseen corner of the universe – they are not titled the unsatisfied devourer without reason.

with each corner you take for your own sustenance, you feel the universe tilt. the scales are tipping, the balance is tipping. with each piece of reality you consume, the boundary between subconscious and conscious blurs, falsehoods bleed into truth, and you feast upon them all the same.

in your rage, you are not merely tearing lives and environments apart. you are tearing religions apart, tearing peoples apart. worshippers and monuments of xipe the harmony, their symbols and their emanators, the hard-built resort destination called the dreamscape, and the plainly unremarkable penacony in reality, you are tearing it all apart.

you know you have upset the balance, and you know the consequences. you can hear the crystalline chime of the arbiter’s footsteps approaching you, you can almost see the blinding white light of the operating theater.

as the planet of festivities begin to fall out of orbit, so too do the serpents begin to decompose into glittering ashes. 

people scream as gravity somersaults, some swallowed by the caving ground, some swallowed by the gaping maws of the faceless serpents, and some dying by the hand of their kin as they struggle for survival.

you watch impassively as mortals scramble to prolong their lives, and you watch impassively as your serpents are lost, one by one, to the hands of an aeon.

if the mere handwave of an arrogant upholder of justice and a simple declaration are justification enough for an execution, for what reason should you not return the gesture?

if people would simply watch as someone is served the death penalty, what reason do you have to act as they become feed one after another?

and what reason do you have to cling onto mortal sentiments, now that your anchor to mortality is gone?

the man they killed is aventurine. your sometimes-too-annoying boss that you would not trade for anything in the world. your anchor; your dear, dear friend.

you see no reason to rein in your instincts anymore. the primal urge to consume overwhelms you, and all you want to do is to devour, devour, until there is nothing left.

voracity. oroboros’s will.

eat up while you still can, fill your metaphorical stomach with the blood of implicit killers, and tear into the flesh of the perpetrators of this grave transgression.

make them pay. before your judgement rains upon you, before the trumpeters herald your doom, before the star radiating false light meets its end in a supernova, make them pay.

their surgery is swift and painless – precise incision; two, three motions of the scalpel; complete excision.

at long last, the curtains fall. theatrics reach its conclusion, and when you look – there is no one left in the audience. 

thrice shall the bell toll, for the leviathan whose fury burned brighter than the ordinance of equilibrium.

[kemetic-dreams]

Jamil Abdullah al-Amin (born Hubert Gerold Brown; October 4, 1943), is an American human rights activist, Muslim cleric, African separatist, and convicted murderer who was the fifth chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in the 1960s. Best known as H. Rap Brown, he served as the Black Panther Party's minister of justice during a short-lived (six months) alliance between SNCC and the Black Panther Party.

He is perhaps known for his proclamations during that period, such as that "violence is as American as cherry pie", and that "If America don't come around, we're gonna burn it down." He is also known for his autobiography, Die Nigger Die! He is currently serving a life sentence for murder following the shooting of two Fulton County, Georgia, sheriff's deputies in 2000.

Brown's activism in the civil rights movement included involvement with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). Brown was introduced into SNCC by his older brother Ed. He first visited Cambridge, Maryland with Cleveland Sellers in the summer of 1963, during the period of Gloria Richardson's leadership in the local movement. He witnessed the first riot between whites and blacks in the city over civil rights issues, and was impressed by the local civil rights movement's willingness to use armed self-defense against racial attacks.

Brown later organized for SNCC during the 1964 Mississippi Freedom Summer, while transferring to Howard University for his studies. Representing Howard's SNCC chapter, Brown attended a contentious civil rights meeting at the White House with President Lyndon B. Johnson during the Selma crisis of 1965 as Alabama activists attempted to march for voting rights.

Major federal civil rights legislation was passed in 1964 and 1965, including the Voting Rights Act, to establish federal oversight and enforcement of rights. In 1966, Brown organized in Greene County, Alabama to achieve African voter registration and implementation of the recently passed Voting Rights Act.

Elected SNCC chairman in 1967, Brown continued Stokely Carmichael's fiery support for "Black Power" and urban rebellions in the Northern ghettos.

During the summer of 1967, Brown toured the nation, calling for violent resistance to the government, which he called "The Fourth Reich". "Negroes should organize themselves", he told a rally in Washington, D.C., and "carry on guerilla warfare in all the cities." They should, "make the Viet Cong look like Sunday school teachers." He declared, "I say to America, Fuck it! Freedom or death!"

In this period, Cambridge, Maryland had an active civil rights movement, led by Gloria Richardson. In July 1967 Brown spoke in the city, saying "It's time for Cambridge to explode, baby. Black folks built America, and if America don't come around, we're going to burn America down." Gunfire reportedly broke out later, and both Brown and a police officer were wounded. A fire started that night and by the next day, 17 buildings were destroyed by an expanding fire "in a two-block area of Pine Street, the center of African-American commerce, culture and community." Brown was charged with inciting a riot, due to his speech.

Brown was also charged with carrying a gun across state lines. A secret 1967 FBI memo had called for "neutralizing" Brown. He became a target of the agency's COINTELPRO program, which was intended to disrupt and disqualify civil rights leaders. The federal charges against him were never proven.

He was defended in the gun violation case by civil rights advocates Murphy Bell of Baton Rouge, the self-described "radical lawyer" William Kunstler, and Howard Moore Jr., general counsel for SNCC. Feminist attorney Flo Kennedy also assisted Brown and led his defense committee, winning support for him from some chapters of the National Organization for Women.

The Cambridge fire was among incidents investigated by the 1967 Kerner Commission. But their investigative documents were not published with their 1968 report. Historian Dr. Peter Levy studied these papers in researching his book Civil War on Race Street: The Civil Rights Movement in Cambridge, Maryland (2003). He argues there was no riot in Cambridge. Brown was documented as completing his speech in Cambridge at 10 pm July 24, then walking a woman home. He was shot by a deputy sheriff allegedly without provocation. Brown was hastily treated for his injuries and secretly taken by supporters out of Cambridge.

Later that night a small fire broke out, but the police chief and fire company did not respond for two hours. In discussing his book, Levy has said that the fire's spread and ultimate destructive cost appeared to be due not to a riot, but to the deliberate inaction of the Cambridge police and fire departments, which had hostile relations with the African community. In a later book, Levy notes that Brice Kinnamon, head of the Cambridge police department, said that the city had no racial problems, and that Brown was the "sole" cause of the disorder, and it was "a well-planned Communist attempt to overthrow the government."

While being held for trial, Brown continued his high-profile activism. He accepted a request from the Student Afro-American Society of Columbia University to help represent and co-organize the April 1968 Columbia protests against university expansion into Harlem park land in order to build a gymnasium.

He also contributed writing from jail to the radical magazine Black Mask, which was edited and published by the New York activist group Up Against the Wall Motherfucker. In his 1968 article titled "H. Rap Brown From Prison: Lasima Tushinde Mbilashika", Brown writes of going on a hunger strike and his willingness to give up his life in order to achieve change.

Brown's trial was originally to take place in Cambridge, but there was a change of venue and the trial was moved to Bel Air, Maryland, to start in March 1970. On March 9, 1970, two SNCC officials, Ralph Featherstone and William ("Che") Payne, died on U.S. Route 1 south of Bel Air, when a bomb on the front floorboard of their car exploded, killing both occupants. The bomb's origin is disputed: some say the bomb was planted in an assassination attempt, and others say Payne was carrying it to the courthouse where Brown was to be tried. The next night, the Cambridge courthouse was bombed

Brown disappeared for 18 months. He was posted on the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Ten Most Wanted List. He was arrested after a reported shootout with officers in New York City following an alleged attempted robbery of a bar there. He was convicted of robbery and served five years (1971–76) in Attica Prison in western New York state. While in prison, Brown converted to Islam. He formally changed his name from Hubert Gerold Brown to Jamil Abdullah al-Amin.

After his release, he moved to Atlanta, Georgia, where he opened a grocery store. He became an imam, a Muslim spiritual leader, in the National Ummah, one of the nation's largest African Muslim groups. He also was a community activist in Atlanta's West End neighborhood. He preached against drugs and gambling. It has since been suggested that al-Amin changed his life again when he became affiliated with the "Dar ul-Islam Movement"

On May 31, 1999, al-Amin was pulled over while driving in Marietta, Georgia by police officer Johnny Mack for a suspected stolen vehicle. During a search, al-Amin was found to have in his pocket a police badge. He also had a bill of sale in his pocket, explaining his possession of the stolen car, and he claimed that he had been issued an honorary police badge by Mayor John Jackson, a statement which Jackson verified. Despite this, al-Amin was charged with speeding, auto theft and impersonating a police officer.

On March 16, 2000, in Fulton County, Georgia, Sheriff's deputies Ricky Kinchen and Aldranon English went to al-Amin's home to execute an arrest warrant for failing to appear in court over the charges. After determining that the home was unoccupied, the deputies drove away and were shortly passed by a black Mercedes headed for the house. Kinchen (the more senior deputy) noted the suspect vehicle, turned the patrol car around, and drove up to the Mercedes, stopping nose to nose. English approached the Mercedes and told the single occupant to show his hands. The occupant opened fire with a .223 rifle. English ran between the two cars while returning fire from his handgun, and was hit four times. Kinchen was shot with the rifle and a 9 mm handgun.

The next day, Kinchen died of his wounds at Grady Memorial Hospital. English survived his wounds. He identified al-Amin as the shooter from six photos he was shown while recovering in the hospital[citation needed] Another source said English identified him shortly before going into surgery for his wounds.

After the shootout, al-Amin fled Atlanta, going to White Hall, Alabama. He was tracked down by U.S. Marshals who started with a blood trail at the shooting site, and arrested by law enforcement officers after a four-day manhunt. Al-Amin was wearing body armor at the time of his arrest. He showed no wounds. Officers found a 9 mm handgun near his arrest site. Firearms identification testing showed that this was used to shoot Kinchen and English, but al-Amin's fingerprints were not found on the weapon. Later, al-Amin's black Mercedes was found with bullet holes in it.

His lawyers argued he was innocent of the shooting. Defense attorneys noted that al-Amin's fingerprints were not found on the murder weapon, and he was not wounded in the shooting, as one of the deputies said the shooter was. A trail of blood found at the scene was tested and did not belong to al-Amin or either of the deputies. A test by the state concluded that it was animal blood, but these results have been disputed because there was no clear chain of custody to verify the sample and testing process. Deputy English had said that the killer's eyes were gray, but al-Amin's are brown.

At al-Amin's trial, prosecutors noted that he had never provided an alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the shootout, nor any explanation for fleeing the state afterward. He also did not explain why the weapons used in the shootout were found near him during his arrest.

On March 9, 2002, nearly two years after the shootings, al-Amin was convicted of 13 criminal charges, including Kinchen's murder and aggravated assault in shooting English. Four days later, he was sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole (LWOP).He was sent to Georgia State Prison, the state's maximum-security facility near Reidsville, Georgia.

Otis Jackson, a man incarcerated for unrelated charges, claimed that he committed the Fulton County shootings, and confessed this two years before al-Amin was convicted of the same crime. The court did not consider Jackson's statement as evidence. Jackson's statements corroborated details from 911 calls following the shooting, including a bleeding man seen limping from the scene: Jackson said he knocked on doors to solicit a ride while suffering from wounds sustained in the firefight with deputies Kinchen and English. Jackson recanted his statement two days after making it, but later confessed again in a sworn affidavit, stating that he had only recanted after prison guards threatened him for being a "cop killer". Prosecutors refuted Jackson's testimony, claiming he couldn't have shot the deputies as he was wearing an ankle tag for house confinement that would have showed his location. Al-Amin's lawyers allege that the tag was faulty.

Al-Amin appealed his conviction on the basis of a racial conspiracy against him, despite both Fulton County deputies being black. In May 2004, the Supreme Court of Georgia unanimously ruled to uphold al-Amin's conviction.

In August 2007, al-Amin was transferred to federal custody, as Georgia officials decided he was too high-profile for the Georgia prison system to handle. He was first held in a holdover facility in the USP Atlanta; two weeks later he was moved to a federal transfer facility in Oklahoma, pending assignment to a federal penitentiary.

On October 21, 2007, al-Amin was transferred to ADX Florence, a supermax prison in Florence, Colorado. He has been under an unofficial gag order, prevented from having any interviews with writers, journalists or biographers.

On July 18, 2014, having been diagnosed with multiple myeloma, al-Amin was transferred to Butner Federal Medical Center in North Carolina. As of March 2018, he is incarcerated at the United States Penitentiary, Tucson.

Al-Amin sought retrial through the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. Investigative journalist, Hamzah Raza, has written more about Otis Jackson's confession to the deputy shootings in 2000, and said that this evidence should have been considered by the court. It had the potential of exonerating al-Amin. However, the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals rejected his appeal on July 31, 2019.

In April 2020, the U.S. Supreme Court declined to hear an appeal from al-Amin. His family and supporters continue to petition for a new trial.

[agatharkn3ss]

the Tarot reading (spoilers)

We have today's clip from ep.7, where Lilia explains the layout of the Safe Passage tarot spread. In one of the promos, there is also a shot showing cards on the table in that same spread, so I thought I'll put the two together, just for fun!

In the clip it looks like maybe Lilia is doing a reading for Billy as he's sat in front of her? But the cards below seem like they would suit Agatha better (though I'll leave the psychic interpretations to you!). So maybe they all get a reading each?

(The card meanings taken from biddytarot.com)

Card 1: "You, The Traveller": Five of Wands [Reversed]

UPRIGHT: Conflict, disagreements, competition, tension, diversity REVERSED: Inner conflict, conflict avoidance, tension release In the Five of Wands, five men appear to be fighting each other, using their wands as weapons. However, on closer observation, their wands are raised but not striking or injuring anyone. It is as if there is no real purpose or outcome in this chaotic scene other than to create conflict and sow discord amongst the group. Each man wears a different outfit, symbolising their diverse backgrounds and belief systems, and suggesting that, because of their differences, they cannot find harmony and common ground with one another

Card 2: "What's missing, the reason for your quest": Two of Wands

UPRIGHT: Future planning, progress, decisions, discovery REVERSED: Personal goals, inner alignment, fear of unknown, lack of planning The Two of Wands shows a man, dressed in a red robe and hat, holding a small globe. The world is literally in his hands, marking the enormous potential before him if he can expand his horizons accordingly. He stands within the confines of his castle, suggesting that while he is contemplating significant opportunities, the man has not yet left his comfort zone to pursue them; he is still very much in the planning phase. His hand rests on an upright wand, and a second wand is affixed to the castle’s wall, a further sign that he is still not ready to venture out. In the background, the land is fertile while also rocky, promising that he has a good chance for success, so long as he can overcome the challenges that will arise.

Card 3: "The path behind, wounds suffered, lessons learnt": The World

UPRIGHT: Completion, integration, accomplishment, travel REVERSED: Seeking personal closure, short-cuts, delays The World card shows a naked woman wrapped in a purple cloth, dancing inside a large laurel wreath. She looks behind her to the past, while her body moves forward to the future. In her hands are two wands or batons, like the one The Magician holds. It is a symbol that what was manifested with The Magician has now come to completion with The World. The wreath is circular, symbolizing a continual cycle of successful completion and new beginnings because, as the woman steps through the wreath, she is completing one phase but beginning another one almost straight away. Around the wreath are four figures (a lion, bull, cherub and eagle), similar to those in the Wheel of Fortune. Both The World and the Wheel of Fortune speak to the cyclical nature of your life and your progression through its cycles. The four figures represent the four fixed signs of the Zodiac—Leo, Taurus, Aquarius, and Scorpio. They are symbolic of the four elements, the four suits of Tarot, four compass points, four seasons, and the four corners of the Universe. They are here to guide you from one phase to the next, bringing balance and harmony to your journey.

Card 4: "The path ahead, space for growth and discovery": Page of Swords

UPRIGHT: New ideas, curiosity, thirst for knowledge, new ways of communicating REVERSED: Self-expression, all talk and no action, haphazard action, haste The Page of Swords shows a young man standing with his sword pointing upwards to the sky. His body and the sword lean in one direction, but he looks the other way as if to see what else is happening around him. A breeze blows through the young man’s hair, and the clouds behind him appear to dash through the sky, bringing dynamic energy to the card. The ground on which the Page stands is green and fertile, suggesting that the Page’s ideas are likely to bring positive change and forward movement.

Card 5: "Obstacles": Wheel of Fortune (btw this card - and the Tower card - was also shown behind William Kaplan in Lilia's tent at the bar mitzvah)

UPRIGHT: Good luck, karma, life cycles, destiny, a turning point REVERSED: Bad luck, resistance to change, breaking cycles The Wheel of Fortune card shows a giant wheel, with three figures on the outer edges. Four Hebrew letters – YHVH (Yod Heh Vau Heh), the unpronounceable name of God – are inscribed on the wheel’s face. There are also the letters TORA, thought to be a version of the word Torah, meaning ‘law’, or TAROT, or even ROTA (Latin for ‘wheel’). The middle wheel has the alchemical symbols for mercury, sulphur, water and salt – the building blocks of life and the four elements – and represents formative power. On the outer circle is a snake, the Egyptian god Typhon (the god of evil), descending on the left side. The snake also represents the life force plunging into the material world. On the right side rises the Anubis, the Egyptian God of the dead who welcomes souls to the underworld. And on top of the wheel sits the Sphinx, representing knowledge and strength. In the corners of the Wheel of Fortune card are four winged creatures, each associated with the four fixed signs of the Zodiac: the angel is Aquarius, the eagle is Scorpio, the lion is Leo, and the bull is Taurus. Their wings signify stability amidst movement and change, and each holds the Torah, representing wisdom.

Card 6: "A potential Windfall": The Hanged Man

UPRIGHT: Pause, surrender, letting go, new perspectives REVERSED: Delays, resistance, stalling, indecision The Hanged Man shows a man suspended from a T-shaped cross made of living wood. He is hanging upside-down, viewing the world from a completely different perspective, and his facial expression is calm and serene, suggesting that he is in this hanging position by his own choice. He has a halo around his head, symbolizing new insight, awareness and enlightenment. His right foot is bound to the tree, but his left foot remains free, bent at the knee and tucked in behind his right leg. His arms are bent, with hands held behind his back, forming an inverted triangle. The man is wearing red pants representing human passion and the physical body, and a blue vest for knowledge. The Hanged Man is the card of ultimate surrender, of being suspended in time and of martyrdom and sacrifice to the greater good.

Card 7: "The Destination": Ten of Swords

UPRIGHT: Painful endings, deep wounds, betrayal, loss, crisis REVERSED: Recovery, regeneration, resisting an inevitable end The Ten of Swords shows a man lying face down, apparently dead, with ten swords in his back. A red cape drapes over the lower half of his body as a sign of dignity as he leaves this world. While the dark sky is ominous, the sun is rising on the horizon, bringing a renewed sense of hope and opportunity. The calm sea in the background also brings solace, suggesting that even in times of darkness, there is a sense of peace and calm to be found.